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#i love laughing at my own shitposts

the-moon-in-the-gutter · 1 month

Text

Coming soon to a dashboard near you.......

The Ghouls as Text Conversations I've Had

featuring texts between me and the lovely @loser-user-noaccuser

#i love making shitposts and also laughing at my own screenshots

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jointherebellion215 · 2 months

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If It's True

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When an unexpected guest crashes your House's welcome feast for the Harkonnens, your life unknowingly becomes the start of a sad, sad song.

Word Count: 872

TW: Manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha (so Regular Feyd-Rautha), she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, songfic

A/N: Hi, it's your friendly neighborhood shitposter. I'm taking a huge leap of faith with this fic, because I truly haven't written anything in YEARS. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for days, thus "the trilogy was born". This is meant to be Part One of a three part series, based on different songs from the musical Hadestown. I've obviously written this with very very dark interpretations of the songs and the themes. If enough people like it, I'll post parts two and three. Please let me know if it's any good, I'd love some feedback :)

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories other than what I derive inspiration from are strictly coincidence.

What’s the use of his backbone

If he never stands upright?

“We welcome you to Kolhar, my lords Baron and na-Baron. Our House humbly offers our services and facilities to your use. I toast to our continued cooperation and to the strength of our Houses.”

As your father raised his cup, others of our House followed suit. The official welcome feast was well underway, though House Harkonnen had been planetside for at least a week already. The past few days had been for inspecting our mines and factories, ensuring that our production of their ships and swords were up to standard.

Now? Pure pageantry. You found it a bit redundant, but it was necessary to ensure your good standing among the Houses of the Imperium. It was a grand occasion, in which the leaders of your father’s council were present, as well as the highest ranked mine workers.

The doors to the large hall slam open, a familiar figure storming in. Your heart flutters at the sight of your beloved parting the crowds before him. The man who you had met by complete coincidence, one of the workers in a local steel mine, who you had spent the better part of a year meeting in secret—had crashed the court. You noticed a bruise growing on his cheek and blood trickling down his temple, indicating that his journey to enter through the doors was easier said than done. His voice soon bellowed throughout the hall.

“My Lord Duke, I refuse to let your daughter’s hand be taken by the na-Baron. She cannot marry him.”

The crowd gasps, as do you. You had spent the past week showing the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha around the grounds, the training of your most fierce warriors, and the best of your planet’s culture. You had shared a laugh or two and shown your prowess as a leader. Yes, you’d spent quite a bit of time with him, but marriage? This was news to you.

You turn to your father, who gives you an apologetic grimace. Several Harkonnen guards step forward to seize the love of your life. You quickly stand to protest, but the na-Baron stops the guards in their track with a single snap of his fingers. He offers a hand to calm the crowd, an eerie stillness in his form.

“It is true, I have offered my hand to the Lady.”

I believe that with each other,

we are stronger than we know.

“There must be a way around this. Even if this is in defiance of the court, they can’t punish all of us! We work their mines; they couldn’t truly function without us. We are the ones who truly hold the power! I implore you to stand with me, show them our strength!”

Your love stands strong, chin raised in the crowd, voice pleading with his brothers and sisters to stand beside him. He was convinced that this moment could provide a great revelation, that somehow your situation was different. That the consensus of a crowd could make the na-Baron stand down. Surely, your story could convince even the coldest of hearts that love can conquer all. He must have some sentimentality that resonates within him.

That's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. He's always so full of hope. Always willing to see the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it actually is.

But you knew better.

“This is treason.” Someone whispers in the room. Murmurs of assent soon follow, and your heart drops. The crowd around him quickly dissipates, as if the mere act of touching him promises death.

And the ones who deal the cards

Are the ones who take the tricks

With their hands over their hearts

While we play the game they fix

You start to plead with your father to spare your lover. He doesn’t know any better, he wasn’t raised in the ways of politics or court. It’s purely out of his love and devotion to you, so please—

Feyd-Rautha stands up and the room is immediately devoid of sound. He cranes his neck to look at you.

“You love him?”

You swallow harshly, lifting your chin. “I do.” You went to your lover, making a bold statement in linking your fingers together. Presenting a united front. Hoping that somehow, your kind attitude the past week towards the na-Baron would allow this leniency.

A gleam flashes through his eyes, almost imperceptible. He gives a blackened smile, making show of placing his hand over his heart. Confusion fills you. He slithers down the steps towards the pair of you, boots echoing in the Feasting Hall, each step making your lover’s hand give a slight tremor. Your mind stands strong in its conviction, in the thought that you’ll have to fight for what you want. But a small tendril in the back of your mind gives the slightest hesitation. The smallest indication of hope. Maybe…

Piter leans towards his Baron, whispering concerns in his ears, but is quickly paused by the Baron’s hand. Vladimir gives a slow, menacing grin. He responds to his Mentat in a low voice,

“Don’t bother. You know that my nephew loves to play with his food.”

Is this how the world is?

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 6 months

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Here, have a casual glimpse into my thought patterns and creative process:

*just scrolling about Tumblr and vibing to "Too Much Wine" by The Fratellis*

Too much wine?

Mihawk?

Mihawk drunk??

Wait wait wait WAIT what are they all like drunk?

GASP s h i n y h e a d c a n o n s

BLANK DOCUMENT HERE I FCKEN COME—

So anyway here's some headcanons about drinking too much (insert adult beverage of choice) with the OPLA boyos.

Implied that Reader is already in a relationship with each character in question.

I shall call it.......

HAMMERED

OPLA!Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy X AFAB!Reader

NSFW Headcanons

Kinda Kinktober I guess? Borderline shitpost, I had way too much fun with this.

♫♬♫ Too Much Wine - The Fratellis ♫♬♫

I'll take the mead from the table

Talk straight while I'm able

Until I'm nothin' less than a crime

Zoro

"Y'know, I actually have four swords, but we're gonna have to go somewhere more private if you wanna see the other one."

Rum, sake, beer, wine, whatever you're down for drinking so is he.

Zoro's got incredibly high endurance and stamina—it's going to take a while for him to show that it's affecting him at all, but once it does, he goes from zero to one hundred faster than you can say "onigiri."

Literally no in between, no tipsy or buzzed. Just sober and then stumbling over his own feet and swearing he absolutely is not drunk the whole time.

All those repressed emotions that he hides behind a mask of dry sarcasm on a day to day basis are coming out in full effect.

That means you're getting one of two Zoros—goofy Zoro or sad Zoro.

Goofy Zoro's going to have his arm around your shoulders, laughing his ass off about that time he caught that idiot Marine brat swinging his sword around bare-ass naked so he chopped off half his hair.

He's likely to get pretty flirty in this state, even downright playful, especially if you initiate it, and it's almost definitely going to end in him dragging you somewhere private to fuck your brains out, because his restraint is totally out the window at this point.

If you end up with sad Zoro, he'll be laying his head in your lap and slurringly asking whether or not you think he's ever really going to be the best swordsman in the world, probably still beating himself up over losing to Mihawk.

Just comb your fingers through his hair and do your best to reassure him that you love him and genuinely believe in him. Whether it works or not, he's going ti end up falling asleep in your lap, so be prepared to be stuck there for a while.

"But like...you really think, like, I can beat that bird-eyed bastard? I mean he fucked me up with a goddamn butterknife."

Sanji

"There we are—a beautiful drink for a beautiful woman."

Turbo Flirt Mode: activated.

Sanji is all for pairing wine with food, but if you're looking to get a little sideways, he's going to want to show off his mixology skills to impress you—and he's going to be making some dangerous concoctions, the kind that taste like there's not a drop of booze in them.

The more lit he gets, the less subtle the flirting. If you thought he was clingy sober, you are in for a surprise, because that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Head on your shoulder, puppy dog eyes, telling you how pretty you are and how much he adores you every thirty seconds, with a big silly grin like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

Brushing his lips along your neck and murmuring all the things he's going to do to you once the two of you are behind closed doors later—and he means every one of them, because you're utterly irresistible to him in this state.

He wants you giggling and blushing just as much as he wants you moaning and trembling under his touch.

Super playful once you are alone, even moreso than usual. He's definitely going to suggest doing body shots, he will beg if he has to, but honestly who in their right mind is going to turn him down?

"You're just...just so—so beautiful—honestly, it should be illegal."

Shanks

"Hold—hold my rum—no, no, just for a moment, I wanna see if I can do a backflip off the railing—"

Spoiler alert: he can't. Now he's lying on the quarterdeck alternating between hysterical laughter and "Oh God that hurt—"

Probably the most fun drunk in the world, but he can be a hazard to his own health as his judgement begins to lapse so someone's going to have to keep an eye on him.

If you're at a tavern or otherwise public location, do not under any circumstances let the man out of your sight for more than two seconds. He turns into a straight-up child, he can and will wander off, and you'll find him a mile away on top of a building, likely half-naked and singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs, with no clue as to how he got up there...or how to get back down.

He's developed quite a high tolerance over the years and tends mostly toward dark rum, though he won't turn down a stein of ale or beer.

