#even if the aesthetics are oil spills

[triupalonupalots]

Maybe the reason I liked Howl's Moving Castle so much

was because it really reminds me of an oil rig.

[kitchen-spoon]

90’s au where Eddie is a porn star who hires Steve to be his child’s nanny to watch them while he works or has to fly away for a few days for work.

Eddie is popular because of his dark aesthetic, people are really into all the black clothes, the rings, crazy long hair, tattoos and piercings. He is also popular because he works with women and men and is know for it.

Steve and Robin had just moved to New York for Robin’s college and because Steve goes wherever she goes. They apply for jobs and are desperate so they even go to the library and reply to ads on Craigs list. That is when Steve sees a posting for someone looking for a nanny for their 2 year old daughter. It was basically a 9-5 almost everyday with extra pay for overnight weekend stays too. It seemed to good to be true but Steve applied anyway, what could the harm be?

That ad is how Steve met Eddie, the sexiest most confident man he’d ever met. He was so smooth and flirty and open about his job away from the small ears of his daughter who just knew daddy was a model. He’d toy with Steve, batting his big brown eyes, biting his lip and smirking at him during the small moments where their schedules would cross over and they’d see each other.

Eddie couldn’t help himself, he got bolder with time moving to leaning into Steve’s space to catch a whiff of his Cologne, fleeting touches just so he could feel the firmness of Steve’s muscles under his fingertips. Steve was exactly Eddie’s type, shorter than him and built with the sass and attitude of someone twice his size. He was a tan hairy Italian dream, and Eddie would do anything to taste that cross Steve wore around his neck. He couldn’t help but imagine the brunette oiled up, laying in the sun in the tinest little speedo, his perfect brown hair glowing.

The tension grows between them with each passing month, not helped by how much Eddie’s daughter loves Steve and how much it melts Eddie’s heart to see how gentle and sweet Steve is with her. It all comes to a head one night 5 months after Steve is hired. Steve does his usual stalling so he can stick around and flirt with Eddie before he leaves, relishing in the touches Eddie will give him. He gives in that night and agrees to stay for a glass of wine. They sit on Eddie’s couch, closer than anything that could pass as casual. Their knees were touching and Steve was leaned right in Eddie’s space, arm resting against the back of the couch as he looked up through his lashes while Eddie spoke. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice his wineglass slowly tipping over in his hand until it spilled all over his and Eddie’s laps.

They cleaned up in the kitchen, Steve blushing as Eddie called him sweetheart and hoisted him up on to the counter like he weighed nothing. Eddie dabbed at Steve’s pants, slowly moving up until he was pressing directly over the growing bulge in Steve’s pants. And then Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved Eddie’s hands away and slid his own into Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward so he could finally know what that tongue piercing felt like. Eddie didn’t let Steve have control for long, and they ended the night with Steve bent over the marble counter tops Eddie’s fingers shoved in his mouth to shut him up.

[jkl-fff]

GUYS, I FIGURED OUT THE BLACK TURTLES!

It's a detail of OTGW that's lowkey perplexed me since the series first aired. What's with the black turtles that appear in every episode? What role do they serve in the story, and what do they represent?

A small, seemingly inconsequential detail, but just the sort to occupy my mind every time I watch the show.

My first train of thought: Are they manifestations of The Beast's power and influence? If not, why does eating one turn Beatrice's dog into a slavering monster? But if so, why is Auntie Whispers purely benevolent despite eating one (and presumably much more)? Why aren't they themselves monstrous and malevolent? But also why aren't they, on the contrary, beautiful and benevolent? They're just ... sorta there, which suggests there's no supernatural nor moral element to them. Yet they're clearly not natural turtles, either ...

My second train of thpught: Are they representations of the Unknown's liminal nature, moving between land and water just as the Unknown is between life and death? Thus a foreshadow and a reminder of the brother's state? It would sorta make sense, given their omnipresence. Mirrored by the brother's Frog, whose amphibious nature is likewise liminal. And the weirdness of turtles specifically for this symbolic role fits the the weird aesthetic of The Unknown. Still, it didn't seem to quite fit.

BUT TONIGHT, I FIGURED OUT WHERE THEY COME FROM! THE OLD GRIST MILL!

WHERE THE WOODSMAN HAS BEEN GRINDING EDELWOOD TREES INTO A DISTINCTIVELY BLACK OIL FOR THE LANTERN!

SOME OF WHICH MUST BE WASHED OFF, LEAKING, OR EVEN SPILLED OUTRIGHT INTO THE STREAM THAT POWERS THE MILL, AND THUS CONTAMINATING THE ENVIRONMENT!

It's pollution. Industrial Revolution era pollution is the reason for the black turtles distinctive color and weird effects on some people, but not others.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

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

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

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

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

He has other obligations, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream is wearing a plug.

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

Christ, but that's hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

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

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

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

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful. Perfect.

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

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

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

God, but he wants to do it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 4

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; brief mentions of drowning, fighting (?)

note ; i’m ngl i’m kinda proud of this chapter, i may have done the smidgenmost cooking. also i will be making a masterlist soon!!

previous | next | masterlist

liyue harbor looked its prettiest at night.

the lantern lights made the city’s colors pop out so much more. from afar, the harbor looked like it’s own galaxy of yellow stars or like a celestial being as lively as its nightlife. this isn’t even the first time you’ve thought this- zapolyarny palace also seemed infinitely more majestic when the lights turned on during the evening. it almost made you enjoy working late shifts.

almost.

unfortunately, aesthetics can’t sugarcoat the things the fatui has done and that you’ve been a witness to. the mass production of delusions, the robbery of gnoses and let’s not even get started on the things the doctor has done. even with eleven harbingers, who all have their fair share of unorthodox acts, don’t seem to rival the blasphemies your very boss has committed. blasphemies you’ve only watched, sitting neatly and keeping your mouth shut, and done nothing about. you’re only undeservingly grateful you weren’t present for the majority of his atrocities. but then again, who even were you to keep count of divine punishments you would never provide to the sinners who warranted them?

plus, now wasn’t the time to dwell on entirely so much.

if you stood lifelessly in the middle of the street for any longer, someone might get suspicious. you choose to head towards the coastal side of the harbor, merely observing the crowds walk back and forth between the street businesses. a few steps further and you reach a small street food restaurant- wanmin restaurant. the line of customers is concerningly big for such a time of day, you shiver to imagine what it’s like during lunch time.

the large, open window of the restaurant shows an older man attending to the customers with utmost friendliness and behind him, a younger blue-haired girl hurries from side to side as she rushes to ready the dishes. you see her look down and speak as if talking to someone incredibly short, so short that they’re entirely covered by the half wall of the window.

you furrow your eyebrows, confused by the sight- that is until the girl turns to you and panic invades her expression.

