#my first art trade yeah !

[lilcatastrophe]

did an super fun art trade with @frostyblustar !

he requested merman matt and i asked him to draw me hunk being besties with any of the paladins n he chose keith. it’s absolutely adorable so go check it out on his blog noww as well as his other art, it’s all very cute <3

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!

[fellow-traveller]

My part of the art trade with @mysteriousdragon2

Yes, I went all out because drawings, aside from the 1 Day 1 Hol event, might be slowing down a few notches this month.

So in the next episode of HoHo's Bizarre Adventure, CDDH Hol Horse met up with Rohan Kishibe the great manga artist to share some inspirations over a nice bottle of whiskey.

Alternative: Hol had one too many and insisted he be drawn "like the unshucked woman in Titanic" for Rohan's next series.

Omake: Rohan's not having it.

[op3ra]

well it's the end of the year :,,,) what a year it was

i had a supremely awful twelve months to the point that i'm shocked i made it to december alive without having been taken out by a heart attack or something, but i'm really thankful for all the kind experiences i had on this site :3 there's a lot of good friends I've made on here--through gift exchanges and art trades and requests and chats in dms and through tags--so, overall, I would say it's been an okay year <3

[victorluvsalice]

Happy Birthday Nebby!

@nebbychan -- As per your suggestion of doing something with your Modern AU takes on Dan and Kiya from MediEvil (specifically "Maybe the two chatting at a museum about their favorite time periods (Dan can brag about his minor degree in Medieval Studies and Kiya can do the same with her Egyptology studies)"), here's the pair at a museum, specifically chatting about Medieval European and Ancient Egyptian weaponry! Because, to be honest, the first things that popped into my head when thinking about the prompt were these two posts on wacky polearms by prokopetz. XD Hope you enjoy!

--

“...and that one, right there? That’s a Bohemian Ear-Spoon.”

Kiya raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You are definitely making that one up.”

“Nope,” Dan told her with his biggest, toothiest grin. “Completely real. Check out the label.”

Kiya squinted at him, then turned her attention to the identification tag plastered to the case. A moment later, her eyes went wide. “What even,” she declared, standing up straight.

“I know!” Dan said, laughing. “And you know what? That thing is not nearly the weirdest polearm out there. I’ve seen one that looked like one of those fancy pointy spikes you see on top of churches with a blender attachment on the side.”

“Seriously? European weapons are bizarre,” was Kiya’s opinion on that. She glanced up at him. “So – did they tell you in uni why that one’s called an ‘Ear-Spoon’ of all things?”

“Oh, this is one of those weird ones where the original name doesn’t translate well to English,” Dan explained. “But most people think it’s ‘cause they call those two triangular bits forming the guard the ‘ears.’”

“Ah – well, that’s better than what I originally thought.”

Dan tilted his head. “Do I want to know?”

Kiya made a motion like she was jamming something into her ear while pulling a face. “I think you can guess.”

Dan grimaced, his very teeth seeming to flex with the motion. “Yeah...kind of prefer to avoid that kind of ear-spooning,” he said, absently brushing his bangs a little more over his eye patch.

Kiya winced. “Yeah, I – sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Dan assured her, holding up his hands with an awkward grin. “Shit happens, you know? It’s not a big deal or anything. I definitely don’t want it spoiling our date.”

“Me either.” Kiya took one of his hands, smiling warmly. “I’m having a really good time. I didn’t expect learning about the fifty million polearms Medieval Europe invented would be so interesting.”

Dan snorted. “Well, I gotta make sure someone other than me gets some use out of my minor,” he said, smile much more genuine now. “And it is pretty neat that they came up with so many different variations. You wouldn’t think there would be that many ways to change up ‘sharp pointy metal bit on stick.’” He regarded Kiya curiously. “You get anything like that with Ancient Egyptian weaponry?”

“Not really – Ancient Egypt honestly had something of a problem making any effective weapons until the New Kingdom period,” Kiya said, slipping into “curator” mode. “And even then, they mainly advanced because they’d been conquered by the Hyksos – foreign rulers who slipped into power while the main Egyptian dynasty was crumbling – and they were able to pilfer a lot of knowledge of arms off them before they drove them out.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Mainly, using bronze tips on their spears to help them hold an edge better and longer,” Kiya said with a little chuckle. “Though they also created the javelin in that time, and they used that to pretty great effect in their later campaigns. Honestly, though, my favorite Egyptian weapon from that time period is the Khopesh.”

“Oh?” Dan leaned in, intrigued. “What’s that? Guessing not a spear?”

“Nope – a large curved sword that looks something like a sickle,” Kiya told him, grinning. “Only with the sharp edge on the outside. Pharaohs from that time period are often depicted wielding it because it was known as a very dangerous and powerful weapon – one more than fit for a king.” She giggled. “And like your Ear-Spoon, the name might come from a body part – some scholars believe it was derived from the Egyptian word for ‘leg’ because it looks vaguely like a haunch of beef.”