Total life of the party energy—telling jokes and stories, he just wants to see everyone laughing and having the absolute best time.

Super, super flirty, he may as well have written the book on pick-up lines; and he doesn't care that you're already together, he's going to drop every single one of them on you just to see how much he can make you giggle or roll your eyes.

He's very likely to pull you onto his lap at some point and make out with you like no one's watching—he already doesn't really care who sees when you're both sober, but he really doesn't care after a little too much rum, so it's probably best to coax him to bed at this point.

He's perfectly happy with cuddling up, laying his head on your chest and draping his arm over you, just humming in contentment and falling asleep together...but if you want more, don't expect to get much sleep, because he wants you lasciviously.

To taste every inch of you, to suffocate between your thighs until you're screaming, to pull you onto his cock and watch you ride him until you're both too breathless and exhausted to do anything but tangle yourselves together in the sheets and drift off to sleep between slow, sensual kisses.

"Oh, princess, just when I catch my breath, you make me lose it all over again."

Mihawk

"If you insist on being such a brat about this, you're going to get what's coming to you."

Mihawk has a strong drive to be in total control of himself and everything happening around him at all times, which means he doesn't tend toward getting drunk.

But...he also has this wee little problem with his ego being larger than the entire volume of every combined ocean in the world. If you imply that you could drink him under the table...he's probably going to sneer and tell you to quit being a brat, but he's also going to be quite driven to prove you wrong.

He does love his wine, but it's generally only a glass or two to wind down and relax—he's definitely got a nice bottle of aged bourbon or eau de vie tucked away somewhere that's going to be coming out, because he's got something to prove now.

Unfortunately for him, due to the fact that he so rarely drinks heavily...he's a bit of a lightweight. Which he won't admit even to himself.

But it barely takes a single lowball of harder liquor to get that pale complexion of his a little flushed.

Perhaps just over three for him to start blinking a bit harder than normal in a futile attempt to get his vision to focus, to start speaking a bit slower to attempt to hide the slight slur in his words as you taunt him about it—which honestly only makes it more pronounced, and more amusing.

You had best enjoy it, because it's probably the only time you're going to hear the words, "Fine, you win," come out of his mouth—as well as perhaps the only time he won't be miffed about conceding. The alcohol in his system has him loosened up just enough that he can't pretend he doesn't find your boldness and sass at least a bit endearing...and even more alluring.

That being said, you're still getting punished for it, teased within an inch of your sanity, and he's going to enjoy every single second of it.

Setting his glass aside, plucking yours from your hand, pinning your hands above your head with a devilish smirk and slowly undressing you, his eyes on yours the entire time.

Trailing his fingertips across your bare skin, drawing closer and closer but never quite giving you want you want, his lips barely brushing against your neck, reminding you in an amused murmur in your ear that he could easily do this all night.

You did have the audacity to challenge him, after all—he has no choice but to remind you who's in charge.

"What is it, my little bird? Did you think you were going to get a consolation prize? You're still going to have to beg."

Buggy

"Bet you two thousand Berries I can shotgun two beers at once, watch this—"

And he basically ends up halfway drowning himself, but hey, you're two thousand Berries richer!

Honestly, there's no party like a Buggy party, because a Buggy party doesn't stop until someone loses a limb—probably him.

No, really. Don't let him use his devil fruit abilities. Keep a bucket of sea water on hand if you have to, because he may literally misplace one of his limbs and you're going to have to go on a Chop Chop Scavenger Hunt to help him find it while you're both completely smashed.

If Buggy's drinking, everybody's drinking, and everybody is getting completely fucked up. This is non-negotiable, he thrives on chaos and that's what he's intent on creating.

Anybody who passes out before him is getting something obscene drawn on their face in permanent ink. He can definitely hold his liquor, so if you can keep up with him then you can expect to be the last two living souls left conscious on the whole ship.

That being said, he doesn't care who's awake—things are going to get kinky, and he's really not bothered about anybody watching. Or joining in, for that matter. This whole operation very well may devolve into a drunken orgy if he has any say in the matter.

Then again, it may also devolve into him flopping dramatically across your lap and divulging absolutely all of his trauma in an emotionally-charged alcohol-induced rant. He won't remember it in the morning, so please do him a favor and don't remind him.

"Hey, uhh...I los—I lost my foot again. .....Sor—*hiccup* sorry."

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cuubism · 9 months

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based on THIS shitpost. nsft below the cut. inexplicably 7k.

Dream had promised Hob, since reuniting, since agreeing to see each other more often, that he would let Hob introduce him properly to human experiences. "It'll do you good," Hob had said. Dream thinks Death would agree with this also. He is now wondering, however, if this had been folly.

"I think I've given you the general rundown now," Hob says, leaning back in his chair, swirling his bottle of beer—mostly empty—idly in one hand. "The highlights. We'll be here for ages if you want to hear all of it."

Dream is surprised to realize he is curious to hear the stories of all of Hob's lovers. But he does not feel it is quite appropriate to press, no matter how open Hob has been in speaking of it. Dream is most interested, after all, in people Hob has loved, not just those he's had carnal relations with—stories of love are of much more interest to him than stories simply of desire, and Hob has already relayed these stories to him, each a glimmering jewel on the long chain of his life.

Each sticks in Dream's mind now, glittering in his peripheral vision. He cannot tell precisely what they want of him—the corners of his being are blurred, his thoughts wavering, at points clear and ringing and at others indistinct. A consequence of allowing alcohol to affect him, at Hob's bidding. It is... pleasant. Loose. Warm. Though Dream thinks, anywhere outside of Hob's flat, it would feel disconcerting instead.

It's this folly in allowing Hob to ply him with wine, perhaps, that has him saying, "Do you wish to hear of my own?"

Hob's expression sharpens. He is, perhaps, less drunk than Dream is, despite being on his fourth beer, while Dream has only had— ah. That bottle of wine is three-quarters empty. Hmm. "You mean, you want to talk about it?"

"I believe it is customary for friendship to involve a mutual sharing of stories?"

"Sure, if you want to." Hob's gaze on him is intent, curious, but still fond, always fond. "Usually you're like this." He draws his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "So of course I'm curious."

"Am I so reticent?" Hob is right, though. Dream can acknowledge it. He would not usually care to speak of these things. He could blame the wine, today. But.

Hob laughs. "Took me six hundred thirty-three years to get a name. You are the king of reticence." He dips his head as if bowing to this "king." "I would be honored to hear your stories, my friend."

Dream tucks his nose into his glass. He should perhaps not drink any more, but the smell is still pleasant, rich and sharp. "They are not so happy."

"Still. If you want to tell."

Dream is not like Hob. He does not have casual dalliances. Each collision was as bright as a falling star. He doesn't know if he has the strength, now, to relay all that terrible history.

Instead, he shares with Hob the early days of burning. Each of those bright, glowing moments. And glosses over the fall.

He thinks Hob sees it, though. He considers him from under his brows as Dream speaks, understanding in his eyes. Doesn't ask him about it, perhaps sensing that Dream does not have the wherewithal for telling and asking in the same evening. "Thank you," he finally says.

"Why?"

"For sharing."

Dream looks back down at his glass. It's empty again. Perhaps that is for the best. It is not often that he... shares. Particularly about this. But Hob is generous in not prying. In wanting to listen, for the simple sake of, as far as Dream can tell, understanding Dream.

When he looks up again, Hob is tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his lips in thought. "Can I ask you something? It'll probably be utter silliness to you, though. Being this... beyond human entity that you are."

Dream's shoulders tense where they'd gone relaxed with drink and Hob's company. "Go ahead."

"Were all of your lovers women?"

And Dream relaxes again. Ah. This is just... factual. Not... digging in to his many relational failures. "I suppose. Yes."

"Is that by design, or...?"

Dream frowns. "I do not... understand."

"Well, since we've established that I'm an indiscriminate slut—" always so crude, but something about the click of Hob's tongue makes Dream shift uncomfortably in his seat on the couch— “I was wondering whether you were the same way." Then he winces. "Not the slut part. The indiscriminate part."

"Do you mean to ask if I care about the gender or sex of my lovers?"

"Yep. Knew I should have just been straightforward with you."

Dream thinks about it. He has never made a pattern of his relationships, the way humans do. He simply... does what his foolhardy heart commands. Usually with poor results. "I suppose I do not. Care, that is. But. My lovers have been women, yes."

Hob tilts his head. There's a new gleam in his eyes, now. He goes to finish his beer, but it’s empty. Dream watches the drag of his lips over the mouth of the bottle.

"Does that surprise you, Hob Gadling?" he asks. "That my amorous pursuits have been so much narrower than yours?"

"Mmm. Little bit? It's just, even if I hadn’t—how can I put it politely—fucked my way across half of London already by the time we met, I can't imagine making it six hundred years without ever at least experimenting?" He grins. "I could be straight as a nail and curiosity alone would've got me in some bloke's bed at least once. Hmm. Maybe three times just to be sure."

