#love at first sight rp

[rp-partnerfinder]

☢ Fallout and Scribe Maximus enjoyers, ahoy! ☢

★ you: 23+, scribe / aspirant / knight (etc etc) Maximus enthusiast and writer. someone who's communicative and willing to plot, discuss headcanons and endure my memes and stuff even when we're not actively writing. semi-lit to literate, third person and past tense enjoyer. replies possibly every day or even several times a day, but at least a few times a week (unless, y'know, The Life happens of course). someone who's enthusiastic to delve into Maximus and his trauma, his past, his passions and his aspirations, his sexuality and all the good stuff with the encouragement of his future bf!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

★ me: 32, a trans dude from Europe, a fellow Maximus enthusiast. roleplayer and writer of 17-ish years, semi-lit to literate, minimum two paragraphs a reply (and usually more) and normally at least one reply a day (and usually more) unless something comes up - of which I will communicate to you. I come into this with a m!OC (BOS deserter / human / 32-ish depending on the verse / scrappy motherfucker and a medic) that is so incredibly into supporting Maximus as he struggles through his journey. a man who's morally sort of grey despite doing his best to be good himself and who is BOS Hater Number One. has strong morals (questionable as they may sometimes be) and has a tendency to have a very "I'm right you're wrong" attitude about values close to his heart when it comes to strangers. somewhat slow to trust people (supposedly) yet has a very deep, sentimental side, latches onto people somewhat easily and and cares hard. switch who leans dominant eveb from the bottom, but has no real interest in intimacy unless it comes with intense emotions and is willing to go at Max's pace whether that's in the bedroom or outside of it. I'm honestly looking for, like, 70/30 in regards to ratio of Maximuw VS my character lore, more looking to study Maximus' character and his person and story + growth VS my dude's.

★ yes: slow burn or love at first sight, both are fine by me. multiple AUs, multiple verses, crossovers, ramblings, threads, screaming and crying over fictional men. open to discussing and writing kink, sexuality, romance, trauma, hidden feelings and hard issues, a journey through how tough it is to crave to belong somewhere so bad, in a world where there's so few somewheres left. dark and dead dove topics extremely welcome, with a few exceptions;

★ limits: no non-con, no romanticizing abuse, and... stuff. the world of Fallout is obviously very dark and I have no qualms writing that; my issue is if, for example, sexual abuse is played as a kink or as simple shock value without ever dealing with the ramifications.

does this sound like your cup of tea? great!!! please like this post and I'll contact you, or feel free to check out my blog and hit me up. pls make sure your messages are open for tumblrs you don't follow & feel not afraid to approach me; I will throw my fella's bio, writing samples and other relevant stuff @ you first thing when I message you so you can decide whether you're into it or not and you can ghost me in peace if so be it! (✿◡‿◡)★~

look forward to hearing from you! 🌹

.

[cosmic-d1ce]

HC that q!Phil would be a lot more into the whole love triangle thing but he's already in love with someone

He doesn't know who it is he just knows he is in love, utterly devoted, he could not imagine loving anyone else

But Kristin literally doesn't exist here, she will never be on the island, they will never love each other in this life. Phil doesn't know this. He has no idea that he's looking for someone he will never meet

[atthebell]

🌹🌹🌹

The first thing he really noticed was his laugh, though, and then his smile. Watching him press his hands up against the glass in the boat and start shouting about flag codes, the way his eyes lit up when Roier shouted back and threw himself at the glass. The eagerness upon solving the puzzle, the easy way he clasped people’s hands and introduced himself. Roier looked at him, long and slow, and thought that maybe Cellbit could be something he wanted.

i have this fic planned that's entirely just spiderbit talking about every tiny thing they love about each other and what made them each fall in love and this is from that. they're soooooooo

[for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing]

[fuzzy-set]

I just completed Pasqal's personal quest, and I have... THOUGHTS. Spoilers below!

It turns out all the Haneumanns are his mentor, and they created Nomos, the ship spirit. Suspicious of its nature as a tech blight, they researched a way to kill machine spirits as the ultimate precaution. The choices presented was to let him become the circle again, or to assimilate the 6 members and let go of their epiphany, or just be Pasqal while letting go of the epiphany.

I could not choose, because on one hand, I hope that Pasqal could be himself, for I have grown very fond of the tech-priest. On the other hand, the knowledge, albeit dangerous, should not be lost. So I told him that I want him to say while preserving the knowledge, but he explained it wasn't possible. In the end he chose the second path, and when I talked to him, it was... Well, he had changed a lot. Part of him was still there, but I wonder whether that part would persist.

The problem is, I do not hate the circle. In fact I love the concept/entity, but I also love Pasqal. Not letting Pasqal ascend feels like I am limiting his potential, and this is something I could never do. And yet once he ascended, he would lose part of himself that I have come to love dearly. The angst... The angst is too much.

I should probably look at alternative outcomes later before making judgement, but for now I shall stick to my choice and see how it will end. However I have an inkling that no ending will truly please me, and that is ok- because I recognise the layers and the beauty of them, even if they are all, to some degree, tragedies.

And I thank Owlcat for creating such an fascinating character and an interesting quest. As someone who has always loved the Adeptus Mechanicus faction, the portrayal of Pasqal and other tech priests are very on point and incredibly nuanced.

Edit: I finished the game, and I got the ending that his circle went after the Dark Mechanicus. I am... 60% sure that Pasqal might be no more, but Amarnat Collective is back. I don't know what to feel about this... I am sad that the rogue trader has lost his friend, but on the other hand, the rogue trader doesn't want to be the one who prevents Amarnat from forming- it will be akin to murder. So yeah, I am really conflicted.

[agonizedembrace]

                   ㅤㅤ  ㅤ ㅤ ㅤso, gather 'round and run your mouths                   ㅤㅤ  ㅤ ㅤ ㅤdid you forget you're in my fuckin' house?

   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤan independent, 18+ roleplay blog of evelynn. penned by han.

[the-lord-of-malevolence]

Thea - *appears out of nowhere with a pink rose* Happy Valentines :3

Alce - *holding a yellow rose* Sup, Happy Love Day.

