#especially with the story line they got going on in it

[engie-ivy]

(Not really micro and a day late, but I had to write the Valentine's prompt!)

@wolfstarmicrofic 14th: First I Love You

1110 words

Director's assistant Remus never expected to be working together with famous actor Sirius Black.

Never Expected

Remus never expected to have a crush on a filmstar. As a self-proclaimed film connoisseur (or a film snob as Mary calls it), he had always considered himself to be above such things. He judges actors purely on their performance, their persuasiveness, their story-telling abilities, always impartial and always objective.

Until he saw his first film starring Sirius Black.

Remus was floored. Turned out, he wasn't as above crushing bad on an actor as he thought he was. After being exposed to a couple more films with Sirius Black, once he got a bit more used to those piercing grey eyes with that mischievous glint and that ever-perfect hair effortlessly elegantly falling over that gorgeous face, he could see that Sirius Black is also a great actor. He can make you laugh, he can make you cry, he can make you love him and he can make you hate him, and as much as Remus hates the term, he eventually accepted that he is and always will be a fan.

Remus never expected to have a career in the film industry. He did go to the Film Academy, because he just has such a passion for films, he couldn't ignore that calling. But he isn't the type to go to all the industry parties to make connections with important people and build a career. He had expected that he would be doomed to doing one unpaid internship after the other, while making his money serving coffee.

During one of his internships, however, he met famous ex-filmstar and now famous film director Minerva McGonagall. Remus is nothing if not opinionated when it comes to films, and especially the techniques that go into making films, and he likes to share that opinion, doesn't matter how high a status the other person has. Surprisingly though, Minerva McGonagall wasn't offended by Remus’... outspokenness, but rather impressed, and she offered Remus an actual job in the film industry as her assistant director.

Remus never expected to be making a film with Sirius Black, to be on the same set as Sirius Black, to interact with Sirius Black, to give directions to Sirius Black, but yet, here he is.

And what Remus never ever expected was for Sirius Black to one day after filming ask Remus to practice lines with him. Practicing lines lead to conversations about, of course, films, films they love, films they hate, films they think are overrated and films they can watch over and over again. And when Remus talks about films, he forgets to be nervous, he forgets to be star-struck, and he just talks.

Though talks about films also lead to talks about their lives, about their experiences in the industry, the people they love, their hopes for the future. And Remus learns that in real life, Sirius Black is still breathtaking, still charming, still effortlessly elegant, but he's also a person. A person with a troubled past, with family issues, with fears and insecurities, and Remus loves him all the more for it.

Remus never expected to find Sirius looking at him so many times when they are on set together, for Sirius’ hand to linger on his when they reach for the script at the same time, for Sirius’ eyes to dart over to his lips when they're having their private conversations.

But there's always that voice in Remus’ head that's constantly telling him

He's too good for you

So when Sirius’ fingers stroke the back of his hand, Remus quickly jerks his hand back, when Sirius holds him a little too long hugging him goodbye, Remus pulls away, and when Sirius slowly leans in, Remus takes a step backward.

Sirius plays an eighteenth century nobleman who's struggling to stay in power as head of his family, without becoming as morally corrupt as the rest of them. They're currently filming a scene regarding a subplot where Sirius’ character has feelings for someone who's only second in line of a struggling family.

“Lupin, you're frowning,” McGonagall says. “Give me your thoughts.”

“It just…” Remus begins, trying to voice his thoughts. “Seems a little far-fetched that someone without money or social status could catch the eye of someone like Sirius’ character.”

McGonagall opens her mouth to respond, but Sirius is first.

“Why on earth would my character be concerned with money or social status when it comes to how he feels about someone?”

“They have nothing to offer him!” Remus says. “And I just don't think your character should ignore that!”

“He's not ignoring it,” Sirius counters. “It just doesn't matter to him.”

“But those things do matter,” Remus insists. “Pretending they don't would be naive, and naivety goes against everything your character stands for.”

“My character also stands for persuasiveness and going after what he wants despite the obstacles, and that includes the person he wants.”

“But he's also a man driven by ambition who's always thinking about his place within high society and never takes any unnecessary risks when it comes to everything he has achieved!”

“He can be all that when it comes to business, but still follow his heart in other matters.”

“His heart?” Remus asks.

“Yes,” Sirius says defiantly. “His heart. His brain is undoubtedly telling him all about the world of differences between them, and how difficult this is going to be, but in these matters, he listens to his heart.”

Remus shakes his head. “How can he be so sure what his heart wants after such a short time?”

“There's a connection between them, a connection you don't find often,” Sirius says. “Surely you must see that?”

“I do,” Remus admits. “But what remains if that fades?”

“It won't just fade,” Sirius says confidently.

"But how do you know that?” Remus asks almost desperately.

“Because I love you!”

A silence falls.

“He,” Sirius stammers. “He loves…”

“Maybe it's time for a break,” McGonagall says, looking from Remus to Sirius.

The set empties, until it's just Remus and Sirius left.

Remus says nothing, but just gets up and walks over to Sirius, until he's standing right in front of him, searching his eyes for the confirmation of his words.

“Do you really not want to give us a chance?” Sirius asks hoarsely.

Remus opens his mouth, but then closes it again and he can't help but laugh. Remus places his hand on Sirius’ cheek. “I was an idiot for thinking I could fight this,” he says. “But I still think you're going to break my heart.”

Sirius covers Remus’ hand with his own. “And I still think I can prove you wrong.”

Remus never expected he would ever want to be wrong so bad.

[berritart]

toxic!reader x abby nsfw 18+

a/n saw a post that said we need more toxic!reader and what better way to do it is with abby mhm mhm. didnt think it would be this long but i hope u guys enjoy😇

you couldn't even count how many texts your got from abby that night. it was quite hilarious honestly. notifications kept popping up, reading along the lines of "baby what are you doing?" "saw your recent story" or "why are you with your ex?" all you posted was a selfie with your ex girlfriend at a club. yes you might still have feelings for her, and perhaps you did it for pathetic reactions from abby. and it worked.

you never made anything exclusive with abby. she was just friends with benefits. yeah you two would go out, fuck around a lot, and you maybe have a toothbrush and bra at her place, but you never agreed to being her girlfriend. you're just not ready for the commitment.

you're probably oblivious to how abby feels but she never asked you to be her girlfriend either. she never showed obvious signs either. you thought she felt the same way as you, perfectly fine with being fuck buddies. you thought that until you reached the front door of your apartment where a disheveled abby was, leaning against your door.

"abby? what are you doing here?" you question, your voice full of confusion. you were confused as fuck and that might be an understatement. abby's head shot up and faced you, her arms quickly pulling you in her embrace. "missed you...that's all." she whispered against your neck. you pulled away and looked at abby crazy. "at one o'clock in the morning abs?" you enter your front door, abby following behind you like a lost puppy.

"i saw your story and i couldn't sleep." abby admitted, tossing her jacket on the couch. "are you guys together?" you were getting distracted by her biceps and tank top clad torso. if you two wasn't in this predicament you would've been pounced on her but that doesn't matter right now sadly.

"that's none of your business. you don't have the right to pop up unannounce-"

"you always show up at my place and i don't mind. don't be a hypocrite especially right now." abby interrupted your sentence, her eyebrows furrowed from stress. you almost felt bad. and you know you would flip if she posted any other woman. maybe she was right about how she's acting. you would never admit it though.

"no i'm not abby. why do you even care anyways?" you walk closer to her, her face contorted in nothing but sadness. "are you jealous?" a smirk find it's way to your glossy lips, hands cupping her face. "you want me all to yourself huh?"

abby nodded, humming in agreement. her eyes not leaving your lips. she looked so needy, so desperate, so pathetic. and you're making her this way. talk about a ego booster. she nudged against the palm of your hands, rubbing her cheek against them. "need you..." abby whined, letting you guide her face to your lips.

her lips craved yours, almost devouring them as soon as they met. her tongue traced against the opening of your mouth, begging for permission to enter your mouth and you let her. felt like she was sucking the soul out of you, your breath weakening from the prolonged kissing. lips still connected, she picked you up, your legs wrapping around her waist.

as soon as you two entered your bedroom she threw you on your already disheveled bedspread. her hands quickly found its way to the zipper of your mini skirt. "need this pussy and i know she needs me." abby muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear. "she can't fuck you like i do. you only need me. say it." abby begged, her eyebrows still furrowed in need. and she's right. no one could make you cum more than 3 times a night, cater to your every need in the bedroom, only she could.