"It is good that you cannot die, for I believe curiosity would have sounded your death knell twenty times over by now."

Hob raises his bottle in Dream's direction. "True, that." Then he leans forward on his knees, eyes bright with, of course, curiosity. "But weren't you ever curious?"

"I contain the collective memory," Dream reminds him. "All fantasies. And dreams. If I need to understand an experience, I can simply consult that breadth of knowledge. I do not need to 'wind up in some bloke's bed.'"

Hob's leaning so far forward now he might come toppling off his chair. "But do you wanna?"

Dream frowns. "I do not..."

"Do you want to experience it yourself, though?" Hob repeats. "Cuz I could watch porn—" Dream wrinkles his nose at this crude analogy for his relationship to his dreams, but the offense is swiftly banished as Hob continues— “but that's not the same as—” his hand lands on Dream's wrist, fingertips pressed to where he would have a pulse— "that."

Dream freezes. Under Hob's fingers, his heart jumps once, quick as a mouse.

"I've no doubt you understand it, Dream," continues Hob, and perhaps he had drunk less than Dream had thought, for he seems very lucid now, "but that's not the same as being there."

Dream fixates on where they are touching. His skin feels very hot, at that point. "And what. Is being there like?"

Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?"

"Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?"

"Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

"And..." an echo of a breath is frozen in Dream's lungs. Some instinct saying, be still. A pulse at his elbow, in his thigh, at his throat. Hob still has his wrist pinned. "Do you know what you are doing, Hob Gadling?"

"Never in my life," says Hob, and leans in and kisses him.

He has to get out of his chair to do it. Has to lean down over Dream, taking Dream's cheek in his hand. Has to tip Dream's head back, and sweep his tongue into his mouth from above, or perhaps Dream only tells himself that he has to rather than acknowledge that it is Dream himself baring his throat, opening his mouth to Hob's.

If he wished to know what it was like to be kissed by a man, now he knows: strong and lingering and hungry. Or perhaps that is just Hob Gadling. Hob's stubble brushes his cheeks. He can smell Hob's cologne, rich and sweet like whiskey. He wraps a hand around the back of Hob's neck so he can't pull away far.

Hob's eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at him. Dream touches his own lips, and Hob follows the movement. "I'm not certain I understand," Dream says. "This is not enough data to make a determination."

"Definitely not," says Hob, and kisses him again, pushing him into the back of the couch. The strength of his hands sends fire racing all the way up Dream's spine, curling around his neck, burning in the tips of his ears. He bites experimentally at Hob's lower lip, and Hob groans low in his throat.

"We're not—" Hob pulls away, lips shiny and wet, "we're not doing this here. Come on."

He stands upright again, and Dream will deny to the end of the universe the dissatisfied sound he makes when Hob's warmth leaves him. Hob smiles, soft and fond now, and takes his hand. "Come on, love."

Love.

Some man, Dream thinks, as he lets Hob pull him up. Join some man in bed. As he follows Hob down the hall to his bedroom. For curiosity's sake. As Hob kneels to help pull off his boots. Just to understand. As Hob divests him of his coat.

Experimental.

"You're so buttoned up." Hob smoothes his hands over Dream's shoulders, his bare arms under his t-shirt. "Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes." Too much, yes, it is too much, to see Hob look at him like that, with care and with hunger, for Hob to touch him gently, it makes his skin prickle, his cheeks heat, his throat terribly dry. It is too much; he will not tell Hob to stop.

I want to understand, Dream thinks. I want—

Hob smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on, then."

Hob is already barefoot, being less guarded than Dream, and he leads Dream up onto the bed. Dream follows, chasing his hands, and Hob does not deprive him. He leans against the headboard and lets Dream settle in his lap, immediately framing his face again between his palms. For the sake of learning, Dream pushes all the dreams of this aside, so that it is just him and Hob. New. Theirs.

He looks into Hob's eyes, very close now, and he feels light, floaty, good. Perhaps the wine was a bad idea. Perhaps it was right.

"What d'you want, darling?" Hob asks. Brushes his lips to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Tell me. This is for you, after all."

Yes. For Dream. A scientific exercise, he must remember. It will help him... understand. It will help him create more vivid dreams. That is all.

He can feel Hob's growing erection pressing against him. His own jeans growing tight. "I would like. The full experience."

Hob laughs, but it's a friendly laugh, not at his expense. Dream can recognize that, now. "There's no full experience. Sex counts as sex if you say it does. But if you're trying to say penetration, we can do that."

Dream shivers at the word penetration, sitting so matter-of-factly on Hob Gadling's tongue. "Yes. I believe that is what I meant."

"Alright." Hob may be matter-of-fact, but he does not sound unaffected. His voice has gone rough, his eyes dark, a flush along his cheeks. His hands fall from Dream's face to brace his hips, thumbs sweeping under the hem of Dream's shirt to touch his skin.

But he doesn't push Dream down into the mattress. Instead he pulls Dream closer by the hips, saying, "C'mere then," and Dream goes back to his mouth. Sinks into Hob's kiss, and the searing heat of his hands on Dream's hipbones. It's different. It's already different. But he can't yet determine if it's different because Hob is a man, or because he is Hob.

Hob, who has been a friend to him even when he couldn't recognize it. Who wants him to enjoy things. Wants to share with him.

Hob pushes Dream's shirt up over his head. Dream has not been bare in front of someone since his escape, but he doesn't think he minds, when it's Hob. When it means he gets Hob's broad, strong hands on his back, pulling him close, and Hob's lips on his shoulder, the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks.

"You know, once upon a time I thought you were above all this," Hob murmurs. He touches Dream's belly, his chest, his neck, holding lightly. "You were so... untouchable. Couldn't imagine you lowering yourself to engage in such—” he bites at Dream's earlobe— “such base activities."

"'Untouchable,' Hob Gadling?" Dream says. Hob's hands are cradling his throat now. Hob catches his point and flexes his fingers; Dream swallows under the grip.

"Always wanted to know," Hob murmurs, "if anyone'd touched you at all."

Not in a very long time, it is true. Dream burns with it, now, everywhere Hob touches him is alight. "What would you have done with an answer?"

"Dared," says Hob. "I expect."

"Always daring," Dream says. Indulges himself and slips his own hands under Hob's shirt, feels out his stomach, his hair, his back, all the strong lines of him. Hob's shoulders are pleasing, and his hips where Dream squeezes with his thighs, and these are not things Dream has thought of much, before. He wants to see more. To feel more. "Daring to be the first man to have me."

"Don't say things like that if you want me to keep my sanity." The words are rough like Dream has reached in and touched him instead of just spoken, and Hob's chest rises and falls heavily under Dream's hands.

"Maybe I don't."

This makes Hob chuckle, and Dream feels the rumble of it through his body. He wishes there was not the barrier of their clothes to dampen it; more than seeing Hob, he wants to feel Hob, his skin is prickling with it, his mouth is tacky and dry with it.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and whatever change Hob hears in his voice has him stiffening up, going serious. Dream doesn't know how he feels about it—he enjoys Hob's ease and laughter, but the intensity is... he feels it like a touch.

"How do you want to be had?" Hob counters, and before Dream can contemplate the myriad possible answers, adds, “Do you want to be? Is that what you meant? Only I would have thought— but then again—”

Dream does not interrogate the rambling path of Hob's assumptions. He says, "I would like to know. What I have not. Personally. Experienced, yes."

Daydreams poke at Dream's awareness as the image flashes through Hob's mind. Dream doesn't touch them, but the awareness of their existence alone has him shifting where he straddles Hob's lap. Hob's cheeks darken, and he says, "Strangest way anyone's ever asked me to fuck them. Yeah, alright. Budge up, love?"

Love. Again. Dream climbs off Hob's lap, kneeling beside him as Hob strips off his own shirt, flinging it somewhere--Dream doesn't see, for he is looking only at Hob. The solidness of him, where Dream often feels made of wind; the warmth of his belly, where Dream touches him, while Dream himself often feels cold. So made of earth, Hob Gadling.

Hob lays a hand on Dream's chest as if to push him down to the bed. No strength behind the touch, but the impression of it. "Need you to tell me if it starts going wrong. I'm serious, Dream."

Despite himself, Dream bristles. “You think me incapable of conveying my displeasure?”

Hob huffs. “I think you’re just prideful enough not to. Just be direct with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Perhaps... Hob is not entirely wrong. “…I shall," Dream vows at length. Hob nods, and smiles at him again, that warm smile. Dream can’t help but feel pleased to have made him smile so. Hob pushes, and Dream goes, lies back against the pillows, and Hob kneels between his legs. Hands sliding again to his hips, to the waistband of his jeans. Dream watches with fixation, caught on Hob's fingertips.

Hob has apparently decided he does trust Dream to interrupt if he doesn't like something, for he doesn't ask again before unbuttoning Dream's jeans. But Dream can tell Hob is still paying close attention to his reactions, and it's heady to be attended to so.

