#And now that it's done I have another dick out art to draw

[nephiamart]

Camden's pic has been bouncing around in my brain like the dvd logo all this time, yes.

All for the Amber Lord!🎲

Spicier version in Patreon!

[f4irys4n]

this isn't us pt1

park jisung x afab!reader

tags gender neutral terms. cliche best friends to lovers trope. reader and jisung are both at uni. jisung is an art student. jisung pining over another person. jealous reader. jisung being a bit of a dick. arguments upon arguments. a lot of angst. mark looking out for you. jealous jisung. lots of swearing. jisung being very indenial. mutual stuborness. slight mentions of blood. violence and fights. kissing. a lot of crying. there will be a pt2 with smut.

wc 3k

one month.

one whole fucking month since you last spoke to jisung.

you were as stubborn as each other, everyone around you both knew that, and everyone around you knew that no matter how much they pushed you to speak to one another; it wasn't happening. the stubbornness, however, was only making things worse. the longer you went without speaking, the more resentment built up.

it all started over one particular topic. well, person.. jung jieun.

it was her second year at our univeristy, and your friendship group; jisung and you included; had all gotten much closer ever since her first few weeks.

ever since jieun was thrown into the picture, it allowed jisung to worm his way in. and what came with this was jisung slowly drawing away from you, and being attached to jieun's hip.

maybe you were jealous, you didn't deny that, but it just hurt that your best friend of 3 years started leaving you on read for days at a time and was willing to drop you any time of the day just to meet her as if all the time you'd spent together didn't matter to him anymore.

you're not usually one for confrontation, you avoid arguments and any sort of tension like the plague, but the way he was acting caused something to boil inside you and it caused you to snap.

you and jisung had plans to go to the cafe right next to campus after your final lessons of the day, and that caused excitement to bubble in your stomach. that was until he cancelled, babbling on about how he was ill and couldn't muster the effort to even get out of bed but denied all your offers to come over and look after him; like you've always done these past few years; only then to see him not long after this conversation walking to this said cafe with nobody but jieun herself.

now that hurt. that hurt a lot.

it's not like you could even be mad at jieun. she was your friend, possibly even one of your closest, and had absolutely zero interest in jisung. promising you it was solely platonic after overhearing you talking to your best friend, lola, about how you might have a 'small' crush on jisung.

but jisung, on the other hand, you were beyond mad at.

it started off with you ignoring his already very few messages, not even bothering to open them days after they were sent, despite him so obviously seeing you on your phone in lessons and around the halls of uni. and after a week or so you, you just started avoiding him completely, too scared you'd end up saying something you didn't mean out of angry if you spoke to him.

that was until he cornered you one day whilst you were in your dorm. so apparently annoyed at how you were ghosting him for so long, completely oblivious to how they were a result of his own actions.

"what have i done?" jisung asks bluntly, standing in your doorway so it was difficult for you to budge past him to avoid having this conversation.

"you'll have to be more specific," you countered, trying to shut down any sort of argument as fast as possible.

"you're obviously ignoring me and i just want to know what i've done wrong."

you scoff slightly, unable to hold it in. this made jisung cock up his eyebrow in confusion, curious as to what that was for.

"as if you don't know... everyone else has noticed it, why haven't you?" you sigh, trying your best to move past his taller build and get inside your room.

"clearly not. or i wouldn't be asking," he snaps sarcastically, his jaw tensing a little.

"maybe that's the problem."

you shove past him, attempting to slam the door behind you but he was too quick, squeezing himself through the door before it could close fully.

"look.. i don't know what i've done but-" "you've been fucking ignoring me for weeks!" you yell, taking jisung by surprise, his eyes wide in shock. he can't recall you ever yelling, not once in the 3 years you'd been friends.

"plans upon plans cancelled, rescheduled and cancelled again," you continue, venom dripping from your tongue. "we're supposed to be best friends, best fucking friends, and it takes you 5 days to reply to a message from me yet you can spend every waking minute with jieun."

"so this is what it's about?" jisung snapped back, pocking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "fucking jieun?" "well.. i apologise for wanting to hang with a friend that isn't you for once."

"jisung! you're not getting it!" you yell, slamming your books down onto your desk in frustration.

"what am i not getting, y/n?" jisung yells back, hands balled up in anger. "that jieun's more fun that you? that she's easier to hang out with than you? that she's not as annoying as you? that she's basically better than you in general? because no! i get that, y/n! i completely get that." it left you speechless, hands shaking subtly as you try and hold in the sob you so desperately wanted to let out. you daren't even look at him.

jisung didn't even bother to look back at you before he stormed out, muttering something under his breath as he slammed the door behind him.

once you were certain he was gone, a loud sob left your mouth, tears immediately running down your face. your closest friend had just walked out on you, and you were more than certain that he wasn't even planning on coming back.

and that's what brings us to the present day.

one month without speaking to jisung.

you pretend to like it doesn't hurt, that it doesn't bother you, but it really does. seeing him walk away whenever you go to speak to mark or lola, not even wanting to breathe the same air as you anymore.

you were sitting in your room with lola, she was telling you about how she overheard mark and jisung having an argument, and she believed it could have been about you.

"mark said something about jisung being selfish," lola said, scrolling through her phone as she spoke. "he said that jisung was hurting someone, that someone being you, and that it was unfair he treated them that way. jisung obviously didn't like it, saying that there was a reason he was ignoring you."

"sounds about right, but what does he expect?" you ask lola "he can't just drop me for someone else all the time and expect me to still be all over him."

"don't you worry.. i'll ask mark all about it when i go to his dorm later," she grins.

"god.. your relationship makes me feel morbidly single."

you both continued to chat for around 10 minutes before you heard a knock at the door. lola jumps up to answer, a frown appearing on her face as the door opens.

"who is it?" you ask, before turning your head to glance at the doorway.

jisung.

"i'll... uh, leave you two alone," lola mumbles, quickly grabbing her things and hurrying out the door.

it was silent for a moment. it was suffocating. like a grip on your neck so tight it felt like you were gasping for air. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not wanting to see the barren look on his face.

he cleared his throat as if he was about to speak, but nothing came out, the silence lingering on for much longer.

"if you have something to say, just say it," you mumble, flicking through the pages of your homework, still not being able to build u the courage to look at him.

"i just- i just wanted to say-" he paused for a moment "-could you please look at me?" he asks.

your head raised slowly, eyes looking straight into his for the first time in what felt like years. his were red and puffy, they almost looked sore to touch; like he'd been crying nonstop for this entire month of no contact. gazing at him for the first time in a month felt terrifying, and it honestly brought butterflies to your stomach.

you almost felt joyful that he was here, but then his cruel words came flooding back in. 'that enid's more fun than you? she's easier to hang out with than you? she's not as annoying as you? that she's basically better than you in general?' and it made your heart tighten, and your stomach feel the same sickness it experienced that day.

"may i?" he asks gently, pointing towards the empty space on your bed, and you nod, mind feeling too fuzzy to even speak.

he once again stumbles on his words, unable to get anything out that was understandable or could even pass as an actual sentence. he takes a deep breath, inching closer to you until your noses were almost touching.

"i'm sorry.." he mumbles, and you could truly tell he was, but after what he said; that wasn't enough. sorry wasn't ever going to be enough. before you even had time to think, his lips were pressed against yours and you couldn't help but melt at the feeling.

despite this being all you've ever wanted, it still felt wrong, it felt forced. so you pulled away, to jisung's surprise of course. "w-what.." he stuttered, looking at you with a saddened expression on his face.

"y-you- you can't just-" you stumble on your words, not being able to think of what to say, your mind so clouded by the feeling of jisung's lips on yours.

jisung stood up, looking worried, questioning whether he had made a mistake and whether he should have even turned up in the first place.

"you can't just kiss me like that!" you scolded, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at him, what seemed like hatred feeling your eyes. "you can't kiss me and expect everything to be okay, not after everything you've said! you don't get to say sorry and kiss me, things don't work that way jisung," you continued, feeling even more hurt than before.

"but i thought you- i thought you liked me.."

"whether i do or not, you can't just come here and kiss me like that after what you said to me. you can say you're sorry all you want but you don't accidentally say those things, you only say stuff like that if you truly believe it," you spoke, voice shaky whilst sticking up for yourself.

"i see.. yeah.. i get it" jisung chuckles sadly "dont worry, y/n," he says in an almost bitter tone. storming out just like he did a month prior.

in that moment, you pulled out your phone and messaged chenle.

'hey.. can we talk :)'

mark: 'of course! right now? i'm free!'

'please.. it's about jisung.. meet in the courtyard in 10, it's late so barely anyone will be there'

mark: 'sounds great! see you soon!'

jisung storms back to his dorm, slamming his door behind him due to the anger built up inside him.

so much rage and aggression was trying to claw his way out, that he let out a straight yell, knocking over one of his art desk.

after breathing for a moment, he picked up the canvas, noticing it was ripped down the middle. it was a painting of you; he hadn't been able to get you out of his thoughts, his mind racing back and forth, burdened by the image of you all day long. and whenever he feels, he paints. that's why almost all of his entire workload recently was infested with images of you, some small sketches, others big canvas pieces fit for a gallery.

"what am i gonna do?" he mumbles to himself, chucking himself down onto his bed and running his hand through his hair in defeat.

honestly, he was so confused and didn't even know how he was feeling anymore. for a while, he was convinced he liked jieun, seeing her every day caused a spark inside him to light up and he chose to chase it. but then there's you, he'd never noticed it until after the argument, but being away from you, not speaking to you or even being able to indulge in your presence was physically painful.

seeing you every day but feeling too ashamed to speak to you felt like something worse than torture, it became too much that he was convinced he'd rather die than be away from your bright light. after feeling such loss, despite still seeing you around, made him realise he didn't like jieun half as much as he thought.

the constant longing he felt for you, the need to be around you and see you, to touch and hear you was all too much for jisung.

he started to realise that he liked you. he.. he loved you.

and suddenly those 3 years of friendship didn't feel so platonic at all. it felt like every second you knew each other, you were in love.

i mean who platonically spoons their friends until they fall asleep, who platonically gives their friends forehead kisses, who platonically would do anything and everything for their friend just because they had asked you too.

"but now she hates me.." jisung whispers, eyes welling up in shame.

you stepped towards the bench you spotted mark sitting at.

barely anyone else was around at this time, besides two girls you recognised from one of your classes sitting towards the main doors gossiping about some random boy you'd never heard of.

"hey," mark hummed, giving you a comforting smile. "lola told me jisung came to see you earlier..."

"he kissed me," you blurt out. "w-what?" mark choked, extremely shocked by jisung's sudden and bold move.

"he kissed me," you repeated "he didn't even say anything, he didn't explain himself or anything of the sort. he just said two fucking words; i'm sorry; and then kissed me, and thought everything would be okay. i said he can't say or do what he did and expect a kiss to make everything better, and then he stormed off once again."

"i told him to talk to you... just not like that," mark sighed at the younger boy's actions. sure, chenle wanted you both to get along again; you were two of his best friends and seeing you not involved anymore was heartbreaking for him and the rest of the group, but he didn't think jisung would be so tone-deaf to the situation.

you and mark talked for a good hour, originally about jisung but then you delved into other topics as he saw talking about the boy was really starting to get you down, surely some other conversation would take your mind off things.

and suddenly, there he was again; jisung slumped through the doors that lead to the doors, instantly making eye contact with you and mark giggling at whatever you two were talking about at the time, and he saw red. he knew full well that mark was with lola, he knew you saw mark as an older brother but that didn't stop his mind from wandering and creating impossible scenarios as to why you were both out here so late. alone. together.

"what the fuck?" jisung yelled, thankfully, anyone else that was sitting outside was long gone. he approached you and mark, jaw clenched just like his fists. "what the fuck is this?"

"what is what?" mark asks in confusion at the boy's sudden surge of aggression.

"this!" jisung yells, pointing at the two of you. "whatever this is!"

"it's a couple of friends... talking," you reply dryly.

"talking about what? huh?"

"you.." mark chuckled "and how much of a dick you're being. playing with people's emotions isn't cool, man. kissing them? what were you thinking? did you really think kissing them would fix everything? don't be so delusional. do you even like them?"

"yes! of course i fucking do!" jisung replies. you could see the anger in jisung's face rising, not pleased by mark's constant digs. "and then i come out here to you and them giggling and being too friendly," he spits.

"at least i'm being nice, jisung. treating them how they're supposed to be treated," mark growls back, becoming progressively annoyed with how one of his best friends was acting towards you and the situation. "someone has to fucking do it," he finishes, rolling his eyes.

"don't you think- i've always fucking tried... you will never-" and suddenly, jisung's fist came in contact with mark's face, not even finishing his own sentence due to how much rage he was being to see.

"jisung! what the hell!" you yell, holding mark whose nose was now dripping crimson red. "what the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

"i.. i.. don't know," jisung stutters, not being able to process what just happened. "mark.. i'm sorry- i really didn't mean to. i just- i couldn't stop myself!"

"jisung just leave," you mutter, trying to clean u what blood you can with the sleeve of your shirt. but he just stood there, watching you, unable to speak or do anything at all. "i said leave!" you yelled again, tears in your eyes as he began to walk away.

it'd been a few days since anyone had heard or seen anything from jisung. but at this point, not many of you really wanted to see jisung in the first place, not after everything he's done. he was constantly in his room, locked up, painting pieces for days on end.

no sleeping, no eating, no nothing.

for once, he was truly alone, and he didn't like it at all.

in the few days of isolation, he managed to complete the biggest painting he'd ever done. it was an abstract piece, a result of him just throwing random paints at the canvas in anger to see how it'd turn out, and to his surprise, after some touching up, the image started to look just like you.

he smiled at the painting, remembering how beautiful you were at all points of the day. you were the most stunning person he'd ever laid eyes upon, no wonder you made such a perfect piece of art.

in that moment, his eyes started to tear up. he was worried, fear coursing through his veins with every beat of his heart.

he was honestly terrified; terrified of losing you.

and he feared that he already had.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Beyond the Hills: Part 4

Jake Seresin x Reader (College AU)

Main Masterlist, Beyond the Hills Masterlist

Summary: Technically, you and Jake Seresin have known each other for twelve years. All throughout your childhood education, you and Jake shared classes, lunch periods, homeroom teachers. It seemed if the opportunity for you to be in the same space arose, the universe made it happen. But you were not friends. Not enemies, either. Not much of anything to one another outside of the occasional class project partners. When high school ended you assumed you wouldn’t be seeing him any time soon, but then you find yourselves at the same college, and once again, forced together. It seems no matter where you go, Jake Seresin is there. But you are not the shy girl you were in your youth. You want to try things now; party, have fun, do things you’ve never done before, and suddenly, for reasons you don’t understand, Jake seems to take issue with your new choices.