"i only need you baby just please..." you whimpered, only saying it to satisfy her. you brought her hands back to the waistband of your panties, the lacy black thong you only wore because you were seeing your ex tonight. abby wasted no time diving between your legs. she dragged her tongue against your thong, the fabric creating friction against your clit so fucking good. "fuck oh my god-" your nails scratched against abby's sensitive scalp, pulling her messy blonde hair to buck your hips even more. the moan that came out her mouth was almost guttural, only causing her her to speed up the endless torture.

you definitely had authority over abby's feelings, keeping her close with no thought in your head to start dating. but in bed, you're only reduced to a orgasming, moaning mess. abby would always come crawling back to make you feel good, even after 3 days of not messaging each other. she needed you and you sorta need her.

you felt the cold room air hit your folds, your panties getting pulled to your ankles by abby. she didn't give you a lick of time to calm down from her teasing, tongue running through your sopping cunt. she was making louder noises than you, whimpers and whines only causing vibrations to hit your clit. "taste so good angel." she moaned, her blue eyes holding you in a trance, not once breaking eye contact with you. "f-feels so good abby-" you yanked at abby's hair, causing a loud grunt from her lips.

"'m s-so close fuck abby please." you felt the heat in the pit your stomach get worse, your orgasm preparing to wash over your body. her lips latched to your clit, sucking like her life depended on it. you were so close and abby had no mercy, doing whatever it takes to make you cum all over her mouth. you thought that would be it until you felt her thick, calloused digits slip into you cunt, curling in all the right spots. "f-fuck oh my-" your back arched from the bed, grinding against her tongue and fingers. "'m c-cumming abby-" a few more seconds of sucking and fingering your orgasm rushed throughout your body, limbs shaking from the impact. abby held your hips, her tongue cleaning the rest of the juices on your folds. she pulled away to stare at the mess she caused, a grin plastered across her face.

"what else do you need me to do baby? anything you need." abby questioned, her hands exploring your torso under your tank top. "just wanna make you feel good..." your nipples we're between her thumb and pointer finger, pinching and tugging enough to elicit a loud cry from you.

"c-check my drawer." you point towards your nightstand, abby already knowing what you're hinting at. she's too good at fucking you with her strap, especially after an argument (you caused of course). she's definitely on a ten now since she has something to prove and what better way to prove you only need her by drilling you into the mattress.

abby took off her sweats, leaving her only in her tank top and boxers. your lip was between your teeth as you eyed abby as she secured the harness around her hips. not a single thought behind those eyes of yours, only lust and need.

it was a black strap with a few veins running along it's sides. a tad bit too big but it was your favorite on abby. she just knew how to use it, making sure you can feel her in your stomach. you definitely weren't going to be able to walk straight tomorrow morning.

abby positioned herself between your shaky legs, spreading them as wide as she could just so you can be on full display for her. she ran the tip through your folds, pressing it against your sensitive clit. "abby don't tease..." your begs fill the room, wanting nothing more than to have your girlfriend situationship balls deep in your cunt.

"relax baby..." abby hums. "wanna take my time with her." she slipped the tip of her strap in your cunt just to take it out once your gasp hit her ears. you couldn't take it anymore, your head fuzzy, just wanting to be stuffed. you move closer, letting the strap slip into your warm heat. your lips formed a perfect o, your eyebrows being pulled together as her strap continues to stretch your cunt slowly.

"so impatient, we need to work on that." abby shakes her head, sucking her teeth in response to you neediness. she continued slip her length inside you slowly, the stretch hurting so good. she finally bottomed out, the harness already sticky with your cum from your previous orgasm. you started rocking your pelvis area, feeling the tip of abby's strap brush against that spot but not necessarily quite. you were basically teasing yourself, only needing to feel abby fuck you. your weak movements weren't enough.

"you want me to move sweet girl?" abby smiled, her rough hands still pressing down on your legs, keeping them apart so they wont disrupt her view. you nodded repetitively, whines and borderline sobs filling the room. "p-please..."

abby pulled out slowly, only to ram back in with no warning."f-fuck oh my god-" you grabbed her forearms tightly, feeling her strap continue to pump in and out of your heat. she was so fucking deep. you think you almost felt her in your throat. "you can take it mama. i know you can." abby leaned forward, placing your nipple between her teeth, tugging softly. she began to rub her tongue against your hardening bud, still keeping the same pace she was previously terrorizing you with. "feels s'good..." you stuffed your face in the nearest pillow, muffling the noises you were making. you knew in your soul your neighbor would be putting in a noise complaint about you first thing in the morning. but having abby fuck you like she always did, after days on end of no contact, there's only so much you can do.

abby continued to pound into you relentlessly, not giving a chance to really take it in. you felt like you were going to cum any minute now, the pressure in you pelvis area growing more and more, the tip hitting your cervix with no remorse. "'m so close." you cried, looking down to see where you two met.

god it was so sloppy and messy, white painting the black silicone of abby's strap. you swore you could see how deep she was inside you, every thrust causing a bulge to appear near your pelvis. the scene was imprinted in your brain. you don't ever think you could forget how good she is fucking you.

"f-fuck me too." abby's thrusts became sloppier, the slowed friction pushing you over the edge. your whole body spasmed, hands gripping harshly on abby's biceps, leaving marks on her freckled skin. you couldn't even warn her or say you were about to come, only noises could be produced. your release coated her abs and the base of her strap, gluing you two together. your soft pants and whimpers combined with her grunts, her orgasm hitting her once you finished yours.

abby collapsed beside you, lazily taking off her strap. she immediately pulled you in to embrace you. her nose traced against your neck, hands squeezing your waist. "missed this so much..." she hummed, sleepiness washing over her.

you say there, letting the guilt wash over you. you know once she leaves tomorrow morning you ex will still be on the back burner, always there waiting when you're tired of abby. maybe when you wake up you'll have a change of heart, wanting to settle down and start building a better relationship with abby. however, you doubt that completely.

[reflectionsofacreator]

[takes a long drink from my Arizona iced tea] so like one of the central themes for FFXV is like, growing up, sure. You know that, I know that, whatever. Coming of age, coming into your own, taking the mantle of king, whatever you wanna call it. Cool, awesome, we love a good coming of age story!

But I find the sub theme of that one to be probably the most fascinating? By and large, all the chocobros have to deal with the fallout of being lied to by the adult figures in their lives, and it's the most prevalent with Noctis and Gladio. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of it in Ignis and Prompto too, but the particularly insidious way that Noctis and especially Gladio were lied to sometimes gets me.

See I don't even really think it was actually all that intentional. Not really a conscious act by Regis and Clarus, or the society around them? More like... I dunno, the lies that you get told by your parents as a little kid and you grow up to realize that the world is a lot different than you thought.

That being said, Noctis was absolutely lied to by his father; both about the nature of the King of Light and the idea that he'd succeed Regis as reigning monarch. Regis did it out of love, knowing that Noctis would die young, and reasoned that Noctis should get to have a relatively normal life, but it was still a lie. Gladio, likewise, was lied to by his father and Regis, told that he would be the next monarch's Shield, that he would fulfill a role that's got a pretty set expectation in their society.

See, Gladio expects Noctis to act a certain way, to act as King, and he gets increasingly frustrated when Noctis doesn't, or can't live up to that. He's not precisely wrong to expect it either, given their roles and their statues, and knowing that they're taking the throne during a full blown war. The problem is that Noctis was never taught how to be the thing that Gladio was told Noctis was going to be? And that's what causes friction with them all the time. It's fascinating, watching it play out and realizing the underlying issues with their relationships actually have very little to do with them as people and instead because of what they were told to expect from each other.

Gladio is also his own kettle of fish that I don't think the narrative is quite self aware enough to articulate properly, or even get into. Gladio falls into the trap of toxic masculinity very often -- struggling to articulate his feelings, expressing most of his feelings as anger, picking fights rather than talking about what's going on, using his strength as both a character aspect and bonus, etc. The list goes on. There's also the fact that he's sort of portrayed as a bit of a womanizer and the masculine ideal; tall, rugged, strong, etc which plays into all of that. XV plays him very straight (and straight) with these concepts, and just sort of ... expects it to be fine? Which is at odds with how the other three bros interact and are more emotionally available towards each other, leaving Gladio as one of the weaker bros in canon.

It kind of sucks too, because like, there's so much to unpack with him? His DLC is about wanting to have the strength to protect Noctis on the surface, but really when you look at it... you could also argue that the DLC is about Gladio's fears that he'll end up as dead as his dad did (ha, try that for alliteration) and the crushing weight of failure. Gladio has every right to fear his mortality, fear the fact that he is, nominally, the first in line on the battlefield and the the last defense for Noctis. If Noctis is to die, they will go through him first, and that's! Scary! But the game doesn't really get into that, hardly at all, and it makes picking up the pieces for Gladio kind of frustrating. Out of all the bros, he's the one I have to dig the most to find any kind of depth despite being prime real estate for it.