Dan laughed. “That’s great!” He looked around the room. “You think they might have one of those here? I know they’ve got an Egyptian exhibit...”

Kiya linked her arm through his, face bright. “Let’s go and find out.”

--

Bohemian Ear-Spoon On Wikipedia

Ancient Egyptian Weapons: The Evolution of Warfare

Khopesh On Wikipedia

[a-special-ship-safe-space]

uhhh i should have probably showed in the dms BUTTTT.. Art trade for @luaseternal (my artstyle is very cartoony dfjnfv) warning for slight blood (not a lot of it just a tiny bit-)

i wanted to try something new ANDDDDD evil f/os i always have this ONEEEE image in my head uh- hope you like it lol ^^' (i cannot draw tattoos good i hope you can forgive me on that/also i know its probably outta character so im sorry for that as well..)

take your time with your thing as well dont rush ^^'

[ellecdc]

Hello, I absolutely love your work. I was just wondering if you could do something with animagus!reader x poly!wolfstar...? If not, that's totally okay. Have a good day 💓

I can never say no to wolfstar <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who is an animagus [1.2k words]

CW: Remus chiding reader [lovingly] for not sleeping enough, Sirius having everything under control, fluff

“Hey Pads.” Remus let out with a sigh as he entered their dorm room, immediately loosening his school tie and dropping his bookbag onto his bed.

“Hey Moons.” Sirius returned quickly as he flipped the page in his book; sitting with his back against the headboard of his own bed and curled up in one of Remus’ jumpers.

“Do you know where your girlfriend is?” Remus asked, causing Sirius to snort.

“My girlfriend? When’d she become my girlfriend?”

“She’s your girlfriend when she refuses to eat properly and drink enough water, or get more than three hours of sleep ‘here and there’.” Remus muttered rather petulantly, though it was all for show when he felt his heart traitorously twinge remembering how cute you looked nearly falling asleep over your breakfast this morning.

✧˖°☾

“It’s breakfast dovey, you should be waking up now, not falling asleep.” Remus said to you as he massaged the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

You looked rather sheepish as you tried to shake yourself or your residual sleepiness and brought a fork full of pancakes to your mouth. “Sorry moons… Was up late studying.”

“How late?” Remus had asked with his eyes narrowed, causing you to wince around your bite.

“Erm…what time is it now?”

“Dovey.” 

“I slept for a little bit! Maybe…I don’t know, a few hours?”

“How many is a few?” He deadpanned.

“Three?”

✧˖°☾

He’d not been pleased with you, to say the least. But there was nothing he could do as the day quickly got away from him - between staying late after Herbology to get extra credit helping out Professor Sprout, grabbing something to eat from the kitchens before rushing to the library to tutor the first year Defence Against the Dark Arts students, and finally, his prefect rounds - he was only returning to his own dorm long after the sun had already set.

If he was tired, you must be positively exhausted. 

“Oh, I get it.” Sirius replied with a huff. “When she’s tired and teary, she’s my girlfriend, but when she’s dutifully doted upon, she’s yours?”

“Yeah.” Remus agreed quickly, smiling before moving to peck a kiss to Sirius’ extremely kissable lips. “See? You get it.” 

“Wanker.” Sirius muttered with a smile before puckering his lips for one more, and Remus gave him two. 

“Was she terribly teary?” Remus asked then as he went to shed off his uniform and find himself a jumper that either you or Sirius hadn’t pilfered from his pile yet. 

“Not terribly.” Sirius offered vaguely, causing Remus to make a sympathetic noise.

“But she was teary?” 

Sirius made a noncommittal sound as he continued with his book. “No worse than you after a few too many pepper-up potions in place of, oh, how did you phrase it... eating properly, drinking enough water, and getting more than three hours of sleep here and there?” 

“Prat.” Remus muttered as he tossed his uniform shirt at him, but Sirius - the bastard - caught it without even looking up. “Did you send her off to bed, then?”

“Sure.”

“Sirius.”

“Yes, Moons?” Sirius asked, looking up from his book with an innocent smile that Remus knew to be anything but innocent when coming from one Sirius Orion Black.

“She needs to sleep, Pads.”

“And I can assure you without a shadow of a doubt that she’s currently doing just that.” He responded simply.

“Yeah, how?” 

Sirius simply winked at him before looking back down at his book. “Trade secrets, Moons.”

“Sirius.”

“Oh would you just come over here, then? You sodding git.” 

Remus momentarily considered staying on his side of the dorm room just out of spite for Sirius’ cheek, but his interest positively piqued when Sirius finally placed a bookmark in the book he’d been flipping through and pulled at the collar of his jumper. Remus’ jumper.

“You’re gonna stretch the neck out.” Remus muttered, but dutifully moved across the room to look under Sirius’ Remus’ jumper to see that, laying between the soft fabric of Sirius’ band tee and Remus’ jumper was a small, long-haired calico cat sleeping peacefully with its tail curled protectively around its body and resting gently on its own nose.