Notes/warnings: just cursing, I think. Likely typos. I know people literally just voted for the second part of the Oh, Baby AU to be posted next, but this was almost done and I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish it.

Words: 1300

---

“So are we going to talk about why you’re being weird or are we ignoring it or…what���s the plan here?”

Jake was trying to drown out the noise—the hundreds of jumbling thoughts in his head, each containing a question that led to the same answer: He liked you. He wanted you; enough to have the prickling sensation rise over his skin that said it might even be more than that. He couldn’t deny how he sought you out, catching himself walking to the campus coffee shop he knew you frequented, or considering attending the senior art exhibit because Lydia had mentioned you’d be there. Maybe it was because he needed you, in some way. He didn’t want to need you, and unlikely was it that you wanted to be needed by a man you barely knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was a craving. A yearning for something sweet and gentle and wholly unique, unlike anything else. And that’s exactly what you were. Unlike anything else. Special.

“Not answering me is only adding to the weirdness,” Rooster said, snapping his fingers from across the room, hoping the high-pitched sound might draw his roommate’s attention. “Did you hear me?”

Jake finally raised his forearm from his face where it had been resting to block the light from the sun, and sat up in his bed. His heavy inhale was a relief, as if he hadn’t been breathing quite right and just didn’t realize it until he made the conscious effort. 

“I heard you,” Jake said, running a hand through his hair to straighten the locks ruffled by his pillow.

“Oh, so you were just being a dick,” Rooster huffed. 

“Well, maybe don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

“How was I supposed to know if you wanted to talk about it or not?” Rooster moved to his own bed, plopping down and leaning forward with his elbows resting atop his knees. He clasped his hands and his thumbs began a little war with one another. “I guess I won’t ask if this behavior has anything to do with her, then.”

Jake nodded and snatched his t-shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head. “Would be a waste of a question.”

The shake of Rooster’s head in response irritated Jake immensely, but he knew where the reaction was coming from, and it wasn’t exactly…unfair. “It’s been a week since the bar, man, and you haven’t made a single move,” Rooster said. It was just short of a scolding, forcing Jake to roll his eyes. “Not even a step.”  

“I know.”

“Not even an ant-sized step. I mean, snails move faster than you. Snails, Jake.”

“I know,” Jake groaned. “I just—” He matched Rooster’s position but let his face fall into his hands, rubbing them up and down to try to erase the tight knitting of his features. “I think I’m going crazy." His words were muffled into his palms, then he lifted his head to meet his friend’s stare. “No, I know I am. I’m fucking insane, actually. I’m practically addicted to this girl and I don’t even really know her.”

“You keep saying that, but maybe you do.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What?”

“You’ve always noticed her,” Rooster said. ��She’s been in your classes for years. You know some of the things she likes, and what might make her laugh. You know that she’s embarrassed when the rain turns her hair frizzy, but you think it’s cute anyway. You know that…” He paused to remember another of many on the list of reasons. “You know she really likes strawberry-flavored things. And you know—”

"This is making me sound like a creep. How do you even know all of that?”

“You spilled it after a few drinks the other night," Rooster replied, smirking at the memory. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve unintentionally gathered a lot of information over the last twelve years. Putting all of that together,” Rooster shrugged, “Of course you like her. Hell, before Lyd wrapped me around her little finger even I was getting ready to like her and all I knew about her was that she’s beautiful. You know much more. So cut yourself some slack. She’s clearly a hard girl not to like.”

Understatement, Jake thought. Severe understatement. Rooster had a point Jake couldn’t deny. He had noticed so much about you—more than perhaps reasonable—and the truth was he had all the tools and knowledge to bring a smile to your face any time he wanted to. So why hadn’t he? Why had he restrained himself, and why did he still feel the itch to continue doing so?

You aren’t good enough for her, his thoughts intruded. That’s why. She deserves someone who won’t—

“Ok, why don’t you just say it out loud?” Rooster said. “You know, release it from that bottled-up, guarded portion of your heart.” 

Jake knew the look on his face was suggesting his roommate was nothing short of ridiculous, but Rooster didn’t budge. 

“Go on,” he urged.

The blond’s brows dipped in the center, mildly insulted. But that’s what happens when someone pinpoints one of the few things you’d rather not discuss. And it was harder knowing Rooster of all people was so easily able to do the pinpointing. The man’s brain was consistently on partying or Lydia, partying with Lydia, sex with Lydia, sex with Lydia at a party—Lydia, Lydia, Lydia—and still he had enough room in his head to sense Jake’s walls. He wasn’t intimidated by them, either. Despite how sturdy, how thick and long those walls of Jake’s were, Rooster had no issue walking right up to them, rapping on the carefully stacked stone with determined knuckles, and declaring, without any hint of gentle sympathy, that his friend was being an idiot. 

Maybe he was being an idiot. 

“My heart is not guarded,” Jake defended…weakly. 

Rooster's look easily proved how unconvinced he was. But maybe Jake wasn’t truly trying to be convincing. It felt like lying to his father after a night getting high with his best friend back in high school. Useless. Pointless. His father could smell the weed cloud wrapped around his son, and any following words from Jake’s lips fell on deaf ears. 

“Fine,” Jake muttered, his heart jackrabbiting against his ribcage. He was thankfully for that cage. It kept the organ from breaking free from his body like it felt it was on the verge of doing. Jake pushed on. He pushed through the thumping in his ears “I…I like her.”

“And all was well.”

“Shut up.”

Rooster clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “So touchy. Let’s hope if you two get together she soothes that grumpiness.”

“I’m not grumpy," Jake lightly snapped. If said by Rooster a minute earlier, Jake would have been harsher, but the weight of his confession was lighter than the denial he’d been holding on to. He suddenly found himself less angry. Less tense. “I’ve been conflicted for weeks and it’s exhausting.”

Jake would’ve said more. The relief of letting it out—however initially reluctant—coaxed him to spill more of his secrets. The tale of his past was ready to tumble off his tongue. But there was a knock at the door.

“It’s unlocked, baby,” Rooster called. 

The smile Rooster greeted his girl with whenever she entered a room fell instantly at the sight of her face. The confident woman he knew didn’t worry her lip between her teeth. She didn’t wring her hands. And yet, in that very moment, she was doing just that.

Rooster rushed her way. "Lyd, what's wrong?"

She released that lip; ran her fingers through shiny platinum strands. Her sigh filled the silence in the room, then she said, "We've got a problem, gang."

---

A/N: I hope you liked it :) It’s painfully long overdue, and I apologize to those who had an attachment to the series. I genuinely didn’t think many people wanted it. I’m actually really happy and thankful that you guys encouraged me to continue this. Just a little tidbit: “I’m practically addicted to this girl and I don’t even really know her” was the line this series was built around. I thought it would be fun to mention. 

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @novagreen04 @memeorydotcom

[noses-in-winter]

Jack of All Clits (f/f, nsfw, sneezy lesbian porn cranked up SUPER high)

idk what it is but lately I have been INCAPABLE of writing anything that didn't involve a curvy girl sneezing, receiving sapphic head, and climaxing within a few hundred words of each other. This fic just happens to have all of that! Piper's my horny and perpetually stoned bisexual dumbass and Tourm is @virarushi's hot thicc girlboss gnome OC who sneezes about everything and has not yet had her bi awakening! Tourm is 4'5 and Piper's 5'6 so that's fun. :) Here's some art of her because she's hot! Anyway, to summarize: This is a 2.5k word fic in which Piper's going down on Tourm while she sneezes. They're roommates in grad school and Piper prides herself on being able to deliver bi awakenings.

To reiterate: this is nsfw so please do not interact if you're underage!! just block me!! thanks!! okay enjoooyyyyy ty

(Also to my awesome friends who read this in Discord, I DID add a few more horny details, just sayyin...okay anyway tyyy)

Piper was pretty sure Tourm had never climaxed at the hands (or dick, or mouth, or any combo of those things) of another sentient being. Based on what Piper had learned about her new roommate so far (mostly from asking Alexander), college was the first chance Tourm had ever really had to be away from her family’s rigid expectations and watchful eye. The poor bitch hadn’t ever even had her boob squeezed before! And there was a lotta boob-squeezing real estate there!

Tourm’s lack of preconceived expectations made Piper’s job all the easier. Not that she didn’t like a challenge, of course. But, now she could put all her focus into just getting Tourm to--

“Haah--! F-Fuuuuuuucking Void, Pipes…”

--moan, even if it was not done with near the amount of volume that Piper had anticipated. She expected Tourm’s--

“Mmmhhmm--!” 

--sounds of pleasure to be just as loud and take-charge as her sounds of laughter, anger and annoyance. As Piper had quickly figured out, Tourm was not a throw her head back and cry out with every rock of her hips kind of girl. Would have been hot if she was! But Piper also liked Tourm’s brand of quivering through the arousal, letting out steady moans that evidently came right from the g-spot. That was…actually a lot hotter than the first option. Piper didn’t have to keep an ear out for anyone drawing closer to their room. She could just keep making Tourm squirm. 

“Mmmmhfhhh, fuck. Aah--!”

And, Christ, was it fun to make her squirm.

“Mmmn…MMhmm…Fuck,” Tourm exhaled audibly in a proper English accent that could rival Solara’s. Piper didn’t tease her about it the way she normally might. She simply focused on keeping this pelvis-rolling rhythm going. Piper would have commended Tourm for figuring out the desired beat of her drum, were her tongue not occupied with the shorter coed’s labia. With Tourm’s calves draped over Piper’s shoulders and her hips angled upward, Piper went down on her in a very literal sense. Coupled with two pillows beneath the small of Tourm's back to keep her sex elevated, it made quite the memorable impact. It was Piper's go-to move when someone neeeeeded a good mouthfucking the way Tourm did. Piper prided herself on being able to get hookups to forget aaaaall about sheltered upbringings and disappointed families with the use of her nuclear-powered tongue work. 

Piper’s eyes flickered over to her phone, propped up on Tourm’s bedside table. The stopwatch read: Six minutes and fifteen seconds…sixteen…seventeen…Shit! She was running out of time. Time to pull out the big guns.

Thus far, Piper had been using the tip of her tongue to tease at Tourm’s g-spot. As Tourm evidently grew closer and closer to completion, Piper opted to switch things up a bit. She eased her tongue in farther, just enough to rub the stud of her piercing against the roof of Tourm’s cunt. The warm skin of her g-spot was raised, more than already activated with sensitivity and arousal. Judging by the new way Tourm’s thighs trembled around Piper’s ears, the move felt just as good between her legs as she had hoped. 

Tourm breathed heavily, one hand gripping the blankets beneath her while the other had her fingers tangled in Piper’s hair. She continued to groove against her roommate’s tongue in whatever way she could. “ohhh--ohhhFUUuuuuck, Pi---hi-hhh--?”

Piper wasn’t exactly sure what set Tourm off. Most likely, it was just the fact that Tourm was a gnome that simply existed. No matter the cause of the evident irritation in her nose, the first snag of Tourm’s breath sounded confused, as if she hadn’t realized this was coming. Her voice went a touch high with desperation as her nostrils flared, and then rested again, and then repeated the process to the same beat that she panted in. 

Tourm was sure gearing up for one hell of a sneeze that didn’t seem like there was going to be any attempted cover in sight. Piper couldn’t blame her. She was sure that being eaten out was the only thought and feeling and need in Tourm’s head at the moment. 

Tourm’s budding sneezes had her breath seesawing on beat with Piper’s tongue work urging her into the mattress. Finally, Tourm’s whole cunt clenched around Piper’s tongue as she sneezed at last, a cute “hh’chisshiew!” that Piper was more than used to hearing, along with the seeeeveral that always followed. The release peppered her shirt, bare thighs aaaand Piper with the results. Piper made a little noise of surprise when Tourm, fingers still wound in her hair, wound up pushing her face further against her sex. Immediately, Tourm let out a congested little moan, pelvis rising without her control in an effort to receive more and more and more of Piper’s tongue as she geared up for the next sneeze.

 Piper was happy to keep up, but withdrew from Tourm’s sex for just a moment. “Bless you. Sneeze all you need, babes, okay? Just aim somewhere that’s not me,” she teased lightheartedly.

Tourm took in another fluttery sniffle with a dazed nod, unable to offer even half a joking response. She just barely managed to pull the collar of her oversized sleep shirt over her nose with clumsy fingers as she drew closer— 

“hhih!”

 — and closer--

 “h-hehh—!”

 —to sneezing again. 

“hhhh!’chzsshiew!”

After several moments spent in limbo, Tourm’s hips bucked with yet another sneeze. By the sounds of things, this one came with a deluge of mess that was contained to her shirt. She let out a congested exhale that immediately turned into another heady snag of her breath that led to Tourm sneezing twice more. “sszsschiew--adt’chzsschiew!”

