#i've Don e this

[starlit-xamners]

Spacesona doodle to take a break from how much outer wilds I've been doodling

Planning to compile said doodles into one post for my artblog eventually dfbgndfh, it's been really nice to just doodle simple stuff and have fun with it

[viscerealista]

Guy who doesn't know anything unless he looks them up on the internet voice: For a long time after i watched a intrusa 1979 i was very sure christensen was a gay man like why wouldn't he be making a intrusa but also o menino e o vento that's just what seemed obvious to me i guess. But then i found out he was apparently married to a woman (and also had right-wing politics?* As said in this article), so it was like Wellll where did i even get that from lol silly me assuming things about people i don't really know hahaha! Until i recently re-read the chapter about (l)a intrusa in the book Borges, Desire, and Sex (which i first read right after watching the movie) and realized i didn't think he was gay because I assumed anything by myself, but instead because I HAD READ in the book him being described as "an Argentine gay director"......??? WHAT IS THE TRUTH!!!!!!!!!

* If true (guy who doesn't look things up and doesn't know anything voice) this is so fascinating to me...? Like i believe he's a very to somewhat significant figure wrt erotic cinema in argentine (APPARENTLY the first argentine movie to show nudity was made by him, etc) but also gay cinema in brazil (more because of o menino e o vento than a intrusa) , and i'd love to like....go through and analyze his works Through this perspective? (I can at least think of things to say about a intrusa regarding this, but also... idrk.......)

[brightspirals]

[yumenosakiacademy]

!! SLEEPY DUMB RANT ALERT big ol wall a txt !!

u kno, a good comparison/metaphor 2 the situation earlier (tht being tht i h8 ppl who hate full communities), tht I can definitely hav a say in (since race isnt particularly my Forte n asian americans r a bit less Oppressed than other races at times) is like... ok, straight ppl. similar privileged ppl. I acknowledge tht a lot of straight ppl r homophobic, HELL I fucking Live w a homophobe who's called me slurs b4 n says gay ppl r Gross n its wrong, but at the same time, i kno the actions of straight homophobic bigots don't reflect straight ppl as a whole. n im not a straight motherfucker. I dont hav 2 b 2 hav tht mindset tht Straight Ppl Arent All Dicks N Are Associated With Bigots. Idc if straight ppl interact w me bc I kno tht unless they hav smth outright displaying tht they're a raging gay hater, they're likely jus A Chill Straight Person. not every straight person wants my kind of ppl, The Queers, Dead or finds them Gross. thts a but Extreme. 4 example, my mom may b a homophobe but my dad is a Big ally. n of course straight ppl hold a lot more rights than queer ppl, a lot more privilege, but at the same time I kno actions n words of a Few don't denote the actions n words of All. n thinking tht would b Silly. every1s capable of bad or good, n they cant choose what theyre put in2 (like being white or straight or cis or a man). do i make jokes at straight ppl's expense? Yes. we luv a lil bit of Clownery here. a lil Teehee moment. but outright hating them all n claiming tht every straight person is affiliated by default w Oppressors n should stay away bc some of their community of which they can't Choose sucks n has treated me poorly? seeing every straight person in a negative light all bc my straight mom has called me slurs a few times? Loser Extremist Behavior. n I'm rly not a fan of ppl who think n act like tht, regardless of the topic whether it b race, sexuality, gender, or what hav u. (tho, there's some Lenancy if ur saying it in a not-deadly srs way, like saying "gay supremacy straights r boring lol" or "girls rule boys drool" as opposed 2 genuine h8)

Note: this isn't a rant solely meant at tht 1 weirdo earlier like a "im riled up- AND ANOTHER THING-" type moment, but me jus sleepily ranting abt why I hav ppl like tht on my dni/dislike them, n my take on stuff like this ig

[churipu]

jjk men when you wipe their kisses away (as a joke)

featuring. itadori yuuji, megumi fushiguro, gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing :>

note. i've seen this trend on tiktok in the past, and i feel like it's a really cute idea to write about it. hope u enjoy this :D

ITADORI YUUJI. the first time you did it, he was like "oh? maybe they did it by accident" and the second time you did it, he was like "okay, this is no accident", but said nothing about it before planting another kiss on your cheek — and much to his dismay, you pretended to use your phone as a mirror and wipe your cheek, particularly the place where he just kissed.

"okay, baby, what did i do wrong?" he finally asks you, sitting straight up, "why are you not letting me kiss you?"

you almost folded, but you looked at him innocently, batting your eyelashes, "hm? i don't know what you're talking about," you tell him with a small smile.

yuuji brushed it off and then gave your cheek another peck, before he knows it, you did the same thing again — wiping the place where he just kissed and then he huffs out, "okay y/n, what is wrong with you? do you hate me now? are you breaking up with me?"

he looked like he was about to break down right then and there, so you figured it was time to stop. and then you laughed at him, pulling him into your embrace, "i'm kidding yuuji, it was a joke."

yuuji rolled his eyes and circled his arms around you, "i thought you were breaking up with me. don't do that again," pouty baby.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. "why are you doing that?" he asks, and you arched your brow, pretending to be clueless of what he was saying. he shook his head, kissing your cheek (yet again), and to confirm his question, you wiped his kiss off again.

"that, i meant that," he said, "why are you doing that?"

"doing what?" you retorted back.

"bye y/n." he mutters out, obviously not wanting to play with this game of yours — and when you realized he was serious about this "bye" of his, you jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"i'm kidding gumi," you chuckled, and that was all he needed to hear.

megumi planted another kiss on your cheek, "wipe that again and i'm going for real this time," you didn't wipe it off (you were thinking about it though).

"can i have another one?"

megumi rolled his eyes, "no."

GOJO SATORU. hysterical right from the first time you did it, and was throwing a tantrum about how you shouldn't do that because his kiss privileges are special just for you and nobody else, yet this is how you treat him.

"baby, okay, no more kiss privileges for you. you're done, i'm done. we're both done." he mutters out, crossing his arms.

and when you didn't retaliate with his tantrums, he just had to try planting another kiss on your lips — to which you wiped off right after, and (dramatic) gojo takes that as a big insult. he gasps and pulls himself back onto the couch, sinking in with his brows furrowed and he glared at the floor.

"satoru?"

he grumbles under his breath about how everything was so unfair, how the world's such a cruel place, just being dramatic honestly. he glances at you before throwing his gaze to the side.

"satoru, you're such a baby."

again he gasps, "me? a baby? you started this!" lord, how much more dramatic can he get?

"give me a kiss, satoru."

he clicked his tongue, "no. i told you, you lost your kiss privileges."

you shrugged, "fine. i'll ask someone else for it then."

he folded and immediately threw himself on you, peppering kisses all over your face, "don't do that again, baby. why are you wiping my kisses off?"

you laughed, "it's a joke, satoru."

"i don't like this joke."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. caught on the first time you did it, and he grumbled under his breath about how you should be lucky he's willing to give you a kiss in the first place (he will do it all over again, no matter how many times you want it).

"what was that, ryo?" sukuna groans out when he sees your innocent e/c eyes looking at him, "did you say something?"

he said nothing, "i don't fucking like this shit you're playing with me," he said, facing away.