“guoba, wait! watch out for-“

before she finishes her sentence, you feel a faint thump against your leg. you look down to see… what in all honesty just looked like a teddy bear- except it seemed entirely alive and currently knocked over on the ground, paw wiping its little forehead as if it got hurt on the crash with your calf. next to it was also a small bag of mora, spilling over onto the sidewalk.

you hurry to gather up the coins and put them back in the bag before any slimy passerby could snatch them away while the girl steps over to help up the teddy bear.

“agh… i shouldn’t have sent you out to get groceries in such a hurry and you also need to watch where you go better!” she reprimands the creature, patting it down to smooth away any dirt.

“a-and i’m so very sorry! we’re overflowing with customers today and we were running out of oil so i thought i’d have guoba run to mr. dongsheng’s shop but i guess the pressure got him distracted…” she bows apologetically and the bear follows suit.

chuckling sheepishly, you wave the gesture off. “please, there’s no need for all that… it was just an accident after all.” you look down at the bag of mora in your hand.

“say, why don’t i go buy that oil for you? i’m not busy at the moment and you and… guoba clearly need all your attention on the food.”

her eyes light up as if the second coming of rex lapis has just occurred before her. “you’d do that? oh, that would be amazing! thank you so much…” she trails off as if waiting for you to say your name.

“y/n.”

“y/n! thank you so much, y/n. i’m xiangling, by the way!”

the shop just around the corner from the restaurant and you dutifully wait in line to be attended by mr. dongsheng. you’re almost getting lost in thought until you hear an exclamation from nearby.

“x-xingqiu wait up!” what sounded like a young boy huffed out, sprinting from nearby. you turn to see exactly a young light-blue haired boy in white clothes rushing to catch up with another boy with darker blue hair in elegant navy garbs who was already waiting for him at the bridge to the outskirts of town.

“come on, you slowpoke!” the other boy giggles and as his friend is finally beside him, he abruptly grabs his wrist and pulls him along to run once more.

the display is so genuine and lighthearted that it even makes you chuckle fondly, makes you nostalgic for a simpler time.

you buy the oil and swiftly head back to wanmin restaurant, where xiangling is practically weeping with gratitude. “oh thank you, thank you, thank you! you’re a real lifesaver, please let me repay you- a whole evening of dishes on the house with whatever guests you’d like!” she bows once more.

“don’t sweat it… but i’ll hold you to that.” you nod amusedly and make your way out to leave xiangling and guoba to their arduous cooking.

your aimless wandering through the harbor takes you to the eastern side next, to the passageway between the pool of lotuses that leads to bubu pharmacy. you lean against the railing, watching intently as the fish swim aimlessly through the calm waters- then you turn to watch the people crossing the passageway, couples, families, childhood friends all enjoying the comfortable mundaneness of life.

turning even further, you spot a small girl sitting at the top of the staircase that leads to bubu pharmacy, you’ve seen her before behind the counter of the establishment… qiqi, was it? she sits at the edge of the elevated structure, facing the piers of the harbor as she watches with droopy eyes and what seemed to be a glass of milk in her hands.

the sleepiness in her expression reminds you of how late into the night it must be, urging you to head back to your quarters and get whatever sleep you can.

on your way up the stairs of the catwalks, you pass by heyu tea house, where an opera is taking place. the singer is a young girl, adorning traditional liyuean opera garbs that flow gracefully with the elegant twists and turns of the dance she performs. not to mention her unparalleled singing accompanied by the smooth sounds of a liyuean instrument, a guqin as you recall it- her voice so mesmerizing it nearly pulls all of the attention away from the heart wrenching tale it tells.

you’d heard stories about liyuean opera and how entirely different it was from the snezhnayan iterations, but none of the descriptions truly made justice to the fantastical spectacle you stumbled upon by luck. once again, you almost forget you were supposed to head to your dorm and rest.

unfortunately, rest is not for you.

you lay in your bed, eyes wide awake and fixated at the decorated ceiling as you recall all that you saw this evening. the liveliness of the common folk, xiangling and guoba, the two boys, the young girl from the pharmacy delighting in something as simple as a glass of milk, the opera performance. it’s all so human, so natural, simple, meaningful and so entirely precious. you’d made an enjoyable evening stroll just out of watching people… be people.

and you were going to drown it all in just a few days.

well, not as much you as childe was going to. but you didn’t do anything to counter it, not a peep of disagreement, not an act of defiance, not even an idea of an alternate solution. all because of some goddamn chess piece for the tsaritsa’s stupid plan. a pang of forced guilt hits your heart- you’d be surely decapitated in the town square for saying such things about her grace, or thinking rather. but that’s not how you feel, you’d care less about not criticizing an archon if they were truly being stupid.

but that’s how childe feels.

he reveres the tsaritsa blindly more than anyone you know. you needed to speak to him, first thing tomorrow.

surely he wouldn’t mind pulling out of his ingenious, but foolishly dangerous, plan just for you?

—

they say early bird gets the worm yet here you remain, up at the ass crack of dawn with no worm to speak of. if you were slightly less exhausted at the moment, you would’ve caught onto ekaterina’s look of sheer pity towards you.

“good morning, sergeant! how may i help you?” she greets politely.

“mmh.. yes, morning…” you mumble back, pinching the bridge of your nose. “would you know where childe is right now?”

“i believe childe is currently exercising outside of the harbor. would you like to leave a message for him?”

“no no- no need, i’ll just go to him myself. where exactly outside of town is he?”