Piper opted to take this opportunity to use her thumbs to ease up the delicate hood that protected Tourm’s clit. Piper dipped her head down to greet it with her lips.  “Good giiiiiirl,” she hummed, voice shifting into a little purr as she praised Tourm’s last-minute success of covering her nose as Piper had instructed. “Bless you…”

Tourm gave a close-mouthed little sound of pleasure that could certainly be described as a whimper. Piper couldn’t tell if that was simply out of the stimulation she had been experiencing for the past (one more glance at the stopwatch) seven minutes and thirty-four seconds, or if that praise had done something hot to her. That could be figured out later. Just a little over two minutes left for Piper to push Tourm over the edge of climax. She could so goddamn do this. 

Tourm sniffled heavily with a murmur that probably had some intelligent meaning behind it, but only sounded like horny gibberish to Piper. The self-proclaimed master of orgasms didn’t ruminate on it long. Through the blond curls between Tourm’s legs, Piper took her clit fully between her lips to suck at. She wasn’t surprised by Tourm’s immediate gasp in response, or the needy buck of her pelvis. Tourm moaned through the fabric of her sleep shirt that she had less and less of a hold on as Piper rocked against her rhythmically with every sneeze…

“chissch!”

 And sneeze. 

“ischhoo!”

And a few more sneezes after that.

“iht’chisshiew! F-fucki’g shi--hihh!—kisschiew! hadt’DJISHiew!”

 Each time she geared up for a new sneeze, Tourm’s back arched up from the bed in a desperate squirm before making her buckle again in what looked like the world’s most effective ab workout. Those sneezes were rapidly starting to get away from her. 

“I’m…” Tourm trailed off, dropping her hand from its place of holding her sleep shirt. She instead used both hands to grip the blankets beneath her. Her shirt remained tented, held up only by her nose. That would be changing once she got a few more sneezes out, Piper was sure. Tourm was no longer capable of giving a fuck about a single thing other than her body’s powerful and simultaneous urges to climax and sneeze, sneeze and climax. “I’m g—gonna …hohhhh, fuuuuck….”

“Gonna what, babe?” Piper hummed during a brief pause in her stimulating efforts. “Cum? Or sneeze?”

Tourm gave one shallow nod, evidently an answer to both. Even though the bottom half of her face was covered by her sleep shirt, Piper could see that next sneeze coming from a mile away. Canted eyebrows, a shuddering inhale, the brief, sudden stillness of Tourm’s legs draped over Piper’s shoulders--

Haaaht--?!”

Oh, this was gonna be messy--

“CHIZSCCHhoo!”

Tourm sneezed. Productively, if the sudden splatter of wetness from the inside of her top gave any indication. Dampness bled through the cotton, turning the plain heather gray t-shirt into more of a slate color in several spots. Tourm snuffled and got a fistful of the shirt, drawing it up to scrub at her itchy nostrils. Piper could only see the underside of Tourm’s tits shifting, quivering along to the movement of the rest of her body, as well as the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Piper didn’t bless her this time, simply choosing to hum as she tended to Tourm’s clit. This felt nice, apparently, judging by the shivering clench of Tourm’s thighs. Piper needed no further encouragement to keep humming and teasing and sucking until Tourm’s head pressed back into her pillow. The tip of her nose was perfectly perpendicular with the ceiling, reddened nostrils flaring as she came--

“OhhHHHHFFFffuuucuuuccckkkk….”

--hard with a shuddering moan that squeezed Piper’s ears between her thighs. Fuck yeah! She was so gonna win---

Nope. Ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Fuck! So close! Piper had nothing to complain about, though. That was fun. And hot. Super, actually fucking hot.

 Unable to properly tend to her clit anymore with how tightly Tourm’s thighs held her, Piper instead moved back down to Tourm’s labia. She delivered a few finalizing strokes with her tongue to Tourm’s heated sex as it pulsed rhythmically with the highs of orgasm. Tourm was quiet for several moments as she collected herself, save for heavy inhales and exhales, before she let out a little noise that sounded like a cross between a moan and a laugh once Piper’s tongue piercing massaged along her…shit, what was that part called? Her fourchette? Something French, Piper remembered, but she didn’t spend long on remembering the name. She simply continued with her tongue’s easy kneading of this evidently pleasurable (and ticklish) spot.

Tourm slowly untensed, legs remaining draped over Piper’s shoulders. Her hips continued to move lazily in response to the stimulation of her fourchette, but in a more relaxed way that suggested she was simply enjoying this little pleasure, even if she was still too sensitive to achieve orgasm again. She sniffled, palming the underside of her overstimulated nose. “Okay…Fuck. I gotta give it to you, Twintails. That…wasn’t bad,” Tourm chuckled, her accent slowly shifting back to that Cockney she always aimed for. She sniffled again, reaching for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand. She drew it closer to her, setting the box on the comforter as she plucked out several tissues. “Guess you’re--sdf! Good at more than just settin’ shit on fire and annoyin’ Moseley with me.” 

Tourm buried her nose into the tissues and delivered the first few seconds of a hardy blow before she was interrupted by another sneeze. Ope--and then two more. Piper gave Tourm’s sex one last parting little lick before easing back, wiping her mouth (and cheeks…and chin...and nose…Jesus, Tourm had been soaked) on her sleeve. She stood, easing Tourm’s legs down from their resting place on her shoulders to retrieve her phone from the nightstand.

 Tourm sniffled into her now-useless tissues, looking up at Piper with cracked, teary eyes. “I win?” she asked with a smirk that promptly collapsed into a sneezy snarl--

“adt'IZSSCHSHuh!”

-- that resulted in another heavy sneeze all down her shirt. Tourm grimaced, making a little noise of disgust as she moved to a sitting position and saw just how thoroughly peppered with sneezes both the inside and outside of her shirt were. “Eugh. Gross.” 

Piper snorted with a little smirk of her own as she started for Tourm’s dresser. “Bless y--”

“’chzsshiew!”

Piper gave an impressed whistle as she opened the top drawer, rifling through Tourm’s various shirts. She didn’t look at Tourm just yet, but it was audible in that grumbled snuffling that that sneeze hadn’t been pretty. Piper couldn’t help an amused little smile to herself as she picked out a new top for Tourm. She unfolded it, giving the garment only a brief look before shaking her head and beginning to fold it again. Way too tight for comfortable sleep. Piper did like this shirt, though. If her tits were half as impressive as Tourm’s, she would have been wearing it every other day. “Bless you, infinity. Get ‘em out, babe.” 

Tourm snorted ticklishly, knuckling at one nostril through her bundle of tissues. She blew her nose and actually managed to finish without being interrupted by a sneeze. “So?” she asked with an amused smirk in her voice. “I won, right?”

Piper rolled her eyes fondly, examining another shirt. Nope. Fabric was way too thin for a chilly April night like this. “Fiiiine. Yeah. Just by, like, twenty seconds, though. I’m sure I would have made it without those several sneezy disruptions, but I’m no sore loser.”

“Hah!” came Tourm’s little snicker. “You owe me fift--sdff! Ugh…F-fihh--hihh! I--”

Tourm sneezed behind Piper’s back, another productive sound that had her groaning again in the aftermath. Once Piper turned back around, a perfect sleep shirt in hand, Tourm was already pulling her messy top off. She removed her shirt the way a guy might, Piper noticed, pulling it up from the back. She wiped her nose with it before giving it a lazy toss to the carpet. Tourm leaned back slightly in bed, supporting herself with both hands as she sniffled. Piper, the slut she was, could do absolutely nothing but stare at the way the evidence of all of those sneezes just made Tourm’s tits shimmer in the lamplight. And then how they--

“Hhh--! hadt’DJISHiew!”

--bounced with another heady, uncovered sneeze that simply provided the same glitter-esque shine to her chest. She let out a stuffy exhale in the aftermath that sent a bolt of horny lightning down Piper’s spine. That…really had sounded like another moan, hadn’t it?

Damn it. She wanted to make her moan again. 

“Double or nothing.” 

Tourm looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, tits settling after that shivery sneeze. “Huh?” Piper didn’t even hand Tourm the new top, simply tossing it to a cluttered desk. She made her way back to Tourm’s bed and took her by the bicep with one hand lightly enough that Tourm could move away if she wasn’t into it. “Lemme try again,” she said, more of a command than a request. “Double or nothing if I can do it in eight.” 

Judging by Tourm’s expression, she very much was into this. Piper took this as a cue to ease her free hand to cup Tourm’s warm, damp tit. Tourm evidently couldn’t help a quivering little exhale, lashes fluttering as Piper thumbed her nipple. Just as Piper would expect her to, though, Tourm immediately shifted her look into one of cockiness rather than the evident need that was there.  “You’re on.”

[seaskate]

I know that it's been theorized who from the ada is going to the PM because of the deal and everyone has been drawing parallels and ideas on who it could be, but one thing that I dont see may people looking at is behavior.

Personally I think that it will be Dazai that will go, he's the logical choice and would act as the best bridge between the ada and the pm, especially since Kunikida was named to become the next president and Dazai is his partner, so if Dazai were to go back and become boss at some point then that relationship is already there and is better than Mori's and Fukuzawa's from the start.

There has been a lot of points made about Dazai not being with the Agency when they are all gathered together (like that one manga panel or the party after the Guild or Kyouka's party) and how he appears more with or parallels Mori more in the intro than before (all of which is true) but we dont talk enough about how his behavior had been changing since episode one.

Dazai in episode one was only serious for maybe a small handful of seconds of screentime during the tiger debacle in the warehouse, when no one else was around to see. We can easily assume that home acting like a class clown happened more often than not from the way that he acts in the series. However, ever since the introduction of Atsushi and the Port Mafai in the series, Dazai has been slowly acting more serious than before.

In the first season alone, He sets it up so that the Azure Poet is killed and doesnt show any emotion when Kunikida tells at him for it. He bugs Higuchi and listens in on her and then basically goads Akutagawa into declaring war. Small instances, but close together.

When the Guild came there were more. There was the Q incident at the train where he all but threatened to kill the child and then slapped Atsushi out of a panic attack (which pain is actually one of the easier ways to remove someone from a panic attack, which is why people often dig in their nails or snap bands at their wrist when they feel one coming, but that's another argument to be had) which was effective but anyone else in the ada would have attempted another method. There was the Moby Dick and how he acted with Akutagawa there. And the meeting between the Ada and the pm where Dazai talked about war strategy. He blew up Lovecraft and allowd Chuuya to kill countless Guild hired guns when they ambushed him during that same instance.

None of those actions were things that someone at the ada likely would have done before the current arc. But now Dazai is continually acting in such away more often. Acting less like a detective and more like a mafioso.

He's relying on the mafia more often too.

Dazai had gone two years without any mafia contact while at the Agency, but now he's going to art museums with Hirostu and met with Akutagawa in the woods. That's not counting Chuuya and how they have worked together three times now in as many months, if you count Dead Apple, this current time in which Mori even helped with the fake vampire teeth. Not only that, but Dazai still calls Chuuya his partner. Not former partner, current.

Dazai dances on a fine line between good and evil, even as he believes in neither, but if it means that he could save those that he’s come to care for then he doesn’t hesitate to cross it (murder isn’t exactly condoned at the Agency, yet that’s exactly what he did to Fyodor - I know that he came back, but still - and has set up for Chuuya to do to those that had stood in their way since reuniting. Like the prison guards). Mori - who still has the executive seat waiting for Dazai to reclaim it, and had told Oda four years ago that Dazai would likely be boss in a few years time - knows this.

Yosano thought that this deal was a ploy for Mori to get her back, but she wasn’t the only child that he lost to the Agency. If we adds this to the paraless in the opening that exist and the fact that Dazai had been acting more and more like the Demon Prodigy with each season, Chuuya, and his place as an executive, it wouldn’t be surprising if he was the one chosen.

[wordsarelife]

Can you write a George Karim x reader fic with early morning cuddles? 🙏🙏

—daylight

pairing: george karim x reader

summary: early morning cuddles, mostly just fluff

you stretched you arms out, turning around in the bed and facing, what was meant to be your boyfriend. but to your worry, the side of the bed was empty, covers thrown away lazily and no trace of the boy you loved. there was a moment of hesitation, in which you considered just screaming his name, scared that something has happened, but before you could do anything, you heard the familiar scraping of a pen on paper.

as you looked up towards the desk, you could see the back of his head.

"Georgie?" you mumbled, voice still raspy, the tiredness not having left your body just now.

"oh!" he turned around to look at you "you're awake already" he had to snicker at the state of your hair, you always messed it up with your hands while you slept. not even his own hair was safe from it.

you threw a look towards the clock at your right and understood why George was questioning why you were already awake. it was only six.

"why are you up, baby?" you muttered and Georges cheek tinted pink by the nickname. but there was only so much you could see of his face, considering that it was so early and you were living in London. "come back to bed, so we can sleep some more"

George contemplated, before he finally shook his head "I'm sorry, y/n" he said "I really have to finish this"

"ugh" you replied "can't you continue working at like nine or something? if it's lockwood who's--"

"--it's not lockwood" George interrupted "I really want to finish this"

"do it later" you tried again "please, baby. come back to bed"

George had already turned around to his desk, when his head suddenly shot in the air at your words. the usage of the nickname seemed to absolutely confuse and flatter him at the same time. he threw a last look to the writings on the desk, before he got up and crossed the room.

as he came closer you could see how red his face had gotten. he took of his glasses and crawled into bed beside you.

"alright" he said, opening his arms, so you could lay on his chest "just promise me that lockwood won't ever find out about that nickname, okay?"

"you don't like it?" you pouted, turning your head so you could catch his eyes, he was already looking at you.

"of course I do" he took great offence to you thinking otherwise. "it's just-- I mean, you know lockwood. he wouldn't shut up about it"

"lockwood is a dick" you nodded, thinking back to that head size drawing you had done on the thinking cloth. you had never spent as much time fighting a ghost, then you had painting that picture of lockwood getting his head bitten off by a shark.

"I love you y/n" George muttered, while his eyes slowly closed. his hair was tickling your forehead and you smiled at the overworked boy, your overworked boy. glad that he was getting some sleep now, even if you practically had to flirt him back to back

is arms were draped around you, while you snuggled your head into the crouch of his neck, planting a kiss next to his collarbone, before you returned to your position on his chest.