He lifts his hips for Hob to pull off his jeans, and then gets to bask in a look he can only interpret as adoring. Hob looks upon him that way, and strokes up and down his thighs, over his hips and belly. Dream's skin jumps at the touch.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Hob says, sounding wounded by it. "Everyone who sees you must go home wishing you were going with them, I refuse to believe otherwise."

Dream smiles, despite himself. "This may be a particular bias of yours, Hob."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm right, though." He leans down, hovers over Dream, kisses him. Dream pulls him down so their bodies are pressed together. Hob's skin is so warm, his hair softer than expected, the fabric of his jeans a rough counterpoint where it scratches Dream's inner thighs, rubs against his cock lying hard in the crook of his hip. A wealth of sensation. A pleased, wanting sound escapes him, before he can stop it—but Hob catches it, looking delighted to do so, kisses it right out of Dream's mouth. "You've left broken hearts in your wake. Still can't believe this is your first time doing this."

"Revel in that victory if you must."

"No victory," says Hob. "Only privilege."

And he kisses Dream again even as he works a hand between them, takes Dream in his grip. Dream gasps at the touch, breaking the kiss. Hob's hand is warm and rough and very sure, and Dream can't help the way his whole body tenses with that simple touch.

He feels Hob's smile against his cheek. His voice drips with satisfaction. "Are you sensitive?"

Dream does not get a chance to answer. Hob strokes him again, hums as Dream bucks up involuntarily into his grasp.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good," Hob muses, his voice a warm rumble in Dream's ear. "I know I can. You deserve it."

"Hob—"

Hob kisses his own name out of Dream's mouth, a deep, biting kiss, and this confidence, rather than being offensive to Dream's station, is riveting. Dream feels spelled.

"Just let me take care of it," Hob says, and moves away, and Dream groans at the loss of his body heat.

"You will take what you want now?" Dream complains, knowing full well even as he says it that it is nonsense. But having Hob's touch and then losing it is making him insensate; truly, he had not thought he could fall so far. "Is that what this is, Hob Gadling?"

Hob chuckles. "Oh, no." He kisses Dream's sternum, and down along his abdominal muscles. Mouths at Dream's belly, where Dream shifts under him, ticklish and affected, skin jumping, and then Hob noses at the base of his cock, and Dream realizes what he's gotten himself into only right before it comes to light.

"No, Dream," Hob says, lips now brushing the head of his cock, and like that he looks up and meets Dream's eyes. "I serve at your pleasure."

He takes Dream in his mouth, strangling Dream's response before it can even reach his throat. Not that Dream knows what he would have said. It's whited out instantly in the rush of pleasure that is Hob's mouth, and tongue, the generosity of his body, the vision of him between Dream's legs.

He's voiceless as Hob bobs his head, takes Dream deep, laves his tongue over his slit, applies what Dream must concede is his considerably greater experience to breaking Dream's ability to speak entirely. He grasps mindlessly at Hob's hair, it slides soft between his fingers, head tipped back against the pillows and thighs jerking restlessly, and still he knows this is but a precursor to what Hob truly intends for him. What he's... asked for. Folly. What had he been thinking?

Hob lifts his head to look at him, a line of spit dragging from Dream's cock to his lower lip. "Dream, you with me?"

Dream nods. His hand is still in Hob's hair. He pets at Hob's forehead, his temple, and Hob smiles. Like Dream is the one being indulged.

"Good?" he says, and Dream nods again. Hob takes his hand from his hair, kisses his knuckles, and Dream does not think this is how casual experiments are meant to go. He does not know what he is learning, except that Hob's kiss is soft and reverent, and the look on his face even more so.

"Is this," Dream asks quietly, hyperaware of how he's laid out on his back, Hob between his legs, "how you want me?"

Hob releases his hand. Drags a fingertip maddeningly up and down the crook of Dream's thigh as he considers. "Probably be a bit easier for you on your belly, but I don't want to make you feel vulnerable."

Dream is not certain there is a version of this that would not feel vulnerable. That it does not already. "I defer to your better judgment."

"Stay there, then." He moves away, and Dream takes the moment to gather himself. He's not certain he succeeds. He's spinning pleasantly, buzzing with the echo of Hob's touch. He wonders what might happen if he gives up on trying to right himself.

Hob comes back with lubricant, situations himself between Dream's legs again. Runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs and Dream spreads them wider on instinct. Hob swallows hard, Dream watches the harsh bob of his throat. He's still wearing his jeans, and Dream wishes he would take them off, he wants to pet at Hob's thighs in turn, he wants to see.

"You're a holy vision," Hob says, still studying him with that look, raw and strangled. Find some man to bed you, Dream thinks, feverishly. Some man.

He plucks at the fabric of Hob's jeans. "Hob—“

Hob chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. Bit unfair of me, isn't it? Got too distracted looking at you." He unzips his jeans then, pulls them off, and then is sitting there only in his underwear—something which Dream does not bother to manifest for himself because his clothing is made already of dream stuff, but perhaps he will start because Hob bare before him, his cock heavy and hard in his boxer briefs but still obscured by the fabric is—

"Dream?" Hob asks, as Dream pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, mesmerized, cups his hand around Hob through the fabric, feels the warmth and heft of him, "did I break y— ah fuck."

Hob pushes into his hand, bends down over him again to kiss him as if summoned to it, and it is thrilling, sparkles along every vein, to get such a reaction. To have Hob caving to him. "Fuck, Dream."

Dream indulges himself further, slips his hand under Hob's waistband, takes him in his grasp, and Hob jerks against him. Dream's mouth waters at the weight of him, he has to swallow thickly to clear his throat, his own cock is heavy and straining, and he parts his thighs further for Hob. Vulnerable. Yes. This is vulnerable, and especially so in the waking world, and he wants, he wants Hob in him. A new feeling.

"Hob. I want—"

"I know, darling. Fuck, you're beautiful. Your hands—" He shakes himself. "Right. Right."

Hob sits up again. Strips off his underwear properly. His hair is hanging loose and messy now, eyes ever so slightly glazed with pleasure, chest rising and falling, his prick hard and ruddy at the tip. He is arresting.

He pushes Dream's legs up so his knees are bent, finds the bottle of lube where it's fallen into the sheets, pours some out into his hand. Leans in to kiss Dream’s belly, pleasant and tickling, and in the same motion drags a finger over Dream’s entrance.

Dream catches his wrist, inhuman pulse peaking in his throat, like a burst of dream stuff. “You do not need to put in such effort. This body does not have these human limitations.”

Hob tsks and taps his hand away. “You said you wanted the full experience. And the full Hob Gadling experience includes proper prep and aftercare, even if you're made of whims and fantasies. Free of charge, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?" This comes out significantly less teasing, and significantly more affected, than Dream had intended. "And what will the rest cost me?”

Hob winks at him. "Only your pleasure, darling."

This time, he leans over Dream, takes Dream’s wrist and pins it to the bed by his head. Dream lets out a choked gasp. The sudden pressure of Hob’s grip makes something stand out sharply within him, and then collapse again in relief. Hob makes a considering noise, and holds him there as he presses a finger lightly to Dream’s entrance with his other hand.

Dream shudders as Hob pushes his finger in, one knuckle, two, as he works in and out of Dream’s body, stretching him— it is an odd sensation, one he half-feels he should shy away from, but Hob’s grip on his arm is grounding, and Hob kneeling between his spread legs is tickling something in him that wants very badly.

Then Hob crooks his finger and pleasure rushes through him like a windstorm. Dream arches off the bed, grabbing at the sheets, and Hob laughs. “Thought you might like that.”

“Hob.” Dream thinks he means this to come out admonishing but it’s far more strained. Hob doesn’t give him time to recover, he drags his finger over Dream’s prostate again and Dream bites down hard on his lower lip. Hob slips his finger out, returns with two, and now it’s a stretch. Dream grinds down on him, resists the urge to whine as Hob works him over on his fingers, rubbing over his prostate on every other stroke.

“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” Hob murmurs, watching where his fingers slip in and out of Dream’s body, and then back up at Dream’s face with awe and fixation.

“Even,” Dream struggles over the words as sensation washes through him, Hob’s fingers in him, filling him, so much and yet he wants more, “spread out, like so?”

“Especially then. The way you move on my fingers,” he twists his hand to emphasize the point, and Dream shudders, "the fact that you let me. D’you know how long I’ve looked at you and wondered?” Saying this, he kisses Dream, sliding his hand up Dream’s wrist to clasp their fingers together. “Passing Stranger, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only. Fuck, I wanted to see you like that.”

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, Dream thinks, but doesn’t quote the poem back to him— Hob reels him away again by the touch of his hands. He pushes a third finger into Dream, and now it is tight, it is so much, but Dream pushes himself back onto Hob’s hand. Hob’s fingers move gloriously within him, touching every part of him, and he starts speaking again in his low, honey voice, that’s it, darling, good, feels so good, yeah? and Dream needs Hob inside him. Hob has pulled him by the throat from inexperienced to grasping, and he is grasping.