“childe usually likes to train up in the mountains behind yujing terrace, he took a few officers to train alongside him so it won’t be difficult to spot the group.” you nod and mutter a curt ‘thank you’ to her. your feet feel like they’ve got pure geo constructs tied to them but you manage to make it to the door of northland bank- though before you get to make your way out, you hear ekaterina call out to you.

“i would advise you to bring a weapon, sergeant! knowing how stubborn childe is.”

chuckling at the indirect jab toward childe that she delivers, you only materialize your polearm with the power of your vision, the only instance you’ll ever use it.

“don’t i know it.”

sometimes you wonder if childe is even human- the mere climb to the mountains behind yujing terrace was enough exercise to last you a week or so. once you settled upon the mountain top, heaving as if death were at your doorstep, you take in your surroundings to spot a small group of men in the distance, gathered in a circle that and facing away from you. a few more minutes of walking reveal that they are in fact clad in fatui uniform and the sound of grunts, thuds and the ever despair-inducing sound of the eleventh harbinger’s maniacal laughter.

you join the circle silently, eyes sharp and cold, to watch as childe effortlessly topples over a low-rank officer. a little more observation would show that this poor man wasn’t the first one to receive such treatment, as all the other men look over with sheer horror in their eyes and dirt clinging to their uniforms- all while childe’s clothes remain spotless and neat. said terrified men notice your sudden presence and scurry to salute you properly with trembling arms while you merely gesture for them to be at ease.

“so! who would like to go next?” the harbinger calls out obliviously only to be met with shameful silence. he scans the whole circle like a bloodthirsty predator, though once he finally turns around to see you there, his eyes seem to gain a different light. if they can even attain any.

“y/n! to what do we owe the pleasure to have you here?” he laughs, raising a hand to gesture to you while facing the other officers. “gentlemen, sergeant y/n of the medical division.”

the officers almost immediately salute you once more and you sigh. “please, at ease.”

“truly impeccable timing, doc! i’ve just sparred one-on-one with each one of these officers to teach them a thing or two about combat. though… i might’ve gone a little too hard, plus they might learn better through observing rather than getting shoved around one by one. so why don’t the two of us spar?”

you put up a hand to stop him. “yeah yeah, unfortunately i’m not here to rumble. i’ve got something i’d like to discuss with y-“

“aw, come on! this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for these gentlemen!” childe whines.

“i really would rather not, it’s a bit of an important matter that i want to sort out-“

“it’ll be quick! just one round.”

“i didn’t sleep well last night plus-“

“then a spar is just the way to get the blood pumping!”

“can we please just talk for a few minutes and then you can go back to-“

slash.

where you expected to receive another interruption from childe was instead the sharp tip of a hydro blade right beside your head, narrowingly missing you by a hair. the officers gasp dramatically, while you practically stab childe with the incredulous glare you throw him. even worse, the asshole only smirks playfully as if it was just a playground game.

being on the other side of his blade is famously not unfamiliar to you.

you summon your polearm without thinking and swing it angrily from right to left, hoping only to get the hydro sword away from you. childe does exactly as you predict and steps back expertly to dodge your spear, bearing the widest grin. what ensues next is a tiring back and forth between the two of you- childe hits, you hit back to defend yourself, childe hits back harder. the men watch intently as if watching the most intense play of their lives. it’s probably after a good eight minutes of fighting that your arms start growing weary from how tightly you’re holding onto your weapon and your legs get even sorer than they were from how much you climbed. this is getting stupid.

you put all your focus into finding an opening in childe’s strikes to overtake him, finding it within his next attack, where he switches his grip on the twin blades so the sharp sides face outward and he brings his arms together to create momentum for a double-sided swing that covers the entire of his front. in the millisecond that his hands are next to each other, you send a wave of frigid air that freezes the entirety of his swords and bites at his fingers in a way that makes him hiss and drop the weapons on instinct.

as the icy blades collide with the ground, they shatter into a million glittering shards. childe looks down, half-shocked half-amused at the display and laughs once more. he continues to stare at the ground, any trace of his swords is entirely gone- though it’s no matter, as hydro is already swirling down his wrists as he prepares a new set.

“hah… the fun finally begi-“

before he can finish his taunt, you’re tackling him onto the ground, taking advantage of his distraction. you kneel with one knee up, the other is latched firmly beside childe’s torso, and press your polearm firmly across his arms as to restrain him. the fatui officers are practically losing their minds at this point.

“enough.” you huff out with a snarl, chest heaving up and down violently.

childe is finally, truly at a loss for words. he looks up at you as if you’re the most divine being he’s ever seen and the halo of sunlight that forms around you really doesn’t help. though, you only interpret it as him simply being so surprised that someone finally beat him. after a few seconds of remaining in the position, you take it childe has surrendered and stand up and away from him.

you dust off your clothes and utter without looking up. “leave. all of you.” the men sprint out of the scene like startled rabbits.

“now can we talk?”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap

[swampstew]

Meet the Master Strategist ~ Wire

Wire invented the word aloof. This is a fact. He also invented the word slay. Besides being a silent giant, Wire also has the second biggest brain in the Kid Pirate crew, right behind Killer. Wire handles strategizing full stop. Schemes, plots, developments, trysts, pranks, rehabilitation, etc. Knows the ins and outs of everything somehow but won't spill on how he knows. Wire tells Killer what to do and Killer tells Kid what to do when it comes to pulling off anything, be it dinner bill dashing or infiltrating highly guarded castles. Don't let his unenthusiastic face fool you - if you're in the crew, you're his nakama, you can trust him with your life.

Meet your Vice-Captain 🡢  ☠️ Meet your Captain -> ☠️

Wire may have also coined the phrase 'ride or die' but that's still unverified. Anyways, he's loyal as they come. Most of the crew came from the same island so it may seem intimidating to join the fray, and they all do have high walls, once they get over themselves, you'll find crew more like family.

Does he know sign language? He'll shrug and then give you a vague answer with an even vaguer gesture. You'll see him make signing motions from time to time, clearly holding conversation, communicating from a distance, or maybe giving direction during tougher than normal settings. It's not until one day Heat pulls you aside and let's you in on the secret. Yes Wire can sign, and he did it purely so he didn't have to expend his energy talking to people he didn't find interesting. Not a lot of people know how to sign back so they leave him alone, just the way he wants it to be.