(OOC: Yellow roses mean friendship, pink roses are a milder version of red ones)

Happy valentines to you both. I hope you have a wonderful day.

*Malleus makes crowns made of purple roses appear on their head*

[carmzzjk]

Second chance at love 🤍

Warnings: ☆smut ☆insecurities ☆bulling ☆manipulation ☆eating disorder ☆body shaming ☆depression ☆ toxic

- 🤍Pure fan fiction meaning not real. Original characters made by chenn. Hope you enjoy, follow and tell me your thoughts🤍

Chapter 1: ☆ It starts with a name ☆

🎧🎧🎧🎧

Walking around endlessly in a hall filled with tall figures and small whines of torture. Jane felt her self grow hopeless, why on earth was finding a classroom so difficult? Shouldn’t it be the easiest to do if everything was labeled? Then why couldn’t Jane find it, close to giving up she let her eyes wonder to the lines on the floor.

Counting the lines, letting herself relax and ignore the world around her. As nice as it felt, she didn’t realize it would cost her. Her body hit warmth and soon hit back down to freezing cold. Groaning as she allowed her brain to register the world once again, her eyes were met with a hand.

A long and a shade lighter then her own waited in the air. Tempted to feel the warmth once again she allowed her hand to reach. Grabbing a hold of the hand she felt her body receive such warmth she hadn’t felt in a while. It felt nice, but she couldn’t stand in silence like she so desperately wished.

“I’m so sorry!” She quickly apologized,  her voice sounding pitchy and unrecognizable. But she couldn’t seem to care after he heard his, “it’s okay.” His voice was nothing but absolutely perfect. A sweet like honey pitch but at the same time deep like the ocean.

But his voice wasn’t the only deep like factor. His eyes where something far more beautiful then she could ever imagine. A pretty dark blue that reminded her of the beaches down at her parents home town. But along with such beauty came a sense of familiarity. “Have I seen you before?” She couldn’t help but ask, his eyes bought such warmth it wasn’t possible this was the first she’s seen them.

“I’m not sure, I can’t recall ever seeing you before.” He simply answered but the warmth was still very present. Could he be a new warmth? All so soon?

“O-oh never mind then. I must’ve mistaken.” She felt embarrassed but she swear she’s seen him before. Why else would she feel that feeling after pushing it deep inside for so long?

“No worries, are you knew?” He asked kindly as he moved them both closer to the wall and not in the middle of the hallway.

“Yeah, I was just in a hurry since I couldn’t find my classroom.” The girl said offering a smile and her schedule, hoping he would help her.

Taking a look at it he smiled “it looks we have the same class. Maybe I can take you?”

“Oh yes please!” She spoke excitedly as she followed right behind him. It felt so right yet so wrong all at the same time.

They walked a peaceful trail and occasionally asked questions. Maybe he could be her friend. She was knew after all and lost. Maybe he could be her lead?

Reaching the classroom he left her and went to sit down. Going up to the teacher she asked softly for a seat. Getting to sit just across the boy she felt giddy. Maybe she could get closer to her new friend.

Class was obviously boring, what did you expect when taking college algebra? Luckily for her the boy next to her spoke to her kindly. He was handsome and had a sweet smile. Maybe this school wasn’t too bad. :)

Lunch rolled around and the girl could feel the loneliness seep into her. She made a few friends here and there but none she could converse outside of a lesson. Looking down at her locket she held it close and whispered. “Please help me do better.” With that said she threw her lunch away and walked out. Not wanting to witness the close nit friendships that parade their groups like they owned the very same cafeteria.

Walking around as music played in her ears she let her mind drift from many things, like her old school, old friends and lastly something different, something new…

Then suddenly the boy from earlier this morning stood in front of her. His soft lips moving but no sound was heard through the loudness in her ears. Quickly taking the one out “I’m so sorry what did you say?”

He chuckled at her but nonetheless repeated himself “I was wondering how your day has been going?.” Should she tell him honestly? That he entered her mind and hasn’t left soon or should she-

“You shouldn’t play the music so loud it could damage your ears.” He softly said using his hand to lower the volume of her headphone. Sweet was all she could think from his words. Displaying such kindness to a person he just meet made her awe in foundness. The people here were oh so kind to her, almost made her miss her old place. It felt nice to be cared for once again. “It’s going okay just a little lonely.” She never liked to share her true feelings, never wanting to feel like a burden but feeling herself feel that warmth once again let her spill. How would he react if he saw her spill so easily to another cup. Would he feel jealous? Or would he be proud?

“Oh I’m sorry, it’s a bit tough to make friends here. Everyone already knows people from the beginning. But I’m sure you’ll find a tight group to call your own. But if you’ll like maybe after school you can hang around me? Im not the most fun but if it eases your loneliness I’d love too.”

Without even thinking she couldn’t help but agree. Give a hurt animal some warmth and it will jump right in without a second thought. She wanted and craved such warmth that it didn’t matter. “Yeah I would love to hang out with you after school.” She answered honestly and let her heart feel at ease.

“Awsome. I’m Eliot by the way.” A soft smile that seemed so sweet and innocent, she felt herself mirrored it perfectly.

“I’m Jane.”

A introduction to a new life Jane hoped allowed her to stay. A life with no regrets or second thoughts. A life without “him”.

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

But wouldn't your partner become your family too?

If we'd been together for a while, then yes of course they would. But if we were still in the early stages of a relationship then they wouldn't be, not yet.

[roleplayfinder]

18+ Female looking for a plot based off of the reality TV shows love is blind and married at first sight. I'm total trash for these tv shows so I definitely want to do something with them. I'd like to play a female muse. Please like if interested! ✨️

.

[facesofthefog]

Simon was prepared for Sam to get close. That's how the whole thing worked after all. But he wasn't ready for her to get this close. With her hand on his nape he froze in place, eyes focused on the ground. It wasn't necessarily that he felt shy. He just wasn't sure how to respond. This was different from his bar escapes. This felt...strangely real. And with her previous response to his stupid flirts, suddenly he found himself unsure as what to do. His brain was so focused on calculating everything, he didn't even notice what Sam actually smelled like. Something he always focused the most with other people.

