#but it still feels a little stunted... or at least the dialogue at the end does

[theloveinc]

kirishima x reader - kiri really, really, REALLY wants a third child.

(warnings: afab + fem reader who is a mom with two bio babies, breeding, slight sense of dubcon but it really is con, slight voyeurism, heavy on the pregnancy, mention of sick baby + baby coming early (all is well tho), son = mister, daughter = missy, abrupt end)

1.5k+ words. enjoy!!

-

The conversation comes up on a sunny day in Denki’s backyard. His wife and their newest daughter in her lap sunbathing next to you, the baby reaching out for your sleeve every so often as the three of you watch Denki, Kiri and the older children—save for the oldest who claims she’s too big for such things—play in the sprinklers, screaming. 

“Have you thought about a third?” Denki’s wife asks, tipping down her sunglasses to send you an inquisitive stare.

“Oh, god, no. Ei and I are done.” 

“Really?” she seems surprised. “He’s such a good father, you’d think…”

You shrug, taking a sip of the mango slush that was provided to you when you first arrived. “We were considering it, but mister came so early that the stress of another seemed too much.”

“Ah, I know how that goes all too well. Has Kiri gotten, you know…?” She makes a snipping motion with her fingers.

You snort, the thought almost as implausible as Denki with a son. Doctors have recommended that most heroes remain unaltered, at least to reduce the chances of hormone levels fluctuating unexpectedly and causing changes in prowess… and though that didn’t stop Bakugo five years ago and nothing’s changed about his aggression or fighting style, your husband still uses the warning as an excuse to stay hesitant. 

“Oh, hell no. Have you tried talking to him about it? He goes nuts, and the man is stubborn as a bull.” 

“Are you guys using condoms, then?”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. Protected sex after what? Nearly ten years of marriage? Kirishima was far from the type even when you first met, if you tried bringing up latex contraception now, he’d practically consider it offensive, or a threat to his masculinity at the very least. 

“Pills for now. Surprisingly the side effects have been manageable.” 

“Aren’t you worried those might fail?” 

Her persistent concern touches you, and how could it not when she and her husband have to wrangle five, blonde, Kaminari daughters from sunset to sundown on the daily… but it’s nothing you don’t think you and Ei couldn’t navigate together if need be. 

The youngest starts squirming for you and you offer to take her in your arms, trading your slush to plop her on the warmth of your lap which immediately ceases her cooing. 

“Well,” you tickle her baby plump belly, the delighted squeal you get in response making you grin, “I guess an accident wouldn’t be so bad if they turned out like this one.” 

-

Little did you know, Kirishima overheard your little, half-joking declaration. It’s a wonder, given that you’d assumed if the water hadn’t drowned out your voices, the seven screaming children (and Denki) would’ve.

But he catches you the next morning, fresh out of the shower as you stand in the bathroom prepping your skin for the rest of the day.

“I heard,” he leans in behind you, his damp and loose hair reflected in the mirror, “you said you wanted another baby?”

You chuckle, the steamy warmth of his belly pressing into your back almost overwhelming, “I said, accidents happen, my love. I’m perfectly content with the three babies I have now.” 

Kirishima pouts, the hands on your hips tightening as they slowly turn you around to face him. 

“What if we…?” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” you yawn, picking a stray piece of thread off of the damp towel hanging around his shoulders, your other hand running down his bare chest. “I thought we agreed two was enough?” 

“I was just thinking, you know, it doesn’t sound so bad now that mister is older and all.”

You wave him off, nudging your way out from between the sink counter and his hips before pressing one quick peck to his cheek. 

“Shoo. You’re going to be late for work,” Kirishima doesn’t let you go so easily, his hands lingering and only falling when you’re finally out of reach. “There’s a lunch in the fridge. Don’t get hung up on it, yeah?”

-

But Kirishima is hung up on it.

He loves being a dad more than anything, feels as though it's one of the many reasons he was placed on this earth, and though he loves you now more than any other time in his life and would love you no matter what happened to your body, he can’t say he wasn’t extremely delighted when you were pregnant... nor that he doesn’t want to see another rounded belly on you again.

Besides, your daughter was so curious about it, so precious and clingy, but she was almost too little to understand what was happening in your belly when you were swollen with your son… that Kirishima really only has a handful of memories of you all together before one baby became two and two babies became children.

And when he spent their babyhood was spent half in a hospital and half with you out of commission, he just can't help but imagine that doing it over with a third would make his whole life complete.

It just makes perfect sense. 

-

It’s couple’s hot yoga the next time it gets brought up, Kirishima helping you hold the warm-up stretches as he ponders the questions out loud.

“Have you thought about it at all?” He whispers, hands pulling your thigh away from your face and into a stretch meant to straighten your hamstrings. 

“Thought about what?”

“Baby number three,” he lowers your leg and helps switch you to the other side. 

You laugh, disturbing the calm of the heated studio, apologizing to the other couples there softly after. “You seem pretty committed.”

Kirishima nods like a desperate puppy, knowing how he must look in his loose tank top and sweatband, his hair pushed back from his forehead revealing a flush that isn’t yet due to the steam in the room. 

“What’s so good about a third, anyway?” you as say as he repositions your leg from straight to bent at the instructors command. “You know how sick mister was. I can’t go through that again.”

“What if you didn’t have to?

You glare, straining your neck to make sure Kiri can get a peak at your angry eyes. “You say that like you know what would happen.”

"I just…” he shrugs, thumb rubbing your ankle. “We missed missy’s toddler years taking care of mister, and by the time he was walking, missy was using full on sentences and demanded that we start treating her like an adult.” 

The instructor commands you turn on your side and begin the same stretches that way. 

“You were also still recovering from the pregnancy, I had to go back to work… and I want to do it again but with just one this time. Savor the baby years the way we should’ve savored theirs.” 

Kirishima lets his palm brush the intersection between your thighs as he keeps your let from falling. Damp and warm with sweat, he can’t help but press his fingers into where your loins hide under your leggings and—

You stick your foot in his face, the other couples amongst the room already shifting. “Up. It’s your turn for stretches.”

-

“Shit.” 

“Ooh, mommy cussed!”

“You didn’t hear that, baby. I’m just—“ you squint at the notification on your device.

“What?” Kirishima asks, holding your daughter in his arms. The tops of her feet are pressing into his belly while they pass a large slice of dripping, red watermelon back and forth. Your son is preoccupied at the coloring table set up in the living room, drawing pictures of semi-naked heroes with enormous hairdos. 

“Pharmacy’s out of my birth control. Won’t be in for a few weeks.”

You don’t miss the way Kiri’s eyebrows immediately raise, though you glance back down at your phone to panic-click more buttons in the hopes that he gets the hint. 

“What’s that mean, babe?” he asks, feigning innocence about a subject you very well know he’s versed in. 

“What do you mean, what’s that mean?” 

“I mean, what are we gonna do about that? You know—“

You groan. 

“Hush. We’re just gonna pretend I didn’t say that and move on,” you turn on your feet to rush out of the room, calling over your shoulder. “And share the watermelon with mister. I’m calling the doctor.” 

“Ooh,” your daughter says again, her sticky hands going to Kiri’s cheeks which are pinched in a funny expression she doesn’t clock, “Daddy’s in trouble!” 

-

But honestly, Kirishima can’t pretend he hadn’t heard what you said… and truly doesn’t know what you were thinking when you suggested that he try. Birth control aside, on it or off it, you were bound to have sex eventually… that was never even the issue. 

Though when you bring up condoms to the whiney redhead barely a few days later, he barely manages to open one before accidentally flinging it across the room in trying to see how well it stretches. 

“I can’t do this,” Kirishima frowns, sitting back down on the bed after pulling his briefs back on to throw away the slimy piece of latex. He curls an arm back around you to pull you in between his legs, hands moving to grip your waist while he admires the cute black, mom panties you’re wearing that sit over the handles of your hips. “I don’t wanna wear a condom.”  

You sigh, your own hands scratching the tops of his shoulders. “You’re not planning on pulling out, either. Are you?”

“No,” he doesn’t even say it shamefully, “I’m not planning on pulling out.” 

“And you’re gonna hope that it sticks?” 

“Yes,” his eyelids flutter looking up at you. You’re so cute frowning like you’re not gonna let him have his way and then pretend it’s all his fault. An accident. “I’m gonna hope it gets you pregnant.” 

That makes you roll your eyes, though it also has you squeezing your legs together. 

“You’re such a dog.”

Kirishima nods, but you don’t stop him from slowing pulling your panties down. 

“Only for you.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima #and then u find out it' s identical twins two months later #kirishima's hooting and hollering and you're sitting there like 🙂snip snip time #lol idk #hope this was alright! it came so naturally to me lol #but it still feels a little stunted... or at least the dialogue at the end does #i might edit it but probably not LOL #pregnancy tw #kids tw #caitie post #gen

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: Chapter Eleven

By Losyark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Complete PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Somehow, the summer and Hob's brush with the glitz and glam (more like the sleep deprivation and hurry-up-and-wait) of The Biz comes to an end. The first week of classes start up, and as he promised Morpheus, Hob eschews sleep in order to review the texts, and write the syllabuses and prepare the lectures that he didn't have time to over the summer. Morpheus only throws sand in his face and drags him down into the Dreaming twice, when Hob hadn't caught so much as a cat-nap on his junky office sofa in over forty-eight hours.

It's a strange thing, Hob muses, as he entertains his colleagues with stories of his time on set, to have done something so intense and life-altering, and have no one really know it even exists yet. The footage is in editing, and Hob is no longer needed. He is, in essence, utterly dropped and forgotten by the production.

Harriet understands what he means, and joins Hob at The New Inn every few evenings. She talks him through what she calls "show-drop," or the intense lonely misery that comes after living so closely and bonding with fellow artists so deeply, only for everyone to suddenly and completely part ways. He regales her with tales of the places he's been and the ordinary, everyday people he's met. He promises to read over her newest publication for inaccuracies, and she in turn gives a guest lecture at his uni on archeology and historical recreation for screen media.

He reunites with both of his co-presenters only twice in the month of September: once, to record ADR (basically re-recording dialogue that was muffled or of poor quality, trying to match his voice to the synch of his own mouth), and another time to get dressed up in their costumes for the last time and spend an afternoon shooting promotional posters and images.

He wears the black-and-scarlet velvet ensemble into the Dreaming that night.

Morpheus is playing host to a contingent of new gods seeking to curry favour with Dream of the Endless. Hob misses a good proper balls, and Morpheus is impressed that he still remembers all the steps to the cotillion. The gods all have names like Media, and Mr. World, and have been thought into being by humans. They fawn and flatter over Dream's human (but not mortal) consort, insincere and desperate for a solid place in the world's pantheon. Hob wakes up feeling like he's covered with greasy fingerprints and takes the hottest shower he can stand for at least an hour.

Hob hosts the wrap party at The New Inn, closing the pub for a private party. Patrick and the new kid pull out all the stops, proud of their little local celebrity, and pull out all the stops in the kitchen. Though he wasn't able to track down the fey food artist, Hob connected his team with the food artists, and everyone enjoys venison pasties, and hyppocras, buttered beer and snow, fruit and meat pies, and lots of marzipan shaped like Gadlen House.

Morpheus acquiesces to Hob's wheedling, and attends the party as Hob's partner. He's prickly, and taciturn, but everyone is in high enough spirits that they don't mind Hob's introverted goth boyfriend. And nobody seems to remember that he looks just like one of the stunt team.

Harinder surprises them all by arriving with a USB stick loaded with the first episode and a pocket projector. Between them, Hob and Patrick get the karaoke speakers and a ratty old projector screen cobbled together. Patrick makes sure everyone has all the beer, wine, coffee, soda, and various other cock-or-mocktails topped up, they dim the lights, and let it rip.

The crowd cheers and jeers, hollers and laughs, and as the credits on the first episode roll, everyone stands up and claps for at least five minutes straight.

"What did you think?" Hob asks Morpheus, leaning close to whisper in his lover's ear under all the clapping and celebration.

"It is wonderful. Engaging and cinematic in a way that the previous incarnations of this program have not been. And you make a very appealing and handsome leading man," Morpheus adds, flicking a look at Hob from under black lacework eyelashes that promises wonderful things once he's asleep.

Hob snorts. "I'm hardly the lead, Duckie. There were two other people on the screen too, you know."

 "You have created something to be proud of," Morpheus pushes. He slides his hand into the pack pocket of Hob's jeans, not to fondle or squeeze, but to simply hold him close. Hob feels admired and cherished. "Humanity needs its fantasies, to make its reality a better place to live, and you have created a very admirable fantasy indeed."

"You don't have to butter me up by quoting Sir Terry at me," Hob protests with a laugh.

Morpheus only quirks a smirk at him. 

Then Glenn and his wife crash into them with tipsy glee, Glenn shouting "Did you see that? Did you see that! That's a bloody BAFTA in the bag, that is you mad, wonderful, beautiful Doc Bob, you!"

Harriet, with her wife and son, aren't far behind. Then there are toasts, and drunken heartfelt speeches, and someone figures out how to get a whole mess of electro-tudor remix music pouding on the speakers, the tables are pushed aside, and people are reeling and ducking around one another with unashamed joy.

And Morpheus lets himself slip into the background, contentedly supportive and admiring.

Sweaty and exhausted in the best way, Hob pulls Shami outside sometime around midnight to gift them a small posey of bellflowers and agrimony, as well as a beautiful antique cloak pin. It's a unisex piece, carefully etched with beautiful Tudor knotwork, and set with chips of a dark tourmaline gem that would set off Shami's eyes nicely.

Hob had rescued it from under the floorboards of the Gadlen House nursery. Hob had been poor and penniless enough in his life that even when he was wealthy, he had the foresight to secret away little stashes of treasure, just in case. Fletcher hadn't stolen every treasure, and Hob did find some time alone to wander and snoop during the shoot after all. He'd managed to smuggle his sword out too, by pretending it was just a prop.

Hob didn't tell Shami that the brooch once belonged to first Eleanor's brother, then Eleanor. He doesn't tell Shami that he had hidden away the favorite of her pieces after her death with the intention of one day gifting them to Robyn's bride. Hob doesn't tell Shami that Robyn had never married, but Hob likes to think that Eleanor wouldn't mind him sharing her treasures with the incredible person who had brought her back to him in so many vital, wondrous ways.

All he says is "Thank you. You have no idea what it means to me to know that I have her diary and his sketchbook, safe and preserved, forever."

When they come back inside, Morpheus is waiting in the shadow of the door to snatch Hob to his side, and ensure that nobody gets the wrong idea about the soon-to-be famous television presenter and the digital archivist slinking in from the autumn chill together.

*

Hob takes great delight in goading Morpheus to live out the fantasies of celebrity popping up in the dreams of so many young people these days by making Morpheus promise to walk the red carpet on his arm.

Though, Hob realizes as soon as Morpheus appears in Hob's bedroom that night, he's made a grave miscalculation. Hob's mouth immediately goes desert-dry. 

Morpheus wears boots with higher-than-usual heels so he has at least two inches on Hob, the vain peacock, and his hair crests even higher. He's wearing a beautiful black-on-black damask suit with a waist-length blazer-fronted cape, trimmed with red velvet lapels. His boutonniere easily the size of his whole hand made up of (Hob's app tells him) angrec, cape jasmine, and both blue and pink convolvulus. He's wearing a single silver-and-ruby drop earring. And the eyeliner. By god, Hob can't die but he damn near expires on the spot when he realizes that Morpheus is wearing such perfect, knife-blade sharp winged black eyeliner that it would make a Vogue cover makeup artist weep with envy.

He puts Hob's own tired brown suit to shame. Morpheus seems to agree, because with a twist of his wrist, Hob is suddenly wearing a sharp, slim-cut hunter-green three piece (Morpheus' favorite color on him, clearly), with black shirt and a matching honest-to-god cravat. Instead of a boutonniere, Morpheus has decorated Hob's neckcloth with a small, rectangular ruby on a golden stickpin sculpted to resemble ivy.

"This isn't the Oscars," Hob says, but it's not a protest.

The night is warm enough and Hob's shoes are comfortable enough that the two hour walk to Hither Green and Gadlen House is a pleasure, and it means that Matthew gets to join them all the way to the front gate.

"Aww, come on, Hobsie," Matthew wheedles from Hob's shoulder, preening his hair out of its carefully pomaded fall. "The boss showed me the opening shot. It wouldn't be half as good if I wasn't in it."

"True," Hob allows, as they wait from the back of the line for their turn to present their ID badges and gain entry to the park.

Security is tight at Gadlen House tonight, and every who's-who of the entertainment world has been invited. Most of them aren't sure what they're there for—it's just the dinky little premiere of a dinky little docuseries after all—but the muckity mucks at the BBC had insisted, and, Hob's sure, they're all going to be really glad they were part of the first wave of outlets who get to break the big news about the quarto.