Anyways Gladio and Noctis' dynamic is fascinating if you actually start to unpack it, especially because it's built on the lies that their fathers fed them as children (that they themselves also bought into). I'd go so far to argue that between the two pairs, Noct/Gladio is in much more of a dire need to sit down and actually hash out what they are to each other, outside of their king/shield dynamic. Noct/Iggy certainly has shades of that, but Ignis has decided that they are friends and that he will defy fate if he must, let the world burn if he must, to save Noct's life. That has some depth beyond king/retainer that they're presented as. Noct/Gladio are sort of just... falling into the king/shield dynamic because they're expected to, and it sort of hampers their relationship and their communication.

I'm gonna scramble them both like eggs, probably into an omelette. They make me Think you know

[bunabi]

i was honestly so curious to see more of mythal because the idea of "the best of the evanuris" as per solas (notable hater) is so interesting. like he was her lackey for ages, had her vallaslin, she also killed titans and kept slaves and didn't really do anything to stop the other evanuris' excesses... but he still saw her as a respectable figure. and flemythal in dai seemed to not begrudge him for rebelling either. like it's so common in politics for somewhat well intentioned people to slide into "well if i lose this power, a bad person might get it! so i'll just hold onto it forever and not rock the boat, i'll only make very small changes" which was the impression i got from mythal. whereas solas eventually gave up on Elvhen Voter Reform and started running an insurgency instead.

i thought that was really interesting as a concept, especially since it's so rare to see women in those types of morally complex roles. and she clearly tipped over into more vengefulness after being betrayed, which is neat too! but oof. in veilguard she either comes off as ordering solas to do all his crimes that he's then guilt ridden for, (even the ones like forging weapons, smh, he's stealing june's job!!) or as the most generically bland person.

Yeah it's too bad. It feels like they were going somewhere having Flemeth appear in three games and drop ominous lines. I don't think we got the intended conclusion to her story.

[siggiedraws]

Hello! In one of your recent posts, you've mentioned that

There are little hints here and there that point towards the symbolism of his origins, like his folded boots being inspired by Santa Claus, which is why they're red and white with a buckle! I find that such a cool detail.

and it stood out to me because "the symbolism of his origins" is very fascinating. Could you elaborate? What other hints like this are there? Thank you in advance! ^^

Of course!

What I meant by what I said is that, despite us not knowing of Sonic's past, what very little we do know about it also happens to tie into the concept of Christmas/Santa Claus, that being his red and white boots that he's been wearing since the beginning and his birthplace literally being Christmas Island.

To understand where I want to go with this, I need to get into the important context behind the presence of Christmas in the Sonic series, which is that Naoto Ohshima loves the holiday. To the extent that he would dress up as Santa Claus in public and give gifts to people.

(SOURCE)

The reason behind Ohshima's passion for the character of Santa is that he was inspired by Santa and wanted to be like him. He's always wanted to create things for children to enjoy, or things that would delight people, much like how Santa spreads joy around the world by delivering gifts.

(SOURCE)

(SOURCE)

What I meant by the "symbolism of [Sonic's] origins" is that they are literally symbolic. Sonic was the gift Ohshima created for children all over the world.

I will say that this can come off as an especially Doylist perspective on the matter, because surely Sonic's past must exist within the fictional context of the Sonic universe, and we just don't know about it. I agree with this! Looking at it within the fictional universe, it's fun to speculate on what his birthplace could be like based on what limited information we have. If he got his boots from there, it might be a Christmas-themed island where it snows a lot. Alternatively, it might bear a striking resemblance to the real Christmas Island, since the Sonic universe already has many places that are analogous to real life, like Dragon Road being inspired by the Great Wall of China.

Sonic as he was originally conceived plays with the concept of blurring the lines between fiction and reality, so I would argue a more Doylist perspective is valid when we're discussing the symbolism behind Sonic's origins. If you're aware of the Marie Granette stories, that's a great example. There's a metafictional story about how Sonic, the fictional character from a fairytale, comes to life within reality (another fictional universe in our reality, but is meant to represent reality all the same), and saves a woman from a fire. Then, he's gone again, like he was never there.

This story depicts Sonic as a character who brings joy to people, as Meg (the woman who Sonic saves) recognizes him on a flight jacket as the character from her childhood that brought her so much joy over the years. When she wears the jacket, it makes her feel safe and comforted. No one would believe her if she said she saw him. Similar to a certain jolly fellow, donned in red and white.

Perhaps Sonic was never born; not through conventional means, that is. Maybe someone needed him, and he appeared. Maybe the rest was history.

Thanks for your ask!

[playedcrowd5610]

QnA - The Autobots and Decepticons Both Kill. Why Does Danny Still Defend the Cons?

I got this comment, and I wanted to respond to it on here because it is very interesting. <3

This is a very valid comment! And I agree entirely. I have had this conversation with my beta many times while writing for this story and thinking about how strongly Danny is defending the Decepticons. Right now, Danny is a bit blinded by his caring for Starscream and is unaware of what goes on in the war. He does not know the reasons for the war essentially and doesn't know a lot of the things that went on behind the scenes besides the murders of his friends (the Vehicons) and injuries he has seen in the medbay.

Danny will be having a conversation with both Starscream and Optimus about their opinions on the war, why it started, and why they chose their sides. It will give an opening to Danny's opinions as well as the fact that I truly do believe he would believe in the deception cause (if we just looked at it from the beginning.)

Think about it like that one scene from the MTMTE comics where Tailgate had been in stasis through the entire war, and Cyclonus had explained the 'Decepticon ideal' to him, which caused Tailgate to go up to Rodimus and ask to be a Decepticon. (even though the war was over)

The Autobots were horrified by this and basically inputted facts and recordings of the horrors from the war, and Tailgate blew up at Cyclonus for idealizing it and not telling him the whole truth. Cyclonus said he never lied.

Many people had very valid reasons for becoming Decepticons, lots of them were oppressed, and functionalism was very prevalent, which made lives very hard for some people who didn't have a single choice in life.

But the Decepticon ideal has been tainted and dragged further and further down throughout the vorns of the war. Both sides have committed genocide and even created cold-forged mecha (Cybertronians created just to be thrown out the door and told to fight to the death on the front lines)

There are good and bad people on both sides. And I think it will be a very eye-opening conversation for Danny. Especially because we know he is already disliking Megatron. But this conversation will be part of the building blocks for the finale and even a possible mini tiny little sequel.

I hope this helped a little bit, and it will make more sense as the story continues. <3

[realhumangay]

Eagerly awaiting your reaction to episode 3 😊💜

ask and you shall receive! (i’m not actually waiting for people to ask dw, it was just good timing ahahah)

prefacing this with flatmate and i deciding to watch it and saying at the same time to each other ‘i’m scared’ 🤡

(alsoooo i may have had erik’s death spoiled - i didn’t know when or how, but i quickly realised that it was coming when wille got called into the office, so im afraid im robbing you of that big reaction, SORRY)

after heart-eyeing the screen for !!wille and simon basically giggling at each other during the choir!! and !!let me teach you sheet music!! and then honestly laughing so much at the chaos of wille saying to forget about it only to literally the day after realise he can’t (obsessing over how accurately babygay that is 🥹)

i then proceeded to write one whole note whilst watching:

i’ve been icked out for about 15 mins straight

^this was at the parents cause Oh My God Get Them All To Therapy Immediately. and maybe tax them just a bit.

but then wille being the fucking cutest ever with simon’s mum 😭😭

also. i see now that august is truly and fully getting his own story line, and i am concerned. the pain in his mothers eyes in that scene??? and just the whole ‘my family are broke’ except he could easily sell his assets he just doesn’t want to loose the status AHH

actor geek moment again, i just want to mention how ive literally just come back from a day long workshop with a director and one of the things that we talked about that resonated with me was about how when you play a villain actors often have the tendency to try to sympathise with the character. the director said how that’s often boring and that what often really resonates is to bring out empathy with the audience- make them see the human in the bad decisions, and understanding even if it’s uncomfortable to admit. and august in that scene was so that for me!!! like what a dick!! but fuck? i get it? kinda?

and simon disappointing his friends :(( they didn’t get it clearly. and that’s so valid tbh

(a slight ick though at ayub waiting for simon to speak only to say ‘i don’t wanna hear it’ and rushing off…interesting directing choices but ill forgive it in light of the rest of it being genius so far)

also i spent this entire episode expecting the fish tank scene and it was nowhere to be seen??? my spoiler knowledge is clearly false/i have terrible memory for numbers

these are my thoughts, i can’t believe ep3 is halfway through s1, it’s felt like ive only just started and now somehow im in the thick of it?

and finally, to any new yr followers, apologies and also please enjoy the influx of san remo content on my blog- if you don’t know it, it’s a italian song contest, i lived in italy for two years and have accepted it as part of my culture. i’m afraid there is no way around this. (literally as im posting this mahmood premiered his new single im going insane if you don’t know him go find out especially if you like omar’s music i reckon you’d like this)

k im done bye thanks for reading xx

[pellaaearien]

Here With Me (Chapter 7)

Dreamling | E | (no more) Edging, Caretaking, Porn With Plot | ~20k total

--

In the end, Hob needn’t have worried. The innkeeper accepts or else doesn’t care to examine their story about being a noble and his retainer accosted on the road, willing to accept the gold thread running through Burgess’ rich tunic in exchange for room, board, and some actual clothes for Dream.