"You're welcome..." He muttered and inhaled some of the smoke to busy his hand and mind. Then he exhaled the little cloud and looked around, as if unsure which direction to take. "So then... Perhaps we should get moving before it gets colder. Does it get colder here?"

[rp-partnerfinder]

Hi! ⚔️🩵🧊🫡

Looking for someone 20+ to do a lil Vikings/historical enemies to lovers (and/or possibly love at first sight) smutty romance roleplay.

Who Am I?

26, she/her, EST, past tense, multi para 3rd person roleplayer. I play F Mains in M/F relationships. I love all kinds of OOC chatter, character musings, moodboards, playlists, you name it. Discord preferred!

What’s the story entail?

Hoping to find someone to play M in an opposites attract historical pairing.

My gal is a princess, noble, or commoner well-liked and known by her town — somewhere in Viking era Britain/British Isles. Your guy is a warrior, king, or leader of a Viking clan that decimates and pillages my gal’s castle/town/village (maybe he has a vendetta against her father, maybe it was just for fun, maybe it’s one of a long string of battles in an ongoing conflict).

My gal somehow survives by hiding, leaving much of if not all of her family dead…but she’s found by your guy’s men, and taken back to be a battle trophy, plaything, or bride.

I’m also open to other warring cultures and historical periods if Vikings ain’t your thing.

Do our characters fall for each other? Do they hate one another instantly? Does lust and love come with that? Can two opposite cultures find harmony?

Let’s get gritty and sappy and have fun. Like this and I’ll come to you!

.

[lizardaggro]

on the flip side

part 2 is out! part 3! part 4!

whaddya know, i already have my first piece of writing that's not for an rp. it's a mess, but that's okay, because i admit i have no clue what i'm doing! i welcome all feedback as long as it's not just plain mean. when i asked for writing ideas, i was suggested to try my spin on the twst bully!au, and so i present: reader/yuu is done with their bs. no beta we die like my sleep schedule. genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, slight yandere that hasn't escalated yet word count:896

You’d had enough, thank you very much. The constant jeers, “misplaced” textbooks, and shoves in the hallway were only the beginning. Before long, you were beaten and bruised, and all for what? Just because you didn’t have magic? According to your research, the majority of the population here didn’t either! But alas, such was your plight. The professors turned a blind eye, and Crowley couldn’t care less.

So, when someone “accidentally” dislocated your shoulder during PE, you decided enough was enough. The students you’d never bothered to learn the names of were one thing; you were going to call your former friends out on their bullshit. Despite Grim’s protests, you dragged him all the way back to Ramshackle the moment you had a break in between classes. Why that timing? Because the model student prefect would never cut class, of course!

You locked the door not once, not twice, but three times, thanks to the padlocks you’d had placed on your stuff in the past. Then you took your time creating the Junk Tower. Your materials were all the scraps people had thrown in your yard in the past. You had quite the collection. The windows? They’d been boarded for years, according to the ghosts. Back door? Kalim had it removed. Something about first years sneaking in. You figure it’s better not to ask how he managed to have a door seamlessly replaced with walls in one afternoon.

About twenty minutes after the last class of the day ended, you had your first knock on the door. “Oi, prefect, open up!” Ace demanded. Because of course it was Ace. He was the first student you met here, so it was only fitting that he’d be the first to know you weren’t fucking around anymore. You ignored him.

The knocking stopped “Oi Ace, maybe they’re not home?” Deuce, ever the voice of reason, pondered. You weren’t sure whether to love or hate him. He’d stop others from picking on you, sure, but the moment you disobeyed him, he went back to his old delinquent ways.

“Well, they weren’t in class, and there’s no way my prefect’s with someone else, so they’ve gotta be inside!” Ace insisted. His prefect? Since when were you his? Did Ace eat something funny while you were gone? Because the last you checked, he couldn’t stand the sight of you.

Deuce’s voice dropped an octave, or maybe two. You weren’t too sure how that applied to speaking voices. “Oi, Ace, what the fuck do you mean your prefect? They don’t belong to you!” Yes, thank you for the reality check. Deuce must’ve had the brain cell today. “Obviously I’m way closer to them than you are!”

Scratch that. Deuce did not have the brain cell today. Really though, what was with them? Why in the world were they fighting over who was closer to you when all they’d done lately was make it clear how much they hated you? Oh, wait. They thought you could hear them. This must be some sort of trick. Trey and Cater must’ve put them up to it, since they were far too dumb to think of anything this elaborate on their own. You decided to ignore everything they said from here on out.

All was well, until Adeuce simultaneously let out an ungodly screech. Now that was troublesome. What could possibly scare those two like that? Surely nothing good for you. With luck, it’d be Riddle come to behead them for not wearing fluorescent pink or some other dumb rule, but you wouldn’t bet on it.

You soon had your answer. “Ne, where’s Shrimpy? I wanna squeeze ‘em!” Suddenly you didn’t blame those two for being scared. Floyd Leech in a bad mood was always a force to be reckoned with. You could never tell if he was in a good or bad mood when he was “squeezing” you, and quite frankly, you’d rather not know. The sick fucker probably took pleasure in hearing your bones pop and crack under the extreme pressure.

“Floyd-senpai! The prefect is, uh, we’re not actually sure where they are,” Ace volunteered. You almost pitied him, having to put up with the more rambunctious Leech during basketball practice. Almost.

“Hah? What do you mean you don’t know? Crabby is always crowding around Shrimpy like a little parasite,” Floyd whined. Um, what? Is Floyd in on the joke too? Is the whole school conspiring against you? You wouldn’t put it past them.

A cloud of dust blew up from the floor where you swung your foot back and forth, making you sneeze. You froze. Did they hear that? Wait, what were you acting so scared for? What were they gonna do anyway, break the door down and hit you? All within your expectations when you’d formed this plan. The point was to prove that you wouldn’t just sit and take it anymore. You’d seen all their dirty little secrets, especially during the Overblots; you could hit them where it hurt if you felt like it. No one would ever think the perfect little prefect would tell someone else what they’d confided in them! So when Floyd broke the door down with a display of monstrous strength, you were prepared. You greeted them with a smile. “Ne, you guys,” you began, “would you believe me if I told you I’m done with your bullshit?”