The plan tonight is to screen the first episode followed up with a bit of a talk from Harinder and a thirty minute Q&A with Hob, Harriet and Glenn, and then a presentation from Shami about the future of digital archeology and historical document interactivity, and then, when everyone was thoroughly bored to tears—ten minutes of uncut footage of Hob and Glenn goofing around and cataloging the contents of the Gadlen Fell Crate Papers, until Glenn goes parchment white and starts screaming like a little girl.

At which point, the experts at the V&A would be stepping in to present the actual quarto to the press, Hob is sure social media is going to lose its goddamn mind, and Hob plans to take full and unashamed advantage of his lover's eldritch nature to sneak away before anyone tries to buttonhole him.

Matthew tugs on Hob's hair threateningly.

"Yeah, okay," Hob relents. "But stand on the very edge of my shoulder, like that, yeah. Glenn taught me this for photos—always make sure there's empty air around your body so you don't look squashed against another person. And you can't come into the house, this is just for the outdoor carpet, okay?"

"Okay!" Matthew croaks. "I'm gonna be a star, baby!"

Matthew holds his head high, puffs and smooths the lay of his feathers and, if a raven can suck it in, then he's definitely sucking it in.

"You spoil him," Morpheus says indulgently.

Hob takes his hand and entwines their fingers. "I spoil you both, and I don't see you complaining. Now, shhh, Matthew."

The bored guard at the door doesn't even glance up at them as he takes and checks Hob's work badge.

"Gadlen, plus one?"

"Yes," Hob says.

"Have fun, guv." He waves them through and is on to the next person who has just arrived behind them.

Past the gates, Hob is met with event PAs and coordinators who eye up Matthew, but don't say anything. They're probably used to way weirder things when it comes to celebrities, and Hob is hardly that.

They're asked to hold a moment, as the small group before them—Harinder and the direction team, it looks like—clears the first bank of photographers and reporters. Hob takes a moment to marvel at the way that Gadlen House has once again been transformed.

The drive has been overlaid with low metal risers, smothered in a literal red carpet. On one side, the press is contained by long strands of red velvet ropes which protect the grass. On the other, an eight-foot wall of temporary flats has been erected, uplit to ensure the repeating pattern of BBC Historics and National Trust logos are visible in each photo anyone takes.

Up by the house, the front courtyard has been transformed into a little cocktail bar, elegant stand lights showing off the fountains to best advantage, and penguin-suited waiters in absurd tudor-era bonnets with ridiculous ostrich feathers circulating with trays of champagne.

Hob's been told that the grand entry hall has been filled with tiered seating and a large cinematic screen, and a podium from which the evening's host will crack tired jokes and try to keep folks entertained between setups.

It's all a bit much for a silly little historical docudrama, but Hob knows what the prize at the bottom of the crackerjack box is. He knows it will be worth all of the hullabaloo.

"Alright," the P.A. at the top of the carpet says, after conferring with someone on a headset. "When I say go, walk out to the middle of that first group. My colleague there—see, he's waving—he'll let you know when you're good. Pose for the cameras, and speak to the reporter on the carpet. She'll ask you two or three questions, might have you give a spin. Then my colleague will pass you on to the next one down the line. Feel free to decline to answer any questions you don't want to, and don't let the bird shit on anything."

"Excuse you—" Matthew squawks.

"Go!"

Morpheus takes Hob by the hand and swivels forward like he's planning to seduce the whole crowd.

He probably is.

"Doc Bob!" someone in the crowd shouts, and another says "Sir Gadlen!"

"You're off by three," Hob calls back, and the scrum chuckles, charmed.

The new PA introduces the reporter, and Hob vaguely recognizes her from one of the late night chat shows.

"Mr. Gadlen, and Mr…" 

"Oneiros," Morpheus offers up.

"Right-o, sir," the PA says. "If you'll both just stand here…"

They do and Hob is not even remotely surprised that Morpheus knows how to work a camera. He must be tapping into the dreams of every model on the U.K. right now. He tugs Hob into a few poses subtly, and Hob feels like a complete tit but trusts his lover to do right by him.

The reporter asks about Hob's experience on set ("Uh, yeah, cool, really cool," Hob answers to his mortification); what he's wearing ("McQueen," Morpheus intones); and if the bird is real or a fashion accessory.

"Real!" Matthew protests.

"Real," Hob echoes, resisting the urge to reach up and pluck out one of Matthew's tailfeathers. "And an excellent mimic when he wants to be. He insisted on coming along."

"How adorable! Is he friendly? Can I pet your crow?"

"Raven," Hob corrects. "And technically, it's his bird," Hob says, jerking his thumb at Morpheus. "But Matthew likes me better."

"Matthew would appreciate your attention, yes," Morpheus allows magnanimously. "Pet his breast, or gently along his beak."

And that is how Morpheus becomes boyfriend of the year for figuring out how to keep all the attention off of Hob and his terrible interview answers, and Matthew becomes the unequivocal favorite of the evening.

They event organizers even open a window in one of the turrets of the great hall so he could sit on the sill and watch.

*

A few hours later, Morpheus and Hob sneak away just as he planned, ducking under the red velvet ropes and putting his lock-breaking skills to the test to break into his old bedroom. Morpheus takes care of the security system and cameras without needing to be asked.

"Do you think they forgot that they left the good mattress on the… ha ha!" Hob chortles gleefully. "Look, they did!"

"You know, you never properly slept in this bed, Hob," Morpheus ventures, with exactly zero innocence or nonchalance.

"No, I did not," Hob replies with a cheeky wink. "Help me christen it?"

"Gladly."

*

The revelation of the missing Shakespeare play is enough to shoot the fame of the series, and its presenters, into the stratosphere. Because Cardenio was found in Hob's Gadlen Fell Crate, it technically belongs to him. So every A-list Shakespearen actor, dramatist, and acting troupe in the country is banging down his door for a look at it. Hob very quickly, very wisely, and very generously donates the damn thing away to the National Trust. Let them manage its preservation and loaning rights, and make top dollar on the licensing fees besides. They deserve the boost in funding and fame.

Still, every reporter, Elizabethan scholar, and entertainment news anchor wants a piece of Bob Gadlen the Sixth. Hob does all he can to reorient the spotlight onto Harriet, and Glenn, and Shami. By the end of October it's gotten so bad that Hob has resumed teaching all of his classes online so he can avoid the paps on campus. Patrick has to hire a bouncer for The New Inn, and Lucienne steps briefly into the Waking world to act as Hob's legal protector and manager.

As a creature who has read literally every book there is to read on law, Lucienne is ruthlessly efficient. By the end of the month, Hob has gone back to being a nobody professor and a person of non-interest to the media. Occasionally someone recognizes him on the street and asks for a selfie, or comes up to him in a cafe when he's on a date with Morpheus. 

And memorably, a few days before All Hallows Eve, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts makes the mistake of inviting Hob to give a guest lecture. They're clearly thinking (as far as Hob can tell) that because the quarto was found among Hob's things, Hob must be some sort of expert must be some sort of Shakespeare expert. And he is. But not in the way they expected.

And that's how a cadre of venerable professors, a few A-listers who think they can get away with the ballcap-and-glasses disguise, and two cohorts worth of young hopeful actors are treated to a pacing, ranting diatribe against the boyfriend-stealing wannabe, an exaltation of Kit Marlowe, and an incredibly powerful moment-by-moment narration of what going to see a play at The Curtain (a far superior theater to The Globe in Hob's estimation) smelled like, sounded like, looked like, and felt like.

"Not helping your mission to stay under the radar," Harriet texts him, with a link to a video, two days later.

Hob, Morpheus and Matthew are upstairs in Hob's flat, working their way through a bowl of discount Tescos candy—Morpheus' sweet tooth strikes again—and carving neeps into lanterns whose light Stingy Jack can roam the world by. Stingy Jack-o-the-Lantern is real, it turns out, and as close to a friend as anyone can be to Morpheus. The guy deserves some turnips with faces in them just for that alone, Hob figures.

Apparently one of the RADA students had recorded the whole thing and has created a supercut of Hob's most creative, Elizabethan, and devastating insults to the bard. Matthew asks him to replay it for him on the phone four times before Morpheus gets in a snit and goes on his own rant about how important Midsummer was to his political alliances with the Fair Folk.

Talk then turns to Shaxbeard's lost son Hamnet, and as fathers of dead sons, they agree wordlessly to change the topic.

*

Fall shades elegantly into Winter. 

Hob finishes his term and is buried in snowdrifts of essays and exams to mark. He meets up regularly with Harriet, politely declines with all the force in his Immortal body when the BBC asks him back for a second series, and teaches Matthew the rules of Football. ("The good one, birdbrain, not that handegg you used to watch when you had thumbs.")

And then, one quiet evening when it's just Patrick, New Kid, and the two of them in the pub, Morpheus reaches across the table, takes Hob's hand, and asks "Are you happy?"

Hob, who had been thinking about whether or not he wanted to subject himself to the humiliation of adding Elizabethan Manor to next semester's syllabus as non-compulsory but recommended viewing, blinks a few times as his brain catches up to Morpehus' question.

"Yes," Hob says slowly, sitting forward and giving Morpheus his full attention. This feels like a far more serious question than it sounds. "Why do you ask? Are you?"

"Very happy," Morpheus says, but then sighs like that's the greatest misfortune an anthropomorphic personification can endure.

"Okay. But forgive me duck… you don't sound like it."

"I am very happy, and that is the problem," Morpheus confesses, slumping in his chair.

This worries Hob even more, because he's never seen Morpheus slump in his chair before. He lounges, he reclines, he luxuriates, he sprawls, he reposes. He does not slump.

Hob squeezes his hand reassuringly. "I'm listening."

Between them, where Patrick can see, Morpheus wills a Meadow Saffron into existence. Hob is pleased with himself that he recognizes it on sight, after so many hours spent studying his floriography texts.

"Dearheart, no," Hob says, plucking the flower out of Morpheus' fingers and laying it on the seat beside him. "That's not true at all. Your best days are yet to come. You have me now."

"I do have you," Morpheus agrees. "But… I fear that you do not have me. Not the way I would like it."

"You're right here, duckie."

"But I should like to be here more. I want to sleep beside you, Hob. Properly sleep, not simply watch you drop off and then step into my realm and resume my function while you rest. I want to rest with you. I want to wake with you. I want—to be greater than my function and at the same time, less. I want wholly outside of it. I want to be… where you are. Where I am happiest."

"Wait, let me get my head around this. Is my boyfriend Dream of the Endless or Morpheus, the God of Sleep? Am I sleeping with whole diamond, or just one facet? Is that what worries you? Because I don't care…"

The pained look on Morpheus' face makes it clear that Hob is way off the mark, and he trails off, waiting. Rare for him, Morpheus hesitates before he answers. He opens his petal-pink mouth, draws a breath, licks his lips, closes them again, then does it all again. Hob waits him out, massaging the tense tendons of Morpheus' palm with his thumbs.

Finally, Morpheus says: "How would you feel if I was neither?"

Hob blinks, digests what Morpheus has said, decides it doesn't make any sense any which way he turns it over in his mind, and says: "Come again?"

"What if… I were not Dream of the Endless. Or Morpheus the God of Sleep. What if I was… just a man?"

Hob sits bolt upright. "What's wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing. I merely… perhaps it is foolish."

"No, go on," Hob reassures him, trying to adjust to the new, less bone-vibrating timbre of Morpheus' speech. It's fine. It still sounds like him. Just… different.

"A child comes," Morpheus murmurs eventually. "Conceived in the Dreaming, made of dreamstuff."

Hob blinks some more as his brain buffers. "Are you pregnant?"

Morpheus chuckles wryly. "No."

"Oh. okay." Hob licks his lips, digesting this. "Wait, am I pregnant?"

Morpheus laughs gently. "No, Hob. The child grows in the heart and fantasies of a woman who… well, the details are a story for another time, I think. But the babe will be a fine heir, I should think."

"An heir?" Hob blinks some more, and takes a few sips of his beer to cover as he tries to catch up. Morpheus sometimes drops strange scruffy things into his lap like a proud kitten, and even after all this time, after all he's done and seen, Hob still needs time to readjust his reality to encompass the offering. "An heir?  God's wounds, are you dying?"

"No, Hob. The Endless do not die." Morpheus meets his eyes earnestly, then lifts their entwined hands to kiss each of Hob's knuckles. "But this facet has… reached its natural conclusion."

"So you are dying," Hob repeats, distress wringing through every fiber of his body.

"I assure you, no," Morpheus says. He rises from his seat, scoots around the table and pulls Hob against his chest to soothe Hob's building panic. "Do you not think that my sister shares the same love for me as she does for you? What she has bargained for you, she has agreed to provide for me as well."

"I'm not following," Hob admits, clutching at Morpheus' ribs.

"Gods come and go. The old fade and new ones are thought into being. You met some of them." 

Hob swallows hard enough that he feels his throat burn. "Yes."

"Morpheus the God of Sleep is… fading. This world no longer needs a classical, old-fashioned, ancient god of dreams. Dreams are different now, and they need a new avatar to shepherd them. And so another God grows within the womb of human imagination. Do you understand?"

Hob looks up at Morpheus, and he knows he's trembling, knows he frightened, but Morpheus is wrapped around him, keeping him steady.

"I think so." 

"When this child is born, the facet that you know as Morpheus will cease to be Endless, and simply become… human." A smile, beatific and contented spreads over Morpheus' face. "An Immortal human, yes, but human all the same. Think of it less as death and perhaps more as… retirement."

"You'll be like me," Hob gasps.

"Yes."

"You'll be with me," Hob adds, excitement replacing his fear. He straightens to meet Morpheus' pleading eyes.

"Yes. Unless you'd prefer—"

"Fuck that," Hob says, clinging to Morpheus. "You'll be moving in with me upstairs, that's what'll be happening."

"If that is what you wish."

"That is abosu-fucking-lutely what I wish," Hob confirms, then surges up to press his lips against Morpheus' in a claiming, hungry, possessive kiss.

"Then it is done," Morpheus says, when they part. Another bargain struck. Maybe the last.

Fuck me, Hob thinks, and wishes he could manifest an avalanche of roses, roses, roses.

Morpheus must see his fantasy, because rose petals begin to tumble from the empty air around them, drifting along the table and clinging to Morpheus' hair. Hob laughs, enchanted and elated.

Patrick's gonna take one look at the floor and kill him on the spot.

The thought makes Hob want to kiss Morpheus again, so he does.

"This is, forgive me, a dream come true," Hob laughs, when they eventually break off. He may also be crying, he's not sure. All he knows is that he needs to flag down New Kid and get them to pop some bubbly. "This is sorta everything. All my hopes and, well, now my Dream, too."

“Entirely. And if I am your Dream,” Morpheus asks reticently. “Will you, in return, be my Hope?”

"Absolutely," Hob says, and leans across the table to kiss Morpheus. "For as long as you want."

"For forever then," Morpheus agrees. "Or have you not heard? One cannot kill hope."

THE END

PREVIOUS | More Fanfic | More Books

#Cling Fast #Losyark #dreamling #hob x dream #dream x hob #dreamling fic #dream #Hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfiction #fanfic #sandman #the sandman #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfiction #hob x morpheus #morpheus x hob #morpheus #matthew the raven #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #lord morpheus #gaimanverse #hob gadling is his own ancestor #crackfic treated seriously #centennial husbands fic #morpheus is the king of repressed symbolism #complete #dreamling romance #Aziraphale

[cheyconicbookreviews]

The Dirty Air by Lauren Asher

My sister bought me this series for Christmas and I have been so anxious to read it. <3 It even made me interested in watching Formula 1 races. Which, is a rather unfortunate atrocity seeing as my time is already booked with escaping reality through literature. *sigh* What I loved– the angst, the swoon, the character development. I adore the epilogues, too. So so much. What I could have done without– the constant crassness of the men at the beginning of each book (I don’t mind them being assholes but I could do without “fuck” in every line of dialogue and inner thoughts. Honestly it’s my only qualm with Asher’s writing. Sometimes, I read a book or series and think “wow this will be a reread for sure.” However, I had never finished a book and immediately wanted to reread it to annotate it. Until the dirty air series. Brain, meet obsession. There is a direct correlation from how beat up my books look to how much I love them. The chart looks like this.

These books? Absolutely wrecked (heh get it? Because of book thre– okay I’ll stop.