"night, baby" you responded and watched as Georges cheeks grew flustered once again. then you closed your eyes. still wrapped up in the boy by your side.

it didn't even take a week, until lockwood heard of your new nickname for George, making fun of it the whole time the team was on a mission. later that day, you drew another piece of art, which featured lockwood being chased by a killer, holding an axe, while you and George stood next to them, getting married.

hopefully that scenery would come true some day. well at least half of it, you didn't really believe in weddings that much.

[lolotheparagon]

Rating Every TNBA Redesign Cos Why Not

The New Batman Adventures was the last season of the infamous Batman the Animated Series, although it moved to another less strict network. Because the producers wanted to do crossovers with the Superman animated series, they gave the series and its characters a more streamlined style to it. Now I dont wanna blame Bruce Timm entirely since there were many artists on staff back then who did the redesigns but because I hate this coomer, Im going to anyway. In BTAS, you can tell each character apart and they have their own unique outfits and looks to them. But here, these are some of the most unimaginative superhero/villain designs Ive ever seen. Although some did surprise me and were not that bad. So, for a bit of fun, here's my look at each Batman character's redesign in the final (and worst) season of the show.

(Not counting Robin cos he's a different character to Dick Grayson or characters that had very little changes like Clayface or Harley Quinn)

Batman

The big emo rodent himself. For his redesign, I like the more sleek look to Batman's cape...thats it. His original design is really hard to perfect. Its got everything. Why tamper with perfection?

Batgirl

I actually kinda like Batgirl's redesign. The yellow gloves and boots really help her stand out and its the one of the few times the darker toned outfits actually accentuate a design rather than ruin it. Too bad Bruce Timm couldn't stop salivating over her and the rest of the women in this show. So next time you see someone consider Bruce Timm this legendary storyteller of Batman, give them a healthy reminder that he shipped this college girl character with her mentor/surrogate uncle figure FOR YEARS.

Alfred

Its like they sucked away all of Alfred's snark and replaced it with a cardboard cutout. Literally, he looks so sterile and empty. Who had the idea of making Alfred look more bored and done with everything? Also whats wrong with his chin??

Commissioner Gordon

Good ole Commissioner Pringle got off pretty much unscathed but I think they made him a touch too old considering they gave him a more lanky body, which makes him look more feeble and weak. Dude looks old enough to be Babs' grandad

Joker

Ohhhhh boy. So Joker's redesign is infamously considered by fans as one of the show's worst redesigns, to a point even the showrunners were like yeahh. And thats not unwarranted. He looks like an inverted Dr Draken and im so glad they redesigned him again for Batman Beyond and onward.

Seriously he's A CLOWN WHERES THE MAKE UP?!!

Two-Face

I know Two Face is just a redrawn version of the original design with the TNBA streamlined art style but I want to draw special attention to the monster side of Dent's face. Notice in the original it looks more manic and feral? Heavily contrasted with the conflicted, guilty look on Dent's normal side? But here, in the redesign the monster side is less scary and Dent looks way too bored and angry. The overuse of black lines doesnt help.

Catwoman

She looks like Harley Quinn or Barbara wearing a catsuit. Starting to see a pattern here?

Baby Doll

Its a tough call cos they both look very good but Im gonna lean towards the redesign cos shes got that creepy doll look down to a T (Annabelle would be proud) whereas her original design looked more like a Tiny Toons character.

Scarface and the Ventriloquist

I like the redesign cos of the exaggerated style of the rest of the show perfectly captures Scarface since he's, yknow, a puppet and having the Ventriloquist be shown to be scared and submissive really does show how the puppet is ironically the puppetmaster.

Penguin

Actually I like both of them. They both give off that sophisticated element Penguin is known for and after so many reiterations of him being this crass Scouse-talking crime boss, its nice to see versions of him going back to his rich asshole roots.

Bane

In the original, he has a luchador-style mask and wrestling suit fitting his Spanish roots. Here, he straight up looks like a gimp. Its really bad. Embrace your heritage, Bane!

Riddler

They went from Frank Gorshin to Jim Carrey for Riddler (fitting cos Batman Forever came during TNBA's development) and I love that. So I love both of them. Nice to see a villain with some fucking colour in TNBA cos im tired of seeing all this black outfits. Also his cane being an extended question mark instead of a question mark on top of a regular cane is genius.

Mad Hatter

Both of them fit Hatter's deranged stalker vibes perfectly, but I wish they kept the colour scheme for the redesign cos Hatter's new colour scheme looks too rounded and doesnt stand out.

Poison Ivy

Killer Croc

Finally, now he looks like an actual crocodile instead of whatever the hell he was supposed to be!

Scarecrow

Okay, who the fuck decided to make Scarecrow look like the Babadook? Cos I want to give them a raise. Holy mother of piss, that is terrifying. That shit belongs in the Arkham games. I still prefer the old design cos it has that perfect blend of goofy and gothic. He looks like a Cacturne now that I think about it.

Mr Freeze

HONEY WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU?!! WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING FUTURAMA HEAD?!! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?! YOU HURT MY HUSBAND, TIMM, NOW ITS PERSONAL

[balaenabooks]

Unpainted to the Last: Moby-Dick and Twentieth-Century Art by Elizabeth A. Schultz is a cool book and I recommend it to my Whale Weekly peeps (after y'all are done with the actual Moby Dick itself because Unpainted obviously contains spoilers), but I really want to talk about this cover illustration for a second, since Ishmael's talking about erroneous and less-erroneus pictures of whales right now.

This illustration is a preliminary sketch for a Moby Dick mural in the New Bedford Whaling Museum, done by artist, author, and biologist Richard Ellis (I recommend his book Monsters of the Sea). Here is a better quality image, albeit in black and white:

There was a post going around in the Whale Weekly tag that went something along the lines of "if you're a professional illustrator and you draw Moby Richard looking like just a normal whale instead of a Dark Souls boss, you're doing it wrong" and while I do sort of agree (I also might have reblogged it at some point), there's really something to be said for Moby Richard not only looking like a normal whale, but also behaving like a normal whale, as is illustrated above, where Moby is hanging out with his girlfriends.

Or here, below, with a younger, relatively harpoon-free Moby and possibly another girlfriend.

It's stuff like this where you step back a little from Moby Dick the Monster or Moby Dick the Unfeeling God and just see Moby Dick the Animal. Do those harpoons hurt? Does he get sunburns? Squid can see in the dark; does Moby's white skin make it harder for him to sneak up them? Aside from the normal solitary behavior of mature bull sperm whales, does he feel a bit like an outcast?

I don't know how to end this, so here's a pic of the New Beford Whaling Museum's annual Moby Dick Marathon, with Richard Ellis' Moby Dick mural in the background.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] My Song Can But Borrow Your Grace

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 6867 Tags: Dragon AU, Top Dream, Bottom Hob, dragon sex, dragon x human sex, in appearance at least, they're both dragons but Hob is in his human form, anal sex, shapeshifting, size kink, kind of, does this count as macro/mini maybe?, self-lubricating dragon dick, rimming, oral sex, a brief moment of mild sounding, anal gaping, creampie, come eating, cuddling, protective Dream, needy Hob, inspired by fic, inspired by art

Notes: This is smutty fanfic for Flatter the Mountain Tops by @teejaystumbles , specifically inspired by this art and this art. Tashina, thank you so much for letting me play with them - they were a delight to write for and I hope I've done them justice.

***If you're somehow here without having read Flatter the Mountain Tops, please be aware there are spoilers herein and this will make better sense if you've read that first.***

Summary: Hob wants Dream in dragon form to fuck him while he stays in human form; Dream is beginning to see there's more to it than just a size kink

On AO3

It would be easy to grow frustrated that Hob so often comes to him like this, yes, but. Dream understands. He knows Hob's love for humans, Hob's love of his own human shape, and he is not so unyielding as to deny his sweet amber the right to these preferences.

And besides. It is undeniably pleasant, to stretch out on his back, to have Hob's small human body perched naked atop him like this, bedecked in treasures he has selected from Dream's hoard—gold and silver chains strung with glittering gems looping about his neck and nestling into the hair on his chest, bangles and bracelets lining his wrists and arms and ankles, bejeweled rings adorning his fingers. Hob's hands stroking and petting through the soft downy feathers of Dream's belly leave him purring; he enjoys the way Hob's small human prick ruts through those same feathers while Hob rubs the cleft of his buttocks up and down against the slick exposed shaft of Dream's sex, and the way he reaches behind to angle it down and then scoots forward, lifts himself to squirm back against the tip, as if a dragon cock could possibly fit within a human arse—this never fails to stoke the heat in Dream's blood.

But tonight, Hob is not drawing up and away to transform, that they might couple properly in dragon form. No, tonight, he is still reaching behind himself and stroking the tip of Dream's cock, eliciting a rumbling purr as pleasure cascades through Dream in waves—and then he is holding it firmly against himself, rising up on his knees and bearing down upon it where he has worked himself open, is straining to tuck it within him as he sometimes does.

Dream stills, allows the indulgence; it is a heady feeling, Hob's small and delicate body stretched tight about the narrow tip of his sex, and he is always careful not to move until Hob has transformed or pulled off again.

But Hob does neither, this time.

Instead, he spreads his legs a little wider, knees damp with sweat against Dream's feathers, and the shift pushes Dream a fraction further inside him. The sound Hob makes is not entirely one of pleasure, and his scent spikes with something that is not fear and not pain, but might become either one very easily.

Dream's talons are poised along Hob's thighs, where he has been idly stroking while Hob plays; now, he settles them lightly, barely pricking against Hob's skin, a hint of a warning. "Hob."

Hob makes no answer, but squirms another centimeter onto Dream's cock instead. He leans forward with a gasp, shifting Dream within him, bracing both hands on Dream's belly. His face is flushed and damp, more exertion than pleasure, and Dream curves the length of his neck up to flick his tongue against Hob's cheek, scenting and tasting in equal measure. He smells of want, of intent, of determination, and Dream's body answers with a growl that resonates deep in his chest, vibrating the ruby and the other adornments that Hob had fastened about him.

"Hob."

"I can take it." Hob's voice is taut and trembling, but his eyes are bright and his mouth wet and smiling when he meets Dream's gaze. "I want it. Like this."

And Dream. He can imagine it, for just an instant, the impossibly tight grip of Hob stretched all around him, the pleasure of sinking fully into him; he flexes, minutely, and Hob jolts with a moan at the movement.

Dream blinks away the fantasy, strokes his talons restlessly over Hob's thighs, wings fluttering up around them both like feathered privacy screens. Hob is physically incapable of what he says he wants, his human form far too small to accommodate Dream's length and girth, but he continues to try all the same. He is making beautiful little sounds of effort, the scent of his determination rising from him in waves. None of it ever quite crosses over into pain but it is a very near thing, and Dream's feathers rustle slightly in agitation. His mate risks harming himself, and every instinct clamors to intervene, to prevent, to protect.

Hob drops down to brace on his elbows, the jewelry hung about his neck swinging to brush Dream's belly, knees spreading wider as he pushes carefully back onto Dream's length a little more. His breath sucks in sharply, sweat beading on his brow.

"Enough." Dream cannot let this continue. "Just change, Hob. Stop being so stubborn."

"Ah—n-no!" Hob pants, face tightly drawn, continuing to flex around the minimal bit of Dream within him, intent on working it deeper. "I-I'm fine!" His own prick is rigid where it hangs beneath his belly, dripping intermittently into Dream's feathers.

Dream wants to believe him, that he can bend his body to his will, wants to let him have this when it clearly means a great deal to him. But he can feel how Hob is stretched dangerously around him, one sharp move away from tearing, can scent the anxiety of pain mounting underneath whatever pleasure Hob may still be feeling.

"Hob. Stop."

Hob's fingers clench in Dreams feathers, bracelets clinking as he forces a little more of Dream's length inside him, long hair swinging to obscure his face. Dream's talons clench in turn, grazing hard over Hob's trembling thighs, drawing tiny rivulets of blood.

"I said stop!" He is alarmed, at this point, worried for Hob's safety and aggravated by his stubbornness. Hob lifts his gaze to Dream's, face flushed and damp, teeth gritted and eyes feverish with lust and determination, and rocks another increment back on and down.

"Hob!" Panic seizes Dream. "Oh, for the love of—" He shifts beneath Hob, changing his own form, shrinking into his human skin to match his stubborn mate. "Just so you know," he gasps, talons that are not quite human hands sliding around Hob's hips, "I am very angry that you made me do this!" And as his transformation halts, leaving him mostly human yet unmistakably still Dragon, the reduced length and girth of his cock allow it to slide fully and swiftly into Hob's opened body with a jolt.

Hob throws his head back at the sudden shock of falling onto it, of having Dream abruptly buried to the hilt within him; he's frozen in place, trembling, eyes wide and mouth open, a thin sound warbling out of his throat. Fluid dribbles from his rigid prick to pool on Dream's belly and his scent flares with pleasure, sharp and immediate.

Dream snarls, his own lust flaring in response, and rolls them over in a flurry of displaced feathers. His clawed fingers grip Hob's buttocks tightly, keeping them pressed flush together as he comes up on top and surges over Hob. The ruby hung around his neck drags through Hob's chest hair, makes tinkling little noises against the gold and silver draped about Hob as Dream plants his semi-shifted talons into the furs on either side of Hob and thrusts.

Hob cries out, scrabbling for a grip on Dream's biceps, legs tangling behind him as Dream thrusts hard again and again, setting into a brutal rhythm. The rings on Hob's fingers are digging into his newly-human skin and Hob's voice is sweet in his ears, singing his pleasure in a desperate cadence. Hob's scent wafts about him, less potent to his human nose but still fragrant with arousal, with lust and needs-met and building anticipation; Hob is beautiful underneath him, the mahogany of his hair splayed over the dark furs that Dream keeps for his comfort, glinting auburn and gold as he tosses his head, treasures from Dream's hoard glittering at his ears and neck and limbs.

