#hardly an answer

[hardly-an-escape]

dreamling fic with hobrinthian hookup? 👀👀👀👀

yes! you and @fulcrvm both asked about this one!

it's based on a post that was going around... gosh, well over a year ago. I'd have to dig to find it again :/ but the basic idea was: imagine the Corinthian picks Hob up in a bar or on tinder or something, they start doing their thang, and Dream suddenly appears and yeets the Corinthian across the room, and Hob is like what the actual fuck???? (and then obviously after some yelling Hob and Dream start doing their thang.)

this is actually the very first Dreamling fic I ever started! it's been on a back burner for a long time, but again, hope springs eternal and I would love to go back to it someday if inspiration strikes. I have a lot of it daydreamed out if not necessarily planned, haha. Hobrinthian is not a big ship of mine but I think there are some super compelling elements of them together! I've shared a few lines from this here and there, here's another snippet:

“You would offer yourself up to one such as the Corinthian? A being of petty hunger, of fear and lust?” “I am trying,” Hob grits between clenched teeth, “to offer myself to you. You git,” he tacks on. Dream says nothing, but Hob has spent years of his unnatural life decoding the minute expressions of that face; enough to recognize confusion. “Are you really this thick?” he demands. All of a sudden, rage drowns out the clamor of emotions swirling in his chest. His anger shouts to be heard. “Don’t you realize that this is the first time in over six hundred years that you’ve laid a finger on me? To do your little voodoo ritual because your, your fucking nightmare creation dared to do something that you won’t allow yourself to stoop to? To touch me?”

thanks for the asks!! WIP game.

#my writing #tag game #wip game #hardly an answer

[bigshotautos]

I really like your theory about Spamton basically haunting a mannequin after death. Have you ever touched upon the reaction from Jevil (or anyone, really) upon seeing the new Spamton? Especially considering Spamton isn't even aware he 'died'.

^ how i think jevil's first sight of Spamton would go. i love this ask. this is referring to some headcanons I made a while back, I'll link it here for the one post and the general ghost spamton theory is linked in that one as well. Going to elaborate on it more under the cut for those interested + more art.

In general I think that people from Spamton's past wouldn't really care if they notice at all, since he wasn't in the business of making close friends with anyone. With the Addisons, in my interpretation he had a "weird co-worker" relationship with them, and while Addisons in general treated each other like potential business competitors that they had to make-nice with, Spamton is especially easy to single out for being visibly and temperamentally different. His altered, current state is something they'd feel at least uncomfortable by, but many wouldn't have been too close with him to begin with for them to talk about it with him directly. Would get whispered about between each other for sure, like we saw with them talking about Spamton after the NEO fight. It moves him from the "disgraced guy I used to know" category to the "actually unpleasant to look at or think about" territory. This goes for Swatch, Queen, and Seam (less so), who seem to buy heavily into the Lightner and Darkner dynamic, with Spamton corrupting the Lightner's dream being a strong taboo against what it means to be a Darkner.

As for what Jevil thinks, Spamton during the NEO fight is both a beautiful and horrifying display. Jevil at this point hasn't seen him in years since his imprisonment, and in their time apart Jevil has grown to find novelty in the cage that everyone else besides him is in since he's created huge emotional distance between him and the reality he lives in. Seeing the fact that Spamton had corrupted an abandoned dream of a Lightner and was causing so much chaos to the established order of the world would be exhilarating, but at the same time seeing that Spamton had accomplished this and still had his strings visible (and changed to a marionette puppet with no symbolic agency), it'd be a painful confirmation of his worldview that even Spamton, who deep down he still cares for, could never have been free.

Jevil would think at first he'd just gone through some nebulous situation to change what he looks like, since ofc he himself has toy-like traits (arguable if that happened with Gasterfication or not), Seam is a plushie cat, and other Card Castle Darkners are based on toys, but feeling the lack of life combined with the symbolic body of Spamton would mean to him something bigger had went wrong. He wouldn't dare to bring it up in an empathetic way, stuck in his mindset that it doesn't matter, but it'd still hit a part of him he doesn't like to think still exists. It's something he gets over quickly, almost performatively going back to fucking with him and taking advantage of his fear for entertainment, but it didn't sit well at first.