Throttled

Oh my lord. Do you love brother’s rival (enemy?) tropes? How about forbidden romance (see brother’s rival)? Slow Burn? This is the book for you! Noah and Maya are so funny I love them so much. Both of their characters developed so much through this book and it was a joy to read them. I especially how much Maya was able to stand up for herself to Santi. She had as much growing to do as Noah did, which is one of my favorites. I also adored how much of a simp Noah is for Maya. Simps reign supreme in my heart. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Collided

I’m not going to lie, I was really apprehensive about going into Liam and Sophie’s story, even though Collided’s cover was the one that drew me into the series in the first place. Once again we have a forbidden romance between our protagonists, ah how cruel the heart can be. Sophie’s list had me cackling certainly NOT because mine looks ⅔ similar Liam’s prologue was totally unexpected and I can honestly say it hooked me. I did feel that the push and pull between the friendzone and the warring chemistry was a little drawn out. I think this book could have moved 100 pages from that to secret dates or *gasp* emotional bonding. Overall, I did enjoy their story. Sophie is a pure soul. I also really enjoyed seeing the alternative side of the same timeline we experienced in Throttled. James Mitchell is my fave, btw. 10/10 dad. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wrecked Oooh ooh ohh angst from the get go. Thank you thank you thank you Lauren Asher. After meeting Jax in book one, he was the racer I was least excited to read about, but, (butta butta but) he is a curly haired tattooed man with anxiety.What can I say? As my queen and goddess stated, “it’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me”

SO, now I’m in. Also, he is SO SO sweet with his Mama I love him. Jax is a scared little puppy waiting for someone to get past his defenses enough to scoop him up and take him home. Once I realized this, my heart melted for him. Elena might be coming for Maya’s spot as my fave fmc in this series. She is so assured and witty. At the ancient age of 26, nearly 27, I found I could relate to Elena’s more mature narration. She is confident, assured, and truly a “do no harm take no sh**” kind of lady. I think I could like her a lot. And don’t get me started on sweet baby Elias. Oh my darling carino. Too pure, must protec. Elena and Jax’s dynamic starts off very strong. Both with zest and fight coursing through them. I love love love their banter. Both of these lil babies are emotionally stunted, which is becoming a trope I wasn’t aware I craved. Their easy volley of clap backs had me smiling so much it hurt. And the character development my GOD the character development with these two was so so good. By the end I was literally sobbing. Was this a fragile week for me? Yes. Do I think I still would have sobbed? Yes. And that epilogue? Heart, meet knife ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Redeemed At this point, I think Lauren Asher sits on her throne of hell writing chair and thinks “hmmm how could I make this prologue more gut wrenching than the last one?” Yes, yes, I hear you. “But Chey! How can (view spoiler) and I HEAR you but also, Santi? SANTI?! I love him. The lead up for this story is both comical and heart wrenching, which makes us all look like jerks for laughing. Chloe has found an ancestry kit to lead her to her long lost dad. Will he be awesome? Will he suck as bad as her mom (almost impossible)? Who knows!?! Coincidentally, her journeys take her to the same town our broken hero Santiago Altorre is residing in. And what do we find Santiago doing? Well, he was just told that Maya and Noah need to watch their son Marko for two weeks because (view spoiler) Angst and comedy leading into the perfect setup for this fake dating trope? *Swoon* Alright, confession time. My favorite tropes are one bed, fake dating, single dad, and accidental pregnancy. I know that last one is wildly unpopular but my god it’s my kryptonite. Santi isn’t a single dad, but taking care of Marko for the two weeks means that he fits the bill, even if only temporarily. And I absolutely adore the friendly banter between them– how much they want to help the other heal. If you like Archer’s Voice, I think you’ll love this book. This book gave me nearly everything that makes my heart sing about romances. Gahh A million stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

#the dirty air #lauren asher #throttled #collided #wrecked #redeemed #formula 1 #f1 romance #book review #series review #contemporary romance

[moviewarfare]

A Review of “Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One (2023)”

Mission Impossible is one of those franchises that started rough but got better as more entries were made. The previous entry, Mission Impossible Fallout, might be one of the best action movies ever made. Of course, I was massively hyped for the next entry but I had a slight worry when I heard it was going to split into parts. Does the Mission Impossible franchise continue to cruise upwards or this time a mission failure?

Let's start with the reason that many watch this franchise, the action and stunts. Tom Cruise continues to be one of the few proper action stars as he does dangerous stunts for our entertainment. This entry is no exception as he rides a motorbike off a cliff, speed gliding and does a fight sequence on a train reminiscent of the first film. Tom doing it for real, makes the sequence feel more real and it certainly shows in the way these scenes are shot. In terms of action set pieces, the airport scene is incredibly tense with how many groups trying to mess or hunt the IMF. The Rome car chase is a thrilling 20 minutes of pure adrenaline and comedic joy. The 3rd act with the train is an awesome, stellar and gripping delight to watch.  Lorne Balfe returns from Mission Impossible Fallout to do the score for the film and he delivers yet again. His score makes every action scene more impactful and the emotional stuff hit harder.

All the returning actors continue to give great performances but the new character Grace played by Hayley Atwell is a highlight. I appreciate that she isn't an agent like Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson).  She is an amazing thief that adds a bit of chaos to everything while not being truly loyal to the hero or villain's cause. Grace is not accustomed to the shenanigans of the IMF so she adds an interesting POV to what is going on in the plot. There is also great chemistry between Tom Cruise and Hayley Atwell which makes their scenes together really enjoyable. Henry Czerny returns as Kittridge from the first Mission Impossible and he is still great as he was 27 years ago. The weird rivalry and antagonism between his character and Ethan are fun to watch. There is a big MacGuffin in the plot called "The Entity" which is A.I. and this is so different for Mission Impossible which has it be a bomb or virus. The Entity is quite scary because it is very fitting for the time we currently live in and feels quite possible in real life. The Entity feels like the real villain.

The human villains, Gabriel (Esai Morales) and Paris (Pom Klementieff) are sadly quite disappointing. It was great to have villains that aren't agents going evil or arms dealers like in past films. Gabriel even has a connection to Ethan's past which makes him a more personal villain. Unfortunately, they aren't explored much whatsoever and Gabriel himself doesn't become truly involved until over halfway through the film. Paris feels like a James Bond henchman and Gabriel ends up feeling like a person for Ethan to punch rather than a compelling antagonist.  The stunts and action are great but they are a little underwhelming when compared to how amazing the stunts were in Mission Impossible Fallout. It seems Fallout set the bar so high that it was too tough to top it.

The script is also a bit weak. There are so many times when the dialogue is just characters mentioning "The Key" all the time. I wish they cut back on this repetition or rephrased some of the dialogue. I also think the intro scene is dumb for reasons I won't state but it really shouldn't have been in the movie. On that note, this being a part 1 does result in a non-complete story. The ending is not as painful as Dune or Spiderverse where it felt like it ended midway through a story. Here, the end feels conclusive for the most part and leaves you at least partially satisfied. It is just clear that many lingering plot threads weren't settled. I am not a big fan of splitting movies into parts so I hope this is not a trend we bring back.

Overall, it is genuinely crazy how the Mission Impossible franchise is still this great 7 movies in. Compared to other long-running franchises, this one still managed to keep me excited for more. I am incredibly hyped for part 2 and can't wait to see Tom Cruise's iconic run again!

For more reviews like this visit:

https://moviewarfarereviews.blogspot.com/

#movies #films #Movie Reviews #Film Review #mission impossible #mission impossible dead reckoning #mission impossible 7 #tom cruise #top gun #Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning Part 1 #mi7

[wizkiddx]

hiii!!! omg please please pleasee do a part two of 3 hearts broken cus it fucking slaps miss girl

part 2 to 3 broken hearts!!! ive been so 🥺 at all the lovely comments+interest pt 1 had so thanku all !

summary: serious serious angst again will tom somehow get it back (unlike looking cos boy is a fool)

warnings: again lots of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) / wayyyy too much tea / slating Dom abit (obvs fictional but idk if I like the guy sorry his opinions are :/) / commitment issues

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

read part 1 here!!!!

That was three days ago now. Three days since you'd spoken to your boyfrien- well, Tom. It wasn't evident what the situation was.

The typical British weather brought with it the most ironic pathetic fallacy you could ever see. The clouds were dark and glooming, firing angry pellets of rain out as hard as they could. When you had pulled up on the roadside, it had just been a light drizzle but synchronised with your anxiety levels rising - so did the rain. When you finally opened up the car door, you threw your hoodie open with a sigh before running up the pathway to the front door.

It was the same burgundy red that you knew so well, but this time instead of just letting yourself in - you stood in the rain used the brass knocker thing twice. To be honest, you were hoping that no one was home - but in that house, it was pretty unlikely. After 30 seconds of getting drenched in the downpour, you were about to let yourself in with the spare key before the door swung open.

"Oh! Er Y/n?"

"Yeh um hi." You had to shout a bit over the sound of what must now be classified as a storm.

"Toms not-"

"I know. Can I come in?" As awkward and stunted as this conversation was, if you didn't get out of the rain asap you would literally end up drowned.

“Oh er yeh-yeh yeh come in.”

Harry stammered as he held the door open, gesturing for you to enter into the tiled hallway. Gratefully, you followed, throwing your sopping wet hood back down and wiping your feet on the floor.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I left some scripts here. My management are on my arse to read them and-"

"And you waited till Tom left for mum and dads?" The fluffy-haired boy has caught you red-handed; there was no defence, so you didn't even try.

Because yes, you knew on a Friday afternoon when Tom was home he would always, like clockwork, go to his parents just to kick back and watch gogglebox with both of them. It was only natural then that you chose Friday afternoon to come and pick up your stuff.

"I've been waiting in my car for half an hour till I saw him leave." Harry half laughed at that, still the two of you standing opposite each other in the hallway. "Um, do you… do you hate me Harry?"

Clearly, he hadn't quite been expecting your question going by the way his eyes almost bugged out his head.

"No, I-I, of course, I don't… look, I'm home alone so you fancy a cuppa?" Not being able to help the small chuckle, you nodded appreciatively, following Harry through the house.

"Your answer to everything is tea."

Harry had prepared the two mugs in silence as you sat at the table waiting patiently - if nervously too. You didn't miss how Harry had still used your favourite mug, having had to dig through the cupboard to find the weird square-shaped thing. Once done, he rounded the kitchen island and placed it in front of you, which you instantly cradled in two hands - for the hope of warming you up.

"You cold?" Obviously, it was pretty evident that sitting in your rain-soaked hoodie was not cosy at all. "Hang on a sec."

The boy sprung up again, returning moments later with a hoodie in hand, one he offered out to you with a little smile. The issue was that him and Tom shared clothes, so the hoodie he was kindly offering to you also had been worn by Tom before. Which made it hurt a little bit to wear. It was better than sitting soaked through though.

"How have you been then?"

"Not the best, to be honest, but uh… how about you?"

"Being with Tom while he's fighting with you? Oh, it's a barrel of laughs. You might've escaped it, but I haven't." He was trying to lighten the mood, and you appreciated it, offering him a half-smile that didn't really meet your eyes.

"Yeh sorry about that."

"Don't apologise; it doesn't sound like it's your fault Y/n."

That surprised you. Tom, especially when he was in moods like he was when you argued, wasn't one to admit when he was wrong. It was usually how the world was against him and how he was so hard done by. Accepting responsibility was something he hadn't said to you yet - but at least, small steps.

"He say that?"

"Pretty much… doesn't seem like he's angry at you, but-but he's still angry."

"At the world?" You rolled your eyes; this seemed to be the same old Tom through and through. Still immature. Still not with the right mindset.

"At himself." Harry countered, slightly entertained, when he saw the flash of surprise in your face as he sipped his drink. "And me… if I dare to so much as breathe this week."

This time you properly laughed, and Harry joined in too before the room fell back to silence - except the noise of the rain hitting the garden patio slats. You swirled the tea round in your mug, feeling the brunette's eyes on you. He'd always been your fake little brother too, since you'd met the Hollands way back 3 and a half years ago. Tom and yourself were barely adults, which meant the twins were still proper children. Harry had always been the one that understood you. Hollands, by nature, loved humans - loved to talk, to chat, to gossip. But sometimes, doing all that socialising got too much for you, as it did for Harry. He was the only one that seemed to understand social exhaustion. So when those moments had hit, you'd kept each other company in silence.

He got you, sometimes in ways your own boyfriend didn't.

"You know why he got so worked up, right?" You shook your head, looking up curiously. "Dad got under his skin on his birthday zoom thing."

Ah, now that did seem to coincide with the start of Tom's more petulant phase. To be fair, Tom had been asking to move in together for near enough a year now - but it was only in the past month it seemed to be the only thing you'd talk about and obviously only three days since the flight back. Dom's birthday barely a week ago, whilst you and Tom were both filming - except Tom had managed to get a day off where you hadn't. So you hadn't heard this conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"Was talking about how he and mum were settling down at Toms age, joked about how you rejected him, said maybe you were holding out for something better."

"Something better?" Harry sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"He'd seen an article just off a trashy tabloid… it named you Hollywood's golden girl or something, said you could have the pick of any person on the planet…"

Of all the people in the world, why is Tom affected by shit journalism? He knows how much bullshit people write. He knows how it's all made up, exaggerated nonsense. And what he should know, completely and totally, is how much you love him. And if he didn't, was that your fault? Had you done something wrong, something to make him doubt you?

Harry seemed to notice the internal dialogue going on in your head, adding to the point. "It wasn't the article though, it was the fact dad said it."

Hmmm.

You and Dom got on; it wasn't like you hated the possible future father in law or whatever. Just…. you had very different outlooks. As much as Tom prided himself on how' grounded his family keeps him' -to you at least, they aren't entirely at sea level either. They'd never really had any particular struggles in life. They were the definition of middle class, and that's about it. They lived in a posh suburb of London, had all their family still around. It was the perfect family.

And whilst you were in no illusions about how privileged your life was now. It hadn't always been. You'd never had the 'nuclear' family. Instead, only your dad and a string of dodgy and fleeting stepmothers while struggling to make ends meet. So you were just always wary of Dom, of his opinions that so often his boys took for gospel. They always seemed pretty sheltered and close-minded.

And yet, Tom was a grown man.

"I get that, I just… Tom should know that we know more about our relationship than his dad. I mean,… have I done something wrong? Made him think I'm not in this for the long haul?"

"No nonono Y/n he's just… well he's an idiot, isn't he? I don't think he properly understands why you're cautious about moving and everything. He's just an idio- "

Harry was cut off for lightly insulting his brother by the sound of the front door opening, both of your heads swivelling towards the source. You then met Harry's eyes in a panic, to which he replied relatively simply.

"Just talk to each other. For my sake." You would've argued if it weren't for the fact you were so focused on Tom's shuffling around in the entrance hallway - back early from his parents.

"Baz? Where you at? I thought I saw Y/n's car and-"

"Kitchen!!!" Before Tom could say anything else, possibly landing himself in more trouble, Harry interrupted as his chair screeched while standing up. And then Tom was just there. Standing in the doorway, his arms dropping limply to his side as he noticed you. Everything about that moment seemed to freeze, when you locked eyes with him for the first time in three days. It didn't go unnoticed, the way his Adams apple bobbed, the way his eyes widen. The boy looked plain and simply terrified.

It was Harry who broke the silence, after giving you a stern look that said 'stay'. The younger Holland boy walked up to Tom and spoke.

"Try actually talking and actually listening about your problems with each other." And then he was gone, down the hallway and up the stairs.

For a few moments, Tom stayed absolutely stationary, now staring at where Harry had been when speaking to the both of you (but mainly Tom). Long enough to put your sense of unease at an all-time high, ready to make a break for it.

"If you don't want to talk, then I can leav-"

"NO!" Apparently snapping out of it, Tom exclaimed loud enough to make you flinch from your seat. "Sorry! I-I just… I wasn't expecting to… you know, to see you."

"Yeh I just uh- just came to pick up some scripts… Harry cornered me with a tea, though; otherwise, I'd be…."

"Baz thinks the whole world could be fixed with tea."

"that's what I said!" You instinctively responded, forgetting the fact you're supposed to be mad at him, and just for a second falling back into your normal flow.

Tom didn't even try to hide his grin in response, until you quickly corrected your face- then he did too. Turning around to put the kettle on for himself. Because right now, he needed to fix his whole world, and he needed all the help he could get. For a period, the only noise was the sound of the kettle boiling, then the teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred - until he padded over, taking the seat across from you.

"So."

"So."

"It's been a while," Tom stated the bloody obvious.

"You never called."

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

You thought that the early signs weren't all that auspicious. His ability to read a situation once again failing.

"I wanted you to say something."

"Say what?"

"What do you think Tom?" He replied to the sarcastic tone by sucking in a sharp breath, holding it for a second, before slowly exhaling. As if trying to compose himself, take time to think of a response - a mature move for him.

"Well, I think you want me to say sorry? For being so moody and not waiting for you and for upsetting those kids. And thanks too, for covering for me?"