"what shit?" he glances at you, his eyes doing all the talk. and you laugh loudly at his reaction, "oh, you're so adorable," sukuna rolled his eyes, pushing your legs that previously was lying on top of his lap, "hey! come back."

"fuck off."

"give me a kiss, ryo." he ignored you, so you did it yourself — kissing his forehead, "don't be mad, it's a joke, honey."

he could tolerate your jokes about mostly anything, really (because he's madly in love with you), but never when it comes to jokes that could probably ruin your relationship (he never wants to break up with you).

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[hypnagogics]

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

tag-geese: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @fawnmotifs @marsworlddd @caszzine @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz @mimasroom2

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, fill out the form here! thanks for reading! interactions are greatly appreciated and encouraged ♡

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

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

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

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

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

He has other obligations, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream is wearing a plug.

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

Christ, but that's hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

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

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

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

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful. Perfect.

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

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

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

God, but he wants to do it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chosetherose]

Two Graves One Gun

So Long London continues the saga of celebrity versus soul. The only way to cure Taylor’s sadness is for her to bid farewell to bearding, and perhaps the closet.

If you can look past the red herrings in this song, you will find a deeply layered masterpiece that illuminates Taylor's battle with herself; how past plans made to maintain her celebrity have marred her soul. She doesn't want to live life like this anymore and is willing to burn her brand down to the ground to free her soul.

As always, the analysis I've written here is only one interpretation of this song. I'm not claiming it is "correct" but I encourage you to plow through (this is a very long post) and consider what I've laid out.

For context, I believe London is a metaphor for bearding. Here is some background for the new folks:

For most of her career, Taylor’s beards have been from the UK. Specifically, from 2012-2023 her beards were Harry Styles then Calvin Harris then Tom Hiddleston then Joe Alwyn.

The beginning of this stage was right around the time she started crossing over into pop music. Red is her first real leap into pop music and to do this successfully she needs to expand both domestically (to pop audiences that don't listen to country music) and internationally (her first opportunity for this since the rest of the world doesn't listen to much country music).

She started bearding with Harry Styles in late 2012, within weeks of Red's release then milks that short lived stunt for 1989 as well. What a way to capture a new pop audience made up of fans abroad and at home. Rinse and repeat until her priority changes to long-term privacy and she finds that aided by an unknown actor named Toe. Even though Taylor's current beard is American, suffice to say one can look at London as a metaphor for bearding given history.

[Intro]

So (So) long (Long), London (London) [repeated]

Pay attention to how she sings this...She breaks "London" into "Lon" and "Don".

So SO / Long LONG / Lon LON / Don DON

This is a sneakily beautiful way to emphasize: So! Long! Don(e)! ...Like "I've been bearding for so long and I'm done with it" or "So long, bearding! I'm done!" Yes, this is a reach but read the rest of this post and circle back. As this intro closes the final "Don(e)!" fades into the upticked beat.

[Verse 1]

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

My spine split from carrying us up the hill

Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill

I stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe

Taylor seeing fairy lights through the mist sounds like she sees daylight at the end of a tunnel opaque from lavender haze. She keeps focused on this goal, carrying on with all these beards over the years. Although she's able to appear calm during these stunts, living life like this has forged a rift within herself. She beards because it's advantageous for her brand but her soul despises the ruse.

Side note: “Keep Calm and Carry On was a motivational poster produced by the Government of the United Kingdom in 1939 in preparation for World War II.” -Wikipedia. A bit of history that I think furthers the idea that Taylor was battling to keep going.

Tayor has to balance these aspects of herself continually - Too much stunting? Her soul needs a break. Had a good break from stunting? She needs to feed the grocery line Swifties to keep them at bay. It's an idea that got me thinking about yin and yang, "an opposite but interconnected, self-perpetuating cycle." (Wiki). I am not an expert on this concept but I know I've noticed it has come up throughout conversations about TTPD. If yin and yang is relevant for this album, as I believe it is in multiple songs, in the context of this verse it feels related to Taylor's constant need to find balance between the celebrity version of herself we see on our screens and the true version of herself only she can see in the mirror.

This cycle wears on Taylor so much that her spine splits from the weight. She has been slogging through stunts, dreaming of freedom, for years. It's been storming so long her clothes are soaked and she feels the chill down in her bones.

Because of the pain she decides to change strategy. Theres no more attempts to make her situation lighter or find ways to deal with it. And think about this - if you're trying to drill the safe open it means either A) you feel like you've tried all the codes and are resorting to brute force, and/or B) you're running out of time and growing desperate. Taylor is past even those points and is giving up entirely.

[Chorus]

Thinking how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy

So long, London

You’ll find someone

The chorus reminds me of talking to a past version of yourself that made plans for a future you. We know Taylor must plan her life years in advance so perhaps she is asking her past self something like, “Why did you think I could handle continued bearding? Did you really think I could handle all the sadness I'm feeling today?”

Then I think the second half of this chorus is saying goodbye to bearding, symbolized by London, because she can’t bear the sadness anymore. Maybe the "you'll find someone" line is aimed at the fans a la "you should find another guiding light" like you guys will find someone else to fawn over in the tabloids.

Side note: I love the double entendre here. Because so long means goodbye but it has also been so long that she’s been bearding (largely with British men).

[Verse 2]

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out

I founded the club she's heard great things about

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

I stopped CPR, after all, it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

I don't have a strong opinion on the first two lines of this version. What comes to mind is she didn't opt in to be an openly LGBTQIA+ artist, she chose to closet and beard. Then other younger closeted celebrities have looked to her as a blueprint.

In the process of bearding for stardom, her soul abandoned all she knew. I think there is a red herring here as Heath could reference Hampstead Heath (which has connections to Toe) but it’s also continuing on the house theme that Taylor sings about. Here, it doesn’t sound like this house is a home. She’s not singing about chandeliers flickering inside, it’s “the” house by a heath -- “Heathland is characterized by plants such as heather, bilberry, gorse and bracken, which occur on infertile and well-drained soils. Open heaths have been highly modified by humans for centuries and are maintained by grazing or cutting.” She’s stuck somewhere that’s by drained her via death by a thousand cuts lol.

Again, it's weighed on her. So she's decided to stop trying to revive the disconnect between her soul and her celebrity, it’s no use trying anymore. She’s realized they could never fully come together.

And she’s pissed off she let her celebrity rob her of an open, free, youth where she could live truthfully. Recall that in Peace she sings, “a coming of age has come and gone” which to me means she feels she can’t explain a coming out via a youthful awakening angle. She’s at the age where people will understand she’s known this for years but hasn’t shared with the world. This will raise questions she won’t be able to answer because it’s all too tangled (NDAs, outing beards, etc.).

[Chorus]

For so long, London/ Stitches undone

Two graves, one gun

I'll find someone

For so long, she’s been bearding, stunting, hiding her true self to reach and/or maintain celebrity. It’s caused her stitches to come undone. This wording is interesting because it implies she had a wound from living this life hiding her truth, they tried to fix her up as her celebrity status soared, but it didn’t work because the sadness was too great.

Perhaps there's two graves and one gun because on the path to daylight she will kill both her celebrity and the sadness of her closeted self. Not how she switches from "you" will find someone to "I" will find someone. This is because she will destroy every version of herself that she's ever known if she comes out one day. She will rise like a Phoenix through the ashes to discover a new version of herself in the daylight.