If he finds time to relax, Wire enjoys simple pastimes to get through the days. He plays guitar and has been known to sing sometimes, he loves board and card games, is a vicious dart shark, and he loves napping. He's one of very few Kid Pirates that takes naps but he makes the absolute most of them. He wears a sleep mask too. It reads: Fuck Off (in really nice handsewn embroidery.)

Wire is the chillest between Kid (the unbridled anger), Killer (the stoic well of anxiety), and Heat (much nicer than he should reasonably be). If crew concerns don't meet a certain threshold criteria, most internal problems get handed to himself and Heat. The thresholds being: big bastard Kid needs to kill, and any situation not cited in Killer's emergency management guidebook.

Circling back to slay - it's a double entendre. Wire has the third highest body count on the crew (for murders), he's also a fashion icon. Have you seen his fit? Mesh netting on those tits and legs, WITH whore shorts? He knows what he's fucking doing. He helps all his little queer pirate kids pick out their outfit aesthetics, he's a proud gay dad.

Wire is only possessive of two things. One of them is his beloved trident. Kid made it for him years ago and it's still his weapon of choice. He cleans and oils it daily, sharpens the points and keeps on top of maintenance for it. Kid made him other weapons over the years: spiked brass knuckles (hurts Wire's back to bend down and utilize them properly); spiked boots (better application but Kid is not a cobbler and those promptly fell apart mid-fight leaving Wire barefoot in battle); a spiked flail (hit Kid's head by accident one time and Wire never saw the flail again). No weapon is more suited for his height and style of fighting than his trident. Wire suspects Kid made it to match his favorite pointed headdress.

If you try to get in the way of his Captain's dreams OR you try to sling pot on the deck, you're dead meat. There's only one weed dealer on the Victoria Punk and that's Wire.

Welcome to the crew and stay in your lane.

[elvenbeard]

Hold on tight to yourself, not just anyone else When you've sailed to the edge, nowhere left to go

I've talked about my experimental light and water shooting in last week's wip wednesday, and I'm here to finally share some fave pics xD I have more, and I might post some on a separate occasion or just use them for OC ask stuff where they fit, we'll see!!

Vince is someone who often asks himself where his place in the universe is, even more so growing up, but the doubts keep creeping in again now and then regardless of how much more confident he is now in his own abilities and goals. I kind of wanted to capture this feeling of being lost, just floating for a while as you try to figure things out here... and play with light and color.

I didn't really take any behind the scenes pics for this (I should really start doing that) but I made some shitty sketches just now with my mouse cause I mentioned I wanted to illustrate how I did this xD Also for my personal reference, cause I wanna do something similar, slightly different for another project in the future!!

Very simply, this was the setup xD I used Denny's pool as location, mainly because it was the first that came to mind, had a decent size, and I wanted to do some stuff there anyway xD I think you could pull this off in any other pool or body of water just as well. Originally I wanted to keep the normal pool background, but then I spawned in a black wall from the photostudio props to block out the sunlight and get a darker backdrop, and I really liked that!!

I had three customizable point lights spawned, a red one below V, a purple and greenish one above him - I don't remember the exact placements, I mainly just wanted a nice color contrast and I like those colors and played around with where I put them!

Something like this!

Now, the ripple effect of the water...... I had V spawned in via AMM, and so Player!V was also still there in the scne, so I just ran around his spawned self a little bit to create the splashes xD And voila!

I always take my pics just in in good old vanilla photomode, and at first I had pathtracing on for it (raytracing is also on). And I did like that as well, but look at these unedited pics:

The reflections look a lot more natural and detailed, but are also waaaayyy less colorful. So if you wanna go for a more realistic approach that might be the better option! Everything else is the same, lights, backdrop, etc.

These are some unedited shots with pathtracing off (raytracing still on):

The lights kind of create this oil-spill like effect on the water and I loooove that so much!! Also, the red light from below was reflected in his eyes in a really cool way somehow (less realistic, but very aesthetic xD)

So yeah! If your graphics card can handle it, mess with all the ray/pathtracing settings a bit for a variety of effects xD

Also, all my pics are usually heavily edited in case you couldn't tell XD I love vanilla photomode for its convenience, but it has its limits when it comes to color adjustments, depth of field, and the like!

Same shot, unedited above, edited below. Played with color balance, saturation, sharpness, and in some of the pics some slight motion blur, too. I also shopped in his top surgery scars cause I didn't get around to trying to make them as a mod yet but it's on my list XD For more of them artsy pics with consistent looking scars!

Thanks for reading this far, I do hope it was interesting and you can take something away from it for your VP XD

[queering-ecology]

"It is imperative to examine ecology without the romanticized notion of nature looming over its discourse. There are numerous instances of environmentalist movements that are primarily focused on preserving this idealized “nature” instead of considering what is actually best for the environment. For example, solar and wind farms are often rejected by communities because they don’t look “natural”. Instead of being concerned about energy preservation, the public is wary that these large industrial farms with “spoil their view.” Morton writes that this “is truly a case of the aesthetics of Nature impeding ecology” (9). It’s because of instances like this that the human race will not be able to truly address the environmental realities of the planet without first eradicating this ideological perception of what is “natural” and “unnatural”. Industrial facilities are a part of the modern society in which we all exist.

--

Morton writes on dark ecology: “A more honest ecological art would linger in the shadowy world of irony and difference…The ecological thought includes negativity and irony, ugliness and horror.” We must not shield the ugliness inherent in ecology from our view, but rather, acknowledge, or even celebrate it. Oil spills, windmills, landfills and road-kill; these are some examples of dark ecology. If we are thinking in the totality called for by the ecological thought, we need the whole picture.

--

Two of the concepts within the ecological theory are: the mesh and strange stranger. In the broad world, the more we know something, the more ambiguous it becomes and we understand it less. Morton defines the the mesh as the interconnectedness of all living and non-living things. He recognizes that the mesh is jumbled and tangled and is not easily navigable. “It is a vast, sprawling mesh of interconnection without a definite center or edge” (The Ecological Thought 8).