To me, the fact Spamton "died" isn't really a huge deal, kind of like with the ghosts in Undertale where no one really cares they're just ghosts. They're just doing their thing. To me it'd be fine if neither of them find out what happened for certain, but it's something that adds Flavor to his character.

#asks #deltarune #spamton #jevil #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER ANON LOL. its been a month or something #i asked tumblr user funnywormz for consulation on this for his thoughts as well since he's my accomplice in ghost spamton truthers #my art #ofc this is all just my internal worldview on the thing it's by no means definitive but its just for Fun! #btw as for queen im hardly even joking i think she would have deleted spamton from her memory banks because he was so sucks. #also in the image up top susie cant hear jevil saying this shit it definitely wouldnt have helped. #i think darkners can detect the itemized darkners but lightners cant like with tasque manager and spamneo noticing jevil

[adm-starblitzsteel-4305]

“Godzilla usually cuddles her every time, inhaling her lovely scent.”

He’s so real for that

"You've got to be kidding me, aren't you Goji?" The Queen asked, her voice muffled by her fluffy fur.

Of course, why would it be? Thought Godzilla, his face squashed on her delicate fur, the loveliest scent of rare flowers are addicted, for a King to his Queen.

Both were tired dealing with almost a month of checking the humans and Titans. So much that the King of the Monsters yearned her scent. When the two finally met each other, they settled down on a huge cozy cave.

That didn't wipe his goofy smile upon landing his golden orange eyes at Mothra's lovely sapphire blue ones.

Something that he really, really meant to cuddle her for a long time.

The King bring his tongue out to lick her fur, nipping it tenderly. She squirmed a bit, almost feared if he squished the moth too much, but he was a gentle King.

"Feeling better?" Godzilla asked, earning a nod to Mothra.

Adjusting one more time of their position, the moth finally fall asleep.

He took one last inhale of her scent, feeling his mind become lightheaded, dreaming of their never ending love and loyatly to one another...

"Good night, My Queen."

#that was supposedly on valentines day and i am super late btw due to college stuff #but anyway #here's a short but sweet and tender fic involving around our King and Queen #thank you for reading my own MV Mothra's Headcanons #GODZILLA IS ADDICTED BY HER SCENT #SO MUCH THAT HE HARDLY TASTE IT #LOL #asked and answered #godzilla #mothra #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla kotm #monsterverse #kaiju #mothzilla #godzilla x mothra #mosugoji #short fic #adm starblitzsteel 4305 #anonymous

[2aceofspades]

Is it ok if I put a purple heart sticker on Donnie?

Also I love your art work so so much 💜💜💜. It's amazing what your wonderful hands can do. It's inspiring honestly.

Also this is my first ask ever on tumbler....

Of course!

He's just a lil confused it seems...but I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture once he comes around 👍

Also thank you so so much!! Awwee! I really appreciate it! 🙌✨

#ace answers #acey doodles #also also congrats on your first ask!! 🙌✨ woo! #i'm very honored #i hardly ever send asks cuz i get nervous so i feel very flattered rn ngl #thank you again so much!! #:)

[buckttommy]

Is the cafe Buck met Tommy at the same place Eddie had his date with Ana…

fuck me, i think it is. same umbrellas. same chairs. 9-1-1 is a comedy actually.

#*through my tears* LMAAAOOOOO #RIP bucktommy we hardly knew ye #jack answers mail #tv: 911

[purusims]

this whole time you were talking, i was too busy picturing you dead

#my art #pearlescentmoon #double life #sorry ive been away on a trip where i ended up getting sick #so ive been hardly a human for like the past month at all #sorry if u sent me an ask #ill try to answer today

[kairithemang0]

Can I just say that it is a CRIME that Sora isn't on Riku's station of awakening but ANSEM IS???? Nomura the next to we see it we gotta have 1 an updated Riku design on it and 2 Sora front and center on there