“And medical supplies, if you please.” Dream speaks up, his voice shaky but resolute. “Some bandages, and salve if you have it.” Hob looks at Dream in surprise, but the innkeep just nods.

“I’ll send some up with my girl,” he says gruffly, and they hasten to their quarters before they can make more of a scene. The fewer people who can remember the strange travellers, the better.

“I’d rather you have warmer clothes,” is the first thing out of Hob’s mouth, once the door closes behind them. It’s not what he’d been intending to say, but salve especially won’t come cheap. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be on the road, and—”

“And I’d rather you not die,” Dream snaps, whirling on him fiercely, eyes flashing. Hob swallows the rest of his words. “I… I thought I had lost you.” He wraps his arms around himself, and Hob lurches to embrace him. 

“I wish never to know such a feeling again,” Dream says into his shoulder.

“Dream—”

They’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Hob opens it, feeling antsy about having strangers around Dream. The girl is shy, however, keeping her eyes downcast as she deposits her burden of hot water, bandages, and a jar of salve.

“Thank you,” Hob says, and she jumps at being addressed, nodding quickly.

“I’ll be up with the clothes soon, m’lords,” she says, and takes her leave before Hob can say anything more. Hob sighs, and turns to find that Dream has already uncorked the salve, and is sniffing at it.

“Does it meet with your approval?” he teases. Dream gives him a withering look, and Hob grins. Dream wasn’t the only one who’d feared that they would never see each other again, and the relief is hitting him in waves.

When he removes his bandages, Dream makes a small sound, leaning forward, hovering his fingers over the gash.

“I’ll heal,” Hob assures him. “I’d have taken worse, to know you’re safe.”

Dream’s hands clench in his lap. “You should not have had to.”

“Dream.” Hob cups Dream’s cheek tenderly. “I knew what I was getting into when I swore my life to your service. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t say that!” Dream says, grabbing his hand between both of his. “You’ve done so much, all for me, and I—”

“Shh.” Hob rests his forehead against Dream’s, ignoring the twinge of pain. “No regrets. I’d have done it even if you hadn’t asked.” It was all worth it, just to be near him.

Dream sighs. “I do not deserve you, Hob Gadling.”

Yes, you do! Hob wants to say. You more than anyone! But he thinks better of it. He won’t be another in the long line of people who have convinced Dream that he needs to earn his place.

“I get to decide that, love,” he says instead. “And it’s a decision I made on the very first day I met you.”

Dream looks away, dipping a cloth in the steaming water in lieu of answering. Hob hisses as he begins to tenderly wash his wound.

“You needn’t—” Hob begins, before breaking off at the fierce glare Dream fixes him with.

“I do.” His tone brooks no argument. Hob subsides. It feels wrong, so wrong, to have Dream taking care of him, but he can’t help but melt into it.

In the end, the spelled thread is merely pulled, not torn, and doesn't need to be resewn, certainly not by anyone with their amount of medical knowledge. Hob’s bandages are deftly rewound by Dream, who presses a kiss to the wound afterwards, as Hob holds back tears.

The innkeeper’s girl returns, bringing a bundle of clothes and a pot of stew. Hob doesn’t want to question where they got the clothes on such short notice, but the girl provides the information herself.

“They were my brother’s,” she says quietly, glancing at Dream out of the corner of her eye. “He died at the front.”

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, finding that he means it. Burgess’ people bear no blame for his wars. She nods, and departs, a certain understanding reached, though that doesn’t mean Hob is in a hurry to reveal their identity. He can only pray that they are far enough away not to implicate these people, should they be discovered. Dream puts the dead man’s clothes on wordlessly. They’re an almost perfect fit.

It’s later, after they’ve eaten and rested, that Hob wakes from a couple of hours’ sleep to find Dream no longer next to him in bed, but standing next to the tiny glazed window, hugging his arms to himself. Hob immediately sits up; Dream turns his head but doesn’t look at him.

“Hob.” Dream’s voice is velvet in the moonlit room. “I need you.” He swallows. The light is so bright Hob can trace the line of his throat. “I need you to make it so I’m not the oracle any more.”

The words hit Hob like a thunderclap, despite their quiet volume. Logically, he knows that this is an important step in their plan, and the sooner the better, so that Dream’s powers can no longer be used against them. In his illogical chest, his heart is pounding loud enough Dream can probably hear it from across the room.

He had long since resigned himself to the knowledge that he would never properly make love to Dream. The vague idea of falling from grace, of failing to stop in time, removing that barrier to being fully together, had been the stuff of his darkest fantasies. He’d known it would never happen. Dream had asked him to be his knight, and so that’s what Hob would be, until he died of it.

Now, Dream was asking something else. And rather than jumping at the chance, Hob needed a minute to catch up, to coax his deepest desires from the darkness and assure them it was safe to come out.

“I do not wish to injure you further,” Dream says, still not looking at him. “But I fear, if I do not do this now…” 

Then I never will, Hob finishes for him. He understands completely. “C’mere, dove,” he says, holding out his arms. Dream inches closer, until he melts into his arms with a sigh, bone-cracking tension leeching from his body. Hob holds him close. He can’t imagine what’s going through Dream’s head in this moment, as he contemplates giving up the thing that has defined his entire life.

“Dream,” Hob murmurs into his shock of hair. “Of course I will. If it’s what you really want.” There can be no going back, not after this. While that might be the point, that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I—” Dream’s voice is muffled by his shoulder. “I do not know if this is what you would have chosen. If I—”

“Listen to me.” Hob holds Dream’s face in his hands, pulls back until Dream meets his eyes. “You never forced anything on me. I chose to follow, chose with both eyes wide open, and do you know why?”

Dream shakes his head the tiniest amount, constrained by Hob’s grip, his eyes wide and so, so blue.

“Because how could I let anyone else touch you? Bring you pleasure? Of course I chose you. Who else could it be, but you?”

There’s a taste of salt against his lips, and it’s a long moment before he realises Dream is crying as he kisses him. Despite living as close as two people could be, they have never kissed like this before. Such romantic gestures were for normal people, with normal lives, serving only to remind them of what they couldn’t have.

No longer. The kiss is messy, wet, and perfect, neither of them quite sure what they’re doing but unwilling to stop. The play of Dream’s plush lips against his own is something Hob had never even thought to imagine, and he is instantly addicted.

“Oh, love,” he whispers against Dream’s skin, against the tiny noises and puffs of air Dream makes as he seeks his lips again. “I’m going to make you feel so good. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Please.” Dream nods frantically, and Hob’s blood is roaring in his veins at the thought of finally giving into that plea.

He lays Dream gently down on the bed, one of their straw pillows for his head and one for his hips. Dream deserves mountains of pillows, silks and goosedown, every possible luxury. But this is what they have, so Hob will make do. 

The tension in Dream’s frame is back; Hob bends to kiss him, tracing his lips with his tongue (inspired by the thought of a very similar act) until Dream opens for him, gasping and arching. Hob soothes him with soft touches, stroking his hair and sides.

“Hob,” Dream breathes, hips already canting. It’s much more familiar territory, but Hob still takes a moment, pressing his forehead to Dream’s.

“We have all the time in the world,” he says. He will make it true. “There’s no need to rush. I refuse to do anything that will hurt you.” He runs his hands down Dream’s arms, waiting for his nod of permission before pulling off his shirt, then caressing the skin that is revealed. The spread of both of his hands nearly encompasses the width of Dream’s torso.

“Look at me,” he says, and Dream does, the trust in his eyes flaying Hob’s chest open. “I promise you, I won’t stop.” Dream’s breath catches. “Not unless you ask me to. Not until it’s over.” No more ruined orgasms. Dream nods, wordless. Hob cups his cheek. “That means, if I do anything that doesn’t bring you utmost pleasure,” here his voice turns stern, “I need you to tell me.” He knows Dream would stubbornly and stoically bear anything it took, now that his mind is made up. He’s been doing it all his life. That doesn’t mean that this experience shouldn’t be as close to perfect as Hob can make it. “I could never live with myself if I hurt you.” His voice breaks, and Dream grips his arm. “Promise me.”

Dream nods, solemn. “I promise, Hob.” 