The other tenant of ecotheory is the idea of strange strangers. The idea of “strange strangers” bases its legitimacy on the inner logic of knowledge. It suggests that the more we understand our connection to each and every life-form, the stranger they become to us. --This is just like our relationship with the most seemingly distant and insignificant life form. Much in the spirit of the Uncanny, these “strange strangers” are distantly familiar, yet our understanding of them becomes less clear the more we inspect them and our relationship with them.

[magnolia-sunrise]

so what drew me to the original illustration and the pose is just how i guess, suggestive it is, first time i saw it i was immediately convinced this is simply a Wolfgang pose to a t. its just sooooo - in your face, completely on display as if daring you to react, but at the same time watching very closely what that reaction might be.

picking the natural candlelight and really warm tones for this really made it all come together for me, there is just something so satisfying about painting a mechanical body in that light and in this setting, with the cracked oil paint as if they sat for a portrait rather than examination

the part that was probably the worst headache to paint and figure out is the transluscent and shimmery element of the muscles, the light shining through and illuminating their insides. my main aesthetic inspiration points is the natural iridescence of fish scale and oil spill, which are both strikingly beautiful (and also kind of gross). i didn't want to get bogged down in minute details like every single blood vessel as much as to give you the viewer a feeling of like "i want to know what it would feel like to touch that"

which is where the whole theme of the painting comes together alongside with the caption/title. seeing an android body like this and feeling like -- its uncannily familiar yet at the same time just different enough to feel alien. how do you begin to comprehend that human hands supposedly made something like this? how is this not god's work?

part of that is the way android bodies and anatomy is regarded in the society they live in, where a lot of knowledge of how they work or how to build androids is considered lost to general public, and forbidden to pursue outside of specific professions. even most androids themselves don't actually know how their bodies were put together or how they are maintained, outside of the basic energy necessities for functioning. if they get damaged or malfunction, they have designated hospitals they can go to and they are put to "sleep" for all procedures. of course this is part of the way their population is controlled.

Wolfgang's body is a couple generations older than the most common type of android currently alive, there is a bit more of an intricacy to their design and it differs from others in some plot relevant key elements. there's of course the transgender element of this was not their original design. and they took ownership of their body into their own hands, but given how they were built it was extremely arduous and difficult for them to find ways to change parts of their body to fit with how they wanted to look. not to mention this is seen as the highest sacrilege against the human creators (despite the hypocrisy that most humans dont even know how to make an android anymore, they still feel ownership over their designs).

last little thing i want to point out because they're not meant to draw too much attention but its a neat little detail i think : ) but in each corner of the frame there is a small bud of magnolia in different part of the lifecycle of the bloom. until their hand interrupts that cycle, by breaking into the frame itself, the last corner, that would have been the death of the bloom, is broken off

[punkbakerchristine]

i just don’t understand how people can laugh at things that go horribly wrong in the kitchen, or how/why it’s a sign of being “a great chef.”

you have to clean the stove now. you have to wipe up your mess on the counter. you can’t use the oven until it’s cleaned. i’m going to stand here and make sure you don’t “accidentally” turn on the broiler even though the button for it is in big lettering.

you wasted how many eggs?! when eggs are 8-9 bucks for a dozen?!!?? the braindead idiot on our instacart order today dropped a whole 18 of them (and a bag of flour) on my foot without any apology and i wanted to throw up when i opened the carton to check on them, how dare you use all those eggs for each and every fuck up!! some of those were going to be for breakfast tomorrow, i should just smash your head through the counter.

that poor wine. those poor beautiful steaks. that jar of spice, i can’t—

the cows that gave their lives so we could eat them and have the nourishment and possibilities that come from their milk. the birds that gave their lives so we could eat them and have the nourishment and versatility of their eggs.

the wheat and grass used to make the flour. the sugarcane used to make the sugar. the cocoa beans used to make chocolate. the vanilla beans used to make the extract, and why and how is this a meme. the plants that gave their lives so we could have their vitamins and nutrients that are known for saving our lives. the plants that gave their lives to make the oil that we can make food with. the yeast that went into the dough hungry and wanting to make it rise for us.

the knives we spent money on. the tools we spent money on. the nonstick tools we spent money on. the fact you could have burned the house down. how dare you.

how can you just stand there and laugh like it’s a fucking meme. like it’s aesthetic and all for show. like a complete psychopath.

i guess i’m just a perfectionist and i’m emotional. but if this was a laboratory, i doubt you’d be laughing if you broke an Erlenmeyer flask filled with silver nitrate, knocked over a lit bunsen burner, spilled hydrochloric acid, or stood there like a dumbass when the geiger counter is going apeshit. why laugh when your frosting is split or you burnt our dinner to death.

[lucius-the-sinful]

Best Of

Rules: Link a few pieces of writing that you think best define you, your aesthetic, or your personality.

I was tagged by @omgkalyppso ! Thank you!! <3

I definitely think my dialogue/characterization is my strongest aspect of my style. So here's a few passages that I really love + one from a wip that isn't dialogue but i like the prose.

Bad Blood (Mature): Part 1 of Bend & Break; Word Count: 2,764; Original setting and characters, backstory for my D&D character, Gale.

CW: mentions of child abuse

“What do you plan to do with him? Put him out on the fucking street? Run your little errands while he gets shot at and killed?” Hayden’s voice was filled with venom.  “I didn’t pay you to ask questions, Hayden,” Ace was calm, with only a hint of tension. “I was handed an asset, I plan on using it.”  “Oh, I’m not fucking surprised. Asset, that’s what he is to you?”  Gale saw Ace straighten. “And what do you plan to do about it? Run to the police?” There was a smile in his voice. “I’m sure they will take your report with the sincerity it deserves.”  Hayden leaned forward onto Ace’s desk, completely blocking Gale’s view of his father. “I’m not afraid of you. Lay a hand on that child while I’m here, and I will fucking break it. I might snap your legs, too, just for old time’s sake.” 

Feather Fall (Teen and Up): Part 2 of Witcher, Poet, King; Word Count: 3,311; The Witcher; Zafir (original school of the griffin character) spends the winter at Kaer Morhen following the collapse of Kaer Seren.