#kingdom hearts #kh #soriku #sora #riku #riku kingdom hearts #kh sora #why isn't he there #nomura answer me #i'm in your walls #i've been whispering “soriku endgame” in nomura's ear every night for 2 years now and since then he has hardly given us an kh content #maybe he's rewriting the story #they're gay i'll die on this hill

[maaneskin]

“yoichi is the childhood best friends to lovers boy” HE IS! I CAN’T even imagine other than that... he deff childhood bfs to lovers type.... 😔

you didn’t ask for his but my brain went brrrryoichirrrrr

isagi yoichi is so the boy you had sleepovers with when you were five, pretending to sleep when your parents checked in, giggling too loud when they left

he’s the boy who asked you to marry him when you were eight, pressing his lips against yours like he’s seen his mom and dad do when you happily agreed 

he’s the boy who accidentally kicked a football at your sandcastle and cried out of guilt so you had to comfort him 

he’s the boy who wrapped you in a hug when you found out you were in the same class, tugging you with him to your seats with a bright smile

yoichi is the boy who asked you to play football with him, teaching you if you don’t already know, cheering loudly when you score

he’s the boy who called you 30 minutes before you left for school, asking if he could copy your homework, telling you that school is important when you say you didn’t do it either 

he’s the boy whose friends tease him about you, making kissing noises whenever they see you together, both of you have learned to ignore it

yoichi is the boy who apologized for making you wait for his practice to finish so you could walk home together, ears turning red when you say you don’t mind and that you like watching him play

he’s the boy who laid awake long after the sun went down, unable to think about anything other than you who’s sleeping soundly next to him, your fingers are gripping his sleepshirt and you’re cuddled into his side 

he’s the boy who found being with you felt so natural he never really thought twice about the way his heart skipped a beat whenever you were near

he’s the boy who randomly kissed you one afternoon when you’re alone in his room, darting backwards and falling off his bed when he registered what he was doing, blushing profusely and stammering out sorrys

he’s the boy who somehow turns ever redder when you hop off his bed to press your lips against his

he’s the boy who quietly asked if he could be your boyfriend, body buzzing with happiness when you said yes before your lips meet his again

#this is a mess TT #grammar? i hardly know her #answered asks #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #writing

[rynpie]

Hello ☺️🌺

Just wanted to say that the way you draw lilia is so so good, my heart races. The way you draw him so…broad shouldered?? If that’s the right terms?? Has me fanning myself. I love all the art thank you for drawing them

sorry i saw this earlier but i was so happy i wanted to draw you something nice.....unfortunately ive had artblock lately so please accept this lilia wip instead

Honestly I didn't think anyone would notice I like to draw him with broader shoulders😳💖💖💖!!thank you really!!!!

I personally dislike how squished his sprites usually look.... at first I thought it was because he was withering away but even general lilia looks a little smooshed. I have a new hc now tho, what if he just had too many hugs while growing up

#twst #finally answering my inbox #i saw your tags earlier and knew anxiety and autism be damned i will reply #seriously think he deserves to have shoulders #im glad to know someone else who understands #once again i am sorry for replying back very late #still feel bad i have another ask that has been in my inbox for maybe a year now #asdffdnkjgfdjhkgfdsjhkfgds #i like asks but i also hardly reply to the few i have gotten these past few years sorry (^^;)

[jingsyuans]

Me loving how jing yuan IS fully aware of his strength and he IS cocky about it. I am proven correct by the reinforcements line. I want to fuck him so bad

#READ MY TAGS #also I love how he’s !!!! reserved!!! #the answers to your questions aftet the trailblazer quest. I loved it #he doesn’t know the MC that well. hardly at all #YES you helped but that doesn’t mean he spills his life story to someone he doesn’t know #I love that he’s reserved and not willing to share personal things with just anybody #it rly shows his character and reservation #anyway I like him #jing yuan

[theangrypomeranian]

Hey there! What’s your favorite episode of Bob’s Burgers that no one ever seems to talk about?

Hi Babs!