Note that the Spotify clip for this song, from the Fortnight video, feels significant. First, Taylor looks up toward the daylight. Then, with heavy breaths and a concerned face, she rifles through her art (words written out on a typewriter). We know in the rest of this scene she is lighting her art on fire. Two graves one gun on a path to daylight.

[Bridge Part 1]

And you say I abandoned the ship

But I was going down with it

My white-knuckle dying grip

Holding tight to your quiet resentment

I imagine these first lines of the bridge to be aimed toward those in her life, on her team, etc. that steered her toward closeting to gain/keep fame. Maybe she has plans and they are saying by coming out she is abandoning the ship (her celebrity) they've all worked hard to build. In Miss Americana we heard her team tell her that coming out as a Democrat would halve the numbers of her next tour. Can you imagine what would be said about a coming out?

But what they don’t understand is that living this life is killing her. She’s been holding on to all the subtle ways they’ve told her over the years that her career will sink if she comes out of the closet.

[Bridge Part 2]

And my friends said it isn't right to be scared

Every day of a love affair

Every breath feels like rarest air

When you're not sure if he wants to be there

When she confides with her friends about it all they tell her she shouldn’t be afraid to take steps toward the daylight because look where she is now. She’s been stunting for years (love affairs in the tabloids) and it's awful for her. So terrible that she's grasping for breaths, unsure if she can still survive in this atmosphere (thin/rare air means its not a hospitable environment for Taylor).

[Chorus]

So how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

How much tragedy?

Just how low did you think I'd go

Before I'd self-implode?

Before I'd have to go be free?

Again, I think she’s talking to her past self here. “How could I have thought I’d survive sinking this low? How could I not realize I’d reach a point where I’d self-implode?” Which here, self-implosion is telling a similar story as I think the two graves one gun lyrics do — the result of the self implosion is being free. If she blows up her celebrity and she will be free to live her truth, curing the sadness that has been ruling her life for years.

[Verse 3]

You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

I imagine this verse is aimed at her fans, the grocery line Swifties who believe her beards are real boyfriends. I read “you swore that you loved me but where were the clues?” as a sarcastic jab because she’s been screaming 🌈 for whoever is willing to listen. The fans claim to love Taylor but they aren’t willing to really listen to her.

Most people here “altar” and think of a wedding but the definition is much broader, “In religion, a raised structure or place that is used for sacrifice, worship, or prayer” (Wiki). So Taylor was up on the altar, a place of worship, waiting for clues that these fans actually loved her. But what started as worship became sacrifice as these fans never found love for who Taylor really is all the while the bearding and hiding were causing Taylor deep sadness.

Despite all this, she loves her job and her fans. The sadness is too much though. She is about to self implode and feels its time to take steps toward a brighter future. It’s maddening as hell to metaphorically blow up your life just as your fame is escalating to new heights you’ve reached for your whole career.

[Chorus]

For so long, London (So long, London)

Had a good run A moment of warm sun But I'm not the one So long, London Stitches undone Two graves, one gun You'll find someone

For so long, she bearded. She had a good run, getting away with it all, reaching levels of fame she always dreamed of. But she's not the one to keep the charade going (as opposed to her heroes who unfortunately 'died' closeted). Goodbye, bearding. The wound was too big to fix. With one action, I will kill the version of myself you (the fans) know and the version of myself I know. You (the fans) will find someone else to worship.

...

I could keep tweaking this theory for weeks but these are my initial thoughts on this song about two weeks out from TTPD's release. This album is incredible complex but for me the signs we keep getting are all pointing toward significant change. There is a momentum going right now that I haven't felt since the early Lover era. No matter what happens or how long it takes, I hope our fearless Chairman gets the chance to bask in the sun shiniest daylight. She deserves the warmth.

💕 CTR

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Here we go, something I've been thinking about for some time now!

Thoughts on Moon Knight from the comics and his story: 

G-d said to Abraham, "Go forth from your native land and from your father's house to the land that I will show you." -Genesis 12:1 

Marc Spector fled from his father’s house. Depending on which time line you go off of, Zelenetz or Lemire, you get different reasons for him leaving. 

In Lemire, you can see Khonshu infiltrating Marc’s life little by little from childhood until he is an overbearing image. The main aspect being that you see Khonshu calling to him “Come to me.” 

Eventually, at his father’s funeral, Marc leaves his father’s house for a new land. 

There was a famine in the land --Aside from the previous famine that had occurred in the days of Abraham--And Isaac went to Abimelech, King of the Philistins, in Gerar.  - Genesis 26:1

And Abimelech said to Isaac, "Go away from us, for you have become far too big for us." So Isaac departed from there and encamped in the wadi of Gerar, where he settled. - Genesis 26:16-17

Marc found war with the marines. He learned to fight and kill and he was good at it. Again, depending on if you follow a number of different versions of what happened: Attacked his commanding officer and was discharged, had a mental breakdown and was discharged, ran off on his own, or finished his term and left…. It really varies from run to run. 

Either way, Marc left the life of the marines and wandered off into the desert where he settled and found his way into the Mercenary life. 

"Your brother Esau is consoling himself by planning to kill you. Now, my son, listen to me. Flee at once to Haran, to my brother Laban." - Genesis 27:42-43

Marc Spector had a big brother, Randall Spector. Introduced in 1979 by Moench, he was the estranged brother of Marc who had followed him into the Marines and eventually became a killer. He held a bitter grudge against Marc that eventually came to a big battle that ended with Marc killing him. 

Again, depending on which run you follow, this has been re-written a few times and Randall meets different ends multiple times. Randall was later re-written to be Marc’s little brother, but this was probably just sloppy writing with a lack of editorial fact checking. 

Later on, Randall is depicted as being incredibly Jealous of Marc. He becomes Night Shadow, and later, Shadowknight as he attempts to become Khonshu's true avatar. He repeatedly tries to become stronger than Marc and to take position as head of the Khonshu cult and avatar. 

If we follow the storyline of Marc leaving the Mercenary business after he dies in the desert, he left Randall behind here. Possibly even before that when he joined up with Bushman’s group that eventually left him fleeing the desert to start a new life as Moon Knight. 

When Midianite traders passed by, they pulled Joseph up out of the pit. They sold Joseph for twenty pieces of silver to Ishmaelites, who brought Joseph to Egypt. - Genesis 37:28

Marc Spector died in the desert and donned his white cape and cowl to become Moon Knight. Marc was revived by Khonshu and became his Avatar. Metaphorically, he had entered Egypt and would soon become the slave to Khonshu, who would then rule over his life and often make his life a living hell. 

When he left the desert for America. Here, he did his best to not be Marc, but to let Jake and Steven run the life when he wasn’t Moon Knight. 

When Pharaoh learned of the matter, he sought to kill Moses; but Moses fled from Pharaoh. He arrived in the land of Midian, and sat down beside a well. - Exodus 2:15

Moses went back to his father-in-law Jethro and said to him, "Let me go back to my kinsfolk in Egypt and see how they are fairing." And Jethro said to Moses, "Go in peace." -Exodus 4:18

There was great unrest between Marc, Jake, Steven, and Moon Knight. Especially on the Khonshu issue. Many times, Marc tried to disappear. In various runs by various authors, you see him fake his death a few times… even actually die a few times, only to be revived many times. 