[agonizedembrace]

AND GET HAPPY WHEN YOU'RE SAD ONLY CARE ABOUT A BAG

[linddzz]

32 with Dreamling? 👀

Smut Prompts:

#32: A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.

Edit: Full fic on AO3

Wordcount: 6977 (nice)

Warnings: Canon typical descriptions of violence. Dream being an unhinged little nightmare, but Hob is so down for it. Also, it's a smut prompt. So there is smut. Dicks abound. In typical fashion it took me a while to get to said dicks though. No beta and only the barest editing.

Summary: Service Dom Hob is here to give his bizarre Eldritch boyfriend the tenderest, gentlest domming of his Endles existence. Dream is still going to be a hissing little brat about it. Tbh I waffled a bit on which way to go with this one, but realized that what I really want sometimes is to have Hob scruff Dream like the pissy wet cat that he is and tell him to SHUSH while Dream goes all ragdoll. I also fully embraced a horny headcanon of mine where Dream is more sensitive to physical touch in the Waking.

Shout out to @amahhi, because I picked little bits from our RP here and there for this. What can I say, we got a good Dream and Hob.

Edit 2.0: trying to get the blog unflagged, so the read more has the fic up to the spicy bits. Full fic is in the AO3 link 🙃

-----

It's been a very normal, mundane, and drab sort of day when Hob comes home at the end of it. There's the standard London drizzle tapping away at his window, transforming the world outside into a melting blur of darkening gray shot through with bright smears from electric street lights coming on one by one.

Electric lights. Brilliant. Literally brilliant. They're all going to pay for it in the long run of course, but fuck is it nice to just come home and flick a switch - like so - to light a room up. 

There's a corpse on his sofa. 

The corpse is on its back, arms rigid at its side. Its skin has a drained, cold paleness with veins as gray as the current sky. The face is perfectly still and perfectly expressionless, with flat blue eyes open and unseeing towards the ceiling. The startling ghastliness of the corpse is offset by the soft black t-shirt, along with black pajama bottoms decorated with alarmingly cheerful blue stars.

This is also, increasingly, a normal part of his day.

"All right, love?" He asks, shutting the door behind him. The first time he came home to Dream lying out stiff and apparently lifeless in his flat there had been a bit more yelling and panicking, followed by careful explanations about what the unexpected sight of a pale and unmoving body with open, unseeing eyes showing up in a safe and comfortable space can do to someone who has been through a few wars.

It kept happening, which meant Dream did not actually understand. But now Dream always makes an effort to put his form into pajamas first, possibly with the logic that if he were dressed comfortably for sleep, then he couldn’t possibly look like a corpse. Which meant he was trying, even if severely misguided. It's more touching than it should be.

The corpse on the sofa routine all started when they became...whatever they are now. The best explanation Hob ever got was that a chunk of Dream’s duties involve delving into the vast unconsciousness of himself, sinking into the wild depths that were made of every dreaming mind that created him to make sure everything was flowing smoothly. 

It was all very metaphysical in all the ways that Hob tries not to think about too much. When he compared it to a computer shutting down for maintenance, he got himself a curdled look of such offended disgust that he knew he was on the money. He compared it to sleep instead, which mollified Dream at the time.

In the past this deeper delving into himself was done from the throne room. Then Dream started showing up in Hob's flat every now and again, refusing to explain why. Hob isn't stupid, so he doesn't ask why after the first few times. Whatever the metaphysics of it, Dream wants to come here and lie on Hob's furniture being vulnerable in the Waking world, despite all his grumblings about said world. Dream may not be able to explain the want for a space outside of work to go to, but Hob gets the difference between grading papers at his office and doing it in his living room. The fact that Dream seeks this space out makes Hob's chest go all fluttery and hot, and he will never question it ever.

It's why he doesn't make a fuss about the fact that Dream hasn't figured out that he looks like a fucking horror movie prop when he does it.

“Obviously.” Dream rumbles in answer. His voice has a deep, slow resonance that's being dragged up from the darkest fathoms. It's a growling sneer, the sharp warning crack of a cliff face about to give. It says that asking things like “all right?” is the most low, simple mindedly human thing Hob could ask, because there is no reason Dream would be otherwise.

“That sort of day then? Budge up.” Hob tosses his coat to the chair, which earns him an annoyed huff of a sound, and shoves a space for himself by Dream's hip, which earns him a growl. 

“What. Sort of. Day?” Dream asks darkly. He turns his head, slowly. His movements are always slow when he's coming up from his not-sleep, and Hob is always fascinated by the process. He imagines Dream reeling himself back from wherever he has gone to, a long thread of his consciousness spooling up to refill the shape of his body. The waxy deadness in his skin doesn't exactly liven up, but it becomes more luminous. The stiffness melts from carved stone to…well not relaxed but something with a bit more give to it than stone anyway. The eyes change the most. The empty flatness of them turns into a clear, bright blue. They're flashing with liquid fire when Dream looks up at Hob, even if the rest of him is still an angrily stiff bunch of sharp edges.

“Not a great one, I think.” Hob leans, propping his shoulders on the back of the couch with Dreams waist and arm against the small of his back. Dream turns his head with his jaw clenched, and Hob reaches out, brushing the backs of his curled fingers in the barest caress over the plane of Dreams cheek.

There's a nearly imperceptible tremor in the core of the body he's leaned himself against. The corners of Dreams mouth tightens, and his eyes flare, like that lightest touch has opened a raw nerve. 

“Maybe the sort of day I could help you forget?” Hob murmurs. He hasn't decided exactly what he's offering when he offers it. They could just stay here, watching some meaningless picture while Dream stays pressed between Hob and the sofa, and Hob combs his fingers through that downy soft black hair until all the tension melts from him. Hob could make that milky, sugary lavender infusion Dream is fond of and kiss him slow and sweet for hours. They could have a wild shag or the easiest love making. Whatever will help ease the coiled tension that’s churning just beneath Dream’s carefully still surface. Anything.