You just hummed. Waiting for him to continue. Because yes, you did deserve all those things. But you also deserved more. An apology for, oh I don't know, saying he didn't think you loved him? It was a wait that never ended, he had nothing more to add.

"Going by your face, I take it I missed something?"

The bloody cheek of it.

"Theres nothing else? Nothing else at all? …" You gave him that chance, the opportunity but all he could respond with was a shake of his head. "You thought I was fine about you saying that I don't love you?" You hadn't intended on raising your voice, but really you hadn't realised you did till after the fact. To blinded by rage at his ignorance.

"You want to talk about this now?"

"When else Tom?" You sighed, realising he perhaps wasn't ready for this conversation. Maybe he needed more time to think things through, have sense talked into him by various wiser family members. Or maybe, he never would be. That was the worst-case scenario. But also… you're most likely prediction.

He shuffled in his seat, clearing his voice but not saying anything. Not a peep.

"I have spent three years of my life with you. I've had countless nights of too little sleep because that was the only time you could facetime. I've exposed my relationship to the world and people's opinions because you didn't want to hide. All I've done is love you. How could you even say that?" There might've been tears in your eyes, yet you were determined to keep them at bay. You needed to have this out, one way or another, to be clear and cohesive and logical. No time to cry.

"Y/n I know that, I…" He sighed, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you were quicker to pull it away. There was hurt in his eyes, but so there should be. "It just sometimes feels like that's it for you. That yeh you love me but you just want to standstill. That this is as much as it'll ever be."

Your emotions were suddenly uncontainable. Your voice croaked as you whispered, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No love, nonono if that's how you feel then that's okay. But it's something I'm not… shit this is hard." He took a pause to take a sip of his drink, your glazed eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I can stand still anymore. And yeh I was pissy and childish the other day because my dad got under my skin about the whole moving in thing… But these past few days, it just has got me thinking. Because I love you, so much."

This time when he reached out to grab your hand, you actually leaned into it yourself. Not because you were giving in, but because this hurt. This hurt so fucking much that you needed something to ground you, or else god knows. Because the way he was speaking, it sounded so finite.

"I love you too."

"I do know, which is…is why this is so hard." At the very least, Tom had conceded that.

The conversation ceased to silence yet again. The room felt so cold; even Tom/Harry's hoodie was doing nothing to keep you from the endless empty cold that seemed to be coming from within.

"When I re-registered my health card last month, and I made you my emergency contact on it. I-I made you my next of kin on everything actually. I didn't think about it twice. And-and this-"You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, immediately pulling up the app onto the open page. "This is my Pinterest board for our baby's nursery theme. I know-" You paused, to quickly wipe your cheeks clear of the tear tracks that may or may not have been there. "I know it's probably a long way away, but I just love the Scandinavian theme." You laughed at yourself, suddenly embarrassed at your blabbering and quickly pulled up a different app. "And this… this was from the other week when I was helping Y/bf/n start her vows." Hands trembling as you turned the phone around for Tom to see again. "She was finding it really tricky so she said, what would you say to Tom on your wedding, so-so I made this list." You only dared to look at him when you were sure he'd be reading through that note.

It was bizarre because he looked… well, he looked happy. Here you were feeling traumatised, showing things that you'd barely even deeped how committed they were - and he was pleased? Feeling the fire burn once again inside of your chest, you quickly swiped the phone away and back into your pocket. Only then did he look up, eyes widening - presumably at quite how psychotic you looked.

"So don't you dare say that I don't want a future with you."

You said it with such force, there was a pause. Tom letting those words sink deep into his brain. The way his expression flickered minutely gave you hope. You thought he got it. You thought he really understood now.

"But why don't you want to move in then?"

There it was again. He knew why. But he didn't get it. And, probably, he never would.

You were about to crash completely. So you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even aware of your chair crashing to the floor in your wake. You ran out of that house and away from him. Away from who you had thought was the love of your life.

?give tom a final chance w one last part?

feedback is always v v appreciated <3

tom taglist : @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08

people i think might be interestd in this (sorry if not just let me know and i'll remove the tag!!!): @obiwanownsmyass @wildxwidow @parkersvogue @coffeewithoutcaffeine @tomhollandlol @thefallenbibliophilequote @clumsymandu @hiraethenthusiast @mannien @abrielleholland @evermorehabit @niallberry @greatpizzascissorstaco @runawayolives @annathesillyfriend @letsgotothemoonlight @lovelybarnes

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #harry holland

[peanutpinet]

Yuta (cold mafia boss)

Prompt: 20)“The only time a man should be fast is when he’s trying to dodge my bullets.” - 100 Dialogue Prompts for Mob Boss AUs

A/N: since NCT 127 have decided to attack us since Friday with all their day/night posts and whatever more things they still got in the back storage, I just gotta do some fics about the dark concept, cause like, yea XD. I asked my friend whose bias is Yuta to choose a prompt and so, here we are XD

Warnings: some form of harassment, cursing (it's Yuta) drinking, spiked drink and hint of kidnapping

It was a Friday night and you were more than excited to finally have some time off to hang out with your boyfriend, Yuta, who was also part "gang leader" of NCT, an infamous group that people thought do illegal doings when they're the ones shutting the illegal businesses down.

Yuta being Yuta didn't disclose what he did from the beginning. But he also never fully tell you everything which, is understandable, it was confidential information. Despite so, Yuta never restricted your movements and you both would have some normal cafe dates, picnic dates, etc. Even so, there will be times where Yuta would have you do some personal training that includes self-defence, quizzes about types of chemicals, guns, etc. In his defense, he just wants you to be prepared should something goes wrong and you're alone.

Despite following Yuta's needs, you would sometimes joke about how it won't happen or that Yuta will make sure it wouldn't go too far or even if anything did happen, you were sure that Yuta would eventually find a way to make things right. Boi, were you in for a treat.

As mentioned, you were finally going to have a night out with Yuta after so long and had just finished getting ready when you received a text from Yuta saying, "hey love, sorry this is super last minute but could you change into a more black-tie dress code? We are sort of having a business dinner tonight and I want to bring you as my date. I'm on my way to pick you up right now. Don't worry, you don't have to put on anything you're uncomfortable cause whatever you wear, you still look hot to me ;)"

So of course you did what Yuta asked. You changed into a simple long black dress that fitted your figure and touched up your makeup a bit more and let your hair down. As you were putting on the last of your accessories and about to put your shoes on, Yuta was already ringing the bell. You quickly opened the door for him and told him that you were just going to put your shoes on which Yuta chuckled and helped you as he saw you struggling.

"You didn't have to go all out and wear heels babe, you'll have sore feet by the end of the night" Yuta mentioned, holding you steady as you were putting on your heels

"I mean, if it's just dinner, I'll just be sitting either way. You so owe me with a pizza movie night next week" you complained, finally putting your shoes

"Anything for you babe. Let's go" Yuta smiled, bringing your arm wrapped around his and helped you get into the car before he went to the driver's seat

Arriving at the dinner, you felt out of place since this was the first time Yuta actually brought you. Noticing your nervous state, Yuta wrapped his arm over your shoulder, telling you that he'll be right beside you unless you need to go to the restroom or need some personal space.

Nodding, Yuta gave you a heartwarming smile and brought you around. First and foremost, to his other members that were joining the dinner, the people you knew the week you and Yuta started dating. Allowing some weight off since how worried you were.

"Oh, (Y/N)!! Welcome!! Hope Yuta didn't force you to come here" Johnny greeted you which Yuta gave him a glare

"Well, he sorta promised me for a pizza movie night date next week, so I guess it's a winwin" you replied, chuckling

"Oooh, can we come? I miss just watching movies on the weekend" Jungwoo requested, pulling out his puppy eyes

"Maybe if you find yourself a girlfriend, I'd consider it" Yuta hissed, you hit him playfully

"Hey (Y/N), sometimes I wonder what you see in Yuta. He's so aggressive" Jungwoo joked as Taeyong tried to calm everyone and directed everyone to their table since dinner was starting

Dinner surprisingly went well and the opposing business partners were actually cooperating; like, they would agree to what NCT were asking, even giving some suggestions for the corporation. But nevertheless, every NCT member were on their best guard; heck, they all had their guns rested by their hips and even knifes hidden within their clothing.

Seeing how the talk about the business bore you, you took a big sip off of the drink the waiter had just poured for you. Suddenly feeling the urge to go to the bathroom, you excused yourself from everyone at the table, nodding your head when Yuta told you to immediately come back once you're done.

However, you didn't go to the bathroom because of the urge to pee or anything. Instead, it's because you didn't feel too good, maybe the alcohol in your drink was a bit too much to your tolerance but whether you want to admit it or not, you didn't feel good and felt like you could pass out at any second.

After purging and sitting down for a bit, you felt slightly better but not good enough because everything around you was tilted. Taking a deep breath, you just kept on thinking how the dinner table wasn't that far and if you hurry, you can just make it to Yuta's side and pass out however you like.

Pulling whatever willpower you have left, you stood up and started to walk out of the bathroom. Holding onto the wall, you slowly walked down the hall back to your table, until someone came up to you, asking if you were alright which you told them that you were fine. You may be dizzy and not feeling good, but you surely weren't dumb nor were you drunk.

Despite the guy saying that all he wanted to do was to help you, you clearly knew that wasn't his true intention since he was gripping you a bit too much to your liking. You've tried pushing him away but that only made his grip tighter. And to top it off, instead of helping you to your actual table or at least asking where your table was, he brought you to a more quiet area; making your heart beat quicker.

Unfortunately, at this point, whatever was in your drink was sinking it and you slowly start to lose consciousness and hope as from what you can see, you were far from your table. But thank the universe because all of a sudden you hear a loud ring and the tight grip was gone; instead, it was replaced by a warm embrace.

"Get him out of here before I actually kill him right here and now" you heard Yuta's stern voice commanding his other members

"I got you, baby. Let's get you back home, hmm?" you heard Yuta's voice turned soft; not having any more energy, you just nodded and fell asleep in his embrace

Because Yuta felt he can't leave you alone nor not torment the people that hurt you, he decided to bring you back to NCT's place. Wiping off your makeup and putting on your skincare for you, Yuta had one of the maids help change your clothes and then he tucked you in bed; not leaving your side until he's convinced that you're fully asleep before leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead then quietly leaving the room.

Walking out of the room, he saw Jeno and Jaemin, asking them to guard your room until he gets back. Making his way to the basement, he met with the NCT members that joined the dinner that did not end well at all.

Turns out, not long after you left, the neos already had a bad feeling; that something was not right, especially since their "business partners" were eyeballing the situation around them and it was revealed that the dinner was just a cover-up and that they were planning to use you to get to the neos, which clearly did not end well for them.

"Is she alright?" Taeyong asked, seeing Yuta was fuming

"She's very much passed out the second I found her. Are they all in there?" Yuta questioned strictly

"Yea. All tied up and blindfolded on the ground" Johnny mentioned

"Good" Yuta smirked, slamming the door open, making the prisoners jerked in surprise

"Rise and shine motherf*ckers. I hope you're ready for what's coming" Yuta shouted as some of the neos took their blindfolds off

"And y'all call yourselves men. Tch. You guys may be agile but not agile enough. The only time a man should be fast is when he’s trying to dodge my bullets. Not getting caught by their enemies. And surely not looking or thinking to do anything to another person's girlfriend. Oh well, what's done is done. Be lucky that we all got there in time. But, that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you. Let's see...should I start off with your fingers because you touched my girl or your head for ever thinking that little stunt of yours. Either way, I'm definitely going to take my time with you all" Yuta ranted, a smirk forming on his face as he saw the horror of his prisoners while the neos put their blindfolds back on

A/N: yeap, this turned out longer than expected. Welp, this is what happens when NCT updates with a dark concept I guess XD

#nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct yuta #nct 127 yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta nakamoto #nct yuta scenarios #nct yuta imagines #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct mafia #nct mafia fic #nct mafia au #nct yuta nakamoto #yuta nakamoto scenarios #yuta nakamoto imagine

[firecatvariant]

FCV’s Obey Me  Questionnaire

I want to get to know others more and why they love OM, so I made a little questionnaire! Feel free to reblog/repost with your own answers!

MC Name: Kana

Favorite Character: Satan

Why? Satan embodies all that I’m attracted to IRL, he loves cats, reading and knowledge, is a little nerdy, but still incredibly attractive. He’s also mature, but has a bit of a mischevious streak to keep things fun.

Comfort or 2nd Fave Character: Solomon

Why? Solomon originally made me laugh with his kind of “asshole-ish” behavior, but as I played the game more I realized he was a serious, passionate character, a lot like Satan but different. I adore him and he’s definitely my comfort character.

Least Favorite Character: Mammon/Diavolo

Why? Tbh, I don’t mind Mammon all the time, but he’s very needy and I’m not into the tsundere attitude. He’s incredibly sweet at times but for the most part I feel like he’s a possessive little kid. (Don’t kill me, I know he’s well loved in the fandom! I don’t hate him!) And Diavolo, I also don’t hate but he definitely seems to have stunted emotional maturity at times and while it can be incredibly endearing, at other times it’s annoying.

Who’s on your homescreen: Satan

Favorite Outfit: Satan’s cat outfit

Favorite Background: Satan’s Room or My room

Current Level: 111

What Lesson are you on: 49

How long have you been playing: I started at the end of September, so about 3 months.

Favorite Devilgram: “A Teasing Gesture”

Favorite Event: This is rough because I love the events, but it’s probably a tie between the wedding event and the cherry blossoms event. I’m not entirely caught up on the events though.

Things you love about the game: Delving into another amazing magical world where 12 incredibly awesome characters love and adore me. Laughing at the dialogue.

Things you dislike about the game: Nightmare! I have the worst luck and I wish there was a pity system. Also, for UR Event cards, the amount you need is so much. I know it’s the point of the game but I wish the cards were easier to get sometimes.

I’m going to get over my fear and tag @satans-kitty-says-meow @rsmrymnt-tea @amistytown @sparkbeast20 and @obeythedemons - I hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you. I think you’re all super amazing. 

CLEAN COPY UNDER THE CUT:

MC Name:

Favorite Character:

Why?

Comfort or 2nd Fave Character:

Why?

Least Favorite Character:

Why?

Who’s on your homescreen:

Favorite Outfit:

Favorite Background:

Current Level:

What Lesson are you on:

How long have you been playing:

Favorite Devilgram:

Favorite Event:

Things you love about the game:

Things you dislike about the game:

#obey me #obey me questionnaire #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me x mc

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.

#notmyninth #ssb2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes x you #reader x bucky barnes #you x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black reader #you x bucky #bucky x you #bucky reader #reader x bucky #avintagekiss24

[fukurodanni]

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 2/7 -- prev. -- next. pairing: jumin han x f!reader warnings: n/a series summary: in the months following the incident with his father's most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind. ao3 link

note: sticking a read more right at the beginning. u kno how it is. thank you for sticking around i'll try my best to keep updates within a week or so!

(weeks prior.)

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Jumin Han

She talked to me today.

ZEN

??

Who?

707

She??

There’s a she?!

Jumin Han

Oh.

I must have neglected to mention it.

ZEN

????

Last time there was a “she”...

Jumin Han

… No.

There’s a woman at my office.

Jaehee Kang

Does she work for you?

Jumin Han

Yes

707

That took an awfully long time for you to type lolol

Are you sure~~

Jumin Han

Yes. She wears a lanyard.

Jaehee Kang

Do you not know her name??

Jumin Han

I should think it would seem impolite after… all that.

Jaehee Kang

???

ZEN

?????

All that WHAT?

Jumin Han

I only caught a glimpse of her lanyard. I don’t know.

ZEN

Dodged my question… T_T

Jaehee Kang

Is this that woman you see in the mornings?

Jumin Han

How did you ....

ZEN

?!?!

707

Is our Jumin finally getting some?!

I’m so proud. Haha T_T

Jumin Han

Getting some… what?

Jaehee Kang

I can look into her.

For research purposes. Of course^^

Jumin Han

;;;

I only just started seeing her this month.

At the door. Seeing her at the door.

707

Seeing her OTL

Maybe she’s your future lover come to save you^^

Jumin Han

I doubt that.

ZEN

Yeah lolol

I doubt it too

And right after the Choi thing?? No way.

707

T_T

Ur right

There’s no way...

-

“Do you play video games, Mr Han?”

That’s a new one. “Where would I find the time?” He asks, thinking of Yoosung. “It’s a useless hobby.”

“That was a quick answer,” you reply. “Who hurt you?”

Jumin raises a brow, inquisitive. “No one.”

“Okay,” you say, the beginnings of a grin playing on your lips. “Who ruined video games for you?”