I will shriek to the heavens and back about Roller? I Hardly Know Her! Especially for a fandom that loves their poly ships as much as this one does. Because it has EVERYTHING!! The pining! The longing! Gene singing Alone by Heart (which is my favorite Heart song)! And Gene and Alex and Courtney are SO FREAKING CUTE in this episode! She wanted to dance with them!! 😭💜 And it was the boys' idea to help out! Then Mrs. Papasian going after frickin' Doug! Not to mention the B plot is really funny too and has lots of potential for the BLT poly ship. All around one of my all time favorite episodes!

#pom answers #hey babs #roller? i hardly know her! #gac pack #blt #i could talk about this episode forever okay #it also has some top notch lines in it too #my friend! that man took my friend! #will never fail to make me cackle #bob's burgers #bobs burgers

[hardly-an-escape]

well @nyxneon, this fucking website ate your original ask, but I FINALLY filled the prompt you sent me weeks ago. sorry it took me so long, I accidentally took "anything involving intoxicated Hob + sexytimes, be it dream sex, a fantasy, real, whatever" and... turned it into like nine pages of tender emotional sexy feelings? and dancing to old jazz music? whoops?? | rated E for sexytimes | 2900 words

- - -

Kind of Blue, a kind of fire

- - -

Some people might think that after six hundred-odd years of immersing himself in human pleasures, Hob Gadling would have calmed down about some things.

Those people would be wrong.

Food? Get out of town. The quality of food, the sheer variety that’s available within walking distance of his flat — it boggles the mind. Hob still dreams about the first time he’d had really good sushi. The part of himself that will always be a medieval peasant almost weeps every time he buys strawberries and pineapple in the middle of winter. He loves it all — gourmet four star restaurants and the cheapest fish-and-chip shop in the neighborhood. And one definite perk of being immortal is that he never has to think too hard about his cholesterol.

Alcohol? Obviously. There’s nothing like that particular soft fuzzy feeling that comes with a few glasses of wine or a good whiskey. Hob’s favorite day of the month is when the staff of the New Inn gets together for a taste test to choose the next round of beer and wine specials (things occasionally get raucous). He’s tried everything, from mead to absinthe to bathtub gin to the finest wines, and he’ll try them all again. And again… immortality benefits include not worrying overmuch about his liver or his blood pressure.

Sex? Well… perhaps the less said there, the better. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, after all; and whatever else he is, Hob would like to think he’s still a gentleman. Suffice to say he has had plenty of experience and very few complaints.

Of course, it just happens to be during one of those New Inn taste test evenings that Dream walks through the door. Hob immediately waves him over to the table where the staff are gathered.

“You are busy,” says Dream, sounding almost uncertain. “I will return another time.”

“No, no! Join us, by all means,” says Hob eagerly, kicking out a chair for Dream and carefully ignoring the significant looks several of the waitstaff are exchanging as he introduces everyone. By now they’ve seen his mysterious friend enough times that the rumors about Hob’s Man in Black are rife. “You might even come in useful. Do you know anything about wine?”

- - -

It’s some hours later, after many rounds of tasting, after his staff had been poured into taxis and Ubers, that Hob finds himself in his own living room, one last nightcap of very good whiskey in his hand, flipping through his record collection while his oldest friend, the Lord of Dreams, reclines on his comfy old couch.

“I think the last thing I put on for you was Duke Ellington, yeah? A couple of weeks ago, was it?”

Dream has shed his stiff coat and his arms are distractingly white and slender in the gentle lamplight of Hob’s living room. One ankle rests on the opposite knee and a glass tumbler of whiskey dangles from long fingers. Hob has never seen his friend look so… decadent. So relaxed. He tries not to stare.

“Ah! Here we go,” he says, emerging from his shelf of records with Kind of Blue in hand. “I haven’t played this for you yet. This was… 1959. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

He pulls the record from its sleeve, places it reverently on the turntable and gently drops the needle. A moment of static; then quiet, warm piano chords fill the room. Then the drums and the soft thrum of an upright bass. Then the first clear notes of Miles Davis’s trumpet pierce the air like arrows.