Hob keeps fingering him, spiking his pleasure higher, his cock hanging heavy and teasing Dream with each move he makes. Dream himself is painfully hard, and it sharpens the feeling of Hob in him from maddening to agonizing. Hob kisses him, licks into Dream’s mouth, and Dream opens to his tongue. He opens to him. Like a yawning, cavernous thing.

Wanting Hob in him has shifted to needing Hob in him has shifted to lacking Hob in him, that Hob is a fundamental part of him and without him Dream is bereft. “Hob,” he whines, mortified by the sound of it but unable to drag himself back to that place of control he had surely—surely?—started the evening with. “Please—”

Hob’s head jerks up and he looks at Dream in shock. And. Oh.

Shame rushes through Dream’s body. Who has he become, begging a human to fuck him? Is he not the Lord of all Dreaming, is he not above this? Once, Dream was a skillful and assertive lover, he could bring the full power of the Dreaming to bear for his lovers’ pleasure, he could craft every moment exactly as needed— and now—

But Hob doesn’t draw away in disgust. Or gloat over the position he’s maneuvered Dream into. He smiles down at him, a soft look that goes just a bit pained at the edges as Dream tenses. Then he presses his lips to Dream’s cheek. Even that simple touch makes Dream shiver.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hob murmurs, so gentle but the heat of it still winds through Dream’s insides. “Don’t you know I’ll give you what you need? You don’t have to beg for it.” He slips his fingers out and back in, only two now, working them as deep as they’ll go. “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

“Please,” Dream says, the words again dragged from him unbidden, unspooled by the feeling of Hob inside him, there but not enough. Hob kisses him, swallows his plea like sweet wine, works him on his fingers, grinds his cock in tantalizing lines over Dream’s thigh. And gradually something unlocks in Dream’s ribcage, each piece turning itself open in realization. Hob likes when he asks, begs even. But he isn’t going to make him.

Asking, then, feels less like a wound rent in him, showing all his torn pieces, and more like a spell that will draw Hob to him. Speak, and he will come.

“Please,” Dream says again, and this time the words don’t tear. He speaks into Hob’s mouth, and the wet warmth of Hob’s lips and tongue soothe him where asking might start to chafe. “Hob, I need—”

“Do you need my cock, love?” Hob asks, rough low and rough and burning. “Feels empty, doesn’t it?” He slips his fingers free, and Dream whines. “I know. I know. You’re just starving for it, aren’t you?”

Starving, yes, Dream would like to take Hob in his mouth, but right now he’s feverish for something else. Hob is so close, every touch of his skin already has Dream singing, but he still wants more. He tangles his hand in Hob’s hair, wraps one leg around the back of Hob’s thighs to pull him closer, and Hob laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, Dream, you’re so—” Hob sounds spun around, now, and it’s gratifying to knock him askew in the way he’s done to Dream.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, putting the weight of sleeping desire into his voice, “I need you. I’m waiting.”

“Fucking hell,” Hob groans. “I’ve created something terrifying.” He doesn’t sound displeased about it. In fact, he kisses Dream again, lets Dream pull him close by the hair, smiling into his mouth. “Gonna make it so good for you, I promise.”

“I can plague your sleep with eternal nightmares if not,” Dream says, with no intention of doing so.

“See, I’m so confident in my ability to fuck you” —Dream's skin prickles at the word— “that I’m not even worried about it.”

He makes Dream lift up so he can push a pillow under his hips, takes Dream’s leg and maneuvers it over his shoulder, bending his body back. Dream shivers at the vulnerability of the position, the way he’s pinned. Hob kisses the bend of his knee with a little smile, and then Dream watches down the length of their bodies as Hob takes himself in hand. He’s so hard, glistening with pre at the tip, and Dream swallows jerkily.

“Alright, love?” Hob asks, meeting his eyes. He has always had the brightest, loveliest eyes. Dream holds his gaze and nods. He is not certain that he is, in fact, all right, he feels strange and spun about and immersed in the waking dream of Hob’s bed and Hob’s touch, but he does not want Hob to stop, he wants Hob to fuck him.

Hob presses into him, slowly, pausing when just the head of his cock is sheathed. And Dream— Dream was not prepared, Hob’s fingers did not prepare him for the all around pressure of Hob’s cock, the way it would fill him. It dances on the edge of pain, but he wants more. Already, more.

“More,” he finds himself saying, and Hob chuckles, bracing a hand around the back of Dream’s neck as he complies. This time, he pushes all the way in, not stopping until he bottoms out, groaning at the feeling. Dream clutches at his shoulders, no doubt leaving indents in his skin, body clenching convulsively as he gets used to the feeling of Hob in him.

Hob is inside him. Hob is inside him.

“Dream, you alright? You’re… breathing,” Hob says, petting through his hair. He sounds awed.

Breathing. He is breathing. And he hadn't commanded it so. Hadn't even meant it. Normally Dream forgets to affect such human mannerisms, even when it might be advisable to do so. But now he is breathing. Each one is choppy, three steps up three steps down, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I am fine,” he says, and Hob shushes him, kissing his cheek.

“I know you are. It’s alright to get a bit overwhelmed, yeah?” Hob is still in him, Dream can still feel every centimeter of him everywhere, but he doesn’t move. Simply lets Dream settle.

Dream tries to stop the wretched breathing, it makes him feel human and mortal and out of control, but he can’t, this temporary body affixed to this plane by Hob’s weight, his touch. Hob kisses his cheek again, nuzzles at his ear, and gradually Dream finds himself subsiding, relaxing in increments. It occurs to him, through the distant knowledge of the Dreaming, that this softness would not be characteristic of a temporary, experimental experience with a stranger, should Dream have simply wanted to know what it was like. It occurs to him through his own knowledge that this vulnerability he feels, this ability to ease him, is characteristic only of Hob.

He does not yet know what to do with that, but he turns to find Hob’s lips. Hob meets him easily, smiling into the kiss. “With me?” he asks, and Dream nods.

“Yes.”

Then Hob starts to move, slow measured thrusts at first. Dream breathes through each, and perhaps breathing is not so bad, after all, for it settles him, and settling lets him take Hob in, and he wants to take Hob in. It is so good, the slide of him sends sparks all along Dream’s limbs, builds inexorable and tantalizing heat through his body, none of his many dreams conveyed to him just how good it would be, when brought from dreams to reality. From memory to the body. More, even, than this is the sense of Hob’s body over him, the heat of him, and the strength, the breadth of his shoulders, the drag of Hob’s belly over Dream’s prick, the way he moves, expertly pushing Dream higher and oh-so-much faster with each thrust, tapping against that edge of pain-and-too-much without ever letting him fall over it.

Dream is starting to think that, in addition to his general experience, Hob has become quite an expert in knowing what Dream, specifically, might like.

“Good, darling?” Hob asks against his jaw, and Dream means to respond but all that comes out is a whine. He feels Hob’s smile against his skin. “More, then?”

Dream evidently doesn’t have to respond. Hob braces himself more firmly over him, and then he’s moving much faster, and then Dream really loses his senses. Hob bears down on him, levering Dream’s leg back further and deepening the angle, and each thrust hits before Dream has recovered from the last, and Hob’s mouth is on his throat, right over his pulse, which is also hammering—

Hob hits his prostate, and Dream keens as lightning arcs through him. Hob is talking to him now as he does it again and again, saying through panting breaths something like, you’re so good, does that feel good? is’at good for you? fuck you’re gorgeous, but Dream can’t parse much detail. He feels he should be participating more actively, but the wherewithal to do so has slipped away from him, all he can do is take what Hob is giving to him.

Probably that is what Hob wants. Perhaps he has fantasized over their long acquaintance about having Dream bent in just this position. Many might wish to have the Dream Lord at their mercy. Hob’s mercy, however, is a burst of pure heat straight to the soul.

“Hob,” he’s saying when he comes back to himself enough to notice, “Hob, Hob—”

“You’re beautiful like that,” Hob says, voice rough. “Dreamed of it— ha. You make the most beautiful noises.”

They are, in fact, wholly undignified noises, but Dream can’t seem to bring himself to stop; Hob punches each sound of pleasure out of him. He floats. Holds onto Hob’s shoulders. Presses his face to Hob’s and feels the scratch of his stubble. The rough calluses of his hands. The rhythm of Hob’s body is sublime. The kiss that he presses to the corner of Dream’s eye is more so. He is… crying there. Tears spilling over and down his cheeks. Dream has crafted the heights of euphoria within the Dreaming. But. Has any of it ever been as good as this?

He has Hob close to him, around him, in him, and still he wants more. Never again will Dream be able to disdain the office of Desire, not without looking away in shame at the lie.

His release washes over him in a wave that he doesn’t even notice until it peaks, so great is the rest of his pleasure. He gasps as he comes, not even needing Hob’s hand on him, tips his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. Chest heaving. Hob slows, cups Dream’s cheek—until Dream urges him on with an ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, do not stop do not stop do not—

“Alright.” Hob nips at his lower lip in admonishment but he does start fucking him again, clearly chasing his own release now rather than pushing for Dream’s. That edge of pleasure-pain now tips closer to pain but Dream relishes in it. Each stuttered motion of Hob in him is blessed.