The caress continues. Hob traces his fingertips up the edge of Dreams cheekbone and sinks them back into the wild black hair to cradle around that impossible skull. There's a suspicious scraping sound down by his hip.

“That better not be you clawing up my upholstery.” He hums, rubbing his thumb over the hairline at Dreams temple. “Come on love, what do you want?”

“What. I. Want?” 

The stillness breaks. A hand snaps up and clamps around Hob's wrist. Dream surges up, sitting awkwardly with Hob nearly in his lap, his eyes flashing dark and his teeth bared close to Hob's mouth.

“You would offer yourself then? A sacrifice to what you would call a bad day?” Dream asks, his voice dropping into a hard scrape. There's a sharp prick against the skin of Hob's wrist as claws grow from Dreams fingers. “You ask for what I want?”

“Obviously.” Hob repeats Dream’s earlier answer back at him. This is always the most uncertain part, when Dream is in one of these moods. This night could go a million different ways, but Hob finds himself keen for any of them. Any that keep Dream right here with all of his attention, snarling or otherwise, right on Hob that is.

There's a hiss of sound, sharp and explosive. The sharp pricks against Hob's skin turn into bright bursts of hot pain, and he feels the wet slide of blood down the inside of his arm. There's a shudder, and Dream suddenly curls down against him with his forehead ground into the curve of Hob's shoulder at the base of his throat. It's an awkward reach, but Hob brings his far arm around to run his palm up the knobbed curve of Dreams spine.

“It's alright, love.” He whispers. The slump is not a loosening at all. Hob can feel the jerky tension in every line of Dream’s body, and his love feels like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

“No.” Dream spits. “You ask what I want. The things I want. You are foolhardy. Brash. You understand nothing. Ignorant.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, my Dream.” Hob keeps running his hand up and down Dream’s spine, thinking that he really is wound up if those are the best insults he can come up with.

There's a bizarre, inhuman sound. A sharp, jagged, snarling grind. Dream's other hand splays against his ribs, vibrating and sharp. The Endless goes quiet again, and Hob keeps stroking his back, happy to wait for whatever comes next.

“The way you say my name.” Dream whispers. “I want to open your ribs and make you say it. I want to pull each apart, one by one, like the petals of the rarest flower. I want to splay them, pin them. Expose the secret parts of you. I want to see how your lungs fill and shrink when you say my name, when you scream it. I want to see how your heart beats when you dream of me. I want to put my hand around it and feel the precious fluttering of it when I punch my fingers through the chambers. I want to feel it burst like the most wondrous fruit plucked out and crushed in my grasp. I want to feel the pockets of your lungs crackle against my palms when they fill with air. I want you to be screaming my name when I do it.”

His hand moves as he talks. Long fingers drag along the valleys between Hob's ribs, slow and methodical. They're also shaking, a sharp electric buzzing of claws through Hob's button down shirt. 

That sort of night then?

“If you're trying to scare me off, you’ve already done that sort of thing in a few of my more exciting dreams.” Hob points out.

“I want to do it here.” It isn't even a whisper now. It's just an exhale shaped into words. Hob notices that it isn't a threatening snarl, or the low purr of Dream enjoying the build up to a grand old violently nightmarish time. There's a shivery dread. A horror deeper than the obvious goriness of it all.

“You fantasize about killing me?” Hob asks, curious. Ok fine, it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would feel like it.

“You can't die.”

It's an immediate response. Breathless. Rapturous. Terrified. Hob is starting to get the idea of what's going on here.

“Scariest thing you've said to me, that was.” He observes with some interest. It's true, after all. He's just learned that his immortality fuels his love's apparent wish to vivisect him in the plane where they both know it would hurt the worst, where the violence of it would be all of the bloody screaming reality without the cushioned fantasy of the Dreaming. Dream admitted that in a way that was clear that he thinks about it regularly. It is, objectively, a scary thing to learn. There it is. Horrifying and alarming. Huh! How about that.

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised at himself when his cock twitches against his jeans. The only thing he isn’t sure of is if it’s the violent idea itself, or the fact that Dream is very obviously holding himself back from affectionately mauling him right this instant.

He's still petting his hand up and down Dream's spine, and he can feel the way his love bunches in on himself with a cracked whining sound that makes Hob's chest ache like his heart’s already been torn and exposed for the soft tender thing it is. There are talons still scraping anxiously at Hob's ribcage. There are still claws dug into his arm, but with less force than before. Dream is tense, already in a state, and in the fine process of working himself up into what could possibly be a legendary tantrum of self loathing.

“Right.” Hob declares, coming to a decision. “First thing: put a pin in that idea. I have to sit on it a bit and work up to it, but I did just get a little hard there, so it's not entirely off the table. I don't think that's what you want right now though.”

Dream froze with shock halfway through that, and Hob knows the best course of action is to keep moving before that impossible head has enough time to tangle itself up in a new way. The hand on Dream's spine sweeps up and grabs Dream by the nape, hard. 

There is an explosive hiss of incredulous shock when Hob yanks him back. The face that Hob pulls off of his shoulder has wide obsidian eyes and a snarl with a wicked set of fangs. He holds the nightmare scruffed, meeting glittering dark eyes while his heart pounds with what isn't nearly enough actual fear.

“You want me to stop you.” 

Dream’s eyes widen further, the hand on Hob's wrist drops lifeless to the sofa. Hob watches a burst of pink bloom across the unnatural white of his cheeks before the response is wrestled back down. Dream’s eyes narrow, but he's watching Hob closely.

“You are. Incapable. Of stopping me.” He growls. It's not a threat, just reality. Which is how most of Dream’s threats go.

“You're going to let me though, I think.” Hob says. He digs his fingers a little into the hard muscle of the back of Dream's neck, and takes several mental notes on the way the nightmare’s head lolls back and the hand on his ribs goes still. Hob turns where he's sitting to bring one leg up on the sofa, to bring himself closer to the odd monster he loves so dearly. He pulls Dream further, already feeling dizzy at the way the jagged, black eyed nightmare with his luminous white skin and razor teeth goes pliantly until he's leant back, practically being dipped with Hob over him.