Remus made an embarrassing tsking sound at the sweet sight and fought against the urge to shove his hand into the jumper in order to give you some scratches (which would only serve to wake you), opting to press a firm kiss to Sirius’ head instead. 

“See? Told ya I had it all under control.”

“You said no such thing, Sirius.” 

“Well it should always just be assumed, then.” 

Remus shook his head but didn’t bother to argue as he moved to the other side of Sirius’ bed and made himself comfortable. “So much for not being a cat person, hm?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Moons; I love cats.” Sirius responded haughtily.

“Liar.”

“If I didn’t like cats, why would I have one shoved up my shirt, huh?” 

“You don’t like cats, you like her.”

“Correction,” Sirius countered, not unlike one of his snooty little first years during his tutoring session, “I love her.” 

“I do too.” Remus agreed with a beaming smile. “I love you.” 

“Well I should hope so,” Sirius laughed, “I saved you from a category five over-tired meltdown for looking at her sideways when she complained how tired she was.” 

“Did you?”

“Of course not!” Sirius chided with a laugh and swatted him with his now closed book. “I have more tact and grace than you.” 

It was Remus’ turn to snort. “Sure.” 

“The trick was,” Sirius offered conspiratorily, “telling her I was cold, and asking if she’d cuddle me whilst I read.” 

“Devious.”

“Mischevious, some might say.”

With that, a little nose and a set of whiskers poked out from the collar of Sirius’ borrowed jumper to look at Remus expectantly.

“Hey, sweetness.” He offered quietly, holding his hand out which encouraged you to poke out only as far as your neck in order to rub against his fingers; tiny body vibrating with purrs.

Sirius shifted so he was laying on his back, only propped up by the pillows on his bed, and Remus repositioned himself to join him as he laid on his side to watch the two of you.

You left your neck poking out of the jumper, but Remus could see underneath the knitted fabric your little body flatten out again against your boyfriend's chest as you let out a deep, relaxed breath and closed your eyes once more. 

“Good job, Pads.” Remus had whispered a few moments later; watching as your shallow feline breaths evened out rhythmically. He’d been so focused on monitoring your breathing he hadn’t realised Sirius’ had evened out too, and Remus was left to close the curtains to the four poster bed and press a kiss to each of your heads - one human, one feline - before turning out the lights.

[apartmentsmoke]

Evan tells Tommy that he's babysitting Jee, but he still really wants to spend time with Tommy, if Tommy doesn't mind - and Tommy accepts. Jee's part of Evan's family, and Howie's family, and how bad can hanging out with a three-year-old - almost four, he is told by her in the car - be anyway? What he's expecting is a night on the couch watching Frozen. (Kids still like that, right?) Maybe tea parties. What he does not expect is that Evan already has an outing planned to Chuck-E-Cheese. Surprise - Chuck-E-Cheese still exists. He would've sworn they went bankrupt back in 2020.

He's not sure what Jee is going to think of him, but she remembers him from the hospital as "Uncle Buck's dirty friend" and accepts his presence easily enough. She keeps her hand in Evan's as they walk into Chuck-E-Cheese. It's one of the cutest things Tommy's ever seen. There's a thousand kids around, laughing and crying and shouting. He only has to focus on one, he tells himself, and lets Jee lead him and Evan through the maze of games. She stops at a claw machine and demands that her Uncle Buck win her a rabbit toy. After ten minutes, fifteen dollars, and Tommy tagging in, they finally succeed. The next two hours are filled with more exploitative games, the greasiest fucking pizza Tommy's ever had, and Jee spending five minutes deliberating between two similarly-colored bouncy balls to exchange for her tickets. Throughout it all, Evan's patience never wavers, even when they lose Jee for five minutes in the crowd and have to search for her. She's hiding under the air hockey table.

Tommy's doing his best to keep up. He's led all over the place, recruited to help with games, and tries to make sense of Jee's non-sequiturs. While they're standing in line for the bouncy ball, Evan nudges him. There's a big smile on his face. "I know this isn't an ideal date. Thanks for being here." "Of course," Tommy says, and he nudges Evan back. "I like getting to know your family, Evan." It's not what he expected, but seeing first-hand how full of love Evan's family is, how much love he has for them - he wouldn't trade it. Not even for the bluest bouncy ball. Evan's smile grows even wider. They're almost out the door when Jee spots a photo booth and hones in. "I wanna photo," she says, tugging at Evan's hand, and Tommy dutifully follows along. He'll - wait out here, he guesses, while Evan and Jee take their photo. They wouldn't all fit, anyway. It's a little awkward, hanging around the photo booth, but it's fine. They disappear behind the curtain for a moment and Tommy can hear Jee's high, insistent voice and Evan chuckling and responding, though he can't make out the words. Jee and Evan poke their heads out a second later. "You too!" Jee says, and Evan echoes her with a grin. "Yeah, you too. Get in here." They quickly learn there is no way the photo booth is going to fit them all. Tommy fits maybe a third of his body in. Evan frowns, then lights up again. "Hey, Jee, why don't we get out for a second? Then Tommy can sit down and I can sit on his lap and you can sit on my lap. Okay?" "Okay," she says, so Tommy squeezes in, and a second later Evan plops all two hundred pounds of himself and thirty pounds of Jee onto his lap.