In Lemire, we find the trio coming together and rising up against Khonshu to become a working system. Khonshu demands that they continue to serve him and the three of them at last leave Egypt. 

But your carcasses shall drop in this wilderness, while your children roam the wilderness for fourty years, suffering for your faithlessness, until the last of your carcasses is down in the wilderness. You shall bear your punishment for fourty years, corresponding to the number of days-fourty days- that you scouted the land: a year for each day. Thus you shall know what it means to thwart Me. - Numbers 14:32-34

Despite the system coming together and the silencing of Khonshu, there was no peace in the system. Rather than work as one, they drifted and became more Mr. Knight than their own individual lives as they had once known. They fell again and again to Khonshu’s will, despite Marc’s intense bitterness towards the old bird. 

Eventually, when Khonshu was locked away in Asgard jail, we find Marc learning what it means to be not only himself, but to accept community. He forms a family and makes friends. He starts to let go of his past traumas that kept him away from people. 

It is this acceptance of community that re-awakens Steven and Jake and invites them (by force) to become a part of life again. They force Marc to start to take care of himself and they learn how to function as a united nation. 

The last name “Spector” is an Ashkenazi Jewish name taken from the original name of “Szpektor”, meaning “Teacher’s Assistant”. 

Now, the story goes that Moench met someone in the office with that name and he thought “Well that’s a pretty cool name!”. After he had created the character, he learned the Jewish origins and rather than ignore it, he let it play out. In my books, this put Marc up there with The Thing (Ben Grimm) on the list of very few original cannon Jews in the Marvel universe. 

What continues to amaze me is just how utterly Jewish the story of Moon Knight continues to be. Even without trying. 

Steven, who embodies Tikkun Olam (the act of giving in an effort to better the world). Jake, who has always been the heart of the system and the G-d Wrestler. Then we have Marc. The one who wanders the desert, rejects and questions everything, and who always returns. The one who carries the Trauma of whatever happened to him and the Trauma of his people deep in his veins. Not to mention, Moon Knight, who is a Golem in the truest sense. 

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that Moon Knight is not Jewish and that his comic is not one of a Jewish story. 

[nspired1fanfiction]

Commission for Ichor & Pomegranate

Art by MadBedlam , Fanfic Art

Chapter 3:

"Fortunately, with Marcia's case still being an active investigation, we've been able to keep the church closed. Only the forensic investigator has been in and out of the building since the initial crews came in." He answered as he handed her the crime scene investigation kit. "If we find the pinecone, I'll let you bag it. I want you to make your assessments like you have been."

"Yes, sir," Jill murmured while she studied the contents of the kit before closing it back up.

The double doors to the church were locked and she watched Wesker pull out a set of keys from his pocket before he paused and glanced down at her.

"Did you bring your tension wrenches?" he asked with another cock of his head.

With her mouth dropping open slightly, "Sir, that's a crime." When his eyebrows went up, she quirked her lips, patted a pouch on her belt, and continued, "Of course I did. May I?"

"You may not, Valentine," his tone was colored with amusement when he put the key in the door and pushed it open. "I just wanted to be certain that my little B&E Specialist was adequately prepared."

She smiled at his back from his usage of her previous taunt back in the car and followed him through the threshold.

The tall chandelier hung a good ten feet from the vaulted ceiling and was bright enough to light the rich textures of the following room.

"Beautiful," Jill breathed into the muted atmosphere of the Nave.

Her captain shifted beside her, but he made no comment on the scenery and was instead looking toward a taped off area to the right.

She followed behind him again as he led her down the row of dark walnut pews. Their steps were muffled on the royal red runner carpet. The surrounding floor was made of tile; the polished surface reflected the many angles of the church as they moved.

"The nave, the main room in churches, were always my favorite," she spoke aloud while she followed. "The design was adapted by the early Christian builders from the Roman hall of justice, the basilica. The nave of the early Christian basilica is generally lighted by a row of windows near the ceiling, the clerestory." She pointed even though he wasn't looking back at her.

"You seem to have a continuous religious theme about you. A passion you follow through on Sundays perhaps?" her captain responded after a moment.

They both came to a stop where the crime scene tape marked the beginning of the tracking site.

"No." she winced when her response came out somewhat harshly. "Frankly, I find the levels of fanaticism... worrying; the spoken word of gospel calls for a lot of unnecessary violence. I've seen groups of people cling to some atrocious things in the name of God. Whether I believe or not is my secret, but I do not attend church."

"Yet, you find yourself clinging to the written word of a polytheistic religion." He lifted the tape and motioned for her to step through.

"And what of you, captain? Do you prefer the stories of the gods, one god, or none at all?" She held the tape for him while he stepped through next.

"I believe in knowing them all."

Jill tilted her head up at him and was somewhat pleased for a little more detail, even if it was rather vague.

"For what purpose?" she asked curiously.

"Stories have always been man's easiest weapon." He removed his glasses and set them carefully into his breast pouch on his vest before jutting his chin toward the stained-glass window on their right. "That was the original purpose for windows like these. To teach the gospel to those who couldn't read. What better power than to teach belief, Valentine?"

Grabbing the CSI kit from his hand, Jill pondered the thought while she cracked open the box and handed him gloves before she carefully donned her own.

The silence rang out and Jill wasn't sure he expected an answer from her. He turned from her then and began to move to where they had noted the pinecone in the picture that hung over to their right.

Stooping low, she watched his tall form lower to a crouch as he glanced beneath the pew in the front portion of the corner space.

"You'll need to grab it from your side; it's still here. Are you capable of bagging this on your own?"

Jill glanced over to see him holding out the tweezers to her. Once more, she met his challenging stare before her gloved fingers wrapped around the tweezers and pulled the instrument from him.

"I haven't let you down yet," she murmured and turned for the task.

"Indeed," he said quietly, now behind her when she carefully knelt on her side of the pew and gazed under the wood.

[eashmo]

"It wasn't the books that kept me in the library" 18+

Bully billy x nerd y/n, "enemies" to lovers, short story

Warnings: SMUT, some fluff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n is such a fucking tease, it doesn't help she has the most delicious looking lips. They look Soft. I bet They Would feel great wrapped around my cock. She would look so good kneeling in front of me looking up with her big E/C eyes behind those thick nerd glasses, her soft H/C hair all messed up because I would be pulling on the strands. She is innocent and I want to destroy that. 

Her too short schoolgirl skirt under a tight white low-cut blouse that hugs her boobs just right. made me want to moan out loud. Every time she drops something at her locker, it's like she knew I was watching. Each time I see her lacey panties, I have to control my primal urge to take her right in the hallway. Her ass would look good with my hands griped into each cheek as i fucked her, She's so sexy. And she doesn't even know it. 

Her nimble fingers grazed the spines of the library books as she was trying to find what she was looking for. Her fingers would look so small against my cock.  

If I'm honest, she was the only thing that kept me going to the school library. 

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. It was like I was becoming obsessed with her. She was struggling to get a book from the top shelf when she heard me chuckle. She thought I was laughing at her. That's when she turned to look at me. fuck, those delicous lips, were directed at me. Those beautiful lips were making sounds, beautiful sounds that sounds like moans she would give me if i fucked her. 