“I think you need to let go, love. But you don't like what you might do if you let go.” He says with a smile. “How about we try things my way hm? You let go, but you hand the reins to me. Let me take charge.”

Dreams face goes through some fascinating shifts. He gazes up at Hob with such a raw, wounded want that it looks painful before the expression flinches when Hob's other hand comes up to stroke his cheek again. There's a jerk though Dream's limbs, and Hob is sure the joints are doing things that would make him feel queasy if he looked.

“You…here?” Dream asks, and his voice is thin and sharp and shivery. Hob knows why Dream’s clarifying that, and why here is making Dream writhe and flush with his mouth stretched a little too far on teeth that weren't meant for a human jawline. Hob knows that things feel different for Dream, when he's in the Waking. He's a creature of thought and idea, and touches in the more physical Waking world come across stronger than he's used to, more overwhelming. It’s not that Dream never bottoms, or even that he never submits. But it’s always in Dream’s own realm, where his submission isn’t really submission at all, but a coy play where he acts up the part of a sweet wilting fae lover or a wanton hedonist. He has a harder time staying in control of the situation, when they’re in Hob’s world, where there are less heated fantasies for him to sink himself into.

And the Dreamlord would never admit it, but Hob has noticed the way he keeps showing up in the Waking world to initiate things, even if it's just to cuddle up against Hob and find ways to get petted until he turns into a shivering puddle of nerves. But cuddling here is one thing, this is something else, something new.

“Here.” Hob nods, stroking his thumb slow and firm over Dream's nape, feeling the little vibration that goes down Dream's spine from that point. “I need you to say you want me to though, ok?”

That gets a furious, low hiss of a growl. Dream’s eyes flash and he snaps his mouth full of razor teeth with the sound like a bear trap. Hob lets him squirm and hiss and shudder. He's always such a trembling little thing, like there is too much going on inside for his outer shell to hold in. One day, Hob is going to properly catalog all of the ways his cosmic power of a lover shivers like a leaf when he thinks he's keeping himself all grim and stoic. 

“You. Wish me …complicit.” Dream hisses, the words grinding out from his chest, as there's no way the wide maw of needle teeth is currently capable of speaking that clearly. “You would have me voice it. Admit to it. To be brought low and ragged.”

“I want your consent,” Hob huffs a small laugh, which might not be the best response but God does he love this proud twit, “you pretty, deranged little thing. I'm not doing anything if you don't actually want me to, and we can stop at any point. It's important to me that you get that.”

“My consent,” Dream spits, and this time there's a tearing sound when he does start clawing up Hob's upholstery, “is that I am allowing it.”

On paper, true enough. Dream is thrashing and snarling and gnashing his monstrous teeth with eyes like flaming pits. He's also kept in place by the weak, flesh and blood human hand holding him by the back of the neck. The only reason Hob is able to scruff him and have his head tilted pliantly back to expose the long white throat, is because Dream is letting it happen.

“I think you would allow me to do a lot of things you don't want me to.” Hob says gently. The thrashing stills, the snarling quiets, Dream's teeth finally shrink down into more standard shapes.

“There we are.” Hob breathes, smiling. His chest feels like it may burst, like Dream may end up getting his dark little fantasy after all. It's more than any man could deserve, seeing the way Dream goes quiet and panting, eyes fixed wide and blue again as they stare up at Hob. He keeps the hold on Dreams neck, and smoothes the other hand back through Dreams hair. 

Dream makes a thin, fragile sound, eyes flashing black before returning to their clear blue.

“I need to know you actually want this, darling.” Hob explains again. “Not just that you're allowing it. I can't go thinking that you might just be going along with what you think I want from you.”

There's a shift of movement, more of a little squirm than the furious thrashing from a few seconds ago. Dream clenches his jaw together and stares, eyes glittering with new wetness. Christ. Hob is going to get a complex. It can't be good for his ego, having Dream like this.

“Yes.” Dream finally whispers, swallowing thickly. He even nods with little jerky movements against Hob's grip. “I want…what it is, you are planning. Here. In the Waking. I want you to have me. Your way.”

Hob rewards him with a hard kiss, mostly because if he doesn't get his mouth on those quivering pink lips he might explode. Dream goes lax with a whining sound that is absolutely going to give Hob a complex. Plush lips part immediately under his, as sweet as anything. Then teeth flash against his mouth, still sharp and wild but followed fast by Dream’s tongue lapping hungrily at the bite. There are hands clawing at him again, pawing at his back, twisting in his hair, digging into his hips. Dream is doing some impossible wiggling and Hob realizes that there is more than one pair of legs hitching around his hips and tangling between his own legs. It must look like he's snogging an enthusiastic spider.

“Enough of that.” He chides, pushing a hand on Dream's chest. Teeth sink into his lip again, and there's a low growl when Hob pulls his head back so Dream can't start trying to get his tongue down Hob's throat. Or trying to affectionately bite his lips off. “Shush. Lie back, and settle down dearest. Christ, you're all wound up.”

Another small push does the trick. Dream goes down with a little huff when his back hits the sofa. He’s suddenly as meek as a kitten, if that kitten had blood on its lips and a sharp intrigued glint to its eyes. Rather like a kitten then, actually.

Not that Hob is thinking much about kittens. He's far more focused on the way Dream’s skin has gained a more human flush to it, on the curious little chirrup noise that comes from him. He's looking up at Hob with swollen pink lips and his eyes still blue, but the dark blue of a deep ocean. The shirt he's wearing is stretched at the collar, revealing the tantalizing dip of his clavicles, and his ruffled hair is the most adorable thing Hob could imagine. It's such a flip from the snarling monstrous thing Hob had scruffed less than a minute ago, and all of it is so wonderfully Dream. Objectively terrifying in his violence, objectively sexier than sin.

“You're horrible for my ego.” Hob declares, sitting up kneeling between long legs that are still clad in the damn cartoon star pajamas. Dream answers this with a velvety pleased sound, and Hob feels legs bent around his hips and hitched up his waist and one bends a knee up on his shoulder-

“Ah-ah, stick with two.” Hob taps at one of Dream’s thighs before getting to work unbuttoning his shirt enough to tug it up over his head. “We're in my world right now, so we’re doing things my way. With a human shape. And stop eyeballing my ribcage, thanks. I told you we're putting a pin in that.”