CW: mentions of alcohol

Another storm rolled in a week later, trapping the witchers inside Kaer Moren. While most of them gathered around the fireplace and drank through the day and night, Zafir occupied the candle-lit laboratory. He spent the first few hours experimenting with more potent ingredient combinations, writing the results in his journal. As he was bottling some of his new concoctions, another witcher strolled in. He was the youngest of the group, who Zafir had few indecent exchanges with. Lambert held a crate of bottles of alcohost, that he nearly dropped on the table. One of the potions wobbled, and would have toppled over if not for Zafir’s reflexes. The griffin glared at Lambert. “What do you want?” He snapped, patience already wearing thin.  Lambert leaned on the crate, looking at Zafir’s work. “Dunno. Vesemir told me to hall this crate down here. And to make sure you weren’t disrupting his moldy books,” Lambert nodded to a series of bookshelves that were covered in a blanket of dust.  “I have little interest in the basic knowledge every witcher should know,” Zafir muttered, firmly corking his potions before Lambert could cause real harm.  “I don’t even remember half the shit Vesemir taught us,” Lambert raised a brow. “Sitting through his lectures was worse than watching paint dry.”  “That is to be expected of a man with your character,” He bent under the table, digging through one of his saddlebags for a wooden box.  “Asshole,” Lambert walked around the table, picking up one of Zafir’s potions and swirling the pitch black liquid inside. It sparkled like oil against the dim light. Despite nearly spilling it just moments before, he handled the bottle with the same care he would a freshly sharpened blade. “Black blood, but you did something to it?”  Zafir watched Lambert closely. “There is a thistle that grows in Koviss with toxic thorns that have a minor paralytic effect. When properly portioned with the other ingredients of black blood, those effects can be enhanced. I hope it has the potential to paralyze a vampire or similar fiend when they bite.”  “Interesting, although it just sounds like you had a deadly encounter with a vampire. Not that you would have the scars to prove it,” Lambert gently set the bottle down. “A witcher without scars. You’re even more of a freak than the rest of us.”  Zafir opened the box, where he had about three potions of various colors remaining. He opened a secondary compartment, where he stored his newly mixed potions. “Did you just accept Vesemir’s task so you could bother me?”  “Perhaps. If you hadn’t noticed, it's a bit boring and miserable upstairs. And when Geralt gets back from watch I don’t want to be sent out there. The snow is sideways, Zafir.”  “Ah, so you’re hiding,” The corners of Zafir’s lips twitched. “I think I should go thank Vesemir for bringing down the crate of alcohost, and that you were very excited for Geralt to return from watch.”  Lambert’s cocky smile flattened. “Was that your attempt at humor?” Zafir returned his gaze to his box, putting it back together and closing it. “I don’t really want to go out there either, in truth.”  Lambert wandered over to some more crates on the far side of the room, moving them aside. “So you’re hiding too,” There was another crate behind the others, with a thick bear hide over top. “Vesemir is so shit at hiding his good stuff,” He reached down, pulling out an intricate bottle. “Would be a shame if a couple of idiots like us got into it.”  Zafir frowned, then sighed. "I suppose you aren't going to just let me walk out, are you?"  "Drinking alone sucks," Lambert popped the cork.  "I know." 

Call in the Wind (WIP, Mature): The Elder Scrolls; Lazarus (original dunmer character) wading through the grief of losing his mother finds new purpose in unraveling the mystery of his father's identity.

CW: death mention

Lazarus slid into the tub, the steam a blanket of warmth that spread across his face and neck. He sat for a few minutes, submerged at his shoulders with the length of his hair sitting atop the water like an oil spill collar. It had been a long time since he could appreciate true silence in this house. He expected to hear the echoes of his mother’s cough from the other room, or the hissing of a kettle above the fire. Instead, there was nothing. The water was still as he was, still as his mother’s coffin on the long journey to Necrom.  Lazarus couldn’t let his mind linger too long on what he lost. He sank further into the water, disturbing its tranquil surface as he held his breath. He emerged again with ripples bouncing off the edges of his tub. He wiped the water from his eyes and squeezed his hair, the tapping of water breaking the serenity. Lazarus’ thoughts turned to his father, who he now could put a name to. Before her mind succumbed to her illness, his mother spoke about Balthazar for the first and last time. “I know you,” she said. “I know you will go looking. And when you do find him, you’re going to give him a piece of your mind. I like to think he still loved me, but it’s been over fifty years. Not a letter, not a trace of his existence.”

[thechimerasdiary]

reviews | collage | visual art | digital creations

𝐖𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

How the digital collage sensation ‘Welder Wings’ conjures up surrealist visions

.·:*¨༺ __________________

welderwings | Instagram

A tiny bit of fantastical absurdity – right in the palm of your hand. Type the name ‘Welder Wings’ (@welderwings) into your Instagram search bar and prepare to be consumed by deeply haunting works of art. The creations posted on the viral account seem to belong to a realm of nightmarish visions and chilling transformations: hordes of skulls are spilling out like rotten apples from half-hewn faces, parades of ponies are prancing in the sky while leaping out of enormous eyeballs, and human figures are mutating into hole-riddled vessels of sinister otherworldly souls. The world opening up in this little corner of the internet may perhaps not be for the faint-hearted. But it provides an undeniable thrill for all those drawn to the macabre.

Welder Wings is a passion project of the Spanish couple Francisco Abril and Nuria Velasco. The artist duo creates their Gothic-infused visuals through digital photo manipulation of Baroque or Romantic visual art. For example, THE INSENSATE BEAUTY (2024) is a bubbly execution scene in which Vigée Le Brun’s Marie Antoinette with a Rose (1783) suffers the same fate as her real-life counterpart. And in LAMENT OF MY STRANGLED HEART (2019), Caravaggio’s Judith (Judith Beheading Hologernes, 1602) gets her heart broken quite literally – through the gaping void replacing her face. Welder Wings’ works are subversive collages, transforming the serenity of the source material into scenes gruesome and grotesque.

Welder Wings, LAMENT OF MY STRANGLED HEART (2019)

Abril and Velasco’s creations are undeniably surrealist. Their disruptive art forces us to plunge headfirst into the deep abyss of dreams and absurdity. Clearly, Welder Wings spreads its feathers decades after the official end of the 20th-century movement. But by making conscious references to surrealist artists and practices, the duo proves that its works are much more than digital forms of play. Rather, they are a proclamation of pastiche – a way to honor and continue the approach of their predecessors.