“Hargrove, instead of making fun of me like you always do, help for once would be nice.” she whispered

“Hargrove!” she whispered louder.

“Hmm, yes, darlin?” I snapped out of my daze.

“don,t call me darlin and help me" she whined, oh fuck me that noise was heavenly. "Why the fuck are you just staring at me for?” she snapped.

Coughs “I'm not staring at you. Why would I stare at someone like you?” I quickly said as I came up behind her to grab the book for her. 

"Here nerd, don't expect me to be nice to you now,"  as she turned to face me. She scoffs, "I'm surprised you help right now, to be honest."  She grabs the book from my book from my hand. 

 I stare at her cleavage through the opening of her thin blouse as she picks up her bookbag and puts the book inside. “You're staring again” The lunch bell rang. everybody was now gone. 

“What, do you want Billy?” Hearing my first name fall from those lips made my knees weak.

“You princess” I breathed.

”What?” she laughed. 

“I want you” 

She scoffs, “I think i'll pass hargrove, i don't know where you have been.” her eyes flicked to my crotch back to my eyes.

“Oh come on, princess, i'm not that much of a playboy as you may think”

“I don't want to be just another girl, Billy. i've seen how you hurt girls, never wanting to commit” I tried to listen to her, but she was just too sexy. I was looking at her lips this whole time, but I did try to listen. her lips are just super distracting.

“Billy, are you even listening?”

“Yeah yeah princess.”

“You're unbelievable.” she scoffs, she starts to walk away from me. I caught up to her, spun her around, and backed her into a bookshelf. 

“Where do you think you're going?” I whispered into her ear, I heard her gasping from my warm breath hitting her ear. 

“billy…” she started to push me back, but I stood my ground. 

“God I want you so bad. You drive me crazy without even realizing it, babygirl. I'm obsessed with you.” I moved closer to her. 

Her big doe eyes widened, and she stopped pushing “Yeah?” she asked, her body was now pressed against mine, Her breasts were squashed against my hard chest. I swallowed hard. 

“I never knew you could get so flustered.” she teased. I suddenly leaned forward and pushed my head into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. I gave a solid lick across the sweet spot on her neck. Earning me a surprised moan. I put my hands on her thick ass causing her skirt to ride up a little. I feel how soft her skin is. It's driving me crazy. I could do this all day.

"Billy…" she said as she tried to hide her moans. Which caused me to growl and bite down on her neck, causing her to moan loudly. Perfect. It's sounded absolutely perfect. 

She whimpered as I traveled my lips up her neck to taste those lips that I've been dying to Devour ever since I first saw her in this hell hole of a town. I pulled her closer. If it was even possible, I wanted to melt into her. I lifted her up, her legs wrapped around my waist, she grinded her hips into mine. She moaned loudly at the friction of my jeans on her soaked panty covered pussy. Pressing her deeper against the bookcase. 

“You know,” I whispered into her ear, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say you wanted to be caught.” 

 she  let out a low groan in response, i chuckled and pecked her cheek before i let her down from my waist, she pressed her forehead against mine, looking deep into her eyes as i dipped a hand into her panties. 

“Fuck you are so wet babygirl” i groaned out.

“B-billy please…”

“Please what princess?”

“T-touch me” one finger then another entered into her dripping pussy, smirking as her e/c eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a long low moan which was muffled by my lips on hers. pushing my tongue into her mouth, feeling her groan into the kiss as i continued to finger fuck her.

 With my free hand i unbuttoned her white blouse quickly and pulled her bra down under her tits exposing breasts capped with light pink, rock hard nipples which i began to squeeze and roll it between my fingers, grinning as she moans and groans which turned into pants of desperation and pleading whines.

 I slowed my finger’s slightly. “I’m going to need you to keep quiet. Can you do that, princess?” I whispered. She nodded in response, clamping her mouth shut with a hand. 

“Good girl”  i chuckled

she rode my finger to chase her own high, i added in a third, which sent her to her first orgasim her muffled moans made me weak. She soon relaxed as she slowly came back to earth. I stared at her blissed out state mentally capturing that image of her forever as I undid my fly and took out my cock. I slowly pulled my fingers out of her, which made her whimper. Lifting her back up her legs found themselves back where they belonged. 

“I can always feel your stare, you know…. Throughout the day…. It always made me feel seen and worth it for once” she breathed heavily. 

“I’ve always seen you, baby girl, and you're definitely worth it,”  

“Then why bully me?”

 “It was the only way to get you to talk to me, you didn't seem fazed when I moved here like the other girls and it drove me nuts, I had to have you even more.” I admit as I rub the tip of my cock teased her clothed entrance.

“Billy please be gentle. It's my first time”

“As you wish princess” I groaned at the thought of taking her virginity. She is so pure and innocent. I pushed the lacey fabric to the side. I tried to push my head in but her pussy can only take the tip.

“Relax princess” I try again to push the tip in and out slowly, watching her turning into a moaning mess.

Before long I could fit most of my cock in. her ridged inside squeezed my cock so deliciously. Feeling every squeeze every time I went in. I bottomed out inside of her. I felt her hymen break when I did, she hissed in pain. I stood there waiting for permission.

“B-Billy m-move” she gritted her teeth through the pain. I slowly thrusted in her, getting used to the feeling. She didn't take long to wanting more. 

“Harder billy” she moaned in my neck as she held on to me for dear life. As I railed her on the bookshelf.

 I didn't let up, pounding her so hard while rubbing her clit. Only after a minute or two, she came on my cock with a tantalizing scream that echoed through the empty library. Her legs squeezed my waist tightly, now I imagine that if that was my head being squeezed by her delicious thick thighs as ate her out . The thought that made me instantly come to her, coating every inch of her insides. After I came, I realized I hadn't worn a condom. 

“shit“

“What?” she asked with a worried look, expecting me to regret my actions. 

“I forgot to wear a condom….”

 “It's fine, I'm on the pill anyways, I can’t believe we just did that.” She giggled.

 I chuckled. “How about I take you on a date to the fair tonight?”

“You don't do dates, Hargrove”

“I told you…. You're worth it.” 

 She blushed as she nodded yes. I stepped back slightly, admiring her, her tits and midriff exposed, pussy still dripping and skirt hiked up.

 “You look extra beautiful like this”

 “Shut up.” she laughed, rearranging her clothes into some semblance of decency before looking at her watch.

 “We should probably go.”

 “Yeah, you’re right.” I agreed. We walked out the empty library hand in hand, parting ways at the library door. I gave her a quick kiss.

“I'll see you tonight, baby girl”  

Masterlist

2023

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

4½ months later I'VE FINISHED IT!*!*!* The Count of Monte Cristo is such a ride, I wanna read it all over again now that I can appreciate everything 🥰✨️ pay no attention to the agonised sobbing behind the curtain 🥰✨️

What. The Count of Monte Cristo is so good :0

[hbyrde36]

STWG Drabble 9/30/23

Prompt: Drunk talk

It was 2am, and Steve was sitting on the kitchen floor huddled around the phone, gripping the handset like it was a lifeline. It only rang twice before Robin picked up. She'd begged her parents to install an extra phone line in her room after Starcourt, and they gave in quickly once they realized it was either that, or getting woken up regularly by middle of the night panicked phone calls from the boy their daughter swore she wasn’t dating. Her parents didn’t know what had really happened to the two kids, just that whatever it was had left them with a lot of trauma and a little bit of codependency, but they loved their daughter, so they did what they could to make her happy.