He thinks of the dark smudges under Yoosung’s eyes, the awful typos and the messages at 3am. It’s only a little funny. The door closes behind them. “No one in particular.”

“You’re smiling, Mr Han. Just a little.” You smile too at this, tilting your head in that curious way of yours. When you reach the lobby and then your separate ways, Jumin spares a glance at you.

He wants to say something more, something lodged very deep in his throat that comes out dry breath. He’s never been too good at small-talk, not with colleagues, not with business outside of work. He wants to be, just a little.

He’s not quite sure how that came to be.

-

It’s beyond embarrassing the way he comes up to you in the cafeteria. “You work here,” he says, a very belated realization.

You blink a few times, as if processing. “Yes,” you say slowly. “I have a lanyard.” You wave the offending item around and Jumin finally, finally catches a glimpse of your name.

“I see,” Jumin says, because that’s all he really can say. “Work hard.”

He consults his phone right away, willing the heat from his face and opening the messenger app. It goes as well as expected when he mentions it so vaguely-- Hyun rags on him for his lack of conversational skills and Yoosung drops a line or two about his own miserable love life. In any case, Assistant Kang’s information on you had only reached him earlier today and in a way he’s still coping. It had been baffling to say the least, finally having everything in front of him rather than scattered in the bits and pieces of your dialogue.

You work, technically, in the same position Assistant Kang does. Only in the fashion department, of which Jumin had strategically ignored after Echo Girl and the Chois. It really isn’t his fault he hadn’t noticed you-- not since before this month when you began arriving so consistently.

“Something on your mind?” Assistant Kang asks, looking up from where she’s shuffling through a stack of papers. It isn’t unusual for her to break the silence with a quip-- she’s always been good at easing into a mode of conversation that takes the edge off. As a good assistant and employee should, of course. Jumin wonders if he should relay this to her.

“Nothing,” he says instead, because surely she already knows. “Is it polite to bring gifts for someone you’re sure you will be seeing every morning?”

She raises a thin brow. “Who-- that woman at the fashion department?”

Jumin deigns not to answer right away, looking down at the state of his nails and the tick of his wristwatch. “Surely there must be some etiquette about that.”

-

Jaehee Kang

Buy her coffee.

ZEN

Get her a promotion lol

707

A new car!!!

Yoosung★

Maybr a nicce pen

??

-

“Any favorite TV shows?” You ask one morning. “Personally, I’m fond of office romances.”

Jumin lags for a moment, waiting to catch up. It isn’t an unusual occurrence. “Is that an innuendo?”

You smile, a little flushed-looking, and wave a hand. “Nope. Not at all.” When you look at the second coffee in his hand, though, it seems you need a second to catch up yourself. You’d mentioned offhandedly how you take your coffee the day before, and today something had stopped him at the threshold of the coffee shop he stops at every morning. Funny how things work like that.

“This is for you,” he says determinedly, and you smile a little but there’s still an edge.

“You dodged my question.” You state simply. Jumin does not know what to say.

He thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it. The only thing that really comes to mind are the Sunday morning programs, and he doesn’t really know them off the top of his head. Maybe the morning news. “No TV shows. Next question.”

“Okay then,” you say, “Any pet peeves?”

Jumin smiles a little. It isn’t really conscious, but he’s finally figured out a way to respond and he just hopes it takes well. “Women who stop me at the door in the morning.”

“Oh,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. You hum appreciatively. He feels strangely, indirectly accomplished. “Shame. Mine’s men who give me three word responses when I ask them things.”

He scoffs, although it isn’t as hard as it usually comes out. “I answered that in a sentence.” He says, very assuredly. When he looks back at you there’s a softer smile at your lips, rounded at the corners and not quite so mischievous as he’s seen it look before. It looks fond.

“I know,” you reply. He feels a little warmer now, turning the corner where you two part ways. You offer him a two-fingered salute, a “See you in the morning!” and a final turn.

And then you’re gone.

-

The next time the conversation lingers long past the lobby it’s because you’ve coaxed him into talking about Elizabeth III. There’s a point where you’ve reached the elevator and he’s talking to you about her care routine and the minutiae of what it takes to keep her fur so soft and pristine (much of it is her own work and her natural beauty-- of course) and he’s only barely aware of how long he’s been going on, but he pauses to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, between Jaehee’s hesitancy and Luciel’s rabid praise and Hyun’s outright disgust--

But there’s something about the way you’re looking at him when he’s finished, curiouser and half-curved into a smile. And he’s been on the receiving end of that before-- his father’s lovers, interviewers and subordinates-- but none of them have ever seemed so affectionate.

He’s seen the same look before when it’s Jaehee with a new photocard, the way Yoosung danced around Rika. It’s the glint in Luciel’s glasses when he gets to working and it’s something, something.

You look like you’ve seen something beautiful.

Which is understandable to him, really, having just shown you pictures of his Elizabeth III. What he understands less is the way you’re looking at him and not the open phone, caught up in a silence that seems way too heavy for a conversation about his cat. Even when the elevator dings it’s with some trepidation that you leave first, a memory, a discovery pulled taut between you two.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime,” you say.

Jumin nods, wordless. The delight on your face at such a simple gesture fixates itself in the forefront of his mind until he returns home to Elizabeth, flickering like hell and unbidden and unexpected but not exactly unwelcome. It’s just as confusing to him as it sounds on paper.

-

Somehow Jaehee gets to you first.

For all the time he’s spent working with Jaehee, working around her and in her general proximity, he doesn’t actually know what time she gets into the building. She seems like an inevitability, something constant and fixed and always there.

So when he holds the door open for two women, Jumin is feeling like he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Especially since the two of you seem to be chatting so jovially, shaking her hand with both of yours when you go to part.

There’s another something clogging his throat, a cloying want and a halfhearted desire to draw that same laugh from you, that same open brightness. He hasn’t let himself feel so much about one person-- one particular and fixed point in his life. Jumin feels like he’s chasing-- some feeling, some unnamed ball of fire-- a meteor, blazing and brilliant and too much to be real.

It’s too much to be compared to anything else, not when Sarah Choi was an unlit match next to what a beaming bonfire you are. Suddenly Jumin feels more tightly wound than he usually does.

And really, truly, it feels like a lot to handle, so he turns on his heel after silently handing you the coffee and begins to march. It feels like karmic debt for not having experienced these things as a schoolboy, and then only once as an adult. He doesn’t even know if the one time counted.

“Mr Han--” you say, and it happens at the same time he holds his breath to turn again. Just to look, to see if you appeared as off kilter as he felt. Maybe the world had rotated wrong today.

You stop there in your tracks and he really does believe for a moment that the world has gone astray-- because then it would explain the way air isn’t getting to his lungs right. He inhales just to make sure and before any other dialogue comes from your lips he asks, “Walk with me?”

You both take the elevator then.

-

Jaehee Kang

She’s a very nice woman.

Yoosung★

Huh?

707

U met her?!?!!

Tell me everything

-

It makes your mornings longer, the introduction of the elevator route. He isn’t sure how it became mutual agreement and routine, the same way the cup of coffee steams in your hands and the way you ask after Elizabeth III. The way the door gets held open.

Jumin isn’t sure how many mornings go by, how many of them are spent dreading the chime of the elevator, but one of them brings a much quieter you. And you’re usually such a whirlwind of life, pulling him toward and towards you-- he’d be lying to himself more than usual if he said he wasn’t worried.

You look like you’re steeling yourself too, and you’ve never done that-- there isn’t a thing you’ve said to him that was measured or prepared. You’re kind of like an overexcited puppy, and he’s never been too fond of dogs.

He feels something slide out of place, something like a realization that’s far grander than he knows, hovering at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not really. He’s barely out of his head, ready to ask if you’re alright--

And you cut him off. Like you did that first morning, knocking the breath from his lungs and everything else out of place. Jumin likes things neat and tidy, likes things where they should be, where he’s used to seeing them. You aren’t too good for him, he thinks.

Then you ask, “Would you want to go out sometime?” And he has no reference materials and no forewarning and no prepared response. The odds are against him.

So against all odds and every simmering nerve in his body he says, “Yes.”

tags: @vandysgf @mrs-han

#jumin han x reader #jumin x reader #mystic messenger x reader #mysme x reader #mystic messenger fluff #jumin han x mc #jumin x mc #my writing #emu writes #lftr&ems #WC: 2.0K

[introvertguide]

The Road Movie

Most movies follow a general script type depending on genre, and this is used to tell a story that has a satisfying ending. It is interesting when a movie mixes up type and tone and goes against genre type. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it is terrible. Great directing and acting can make the subversion of expectations less jarring (or more depending on the end goal), but the end goal and tone allows us to attach a film to a genre. But what about films that aren't about the end goal? There are many films that are in a sub-genre that focus on the journey with little regard to the end goal. These are what are called "road movies" and can fall under many different genres since the end goal doesn't really matter. Let's address some famous road movies through the years that are also classified in a variety of other genres:

Huckleberry Finn (1931)

The OG of travel films, this was the sequel to Tom Sawyer (1930) and had the same child actors. This wasn't what you would call financially successful, but this was largely due to the Great Depression. The 1939 version of the movie did a lot better and was one of the well known films of child actor Mickey Rooney. This story of travel was an early role for many actors including Rooney, Ron Howard, and Elijah Wood. Although there were threats of death and portrayals of slavery, this film was considered a family adventure in the pre-code film era. I guess a boy escaping his abusive father in the company of an adult escaped slave where people are actively attempting to rob and kill them was considered a fun family romp in the early 30s. This was the same story that came from a book that was banned in schools during the 1980s. It is a great story and I love the works of Mark Twain; I am just surprised at the genre.

Stagecoach (1939)

This is a great movie that transcends the Western genre of which it is categorized. A group of people all have different reasons for traveling from an Arizona territory over to New Mexico. There is word of vengeful thieves and angry Apaches that threaten the small band of travelers. It is actually very intense because the threat feels very real throughout the film. The entire film focuses on the journey and the relationships forged (and broken) on the way. This was the breakout role for John Wayne and was part of an amazing string of films directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne.

Easy Rider (1969)

This is a film that really spoke to the hippie movement during the Vietnam Era. It is statement on how difficult it is to truly be free and how society fears that freedom and tries to destroy it. The film might very well have the worst dialogue of any movie I have ever seen. Actors Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper were actively using drugs throughout film production, so the real draw was the sweet rides and the moving soundtrack. This is a movie where I actually want more driving montages and less character development because I don't identify with the characters at all. Maybe it is a generational gap.

Paper Moon (1973)

This film is amazing. It is the story of a traveling grifter who takes a little girl on the road with him after her mother dies. He teaches her how to make a living cheating people and they form a father-daughter type of relationship. It is a comedy drama that won the girl an Oscar for best supporting actress when she was only 10. Some nice back story, the girl is Tatum O'Neal and is the actual daughter of the grifter, played by Ryan O'Neal. It is kind of strange, but this is a "coming of age" film on the road.

The Blues Brothers (1980)

Now this is what I am talking about. Two brothers go on a trip after being released from jail because they got a message from God. I am pretty sure that this film still holds the record for most crashed vehicles in a single movie. It is also interesting that the film is technically a musical. The brothers stop at different locations and songs break out. In between stops, they are chased by the police in an almost demolition derby style chase. I really enjoy this movie and believe that it really keeps a fast pace (literally and figuratively), but, like many road films, I can't say it is good because it is more of an experience than a story.

Thelma and Louise (1991)

This was an interesting twist on the "run from the law" type of film. Two women are friends and decide go on a weekend retreat. They get in trouble after killing a man who tries to assault them and have to run from the authorities. It has a reputation for being very feminist (despite being directed by accused mesogenist Ridley Scott) because of the negative portrayal of men. It obviously wasn't that bad since it was nominated for 6 Oscars including both leads for best actress. In fact, Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon were both nominated for best actress at the Academy Awards, the BAFTAs, and the Golden Globes. It is the quintessential road film since the end goal is constantly changing and best defined as "away from here."

Natural Bork Killers (1994)

This was kind of a strange film. It is a crime drama where the audience follows two killers with traumatic childhoods as they meet and go on a murder spree. Similar to Bonnie and Clyde, but with gory murders as the focus over bank robberies. It is directed by Oliver Stone, and criticizes the glorification of violence by the media. It is most definitely a road movie because the end goal for the two is simply to be together and enjoy the rush of breaking the law. Hm. It is actually quite a bit like Bonnie and Clyde. Interesting. I would like to make a note that my mom hates this film because of the shaky cam and Dutch angles. It made her feel sick at the theater.

Road Trip (2000)

OK. This is far and away my least favorite film on this list, but it is the most famous "boner road comedy" that I am familiar with. It is a high school/college coming-of-age film that focus on the sexual pursuits of a group of young men. These types of films are marked with gross out humor, gratuitous nudity, and boys trying to have sex. There was a bunch of films like this that came out around the early 2000s and they all had to do with boys traveling some place in search of idealized sex (the plot on this one is a little different, something to do with a sex tape) and generally they find that the best girl for them was there by them all along. It takes a nice idea of character development and throws raunchy jokes and boobs at it. I was not a fan, but it was definitely a thing.

Death Proof (2007)

This is much better shlock. It is the Tarantino version of exploitation grindhouse films of the seventies, but updated to be a women empowerment film. It was part of a double feature that was paired with a horrific zombie outbreak film directed by Rod Rodriguez, but this one is much better on its own. It is the story of an old stunt man who travels around looking for unsuspecting victims whom he can run down in his indestructible car. This is a great example of what a road movie can be because Tarantino took the concept of a slasher and put it completely on the road.

Mad Max Fury Road (2015)

Here is an action revenge film in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where most of the film is driving. The producers couldn't find a director who they trusted with remaking George Miller's Mad Max franchise so the 70 year old Miller said "hold my beer" and made this masterpiece that is arguably better than any of the first three (edit: I guess Miller always intended to direct but it took so long to go into production that he joked in interviews about giving up on it). The original trilogy with Mel Gibson presents an amazing world where most people are nomadic and traveling can be a life or death proposition. Fury Road is the further adventures of the character and his interaction with one Furiosa. The use of many practical effects on moving vehicles that was garnished with CG effects made for one of the best action films in the last decade. It was more than a simple movie about traveling; it was a land were the road was life and everything surrounded the ability to be mobile enough to get supplies in a dead world.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is by no means all of the road movies. The Wizard of Oz is technically a road movie. The Grapes of Wrath is a critically acclaimed road movie from around the same time. Comedies like The Cannonball Run, Smokey and the Bandit, and National Lampoon's Vacation can all be classified in the genre. Rain Man is one of the best films of all time and it can be classified as a road movie. What it comes down to is that, when considering characters, a writer should think about the journey itself and think of how the leads interact with this entity. The road might be the best character in the whole story.

#road movies #thelma and louise #stagecoach #huck finn #mad max fury road #death proof #road trip #natural born killers #the blues brothers #paper moon #easy rider #introvert #introverts

[my-name-is-dre]

Mettaton is a False Prophet - Pt. 2

This is a continuation post from my older theory back when Undertale was still the big thing that Mettaton was a false prophet designed by Alphys and Asgore to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy, which explains all of his eerie similarities to Flowey and Asriel. Here is Part 1 if you wanna catch up!

[UPDATED INFO FROM DELTARUNE CH. 2]

With the debut of Deltarune Chapter 2 came a fan-favorite newcomer called Spamton, and the interesting thing about his character is that it has a lot of similarities with Mettaton, especially his secret form known as ‘Spamton NEO.’ Now, the general story behind his character is that he was once a spam email puppet account who was never able to make a deal. This was his life until he was called by a mysterious person who suddenly made him wildly successful by continually aiding his career over the phone, eventually causing his friends to leave him over their envy of his newfound success. This success eventually landed him a spot in Queen’s mansion until it all came crashing down one day, and the only remnant left of him was a dead phone line tied to him that only repeated static back at anyone who tried to call it.

As everyone’s likely aware of now, there is a hidden bossfight in which you can, once specific conditions are performed, fight Spamton NEO, a version of Spamton hooked up to a suit that unabashedly resembles the same form Mettaton took on in the no mercy route of Undertale. This suit has been referred to as ‘the machine’ which is described by Swatch as the creation of an unknown Lighter, “digitally visualizing their hopes and dreams which never came to be.” This then became an incomplete dream which was locked in Queen’s basement. In battle, the fight also resembles the fights the player had with Mettaton through Undertale, with their soul turning yellow and shooting projectiles to take Spamton down. But the similarities between the fight against Mettaton Ex and Spamton NEO don’t end there, as both fights involved taking apart components of the body gradually over the course of the battle, with Mettaton having his limbs blown off and Spamton having his strings cut.