“I want,” he manages, throat dry, voice scraped rough from his cries, “to feel you come. In me.”

“Oh fuck,” Hob swears. “Dream.” And that apparently is enough. Hob’s hips stutter quick and he comes, hot spurts in Dream’s body, he can feel it. When Hob's tension eases, when his breath catches up to him, he moves to pull out—but Dream drags him back in. He wants— wants to keep Hob inside him, belly spine lungs throat, bring Hob in and in and hold him there, wants that warmth with him always. He could live like that, with Hob close to him.

Hob helps him lower his leg from his shoulder, stretch out sore muscles, and then lets Dream pull him in close, hold him there, in him, even as he’s going soft. He turns them on their sides, tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. Breathes the same air.

“So,” Hob says, after several, very long moments where they’ve been lying quietly together, tacky with sweat, Dream’s limbs all wrapped around Hob and Hob running his hands up and down his back, “how was that?”

“Mm?” Dream is still floating. It’s very pleasant.

He can feel Hob grinning against his shoulder. “You wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a man.”

What it was like. Dream is not certain he knows. He knows that Hob’s arms around him are strong, the touch of his skin pleasant even with the combined heat of their bodies. That he smells of sex and sweat and Dream wants to mire himself in it. He knows that, as Hob does finally, carefully pull out, he can feel Hob’s come dripping sticky over his thighs and rather than being discomforting, it only reminds him how he was wanted. His own come is smeared over Hob’s belly in disorganized lines, and Hob’s hair is ravaged by his fingers. There are still tears drying on Dream’s face. He knows that Hob has had him, now, and is still holding him. That the force of his lovemaking annihilated Dream’s dignity. That Hob wants to kiss him during sex. That at his prolonged silence, Hob looks up, finds his gaze, questioning.

“I am not certain that’s what I studied,” Dream admits. “Or. Learned.”

“Oh? What’d you learn, then?” Hob touches his cheek, as if even parted for a second, he wants to be close to Dream again. “Least tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Dream must look ruined, and still Hob must confirm he enjoyed it? “What I learned is not what it is like to be with 'a man'. But rather.” He brushes his thumb over Hob’s lower lip, and Hob’s mouth opens at the movement. “What it is like. To be loved. By a very good friend.”

Hob’s expression crinkles into the softest smile at loved. “Oh, a very good friend, hm?”

“Very good,” Dream says. Presses his hand flat to Hob’s heart. “Uniquely so. Uniquely good to me among friends.” Not that Dream has… friends, plural. Better, then, that Hob is so singular. Singular enough to have nestled somewhere within him, between one meeting, one drink, one kiss and the next, and Dream would no longer be without him. His heart is surrounded by a hazy warmth much softer than the sharp pang of desire, and Hob's bed, Hob's touch, is soothing to him, a blanket he has finally pulled over his shoulders after trying to brave the lingering cold. Like so much this evening, it feels strange, and like so much this evening, it feels too good to shy away.

Hob leans in to kiss him, a soft drag of lips over his. “Good. Can I convince my friend to go in for a shower? Tea, maybe? Can I convince him to stay the night and keep exploring that friendship?”

Hob has taken care of him this evening, has not yet lead him astray, and so Dream lets him pull him out of bed and to his feet. In the shower, under the rushing hot water, Hob kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, rough, inelegant, consumed by feeling, hands curled around Dream’s hips. Dream will not make dreams out of this night, after all, he thinks. Selfishly, he wants to keep it to himself.

Peerless among friends, Hob Gadling, he thinks, as Hob makes him tea. As Hob tugs him back over the threshold, into the bedroom, into the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Peerless among friends.

Among lovers, too, perhaps.

#tfw ur having casual sex with ur homie to learn what its like to get dicked down then oh no youre having a gay awakening oh NO youre having #a romantic awakening about your homie too. we've all been there #my writing #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #you best believe 'i serve at your pleasure' plays over and over and over and over in dream's mind for weeks after #btw the poem hob quotes is 'to a stranger'#nsft

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agendabymooner · 3 months

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all-american bitch ! yuki t. x ofc (filo!indie singer!ofc)

“got what you can’t resist.”

summary: it seemed as if tension arose after yuki revealed himself to be a taken man as pia ellis’ blunt personality didn’t fit for an f1 wag— or whatever those haters said. too bad, she’d do it again.

content warning: use of explicit language, brief mentions of sexism, helmut marko, wholesome franz tost, hate comments, consumption of cigarette, short jokes, sex jokes, yukierre x ofc, ofc shitposting

note: i’m postponing my honey honey chapter im sorry 😭

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

tagged yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, alphataurif1, liamlawson30

girlinred girlfriend 🫶 liked by papayapia

papayapia girlfriend 🫶

user1 pia in her wag era 😩😭

user2 i love my wag pia kennedy d. ellis 🥰🥰🥰

user3 LIVE LAUGH LOVE YUKIA

liamlawson30 my short monarchs 😇

papayapia FUCK OFF 😭😭😭

user4 NOT THE SHORT MONARCHS

user5 this is going to my ig comments hall of fame ^

pierregasly yukino 😍😍

user6 pierre that’s someone else’s boyfriend 🙂🙂

papayapia get your own love life hoe stop stealing mine

alphataurif1 my favourite girl 🥹🥴 liked by papayapia

papayapia my favourite admin 🤩

yukitsunoda0511 do it again 😊liked by papayapia

papayapia i will bby 🥰😘

extras !!!

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015

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taisho-era-secrets · 6 months

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I'm currently trying to warm up for writing so I just want to do a little headcanons post...

Things the Hashira do/say during sex

Minors DNI

Giyuu Tomioka:

Isn't one for talking during sex so much, but occasionally something starts to slip out. He has trouble stopping himself, especially when it starts getting good.

You won't get complete sentences out of him 90% of the time, so when he does slip up it's usually...

"You feel-...", "Don't-", "I can't-..." and a mixture of short gasps and groans.

Often finds himself covering his own mouth with his hand because he's starting to lose his composure.

He'll make intense eye contact the entire time though. To the point it almost worries you.

(wants you to look back at him the entire time too)

Very into slow touch, loves to caress up your legs and tummy mostly. He's not usually one for rough, fast sex.

He loves to edge you though and when he discovered that you could see the gears turning in his head... Shocked at his own actions but pleasantly surprised by the results.

Tengen Uzui:

Talks all the time during sex. It's rare to have a moment of silence with him. He's the absolute best at dirty talk too, it just comes so naturally to him.

A big tease too, sure he'll praise you but he can't resist saying something that will make you slightly flustered. Makes you clench around him too so that's a bonus.

Favorite thing is to show off his strength in some way, usually by lifting you up during sex. Absolutely loves to hold you up by the thighs in front of a mirror.

"You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? I can tell." "Little greedy tonight, aren't we?" "The face you're making right now is so cute."

Obanai Iguro:

Depending on his mood, he can be a little harsh with comments at the beginning. In actuality, he's trying to cover up whatever anxiety he's having. It doesn't matter if this is your hundredth time having sex, he still gets a little anxious.

He's almost never the one to initiate sex, even when you find yourselves in a situation that will lead to it he'll stop and make sure it's something you're craving.

A bit shy, though won't ever admit it. Does everything in his power to keep the face bandages on during sex.

Along with being shy, he has a hard time asking you what you like or what you want done. So he usually does things (slowly) in the heat of the moment and then gauges your reaction.

Usually doesn't say much during sex, but if he gets a reaction that he likes, he'll usually boast about it a little (after he's done looking like a shocked, love sick puppy).

"Oh? Did that do something for you? Well, maybe if you ask nicely I'll do it again... Come on. Beg for me."

Gyomei Himejima:

Okay don't laugh but I think he would pray during sex don't @ me.

Hearing soft "namu"s in between thrusts-

Gyomei takes a long time when it comes to foreplay, it's both because it's his favorite part and for his own peace of mind. He needs to make sure you're ready for him.

He's not one for anything else but praise. If you ask him to degrade you he will not do it. He'll be confused, why would you ever want that?

He's also one to tell you everything in that moment, walking you through what he feels and what you feel like to him.

He isn't into pet names so much but will absolutely call you "my love."

"So soft, my love. I can feel you deep inside."

Kyojuro Rengoku:

Listen. I love him. But I think he would talk about anything and everything during sex. Doesn't have to be appropriate for the moment either, he'll just... talk.

He's focused of course, but sometimes he's bad at reading the atmosphere and will talk about what you two are going to go do afterwards- usually what you two are going to go eat. Okay enough shitposting-

To praise and be praised is all he ever wants. He'll give praise like crazy but also... just melt as soon as you praise him right back. Melt and then start jack hammering-

Any teasing that comes from his mouth is purely accidental.

"Ngh- A-amazing job! You're doing wonderful, keep it up!" "Mmm! I think we could take another round after this. What do you say?"

Mitsuri Kanroji:

The type to giggle a lot during sex.