“Steve?” Robin yawned his name into the phone, a hint of concern coloring her voice even though she was only half awake.

“Robbi-” Steve choked out through a sob that was punctuated with a hiccup. “I thhhink I fuccked up.”

“Are you drunk?” She asked, sounding a little more awake.

Steve snapped his fingers, pointing as if she was in the room with him. “Guessed it’n one.” He slurred a little, sniffling as he tried to speak. It was a wonder she understood him at all.

“Jesus, how much did you have? Wait, weren’t you and Eddie supposed to be hanging out tonight?”

“Oh Eddie” Steve sighed dramatically. “Eddie, he wasss here, he..oh god.. Robin I fuuucked up so bad - e’s never going to tttalk to me again.”

“What happened?” She asked.

Steve cleared his throat and took a few deep breaths. Trying hard to sober himself up.

“We were drinking.” He managed the three words with much less slurring than before, he thought Robin should be impressed.

She wasn’t.

“Clearly”

“Don’ be mean, i’m upset!” Steve groaned.

“Sorry, go on.”

“And I knew I shouldn’t have let myself drink so much but I did and god, Robin, he looked so hot!” Steve rambled on. “He had his hair up and a crop top on and I couldn’t help myself…. I all but sat on his lap when we decided to watch a movie.”

“I’m failing to see the issue here. You were flirting with him, so what? You like him, he likes you.”

“We don’t know that!” Steve hissed.

“We do know that! And I've been telling you to ask him out for weeks!.”

Steve hesitated, a little of his old panic rising in his chest. “I…i wasn’t ready.”

Robin’s tone softend. “That’s okay, you’re allowed to not be ready.”

“I think I am now, but…” He trailed off.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“Eddie kissed me.” Steve said simply, as if that explained everything. In fairness to his booze soaked mind, it did.

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate, babe.”

“I freaked out, Robin! I freaked out and he thought I was freaking out because I didn't want him to kiss me, but really I was freaking out because I like him so much, and the kiss! Oh, the kiss was amazing. I had no idea that kissing could feel like that, but then I panicked because - what if I mess it up, Robin? What if I mess up with Eddie like I did with Nancy? I don’t know if I could survive that again.”

Robin was quiet for a long moment before she said anything.

“Shit, Steve. Do you…feel the same way about him as you did about Nance?”

“I think I do, Robs, I think I'm in love with him, but it doesn’t matter because I already ruined it.”

“Is that true?”

Steve’s heart sank as a deep voice sounded behind him.

He heard Robin suck in a breath on the other end of the line. He looked up, already knowing what he would find. Sure enough, Eddie was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, jacket on and keys still in hand. How long had he been standing there? Did he come back, or had he never left?

“Is that..?” Robin started to ask, but Steve cut her off. “Yeah, it is, um. I gotta go, I'll call you tomorrow.” He hung up before she could respond, never taking his eyes off the boy in the doorway.

Steve gulped audibly. “How much of that did you hear?”

Eddie shuffled his feet, looking nervous. It wasn’t something Steve was used to seeing on the other boy, he usually exuded confidence.

“I guess that depends.” Eddie replied.

“On?”

“How much of it did you mean?”

“All of it.” Steve answered quickly, eager to fix the mess he’d made of things.

Eddie pressed his lips together in a thin line, thinking. “Are you sure it’s not just because you’re drunk and sad?” He said, finally.

“If you stay, I'll say it again in the morning.”

Eddie smiled and shook his head. He walked over and sat down on the floor next to Steve, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. “What a line, Stevie.”

Steve ducked his head. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

Eddie raised their clasped hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of Steve’s fingers.

“I’m sorry too. I left and didn’t give you the chance to explain. I got into my van and even started it, but I couldn't leave. I didn’t want to run anymore. I came back inside so we could talk about it. I hoped you would forgive me for kissing you and we could still be friends.”

“I don’t want to be just friends, Eddie. Can we try the kiss again?”

Eddie squeezed his hand and stood up, pulling Steve along with him.

“Let’s get you to bed, and if you feel the same way in the morning I would be happy to have a do-over.”

Steve pouted but allowed Eddie to lead him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Don’t pout, baby. You’re really drunk, and it would feel too much like I was taking advantage of you. Let’s just go to sleep, I promise I'll still be here in the morning.”

Baby.

“Will you sleep in here with me if I swear to keep my hands to myself?” Steve asked.

Eddie usually slept on the couch or the guest room when he stayed over. Steve had always hated it, but he had never been brave enough to ask Eddie to stay with him until now.

Eddie chuckled. “Yea, Stevie. I’ll stay with you.”

[liminaltrickster]

Show Your Work: Nicola Coughlan/Penelope Featherington

For now, I've decided to call this series of astrological investigations "Show Your Work." It's a working title 😉

As promised, let's look for Penelope Bridgerton (née Featherington, aka Lady Whistledown) in Nicola Coughlan's chart.

But first, the same disclaimers as before:

I'm a traditional astrologer. This is the source from which I pull the meanings of the planets, houses and signs. This also means that I use Whole Sign houses. If you're used to Placidus or another house system, things will probably look a bit different here.

Yes, there are natal charts available for the characters of Colin and Penelope. I just haven't had a chance to look at them closely yet. I hope to soon, and we'll see what we can glean!

When we look at a natal chart, individual placements can be read in a multitude of ways depending on what we're wondering about. I'm coming to this chart looking for Bridgerton, so the reading will be very specific.

I don't and won't make delineations for people's personal lives without their consent. That's why we're focusing on a piece of Nicola's public creative output here.

This chart was cast with an estimated birth time, but assuming the rising sign is correct, it's fine for our purposes.

—

Just as we did with Luke's chart, looking at the ruler of the 5th house feels like the most natural thing to do. This means that for Nicola, we're going to be focusing on Mercury (☿) in Capricorn (♑) in the 12th:

The 5th House and its Ruler

Being an Aquarius rising, Nicola's 5th house is Gemini (♊). Gemini isn't the sign of our focus, but I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that the Gemini themes of duality, changeability, deception and invention are quite apt as far as Penelope and Whistledown go.

Anyway, the ruler of Gemini is...

Mercury

This first part is pretty simple: Mercury rules the mind, writing and speech. Penelope is a thinker and a writer. When anyone cares to listen to her, she has a lot to say, and she says it exceedingly well.

But Mercury is also the trickster, so let's discuss the archetype (see: my username). In myths and stories, the trickster is cunning and witty. We'll always find them breaking rules and crossing boundaries, including those associated with the social order, often to chaotic effect. Penelope not only publishes a scandal sheet, but she also blows past the limits of propriety by naming names.

There's also much to be said about gossip's usefulness in holding the powerful to account and the gendered criticism of gossip. Gossip has always been a way for vulnerable groups (in this case, women) to share information outside of the influence or control of the dominant group (in this case, men). The trickster is a disruptor who challenges authority. This is Penelope as Whistledown (and, eventually, as herself).