"Evan," he hisses, and Evan grins at him, unrepentant. "Smile for the camera, Tommy," he says, and Tommy finds that his smile comes easily, especially when Evan turns to kiss his cheek on the last photo. After they scrabble out of the photo booth, Evan looks down at the strip of photos and their wide, grinning faces. "Oh, yeah. That's going on the fridge for sure." "For sure," Jee repeats for emphasis, and looks up at Tommy expectantly. "For sure," he says, and he's met with twin smiles.

[this fic has matching art by @aringofsalt! it's adorable and you should definitely go take a look]

[evilminji]

Broadway :3c

And I hear ya. (Insert spooky joke here) There is a sprawling WEB of central hubs, for The Arts. For trade. For getting drunk and having a good time. The Zone is large and it is endless. You'll NEVER reach the far end. It can never reach you.

All things, in gentle sweeping waves, across eternity.

So when folks want to have "a market" or "a movie theater" or "the waterpark"? You gotta PICK a point on the endless map. Figure if you are close or far enough away for others like it, to make it worth the effort to build.

You might even be the first to do it for GALAXIES in any direction! People might fly for WEEKS to come to your place! Move their Lairs to be closer too it. Like dust gathered by gravity, slowly creating planets and stars. A mega Lair. A CITY.

They rise, they fall, the Zone shifts all the while.

But!

Does the dead starlet stop singing? Does getting gunned down, stop the show?? I think NOT! Where is her STAGE? What musicals? What dramas? What operas and tragedies and forms unknown to human kind??! Ballet dancers who CAN defy gravity! Singers who have no NEED for air! The haunting blend of instruments, that could never in life have met! From empires long turned to ASH!

The greatest show in DEATH!

Ember was a world wide hit. Yes, her voice was hypnotic. But that could be FOUGHT. It was SKILL that carried the game. And she was hardly "I was Literally The Greatest My Planet Ever Produced" skilled. She was good, great even. Not "I was Born For Greatness" Excellence.

And like?

.....eventually? Danny's gonna ask after "cultural-y" Culture stuff. Clothes and food. Music and the arts. To help his parents get used to the whole "our son is half-dead" thing. To show he's not some mindless monster now.

And? Ghostwriter? Probably an absolute legend. Does he know where you can find some CULTURE? Oh THANK ZONE! He thought you'd NEVER ask! You unsophisticated-! *fist fight in a library* Still a dick, though. Always and forever.

And just? Imagine Broadway stretched out into a floating city. That never sleeps. Never stops. Shows ever changing. Some on a cycle, some only once. Dream-like. Beautiful. Eye catching.

And yeah, Danny didn't think he LIKED musicals. It was more of a Jazz thing. But? This was important! Gotta get the whole family in the Speeder. We're going to see a play, guys! We'll pick when we get there! Family road trip! Educational! We can make notes!

His parents are trying to be supportive. Big, fixed, strained grins. Trying to pretend to be excited. But they... DO seem reluctantly intrigued? And Jazz is all but vibrating in her seat. It's basically her "before you go away to college" present. And she is THRILLED.

The longer she excitedly speculates? The more into it she gets their folks. This IS gonna be new! Exciting! Never before seen Ghost Culture! Music! As a FAMILY! Think we could find souvenirs? Ooooh, wonder if they sell CDs??!

Then? They GET there. And it's... it's like seeing the Las Vegas strip for the first time, except multiplied into a city. Made of even MORE styles and eras. At angles gravity would never allow.

The air filled with laughter and excitement, people rushing to shows or humming bits of tunes. Street stalls. Fountains. Flowers growing everywhere.

They could stay for months and not even reach a fraction of these buildings. His parents are taking countless photos. His sister squeeling with joy as she races for an information kiosk like they just arrived at Disneyland. He, at least, remembers to lock up the Speeder. Grab their day bags.

When did HE become the responsible one?

The argue over shows. Obviously. Wouldn't be Fenton's otherwise. HE wants to see the alien one. It's from mars! But it's his sister's trip, as his dad points out, so she gets to choose. She picks a musical set during the Fall of Krpton. He's... reluctantly kinda interested. I mean, EVERYBODY likes Superman, right?

It's... it's amazing. Terrible, but amazing. I mean? A coming of age story cut tragically short? Oof. Hello, massively projecting then getting FEELS about it! Yeah, sure, rip my heart out why don't you? He's fine. No, really! Just drowning in his own emotions over here. The refrain of "A Life Well Lived"? *gargling dying whale noises* he's FINE. Not grappling with anything! Go on without him!

Thankfully?

They DO sell CDs.