Now, this backstory is all very important as it alludes back to the body’s origin in Undertale as a creation of Alphys to make its host proficient at killing and absorbing a human soul. The description of the body is textually different but similar, in that Mettaton NEO was designed for the purposes of killing explicitly whereas Spamton NEO’s body is described by Swatch as being an agent in which one can envision their hopes and dreams through an implicit power of determination.

It’s important to note here that, career-wise, Mettaton is quite similar to Spamton in that they both had great and newfound success upon accepting a deal that gave them some meta-knowledge of the world they inhabit, with Spamton being told that the world he lives in is a game that can be exploited (as implied by his dialogue), and Mettaton was granted some of the same abilities that Flowey possesses (changing the game’s name, being able to audibly speak, and being a monster soul possessing an inanimate object). Whereas Mettaton is a story of continued success, Spamton is a story of failure, but how does this fit into the context of the theory that Mettaton was a failed attempt to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy?

That quote from Swatch on describing the purpose of the body is important to explaining this, as it eerily resembles Mettaton’s role in Undertale’s story as a machine designed to harvest a human soul and potentially fulfill the Deltarune prophecy but was unsuccessful to do so because Mettaton is a false prophet. The theme of false prophecy and failed transcendence is exemplified by Spamton’s backstory, as the power of meta-textual awareness granted to him (by Gaster presumably) resulted in short-term success that rose him to the heavens only for him to fall down hard back into being forgotten. The fall he suffers from cutting off his strings is a dual-layer metaphor for how Spamton fell from success and how Mettaton was unable to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy unlike his parallel successor Flowey.

And if it wasn’t obvious that Mettaton’s constant desire for your soul is equivalent to Spamton’s desire for [hyperlink blocked], he goes on record describing all of the control he’d have over his life if he were to harvest your [hyperlink blocked], implying that the hyperlink is code for determination. Spamton also routinely refers to “heaven” throughout his dialogue, which could imply anything transcendental, but I believe this is also another direct allusion to the Deltarune prophecy and its description of an angel: The divine vocabulary fits. Perhaps Mettaton was trying to indirectly achieve this reception from heaven through his promulgation as an icon of monsterkind wanting so desperately to have a human audience? Perhaps this constant appeal ‘heaven’ is Spamtron’s version of Mettaton’s constant appeal to a nebulous audience? If that’s the case, it implies that the audience of Mettaton has divine power, which seems to suggest that it’s composed of far more than just monsterkind. Another minor thing to note here is that Spamton also refers to “the presses” if you defeat him by depleting his health bar: “WAIT!! [$!?!] THE PRESSES!”

“KRIS, DON'T YOU WANNA BE [Part] OF MY BEAUTIFUL [Heart]?” is a very unsubtle nod to the process Chara and Asriel underwent to bypass the barrier and return to the Surface. There must be something about the abilities that the NEO suit offers that is implicitly tied to the Deltarune prophecy. Spamton’s constant use of the phrase ‘big shot’ is another multi-layered metaphor. The ‘big shot’ in question is a triple entendre, as it refers not only to Spamton’s aspirations, but also the fulfillment of the Delta Rune prophecy and also more banally refer to the yellow soul’s newfound ability to shoot a charge shot.

After sparing Spamton NEO, he offers some dialogue that resembles Flowey’s plea to you after defeating his Photoshop form, in which he asks why you’re showing him mercy after all of the unnecessary cruelty he did to you to prove his worldview correct. He then goes on to make a reference to Pinocchio in which he asks you to cut his strings and make him a “real boy” (an even funnier phrase given that he’s a puppet). But this is also an allusion to Mettaton, as he reveals to you throughout the game that his robot body designed for him by Alphys is a form that makes him feel more like himself because it’s implied that Mettaton is an incorporeal ghost like Napstablook. He then makes one least appeal to Heaven and says he’ll live for himself and his friends, acting as a microcosm of both Mettaton and Flowey’s character arc.

In the “weird route”, Spamton also makes remarks prior to battling him that allude to Mettaton NEO’s fight in the no mercy route: “THANKS TO YOUR [Total Jackass stunts] I HAVE [Becomed] NEO.” “TO [$!$!] ME OVER RIGHT AT THE [Good part]!? WHAT ARE YOU, A [Gameshow Host]!?” “MY ESTEEM CUSTOMER I SEE YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO DEPLETE MY HP! I'LL ADMIT YOU'VE GOT SOME [Guts] KID! BUT IN A [1 for 1] BATTLE, NEO NEVER LOSES!!! IT'S TIME FOR A LITTLE [Bluelight Specil]. DIDN'T YOU KNOW [Neo] IS FAMOUS FOR ITS HIGH DEFENSE!? NOW... ENJ0Y THE FIR3WORKS, KID!!!” One line in particular references Asriel calling Chara’s name before Frisk lands in the bed of flowers in the Garbage Dump: “YOU MAKE ME [Sick]! MUTTERING YOUR [Lost Friends] NAMES AT THE BOTTOM OF A [Dumpster]! NO ONE'S GONNA HELP YOU!!! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR [Beautiful Head], YOU LITTLE [Worm]!”

This is an even more poignant line, as Spamton resides in Trash Zone, which is meant to resemble the Garbage Dump area of Undertale, which was a point in Waterfall where you were given a hint into the backstory of the game before landing on a bed of flowers. It’s also the area where you encounter Mad Dummy and where Alphys dates Undyne in the true pacifist route. Clearly, the symbolism of taking place in a dump is very important for connecting the worlds and stories of both of these games, given that it’s such an important spot for two major characters tied to Mettaton.

If it weren’t obvious at this point, Spamton damn near confirms that Mettaton was designed at least partially to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy but was unable to because he didn’t possess the same potential or determination that Flowey had due to his lack of relation to the original human and his focus instead turning towards an abstract human audience. The dialogue from Swatch about Spamton being the embodiment of a Lightner’s dream also implies that, keeping in line with the themes of desire in the Dark World, that Mettaton might be directly responsible for the creation of Mettaton. Perhaps this is why the NEO suit so eerily resembles the God of Hyperdeath if it’s directly tied to Mettaton’s desire to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy. If this is the case, isn’t it a bit odd that the God of Hyperdeath is also implied to be Asriel’s creation from flavor text in Kris’s room? What an interesting parallel.

#undertale #deltarune #spamton #spamton neo #mettaton #mettaton neo #undertale 6th anniversary #deltarune theory #deltarune spoilers

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @mouthymandalorianalso​ | @starlightmornings​ | @soyelfuegoquearde​ | @darnitdraco​​ | @green-socks​​ | @the-feckless-wonder​​ | @hnt-escape​​ | @sarahjkl82-blog​​ | @klaine-92​

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #i believe in francisco morales supremacy #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago 'pope' garcia #william 'ironhead' miller #william miller #will miller #benny miller #benjamin miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #ofc #oc #original character #original female character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

[peppermintbee]

OMORI has poor writing (Part 1)

OMORI stans, just block the #omori hate tag now because I’m going to use it to vent my frustrations with this game. If you love this game, I am not going to try to convince you otherwise. I am glad you enjoyed it so much. I am glad it means a lot to you. I’m not here to take that away from you. I honestly wish I felt the same way!

However, if you are like me and finished the game feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and maybe a little frustrated, then I am here to say you are not alone. OMORI--while having the right set pieces for an interesting game--is a narrative mess.

I’m splitting this into two posts. This first post is about problems with the plot. The second is about problems with the message/moral. 

(Note: I use “OMORI” in all-caps for the game title, and “Omori” in title case for the character name.)

Spoilers and criticism below.

Part 1: Plot Writing Lies

There’s a book by Brian McDonald called Invisible Ink which is about how to write a compelling story (you can read this great book online for free here). There’s an explanation of the writing “lie” that I find myself frequently thinking of. A “lie” in this context does not mean something is literally untrue, it means something FEELS untrue, unrealistic, improbable, or unlikely. For example, if a character gets shot in the leg but manages to do parkour, this is a “lie” since it seems unrealistic for that to happen. If a character witnesses their beloved parent’s death and shrugs it off, it’s a “lie” because that reaction seems highly unlikely.

In OMORI, the plot is held together by multiple little lies that--try as I might--I just couldn’t bring myself to believe.

1. Sunny’s friends care about him, and vice versa

A major theme of the game is how friendship can overcome any obstacle. Friendship gets Sunny over his fear of heights, spiders, and water. Friendship is what Sunny remembers before the final boss fight, and allows him to face his guilt and defeat it (and prevent him from committing suicide). With the photobook and dialogue you are reminded over and over and over and over and over again that Sunny’s friends love him unconditionally.

However, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. The childhood memories are cute but shallow, boiling down to simply hanging out and eating treats. Plus, Kel and Aubrey fight constantly, with Aubrey even physically hitting Kel when he steps out of line. Hero and Mari behave more like babysitters than true friends to the younger kids. 

But at least the other kids interact with each other. Sunny, on the other hand, showed nearly no affection or consideration towards his friends. He floats through the memories like a ghost--he could have been completely absent from all the photos and it would have made little difference. I was ready to accept this as Sunny being an unreliable narrator and not thinking he was a good enough for his friends, but this never contradicted. Instead we are given even more memories where Sunny just silently exists there being “cute.”

[Sunny enriching the lives of his friends by LARPING as a cat.]

Because of the lack of meaningful interactions between them, there was nothing in the game that made me think that these 12-15 year olds would have a strong enough bond that would survive 3-4 years of no contact after finding their friend hanged. In fact, that discovery only drove them farther apart. The only person who I could believe actually had a close bond was Basil, who almost literally filled that trope of being the friend who would help you bury a body (or in this case, help Sunny cover up the accidental manslaughter).

The writing fix for this would be simple: instead of showing us the same boring birthday and beach scenes over again, give the kids memories of overcoming some age-appropriate adversity together: heartbreak over an unrequited crush, anxiety over homework, sports injury, lost dogs, divorced parents, running away from home, bullying, etc. Set a precedent of the friends supporting each other through good times AND bad times. Without such backstory, Sunny’s friendships allegedly giving him the courage to overcome his guilt feels like a lie.

2. Sunny abandoning Basil in the bathroom scene

One of the most confusing moments in the game was Sunny’s negligence when Basil has his first breakdown in his bathroom. This part of the game is player-controlled, which is a strange writing decision because all you can do is click on Basil and various bathroom amenities over and over which completely saps the urgency out of the scene. When you try to leave, Basil begs Sunny to stay, but (due to a lack of player options) Sunny walks out without a word. With no option to talk to him OR get help for him, it makes Sunny seem exceptionally cruel to Basil. In fact, I was starting to wonder if the game was setting up for some sort of twist that Sunny DIDN’T care about his friends, which would fix some of the confusion in point #1. However, as we know, that is not the case. Therefore, Sunny’s negligence/apathy towards Basil’s pain feels like a lie.

The writing fix would be to make it MORE clear that Sunny is intentionally running away from Basil. Make it a cutscene, or, give a false choice such as “Leave Basil? Yes / Yes”. After Sunny leaves, Kel should make some remark about Sunny looking odd, “You look sort of shaken up, is there something you want to tell me?” then hit it home with Sunny shaking his head. This would make it more clear that Sunny is intentionally hiding Basil’s state, as opposed to just being a bad friend. As it stands, it just felt like a writing mistake.

3. Basil and Sunny working together to stage Mari’s death as a suicide

This is the plot hole that I see the most complaints over, but it’s so big I have to address it. Accidentally pushing Mari down the stairs I understand, but the rest is too absurd. Below are some of the “lies” that the writing tries to get away with:

That Sunny and Basil wouldn’t just claim she slipped and fell.

That either boy would even come up with this sick plan.

That they wouldn’t back out of this idea during the multi-step process (carrying her downstairs, outside, getting the jump rope, tying a noose, putting it around her neck, stringing her up, hiding the evidence... This is a series of multiple decisions, not one quick accident like the initial push.)

That it’s not the image of Mari’s death that traumatized Sunny, but the image of what they chose to do to her body that traumatized them. I understand the image of Mari hanging is more dramatic, but they literally did it themselves so why is that more haunting than Sunny killing her?

That Mari’s true cause of death wouldn’t be immediately obvious to the parents, the police, the friends, EVERYONE. (I’ve seen fans try to get rid of this plot hole by hypothesizing that the parents knew and covered it up, but the evidence of this is circumstantial at best. The father saying, “You’re not my son,” is unreliable since it happens in Sunny’s headspace. Divorce is common after the death of a child, and, at the very least, Sunny’s mom doesn’t show any evidence of knowing what happened. The way it is written, only Sunny and Basil know the truth.)

The ridiculousness of this twist is so extreme that it completely broke any immersion I had left. Frankly, the reveal that the happy, loveable Mari committed suicide is a far heavier and more realistic twist than a crazy murder-cover-up story is.

Additionally, it seems like Basil was only written into this scene in order to make Sunny the true victim of what happened. After all, Sunny may have pushed her, but it was Basil who came up with the demented cover up. (This is apparent from just the photos but the datamined Truth Album confirms it.) By having Basil come up with the plan, the game splits the guilt between the two of them to make the kids easier to sympathize with. It’s problematic because if Basil was not in the scene, there would be no way to justify what Sunny did to Mari. So why is what they did easier to accept when they worked together?

Fixing the writing lie: Sunny lies and says that Mari slipped. Remove Basil from the scene, and instead have Sunny confide in Basil which forces Basil to become a co-conspirator and burdens him with the terrible truth.

4. Sunny’s friends forgiving him and Basil for what they did to Mari

Last but not least, the story heavily implies that Hero, Kel, and Aubrey will forgive Basil and Sunny for what they did to Mari. I found this to be almost as unbelievable as the staged-suicide stunt.

It feels like a lie since the group’s friendship is never established as anything beyond shallow hang outs from 3+ years ago (see point #1).

It feels like a lie because this is hot off the heels of Aubrey being so distraught over Mari and the following fall out that in the last three days she 1.) attacked Sunny and Kel with a nail bat TWICE, 2.) Stole Basil’s photobook, and 3.) Shoved Basil in the lake. This trauma is still very fresh for her.

It feels like a lie because the complexity of the staged-suicide is so extreme, one would be hard pressed to forgive ANYONE for doing that, be it friend, foe, parent, sibling, lover, etc.

I’ve seen fans argue that the ending is not about forgiveness, it’s about telling the truth, and I want to believe that. Really. If the ending was about Sunny starting his redemption arc by telling the truth no matter what the consequences are, that would be a meaningful lesson. But the writing does not support that. The ending headspace segments are focused on assuring Sunny that his friends will support/forgive him no matter what. To do this, the game shows us the shallow photobook memories (again) to show how much they allegedly care about each other. Then, when fighting Omori, Sunny remembers these quotes from his friends, which directly correlate to their unconditional support:

KEL: Friends... Friends are supposed to be there for each other.

AUBREY: I hope you can find some peace... or you know... some happiness.

HERO: We made the mistake of leaving each other when we needed each other the most. This time... we’ll stay together.

BASIL: Maybe one day... things can go back to the way they were before.

The really direct evidence that this ending is about getting forgiveness is this quote from Basil in Sunny’s headspace:

[BASIL: “AUBREY, KEL and HERO are good friends. You have to trust that they’ll forgive us.”]

This is one of the last scenes before Sunny tells his friends the truth, proving that obtaining forgiveness from his FRIENDS is in fact the leading motivation for Sunny’s actions.

Fixing this writing lie is easy. Instead, adjust the writing to be about telling the truth, not about how much the friends will still love Sunny. Have headspace Basil say, “Even if they don’t forgive us, Aubrey, Kel, and Hero deserve to know the truth. It’s the only way to make things right... or close to it.”

Conclusion

OMORI is undeniably a cute game with a strong visual identity, and has a premise that could make for a very compelling experience. However, the sloppy plot and weak character writing cause the potential of this game to be squandered. There are other issues as well that I chose not to cover for the sake of time, such as the poor pacing of the dragged out dungeons and the bizarre, unrealistic behavior of characters in the “real” world. 

However, there are a few more glaring problems with OMORI that I have to address: In part 2 of my critique, I break down what may be the biggest problem with OMORI’s writing: the message.

[ Link to Part 2: OMORI’s Message is Mishandled and Distasteful ]

#omori #omori hate #omori spoilers #review #words #fun fact i named sunny 'moony' so I had to consciously change all the moons to suns in this essay #suicide cw

[hopeymchope]

How would you rank the 18 Class Trials from THH, DR2, and V3 from worst to best?

This is... virtually impossible for me, lol. Comparing the trials from each game to each other?

How about I just rank them within each game? That'll make it a little easier for me to deal with...

DR1

6) 5th. It's driven by lies and ultimately rushed to its end before the characters can draw any solid (pointless/meaningless) conclusions. So of course it's last for this game, and it’s probably last for the entire series as well. If there are any saving graces to this trial, it’s the surprise when your closest ally is willing to let our protagonist die... and that this trial contains the fake/bad ending route.