In spite of everything, Hob smiles. “Okay, then.” He kisses Dream again, because he can, and because he thinks if he stops kissing Dream for more than a few minutes he might die. Dream melts into it, hands lighting tentatively on Hob’s skin in turn, his shoulders and back, and this, too, is new, and strange, and wonderful. There’s no one to see, here. No one to wonder if their hands are hiding something. No need to keep Dream exposed. Dream touches him, and Hob feels like he could fly.

He thumbs at Dream’s nipples, pink and perfect, swallowing the keening noise he elicits. He replaces his thumbs with his mouth, licking and sucking, as Dream takes in a shuddering gasp above him. His lovely Dream, still so sensitive, even after all this time.

“You're so beautiful,” he says brokenly, looking down at Dream moonwashed in their bed.

Dream bites his lip, somehow managing to look both coquettish and nervous. “They call my prophecy a gift from the gods,” he says. “But I think their true gift was bringing us together.”

Hob can’t help but agree.

“I know I have… asked the impossible of you,” Dream says, not quite meeting his eyes. “And now I must ask yet more, for once again I cannot embark on the path I have chosen without you.”

“Not impossible,” Hob murmurs, kissing Dream again and replacing the teeth at his lip with his own. “We made it, Dream. We’re here together. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Dream takes a deep breath, and smiles. Hob’s heart flips over in his chest. When was the last time he saw Dream smile? 

“Very well, Hob Gadling,” he says, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Then prove it. Make me yours, and not the oracle. Make me… Make me come on your cock.”

He hesitates slightly over the unaccustomed filth, and Hob credits years of self-denial with the fact that he didn’t come on the spot, hearing those words in Dream’s voice.

“As you wish, my love,” he manages, strangled. To that end, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Dream’s chest, tasting at his sternum, his navel.

“Hob,” Dream begins uncertainly, but Hob soothes him, running his thumbs over his hips, then lower, dragging a finger through his folds. Dream shivers.

“Already so wet,” Hob says in wonder. What a miracle, to have this gorgeous creature willing and wanting for him. “You’ll get what you want.” He kisses Dream’s upper thighs. “I’m going to get you ready first.” There had been no rule requiring Hob to keep chaste, but as the thought of lying with anyone other than Dream had been abhorrent, he has no particular experience with what Dream needs. However, given that Dream has never taken so much as a finger before, he can infer.

And there had been talk. There was always talk, whether the speakers had known Hob was in earshot or not. Defiling the oracle was the height of taboo and therefore a pervasive fantasy.

Well, Dream was his. And he would do everything in his power to care for him.

Dream nods, his eyes enormous, and that’s the last he sees of Dream’s face for some time as he licks between his legs.

Hob brings all of his well-earned skill to bear, everything that makes Dream sing out sweet sounds above him, and it’s so much like every other time, only everything is different. When Hob judges the time is right, he slowly, carefully, slips the tip of his tongue into Dream.

“Ah!” Dream’s exclamations increase in intensity, and he thinks they both need a moment. He raises his head, licking his lips of Dream’s sweet ambrosia. Dream is gripping Hob’s wrists for dear life and looks up hungrily, his pupils dilated.

“All right, love?” Hob makes himself ask. Dream is nodding before he finishes.

“More,” he demands, and who is Hob to deny him? He bends down, daring to press his tongue a little further. Their surroundings make it easy to remember that now his goal is to bring about what had once been forbidden. He exists in a sort of in-between place of what has always been his job — bringing Dream pleasure — and the constant anticipation as he crosses line after line in preparation to break, at last, his former vow.

Dream’s body responds to him just as it always has, and Hob can only pray that he can provide enough stimulus to get him completely out of his head. He wants Dream to have no regrets, only joy.

Finally, when he has worked his tongue as far into Dream as it will go, and his jaw is starting to ache, he regretfully withdraws, Dream’s fluids coating his chin. Dream is panting, staring at the ceiling, though he looks hoodedly at Hob as he registers the pause. He’s nowhere near climax, but the lines of his body are softer, and it heartens Hob to see. He kisses Dream deeply, and it isn’t until Dream’s shuddering moan that he realises Dream would never have had occasion to taste himself before.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Hob’s voice is rough, tuned low with lust. “Gods, you taste divine. Always have.”

“Hob,” Dream whispers. So far, despite it all, it’s nothing they couldn’t take back, if they had to. Hob intends to take them over that line, as promised, but he’s bringing Dream with him every step of the way.

“Still doing all right?” He feels compelled to check in, though Dream is showing no signs of distress. He strokes a hand through Dream’s wild hair. Dream leans into it, like gentling a spooked horse.

“I am… well,” Dream answers. Hob would have hoped to be doing better than that, but he accepts it for now. 

“I have never told you,” and there is a spark of mischief in Dream’s eyes, “how much I enjoy your tongue.”

Hob, for his part, is struck speechless. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? It was a job. But now he just wants to lay himself out in worship again.

He swallows hard and sticks to his plan. “I’m going to start with fingers now, okay love?”

Dream takes in a shaky breath and nods. Hob kisses him again in reassurance, waiting, he realises belatedly, for Dream to tell him to stop, to take it back. But he doesn’t, and Hob has promised. So he continues, bestowing another lick and earning another shiver, before he slowly, gently, slides a finger into Dream.

The way is easy and slick, but Dream still gasps at the intrusion, screwing his eyes shut and almost, almost pulls away, before he masters himself and relaxes. Hob doesn’t move his hand a single inch, he just waits, stroking Dream’s hair.

“Shh, darling, that’s it, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Just relax. No rush, nothing you need to do. Take your time.”

Several deep breaths later, Dream opens his eyes. There are tears clinging to his lashes, devastatingly gorgeous. His hands occupied, Hob kisses them away.

“Hob, I…” Dream says at length, and though Hob waits, it seems Dream has no more words to say. He presses their foreheads together and they share breaths.

“I know,” Hob says. “It’s a lot. Do you want me to stop?”

The shake of Dream’s head is small, but immediate. “Do not,” he says for good measure, and Hob feels better. “I am just…” 

Again, he fails to finish the sentence, but Hob understands. 

“I have you,” he says. “And you’ll always have me, Dream. No matter what.”

“Hob.” Dream pulls him down into a kiss. At the same time, he twists his hips, taking Hob’s finger even deeper. Hob gives a startled moan.

“Please, Hob,” Dream prompts. Hob nods.

“Okay, love,” he says. “We’ll take it slow.”

Too concerned with Dream’s comfort, he hasn’t really taken the time to process that his finger is now inside Dream, but he does now, exploring with slow circles while Dream takes shaky, hitching breaths.

“You’re amazing,” Hob says, overwhelmed. “So soft and warm and perfect. How lucky am I that I get to be here, doing this?”

“Hob,” Dream whimpers, arching his back.

“That’s it, love.” Unable to resist the temptation of those pert pink buds, he has to get his mouth on them again, and Dream collapses to the bed, whining. Hob uses the distraction to inch a second finger into Dream.

It’s a tighter fit, and Dream’s breath hisses. Hob pulls back, rubbing tiny circles on Dream’s clit with his thumb. His fingers stay where they are.

“You’re doing great,” he says, as Dream writhes and pants. “You’re so tight, but that’s okay, love. We’ll get you nice and loose and open so you can take my cock.” Dream lets out a moan. “You want that, right?” Dream nods desperately. “Okay. We’ll get you there.”

“Hob,” Dream gasps out. “Hob, I’m afraid.”

Hob stills, but doesn’t stop, running his free hand up and down Dream’s side soothingly. “What are you afraid of, my heart?”

“I—” Dream’s cheeks, already flushed, blush a deeper red. “I’m afraid you’ll stop,” he admits, and Hob opens his mouth, but Dream rushes on. “I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.” His voice is smaller as he says it.

Hob can’t help but kiss him, and is reassured by the way Dream melts into it. “First,” he says, kissing the tip of Dream’s nose, “I promised you I wouldn’t stop, and I keep my promises. Don’t I?” Dream nods again. “That’s right. The only one who can stop me is you, my love.” To prove it, he swivels his fingers inside Dream, who arches again.

“And two,” here he kisses both of Dream’s rosy cheeks, “if you want to come, then come. That’s rather the point of this. You’ll still get my cock, if that’s what you want.” Hob’s wounds had never felt further away from him. “And if you don’t, that’s fine too.” He scissors his fingers a little, and Dream’s legs fall open. “There are no rules, here. Nothing you have to do, except enjoy it, and tell me when you don’t. Yeah?”

He rather thinks Dream won’t come early, given how long he’s spent denied, but doesn’t feel the need to say anything. Far better for Dream to understand that he’s free of any roles or obligations, for what might be the first time in his life.

It’s certainly no hardship to worship Dream’s body, the way he’s always wanted to. It feels like a blessing, like they’ve created a little piece of paradise in this bed, just the two of them. Hob is hard, of course, in his braies, desperately so, but it feels irrelevant, in the moment, to working Dream open enough to take three fingers, which he does with utmost patience, as Dream shudders beneath him on a great inhale.