He can hear the displeased hissing sound, and decides to give Dream a pass on that. There are times where words seem to lack the correct expressions for the Prince of Stories, and he has an astounding repertoire of inhuman, and even inorganic, sounds to fall back on. Despite his orders to stop with the rib stuff, there are long hands on his sides as soon as his shirt is tossed away. When he looks down, Dream’s eyes are half lidded and dark, fully fixed with stark hunger on Hob’s exposed torso. 

There's a scrape of claw, smoother than before, and the bright line over his side goes right to his prick. It is…so tempting…to change his mind and tell Dream to have at it. Just to see what would happen, to see how it would feel to get torn apart by something that loves him so much. Except there's a little tense pinching at Dreams mouth, even as his eyes darken further and his hands spread over Hob's ribs to feel them expand with each breath.

“Hands to yourself.” Hob decides for both their sakes. He taps a finger between Dream’s eyes in chastisement, and nearly loses that finger when teeth snap up towards it. Dream is fast, but he's used to getting away with things, so there's only a surprised hitch of sound when Hob grabs under his jaw and shoves his head back.

“My way.” Hob reminds him, surprised at how low and rough his own voice comes out.

FULL FIC ON AO3

[tikiloowho]

QSMP Purgatory Thoughts

I have a lot of thoughts regarding the current arc for QMSP. I also main the team BOLAS???!? POV but as an insane individual I have seen the vod's and watch multiple teams POV's at the same time. So take all of this with a grain of salt. It's not that deep and I have absolutely no malice towards any of the CC's. Purgatory is not meant to be easy, it's meant to be harsh. People will not act in a fashion that they usually would in this environment and condemning them as terrible individuals is extremally short sighted and wildly unnecessary. No-one deserves a hate raid just because they decided to attack someone elses favorite CC. Makes no sense. That being said, I think people are collectively undermining the weight of the actions (in rp) done to team red on the first day. The first day in purgatory team red was SLAMMED. From being slain by friends to being spawn killed, to having bodies looted and homes ransacked, team red somehow kept getting the brunt of the focus. This was not intentional of course but it kept happening. ( Notably, team red has some of the least experienced players when it comes to playing minecraft itself along with the most players with the lowest chance of coming online at ALL during the event. However. This team also has some of the veteran players and have some of the most consistent players. This balances them out when it comes to the other teams who are better at PVP and better at Modded minecraft, respectively. ) The events of day one set the tone for red teams response to every single action the other teams took from that point forwards. They tried talking to others and were silenced. They tried setting up a base and it was destroyed over and over. This chain reaction is WHY team red is so hesitant to speak to others let alone work with them. This mentality keeps being re-enforced by the actions of others when red team takes the chance to talk or lower their guard. ex. Jaiden willing to talk to Tubbo, only for BBH to spawn kill her. ex. Teams agreeing to just pvp for the event only for Green team to start harming the enemy teams egg first. ex. Red teams alliance with Green team being cast aside so green team could win by making a deal with blue team.

From Red team's POV genuinely, there is no reason to talk or make alliances. They only have each other. This trust in one another alone is why red team keeps managing to gain the wins. It's a level of trust in the others capabilities that makes them strong. The RP team just spends the day giggling and cheering each other on regardless of where they are on the score board. They only take a chance to try and win when one of them goes "hmm... You guys wanna try?" and the group just agrees to give it a shot. There is nothing deeper too it. Red team has become the frightened dog of the server. Of course it's going to bite at the hands offered. They aren't trying to win they are trying to survive. They have the least amount of resources and the weakest gear. They have some of the worst pvp players but by god they are having so much fun with one another. There are exceptions to who they relax around and those are usually "partners" and or "close friends" but even then, team red knows that at any moment these meetings could turn to bloodshed. Having seen some of the other teams POV's is boggles my mind how certain both blue and green team are that red team has some giant base and has crazy enchants and super armor when they went into the event with basically nothing enchanted they used up EVERYTHING they had for the event. They haven't been on the grind as much because they spend a lot of time dead. The red team is also extremally "task" oriented. They all love finishing a list and honestly that's really all spend their day's doing. The tasks at hand and trying not to die. That and having a good time. Which.. when it comes down to it, isn't that the point of all of this? To have fun?

Red team also got the Eye guy to say "Bolas" and that in of itself is a win.

[angeart]

I am trying to be a patient anon and not send too much before you finish your Mimic/Juni rambles before asking for more rambles (I love him, he did A Big Bad but I love him)

but you called attention to it so what happened to Scar's ear?? D:

(honestly wasn't sure if I should ask you or Link cuz its Link's art but I saw your post first this morning so.... :x)

-🎀

HELLO there is no need to hold back and be patient <33 I love seeing you in my asks and always get excited! Also also also! So happy to hear you love our Juni even though he did Big Bad. I promise the main Mimic Arc Rambles Part II will have a snapshot of what happens to him after all this. 

Anyway! For now, to answer your question about the feather earring!

Some time after reuniting (after the whole Juni thing), Scar and Grian find a cave with a hot-spring, where they take shelter for a little while. Things happen, and somewhere along the lines, Scar asks Grian to mark him in some way. (Scar already marked Grian—) 

He says: Show the world I’m yours.

And so Grian does the avian thing. He touches his wings, willingly and deliberately, without the intent to harm them—something that hasn’t happened in so long—and he picks a nice-looking feather. And he gifts it to Scar. To say that yes, they’re connected. That they belong to each other. (And oh, how much it means for Scar to have access to this part of Grian; to be given something so monumental, something others are willing to kill for, yet they’re not allowed to have it.)

At first, Scar tucks it behind his ear, because he has no other way to keep it on him and have it safe and on display (something they can afford for now, in the privacy of their little cave). He checks with Grian, to make sure if that’s okay, and… Honestly, it’s complicated. 

Tucking a small snippet of our mini-rp about this below the cut <3 (but if you’re interested only in what happens to Scar’s ear after, feel free to skip that!)