Hob feels marvelous, soft and loose-limbed. The wine and the whiskey buzz through his veins, softening the edges of the world and wrapping everything in velvet. He takes a sip from his glass and lets the music seep into his muscles like a warm bath as he starts to move to the rhythm. Hob lost any semblance of self-consciousness about four hundred years ago and he takes the idea of “dance like nobody’s watching” very seriously. Even if the nobody who is watching is the mystical being he’s been more or less in love with for centuries.

So he carefully doesn’t think about Dream watching him from the sofa. He deliberately doesn’t notice the two tiny spots of color blooming high on Dream’s devastating cheekbones.

Things between them have been different, somehow, since Dream’s return, but this feels… different. Almost dangerous, as though Hob is full of something flammable and Dream is an open flame.

Hob is just drunk enough to decide he doesn’t care. He tosses back the last sip of his whiskey like he’s throwing gasoline on a fire, sets aside his glass, and holds his hand out to Dream.

“Come on,” he says, a little breathless from the long swallow and the liquor and the music. “You can’t listen to Miles Davis and not dance.”

And Dream, in turn, drains his glass and puts it down, and takes Hob’s hand, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, allows Hob’s hands at his hip and on his shoulder, and the spots of color on his cheeks bloom infinitesimally larger.

With the grace born of inebriation, Hob hooks one ankle around the leg of his coffee table and kicks it to the side, clearing a dance floor for himself and the man in his arms, pretending he is not staring, pretending he is not thinking about gathering Dream closer to himself, chest to chest and hip to hip and thigh to thigh.

For several long minutes they sway decorously together, inches apart, as the strains of “Blue in Green” float through the air around them. Hob tries very hard not to gaze into Dream’s eyes and is, again, just drunk enough to convince himself he’s doing a very good job.

“Well?” he says eventually, throwing an arm over Dream’s shoulder, emboldened by alcohol and jazz. “How do you feel about Miles Davis, then?”

There’s a pause.

“The music puzzles me, somewhat,” says Dream. “I suspect I will need more time with it.”

Another pause. Dream’s next words sound as if they are being dragged out from somewhere deep inside him.

“You puzzle me, Hob. I do not quite… understand how I feel when I am with you.”

“Do you need to understand? Is it not enough to just… feel? Or maybe you need more time with me, too,” he says teasingly.

“Hmm. I am not sure that time would bring clarity.”

They shuffle through a few more quasi-dance steps. Hob takes a breath and dares to draw Dream ever-so-slightly closer.

“Describe it for me.”

There is a long pause, during which Hob is not sure whether Dream is thinking or plotting his escape route. Finally, he speaks.

“I feel… warmth. Impatience. Contentment and dissatisfaction in equal measure. Calm, and yet…”

He trails off. They are very close now, feet stilled, but hips and chests swaying minutely yet to the music. Hob has stopped trying not to stare into Dream’s eyes.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, but he can’t make himself regret it, or try to take them back.

“You’re drunk,” says Dream fondly.

“Ah, but in the morning, I will be sober,” says Hob. “And you… will still be beautiful. Besides,” he adds. “You’re a little drunk too, don’t lie.”

“Perhaps,” murmurs Dream. Hob stares and stares. The spots of color on Dream’s cheekbones have spread across the stern bridge of his nose and down the slopes of his cheeks, a pink blush like sunset reflected on snow, and his pupils have almost swallowed the pale blue-grey of his irises.

“Dream…” says Hob. Their faces are close enough now that he can feel the other man’s breath on his cheek. “If I’m reading this wrong, stop me, but I think if I don’t kiss you right now I’ll—”

He doesn’t have to figure out the end of that sentence.

Dream leans forward, closes that last scant inch between them, and their lips meet and it’s (God, it’s perfect) it’s soft and gentle and — it’s not a chaste kiss, exactly, Hob thinks he has maybe never felt less chaste in his life — but their mouths aren’t even open, no hint of tongue, and Hob still feels as though he has suddenly developed a high fever.