Dream loses himself for a moment, fucking wildly into Hob as his emotions churn from aggravation at Hob's stubbornness to relief that he hasn't harmed himself and then subsume into the inferno of his own desire, the joy and the pleasure of having Hob as his even if they're both in human form, even if Hob is infuriatingly reckless and stubborn. He slows as his ardor settles and his temper cools, lengthening his strokes, shifting to curl Hob's legs more closely about himself, leaning down to nuzzle his soft naked cheek against Hob's beard while he rocks into him. His human body cannot purr the same way his true form does, but there is a rumbling growl of contentment rising in his chest all the same.

Hob's sounds of pleasure soften and his scent blooms with adoration as Dream noses against his throat, nibbles gently, his teeth dragon-sharp in his human mouth. He glides up to Hob's ear, tugs lightly on the earring there and shifts his weight. He is deep within Hob and holds his movements slow and steady, lifts his head and brings a clawed hand to comb through Hob's hair while he gazes down into his face.

"Why are you so intent on taking my true size in your human shape?" He has calmed, yes, but he does not understand, and so he asks.

Hob slides both hands up into Dream's hair and combs through it in turn, the same as Dream has done to him, an intimate gesture of grooming that never fails to make Dream's insides melt, just a little.

"Well, part of it's just that…I like the stretch? Something big can feel nice, and I like to see how far I can go sometimes."

Dream suppresses a snort of irritation, does not roll his eyes; Hob is entitled to whatever kinks he likes without being judged for them, regardless of Dream's personal opinion of the wisdom involved. "So it is the challenge that appeals."

"Yes and no? Sometimes the challenge is fun, but really I just like—" He breaks off as Dream rolls softly into him again, takes a deep breath. "I like how it feels to be so filled up, but it's best when—I want to be all filled up, by you. As much as possible. I want to feel every bit of you, stretching tight inside me, to feel small and helpless and safe because you're so much bigger. I-I know you'll take care of me, that kind of thing?" He pauses, bites his lip, adorably flushed and endearingly earnest as he speaks his mind. "I want you to mount me in dragon form while I'm still in human shape," he finally blurts, the color on his face deepening, but now that it's said he pushes on. "I want to feel all of you, everywhere around me and in me, I want your touch and your smell all over me inside and out, I want to be so thoroughly claimed that no one can ever doubt that I belong to you—" He breaks off, and his beautiful amber eyes lower, cast to the side, away from Dream. "I want the human me to be as much yours as the dragon me. And I know it's kind of physically impossible, but that doesn't stop me wanting it. Sorry if that's too much."

Hob is not articulating it as such, but Dream thinks he is beginning to understand what is at the heart of this desire. Hob had been small and helpless and in need of protection, the very first time their paths crossed, and Dream had offered neither shelter nor succour; instead, out of his head in his own grief, he had chased the desperate fledgling back into the night to fend for himself. It was hundreds of years in the past but had torn a rift between them when it came to light in their current relationship; the rift has since been mended, certainly, and Hob has selflessly forgiven him, but it is not unthinkable that Hob still carries insecurities about it buried deep in his psyche. To be taken and mated, then, accepted, claimed in his smallest weakest form, by Dream at his mightiest—it stands to reason that old wounds might thus be soothed.

And Dream wishes, above all else, to bring happiness to his mate.

He growls softly and dips to kiss Hob, that very human gesture of passion and affection that he knows Hob so favors, and rolls them back over so that Hob is on top. "No desire of yours will ever be too much," he vows, reaching up and stroking through Hob's hair again, drawing gentle clawed fingers through his beard. "You need only ask." Carefully, slowly, he breathes deep and focuses, enacting a partial transformation centered on his sex.

Hob's eyes widen as he feels Dream swelling slightly within him and he clutches at Dream's shoulders, gazing down into his face, body trembling. "Dream—!"

Dream combs through his hair again, tender and gentle. "You must tell me if it becomes too much," he murmurs, and lets himself swell a little larger.

Hob's mouth falls open and a high, wanton sound comes out, his eyes rolling as Dream flexes up into him. He gasps, blunt human nails digging into Dream's shoulders, short sharp little moans spilling out of his throat as Dream continues. He is careful, tightly controlled, letting his body shift in other small ways—scattered lines of short feathers along his limbs, clawed toenails, color darkening his talons—while he focuses on maintaining a stable consistent size inside of Hob, letting it grow larger in only the smallest of increments, the slowest of intervals. He moves his hands from Hob's hair to his hips, holding him steady, and Hob drops against him, buries his face in Dream's throat, breath panting hot and damp against Dream's collarbone. Dream's ruby and the looping chains of jewels adorning Hob's chest are body-warm between them and Hob's beard is a soft bristle against Dream's breastbone, sensations that he only gets to experience when both of them are in human form like this. It is pleasant, and when Hob lifts his head and shifts to put their mouths together again, licks into him, caresses Dream's short blunt human tongue with his own, this is also undeniably pleasant.

Perhaps he could be more enthusiastic about sex in human form, with Hob, who has shown him it is not so unpalatable, who makes it feel like something important.

That is a thought for the future, however, for tonight Hob has expressed a very specific want, and Dream intends to fulfill it.

When Hob lifts away from kissing him, Dream strokes his taloned hands lightly up his mate's back, settles them there in a gentle grip. "Be still, Hob," he murmurs, holding that beautiful amber gaze with his own, and shifts back into his dragon form, keeping his sex at its tempered human-safe size and keeping it sheathed within Hob.

Hob's eyes widen and his hands clench in Dream's feathers; his body trembles, and his scent is strong again with excitement, with eager arousal as he squeezes tight around Dream.

"Really?" he gasps, shifting up marginally and sliding back down on Dream while still trembling with the attempt to hold still, and the bare movement has Dream purring, spreading his wings languidly across the floor beneath them.

"It is my wish to give you anything you desire," he rumbles, flexing softly within his mate, and the emotion brightening Hob's eyes has him curving his head in close, nuzzling his snout along Hob's cheek. "Take your pleasure, little amber," he breathes, lifting away again, letting his talons rest alongside Hob's pleasingly-furred thighs. "I exist for no other purpose tonight."

Hob whines, squirming on his length, breathless as he arranges himself for proper leverage; he raises up on his knees, sinks back down, and the sound that comes out of his throat is pure satisfaction. He leans forward, rocks his hips down and writhes, so clearly reveling in the feel of Dream within him; he draws up and sinks down again, and again, and again and again, setting into a steady rhythm. The chains and pendants draping his chest jingle merrily and his hair swings gently about his jaw with his bouncing movement; he is making the sweetest little noises, ah and hah and oh, and his scent is ripe with pleasure and arousal. The way his fingers twitch and clench in the downy feathers of Dream's belly have him purring, and his own arousal runs hot in his loins, no effort at all to stay hard for his mate despite the focus it takes to keep his cock small enough.

It is hours of this bliss, or perhaps mere minutes that pass before Hob straightens up and then leans back, arms bracing behind him; he grasps careful handfuls of soft feathers in the creases of Dream's hindlegs, arching his spine and undulating restlessly, his own cock jutting on display at this angle. Dream strokes the side of one claw smoothly down its length; it jumps to his touch and the sound that Hob makes in response has a warm growl rising in Dream's throat, pleased. He touches again and Hob moans outright, grinds down on him harder; Dream arcs his neck and swings his head low with a rumble, dips in close to flick his tongue along the length of Hob's sex.

"Ah—" Hob gasps, faltering in his rhythm, "ah, Dream—" He shudders as Dream licks him slowly again and sinks all the way down onto Dream, shifts his hips forward, offering himself eagerly to Dream's attentions.

Dream carefully hooks a claw about Hob's shaft to hold it steady and winds his tongue around the tip, then flexes inside Hob, drawing another little moan from his throat; Hob pushes up from his backwards lean, thighs spreading wide for Dream's tongue. He reaches for Dream's face, strokes the short feathers above his eyes, combs lightly through the longer plumage of his cheek; Dream welcomes the touches, butts gently against Hob's beautifully-furred chest strung with his treasures and licks tenderly up and down the length of him in a steady rhythm. There is fluid welling from Hob at the tip and Dream laps it up like the precious nectar it is, delves into the pushed-back crown of his foreskin to claim the excess gathered there, chases it back to the source. Hob's slit is wet and welcoming as the narrow forks of his tongue slide carefully into it, first one and then the other, tasting down the inside of the shaft while his claw holds it steady.

Hob's breath hitches and his voice is full of wonder, body tensing delightedly at this new sensation. "What—ahh—" He shivers, fingers stroking through the feathers along Dream's jaw now, trembling as Dream's tongue squirms delicately within the channel of his prick. "What—nnnhh—whatever you're doing just—oh pleasedon'tstop—"

Hob approves, clearly, and so Dream continues, lamenting briefly that the forks of his tongue are not longer; he glides his free talon up Hob's thigh and around his back, steadying him, keeping him close. Hob curls both hands around Dream's horns and rubs gently, low down at the base where they're sensitive; presses his lips to the white feathers of the star between Dream's eyes in soft fervent kisses and exhales his devotion there, voice barely a murmur. "My Dream, my love, my mate—ahh—please, please take what's yours—"

Carefully, Dream rocks up into him and is rewarded by the way Hob tenses and then melts against him, the hitch in Hob's voice as he sighs yes, yes yes, the sweet rise of Hob's pre-spend to his questing tongue. Dream rocks gently upward again, setting a languid rolling rhythm complemented by his attentions to Hob's cock and Hob shudders, rocks back in tandem, clinging to Dream's horns and panting his little moans into Dream's forehead.

It is not long before Hob is moving harder, arousal rising high again in his scent and Dream leaves off from his cock, draws his head up and back, horns slipping from Hob's grasp. Hob takes hold of Dream's snout as he goes, cradling it between both hands and planting a warm kiss to the end of it before letting go. He drops forward again with a whine, buries his bejeweled fingers in Dream's downy feathers and works his hips feverishly while Dream combs gentle talons through the sweat-damp fall of his hair.

"Do you wish me larger inside you?" he asks after a moment, watching raptly the way that Hob rises and falls on his sex, the beautiful open shape of his soft human mouth around his pleasured sounds. His own pleasure is warm in his belly, heated and insistent but not yet so urgent as to demand he give it heed.

Hob pauses, seated fully down on Dream's cock. "Can you?" His voice is a bit breathless, amber eyes gleaming under drooping lids, excitement flickering in his scent—it is answer enough but Dream will still have a proper reply.

"I can," he purrs, flexing his cock purely for the satisfaction of the shiver that runs through Hob in response, the gooseflesh that pimples his delicate vulnerable skin beneath the adorning bracelets, the way his nipples tighten and peak in the glorious sea of his chest hair. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes—Dream, please, yes—"

Dream focuses again on where he's holding his sex in a partial transformation and slowly, slowly, allows it to transform further, until it is fully halfway between its human- and dragon-form sizes. Hob moans as it gently swells within him, lifting him higher on his knees. His body accepts Dream's girth so easily now that he is already inside, now that care has been taken to open Hob slowly—but the length of him has increased such that Hob cannot sit all the way down on it anymore and Hob whines, jewel-clad fingers clenching and unclenching in Dream's feathers as he tries all the same.

"I can't—ahh—ohhh, you're so big—" It is definitely praise, spoken with breathless eager reverence, but Dream can see that a limit has been reached. Hob is squirming, careful, trying in vain to reestablish his riding rhythm, physically unable to lift himself high enough; his thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping himself aloft and Dream is snugly nestled all the way inside him. He's beautifully stretched but there is little to be done about the length, and frustration is seeping into Hob's scent.

Dream purrs, soothing; he will not have his mate's desires thwarted so easily. Carefully, he slides a claw beneath Hob's bearded chin to tip it up. Hob's face is flushed, his eyes bright and wet at the corners when they meet Dream's, mouth parted on his panting breaths, and Dream's heart stutters in his chest that this beautiful creature has consented to be his. "Will you trust me?" he asks, bringing his other talon to carefully draw through Hob's hair.

Hob's eyelids droop at the grooming and he lets out a soft breath. "Of course. Yes."

"Then. Allow me, to—" He does not articulate the rest; it is easier to simply do, and trust that Hob will let him.

He moves both talons until he is carefully gripping Hob's body, claws hooked beneath his thighs and around his buttocks, his back, his waist. Hob grabs Dream's thumbs where they cross over his stomach, clinging as Dream carefully draws him up, up, not quite all the way off his cock, just the tip still tucked inside him. Hob's mouth drops open and his eyes roll back in his head, a low moan of pleasure rising in his throat at the long slide. And then Dream brings him back down, just as slowly, and Hob's head falls back, his moan rising into a sharp cry as he is filled again. Dream can feel how very tight Hob is around him, how fully and completely he has stretched his mate open, and it sends heat singing through his blood.

"Good?" he growls, unwilling to continue without confirming, and Hob shivers in his grasp.

"Good," he moans, chest heaving, "so good, Dream—" His hands scrabble briefly at Dream's talons around him, seeking a firmer grip, his rings making tiny little clicking sounds against the gleaming curve of Dream's claws. "Again. Please—"

And so Dream lifts him again, and draws him down again, and Hob tosses his head on a breathless whine. "Again!"

"As you wish," Dream rumbles, and sets into a smooth steady rhythm, sliding Hob up and down on his slick length, which only grows slicker with each pass. It feels exquisite, the stretched-tight glide of Hob's body upon him, and pleasure heats in Dream's belly, urging him faster-deeper-harder; he pushes it aside. Time enough for that in a moment; now, he wishes to revel in the sight and the sound and the smell of Hob curling into his grasp, hands braced on Dream's forelimbs, head tipped forward and mouth hanging open, saliva drooling from his slack lips. His eyes are glassy and his face aglow when he lifts it to meet Dream's gaze, and his scent is ripe with both lust and joy; he is completely lost in the pleasure of Dream's attentions and Dream purrs, swings his head in to flicker his tongue across the damp of Hob's flushed cheek. Hob is making those musical sounds again, longer and drawn out with each slide down and back up; Dream keeps his grip careful, moves Hob more quickly upon his own length, riveted by the way Hob's eyes roll back in his head and the sharpening pitch of his singing moans.