RP snippet:

Scar

"Is this okay?" he asks, a tad timid with a big, bashful smile. "I mean like, am I supposed to wear it?" 

It's a loaded question, he knows. Not only is it a public display of their relationship, but it's a public display of a bright violet feather, and Scar knows how troubling that can be for Grian to show off, so he can only imagine the complicated nature of having his own portion of that for show. (He thinks of the hunters and their bejeweled weapons, feathers tied to them in boast. It makes his fingers twitch slightly, aching for his claws.)

(Mournfully, he finds himself wishing this was Hermitcraft (a thought he tries to avoid), and he could wear it proudly to show off to his friends. That Grian is his and he is Grian's.)

-

Grian

Grian waits until Scar pulls away, content to stay pressed close to him. But then Scar presents a question, and Grian's face burns, eyes flicking up to bask in the sight of the feather behind Scar's ear. "I— I um—" he stammers. He likes having it on display, and all the implications of it. It makes something in his chest purr with happy warmth. But— Is Scar supposed to wear it? Grian's never done anything like this before. He actually doesn't know.

His fingers reach, but he doesn't touch the tucked feather. Instead, his fingertips brush Scar's earlobe, and he wonders how wonderful it would feel to see Scar proudly wear the feather as an earring.

But then the reality crashes in. Grian's fingers tremble and pull away, and he swallows thickly. His eyes are big and vulnerable, with a touch of deep-rooted fear, when they find Scar's again. "I—" he stammers again, in a completely different pitch this time.

His wings slide off of Scar's back, reclaiming their spot behind Grian, making themselves smaller. (And yet. And yet they're still not as tightly pressed to his spine as they used to be.) 

He thinks of a bright spot of violet, permanently tied to Scar, on display. In a world where that particular brilliant shade is as good as a death sentence.

"I don't know," he finishes in an unsteady half whisper, heart hammering painfully in his chest.

-

Scar

Scar's ear flicks when touched, but the feather remains tucked where it is; he even twitches upward to make sure of it. He watches Grian fumble with his words and how his wings retreat, nervous and almost ashamed of their gorgeous hue. Scar finds that he really does not like that.

He meets Grian's eyes, steady even as his own are still red from shed tears. "Do you want me to?" Then, softer, serious. "I want to." His eyes flick downward, pondering his next words carefully before seemingly resolving to something. He looks back up and adds, unwavering. "Maybe dangerous, but... feels good. Feels… right."

-

Grian

Grian doesn't even have to consider Scar's question; he knows the answer instantly. Yes. Yes, he does want that, but—

He can't. He can't say that. He can't bear the implications, the possibilities. He can't stand the thought of making scar any more of a target than he already is.

He feels his eyes water as his heart is locked in this hopeless fight. Scar tells him he wants to do it, and that it feels right, and damn, Grian knows it feels right—it feels so, so horribly right for Scar to wear the feather on proud display.

And still. Grian's eyes close, sending tears tumbling down. His head dips as he shakes it no, suddenly so very afraid.

He doesn't want Scar to get hurt because of him. Because of this. Because of a silly, sentimental foolishness.

-

Scar

Scar pauses, heart aching at the display of complicated emotions that shower over Grian's face, shifting and moving until he lands on something all too close to despair and dips his head low.

Scar chews his lip, also dismayed by the reality they live in, before pulling his little avian in close again, pressing him to his chest where he can cry. 

"Maybe... just for now," he whispers, secure in their current privacy. "And we'll figure it out?"

--------

Eventually, after many talks and reassurances and sinking, fearful feelings, Scar ends up fashioning the feather into an earring. He already has one ear pierced, and easily uses that to have the feather on him. 

It’s a security risk, in a way. But Scar needs it, needs to be able to proudly proclaim that they belong to each other. That whoever might want Grian’s feathers would have to go through him first.

And they do. Go through him first.

There’s an incident where a hunter gets grasp of the feather and yanks it. (They want that feather <3) It takes the whole earring with it, sending a spike of pain through Scar.

There’s a lot of blood.

Scar doesn’t care.

All he cares about is the fact that this hunter now has Grian’s feather in his grasp, and he’s not meant to have that, he can’t, it doesn’t belong to him.

(He once promised Grian that nobody can have his wings, and that extends to this feather, too. To any part of Grian, really.) (And yet Grian gave himself over to Scar so fully, so willingly.)

And... yep. Scar goes a little feral. As a treat.

He takes that hunter down.

In the aftermath of it, he clutches the bloodied earring close to his chest, needing to feel it, to shield it, to make sure it’s his, nobody else has it, just him. He is determined to fiercely protect it, because of everything it means. And because Grian gave it to him.

Speaking of, Grian’s inconsolable. He’s very, very upset; this just adds to his fears that he’s only ever going to get Scar hurt. That nothing good comes from his feathers. That they’re just an omen bringing blood and death. (Something that’ll be reinforced later, too <3) 

He doesn’t want Scar to be in that firing line. He doesn’t want Scar to get any more hurt because of him. Not for a single feather. (Even if that single feather means everything.)

All he thinks about is that he was right— His feather did lead to Scar getting hurt. And it’s awful, and he feels sick, and guilty, and so very hopelessly, fearfully sad.

But Scar isn’t deterred. He doesn’t care; he’d willingly fight the whole world for this. (For Grian.) He stubbornly pierces his other ear, and it bleeds too, but it doesn’t matter. He puts the earring right back in. (Yep, this is how the earring swapped sides—)

Of course they talk about it. And it’s a mess. It’s even more complicated than before.

Scar ends up saying, “Grian, if it really makes you uncomfortable I’ll— I’ll keep it hidden, but if it’s only for my sake, then no. Please let me wear it.”

And… Well, Grian has no idea how to feel. 

He doesn’t want to put Scar in danger. But also, seeing that feather? Seeing Scar wear it? It reinstates everything they are to each other, every whispered, sobbed-out promise, every comforting touch and press of lips, every small, hard-fought laughter. 

Scar wearing the feather both soothes Grian immeasurably, and makes him sick to his stomach with dread.

But ultimately, he leaves the choice in Scar’s hands.

And Scar decides to wear it. (He’ll take down anyone who tries to touch it <3)