And then Dream pulls back, and his mouth is very pink. Hob’s hand has drifted up from Dream’s hip to rest on his chest and a distant part of his brain wonders why it’s heaving under his fingers, why he’s even breathing when he doesn’t need the air. Everything in Hob wants to lean in, to chase after Dream’s mouth, capture it and keep it captive for as long as he’s allowed.

But before he can do that, Dream’s hand comes up to cup his face, long fingers stroking down the stubbled strong line of his chin; and this, too, is soft and gentle, until (until) the pad of Dream’s thumb catches on Hob’s bottom lip, and pulls it down, and something dangerous flashes in his eyes, that same flame Hob saw when he put down his drink and held out his hand to pull Dream off the couch.

And then Dream surges forward like a wildfire. And Hob is the one held captive, and this — oh, this — this kiss is hot and wet and promising, Dream’s tongue slipping into Hob’s mouth and Dream’s teeth catching on Hob’s lip where his thumb had pressed down, Dream’s arm snaking around Hob’s shoulders to crush them closer together and Hob’s hand trapped against Dream’s chest and flexing helplessly in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer still.

Dream tastes like whiskey and a clear, high trumpet note.

Hob is dizzy in a way that has less to do with liquor and more to do with the way Dream is shoving a thigh between his legs and grinding their hips together as though he’s trying to fuck him through two layers of denim.

- - -

They do make it to the bedroom, eventually, although Hob is dimly aware that he will have to replace the glass in at least two picture frames that they knock off the wall during their progress down the hall. Half of their clothes have disappeared along the way: Dream’s boots to some ethereal netherworld and his t-shirt yanked unceremoniously over his head by Hob’s hungry hands; Hob’s button-down shirt hanging open — half the buttons gone now — his shoes kicked under the couch and his belt already loosened.

Dream tumbles to the bed first, one arm above his head, one knee canted up. He looks like a painting — although Hob’s distracted brain can’t quite place the artist — his pale skin covered in blue and orange from the combination of moonlight and sodium street lamps streaming in through the bedroom window. A thumb caught provocatively in the waistband of his black jeans.

Hob pauses, there, swaying slightly under the power of the whiskey in his veins and the man in his bed.

“Is this real?” he whispers. “Is this really happening?”

Dream frowns, a miniscule line between his brows.

“Have I underestimated your level of intoxication?” he asks.

“No… no, it’s not that. Not at all. It’s just…” Hob places a hesitant knee on the bed. Clears his throat. “It’s just that I’ve had this dream before, so many times. Of you; of, of this. And I know you’ve said that dreaming is just as real as waking, but… I just… have to know for sure. That we’re in my world.”

Hob is horrified to hear his own voice break, to feel the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyelashes. He is unprepared for the smile, warm and genuine and a little sad, that spreads across Dream’s face.

“Oh, Hob. My friend. Come here to me,” he says. “Let me show you.”

Hob crawls up the bed and into Dream’s open arms the way a drowning man might crawl onto a dry shore. Kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry, like gasping for air.

Dream draws his shirt carefully down the lines of his shoulders, casts it aside, tightens his arms around him, drops gentle kisses on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his teary eyes.

“How long?” asks Dream, voice tender and rough. “How long have you known? How long have you waited for me, my Hob, my dear heart?”

“I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life,” Hob says, laughing damply into the crook of Dream’s neck, kneeling at the confessional of love and liquor. “I think… I think this is the reason I wanted to live forever. To be here, now, with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs. “This should be fun, and, and sexy, and I’m being all wet and emotional.”

“No. Do not apologize,” says Dream. Hob’s fuzzy brain finally makes the connection: the light through the window is blue and orange like a Van Gogh. His hands on Dream’s skin like sunflowers, like wheatfields. Dream strokes long fingers through the soft strands of Hob’s hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

- - -

In the living room, side A of Kind of Blue has come to an end. The record spins quietly and inevitably on Hob’s turntable; only the slightest catch of static on each rotation indicates that it is still moving at all.

- - -

In the bedroom, both men’s jeans have been tossed into the corner. Dream has two fingers inside Hob and is on the brink of adding a third; Hob twitches and gasps softly under his ministrations as Dream drags his mouth delicately along the hard length of his cock.