The trickster is a shapeshifter, and I'm not only talking about Penelope donning a disguise and accent to do business on behalf of Whistledown. Just as the trickster often exhibits gender variability, Penelope plays with the gender roles of Regency society. While she's not completely free to do as she pleases, she has an occupation that she's good at, that she's passionate about, and that brings in a hefty income.

In Nicola's chart, Mercury is very closely conjunct the Sun (☉)—this is called being combust. Combustion is a visual phenomenon whereby a planet is said to be "burnt up" by the Sun and cannot be seen because the Sun's light is too bright.

I don't know if it's possible to count all of the ways that Penelope goes unseen in this show, but let's try:

Not only does the ton spend three seasons not knowing who Whistledown is, but they very rarely take any notice of Penelope either.

At any given ball, Penelope is a wallflower of the first water because none of these dud(e)s think to ask her to dance.

In fact, it's this disregard that allows Penelope to collect information, disappear from events, and even repeatedly spend unchaperoned time with Colin Bridgerton.

Colin himself takes two and a half seasons to see what's directly in front of his face (Penelope... it's Penelope, lol). He doesn't see that she clearly has feelings for him, he doesn't see her as more than a friend, and he doesn't even see that he already has feelings for her. Heck, for a while there, he doesn’t even see her as a woman (“You are Pen. You do not count. You’re my friend.” 💀).

Eloise spends two seasons looking for Whistledown, and it turns out it was her best friend all along. She's also surprised when Penelope and Colin show up engaged because she has somehow never noticed that her closest friend has been in love with her brother the whole time.

Penelope's mother and sisters assume that she's a lost cause who'll remain unmarried. When they find out she's been writing letters to Colin in season 2, they scoff at the idea of them being friends. Portia takes comfort in the idea that Penelope will always be around, but she has no clue that her home is Whistledown HQ.

The 12th House

The 12th house doubles down on these themes of something or someone being unseen. It is a difficult place, but it makes sense for Penelope. Some of its topics include secrets (yes), scandal (uh huh), and hidden enemies (I'd say so).

It's also a place of ostracization. As a woman seen as undesirable for marriage, Penelope is already snubbed by Regency society. Whether it's by her friend (and future husband) Colin Bridgerton or her enemy Cressida Cowper, she's suffered no shortage of slights and cruelty.

She keeps her identity as Whistledown a secret for so long because she risks further alienation if the ton discovers who's been casting aspersions and spilling their secrets.

This house is a place of "self-undoing." Whatever we may think of Whistledown's utility, the whole scheme gets away from Penelope this season. By her own admission, she's made mistakes, hurting others and herself in the process. The only way forward is to own up to it.

Capricorn

Nicola herself has referred to Capricorn as a "famously uncool sign," and I suppose Capricorn has this reputation due to the seriousness of its themes. Resourcefulness, persistence, ambition and goal-setting aren't particularly cool, but they can certainly get you stacks of money under the floorboards.

Capricorn can also be steely and even ruthless. Penelope is a fundamentally good person, but there's an eerie level of discipline, detachment and single-mindedness required to publish gossip about those closest to you, not to mention about yourself.

That being said, I believe that Capricorn (like all signs) is much more complex than folks give it credit for. Let's refer again to Liz Greene in The Astrology of Fate:

I understand [Joseph] Campbell to be saying by this that the father-son polarity, the avenging Lawgiver whose strict and structured rules of life collide with the lusty, libidinous goat-like desires of the son, exists within the one individual. Morality and shame, law and lawlessness, seem to comprise some of the polar opposites of Capricorn. The son must face the father's punishment, only to find that the father is within himself; and the father, the old king, must face the son's rebellion, only to find that it is his own youthful spirit that he thought he had outgrown long ago. The initiation of the son by the father is an inner experience which, it seems as though by fate, Capricorn is often denied in the actual parental relationship, and he must therefore seek it within himself on a deeper level. By this description I am, as usual, not talking about men only, for this father-son constellation belongs as much to woman and her capacity for effectiveness and self-sufficiency in the world as it does to man.

That sums up Pen’s arc pretty tidily, don’t you think?

It's only when she decides to come off the wall and integrate these two disparate parts of herself that she's able to start saying what's really on her mind and articulating her needs. This is when she starts getting what she actually wants: to be with the person she loves, to have better relationships with her mother and sisters, to earn the forgiveness of her best friend, to write openly as herself, and to be recognized by society.

—

That’s all folks!

The next one of these, whenever I get to it, will be looking for Sydney Adamu in Ayo Edibiri's chart.

[kharmii]

I've got to write an appreciation post of my new favorite thing. I recently watched Black Clover E.138 'In Zara's Footsteps' which was a Zora Ideale themed episode that made me love him more.

-So it starts out a flashback into Zora's childhood. His now deceased father gets a sprig of white gladiolus from a meek flower seller who gives them away for free because Zara is his hero. He tells his equally meek son that he was partial to the fragrance of those particular flowers.

Fast forward to the present. Zora is lounging seductively in a tree dressed like a dirty whore. He looks somewhat like Zagred and eerily like a zoroark gijinka from pokemon. (HAHAHAHA...don't go there in that fandom, yeesh...)

He says sarcastically, "Yeah.....like I have time for crap like that... I don't need to train with them. I didn't join the Black Bulls to make new friends and play around."

(The teeth look real, and his jaw looks unhinged. There's some not spoken of f-up somewhere in this design)

He goes off on a solo trip to really put his nose to the grindstone. They have to fight wars with demons and sheeit, so he has to really focus on his training. He dons a full-body-covering nondescript robe to cover his tiddies so random creepos with freaky tastes don't flash cash at him again. Zora is actually a sensitive introvert, so he doesn't appreciate that sort of attention. For some odd reason, he decided to put some unnecessary accessory on his robe that looks vaguely like a collar and leash. Whatever dude.....

This comes on the heels of the Gordon themed episode. Gordon is a freaky soft-spoken guy who can't handle being alone. He needs the constant company and emotional support of his friends. Zora, otoh, claims he doesn't need friends. He probably doesn't mean that 100%, but he's the type of person who thrives on solitude and needs a lot of alone time to recharge his social batteries.

Zora stops at his village to visit his dad's grave and leave his favorite flowers. Viewer sees a lot of good shots of his sad tired looking eyes and can tell his flippant and douchey manner of speech is hiding a deep sadness and weariness.

He's surprised to find out someone else already left those same flowers recently, and he talks about how his dad was the pride of their village because he was the first commoner to become a magic knight. Now there are more of them, thanks to Yami, but back then, it was unheard of.

Walking through a forest, he happens on some kid training fairly decent water magic without a grimoire. He says, "This kid's got potential. Well, good luck with that..." and prepares to walk away unseen, but the kid gets accosted by some visiting nobility.

Zora ends up chasing them off with a stink bug, but the kid gets a parting shot at them. Zora admonishes him for going against three guys. The kid's dad shows up and asks him why he looks upset. At no point does he assume the freaky looking guy with sharp teeth and tattered robe might be the cause. Good thing, because he would have been wrong. Zora doesn't scare the children.