He... he may end up, kinda, getting a bit of a collection. Going on the weekends, hoping show to show. Wandering to whichever catches his eye in the moment. Buying the CDs for one's he likes. Which? Honestly is a lot of them. Even though there's all sorts of genres and languages. Cause it... it RESONATES you know?

The grief. The anger. The "I have died but I wasn't FINISHED. It isn't FAIR.". And? Something about ghost speak flows so BEAUTIFULLY in song? It's hard to explain. But he... he needs them.

A pair of headphones, a CD, and a clear night sky? Nothing touches it. It's like a trance made of light. Like he can just drift.

The problem? Is the CDs are kinda... Zone made? They're radioactive, for one. Nothing a Fenton CD player can't handle. But... they? Also? Kinda fuckin GLOW? Like... very, very noticeably. And not in a "ha ha, cool glow in the dark paint!" Sorta way.

.........but like FUCK is he leaving his music behind when he goes to college. Gotham will have to deal. It's already a burning shit-nado, it can handle this. Probably. He'll put um in a lead lined box. Actually, speaking OF.... he needs to get a few more of those... *goes back to packing*

Which? Is how? The Bats are treated to some of the most HAUNTING music they've ever heard, belted and crooned from Some Guy's speakers, out an open window, on the "stop for a mid-patrol drink of water and a snack" building. It's one of the intersections of their patrol routes. And THAT? That is some dude listening to a Romani ballad about death and the circus. Now it's a musical about the trenches of an obscure war.

Okay, that was DEFINITELY Kryptonian. Like... coherent Krypto- *Bruce gets a call from Clark on his "work" number DEMANDING to know where that is coming from. Who is that voice Bruce?!* huh.... Well Then.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @spidori @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

[flippinpancakes64]

Hello, I absolutely love your work. iv re read your stuff so many times that it's getting concerning.

Can I request the cullens x artist reader who made a painting of them I just think that would be cute

The Cullens with an Artist! Reader

Thank you?!?! I suggest seeking mental help for rereading my bad stories tho

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We all know that he is an artist too

He made Bella a whole song on the piano

As someone who can play the piano, that’s not easy

So he definitely loves that you’re also artistic

For you, he’s a muse

I mean, how could he not be

Literally the definition of perfect

So obvs you sketch him a lot

When he finds an almost finished painting one day of him, he is floored

He can never seem to wrap his mind around the fact that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you

He hangs it up

Even if it’s not finished

If you insist on finishing it, he will begrudgingly take it down and give it back

But as soon as it’s done it’s all his

Alice:

She’s also an artist

But more with fashion

And design

She’s not so well-versed with the classical arts like painting or sketching

So she always loves seeing your paintings

She’s a coexistence girly

She loves to just be doing something while you’re painting

You know just sort of existing in the same space at the same time

The day you give her the painting, she is so surprised

It was so difficult for you to hide this from her

Especially with her gift

She absolutely loves it

She hangs it in the main room of the Cullen house

She wants absolutely everyone to see it and acknowledge how talented her s/o is

Jasper:

He loves the arts

They’re relaxing to him

Some of his favorite classes he’s ever taken in all of the schools they’ve been at have been art classes

He’s not good by any means, but he loves it anyway

Art dates with him are a must

He would love that tiktok trend where you and your partner trade paintings every couple of minutes

Never misses an opportunity to tell you that he loves your work

He honestly almost started crying when you showed him your painting of him

You made him look so happy, so peaceful

He’s used to being perceived as a monster

Definitely hangs it up

But only in his room

He wants to be the only one to see it

Rosalie:

She’s more of a technical, sciencey person

Not to say she doesn’t like art

Just that she doesn’t necessarily enjoy making it

She can definitely appreciate good work tho

And she loves everything you make

She buys you new supplies all of the time

If just one pen ran out of ink in your favorite set, she would buy you a whole new set

When you give her that first painting though, she’s obsessed

She wants at least 20 more by tomorrow

But actually, she knows that she’s beautiful

But something about the way you capture her is just so different she loves it

Emmett:

He’s not an art person either

He’s a bit of a meathead

But he can appreciate art

Probably not as deeply as other people can

But he know when it looks good

And he genuinely thinks you’re the best artist ever

He will gladly put all of your little doodles in the clear pockets of his binders

And hang them on his locker

When you give him the painting of him he’s actually dumbfounded

Like awestruck

What do you mean the best artist in the world just made a painting of him?

Get ready to be cuddled for the rest of the night

Esme:

Resident artist

We already knew that tho

I’m pretty sure it’s said that she’s the one who made the grad cap piece?

Idk

Either way she loves art

Pottery dates, painting picnics, date nights at the art museum

She loves it

So if you were to ever paint her and give it to her?