“Hob,” Dream sighs, eyelids fluttering, sweat standing out on his brow. Hob thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. “No more.” Before Hob can pull back, ask for clarification, Dream fixes him with those stunning blue eyes. “Your cock. Please.”

Hob makes a strangled noise. His absolute imperative not to hurt Dream wars with how on Earth he’s supposed to say no to that. 

“Okay, love,” he says, taking a deep breath, slipping his fingers out of Dream, who shivers at the loss. “Okay.” He casts about for the salve, figuring that something meant to heal certainly couldn’t hurt. It’s warm as he spreads it on his fingers, and he imagines it will feel good for Dream.

He slicks up his cock with shaking hands, head ringing like he’s taken a blow to the back of it at the thought of actually putting it inside Dream. Even the lightest touch makes him have to take several more breaths so he doesn’t ruin all his careful preparation. Dream is watching him, apprehension deep in his eyes. 

“Hey, Dream, can you breathe for me?” he asks gently, leaning down to pet Dream’s hair with the hand not currently coated in salve. “It’s going to be okay. If you don’t like it, I can make you come without it, or we can stop here for now, if you want. I won’t let anyone make you the oracle again, no matter what. You know that, right?” 

Dream, still flushed and glorious, takes a few unsteady breaths. “I do want it,” he says. “I just—” He huffs in frustration.

“Yeah. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Dream shoots him a look like he thinks Hob’s patronising him. Hob grins. “Feel my hand shaking?” He holds it out for Dream’s inspection. Dream subsides, looking awed. “We’re in this together, my love,” he reminds Dream. “Whatever you want, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Before he finishes speaking, Dream leaps, pulling him in for a hungry, biting kiss.

“I love you, Hob Gadling,” he says fiercely, and Hob reels anew. They’ve never said the words, never needed to, Hob thought, until hearing them from Dream now. “I want to be yours. Will you fuck me?”

“Oh, my darling,” Hob says, hardly aware of what he’s saying. “I’m going to make love to you.”

Hob can’t resist kissing him once more before reaching for more salve, slicking himself again before tracing his fingers delicately through Dream’s folds. 

Dream keens. “Hob,” is all he says, but in that word is a world of urgency.

“I’ve got you,” Hob whispers, his voice fled under the weight. “Ready now.”

He actually has to try a couple of times, because of how much his hands are shaking, and the amount of fluids between them, but it is a temporary awkwardness. Slowly, carefully, Hob pushes his way into Dream.

They both gasp, at the first breach of muscle. Dream freezes, his entire body tensing, and Hob caresses his hips as best he can while not moving from his spot.

“There we are, darling, it’s okay, see? Just breathe, and tell me when you’re ready. Breathe,” he prompts, and Dream’s chest kicks like a resurrection. “That’s it, love, that’s it, is this okay? Am I hurting you?”

Dream shakes his head, almost dislodging Hob from his position.

Relief suffuses Hob’s body. He’d done his job well enough, at least. 

“It is… odd,” Dream muses. “Pressure.” He looks down, and then up again. “You are inside me, Hob.” In his voice is a kind of revelatory wonder, as though he has just now realized that this had always been the goal.

The grin splits Hob’s face wide, wide, and his absolute adoration for the creature beneath him only just surpasses his animal instinct to bury himself in warm, welcoming softness. “Yeah, I sure am,” he replies, though it hadn’t really been a question. “How do you feel about it?”

“I feel…” he shifts, experimentally, and their breath catches as the movement slips Hob further inside. “Oh… I feel so much.”

Hob can’t seem to stop shaking, barely holding back ecstatic tears. He has been inside Dream for all of a moment and his lifetime of carefully cultivated control is flying out the window. “Yeah?” he says, thickly. “Move? Tell me when.” He absolutely does not want to rush Dream but his reasons why are dwindling the longer he hovers on a knife’s edge between not pushing deeper and shaking so hard he’s afraid he’ll slip out and won’t be able to get himself back in.

Soft compassion sparks in Dream’s eyes, and he reaches out for Hob’s face. Hob obligingly contorts his spine to facilitate the connection. Nothing else matters as long as Dream is touching him.

“You can move, Hob,” he says, and Hob lets out a sob at being granted permission.

“Slowly,” Hob nods, as much for himself as for Dream. “Gonna go slow, gonna be so good to you, gonna worship you…” His muscles spasm with the effort of holding back as he presses cautiously forward. Dream gasps and arches, drawing him deeper, and then squeezes his eyes shut, his expression not wholly one of pleasure. Hob freezes immediately, cold washing over him.

“Love?” he questions, trying to wring words out of a brain which is rapidly dribbling out his ears.

“Doesn’t… hurt,” Dream manages, not sounding sure enough about it for Hob’s comfort. “It is… a stretch.” He looks down. “Will it really… all fit inside me?” 

Hob has never worried overmuch about the size of his cock but he wishes he were smaller now.

“I think so,” Hob says, as gently as he can. “And if not, that’s okay too, yeah?” The fever of arousal in his blood is as nothing to his horror at the thought of making it fit, like Dream’s body and pleasure didn’t matter. He may be making it up as he goes along, but it’s still Dream, and he’s here, allowed to be inside him, allowed to make him come. He thinks they’ll be able to figure it out.

Dream is so tight around him it’s nearly painful, in a way he can’t separate from how good it feels. Moving as little as possible, he presses his thumb to Dream’s clit, rubbing soothing circles. Dream sighs out a moan, relaxing slightly, and Hob glows with pride.

Inch by inch, with lots of caresses and kisses and gentle stimulation, Hob makes space for himself inside Dream. Dream pants, and keens, and bites his lip, and is generally the most devastatingly sexy he’s ever been, because he’s doing it for himself. Because he wants. Hob feels carved out, too, like his heart has expanded to fill his whole body, leaving no extra space.

He’s lapping at Dream’s nipples, where he’d been indulging himself ever since he’d been able to reach them, while Dream grips his hair and holds him there, luxuriating in his pleasure, when Hob suddenly finds he has nowhere left to go. He looks up, stunned, his cock wrapped in the vise grip of Dream’s body.

“That’s it,” he says, breathless. “You did it, love. It’s all in.”

Dream gasps, and clutches Hob closer. “Really?”

“Really.” Hob pushes the sweaty fringe back from Dream’s face, suffused with tenderness. “Doing so well, love. So proud of you.”

“You… always say that.” Dream sounds wrecked, blissed-out and hazy; Hob takes a moment to pat himself on the back.

“Always think it,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s collarbones. “Can’t stop myself saying things.” This is evidenced, Hob thinks, by the fact that he is still capable of forming words, even while losing his entire mind from arousal, buried inside Dream.

“Will you, still?” Dream asks, his voice smaller. “When I’m not…?”

Hob is in no way eloquent enough to answer the way he ought; he nods, emphatically, against Dream’s chest. “Always. Every day. Best person in the world,” he says thickly. “Can’t wait.”

“Oh.” Dream takes a moment to consider this. Then, “Hob, I think I would like to come now,” he says, in a slightly strained tone.

Hob huffs a laugh. “I’ll do my best, sweeting.”

He makes tiny motions with his hips, but it’s difficult, actually, with Dream so tight. This time, though, Dream is enthusiastic in his reciprocation, pushing back against him with punched out noises, and before Hob knows it — he may have blacked out a little — he’s sliding in and out of Dream. Not fully, but enough that the bed is creaking a little as a counterpoint to their pants and moans.

“Hob,” Dream whines, head thrashing on the pillow. “Hob, please.”

“Oh, love,” Hob says, his blood on fire, “What d’you need?”

“Please,” Dream begs again, and it’s clear that both of them are beyond words. Hob, who by this point has managed to regain a single clue, goes for Dream’s clit again, giving himself over to well-practiced motions while trying to maintain a rhythm. Dream’s mouth falls open, and he lets out a low, continuous wail that Hob can hardly hear over the rushing of his heart.

“Oh, ohh— oh… no!” The discordant note of Dream’s despair snaps Hob out of his frenzy as Dream’s eyes roll back in his head, his mouth moving, making words not his own. “Wind from the east—”

Hob swoops in to kiss him before he realizes what he’s done, capturing his lips with his own, silencing the meaningless syllables. Dream’s eyes are wide and blank, and Hob keeps kissing him, willing him to come back, until Dream sobs against his mouth. Hob can taste the salt of tears. Everything stops.

“Oh, lovey.” Hob strokes Dream’s hair, holding him through the tears. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m here. Take your time.”

“It was right there!” Dream exclaims, thumping a fist against the sheets. “I was so close, and then I wasn’t, and then…” He looks up apprehensively. “What did I say?”