The kid rants about how he wishes he had a different family that wasn't poor, and how he wished his dad was more like Zara so he could train to be a magic knight. Zora is perturbed, but the dad says he's right and starts denigrating their family for the hard times they were going through.

Zora wordlessly picks the child up and hauls him off in a fireman's carry while the dad is in no way panicked. Zora must have that sort of presence. He dumps the kid in front of his dad's grave and tells him to call him, "Awesome Mask Guy" and he will call him "Snot-nosed Shrimp". He talks about how his dad never complained about anything and never had a harsh word to say about anybody. The kid expresses resentment that he is aiming too high.

The sentiment brings back a memory of when more normal looking Child Zora told his dad he was aiming too high because commoners couldn't become Magic Knights. His dad kept trying over and over and failing. The dad replied that he may have failed the Magic Knights exam more times than he can remember, but he didn't think he set his sights on something unachievable. He only tells him he will join the magic knights someday because he honestly believes it will happen one day. -And it eventually did happen.

-So he tells the kid that if he told the other kids who accosted him that he would be a magic knight someday with a straight face, then he must believe he can do it. If that was the case, then he wasn't aiming too high. He said his dad used to talk like that too.

Zora shows the kid the doll his dad gave him, and the kid starts ripping on him asking if the doll is supposed to be him? Zora replies that the doll is Zora the Supermage the Mysterious Herald of Justice. He may talk a lot of smack but he's a good man. He fights evil from the shadows. The kid keeps ripping on him and saying he's not a toddler. He says it's a lame back story and asks him if he's srsly into dolls? He asks him how old he is?

Zora gets all dreamy and tells the kid that (doll) Zora was the son of a peasant, just like him, but he wasn't impressed by nobles or royalty because deep down he knew there was something he could do that they couldn't. Kid was intrigued wondering what Zora would have that rich people didn't have. Zora replied he wondered what that could be? If the kid wanted to be a magic knight someday, he'd better figure it out.

Zora is asleep in a tree late afternoon, presumably after a day of really getting some hard core training in. Since his magic deals with complex traps, he probably has to sit around doing deep thinking 90% of the time, and only 10% of the time is execution.

The kid is out practicing magic nearby when the visiting nobles attack him, this time armed with a powerful magic item. Luckily, Zora was able to step in to assist with his Uno Reverse Card Trap before the kid is incinerated. He sends the fire back, but only in a harmless way that gives the kids a scare. They drop the magic item, and the kid picks it up.

Kid comes back with his dad who accuses them of stealing the magic item. They attack with fire power, but the other dad surprises them with strong water magic. The accuser threatens to call the magic knights. That's when Zora shows up in his usual costume of tiddies out and pants cut so low one can practically see the top of his junk.

Zora talks about how he witnessed the whole thing earlier, and the son was the one who stole the magic item looking for a fight. He tells the guy he's a shitty father and doesn't deserve the magic item. The two guys run off humiliated, probably because they thought they were showed up not only by a commoner, but a commoner who is also a male prostitute who services clients with a magic knight fetish.

The kid and dad relate how they took the magic knights exam several times and failed, but they knew that their hero Zara also tried and failed several times. That inspired them to not give up. The kid seems to come to the realization who Zora really is, even though he doesn't say it out loud. He says he believes he knows what Zora the Supermage has that the nobility doesn't, and he also doesn't say out loud what it is. Then he apologizes to his dad for saying bad things about their family.

As Zora leaves, the kid thanks him and says he must really be Zora the Supermage. Zora replies that he's just trying to be a good mage, and then he encourages him to keep trying and leaves with a stink bug prank with the worst hrrderking look on his face.

On the way out, Zora says something interesting. He thinks about Yuno and Asta and how they always make the assertion they are going to become the next Wizard King. He says out loud, "The only reason those two can say that all the time is because they truly believe they can do it. You just wait and see, Dad. I'll make it to that zero stage everybody's been talking about lately, and I'll start by whipping my sorry squad mates into shape."

I was like, "AHAHAHAHA!!!! You'd better deliver, Mr. Background Character!"

Level zero is like Wizard King level ability in that world, -like Julius Novachrono who can control time is probably that level- although I don't think Zora is the type who'd want to be the actual Wizard King. He has the attitude like being a magic knight is more than the costume and recognition. Maybe he'd want to be the first commoner who'd reach that level of ability? Add to that, but Zora is probably the weakest in the squad, like Julian said when he encountered Zara, his magic wasn't that strong, but he was able to execute it in complicated and well-thought-out ways. Zora probably takes after his dad in that way. He's not a 'push past your limits' type of guy like Asta. He's careful. He has to think things through and only act if he feels like he's 100% going to succeed.

[purgemarchlockdown]

Read this tl of the news and literally everything about the MV screams “Kotoko what the fuck did you do” to me.

Why is the same girl in two separate warehouses?

Why does Kotoko not pay any attention at all her to her both when she’s reading the article and when the girl is Clearly waiting for her?

(She looks around in this shot, she's Actively looking to see if Kotoko is coming along this path)

Why does the girl look Angry at her in the first shot?

It makes Sense for Kotoko turn into the werewolf (Jacques) if she set that girl up. It makes Sense for Kotoko to feel so conflicted about it because Kotoko is a person who really does want to do "good" it makes...way too much sense with how the girl is Dressed as well

All of this is already a lot but...Kotoko does actively manipulate a child in Milgram canon...she does it to Es.

Yonah

K: You think long-term restrainment is not violence too? E: It's not. K: So you tolerate all of the psychological abuse going on in this prison, but draw the line at the physical one? What double standards you have! E: You're speaking nonsense! I'm the one who sets the rules for this prison. It's all of my choice.

If she really cared about this she would of Said it earlier in the conversation when they were first talking about the punishments, and Kotoko also never brings this up again once Es relents to her.

The context of this scene is Es actively criticizing her actions, and Kotoko is Deflecting that by criticizing Es instead.

Are there things to criticize? Yes, Definitely. But, again, Kotoko is Using this, not to get Es to STOP doing psychological abuse, but to let HER continue her physical abuse.

She also Repeatedly wears Es down in this VD, calling them weak, questioning their abilities as a warden, even calling them useless.

This is what you say when your trying to Wear Down Someone, you make them unsure of themselves, you make them trust their own abilities less and it makes them more willing to trust You more.

Questions about Es success as a warden aside, that isn't really the point of this, and it all culminates in the hug.

E: Kotoko... K: Come here. E: No... I d-don- K: It's gonna be alright. E: L-let me go, Kotoko... K: I know it well. It's so hard to hold the responsibility of a guard all alone. I've also felt this way. You are such a kind person. You can't stand the prison changing with the power of your choices. So you need someone to be with. Leave all of the dirty work to me. E: I'm... a kind person?.. K: Does your head hurt anymore? Don't worry. Leave it to me, and together we'll be able to create the right MILGRAM. E: I see... that MILGRAM...

Kotoko is calling Es a kind person, giving them validation, making them feel loved and cared for...right after repeatedly calling them weak and useless, and then asks to "Leave it to her."

Come on, rely on me, go on

This is actively exploiting Es vulnerability and emotional instability (instability she partially caused) to get Es to Agree with her. This is unfortunately consistent behavior, it makes me like her more as a Character, but also dear god Kotoko what the fuck did you do.