Yeah she’s gonna start crying

She just loves art, she loves you, and you put them together and she’s so in love

She hangs it in the main room

It doesn’t matter if the colors clash

And it’s never coming down

Carlisle:

Another appreciater of the arts

I mean, he probably knew Da Vinci on a personal level this guy is so old

So it’s no shock

Whenever he’s home and hanging out with you, he loves to watch you paint or draw

Especially if he’s doing some paperwork

I just feel like he would like the company while he’s working

Now I don’t see Carlisle as the type of guy to necessarily enjoy pictures or paintings of himself

The only portraits he has in his office are either him in a crowd or family photos

So when you give him a portrait of himself, he’s a little shocked at first

He doesn’t want to seem narcissistic, but damn you made him look good

He hangs it up in your shared bedroom

Even though he knows he will likely never have guests who would see it, he wants to make sure it’s hidden

He just doesn’t want people to think he’s vain

But he secretly loves it so much

Vampire! Bella:

I think I’ve talked about it before but this girl would have loved deviantart

Rip Bella you would have loved fan art of your favorite characters

But she totally had an artsy phase

I don’t think she’s necessarily good or bad

She just prefers to look at art rather than make it

So that’s where you come in

She loves just watching you work

Every once in a while she paints with you

But she always feels inferior when she looks at what you made vs what she made

So she usually just sticks to admiring

The first time you give her a portrait of herself, she doesn’t even know what to do

She’s still getting used to actually perceiving herself as beautiful

And then you capture her like she’s a goddess?

She needs to lie down

She loves it tho

[obae-me]

Random Sibling Headcanons

I'm a wee bit sick, which is why I've put my more serious projects on a very short pause. That being said I still feel the need to write something, so why not get some ideas out in the form of little fun ideas? Featuring colored names this time because it's fun for my brain.

These are just some little headcanons I like to think the brothers have done, since I love thinking of their sibling/ at-home relationships with each other.

In the picture of Lucifer's office, he seems to have stairs heading up to a second-story loft of some sort. I've always imagined he has a "Pride" wall somewhere up there filled with memorabilia of his brother's greatest or proudest achievements. There's some photos, art pieces, awards his siblings gave up on keeping, etc. His brothers know about it but hate it, so they all never speak of it.

Mammon and Levi once both badly injured their hands, trying to outdo each other high-fiving. You know where you try to get that perfect smack and hurt the other person's palm? Yeah, like that. They whiffed it on the first try and had to do it again and just couldn't stop after that.

Belphie usually puts small portions of his dirty clothes into his brother's hampers so they can clean his clothes for him without them realizing. It drives them all wild having to sort it out each time, and Belphie thrives off of it.

One of Satan's favorite pranks was to quickly run around the whole house and use up every hot water source he can while Lucifer was taking a shower so his water turns ice cold while the eldest is still in it. It got to the point where Lucifer is actually fine taking cold showers now.

If a bunch of them are in the same room and one of them gets a call from Lucifer, the others will suddenly try to sound like something horrible is going on, more often than not trying to incriminate the person who picked up the phone, blaming them for some false scenario that never happened.

If Belphie gets woken up too many times in the same day, he'll find ways to wake his siblings up in the middle of the night. Once he managed to get into all their phones and set annoyingly loud alarms, another night he cursed the piano in the music room to play until morning. Now the brothers have an unspoken rule not to wake their youngest sibling up more than four times a day.

Asmo likes to barge into his siblings' rooms sometimes unannounced with his D.D.D. while he's live on Devilgram or Deviltube. He loves to catch his brother's doing something stupid, it's hilarious. Sometimes he's not even live, he's just recording so he can keep videos to laugh over later.

They trade chores often, much to Lucifer's frustration, but everyone has some chores they absolutely can't stand. They've even somehow come up with a bartering system of sorts. Laundry = 1 other chore like dusting, but something like Dishes = 2 chores like taking on laundry and vacuuming.

None of them have ever missed one of Beel's games. They always show up and sit in the same spots so Beel never has to look around for them in the crowd. Lucifer brings the bag of supplies and snacks should his siblings need it. Because they always end up complaining about something by the end of the night. Mammon always brings his megaphone that almost always gets in him trouble every time. Levi gives his brothers all glowsticks. Satan always secretly has tricks up his sleeve to use against the opposing team should any of them come close to harming Beel (although that's nearly impossible, but he has them as a precaution). Asmo made everyone the most beautiful signs to hold. And Belphie brings everyone blankets since it can get chilly in the stands. He also brings a big lunchbox of snacks for Beel to eat right after the game even though they always go out to eat right after.

Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi as the three eldest are used to giving their younger siblings things they no longer need. The younger four have plenty of hand-me-downs but more often then not, they don't really mind. Lucifer gives out anything he's not overtly a fan of which can be anything from books to cologne to jewelry. Everyone has a few old things of his. Mammon gives out a bunch of clothes quite frequently. Despite his greed, his room can only hold so much, and so he usually goes through a semi-regular purge. Anything his brothers don't grab he sells. Levi gives out old electronics since he upgrades to the newest stuff as soon as he can. Because of this, Satan owns a pair of cat-ear headphones.