“It’s not important,” Hob says, as Dream just stares at him. “I mean it, love. You’re not the oracle any more, it doesn’t matter. I care so much less about any potential prophecy than I care about you.”

Dream’s mouth is an ‘o’ of astonishment. He blinks, several times, as his breath slowly returns to normal. It isn’t until then that Hob notices that he’s still inside Dream, his arousal, once so overbearing, suddenly insignificant.

“D’you want to stop?” he asks, as gently as he can. Dream jolts, likely under the same realization as Hob. 

“I…” He visibly considers, chewing his lip. His eyes flick up to Hob. “But you—”

“Fuck that.” Hob has to nip this in the bud. “Don’t you dare worry about me. I’ve been perfectly fine with my hand up to now, and I will be again, because nothing on earth will make me want to keep going if you don’t.”

There is a longer pause. Finally, Dream meets his eyes. “I want,” he says. “To continue. To try again. But—” He spreads his hands, helplessly. 

“I told you,” Hob says, returning his hands to Dream’s hair. “We have all the time in the world. I don’t care how long it takes. We’ll try again, and if it doesn’t happen tonight, it doesn’t happen. Not the end of the world, dove. We’ll just try again tomorrow.”

Dream gives him a tremulous smile. Hob begins, with equal parts regret and relief, to ease out. Dream makes a little forlorn noise. 

“Just for a minute, darling,” Hob reassures him, kissing his cheek. “I’m coming back, I promise.” He hisses as the cooler air of the room hits his (still quite hard) cock, and Dream shivers, left empty.

Hob pours a cup of water from the jug and makes Dream drink it, and then heaves himself to his feet, groaning as the pain of his injuries return with a vengeance, to see to the fire. Once it’s crackling merrily, he returns to the bed, walking carefully, though it’s all worth it to see the assessing look Dream gives the erection jutting proudly from between Hob’s legs. He licks his lips and Hob thinks he might actually go mad before the night is over. Worth it, if so.

“Was that really inside me?” Dream asks, only looking away when Hob eases himself back onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Hob nods, trying to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. “Should be a bit easier this time, if you still want.”

Dream nods before he is finished speaking. “I want,” he says.

Hob feels a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the fire, basking in Dream’s undisguised lust for him as he sips his own water. He’d known, of course, that Dream found him attractive, but it had been a background thing. Irrelevant. Why torture themselves by expressing it? 

There had been a lot like that, Hob is now realizing. Incredible, what you can get used to.

But here, now, they’re free to act and react however they wish, and Hob doesn’t intend to keep Dream waiting any longer. Dream’s eyes are still red-rimmed as Hob gently pushes him back against the pillows.

“Let me know if you’re sore,” he says. Dream gives him a once-over lingering on his injured side, then arches an eyebrow, his meaning obvious. Hob splutters.

“Shut up,” he says. “That’s different.” He kisses Dream before he can voice a protest.

Dream whines as he pulls away, testing Dream's folds gently. “Hob. I don’t know if I can…”

“Shh, love,” Hob says, understanding immediately. “I don’t need to work you up any more. Just promise me you’ll try to relax.” He grabs the salve again — now much depleted — and then it’s time. 

He pushes his way into Dream with far less resistance than last time, Dream yielding with an arch and a gasp. 

This, Hob thinks, this is worth all of the anguish, as he inches in until he’s fully seated, moaning in harmony with Dream. To be here, now, Dream laid out loose and languid beneath him, nothing expected of him but pleasure.

“That’s it, love,” he coos. “You’re perfect. So fucking beautiful and mine.” His to protect, his to love and cherish. Dream makes a noise he’s never heard before, clutching at his hips. 

“Hob, please. Move.” So Hob does. “Ah, ah—”

The sounds of Dream’s pleasure are like wine, and Hob wants to drink them from his mouth.

“Yeah? This good for you, sweetheart?” Dream’s chorus of encouragement makes the question slightly irrelevant. Hob keeps at it; slow, rolling thrusts, and a quiet stream of praise. “I have you. Nothing you have to do. Just give into it. Relax, and feel good. There’s no one here. No one but us.” He breaks off with a whimper. “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Hob. Haah—”

“So fucking good, fuck, Dream, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Dream gasps, drawing him closer like a particularly determined octopus, and Hob goes willingly. The slick velvet catch and slide of Dream’s body is incomparable to anything he’s ever felt. If he weren’t hard enough to pound nails, he’d stay here forever if he could, to always feel as connected to Dream as he feels in this moment.

He grits his teeth, trying hard to grip the razor’s edge of his composure as Dream meets him thrust for thrust, his hair a riotous shadow against the roughspun sheets.

“Ho-ob!” Dream wails, his belly twitching, and Hob, conditioned to a lifetime of quick responses to this exact moment, does the first thing he can think of, which is to press his hand flat against Dream’s belly to feel it for himself.

Dream jerks like he’s been struck by lightning, every muscle in his body seizing, eyes shooting wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The insistent fluttering of his walls around him turns out to be too much for Hob’s tenuous control and he spills over inside Dream, panting like a racehorse and feeling like he’s been run over by one.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Dream…” There’s so much of it, on and on, and through it all Dream’s hips make little involuntary motions, taking Hob for all he’s worth until he’s convinced he’ll die of it — but what a way to go. His head hangs down between his shoulders as he shudders through it, holding Dream as close as he can while Dream makes tiny cries in time with the twitch of his hips.

Finally, Hob can take no more of it and gently, gently pulls out, a process complicated by Dream’s body clinging to him for dear life. When Hob does manage to slip free, accompanied by a messy rush between their bodies, Dream keens as though bereft and tries to curl in on himself. Hob barely has the presence of mind to keep from collapsing directly on top of him, drawing him into the lee of his arms with clumsy motions.

“Shh, love,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s all right. You’re fine, I’m here. I’m here. I love you.”

He holds Dream close while they both shake with the force of their heaving breaths, running soothing hands over every inch he can reach.

There are silent tears on Dream’s cheeks. His heart seizes, and he fights through the languor to be able to form words.

“Gods, please tell me I didn’t hurt you…”

Dream squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, tears scattering like diamonds. Hob crosses the impossible distance to cup Dream’s face in his hand.

“Words, darling, please,” he begs. 

Dream reaches for his hand, grasping it after several tries and twining their fingers together.

“I am well, Hob,” he says, voice serene. The tears are still streaming down his face. “I am no longer the oracle. I am… free.” He says it with such wonder that Hob is nearly moved to tears himself. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, you are.” They both are. Hob is free to love Dream as fiercely as he’s always wanted to, and he will never take it for granted.

“During that last moment,” Dream continues, “just before I lost my powers. I saw…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hob says firmly. “I told you. You’re not the oracle any more. Let it be forgotten.”

“Not this,” Dream insists. “I saw us, Hob.” His voice is hushed. “Sitting outside a house — our house. Together.”

Hob loses his breath as he imagines it. It’s everything he’d ever wanted for Dream, for himself. Everything he’d thought they could never have.

“The sun was setting over seaside cliffs. There was a garden.” Tears are still flowing unchecked down Dream’s cheeks, but Dream sounds as content as Hob has ever heard him. “And in my arms…” He takes Hob’s hand and draws it to rest over his abdomen. 

Hob might never breathe again.

“A baby, with… with my hair,” Dream forces out through renewed tears, “and your eyes.”

Hob can’t think of a single thing to say. He scoops Dream up, rolling them until Dream is nestled on his chest. Dream squeaks at the unaccustomed position.

“Really?” It’s official; his happiness could not be more complete. “Dream, you absolute marvel. You’re perfect, I adore you—” He plants kisses on every inch of Dream he can reach. “Wait.” He pauses as the thought occurs to him. “Are you… saying we made a baby? Just now?”

Dream in his arms is loose and relaxed, flushed and happy, and Hob would give everything to ensure he looks like this always. 

“I do not know,” Dream answers. “We shall have to wait and see. Or—” A smirk Hob would not have thought him capable of crosses his face. “We could keep trying, until we know for sure.”

Hob finds himself laughing harder than he can remember in a long time. “We might just have to,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Wouldn’t do to have your final prophecy not come true, eh?”

Dream just smiles, and nuzzles into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, Dream,” Hob replies, already a reflex. He can’t wait to say it every chance he gets. 

Well and truly tapped out on adrenaline now, Hob can barely keep his eyes open long enough to make an attempt at cleaning them up, before cradling the most precious thing in the world to his chest. He sleeps.

[camp-mithril-lake]

“Megatron, on board the Lost Light? On board me? Megatron?” sputtered Rodimus. He rebooted his holoform’s audial sensors a few times, just to ensure he was hearing Ratchet correctly.

“It was either you or Metroplex,” said Ratchet. He was still staring at the new “Rodpod” in the hangar, aghast.