He continues on and on until Hob has gone boneless and insensate in his grasp, until his voice is one continuous note of pleasure sung in waves every time he is moved down on Dream's cock and back up, until Dream's own pleasure is no longer simmering in his loins but blazing; then, at last, he lifts Hob completely off and free, shifts his talons to carefully cradle Hob to his chest, hushing his whine of loss. With a grunt, he rolls onto his belly and places Hob on the furs before him, positioning his mate on all fours and facing away.

Hob's arms collapse and he drops his chest to the ground, presenting his backside in the most appealing manner. He is gaping open beautifully, slick and puffy-pink around the rim, copious amounts of Dream's natural lubricant visible within him and dribbling in shiny little rivulets down into the hair on his testicles and the insides of his thighs. Dream purrs, terribly pleased with the sight and the smell of his mate thus arrayed; he dips his head in close, nuzzling into the cleft of Hob's body and eliciting a needy whimper from Hob. He takes in the scent of his own fluids and Hob's untempered arousal, savoring the heady blend, rubbing it into the short feathers of his snout. His tongue snakes out and into Hob, the way wide and welcoming, almost cavernous around him; he delves deep, seeking out the wondrous spot inside Hob that brings him such pleasure and flicking his forked tip against it.

Hob makes a loud, delirious sound of encouragement and his knees splay a little further; Dream moves with him, lingers a long moment licking deep inside until Hob is squirming on his tongue, breathless and wrung out and pleading for more. His pre-spend is leaking from him in steady drips, fragrant and arousing, and Dream feels his own need raging behind his restraint as Hob begs.

"Dream—please, please Dream—I need it, I need you—take me, fill me up, mount me, make me yours—"

Hob is already his. They have both performed courting and mating rituals to express and accept intent; they have shared their lairs and hoards, they have coupled many times, they have flown together and spiraled down out of the sky in the age-old dance of dragon pairs since time immemorial, they have made love while both in human form more than once but Dream understands—this is something very specific, very meaningful to Hob, and it feels. Momentous.

He withdraws his tongue, pulls back to watch as Hob wriggles, gets his knees further under him to lift his rear higher; Hob's hole remains open and messy, more than ready to receive him, and Dream will have him, now.

With a rumbling growl, he rises up and flows forward to crouch over Hob, wings arcing to spread on either side. His sex is still held halfway between his human and dragon sizes, smaller than he is used to in this form but yet more than enough to harm Hob if he is not careful. He leans forward, braces himself on one fore-talon, splays the other heavily across Hob's shoulders to pin him down; he flexes his cock to line himself up, and then—slowly, carefully, inexorably—he pushes himself in.

Hob is slurring out a litany of 'please please please', face pressed into the furs, voice rising higher as Dream mounts him until he is as deep as he can go, two thirds or so of his length taken in. Hob groans loudly as the motion of entry ceases and Dream can feel the way Hob tries to squeeze around him, stretched too wide for it to have any sort of force at all. Dream rumbles his pleasure, draws out and pushes back in carefully, then again, and again, Hob's voice rising in approval with every slow thrust.

"Yes—aah—more—Dream—" Hob shudders as Dream sinks into him again. "Harder, please—harder—!"

Dream growls, wings rustling, tail switching; his body says 'take', his instincts say 'claim', his mate says 'more' and he cannot help but hear them clearly. He heeds all three, heeds the harmony they play within him; he braces himself and thrusts hard, heat and satisfaction flaring through him as Hob takes a sharp breath, and so he does it again.

The sound Hob makes then is gasping and wet and beautifully strained; his scent is ripe with arousal, does not stink of pain or distress and Dream is confident that this is precisely what Hob wants as he thrusts hard again and Hob cries out in delight. His own body clamors for satiation, for the thrill and the relief of rutting full bore into his willing mate but Dream still has presence of mind enough to realize he will never forgive himself if he fails to confirm and Hob winds up hurt.

He holds himself still, eases his weight from the talon pressing Hob down. "Hob. Are you—"

"Please," Hob interrupts, voice wet, raw desperation in his tone as he writhes, "please don't stop, Dream, I need I want—I can't—please!"

Dream snarls, permission given, and bears back down on his restraining talon, rolls his hips with force, shoving into Hob again and again and Hob wails his pleasure, tiny human hands scrabbling at the furs beneath him, whatever noise his bracelets make lost under the sound of his voice. Dream has positioned them so that his thrusts will not reach further than Hob's body can accommodate, but still he is hitting hard and deep and Hob is jolting, slipping from the force despite Dream pinning him down.

Dream's tail lashes, a few feathers fluttering loose, and he growls deep in his throat. Hob whimpers and then, impossibly, he is pushing back, seeking more, and Dream cannot allow any damage to come to his reckless mate in this frenzied ardor between them. He lifts his talon from Hob's shoulders and wraps it beneath his ribs and his abdomen instead, gripping gently but implacably and lifting him just enough to deprive him of any bracing leverage at the knees.

"Be still, little amber," he instructs, his voice a whip-taut growl, "and let me claim you—"

Hob makes a noise that can only be described as a sob of pleasure and goes lax in Dream's grip. Dream moves the talon nearest Hob's cock to hook beneath it, so that each thrust rocks Hob against it, ensuring another layer of stimulation, and then he is lost to the need to take, and take, and take.

Hob's voice lilts and falls and soars beautifully as Dream unleashes his want, clinging to just enough mindfulness of Hob's delicate size to keep his partial transformation unchanged. His own body sings with pleasure and need, heat coiling through him as he moves, lightning in his blood, building higher and higher in answer to Hob's cries.

He is seized, quite suddenly, with the urge to clamp his teeth in Hob's nape as he would with Hob's dragon form; the rational part of his brain thinks it terribly unwise but he is arching his neck and snaking his head down regardless, mouth open, stopping just short of his goal. He is clutching Hob close beneath his body, pounding into him relentlessly and his mind is alight with the litany of do-not-harm do-not-harm do-not-harm but instinct has his jaws yawning, aching to sink into the mating hold as he nears his finish.

"Oh fuck," Hob swears thickly, trembling and breathless as Dream looms close with such intent, "ohfuckyes Dream please yesyesyes—" His scent is ripe with desperate want; he rolls his head and tilts it down, forward, offering his neck and Dream. Cannot—

He snorts, need and frustration exhaling in a great blast of hot breath that hits Hob precisely where he wishes to set his teeth, blowing Hob's sweat-damp hair to either side, leaving the way dangerously clear. Dream's tongue slithers over the exposed vulnerability, tasting the salt of Hob's skin and the precious metal of his own treasures adorning it and a great voiceless growl shakes out of him; Hob whimpers sharply, a sweet rising note of abject need, his scent spiking with impending climax—and Dream falls upon him, helpless in the face of it.

His teeth close on the back of Hob's neck, a shallow grip intended only to hold and Hob cries out, goes rigid as he spends abruptly. It is a sudden wet warmth over Dream's talon; the smell of it blooms hot in the air around them and Dream snarls, his own peak near to cresting as Hob's body tries to bear down on the pistoning thickness of Dream within him, to little avail. He tries to gentle his teeth when he tastes blood, desperate to keep his mate from serious harm, but the tides of his own pleasure rush inexorably onward, carrying him up and up in a glorious crescendo, in harmony with the gasping notes of Hob's climax until he crashes over the edge himself, spilling into his mewling mate with a ferocious roar.

It is a great deal of fluid for a human-sized body to receive, and he means to pull back, to pull out, that Hob need not take it all. But instinct is stronger than intent, yet again, and he is only halfway withdrawn before the sheer pulsing pleasure of his release has him pushing back in. Hob moans as he is filled again, as Dream's spend is forced out of the stretched confines of his body, overflowing viscous and wet between them; Dream's body gives another miniscule thrust, just for the heady thrill of the sheer mess of it and the wet squelching sound that accompanies it.

Hob is still making little noises as Dream's climax subsides, and the sound of them is either waning pleasure or the rising of discomfort in its aftermath; his scent is free of distress, so more likely the former. Still, Dream is careful when he finally draws Hob off his length and sets him down, careful when he licks the trickling blood from the back of Hob's neck, gentle when he lays himself beside Hob, who has collapsed with a soft groan. Hob is sprawled on his belly in the furs, head turned toward Dream, eyes gleaming warmly beneath the fall of hair scattered over his face. He is disheveled and debauched and beautiful, and Dream loves him. Fiercely.

"I'm a mess, aren't I," Hob says presently, an endearing blend of exhausted, sated, and smugly pleased. The bracelets on his wrist jangle softly as he rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smiles warmly up at Dream, not bothering to lift his head at all.

"Perhaps," Dream allows, idly licking Hob's spend from his talon, letting his body cool. He has released the partial transformation of his sex and allowed it to return to its full size; it is softening, drawing back within its hidden sheath, and he turns his attention fully to the state Hob is in. "Allow me to clean you up."

Hob makes a soft noise of assent and Dream rearranges himself, looming up and over, taking stock of his mate. The small wounds made by his teeth have already stopped bleeding; there are little pinpricks here and there on Hob's torso and thighs from the tips of his claws and Dream licks over each of them, making certain they're no more than superficial. Purring, he nudges his face between Hob's legs, pushing them gently further apart, applying his tongue to the spend that bedecks them. There is a great deal of it all over the backs and insides of Hob's thighs, sticky and clinging in the thick hair and Dream takes his time, thorough in his attentions. It is both grooming and aftercare, an intimately soothing ablution that Dream has always enjoyed and one he takes particular joy in sharing with Hob, wherever the mess, whatever their forms.

When he is satisfied with his work, he draws back, licks clean the disheveled short feathers of his snout, and turns his attention to Hob's arse. With careful claws he parts Hob's cheeks, gentle, delicate, and surveys the state of him.

Hob's hole is still quite open, swollen and red and laced with the remains of Dream's spend. He is not torn, is not bleeding, is gradually shrinking to close again as he should, but Dream's heart still sinks at the sight; when he gently tongues the angry flesh Hob hisses in pain, squirms a little.

"I have hurt you," Dream laments, drawing back, careful—so careful—as he lets go of Hob.

"I'll be a bit sore, I suppose," Hob says, as though it is no consequence. "Absolutely worth it, though."

"Still," Dream counters, unbalanced by Hob's nonchalance at the fact that Dream has hurt him. "I should have kept it smaller; I should have been gentler at the end. I am sor—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Hob warns, rolling over and sitting up abruptly, barely wincing, and his vehemence draws Dream up short. "I wanted it. You didn't do anything I hadn't asked for. Begged for. You gave me everything—" His voice hitches, trembling with emotion, and he swallows thickly. "Don't apologize, when it meant—it meant so much—"

Ah. Dream is focusing, he realizes, on the wrong details. Hob is near to tears, Dream can hear, and so he pulls him close, gently nestles Hob against his chest, purring. He wraps his head and tail in close, curling around Hob's small human shape protectively. "No apologies, then, my sweet amber," he assures, nuzzling at the crown of Hob's head, huffing warm breath into the still-damp mahogany of his hair. "It was. My pleasure, to give what you sought, to claim you so thoroughly."

Hob burrows into him, rubs his bearded face reverently against Dream's feathers. "Thank you," he says, soft and quiet, into the down of Dream's chest near the ruby. "I know you prefer it when we're both dragons—"

"I prefer to have my mate in whatever form he feels like sharing with me," Dream interrupts, and is mildly surprised to realise that it is true.

Hob makes an inarticulate little noise, burrowing closer. "Dream, my Dream," he murmurs, stroking his small human fingers through the soft feathers of Dream's belly, pressing his lips behind his words. "My mate, my everything. I love you."

"And I, you," Dream sighs, sated, content, sleepy. He stretches his hind legs out, switches his tail, settles comfortably and cradles Hob close to his heart with one careful talon, spreads his wing like a blanket over his mate. Hob makes a happy little noise and Dream can envision the soft smile on his face, the way his beard shapes around it and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes; he purrs, curves his head in nearer to Hob and lets his eyelids droop.

He is always pleased to sleep with Hob when Hob is in dragon form, Hob's radiant heat and golden glow cuddled up next to him, tucked against his side; likewise he is pleased, on the rare occasions it occurs, when he himself is in human form and kept warm and protected beneath the curve of Hob's wing. He is pleased enough to share Hob's bed when staying in Hob's lair, both of them in human form, comfortably cocooned in blankets and each other's arms. But ultimately, he thinks, there is something utterly irreplaceable about sleeping like this, with Hob tucked small and safe against him, held tenderly against the heart he has so thoroughly won.

=== Started: 8/9/23 Drafted: 9/3/23 Posted: 9/22/23

I very nearly titled this thing Chuck Tingle style, except 'Pounded in the Butt By My Dragon Boyfriend While I'm in Human Form (But I'm a Dragon Too)' just doesn't set the right tone, alas. Actual title I finally settled on is from Ever Dream by Nightwish.

[dreadnotau]

Its been a decent couple of months of productive work, so it's sadly time for a schedule change. I'll be posting pages two weeks apart again. Details provided below if you're curious as to why.

In all honesty there's no big dramatic reason this time around. I've just slowly lost drive to work on Dread Not as often and as thoroughly as I used to be able to. As I said in one of my previous posts (that sounded suspiciously like this one), I want to focus on other projects as well. One of those is my personal art blog, which I've neglected even though I've had art on the backburner that I've been meaning to post for AGES. Kingdomrune is another one of those, where I have shit I could post that I just... never did. Dread Not takes a lot of time and I miss being able to dedicate that time to consuming media instead of just grinding and trying to produce my own. One of the most important things to do as an artist is to broaden your horizons and take in as much art as you can, to diversify and expand what you know and what you can make. But, when all day every day I'm just sitting and drawing my own thing, it's like I have tunnel vision and my creative resources run dry. It's starting to feel weirdly soulless on my end, because I don't feel nearly half the inspiration to make the pages as I did when the big hiatus ended. It's all dependent on time and exposure, and I can only crunch for so long before it starts to feel damaging to me instead of fun and creatively fulfilling.