Form is Welder Wings’ most powerful tool. Although the works are careful to keep the aesthetic style of their source materials, evoking coherent looks of compositions in oil, they are the products of digital manipulation. With the power of image editing programs and the vast digital archive of visuals, the two artists have become architects of transfiguration. The collage has long been a method for surrealist visionaries. The juxtapositioning of pre-existing elements and resulting illogicality of images is a direct representation of the unfathomable, the unconscious, the unbelievable. For the Surrealist group, collages were delineations of dreams. And Welder Wings’ works certainly feel like dreams – terrible, terrifying dreams.

left: Welder Wings, WATER REFLECTION (2021), right: Dora Maar, Untitled (Shell Hand) (1934)

More than just understanding how to wield their predecessors’ weapons, Abril and Velasco do not shy away from directly quoting from the surrealist canon. If one takes the time to scroll through the account’s vastly-growing oeuvre, it becomes obvious just how much of its art integrates the movement’s achievements. The nature-claimed skeleton trees of DARK AUTUMN (2018) certainly could inhabit the same absurd landscapes that the likes of Salvador Dalí or Yves Tanguy have envisioned. Even more obvious of a reference is WATER REFLECTION (2021). The work pays a direct homage to Dora Maar’s Untitled (Shell Hand) (1934), a milestone of surrealist photomontage. The artist duo clearly extends a direct praise to those who came before them.

It is pleasurably disturbing to look at Welder Wings’ fantastical absurdity. The couple's collages are intricately-woven garments, fabrics stitched in order to become creations of dreams, delusions and death. By harnessing digital affordances and creating complex collages, the two artists maintain the avant-garde practices of the 20th-century Surrealist movement. Welder Wings’ has an undeniable awareness about the artistic past it has inherited – and it is not reluctant to credit it.

__________________ ༻¨*:·.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

I know this sounds weird and carp but I’m gonna say what some of my favs smell like

Trent (my dumb princess) probably smells like mahogany teakwood, strawberry kiwi or motor oil

He seems like a strawberry kiwi kinda guy

Axel would smell like pine, motor oil, or cucumber melon

Emma definitely smells like sunshine and lemons or cupcake sprinkles

WAYNE the boy smell like musty ass hockey bags or hot honey, or strawberry ice berry lemonade

Scary girl smells like red raspberries, unopened monster high dolls, candles, or a hot topic

Damien smell like chemicals, laundry detergent , ocean salt, or fresh water

OLIVIA VON TRASHPANDA smells like what a god would smell like

-Ass Stars anon

I’m gonna like ask every like three or four days so not to clog your ask box and so that I try and control myself

Hello hello, Ass Stars Anon! 👋😊

You're giving these kids way too much credit in terms of how good they'd smell, imo.

Axel would smell earthy, like mulch and wet leaves, because she's a survivalist. Having a traceable scent would bring down her 9.7 primitive survival rating! That's not to say she smells bad, but if you were to sniff a handful of dirt and then Axel herself there wouldn't be much of a difference. Of course, after she started her relationship with Ripper she started smelling like him too (given the fact that the two were literally near inseparable), which is mostly just the stink of body odour- Ripper believes in letting his "natural musk" and "alfalfa pheromones" run free.

Emma strikes me as the sort of girl to either wear super sugary-scented perfumes or drown herself in fruity/sweet body mists. She probably goes through a bottle of So...? Fragrance a day, either in the scent Birthday Cake or Raspberry Frappe.

In the same vein, Chase would reek of whatever cologne/body wash he's currently sponsored by, or if he has his own brand of cologne he'd wear it religiously. I doubt many of them smell great, but at least it's more interesting than deodorant and hairspray.

Wayne AND Raj both smell like Lynx Africa (AXE Body Spray for the US, I think?) with the underlying smell of hockey-sweat and gym lockers.

Scary Girl probably reeks of brimstone and hellfire. Joking, but given that she lives in a funeral home and (according to her audition) deals with explosives often, I imagine she's stained with the ever-present smell of dust and cinder- maybe with the underlying smoky smell you get from standing too close to a fire. Topped off with some sort of cloyingly sweet flowery perfume; she's got that creepy-cute aesthetic to keep up, after all!

I'd like to say that Damien smells like fresh linen and hand sanitizer- because as a science nerd and an anxious mess, he initially struck me as someone with good or even over excessive hygiene habits- but with Zee's secret spilling we know that this dude hasn't changed his underwear for weeks(?), so he in all likelihood smells like cheap cologne layered over dirty clothes.

Olivia von Trashpanda has ascended beyond trivial mortal concepts like "smell".

Trent, our silly little princess who has done no wrong ever, would smell like wood polish (for his guitar), motor oil (he strikes me as the sort of guy who's into fixing up old cars, or modifying his own motorbike) and Old Spice. A lot of oaky scents with a twang of petrol.

This is all off the top of my head btw. I haven't really put much thought into what the contestants would smell like- for good reason, given the fart jokes and gross-out humour in the series.

That's not to say that your own interpretations/headcanons are invalid or wrong, or that my headcanons are the gospel truth. They can smell like whatever you want them to!

This is just me adding my own interpretations. Feel free to disagree with me!

You can send asks as often as you want! I'll do my best to reply to them all, though sometimes I do find myself drawing a blank as to how to respond. If I don't reply to an ask please don't take it as me being rude/annoyed, I probably just couldn't think of anything to add.

[the-ventriloquizt]

I’ll be honest and say I haven’t given the Beware The Batman cartoon a fair chance but seeing as they’ve batted 0 of 2 on characterization for rare villains (Humphrey Dumpler and Professor Pyg) I don’t think I’ll be watching any more of it...

Like Humphrey I’m not so surprised about, they had to do something that wasn’t his original thing but what they did was a confusing kidnapping plot and not particularly interesting character-wise? But like, Professor Pyg...