“What, did Metroplex say no already?”

Ratchet sighed. “We can lock him up if he steps out of line. But Prime wants to give him a bit of rope, and some responsibility, to see if he’s really on the level.”

“He wants Megatron running loose in me? Not even in my brig?”

“Well, we’re not going to tell him about your ‘condition.’ Like most of the crew, he’ll just think you’re a neutral that avoided the whole war and didn’t want to return to Cybertron.”

“Ah yes. Megatron: famous for getting along with neutrals,” He pointed at Ratchet, “I’ve heard stories from Drift, you know.”

“And if anything, Drift probably toned down those stories. Still, as a precaution, we’re dosing him with Fool’s Energon.”

Rodimus fumed, crossing his arms.

Ratchet sighed, “Look, nobody’s going to make you bring along anyone you don’t want along. Especially after the debacle with Prowl.”

Rodimus winced, “About that. Could I get some advice?”

“Oh, Primus, you don’t have someone else locked up, do you? Who is it, Killmaster?

“No! Nothing like that, it’s just- here, take this.” Rodimus materialized a datapad and handed it to Ratchet.

Ratchet looked at it and frowned, “Is this from the ‘anonymous’ vote you took to see who wanted you removed as captain? I see there’s a list of names attached.”

“Well,” Rodimus scratched the back of his head. “I was thinking of using it to see who to kick off the mission, but…”

“But you realized that would be petty, especially since most of the crew doesn’t even know that would be possible.”

“Pretty much.”

“If I were Ultra Magnus, I’d be reminding you that Cybertronian laws still apply to you, even though you’re not an Autobot.”

“And trying to coerce me into another lecture.”

“Coerce,” Ratchet scoffed. “He’s been nothing but soft with you.”

Rodimus made a face.

“I’m serious. Ask one of the wreckers if you don’t believe me. Besides, this list is wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m not on it.”

“You voted against-” Rodimus sputtered, “But you know that’s impossible!”

“You can’t leave the ship,” Ratchet shook his head. “But, you need to listen to Ultra Magnus’ advice more. He’s not going to make you do anything, but if he tells you to do something, you should still do it. Ancient titan or not, you’ve only got the memories- and personality- of a new spark. I know you’re excited about going wherever you’d like, but you can learn a lot from following someone else for once.”

“Fine. I’ll try and listen more. And if Ultra Magnus wants me to help Autobots, then I guess I can bring along Megatron. I’m still captain, though.” Rodimus leaned against the railing. He froze. “Wait, what did you mean by Optimus giving Megatron more responsibility?”

“Well,” said Ratchet. “I suppose nobody would ever accuse Megatron of being soft-”

***

(For context, I'm thinking Ultra Magnus was sent along as a mentor a la TFA or to see if he'd be a suitable cityspeaker. However, he feels too awkward to order around someone who hasn't been able to make their own choices for millions of years and isn't an "official" autobot, either.)

Oh, I love ALL of this. Ultra Magnus as a potential cityspeaker and being soft on Rodimus is lovely. Especially given the fact Rodimus isn't an Autobot plus Magnus isn't exactly being open about his identity as well. All on top of the fact Rodimus has only had free will for maybe a thousand years so he's sensitive about any authority he didn't specifically select.

Ratchet and Rodimus's relationship is fun!

The use of the holoform is perfect and the fact it is a secret from the crew is 100/100. You perfectly captured the vibes I have for this AU.

[fxllingout]

rise and warriors best worlds mvs no contest

[panharmonium]

i am not usually interested in dramatically canon-divergent scenarios because the canon story is what compels me, but i've been obsessed with this moment ever since i re-heard it during my second viewing. from the perspective of someone who already finished the story once and now knows the truth - this was wild.

WHAT IF?

[fictionadventurer]

Potential January Reads

A Brilliant Night of Ice and Stars by Rebecca Connolly

Rhododendron Pie by Margery Sharp

So Big by Edna Ferber

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Vibrant Paradoxes by Bishop Robert Barron

The Diary of a Country Priest by George Bernanos

Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope

Katherine Wentworth by D.E. Stevenson

[headfullof-ideas]

Rivalries (at least ones that aren’t in the pre-existing lore, Ala Viggo and riders, Alpheus and Ant, so on and so forth…)

I genuinely don’t really see Snotlout and Alpheus getting along. Their personalities clash too much, and Snotlout just gets beef with anyone new in this story, due to trying to protect the other riders. Alpheus being a little pompous and cocky and ‘so this is the brainless muscle-head?’ Upon first meeting didn’t really help either. Lots of petty pranks and fights between these two, with poor Ant playing mediator, albeit reluctantly due to not knowing Alpheus too well himself, he just knows Snotlout. Honestly I’m not sure about Alpheus and Dagur either, i don’t know if Alpheus would play nice with someone named Deranged, though I do see Dagur enjoying messing with him, but that’s neither here nor there-

Kaiko and Viggo have had beef for longer than Fontaine has been alive, so Viggo starts sweating when he realizes that Ant is Kaikos kid. She also scares him a little bit…or a lot a bit. Assassination attempts have been had, on both sides. As well as petty smack downs with whatever they can get their hands on. Like the drawing above, where little-sibling-extraordinaire Viggo (not to be confused to these two being siblings, just that their fights can resemble sibling fights sometimes) is utterly losing.

Camicazi and Mad Madeline are a case of thief meets thief, but Madeline is better at it than Camicazi, with the additional bonus of being a sea-faring pirate, and also being nearly five to six years younger than Camicazi. And Camicazi HATES someone being better at something than she is, especially something she insists on being so good at. So naturally they clash. Maddie spends most of it just messing with Camicazi, much to the older girls infuriation.

I would like to clarify that Astrid and Fontaine’s rivalry has nothing to do with race, though Astrid has never really interacted with a person of color due to the overall whiteness of the Archipelago, Ant being the only person with darker skin she’s ever met till she leaves the Archipelago. No, it’s because they’re both stubborn, Astrid hates being called out on her not-so-great actions, and being held responsible for those actions, and Fontaine loves pointing this out and poking the metaphorical sleeping bear that is an easy-to-piss-off Astrid Hofferson. There may be a bit of petty grudge-holding due to what Fontaine has heard about stuff that happened between Astrid and Ant too, which also pisses Astrid off. Fontaine has the same flaw of being incapable of acknowledging her own mistakes though, so Astrid makes plenty of jabs in her direction too with the same effectiveness.

Heather is obsessed with Kari’s dragon Ardyn, and Kari is mad about the time she straight up tried to run off with Ardyn. This is probably the pettiest of rivalries here, next to Camicazi and Madeline anyways. Heather pretty much just pulled an Alpheus and started having beef with a thirteen year old for no real reason beyond spite and petty rage. Granted, little Kari is a menace who is not above biting, and has bitten Heather, so there’s some of a reasonable grudge there. (Especially not helped by Heathers older brother teaching the little brat how to shoot a crossbow-) It’s hard to feel justified venting to someone about it though when you’re reminded you’re getting into squabbles with a tweenager a head and a half shorter than you who hasn’t even started puberty yet. Heather’s younger than Alpheus is in the show, so it’s a little less embarrassing when she loses, especially when it’s over something wildly different

These are the ones I can think of, and I’ve got doodles i want to draw to further elaborate on these dynamics, that might not come to light in the actual story itself. I dunno yet, we’ll see. I’m juggling a couple of things irl at the moment, so new stuff might be a bit scarce, but i’m hoping to send chapter three to my beta in a few days! So hopefully chapter three comes out sometime in the next few weeks

[cryptvokeeper]

I dare not speak it in the tag because I value my energy but no one has the correct opinions about nosferatu 2024 except for me

[xxplastic-cubexx]

still thinking of my fave marvel rivals interaction where my jeff and i were hanging on the point after knocking out the other team and lil bro sprays the space in front of me and emotes and we both said thank you at the same time like i fear im never forgetting that ever

[amelikos]

The implication that Lucius must have read Heather's Scarlet Book (and that being why he used the name "Terapagos" in his memoirs) is pretty interesting. Lucius, someone from the past, who is currently inspiring the current generation also being someone who took inspiration from people who came before him, etc.

Briar also said that Heather's book was regarded as a mere occult story, and that no one believed it. I wonder if Lucius was one of those who believed it, or at least took it seriously enough that it may have inspired him to go on his own journey to check things for himself. Lucius believing in things no one else takes seriously, and that led him to meet Terapagos eventually.

I wonder if Gibeon and the third friend in their group were also people who were curious about these mysteries and wanted to find out more about them. Maybe they didn't fit the norm during their time because of this. It makes me think a bit about the Rising Volt Tacklers since Friede and the others don't fit in the traditional expectations for their chosen professions and took other paths.