5) 3rd. Although the main culprit is pretty obvious from the jump, it requires some surprising twists to explain how everything got to be the way it turned out. But did I always find those twists plausible? Errrrm... not really. 

4) 2nd. Pretty good trial that's hurt for me by the fact that there'd barely be any need for a trial at all if a certain third party didn't dick around with the evidence for no reason. Also, the dual nature of Toko is an incredibly predictable reveal. Without those two aspects dragging it down, though, this could easily go higher.

3) 1st. Sure, the major hint given and, subsequently, the eventual culprit are pretty obvious, but this one establishes so much about how the trials work and how much the details you observe will matter that it’s still pretty fun that first time around. The initial surprise of the first victim makes for a great way to keep you invested in the trial experience. This trial is damn near iconic now, so it feels almost mandatory to respect it.

2) 6th. DR1 still has the best "final trial,” easily. SO MANY great reveals, and they all totally work for me. Nothing rings false or disappointing, and it also features Makoto finally coming into his own and taking the lead. I nearly labeled this my top pick for DR1, but...

1) 4th. It's easily the most emotionally dramatic/satisfying for me, and there’s something weirdly inspirational for me about Hina’s incredibly harsh stance during it. This one GOT ME IN THE FEELS, and in part that was because I saw so little of it coming. After the more predictable elements of the first and third trials, this felt like the writing was firing on all cylinders. 

DR2

6) 2nd. You have to accept a couple leaps of logic to make this trial keep flowing, and the fact that trial is ultimately reliant on someone noticing a candy that’s very small and hard to see while the person is also in a stressful situation and they are groggy from being drugged/asleep and it necessitates the person retaining this seemingly useless detail inside their brain .... that’s always bugged me.  The “escape route” conversation even retroactively raises questions about the first trial. Oof. On the upside, the reveals it brought us about Fuyuhiko and Peko were incredibly important, satisfying, and legit surprising turns. And it’s pretty cool how it’s basically a two-for-one combo trial because you have to solve the Twilight Syndrome case before you solve the current case. 

5) 3rd. Other people have pointed out the leaps of logic and missing pieces of this trial, but at the same time, the candlelight hanging is so intense and the ultimate reveal of the culprit is such a brutal turn that I have to give it some props. The culprit’s primary plan is ultimately one of the most ingenious in the series, IMO, and definitely one of the most twisted/fucked-up, which earns it some points. 

4) 4th. This is probably the single murder case in the franchise that I understood the absolute least about when entering the trial, for better or worse. On the one hand, that made it really fun to see the mystery gradually unfurl, but on the other hand, it made it tough for me to provide the right answers at certain points in the trial, leaving me fumbling. A big part of those issues was how it was initially hard for me to wrap my head around the nature of the funhouse via the provided 2D graphics... but once I eventually got there, I had to respect the creativity that went into devising such a “weapon.” Also, it can be hard to tolerate Komaeda in this trial. He’s even more of a know-it-all-but-reveal-none-of-it jackass than ever before, and his turn towards overt cruelty towards the others (and Hajime in particular) left me raging. The culprit reveal is good, but the motive does beg the question of why he didn’t just come forward from the jump.

3) 6th. There are a lot of great reveals in the final trial that totally reframe how you see the characters, and some of them are deliciously twisted. There’s also a ton of great dialogue provided, and in retrospect, it’s actually sort of neat to have one endgame mastermind reveal in this franchise that doesn’t involve the “They were hiding among us this whole time” trope. All that plus the surprise return of our surviving heroes from the first game! However, this is also where they officially reveal a core element of DR2 and its setting that I've never liked. This knocks the trial down a few pegs for me. Of course, by the time you reach the trial, I'm sure 99% of players have already figured that particular "twist" out. There’s adequate evidence to predict it in the first freaking chapter, and I know this because I DID predict it in the first chapter of my initial playthrough... which further hurts the supposed “reveal” of the island’s true nature when it comes around. 

2) 1st. Probably my favorite of the “first trials,” there are lot of components that go into this one. There’s a combination of two premeditated killers plus one spur-of-the-moment accidental victim, there’s a satisfying (though admittedly maybe too easy) reveal of the killer being one of the most unpleasant people to be around during the first chapter, and I really dig how audio became a very important component of the mystery due to the total blackout. This is also the part of the game where we learn just how twisted Komaeda really is, which is HUGE both in terms of its immediate shock factor for a total newcomer and in terms of its impact on the game as a whole. Of course, since it’s a “first trial,” it can’t be too complicated... but they still manage to confuse so many of us with “MEAT ON THE BONE” :P

1) 5th. Again, I will almost always give the most emotionally intense one the top slot. The “traitor reveal” is obviously THAT MOMENT in DR2. I also love how this one used the strange internal logic established early in the game RE: Komaeda’s luck to develop the eventual solution. And forcing us to make use of evidence gathered in multiple locations outside of the immediate site of the body/murder? That more complexity of that type that I see relevant to a trial, the more I appreciate it, and this one has loads of that stuff. Although I guess the investigation isn’t technically part of the trial itself... but it’s still very relevant to it. 

DRV3

6) 4th. I found this whole trial to be just... extremely predictable. Maybe it’s because I was so far into the series that I’d gotten used to its tricks by this point, but this was the most predictable trial for me since the first one in the first game. The whole looping/rollover map setup of the VR? Obvious. The murder weapon? Obvious. Our culprit’s ongoing confusion at everything discussed? Obvious. There were only a couple of points I didn’t have already figured out when I walked into the trial room, and those turned out to be basically irrelevant (such as the bottle of poison). The eventual motive is at least a surprise, but I also found it hard to accept that this culprit would really kill people over it. Overall: Super lame. 

5) 3rd. Another double murder trial, and once again one murder overshadows the other. The séance murder is definitely clever. Sure, you know the culprit pretty early on, but the methodology is the good part. However, the real fascinating one for me is the art lab “locked room” murder. Going into the trial, I couldn’t fathom how they were going to explain that one, and I found the answer both smart and satisfying. It’s funny to imagine how many times the culprit had to try that stunt with the lock before it actually worked, heh. This is probably the best of the three “double murder” mysteries in the series, but the trial isn’t as emotionally affecting as the 3rd trial in DR2 to me. Moreover, the trial loses points for the most infuriating Hangman’s Gambit of the series and especially for the motive reveal. When the killer’s motive can be boiled down to “they’re basically just a psycho serial killer,” it’s not very interesting.

4) 6th. The first part of the trial, which deals with re-assessing the first case? It’s pretty damn on-point. That leads to the mastermind reveal, which... isn’t great, really. It’s not a terribly interesting character to make the mastermind, they have no interesting motives or characterization to unevil, and they’re ultimately just a pawn behind another, off-screen group of masterminds. But then things get uproariously funny to me. The metatextual stuff is just so goddamn ridiculous. It’s frustrating and annoying how much of our not-mastermind’s explanation is clearly full of lies and half-truths that we’ll never have complete answers on, but that’s also part of what makes it all fascinating. We get to swap protagonists like four times! There’s a fake-out Game Over! These are really cool things. But it all leads down the road of our protagonist arguing that fiction does affect reality (yes, good), that fictional people can still matter (definitely) and that... fictional lives are equal in value to real ones? Uhhhhh slow down there, champ. That only works for YOUR universe, where fictional people can be made out of living, breathing individuals. But in light of the metatextual stuff you’re surrounded by, you kinda sound silly AF right now?

3)  2nd. Look, this is still incredibly irritating to me. Also, if you go down the alternate “lying” route at one point, you are forced to accept that these piranhas were somehow trained to only eat dead things, which is just... so deeply dumb.  But what is good is the entire ropeway conceit (which is a very significant part of the trial!) and the idea of the partition inside the tank. This was a murder with an elaborate, intelligent plan that is very well-executed. And the motive reveal? It’s one of the best in the series! I respect that stuff. (If I had the right to toss the execution in as part of the soup, I’d say that it’s also one of the series’ best. Let’s call it the icing on the cake.)

2) 1st. The writing that made this trial work is undeniably clever. The way the narration told us exactly what was happening without really telling us what was happening? It was a masterstroke of both great writing and perfect localization coming together. When it becomes clear during the trial what is about to happen, it’s a huge shock. The transition to another protagonist with the lights flickering out and back on is beautiful. Even the core concept of a protagonist who was willing to step up and try to kill the mastermind immediately is just deeply interesting. And obviously this one made my emotions run high. HOWEVER! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Kaede Akamatsu was a more interesting, unique, and compelling protagonist than Shuichi Saihara ever was. Ultimately, the protagonist-swap, no matter how well-written, was a mistake because they shifted us from a unique character with an interesting new perspective to a character who is, in many ways, “Makoto Naegi with even less self-esteem.” Yes, I know he has aspects that make him distinct as his own person, but there’s still just too much there that feels like we’ve done it before, and he never fully escapes from that. It feels like a massive waste and a huge missed opportunity to ditch Kaede like this. Now, if they had just done the protagonist swap in reverse — making us start out with Shuichi before flipping things over to Kaede — we could’ve had ourselves something amazing here.

1) 5th. I know I decided that I couldn’t rank all among each other, but if I did do that, I feel confident that the 5th trial in DRV3 would rank very high indeed. You go into the trial unable to even determine who the victim was due to the fact that two people are missing and there was nothing left of the body that spoke to an identity. Going into it, you naturally figure that one of the two missing parties has to be the victim and the other one is probably the culprit. But even with just two friggin’ suspects, the amount of turnabouts in the case that made me rethink all my assumptions was insane. Sure, the explanation for how the person inside the Exisal can maintain “character” is pretty damn thin, but once you get past that, I don’t think there’s a single false note in the trial. It even breaks unprecedented ground by continuing into another Non-Stop Debate after everyone has already voted. And of course, it culminates with a lot of intense emotion. Even the execution is emotionally satisfying! ..... although I’m not sure if I should count the execution as part of the trial, but hey, still. As far as Dangan trials go, the fifth one in DRV3 is basically a masterpiece.

#danganronpa #asks #danganronpa trials #drv3 #dr2 #dr1 #drv3 spoilers

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers: December 11th, 2020

How old are terri, miranda, lee, shiloh and jeremy? Are they all the same age as the mc?

Step 1: MC is 8 and Shiloh is 7

Step 2: MC and Lee are 13 and Jeremy is 12

Step 3: MC, Lee, and Terri are 18, Miranda is 19 (though she just barely turned that age)

How many different personalities are there for Jamie? Does picking one color of dialogue option mark down the personality or is it the choices and actions themselves?

There’s not really any set amount of personalities. You can mix and match traits in different ways and different levels, it’s really up to you. The colored options just give an idea of the tone of what you’re doing (whether it’s serious or more lighthearted or more emotional, that sort of thing).

Hey! Sorry to bother, but I was just curious. Why does MC and Cove react the way they do in the errands moment? It just sorta seems like they overreacted to being left alone in the farmers market. 

I’m a little confused on what you mean. You can choose not to care or to have a good time, your MC doesn’t have to be upset. There are more choices that lead to upset feelings, but that’s because there’s really only one way to say you’re really okay and multiple ways to feel upset (sad, angry, scared, etc). And if someone is upset, there’s nothing wrong with that. Feeling fine is okay too.

As for Cove, he’s just like that. Cove is a sensitive guy and he is especially bothered by parents pulling stunts without talking to their kid ahead of time. If you wanna annoy Cove, that exact thing they did is one of the fastest ways to do it, ahah. And he’s not gonna let it slide just because it was the MC’s parents doing it to them rather than one of his own parents doing it to him.

so if I were to become a one time patreon pledger, would I still have access to the things from that tier after the month is over (such as 18+ pics or access to a demo/beta)?

If you join Patreon for one month you’ll get everything released that month and have access to all our past posts, and you can save the stuff to your own computer to keep it forever. But you won’t get access to things that come out after your subscription has ended. So if you want to join for a specific piece of content, just make sure you wait until that content has already come out and then subscribe.

Why did Noelani and Pamela decide to adopt within the USA when they had previously adopted abroad?

Because we wanted to highlight more than one type of adoption. Both are valid.

At what age was MC adopted in our life?

Only around a year old, but it’s flexible based on what the player wants for their story.

If Pamela is estranged from her family and Noelani doesn't really talk to her's, where did Lee come from? 

Lee is a backer created character, she wasn’t originally part of the cast. Because our main supporter wanted her to be related to the MC’s family, we gave Pam one sibling she still talks to and that sibling has a daughter, Lee. The game was still in pretty early development way back then when we first mentioned the family situation. It’s just kind of inevitable that during the game making process some things ended up changing, aha.

In the relationship DLC’s for Derek and Baxter will there be options for polyamory to include Cove?

I’m afraid not. The way Our Life: Beginnings & Always works doesn’t support developing a poly relationship well, it’d very quickly build up too many alterations to manage. But we do hope to feature polyamory options in future games.

Will it be possible to confess to Cove (or vice versa) in Step 4, if it hasn't been done already? 

Yeah!

are you going to put the credits song on youtube or spotify? i really like it and want to play it for my friends 🙏🥺 ty 

I’m so glad you like it! We have rights to use the song in our game and for our game to be the only game it’s ever used in, but the rights to sell/upload the song belong to the actual creators of the music. We’re happy to let them decide where they’re comfortable posting the track.

Quick question, do you plan on continuing to use MC we can custom? I liked all your games but being able to customize Our Life's MC was awesome 

I can’t say if every game we ever make from now on will have a super customizable MC, but we are planning other projects with that feature. Our Life: Beginnings & Always won’t be the only one.  It’s nice to hear you appreciated the effort to add that.

Can I just express my disappointment that you only get a 'makeout session' in Step 3 if your MC is outgoing? My shy MCs miss out on grabbing the Cove booty... xP

Whether or not you can make out with Cove and how intense it can get depends on how long you’ve been a couple. If your shy MC takes longer to get with Cove, he’ll need more time before he’s ready to do that sort of stuff. And if your confident MC has been with him for years already, then he’s at a point where he can go that far with them. I’m afraid patience is required when it comes to romancing that boy, haha. 

If we played in 1.0 and we updates to 1.1 do we have to start over? Or do save files transfer? I hit the "ignore" not sure if I should have for the game to work properly 

1.0 save files should work with version 1.1. If you’re getting error reports can you send us more details about what the error is saying?

Bug report: At the end of the 'Mall' DLC moment in Step 2, there's a point where Cove says the MC's name, but it's said in his Step 1 voice instead of his Step 2 voice. I don't know if it happens with ALL names, but it happened with my most recent game using the name Devin.

As a follow-up to my earlier bug report about the voiced names (or at least Devin) in the Mall moment, I had the same issue in the Soiree moment as well (with the same name - again, it might just be that one).

Thank you for the report! Can you let me know when you downloaded the DLC files? I think that should be fixed in the most recent version of them.

Dear gb-patch, I'm one of the OL Kickstarter backers (and I had and still have a great time with your updates, it's great to see the project grow and you are great in communicating with your fans 💕).

I want to wait until all steps are complete until I play, I know I'll enjoy it even more if I can experience it all together. Because of that I didn't open the game myself but I just saw your post with the screenshot of the voiced names and noticed that the name that I submitted to you isn't on the list. The name is Mai (or May), will it be available later?

Thank you for supporting us! Mai is one of the names that we’re still working on. It accidentally had a tone missed.

And thank you for all of these asks <3

—————————————————————— We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ   Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #ourlifeba #Our Life Beginnings & Always #ask #asked #gb patch #gb patch games

[wizkiddx]

supercluster

this is my entry for @hollandsrecs 'toms birthday fanfic fest' event - go check it out!!! I know its a early but im v bored so have it now. also im acc kinda really proud of this one, any feedback would be v appreciated 🤍

the prompt was: 'you and tom are best friends and you tell him that you love him on his birthday'

summary: its toms birthday but he has a few things to get off his chest and into the night sky, y/n joins in with a bit of a revelation too

best friends -> lovers

warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit angsty but promise ends all fluffy and a shit tonne of dialogue

wc: 3.5k ishhh

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Everything got a little too wild and stuffy in the living area, Haz and Harry screaming sweet caroline, whilst Greg (Tom’s stunt man) was pouring *another* round of shots. The sweatiness and clamminess of the room meant Y/n took a moment to escape, sliding out the double doors, and closing them softly behind her to ensure no one would notice her little escape. Something about the midnight air, the slightly dewy smell of the neighbouring fields, felt like it was refreshing Y/n from the inside out. When she turned around, back facing the fancy rented house, she was slightly shocked by Tom standing in the garden. It was his birthday party after all. In all honesty, Y/n felt a bit guilty she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t in the thick of it with his brothers and castmates.