So what does this mean, practically speaking? Well, for one, I'm spacing out the page upload for the rest of Act 1, as previously mentioned. I'm well aware this will kill the pacing and it'll drag out longer than it theoretically needs to, but I'd even rather that than trying to rush out a page in the Two Days I have free this week (yeah, ONLY two days free out of the ENTIRE week. Don't ask me why it's not even my fuckin' fault this time). If pages become even more scarce than 1 page per 2 weeks, blame it on college. I'm getting new subjects and I don't even know the class schedule yet. Concerning Act 2 though, I'll be changing the structure of the pages from their core. I'll be switching to a different drawing software (probably Krita, suck my dick Photoshop) so it'll take some getting used to. I can't even promise bonus content or anything during the necessary break between acts because of that shift in software happening, I've never done a massive technical move like this. However, it'll allow me to, not only work on Dread Not better, but expand my art overall, so it's definitely worth it. I've wanted to get into animation for YEARS and Krita seems like an okay place to start (the gif on this post WAS made with Photoshop, but shitty gifs are about all I can make as animations in Photoshop). Act 2's style will, predictably, differ heavily from Act 1 and (with how long writing the dialogue alone for it is taking), it might end up being Longer than Act 1, too. Visually, it'll probably be something like cleaned up and coloured sketches, with simpler colour palettes and simpler (big airquotes) visuals overall, and it'll speed up the process and possibly allow me to post more than one page at a time. Possibly. That's not a promise.

I'm sorry if that's disappointing to anyone, but I physically can't make myself continue the current artstyle across all acts. It's just not feasible.

For those curious about the FARTHER future of Dread Not, I have plans to turn Act 3 into a series of fics rather than full comic pages, and something maybe a bit more insane for Act 4. I don't have everything figured out yet, and I don't want to make any false promises or give any grand ideas I won't be able to commit to, since only time will tell how my creativity will flow years from now. If you all want more content from me specifically, again I'm planning on reviving my art tumblr like a half buried zombie, and you'll probably see more there than you bargained for once I actually get into the habit of posting things. If you're mayhaps interested in my original stuff, keep your eyes peeled for a guy called Duro, I might start posting about him some time soon.

As always, thank you for your patience, and apologies again if this news was disappointing to anyone. I'm just one guy and this comic is a titan of biblical proportions. I'll keep you all posted on any further developments and plans for the future! Stay tuned!

[zahri-melitor]

New(ish) Comics:

Batman & Robin #5: I liked how much of this story was based at school. I disliked the teacher suggesting Damian should be attending college classes. NO! Bruce is right! This is a socialisation exercise! #KeepDamianInSchool2024!

Wesley Dodds: The Sandman #4: This is still so fascinating, as I know so little. Riley Rossmo drawing Art Deco was not something I thought I needed but it’s fascinating.

Outsiders #3: I'm...conflicted about this. Did I like Luke and Duke spending some time together? Sure. Do I think we needed ANOTHER book currently infested with 1000 different universe versions of Batman? No. For a comic that's trying really really hard to claim it's not about Bruce and it's about getting away from Bruce (why is your team called Outsiders then??) there is a lot of Bruce showing up.

The fish-headed Batwoman was amusing, though.

Speed Force #3: I am starting to feel like this is a comic I need to come back and read once I’ve read Teen Titans Academy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see the formation of more social groups (and Ace and Jaime together was a lovely bro moment), but I’m begging people to stop pitching particularly Kory, Donna, Raven and Gar as hanging out or in social spaces with the teens. I know DC have done it way too many times over the years now but it never, ever makes sense. Still enjoying this series is aware of what’s going on in other titles, though.

DC’s How to Lose a Guy Gardner in 10 Days: this was a MIX. The Barry/Iris one was light and insubstantial (but very Flash). I think, funnily enough, my favourite bits were Vicky Vale dating Guy Gardner for an article (hah), the Heart of the Ocean ripoff in the Booster story, and the John Constantine story swerving rapidly into reminding you you were reading Hellblazer right on the last page.

The most frustrating parts of this, to my eye:

Unwillingness to properly commit to anything other than a heterosexual couple (Constantine got the closest but wouldn't show anything)

Seriously. You had EIGHT stories and only one of them was not a guy and a girl?

Okay fine Diana got asked out by both men and women but she actually wasn't interested in dating any of them so I'm not counting it.

Steph and Cass randomly running around the back of the Dick/Babs story. Either this is about Dick and Babs, so focus on THEM, or give in and stop queerbaiting Steph and Cass. Honestly for many reasons I think actually putting them together would be a terrible thing for both characters, but clearly DC likes the speculation (but not enough to DO anything about it).

Traya's still MIA since 2010 apparently. Thanks, Red Tornado.

The Warlord #34: this week in Skartaris Travis Morgan acquires the Hellfire sword from a village of dwarfs. The sword apparently makes him invulnerable to magic. He also reunites with Machiste and Mariah after getting magically transported to where they were by the sword. Machiste and Mariah finally get to tell Travis they're dating. However they get stuck in the far past, while the sword whisks Travis back to the present day.

One of the dwarfs is named Mongo Ironhand. He likes summoning and drinking martinis. (Really)

[skaruresonic]

you can just taste the salt pouring from this man lmao. I only dismissed an entire medium as never being able to be art, why are you all whining

1.) Myst released in 1993, the same year as Sonic CD. Calling it an example of games "from the infancy of the form" following the video game market crash of the '80s is laughable

2.) "I particularly didn't want to play one right now, this moment, on demand" - uwu I just shittalked this entire-ass medium and now people are saying I should try to know what I'm talking about before I talk about it and I don't wannaaaaa

This is just. Rude? Idk how else to put it. Your friend goes to the trouble of offering to fetch a game and a console for you, installing everything necessary to set it up - even offering to send the console back to Sony when you're done so you don't have to spend a single dime - and your response is to make some excuse as to why you can't do it.

You could have just said "no," Roger.

yeah it's almost like talking out of your ass "purely on theoretical grounds" without engaging with the thing you're slagging off makes you seem too ignorant to hold a valid view on the thing you're slagging off. or something.

also "This is the gratitude you get for responding to comments at all" lol these salt levels could dry out the Dead Sea

my man has never heard of video games with linear narratives before

Billy cracked dick jokes, Ebert. Billy wrote his plays to appeal to the common people's interests, Ebert.

then why are you talking about video games if you don't want to be told to play one? real "I'm a Sonic fan who hasn't played the games, stop telling me to play the games you're picking on me" energy

The fuck is up with this weird capitalistic pitting of one art form against another? This isn't some zero-sum game where literature loses if video games win. Gamers read too, Ebert. In fact, many games take inspiration from literature, such as SH2 drawing inspiration from the themes of Crime and Punishment; The Witcher being based on Andrzej Sapkowski's book; and Metro 2033 springing from the self-published book of the same name.

I could name more. I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (Harlan Ellison even voiced AM!). Classic RPG Parasite Eve is a spiritual successor to Hideaki Sena's 1995 sci-fi horror novel. Beev will probably want me to add Castlevania as an example as well, taking the titular character from Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Category:Video games based on novels - Wikipedia

Acting like games and literature are two disparate mediums with no overlap is... frankly, deeply disingenuous. You spoke with fucking Clive Barker, Roger, you should know this. FFS.

Besides, anti-intellectualism runs a lot deeper than New Medium Bad. It has more fascist roots than simply "The kids want to play Fortnite all day and don't want to crack open a book!"

Roger goes on this tangent about how it's difficult to find a definition of art that would preclude video games. Even the one he settles on, his view that art ought to teach him empathy for other people - which... has its limits and when taken too far, borders on requiring moral didactism in art; my man has never heard of art for art's sake - doesn't necessarily rule out games. Because video games literally require you to step into the player character's shoes.

you are such a condescending ass, oh my God. could you not?

"I don't personally know how gamers can learn about other human beings despite the entire conceit of the medium requiring you to assume the role of another person, but whatever, I'll give you guys this one because I've run out of things to say. Perhaps one day gamers will learn to have refined tastes like me, the Movie Review Man. anyway y'all losers, I got better things to do despite the fact that I typed out this wall of text poorly defending my position"

[thelampisaflashlight]

It's hazy/smoky out today so I couldn't go for a walk, and I didn't feel like getting a workout in, so I decided to start a piece on canvas using colored pencils where the primary layer was done in greens, blues, and yellows, with the brighter highlights being done with a random Prismacolor marker I found in a box of used art supplies I was gifted.

I then scanned the piece (code for: Stood on my bed above it to get the angles fucking right) and went into my paint programs to dick around with layering and to add more peach to the face.

I did a couple flipped layers to shade in certain parts a little differently and... I don't totally hate it.

The reason why I struggled with these piece in particular, apart from, well, the everything going on, is because the subject I picked for it was someone I don't always like looking at...

Me.

I think, every so often, it's okay to look at yourself and go, "This is going to be for me/of me"

Does it look completely like myself? No.

Do I think I will ever capture my likeness to a degree that I'm like, "That's me!" and think of it fondly? Nope.

But sometimes ya gotta make a funky little picture of yourself.

I might lose this version some day, and all I'll have is the original work on the canvas panel, still so yellow and green, and maybe I'll throw it away, but for now here it is.

And now I'll be going back to drawing my silly little guys like this:

And maybe make another one of these in a year or more lmao

[Do Not Repost]

[tricornonthecob]

I wanna go play outside but its 9 pm on a weekday

LK 113: Are we Turtley Enough For the Turtle Club

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)(pt5)

Another legendary episode.

Number one, gotdamn that is alot of fuckin troops. Number two, it still tickles me that General Howe and Admiral Howe are bros. Foot Bro and Water Bro.

Just fucking bursts in on her without knocking. Also what is that I see????

She canonically has a hat???

I'm assuming its supposed to be one of these hats because its 1776, but it looks like one of these 1780s hats:

I think its called a gainsborough hat? Anyway now I want to draw 1780s Sarah with one of these wacky hats. Unfortunately that does mean I need to draw 1780s hair which is somehow worse than 1770s hair, which is hard to do.

I meannnnn its a nice chair, I don't blame him.

Girl is so excited to be doing jOuRnALiSm with her crush also fuck me now I want cookies

noooooo she left the mystery hat!

She got all excited for a story and then it was a Nessie sighting.

His day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable.

He has Old Man McGucket energy.

"Buddy you done fucked up."

lol he almost took out Henri there

Look, I know they were trying to make her seem bitchy about this, but I think we'd all have the same reaction.

He is 100% going full Mulder to your Scully, Sarah.

He wants to believe.

...James what are you implying.

Okay weird timeout here but did they change the art department for the last few episodes? Because this one seems different. I compared the last few eps to the pilot, too, and it also had more detailed backgrounds, more consistent proportions with anatomy and the style guide in the animations, more interesting shots, and overall better quality. Its like they pulled the second string artists in for the last few (sorry guys) and then the primary team came back from PTO.

"I see two dumb bitches rowing a boat."

Okay the voice acting is also getting better in this ep.

Stop ruining their night, Scully.

Full disclosure this was one of the episodes I was able to watch before my sister came in and demanded I change the channel, and 11-year-old me thought this was the funniest line.

*snicker* thats what - *snicker**snicker* That's what she said *snicker*

The writing's better, too? Why did they bring their A-game to the dick-joke submarine episode.

...These were contemporaneous shows so I would totally believe that the people who made this were making X-files jokes the whole time.

You just know this was somebody's early-00s steampunk awakening.

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Look for the Helpers

First posted: November 13, 2018

Focuses on: BatKids (Dick POV, Jason focused)

Favorite bookmark: "I am bawling."

Tier: Decidedly mid.

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I'd been chewing for awhile on the idea of Mr. Rogers and how much he meant to people. The Won't You Be My Neighbor documentary had released in January of this same year, and I'd sat in a theater and quietly bawled with a dark room full of strangers. Because his show was on PBS and geared, like Sesame Street, toward low income kids, making him have an outsized impact on Jason made the most sense.

Dick wondered if he would ever be used to the feeling of disconnect that came after a disaster. It felt like… He stabbed at a macaroni noodle and considered the radiant numbness spreading out from his chest.

This first bit, Dick mulling on the weirdness after a disaster that you manage to survive, was pulled from personal experience, but with the last half decade being what it's been, I can't even tell you which one I was pulling from. Hurricane wakes, most likely, though who really knows.

The never-ending white noise of sirens rushing to and fro weren’t real. The loss. The devastation. The chaos. 

That said, wow, what a weirdly prescient thing to read back through on this side of 2020.

“I don’t think human eyes are supposed to be that big,” he remarked solemnly, which prompted a snort of laughter from the others and placid disregard from Tim. “It’s anime, Dickie, don’t be so uncool.” Jason’s faux-whine made it clear that he was not, in fact, defending Tim’s artwork. “It’s a legitimate art form, and you both are snobs,” Tim said, his tone unruffled as he reached for his sandwich with his right hand, his left never slowing as he traced the warrior girl’s floating hair in purple crayon. “It is,” Damian agreed, which surprised Dick until he added, “when done correctly.” “Oh, bite me,” Tim retorted, but without any heat.

Of course Tim is a weeb. Tim and Damian.

“Is that Steph?” Jason asked, head now tilted to get a better look at Tim’s drawing. Intrigued, Dick craned his neck as well. “What? No!” Now Tim’s head snapped up, and he glared at Jason as one arm curled protectively around the crayon drawing. Dick would have been inclined to argue that the drawing could have been of anyone, as Tim wasn’t quite good enough to render a clear likeness. But the tips of Tim’s ears were pink.