On a trip to the human world once, Asmo bought Belphie one of those electronic toothbrushes that play a song in your head while you brush your teeth so the youngest no longer falls asleep during brushing. Yes, it was a Brittany Spears one. (Does this date me? Maybe. Do they even make those anymore?)

Mammon and Asmo have both sat Beel down and tried to give him a basic course on recognizing flirting to keep their younger brother from being so totally oblivious, but no matter how many times they try, he never notices. However, now if Beel is ever given a random phone number, he knows to take it to either of those two to sort it out for him.

Once, for Belphie's birthday he received the ugliest quilt made from little squares from his brother's t-shirts, pillowcases, robes, etc. They all worked together to sew it up and it's very, very obvious who did what parts. Belphie says he can't stand the awful thing but sleeps with it every night.

[ardentem-iustitia]

2023 ART SUMMARY 💥💥💥💥💥

January: uhhh so I couldn't find anything... but any art i made in jan probably sucked ass anyways LAWL

February: art piece for @leg-endaryhero!

March: spooky drawing of one of my ocs....

April: moment of reflection, ft. another one of my ocs XD

May: another piece for @leg-endaryhero ! we love yuri

June: night sky scene thing,,, I was experimenting

July: Piece of my spider-sona! I was brainrotting about her a ton because I was talking about her lore with some buddies on Discord.

August: Art trade with @sillyhisui !!! Looking at this makes me physically sick I hate this expect a redraw soon!!! cause i can do WAY better than this i prommy

September: birthday piece for @ekholocationn !! she became old 💀/lh

October: minorinrin!!! im not a huge project sekai fan but she's got my heart <#33

November: piece for ganadarart!

December: secret santa gift for ermeiku!

And... yeah. This was one of my craziest years of improvement, but the first year I've done one of these. Nice.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

The Pleasures of Dreaming and Waking

Summary:

Hob spends time with Dream after a long week at work. As they chat over their usual table, they grow more comfortable in expressing their fantasies and endeavour to explore them.

Notes:

Inspired by this fic written by @delta-pavonis <3

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,716

Square/Prompt: B3 - Somnophilia |  @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Making Out, Nipple Play, Smut, Eldritch Sex, Light Bondage, Consensual Somnophilia, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Orgasm Edging, Multiple Orgasms, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Naked Cuddling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Porn Without Plot, Porn With Feelings

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59931001

———

The sounds of conversations combined with the clinking of cutlery and soft footsteps is making Hob sleepy.

He had a long week at work and only managed to catch a break now that it's Friday; he stifles a yawn behind his hand and mumbles thanks to the waiter that just brought their order to their table.

“Are you well, my love? You seem exhausted.” A frown creases Dream’s forehead, and Hob still marvels at how Dream is more comfortable with expressing his emotions now, especially since they started dating three months ago; a fact that Hob still has trouble believing if he thinks about it too hard.

Hob nods and straightens up in his seat, trying to blink the fatigue out of his eyes. “I'm alright, love, don't worry. Just pretty knackered with finals week coming up. Been up late catching up on grading papers and all that.”

“You should have informed me sooner. We could always meet in my realm while your physical body rests.”

“Yeah, but I'm quite fond of this place,” Hob admits. “This table is where I was sitting when you first came back. I like talking with you here.”

“You are stubbornly sentimental,” Dream chides, though there's an unmistakable smile on his lips.

“You love it,” Hob says pointedly, taking some chips from the basket.

Dream makes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Very well. What woes did you experience in the world of academia today? I have heard it is part of unwinding to talk about how one’s day has gone.”

“You learned that in one of those relationship books you read in your library?” He walked in on Dream reading that sort of book once in the Dreaming during their first month of dating. Dream vanished the book in an instant when he saw Hob, but Hob had been so endeared that he had pushed Dream against the shelf and kissed him senseless.

“Perhaps.” Dream drinks from his mug of hot chocolate to hide his face, but not before Hob sees the subtle pink on his cheeks.

Hob grins and reaches for Dream’s hand resting on the table, fiddling idly with the cuff of his sleeve. “Nothing remarkable happened, at this point even the students were just waiting for the weekend so classes were rather quiet. Then afterwards I went with some of my colleagues to that pub near the university, and we just traded mindless gossip to purge our brains of essays and staff meetings.”

Dream turns his hand so his palm is facing up, and he brushes his thumb back and forth on Hob's wrist as he speaks. “I am sure the other patrons enjoyed hearing gossip from academics.”

“I'm not so sure I did, honestly. My mate Nick runs his mouth after a few pints, and I didn't need to hear that he had a wet dream about our colleague from the Arts department. Does that fall under your jurisdiction, by the way? You just know whenever someone's fantasising in their dream?” Hob has already asked a lot of questions about Dream and his function, which Dream always answers with some degree of amusement, but Hob still feels like there's so much more to learn.

“I am able to see into someone's dreams should I wish, but unless a nightmare is crossing a line in troubling them or other similar concerns, I have no obligation nor desire to do so. And any fantasies they might have are created by their own minds.” Dream pauses and tilts his head slightly to the side. “Do you wish for us to do the same? To share such intimacies in my realm?”