“Fuck. Fuck—” Hob pants. “Dream. I need… I need you. I need you. Please…”

“Patience.”

“Don’t you fucking — tell me — to be patient — ah! — you fucking ass.”

Dream withdraws his fingers, twisting them as he goes, adds the third as he thrusts back inside, crooking them in just the right way to have Hob whining at the stretch and pushing his hips desperately up, first into empty air and then onto Dream’s tongue as it circles lightly around the head of Hob’s weeping prick.

“Oh, but you are so good at waiting,” croons Dream into the soft skin of Hob’s thigh. “My patient, constant Hob, waiting for me. So good.”

And fuck, Hob should not find that as hot as he does, but oh, he does — the combination of praise in Dream’s voice and pleasure from Dream’s fingers making him bite hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming on the spot.

He reaches down blindly, filled with the need to feel, to touch, strokes through Dream’s hair and along the softness of his throat and the sharpness of his collarbone, grips his shoulder and draws him up. And Dream is kissing as he goes, kissing Hob’s hipbone and the comfortable divot of his waist, kissing his ribs, nosing through the soft hair on his chest, grazing a nipple with sharp teeth, and Hob would be embarrassed at the noise he makes if it weren’t for the fact that it was swallowed immediately by Dream’s mouth on his, warm and wet and wanting.

Dream’s fingers withdraw again, and he pulls back from Hob’s mouth and sits back on his heels where he is kneeling between Hob’s thighs spread wide. Hob drinks in the sight of him, thin and powerful and painted in ethereal light, and then Dream grabs the bottle of lube and slicks his hand and strokes himself, twice, three times, dark eyes pinning Hob to the pillows, and Hob’s brain shorts out, just a little bit, like a candle flame flickering.

When Dream slides inside him it is slow, careful, a scant tender inch at a time, a plush and slow series of piano chords. When they move together it is a little faster, like a jazz rhythm, slightly syncopated, halting here and pushing there, the percussion of breath and heartbeat driving the meter of their coupling. When they come it is a crash, a crest, a not-so-silent wail of an inner trumpet reaching its peak.

- - -

After — several minutes after — Hob (who, again, would still like to consider himself a gentleman) reluctantly detaches himself from the mattress and Dream’s clinging arms and fetches a large glass of water and a warm wet flannel, with which he gently cleans both Dream and himself before tossing it toward the laundry hamper.

He slides back between the sweatdamp sheets and Dream immediately shoves up against him, an arm across his chest and a leg twined around his and a lovely pale face pushed into the crook for his neck.

“Wouldn’t have picked you for such a cuddler,” Hob says drowsily, pulling the blanket over them as Dream tightens his hold.

“Hmm. I will endeavor to continue to surprise you,” Dream says, and his lips move against Hob’s pulse in a way that almost makes him want to do it all over again. Almost. The spirit is willing, et cetera, but the flesh is… sleepy.

“Do you sleep?” murmurs Hob, halfway gone now to Dream’s own realm. The blue and orange shadows in his bedroom have blurred together and faded into warm shadows. “Will you stay?”

The fire Dream sparked and fed inside Hob has been sated, banked, put to bed to glow in waiting for another day.

“I will stay.”

[Read on AO3.]

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #I don't have anything interesting to say in tags right now... I hope you like it! I'm going to bed! <3 #ahahaha wait apparently this is my 666th post?? #now I'm SUPER MAD I didn't time it so my Hob's Halloween 666th birthday fic was nr 666 #curses!!!!! #hardly an answer

[milomumbles]

:0 Do you have references for your persona somewhere? (Sorry if this is an obvious question)

this is the best ive got LOL im just guy in shirt

#answered #my art #you dont really even need to worry about the red shirt it hardly even matters #it is just my favor it Color <3

[omaano]

For the poly drawing meme, 2M or 1E! (Asleep pile and one-awake two-asleep slump respectively) if you wish!! ⭐️⭐️💫💫🤩 I would love anything Star Wars, platonic or ship (if you have any in mind!) 🥳 I am a big fan of your Mando, or any of the Vode, if that inspires you! 👀