Nowadays I'm awfully ambivalent on Tim/Steph and trend toward apathetic neutral. CECverse is an exception.

“Jason, if you lean over any farther, you’re going to knock over your soup,” Dick pointed out instead. Jason scowled, but settled back in his chair. “I’d make a joke, but one, we don’t make gags about Nazis anymore, and two, that show is old as dirt.”

I could not have predicted the Seinfeld renaissance among the youth.

Beneath the table, Dick tapped his fingertips together, one after the other. The numbness was still there, but if he didn’t think about it, it receded from the foreground. Not lessened or disappeared, just backed away to hover like a thin blanket over everything except what he was focusing on, which in turn made what he was focusing on seem harshly bright and loud. That was okay, though, if what he was focusing on was his brothers. Dick popped another forkful of cheesy noodles into his mouth and studied them, careful to keep a slight smile on his face as he did.

Oh. I remember what I was pulling from now. Not the numbness but the way you can chat and laugh and joke and seem normal when the world is upended and nothing is normal at all. Loss is weird.

They all tended to huddle a little closer together when Bruce was away.

I like this, the idea of them all gravitating, deliberately or subconsciously, so they're a team huddled, facing outward, without Bruce to hold their center.

Only Cass had been allowed to stay at the Manor. She and Alfred were planning a Masterpiece Theater Poirot mystery binge, with some Miss Marple and Jeeves and Wooster thrown in for flavoring. Dick wasn’t sure how much of the dialogue Cass could follow, but she seemed to find it a fun challenge to identify the murderer by body language alone. And anyone could enjoy the comedy of old J&W.

This took me a second to figure out, what Alfred and Cass might bond over and why, especially since Alfred is verbally cerebral and Cass finds words less useful. I think I made it work.

Jason was picking at Tim, who pretended to be grumpy and ignored his aggravating older brother in favor of tackling his roast beef sandwich with both hands.

Why roast beef, I don't know.

Dick took a few texts himself, mostly to coordinate the efforts and to relay the continued lack of news. Jason received none, though Dick caught him peeking at the screen once or twice.

I had a whole secondary storyline worked out with Bizarro that wasn't necessary or important at all but that would include a line about Jason taking care of Biz's plant. Something about it was supposed to be absolutely gutting, but I couldn't fit it in and now I don't remember what I had in mind.

Dick ducked his head as a familiar face filled the screen—Superman, a lone curl tumbling charmingly down his forehead, his chin turned to stare bravely into the distance. It was a stupid photo, boldly heroic in none of the ways that made Clark truly brave. That was the point, he knew, of a secret identity—no strong points of connection—but it rankled him to see the man portrayed as a stoic bastion of strength instead of the smiling, gentle man who used to pick Dick up by his ankles and swing him upside down.

Dick's point of view was a deliberate pick, as the eldest brother minding the wellbeing of the youngers, but also for how this specific worry would pick at him. Clark is a bigger part of his life than for the others.

But that was how these things went. Those that left were free to be reshaped into whatever was needed by those who were left behind. A beloved friend. A solemn warrior. A good soldier.

Yes, that was a jab.

The other members of the superhero community did their best to fill the power void, especially in Metropolis, which had been hardest hit and was now missing its white knight, though the Kent boys and Kara did their best.

I think this is the only time I ever acknowledge Kara in my fics. I don't know her. She will not appear.

Dick clamped a firm hand onto Damian’s shoulder and shoved the boy back into his seat before he could crawl over the table to stab Tim with his fork.

I make too many Damian stabbing jokes in these early fics. Or rather, I the writer mean them as funny moments but in-world they wouldn't be funny or in character, really. He's got a temper but he's not an impetuous hothead. I think I've gotten better (I hope) about, when I do joke, they're in-world jokes as well.

The diner was nestled between a rising skyscraper and a small neighborhood park, the kind community developers liked to slot into any little niche so that they could advertise nearby green space to prospective renters. It was no more than a small patch of green ringed with trees, bisected by a path with a small, two-tiered fountain in the middle. This neighborhood had been untouched by the extraterrestrial destruction, and the paths were at a midday lull, soft greys and greens and whites unbroken except for a jogger here, a mother and child there, a dogwalker off in the distance.

I plucked this park from real life. I don't remember where I was now, maybe Maryland, visiting friends? But I can still see the real-world park in my head, and how I altered it to make it into a place I could use in Gotham.

From what Dick could remember, even before, Jason had hated to show weakness. Though more expressive than Bruce by far, he hid his fears and sorrows beneath anger and rage. He had, in many ways, been more vulnerable with Bruce than Dick had been, willing to confront and challenge the older man when upset, but he had hated being coddled. The safest thing to do when Jason was in turmoil was to give him space and return when the dust had settled. 

meeeeeeeeeeeeee

“Maybe.” Dick tried to remember everything he had seen Bruce do right and everything he had seen Bruce do wrong. “But it’s still important to you, so it’s important to me. Tell me.”

I firmly love best a Bruce who doesn't always get it right but also doesn't always get it wrong. He's just a guy doing his best.

“I thought…” Jason slumped to the side until his shoulder rested against the tree. “I thought it’d taken everything it could. I lost a year of my life, my family, my home, my sanity.” He barked out a laugh, raspy and rough and dark with bitterness. “What else could I lose, right?”

I also love Jason getting to grieve his missing years, not just raging against Bruce and Gotham. I should do more with that.

“It wasn’t exciting or really funny. It was just this… this old guy. He’d come in to this clean house and hang up his jacket and take off his shoes and sing. He’d tell stories with these stupid puppets, and he never yelled or got mad. And he’d talk right to me. Every time, it was like he was talking right to me.” Jason swiped at his eyes again, fast, hard. “I guess it was because it was public access and they didn’t have a lot of other programming, but it felt like every time I needed him, he was on. Even when I got older, I’d turn him on sometimes, because no matter how scared or angry or sad I was, I knew he’d fix it. He’d tell me he was proud of me, that I was special, that I was okay just the way I was.”

I always hated the puppets, so that bit was more me than Jason. Jason was too young to get the show on first-run, so it makes sense that the reruns would be frequent and seemingly available whenever he needed them to be on. And it makes sense that a calm, gentle, supportive show would be a lifeline to him, a world where big, scary things don't appear or are talked through when they do.

Instead, he had ended up a murder victim and a killer. Dick wanted to pull Jason into a hug and let him know that he could still make a difference, that he had made a difference in Crime Alley, even if they still butted heads over methodology sometimes. He didn’t need to be ashamed of who he was. But then Jason whispered, “I didn’t know he’d died.”

Dick: Oh he's having a crisis about his behavior, oh no.

Jason: actually having an entirely different crisis

Like, imagine if you blipped out of existence for a few years and when you came back, you found out about Robin Williams or Steve Irwin retroactively.

They had never done anything like this, even before. Dick had been too busy being Nightwing to be a big brother, and Jason had had no reason to trust him. But that didn’t mean Dick couldn’t be here now, to make up for all his failures before. He pressed his lips to Jason’s scalp, then rested his cheek atop the man’s head and waited.

I still haven't fully settled in my own head exactly what the Nightwing-Robin transition was like for the three of them. When I started, I leaned on the fanon interpretation of Bruce and Dick fighting a lot and Dick and Jason as emotionally distant strangers. Now I think I've relegated a lot of that to individual interpretation (Dick feeling a lot of guilt that doesn't wholly match reality, for example), but it's still pretty fluid.

Dick could feel a tear or two wash down his own face as he tightened his hold on his brother’s shoulders. “He would be proud of you, you know. He wasn’t the kind of guy to ask for perfection, right? Just that you try. He’d be so proud, Jay.” “Why, because you are?” Jason had tried for sardonic, but the wry jab came out waterlogged and muffled between sniffles. “Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Dick murmured.

Choked myself up a little there.

“Mine was Bob Ross,” Tim offered suddenly. He had sat on the end, furthest from Jason but still close enough to be heard even in a low voice as he hugged his knees. “Not his death so much. He died before I knew who he was. But I liked to watch him paint. He made beautiful things from his mistakes. His happy accidents. It was good to hear, sometimes.” Dick and Jason took that in silently, digesting everything Tim had said and everything he hadn’t.

I knew each kid would have their own person to name, because that's how these conversations go. Mention Steve Irwin and someone else will mention Robin Williams or Chadwick Boseman or Amy Winehouse or whoever. Everyone has a death of a stranger that meant an awful lot to them. Figuring out who to pair to whom was an interesting puzzle, and I think the pairings I picked made sense. (Am realizing now how many shocking celebrity deaths are men.)

One quirk of timing with this fic was I wrote it and happened to post, completely by accident, the day that Stan Lee died. Folks were really feeling it in my comments section.

[tamak1su0h]

notes

short modern haitham x kaveh au idea that’s been stuck in my head for several weeks now hehe

! not proofread, fluff, sfw

one morning kaveh notices an unbelievably filthy car in the parking lot next to the building where his art studio is at. considering his idea nearly genius, he writes on the rear window with several moves of his right hand’s index finger: “wash me”. this note has no chance to escape haitham’s gaze as later he replies with “give me your number then”.

the following day, kaveh notices the car owner’s response, which makes him a little embarrassed. he decides not to leave another note as, to his mind, it has no sense. suddenly, he hears haitham’s voice behind his back.

“is something wrong?”

feeling ambushed, without any other word kaveh escapes the “crime scene”. 

what catches haitham’s attention next is the absence of the reply to his “note” on the car’s window.

with an awkward movement of the hand, haitham adds “please?” to the last message of his. 

two weeks pass by and the response is nowhere to be found. haitham grows tired of the waiting and (finally) decides to get his car washed. along with the dirt, he believes, this whole silly story will be left in the past.

_____

this same day kaveh gets approval of his artworks to be displayed at the international art exhibition. the news results in an unexpected party held right in the kaveh’s studio.

right before entering the building he cast a surprised gaze on haitham’s car that no longer resembles a clump of dirt. 

slightly grinning, kaveh reaches his studio where the final party preparations have been done.

around 10 pm the friend-group hits the stage of sharing random facts about their lives and playing “truth or dare” games.

three hours later there are only kaveh and tighnari left in the studio. that is the moment when kaveh makes a decision to share his window notes story with the friend. kaveh doesn’t even have time to finish talking as intermittent laughter, belonged to nari, ripples through the room.  he (more as a joke) advises his friend to grasp this chance. silence falls in the room right after kaveh’s quiet response that the owner has washed the car.

without thinking twice, tighnari tears out a piece of paper from his notebook and swiftly marks it with kaveh’s phone number. the next moment kaveh finds himself holding the said paper in his hand not knowing what he is supposed to do with this note.

tighnari is eager for kaveh to to get this dick so he grabs him by the elbow and leads kaveh to the parking lot.

there were only three cars. given the car’s description provided earlier by kaveh, it takes less than a minute for tighnari to detect haitham’s car.

step, another one, and the note is already flaunting on the wind-shield of the car.

______

unfortunately, it’s 10 in the morning. kaveh wakes up not so much from a severe headache, but from the ringing phone. the number on the screen is unknown so he ignores the call. kaveh tries to remember what their night talk with tighnari has been about. nothing comes to mind.

realizing that tighnari is probably still asleep, he sends him a message asking whether they can meet later in the local cafe.

the answer is not long in coming and they agree on meeting each other in an hour. it seemed to kaveh for a moment that he has never expected anything so much in his life. it feels like he is missing something very, very important.

_____

meanwhile, haitham is confused: why would one leave their phone number if they are not willing to answer the call? 

_____

kaveh comes half an hour earlier than agreed stumbling upon each other at the entrance. neither of them think much of what happened.

- tighnari! how has the night ended?

- are you kidding me? YOU LEFT YOUR NUMBER TO THE CAR GUY! AND YOU EVEN BOTHERED YOURSELF WITH DRAWING A HEART AT THE END OF IT!

- i did WHAT? please, say that you’re not serious…

- i’d gladly say so, but it won’t change the fact that you actually did it.

- i got a call from an unknown number this morning. it must be him.

- i can’t believe that you’re saying it only now! 

- in my defence i haven’t had even the slightest idea of leaving my number to him.

- my goodness, just call him back.

- well, you got a point there. what if he’s busy? i better send him a message.

Good day! You called me today, but I could not pick up the phone as I was suffering from the hangover, and could not even remember what my name was. If you are free, is it okay for me to call you? Thank you.

after sending the message, kaveh and tighnari stay in the cafe for two more hours talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

_____

kaveh iss working late in the studio when the phone’s screen lit up. it is another message notification.

ehh, hello, i guess? if you’re awake, i could call you. and, by the way, my name is al-haitham 

it is quite late, but kaveh is mostly surprised by the calm tone of haitham’s message. that’s what he thinks about, dialling haitham.

- hello?

- is this... al-haitham?

- oh, you called me and even remembered my name! 

- i want to apologize for writing those notes on your car’s window.

- do you want to meet up?

- what do you mean?

- meet. you, me, and the parking lot. i’m finishing with the work for today so i’ll be free in fifteen minutes. what do you think?

- good? i’ll see tomorrow day, right?

- wait and find out yourself.

- actually, sounds terrible.

- are you coming? 

- you have fifteen minutes to come down.

kaveh gets up and looks at himself in the mirror. he is wearing the most casual attire which consisted of black pants and blue shirt. he picks up the jacket weighing on the chair and leaves the studio.

haitham is wearing black bottom as well and green sweater that he has acquired not so long ago. his hair looks messy as he has been grabbing his head while working.

haitham sees kaveh and realizes that he has seen him earlier. not the cafe’s entrance, but the car moment. with a smile haitham recalls the awkwardness in kaveh’s expression when he has addressed him.

when they were within arm's length of each other, they both smiled and laughed.

occasionally, kaveh interrupts the fun.

- you don’t even want to know my name?, - he says teasingly.