For her, sex is definitely about the emotional connection. So degradation is a no-no. She's more into words of affirmation/praise during sex but keeping it casual enough to crack some jokes here and there.

She gets flustered easily though, don't let the giggling fool you.

"Is... this okay?" "Oh! You liked that! That makes me happy~!"

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

A sucker for teasing.

But if you tease him back it catches him off guard and makes him flustered for sure. Not saying not to do that, but it might make him short circuit.

The horny in me wants him to be into degradation, but I just feel like hardcore degradation isn't his style. I think he'd try to embarrass you but he wouldn't call you names. (if you write him like this though, by all means please do I'm a sucker for being called 'pathetic' by him-)

Similar to Obanai, Sanemi can be a little shy at first. Particularly, Sanemi doesn't really know where to look the first time.

Once he opens up though, hold on for a ride-

"Hold up... Did that just turn you on?" "Don't tell me you're close already, we just got started."

Shinobu Kocho:

Honestly, she's on the same spectrum of being a big tease like Sanemi.

Maybe even worse.

I'm tempted to say she's got a smidge of a kink for degrading people too but that's...

medical kink Sorry, wish I had more for her but my head is now just filled with thoughts of Shinobu in a Halloween nurse costume.

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pearl-likes-pi · 24 days

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i honestly dont know hoe to say this, but you really had a hand in shaping my brai chemistry while i was growing up, no kidding. i remember when i was 13 or so and whenever you posted a pearl rap career chapter it would unironicaly make my day (specially when you dropped the peridot chapter i had a stomach infection or smth, so that video and the last one out of beach city episode were on replay for me for a few days). its really weird seeing that rebecca managed to make a safe space for lgbt folks (it was really hard for me to accept myself as gay, it seems really simple nowadays but back then it was so discomforting to even thinm about it so su and its fandom, and by some extent, your vids, helped me externalize some feelings or queernes i guess, do you remeber when someone said your video editing was raw and masculine? lol). anyways, its wild to think i was in 5th grade when i first watched laser light canon and now im finishing my journalism course in college and seeing how this show raised me in some way and helped me to be aware of my own mental health i only have good memories, thankfully, and its really sad to see that it ended, but i honestly wouldnt have had it any other way. its kind of a long rant but id like to thank you, mackenzie, your videos made me laugh a lot when i was a teen and they still make me now. this show was truly a gift, it made us connect to something bigger and magical. this was kind of a long rant since ive kinda forgotten that su existed and remined that it existed because of some dreams lol. i remembered back then when i was super anxious about the cluster episode, i remeber checking your tumblr everyday and seeing fanon content. i really dont know how to express myself since english is not my first language and i tend to ramble on a lot on my native one, but id like to say youve made me smile a lot, it was so cool seeing you present the su podcast and being an intern at CN. i honestly wish you the best.

Dude it means so much to hear that my lil shitposts have had an impact on people!!!! I completely understand where youre coming from re: SU's impact on your life (and acceptance of queer identity) and feel the same way!!! im so grateful for this show and everything it represents. in a world without Steven Universe my current life would be completely unrecognizable. like genuinely I dont think any single aspect of my life would be the way it is without SU. which is nuts but it's true!!!

I love engaging with this community and it gave me a lot of support when I was at a place in my life where I felt pretty isolated. I'm kind of rambling now too but this seriously has been sitting in my inbox for a bit now and I just knew i needed to respond and say thank you for sharing. <3

ALSO LMAO I FORGOT ABT THE RAW AND MASCULINE COMMENT THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME HAHA

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bigfatbimbo · 2 months

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Hey bimbo!! I know you said that you were tired so please take your time if you even decide to write about this!

The Vox tickle fic that you posted had an authors note saying that you borrowed a lot of the plot from a separate ask; well I’m the anon that sent in that ask! You did a wonderful job writing it too, as always. Ever since episode two came out, introducing us to Vox, I headcannoned him to be ticklish. I have absolutely no clue why, but it just fits. When Vox watches the hotel prepare for the angels through his many cameras, he’s laughing wildly and that’s kind of what I imagine him sounding like when being tickled, yk? I feel like this whole ask is weird as fuck but ever since you put out that little shitpost about him being ticklish I’ve been riding off of it 😭😭

Whenever you have time I’m wondering if you could do a Vox x fem!reader fic (no surprise there) where he just comes home and he’s in a mood. Maybe Val threw a tantrum or Vel was bitching about her employees and he had been absolutely swamped with work and meetings. He walks into his room to find the reader on her phone or reading something and she looks up with a smile, happy to see him but is met with a permanent scowl. He huffs, sits on the bed and crosses his arms, his frown deepening. The reader tries softly to get him to talk about his day or at least look at her, but he remains stubborn. Remembering their little moment when she first found out he was ticklish, she comes up behind him on the bed. She wraps her arms around his torso, pressing little ticklish kisses to his neck as she softly whispers things like “can I hear that adorable laugh of yours? Lighten up!” or “c’mon, let me see that pretty smile”. He squirms and mutters something under his breath, but nothing that was audible enough. So she gently claws her fingers up and down his ribs, stomach, and armpits, earning her his laughter. She pulls him onto her lap as she continues, her tickles still staying light, nothing to make him buck or scream in laughter, but enough to keep him giggling and squirming in her lap. He’s just such a little guy and I need to give him a moment of reprieve from his constant business-man facade; just let him freely laugh with no judgement

I have SO many more ideas regarding his ticklishness so if you wanna hear more from me, let me know!! Love you bimbo!!

-🪐 anon (just so yk who i am 😋)

this was the original request for that Vox fic i just posted ^^^

it was too long though so i just had to do my own thing ANYWAYS THANKS SATURN ANON

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #inbox open

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vagabondangel · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel Live Q&A

Interesting notes from today's Hazbin Hotel live Q&A session with Viv, Erika (Charlie's VA), and Amir (Alastor's VA):

Alastor's fatherly tendencies towards Charlie aren't genuine; Viv said Alastor feels threatened by Lucifer's power and wants to get under his skin in any way possible, and undermining Luci and Charlie's relationship is simply the easiest way to do that

So apparently, someone on twitter asked Amir how Alastor can be aroace when he has so many cute lil gay poses, and Amir's response was "you don't have to fuck to be fab", which I guess someone made into a t-shirt? Lol

(Side note: people in the chat are paying money to ask questions about romantic Alastor ships through superchats and I'm so mad grrrrr let him be canonically aroace in peace you absolute ghouls)

Amir shows off the Oh Deer mug someone made for him!

They talk a bit about the fan screening - audience members were clapping along to the "My name is Charlie" drama game scene, and people were audibly grossed out at seeing Al eating a dead deer

Charlie has a really cool outfit in the finale episode!!!

Alastor and "I'm not the stepdad, I'm the dad who stepped up" jokes, apparently Amir laughs at those kinds of shitposts and he loves the jokes and the fanart and the cosplay, so much love for the fans!

Erika and Amir love the art of their characters in their red carpet outfits

Viv says that a lot of the theories floating around about Hazbin Hotel, especially stuff regarding the finale, is super accurate, and she doesn't engage with accurate theories on social media because she doesn't wanna spoil anything

Eventually, Viv will answer the question of whether or not Al has a tail. Sadly, today is not that day.

Viv and Erika imply that Charlie's perspective on redemption and her worldview will develop and grow more complex over the course of the next few episodes.

The next few episodes will offer a peek into Al's relationship with Nifty; Viv says that Alastor is very fond of Nifty and he finds her to be fun and endearing in his own way

When asked who their favorite Vee is, Erika says Vox, Amir says "no comment" lol

Amir says "Alastor enjoys Vox the way he enjoys his area rug" THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT

Viv, on the finale: "Someone dies, but I'm not saying who" ...she implies that Angel Dust won't die in the Season 1 finale, so we can sleep easy tonight

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #amir saying alastor enjoys vox the same way he enjoys his area rug altered my brain chemistry #also i'm very curious to learn more about alastor and nifty's relationship

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fatuismooches · 3 months

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Beaming more Dottore brainrot into ur head rn..

Akademiya Dottore having to stay out late for an assignment and when he gets back to his dorm he sees reader passed out on the couch, they tried staying up to wait for him but got too eepy and went zzzzz...

I like to think he quietly puts a blanket on them before sitting on the couch and just doing his own thing (eventually he also falls asleep on the couch)

When reader wakes up they notice the warm blanky on them and smile :) especially after they notice the usually stubborn man sleeping on the other side... giggles 😊 I like soft Dottore... he's so stubborn and in love..

(Reader totally teases him about it when he wakes up and in return gets ignored for the rest of the day... if they're short they also have all their akademiya supplies put onto a high shelf💀 cuz Dottore's mean like that and REFUSES to admit he likes reader :3)

Also If u want u can rb my art LOL I'm guessing u mean my silly Dottore shitposts n stuff? I rlly don't mind :D I'd prob just have 2 stop using my silly lil chicken disguise 💀 cuz it'd be obvious who I am at that point.. - 🐓

It's not very often that Dottore stays out late, he much rather be in his dorm doing his own thing rather than out and about (the darkness is good for being elusive, however, more light is necessary for certain experiments.) Unfortunately, group projects and meetings exist and he has to be on his 'teammates' time schedule... ending his day with his peers is certainly not what he considers favorable.