His silhouette was set against the clear night sky, the stars extra prominent this evening and the moon casting a soft glow off the left side of his face, exaggerating the natural contours of his jawline and cheekbones. Clearly, he was enraptured by the sky, staring up at it with a thoughtful look on his face.

And Y/n recognised that look instantly; she knew what he was doing.

In fact, he had taught her to do precisely the same thing. As kids, the Hollands, Y/n’s family and another two families from the local area all went camping together. It was an annual event, ‘the Kingston collective camping adventure’ as Dom had named it. Y/n couldn’t remember a year when they hadn’t gone actually - it was that much of a tradition.

One year, though, when she and Tom were about 9, her mothers’ due date coincided with the camping dates. So, sensibly, the decision had been made that Y/n and her brother would just be looked after by the Hollands - whilst her mum and dad were safely tucked up in bed at home, awaiting the arrival of her littlest brother.

Y/n, her brother Alex, and Tom were all sharing a tent, and it must’ve been at least midnight that Tom was awoken by shuffling and zipping up of the tent. He’d realised she was gone through sleepy eyes and, without a second thought, went to go find her. Sure enough, she wasn’t far away, not even 50 metres from the tent, crouched on the grass. Immediately Tom’s presence had been noticed, making Y/m quickly snivel and wipe her face.

“Are you upset?”

“Go away Tom.” The comment didn’t do a lot, though; instead, 9-year-old Tom had planted himself down next to her - his pyjamas getting wet on the moist grass floor.

“Are you missing Auntie Sarah and Uncle Mike?” In the same way that Y/n called Nikki and Dom auntie and uncle, the Holland boys mirrored the nicknames for her parents. Y/n replied with a long sigh before hiccuping, failing to control the stream of tears. Yes, he was right - this was her first night away from her parents- but she wasn't about to spill her heart out to the 'stupid boy' who had stolen one of her marshmallows that evening. Tom’s little brown eyes swelled, looking slightly terrified and out of his depth, whilst with all his 9 years of wisdom, trying to come up with an answer.

“Do you want to play football to forget about it?”

Unsurprisingly Y/n shook her head violently. Tom cursed inwardly at himself for saying the wrong thing, apparently football wasn't the answer to everything. The two children went back to silence until Tom had the metaphorical light bulb moment. “My mum told me something for when I got to sleepovers? Look!” He grabbed Y/n’s little hand, extending it upwards towards the night sky.

“No matter where you are, you’re all looking at the same stars too, right?”

Tom jumped a little before looking over his shoulder and recognising Y/n with the softest smile that grew across his face. Y/n slowly walked to his side, arms crossed over her chest to try and keep the cold at bay, joining Tom in staring up at the starry expanse.

“How do you always know?” Tom spoke in a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly. It was true, she did always know - but his question was somewhat irrelevant. They'd spent most their childhood together, they were as easy to read as a children’s book to each other.

“Missing home?”

“Sort of, I got my own slice of home with the boys and-and you but… pads, mum dad yeh, feel like on your birthday your always supposed to see your family.”

Although Harry, Harrison, Sam and Y/n had managed to fly out to surprise Tom on his birthday- prior commitments meant his parents and youngest brother hadn’t been able to make it. They four arrived yesterday, greeted by a very shocked and pretty emotional Tom - who had clearly been missing the sense of home somewhat. He’d been away shooting a film, then straight away launching into press for the next spiderman movie. It had been a long while since he’d been in London - half a year in fact.

This time too, he’d been away without a single family member or friend - that was another truth he’d learnt about growing up. Your friends and family, they all get lives of their own. Tom used to be a trailblazer, the first to get a job, the one everyone was super proud of. They still were, of course, but didn’t dote on him in quite the same way - everyone had their own shit to deal with. It was yet another reason Tom wasn’t welcoming his birthday as much as he usually would.

“Your parents did always spoil you rotten.”

“They spoilt you worst and you’re not technically their kid.” Y/n rolled her eyes, even if it might slightly true - muttering a ‘touche’ at the brown-haired boy next to her. Their families had always been close; naturally the adults seemed to gravitate more to the kids that weren’t their own. The ones who you could ‘give back’ at the end of the day. It just so happened Nikki and Dom had always loved having Y/n around, maybe a bit more than anyone else.

“Have you had a good birthday then? You should be in there with Greg pouring that shitty vodka down your throat.” Y/n questioned, whilst shrugging back toward the house, the dull thump of Jacob's playlist just audible. Still, both stared upwards, standing close enough that their upper arms were both pressed up against each other. She expected a jovial answer, but even from his tone, it was evident there was something up. He sounded…weary?

“I’m bloody glad you all came...don’t get me wrong, I love Z and Jacob and everyone but….”

“Shitty week?”

“Shitty birthday week of promo and press.” Tom scathed, and Y/n nodded. Even if she couldn’t understand what was so bad about press, she knew that Tom hated it passionately. And in the same way, he loved all his castmates dearly, but they hadn’t known him his whole life. They didn’t understand why he did every little thing; their values lay just that bit apart. It just wasn’t the same as being surrounded with his family - you and Harrison adopted Hollands too.

“I just feel like I’ve spent all week trapped in a room answering the most stupid, irrelevant and inconsequential questions... Everything’s just so surface level and fake and, and I-“He cut himself off, for the first time meeting Y/n’s eyes. In all honesty, Tom got a bit caught up in the stars reflecting off her piercing y/e/c eyes before changing tack.

“Will you do me a favour?”

This wasn’t spoken with the normal Tom tone. It wasn’t joking or jovial; it wasn’t an ‘off the tongue’ thing. This was spoken with such seriousness and gravitas coming from his deep voice that Y/n replied equally truthfully.

“Always T, you know that.”

“Will you please ask me a personal and serious and deep question?”

She got where he was coming from too.

Clearly, even though the evening was supposed to be a light piss up in celebration, it had instead unearthed some darker thoughts that Tom had been harbouring away. Perhaps he never even realised he needed such seriousness, or perhaps with his castmates he hadn’t felt comfortable exposing himself like that. Either way, Y/n was going to respect him now. It was technically his birthday, too; the clocks had already struck 12 - it was now his day.

It wasn’t tricky to think of one; she’d often wondered the same question of him - never with the opportunity to ask. The question popped into her head again, almost as soon as Tom asked for one.

“Okay…. What’s your deepest regret that makes you feel guilty for feeling because in the grand scheme of things, it minor? Like such a 'first world problem'." What do you regret that’s just completely selfish?”

Tom immediately stiffened, his jaw tensing as he worked through his thoughts in his head. Scared she’d pushed it too far, Y/n averted her gaze back to the sky, chewing her bottom lip slightly. It took a moment, but then she saw Tom turn towards her, in the peripheries of her vision. With a tightly closed-lip smirk on his face he joked “If your gonna ask questions like that, we better sit down.”

And so they did, both sitting crossed legged on the ground, knees brushing against each other. Just on the grass lawn, almost mirroring themselves all those years ago as kids in that camping site. Y/n wondered if she should offer to play football instead - to cheer him up.

“Missing out. I miss out months at a time. Miss out on seeing mum and dad, miss out on the pub quizzes with the boys, miss out seeing you… I mean, I didn’t even know you had a new job until you mentioned it this morning. I miss out on time with nana Tess and all my grandparents, and that’s scary cos… well, every time I go, it could be the last time… I don’t know, I just… I get so much, get to travel, to see the world, but… sometimes it feels like I’m sacrificing the foundations. And without the foundations….”

“The walls come crumbling down.” Y/n finished off his sentence quietly, barely whispering the words - but from Tom’s nod of agreement, it seemed like she’d hit the nail on the head. There was silence for a beat till Y/n whispered to him.

“Well, happy birthday to you” Trying to bring the mood up a little, she bumped his shoulder, and Tom chuckled breathily.

“Seriously! This is helping me out. I-I just need to get everything out and start my 25th year fresh.”

“Hey, if that’s all you want, I’m getting a refund on my present- we can just get deep and interview each other.”

“I’m game, except I’m keeping the present too.”

“Just because it’s your birthday and I’m a bit tipsy, I’ll allow it.”

“Okay, well then, Y/n L/n”, He spoke formally, leaning in closer and making her giggle a little. “What’s your biggest regret?”

“Honestly?” Tom just repeated her in reply, but this time it was a statement.

"Honestly."

He really was going deep too. No holding back now. Y/n sucked on her cheek before replying. “Not travelling with you when we were 19… I was just so determined to get to uni and start grown-up life, but… well, grown-up life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I should’ve tried to stay a kid longer, messing about on your film sets and pretending it was work. I think I would’ve learnt more from seeing the world with you.”

“Well, I am very knowledgable.”

“Shut up, you drop out- who didn't know what a drag race was.” She wasn’t wrong, and whilst yes, he had dropped out to be a film star - he was still a dropout. (with exceptionally poor knowledge of RuPaul) He scowled, then leaning back on his hands, so he was half reclined on the grass as Y/n thought of her next question.

“Whats your biggest worry?”

“Easy.” He chuffed, making Y/n furrow her brows at him. Clearly, he’d already thought of this. “That I finally settle down with the love of my life, and then the fans or press or paps ruin it.”

It made sense; every time Tom had gone public with a relationship, it had ended in a minor car crash. Typically it was also the girl who got hurt; she was the ‘victim’ in everything. Though Y/n had seen first hand the effect it had had on Tom - he never made it out damage-free.

“You make it sound like you’ve already got this dream girl queued and waiting.”

“I wish”, Tom sighed, as Y/n took the opportunity to completely lie down on the grass, staring up at the dark abyss. She’d always loved the stars and had become a bit of a geek on them as they’d grown up too- and maybe it was all down to Tom on that camping trip. Following suit, Tom copied her, his head resting on his hands that were crossed behind his head, taking in the moment of pure peace as they lay on the grass.

“You see that bright one there?” Pointing up, Y/n shimmied closer to him so that he definitely saw the same thing as her. “It’s actually not one. Look closer.” Humming, Tom shifted a bit closer, so her shoulder slotted under the side of his body just the teeniest bit. It meant he could follow her direction and squinted up at the little patch of the sky.

“ 5…maybe 6? What is it?”

“The pliedes supercluster…. basically a big group of stars that all were born from the same place- the same stellar nursery.”

“But they’re moving now?” She hummed in confirmation to his question, briefly glancing at the way his eyes were fixed on the sky. For the first time he seemed genuinely interested in hearing her stories of the stars. It usually was an eye roll and ‘you’re so lame’.

“They’re called the sibling stars… like everything in life, as they get older they drift apart but…. but to us down here? They’ll always be associated together because they have a gravitational effect on each other. They’ll always have their thing tying them together. Like an invisible string.”

“Sounds like you’re being metaphorical.” Tom chuckled, expecting a taunt back but receiving nothing except a gentle agreement.

“Theres also actually 7. The last one people can only sometimes see… it’s a pulsing star, so comes and goes.”

“They do that?”

“Yeh, and no matter what… if you can see it or not, it’s always there. Always having an impact on its family.”

Biting his lower lip slightly, Tom repositioned his head slightly, Y/n’s words taking time to be fully absorbed. He was sure she was making parallels to him. Barely there, appearing and disappearing, but always a part of the family.

“You are being metaphorical.”

“Maybe.” She whispered shortly. “Metaphors depend on who’s listening and if they draw parallels to their own life. It’s subjective. You can’t tell anyone what is and isn’t metaphor…. it takes the beauty out of it.”

“Right, sure... But if you were…. me, harry, Sam, pads, you, Haz, Tuwaine? That the 7?” Y/n held back the little smile at his words. Tom wasn’t as ‘head in the clouds’ as she was- he was literal. Also, he was bloody stubborn when he wanted to be.

“I wasn’t being metaphorical T.” He knew she was lying. She knew that he knew. But it still helped him, made him feel a bit better. That he was always, in some way, having some effect... lives always intertwined with the people he cared about the most.

“Tell me another story about another star.”

Time for the rest of the night kind of got lost. The two young adults just lay on the grass, entirely in their own little world, using each others body heat to keep themselves warm through the early hours. Neither felt remotely tired, Y/n whispering her little stories of both the myths and science of the old stars, pointing out each planet. Meanwhile, Tom listened in awe, for once not taking the mick out of her incredibly geeky hobby. Instead, he found himself getting fascinated by all the little intricacies Y/n was so passionate about.

It was only when the stars began to fade, as orangey-red hue started to seep up from the horizon the either noticed the time. It was now the morning of the next day, the house long since had turned silent behind them - presumably, everyone finally passing out shit faced.

As the stars’ light was overtaken by the rising sun, Y/n ran out of stories; the two settled into silence - neither quite ready to go to bed yet.

“It’s still my turn,” Tom spoke into the sky before pivoting his head to look Y/n in the eye, seeing the confusion in her furrowed brows. “It’s my question to ask. My turn.”

“Aren’t you sick of my voice yet?” There was absolutely no reason that they were both whispering. It wasn’t like anyone was trying to listen or that they’d disturb anyone else my talking normally. But it was nicer that way. It felt calming... intimate even.

“One more. And then you get one more… and then we really should probably go to bed.” He didn’t want the night to end; he was immensely enjoying this weird grey time between being 25 and 26. But it was cold, Tom could tell Y/n had started to feel it a little more. To be fair, she was only in a floral day dress, not much in the way of warmth. With a hum of agreement, Y/n smiled lightly at him, urging his question.

“Whats the biggest secret you’ve kept from me?”

With a bit of a scoff, Y/n sighed and closed her eyes, trying to draw some strength she wasn’t sure she had. It wasn’t like she needed to wrack her brains to come up with it - she knew instantly. Almost painfully too.

“Uhm, honestly?” Now even more intrigued, Tom nodded, using his foot for nudge hers - encouraging her to speak. “Probably how much you mean to me.”

“Oh” He couldn’t help it; the sound just slipped out his mouth without checking with his brain first. That answer had just been so unexpected. He had honestly been thinking that it would be something about how ‘fame had changed him’. After hearing that, Y/n turned her head up the sky again, feeling like her cheeks were on fire with embarrassed heat. Tom knew he had fucked up.

“No, I… I didn’t mean- just just ask me too.” With a sigh, Y/n waved off his stumbled answer as he tried to cover himself.

“This is stup-“

“Ask me!” For the first time in 5 hours, Tom spoke at an normal volume - but it felt painfully loud, like a shout.

“What’s the biggest secret you kept from me?” Her tone was defeated, but nevertheless, he answered.

“How upset I was when you didn’t come when we were 19. I got why, but it was still annoying. Felt like you were picking uni friends over me-“ At this point on any other evening, Y/n would have interjected and argued. None of this situation was normal, though, so she chose to hear him out. “- I know it’s stupid, but…. I guess that’s how much you meant an-and still mean to me too.”

There was silence for a couple minutes, waiting whilst the sun started to peep over the horizon, the lone witness to an otherwise very private conversation. That was until Y/n barely spoke, more like mouthed 2 simple words.

“I lied.” The intensity of the way Tom stared at her made Y/n wish that the sun hadn’t been so bright, that they were back in the darkness that hid her face more. “Biggest lie I’ve told you … that I’m not in love with you.”

Y/n didn’t see because she couldn’t face looking at him, but Tom’s face erupted into the most prominent, toothiest smile. Whilst Tom was enjoying the moment of being absolutely ecstatic, Y/n was waiting for a response- feeling her world come crashing in. That she'd just destroyed one of the most important friendships in her life too.

But then he said the opposite of what she thought he would.

“I lied too.”

That had her attention, whipping her head toward him as Tom rolled onto his side on the lawn, balancing with his head resting on one hand. “I lied that I’ve not been completely under your spell since we were kids at that campsite, and you were homesick.”

Y/n’s heart was literally in her mouth, brain overwhelmed but one overriding thought oh so bloody clear.

She’d lost control of everything, arching up to mirror Tom. Using one hand, she reached out to cup Tom’s jaw, to which he instinctively leant toward - until their lips were mere centimetres apart, hot breath fanning over each other.

Y/n no control as she whispered those 3 words against his lips. No control at how immediately after he pressed his to hers; no control as Tom guided her to roll on top of him, knees either side of his torso as his strong arms wrapped around her back.

Once again, time was lost between the two, only pulling apart when their lungs burned for oxygen.

“For the record, I love you too.” Grinning from ear to ear, Tom used one hand to gently stroke his thumb across her cheek, switching his focus from her left to right eye - in wonder at how the early morning sun reflected from her y/e/c irises. He’d always thought she was beyond beautiful, but when she was this close to him, with the sun rising behind her in such a way - she looked damn ethereal.

“Happy birthday T.” Nodding in agreement, Tom chuckled before finding her lips once again, whispering against them.

“Yeh, happy damn birthday to me.”

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