Thanks so much for asking dear! ❤️ here we go dipping our toes back into @sidhebeingbrand and @toughbreaks changeling AU (I hope it's okay!) Also, I haven’t recommended it in quite a while, so this is your sign to go read it and heap some love on the spectacular writing and world building!! Because I'd give my life for this story and AU, and I didn’t forget how eagerly Gregor had tried to chat Din up in the first chapter XD so here you go, nap pile! Kinda

Boba is going to be down to 98 brothers if Gregor doesn’t wake up first though >:3

Help me get back into sketching through some of these polyam/platonic pose prompts :3

#I don't know how I feel about it but I think I finally figured out how to draw the clones appropriately young looking!!! #same face synfrome? I don't know here even though I really should #I've done my best to match Boba's scarring to my earlier drawing please appreciate that even though it's hardly visible #bobadin #and gregor #he's there I love him #changeling au #my art #answers #lesquatrechevrons #sizing characters appropriately and in reference to each other? Pft #not gonna happen unless i want to spend a week on a silly thing like this #this was so much fun thanks so much for asking!!! #poly sketches

[immortaltale]

klopp embargo comments (8 march)

on pep guardiola: "i don't know 100 percent if we like each other, i just know the respect is there. we have had talks, phone calls, stuff like that in different moments. he went through a difficult period, i went through a difficult period, on a private basis, so we had contact there.

"he called [after the announcement of klopp's departure] and we had a talk. i can't tell you what we said to each other. but i know things you would love to know!

"it's tricky, but during the games we are rivals and it's normal. it's not as though during the games he stands next to me and ... (makes a heart shape).

"while we are in charge of our respective clubs, why should we have a friendship or relationship? after that, if we meet and look back, then there will be a lot of things we could share, and that will probably happen. but that will have to be after, and i don't know when that will happen."

#two old men are friends #the two middle quotes are the most telling and then the first and last are him typically trying to play things down lmao #'its not as though during the games he stands next to me and acts lovey dovey' im sorry to tell u it IS kind of like that #case in point april 10 2022 #btw i think many years ago klopp mentioned that he hardly ever picks up the phone for his friends and it's hard to reach him #so it's really interesting to me that pep can seemingly call and get an answer right away hmmm....

[hanzajesthanza]

the headcanon that regis can hang from the ceiling to sleep or rest like a bat is funny on its own, but when i consider geralt and others in the hanza holding conversations with him like this, it’s made better by my understanding of this as just an advanced “neurodivergent sitting” technique

#in an irl au i suppose he could be doing an upside down yoga pose. that would fit irl au regis well. ugh #the better headcanon is angoulême walking in their room. going ‘[head nod up] cahir. where—‘ #and cahir (not looking up) points to the ceiling on the other side of the room. also in total darkness btw no candles lit on that side #i imagine that when someone else walks to their room’s door and knocks. for example let’s say dandelion for instance #dandelion’s hardly a stranger but he did that thing where your friend stops hanging out with you because they’re busy with their gf #he knocks and immediately regis is suddenly sitting in bed like a normal person . and he put his eyeglasses on and pretended to read #oh hi dandelion i didnt recognize your footsteps #my… footsteps? #this is actually kind of bullshit though because the only person more talkative than dandelion at night is regis (angouleme close third) #so if dandelion ever wanted to discuss meaning of life at 2 am i know where he would go #sorry cahir. put a pillow over your ear #the elbow-high diaries #edit: no actually he would bother geralt with this #edit edit: no actually he and geralt were ‘on a break’ (unresolved tension) so he wouldn’t. but he would want to #angoulême goes to their room too often to chill and hang out #milva goes to their room and cahir and regis stand at attention like yes ma’am. what do you need #hi milva how are things ​(your ongoing mental health crisis) #if geralt walks in starts talking with regis. cahir leaves the room. ‘im going to um. check on the horses’ #its 12 am. horses are sleeping. ? answer; he is being a considerate roommate. he had to share bunks before. he knows how It Is