Meanwhile, you feel quite lonely without your crush, the dorm is oh so quiet without the sounds of his tinkering or the playful banter between you two. Not to mention how you miss his touch, his voice, his overall presence... do you miss him? Yes, of course, you're not in denial all the time like Zandik is. So you decide to just stay up, he can't be out for much longer, knowing Zandik, he'll wrap it up as soon as possible. (You could laugh imagining his expression right now, having to do an assignment with others instead of you.) Sadly, your body gives in to your tiredness and you slumber earlier than you wanted to.

When Zandik comes home and sees you slumped on the couch in dreamland, he scoffs and rolls his eyes... muttering under his breath about how careless you are and how you're going to wake up with cramps in that position (he says as he fixes your body to a more comfortable angle, and drapes a blanket over you before you wake up sneezing and complaining to him. Yes, he just doesn't want to listen to you complain, he totally doesn't care for your well-being.)

When you wake up to see him sleeping on the other side you just smile... you wish you two were actually dating so you could cuddle with him, but unfortunately, Zandik is a man who'll always be in denial when it comes to his feelings, it seems. At least he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep with you like this, that's progress! Even he was lured in by the warmth, despite probably wanting to pull another all-nighter...

Teasing him will result in a not-very-happy and annoyed Zandik who constantly rebuts your claims... he's not very amused at your "theories" and would prefer if you put your mouth to better use by assisting him with his research. (He derives some kind of sick pleasure from watching you struggle to obtain that hard-to-reach item.)

#smooches talks #🐓 anon #dottore love notes <3 #HELP IM REALLY SORRY I REALLY DIDN'T MEAN TO EXPOSE U.... but thank u for the reassurance ur posts r very cool 😭#thank u for the dottore brainrot as always u keep me FED

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floralfractals · 5 months

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Hi everyone, I wanted to write a quick update to you guys :)

I made this blog in March of 2021. At the time, I followed my first math course on fractals and dynamics, and had just discovered a tool to make my own awesome fractals. This blog started out as a place to share the art I was making as a coping mechanism during covid, but as I quit making them after a few months, this blog died pretty quickly. In 2022, I decided to start posting regularly again (mostly just shitposts though), just so that the effort I put into this blog wouldn't go to waste.

Then, in the beginning of this year, I started writing my thesis. I posted one (1) shitpost about him (my well-known and popular son), and got 10s of thousands of notes. Every morning I would wake up to another crowd of people who loved the graphs, or were baffled by them, and I got showered in asks to elaborate on him.

Truth be told, 2023 has been a very heavy year for me. A lot of things happened in my personal life, and I lost a dear friend to suicide. It became so difficult for me to keep writing on my thesis, and the project that should have been finished in June this year has now been taking 4 months too many. My mental health has suffered greatly, I haven't been able to take any breaks, and life has just been generally difficult. I have spent nights not being able to sleep because I wanted to finish my bachelor's thesis so bad, but my supervisors would keep demanding more work, more edits, and more drafts. At some point, I even considered quitting my studies and finding a job.

The community has helped me to keep going. Mathematicians and non-mathematicians alike who sent me genuinely interested questions, made me laugh in the notes, created fanart (??? I'm still baffled by this but the people who did this are the coolest in the world) and generally made me feel for the first time that mathematics isn't a universally hated subject. On some days, the only reason I was able to keep going and the only thing keeping me from experiencing burn-out was the support I got through this blog.

Today, 10/12/2023, I turned in my thesis. Thank you so much for your support!

#my sickly son #math #literally thank you guys so much #this isnt a goodbye or anything its just me being sentimental lmao #ill be able to start posting about other things in the future #probably less things about my sickly son and more idk fun stuff about dynamics/fractals/probability #maybe ill get into fractal art again now that i have the time #right now past me is drafting this after one of the lowest days ive experienced in a few months #just as a reminder that i will be able to post this at some point and i will be done and i will be able to call myself BSc #disclaimer the supervisors did ask for more work but it was also bc my thesis just Was Not That Good for a long while #had to fix a looooooooot of mistakes #no shade on them i love my supervisors a lot

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sweet-evie · 8 months

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IMAGINE Satoru and Suguru as fucking YouTubers, circa 2014-2018.

Ohmygod they would be SO entertaining, I swear. This AU lives in my head rent-free at the moment, so let me word-vomit about it.

It all started with Satoru... Things like this, of course it starts with Satoru.

Satoru gives me storytime YouTuber vibes. His channel started out that way. It's just him talking about how crazy his life is. But after he amassed a following, around 100K, he eventually became a variety sort of YouTuber.

Satoru does a LOT. His channel is INSANE. From food challenges, to trying weird food on camera, to going to haunted locations, to putting weird stuff in the microwave to see what will happen (his house is permanently in danger), to failed cooking videos, right down to trying random products he finds in online stores.

Trust me, it doesn't take him long to get to 10 Million subscribers. Probably 10 months or less. That face card ain't declining and he's always going to pull people left and right.

In the beginning, a lot of Satoru's traffic came from Instagram. It's just him looking so aesthetically pleasing, he's irresistible. His Twitter is a mess. Twitter is where he shitposts, and people know better than to take him seriously on Twitter. His Snapchat... Good lord, help the poor soul who's following him on there. It's random shenanigans that would have you questioning if Gojo is okay.

For the first two years of his YouTube career, Satoru has been doing this YouTuber thing solo.

And then his best friend, Suguru Geto, made his debut on his channel and it's OVER.

His fans fell in love with Suguru. Of course, they would. Tell me you wouldn't love him? (in an AU where Suguru is innocent and has never attempted to commit crimes against humanity).

Also, Suguru is deadass charming when he wants to be.

Satoru and Suguru = iconic comedic duo.

Satoru's views and engagement skyrocketed from the moment Suguru was introduced to his YT audience.

At first, Suguru kept all his social media accounts private, and Satoru was always careful and mindful about what appeared on camera.

Eventually, Satoru influenced Suguru to start his own YT channel.

Suguru Geto strikes me as the type who would have a niche YT channel. Like, he targets a specific audience. The opposite of Gojo's chaotic variety channel.

I kind of find it hard to pin down what sort of content Suguru would upload, but I'm leaning toward day-in-the-life vlogs, fitness, travel vlogs, and commentaries.

If you want serious, educational, aesthetic, and calm content, head over to Suguru's channel.

If you want unhinged shenanigans and pure chaos, Satoru Gojo is your guy.

Satoru promoting Suguru's channel after a failed cooking video be, like:

=OoOoO= =OoOoO= =OoOoO= =OoOoO=

"Well, it's whatever!" Satoru laughed, side-eyeing the messy slop on the countertop that he'd had the audacity to call a donut cake before the entire video devolved into him and Suguru flinging globs of cream cheese and chocolate frosting at each other across the kitchen.

"Who is going to finish all this?" Suguru lamented, eyes narrowing at the pile of food on Satoru's marble counters.

"What are you talking about? We're eating that!"

"Oh fuck no!"

"Yes!"

"No, Satoru."

"Yeeeesss!" Satoru cackled and flung an arm around Suguru's shoulders, bringing his friend into the frame for the special announcement he'd teased at the beginning of this video. "Now come here, it's time to tell them our surprise."

"Our surprise?"

Satoru laughed. "Well, your surprise, but you did this thanks to me~ You're welcome, by the way."

Releasing a deep sigh at the sound of Satoru crooning into his ear, Suguru shook his head. Satoru was more excited about the announcement than Suguru himself would ever be.

"Are you telling them?" Satoru asked, blinking at Suguru over the rims of his dark Versace sunglasses.

"Nah, you do it."

"Everyone, Suguru finally has a YouTube channel!" Satoru announced gleefully, the widest grin splitting his face as he wrestled Suguru into a headlock. A headlock that the latter had no problem prying himself away from. "After a whole year trying to convince his stubborn ass! And the first video is already up right?"

"Two videos, but yeah, they should go check it out if they want." Suguru nodded, flashing an easy smile at the camera, and towards millions of Satoru's lovestruck fans.

"Two! He's fast! Go check it out, guys. Suguru's channel is in the description below. It's the first one there. If you guys need something to help you relax or--"

"--To cleanse your palette after this madness."

"Hey! Rude! They love my cake videos!"

"That's not cake, Satoru."

Neither of them acknowledged the sloppy pile of donuts coated in multi-colored frosting, teetering on the brink of collapse in the background.

"But yeah! Suguru's channel is up right now. First two videos, go check it out! Subscribe, show him some love, give it a like. We had fun hangin' with you, we hope you had fun hangin' with us. And I'll see you guys tomorrow!"

=OoOoO= =OoOoO= =OoOoO= =OoOoO=

UGH! THEY'RE SO CUTE!