They made Pyg a goddamn militant environmentalist? ??  ? ?? And in the tie-in comic, literally pulled the ‘oh villain has a point (this time about an oil spill that was effectively swept under the rug) but he’s threatening a kid so he has to go’. It goes beyond the typical insult of this point of view in a thing and into absurdity for an adaption of a guy who kidnaps people to turn them into kinda-dolls and has never actually had a point in his comics (at least, not with his crimes. you could argue about his appearance in Arkham City: The Order of the World, i think)

I honestly think Pyg has a theme problem, no matter where he is. His debut feels like he was supposed to be a one-time character with a hyper-specific thing he does (kidnaps people to turn them into a specific thing) and they rarely actually step away from that when they bring him back. Like I think he was supposed to be shocking and ‘too much’, which worked, but as things go he hasn’t really grown into much. His motivations are single minded and not evolving or getting varied. He has things that are tied together (circuses, surgery/butchery, artistry, dolls through mutilation??), but they’re never tied together in any interesting way, not even aesthetically most of the time. He feels almost like a extremist movie slasher (which would make sense when you consider that a lot of Batman villains are based off of horror movies), but that’s not enough to make a truly interesting recurring villain! There’s gotta be other stuff!!

[highqualityconcrete]

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The Adaptability of Concrete Overlays Using Stamps Take into consideration a stamped concrete overlay if you wish to give your concrete surfaces some texture and pattern. You can alter the aesthetic of your outdoor areas by using overlays that replicate the appearance of natural materials like stone or brick. In contrast to conventional stamped concrete, which entails imprinting designs straight onto recently poured concrete, overlays can be used on top of preexisting surfaces. Because of this, they are a sensible choice for updating older concrete spaces without replacing them entirely. Adding texture and interest to a simple patio, pool deck, or driveway can be accomplished with a stamped concrete overlay.

[sreesaravanaepoxyflooring]

Industrial Epoxy Flooring Contractors in Chennai - Sree Saravana

Industrial Epoxy Flooring Contractors in Chennai: The Ideal Solution for Heavy-Duty Environments

In industrial environments, the flooring system plays a critical role in ensuring smooth operations, safety, and durability. When it comes to choosing the right flooring for factories, warehouses, manufacturing units, or any other industrial setting, epoxy flooring has emerged as one of the most preferred options. In Chennai, a city known for its booming industrial sector, specialized industrial epoxy flooring contractors offer tailored solutions that provide long-lasting and high-performance floors to meet the unique demands of such spaces.

What is Industrial Epoxy Flooring?

Industrial epoxy flooring refers to a highly durable and resilient coating made from epoxy resins that are applied over concrete floors. This coating forms a hard, glossy surface that can withstand heavy traffic, chemical spills, extreme temperatures, and mechanical wear. Epoxy flooring systems in industrial settings are designed to handle the toughest conditions, providing an effective barrier that helps protect the underlying concrete while offering an easy-to-clean, seamless finish.

Why Choose Epoxy Flooring for Industrial Spaces?

Superior DurabilityIndustrial spaces often experience heavy foot traffic, machinery movement, and the constant wear and tear from operational activities. Epoxy flooring is renowned for its exceptional durability and strength. It can withstand the weight of heavy machinery, forklifts, and constant movement without cracking or showing signs of deterioration. This makes it an ideal choice for factories, warehouses, and assembly lines where the floor needs to endure constant stress.

Chemical and Stain ResistanceIn industrial environments, exposure to chemicals, oils, acids, and other harsh substances is a common concern. Epoxy floors are resistant to many chemicals, making them perfect for environments such as manufacturing plants, laboratories, and chemical storage areas. The non-porous surface prevents liquids and contaminants from seeping into the floor, ensuring that spills can be quickly cleaned up without damaging the surface.

Safety and Slip ResistanceSafety is a priority in industrial settings, and epoxy flooring offers enhanced safety features. Industrial epoxy flooring contractors in Chennai often apply slip-resistant additives to create a textured surface that reduces the risk of accidents, even in wet or oily conditions. This is crucial in high-traffic areas where slips and falls could lead to serious injuries.

Cost-Effective in the Long RunWhile the initial cost of epoxy flooring installation may be higher than traditional floor coverings, its long-term benefits far outweigh the initial investment. Epoxy floors require minimal maintenance, are highly resistant to damage, and have a long lifespan. The savings on repairs and replacements make epoxy flooring a cost-effective choice for industries.

Aesthetic Appeal and CustomizationWhile industrial flooring needs to be durable and practical, it doesn’t mean you have to compromise on appearance. Epoxy flooring offers a variety of colors, textures, and finishes that can be customized to suit the aesthetic requirements of your facility. Contractors in Chennai can create unique designs using decorative flakes or metallic pigments, giving your industrial space a clean, professional, and modern look.

Finding the Right Industrial Epoxy Flooring Contractor in Chennai

Choosing the right industrial epoxy flooring contractor is essential to ensure a successful installation and long-lasting results. Here are some important factors to consider:

Expertise and Experience: Look for contractors who specialize in industrial epoxy flooring systems and have experience working in similar environments. Experienced contractors will know the specific requirements of your industry, whether it's manufacturing, food processing, or warehousing.

Quality Materials: The quality of epoxy resin used plays a significant role in the performance and durability of the flooring. Reputable contractors in Chennai will use high-quality, industrial-grade epoxy that can withstand the rigors of your specific application.

Timeliness: Industrial facilities can’t afford prolonged downtimes during the flooring installation process. Choose a contractor who can complete the job on schedule with minimal disruption to your operations.

Maintenance and Aftercare: A good industrial epoxy flooring contractor should also offer ongoing maintenance services to ensure the floors continue to perform optimally over the years.

Conclusion

For industrial spaces in Chennai, epoxy flooring offers a durable, safe, and cost-effective flooring solution that meets the unique demands of high-traffic, heavy-duty environments. Whether you run a manufacturing unit, warehouse, or laboratory, industrial epoxy flooring provides unmatched resilience, resistance to chemicals, and an aesthetically pleasing finish that enhances the overall functionality of your space.By working with experienced industrial epoxy flooring contractors in Chennai, you can ensure that your facility gets the best flooring system tailored to its needs, helping you maintain smooth operations while keeping maintenance costs low. If you’re looking to upgrade or install epoxy flooring in your industrial facility, reach out to a trusted contractor in Chennai today!