Hob feels his face warm and he chuckles. He still gets caught off-guard by how direct Dream can be nowadays. “I thought you said you can't read minds?”

“I can sense daydreams. And yours are often loud.” The corner of his lips tilts up in a smirk.

“Well, can you blame me? People dream about that kind of stuff all the time, but for you and me, it would be real. It would actually be you.”

Dream’s smile disappears and he seems to hesitate, his face becoming guarded.

“Hey,” Hob says gently, stroking Dream’s arm with his fingers. “We don't have to, okay? All the sex we have here in the Waking is already perfectly amazing.”

“Crude.” Dream's eyes twinkle in amusement and he seems to relax. He pauses for a moment before continuing. “You have seen my form in my realm. How… different. I look.”

Hob raises an eyebrow. “You mean being paler and taller than an average human and having galaxies for eyes? And wearing that sinful robe that would be considered indecent in the streets of London?”

Dream lowers his gaze and is obviously trying to suppress a smile. “I am trying to be serious, Hob.”

“Oh I'm perfectly serious. I'm surprised you didn't sense my daydreams whenever we walked around your realm with you wearing that thing.”

“I… did. But.” Dream trails off, his fingers tapping restlessly on the inside of Hob’s arm.

“What's wrong?” Hob rarely sees Dream be so hesitant.

“I am… afraid. To hurt you, in my realm. If we engage in physical intimacy.”

Hob’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Hurt me? You could never hurt me, love.”

“I might.” Dream’s voice sounds strained with worry. “In my realm I am… more. In the throes of passion I might lose control of my humanoid form.” He looks right at Hob. “You inspire such greed in me, Hob Gadling. I will have you for as long as it takes until I am sated.”

Hob swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. If Dream intends to discourage him by what he just said, he's spectacularly failing. “So exactly as we always do it, then?” he manages to say lightly.

Dream huffs out a chuckle. “You are not daunted at all.” He sounds almost impressed.

“‘Course not,” Hob says easily. “Is it something that you want, though?”

Dream nods slowly. “I have thought of it. More than once. I should like to have you in my bed, at the heart of my palace. So the very essence of our ardour seeps into each fibre of my realm, that none may doubt my affections for you.”

Hob takes a shaky breath, unable to look away from Dream. They should probably be talking about this somewhere more private, but right now the most prominent thought in Hob's mind is if Dream wants it just as much as he does then why haven't they done it yet.

“Okay, okay,” Hob says mainly to calm himself. “Since we both want the same thing, is there any way I can make you more comfortable with the idea? We can use safe words, and I bet you can sense anyway if I feel like something’s too much for me.”

“I am uncertain about that. I have never been able to sense your discomfort in any of our couplings.”

“That's because I've never felt any discomfort, love. Like I said, everything we've done has been amazing, and I think you know by now that you're not the only one who can get greedy,” Hob says cheekily.

A smile curves Dream’s lips. “That is a fair point.”

“I know. So then. Um…” Hob looks around at the pub. “D’you wanna go upstairs and talk about it?”

“You are not too tired?”

“Oh believe me, I'm more awake now than I've been all week.” Hob calls over one of the waiters and tells him that they're taking their food to go.

“Eager, beloved?” Dream raises an eyebrow playfully after the waiter leaves.

“No more than you, Your Majesty.”

Dream makes a low humming noise in his chest that might have been a purr or a growl. Either way, it's definitely a sound of approval and that's all Hob needs to practically drag Dream upstairs as soon as they get their takeout bag.

Hob takes a shower first because he's not sleeping with his boyfriend while carrying the grime of public transport, nevermind that it's the quickest shower he's ever taken in his life.

When he gets out of the bathroom wearing a fresh shirt and sweatpants, he sees Dream on his bed wearing black silk pyjamas, sitting up against a pillow and reading Lord of the Rings. The whole image is so soft that it makes Hob’s chest ache.

“I like seeing you like this,” Hob says as he sits next to Dream.

“On your bed?”

“Relaxed.” Hob kisses the tip of Dream's nose. “Do you still want to talk about it?”

Dream nods. “Do you?”

“Yeah. Thanks for waiting while I showered.”

“You were not gone long. I had not even finished the chapter I was reading.” Dream closes the book and puts it on the nightstand. “I still do not know what happens after Frodo and Sam meet Merry and Pippin.”

“Oh, should I shower for longer then so you can continue reading?”

“If you step in that shower again I should be inclined to join you.”

“Talk first,” Hob says firmly, rather proud of himself for declining such a tempting offer. Granted, he declined in favour of a much more tempting one. “How'd you feel about safe words?” he turns to his side to more comfortably face Dream, folding a knee under him.

“They could prove to be useful, yes. What words do you recommend?”

“We can use the traffic light system. Green means continue, yellow means slow down, red means stop immediately.”

Dream considers for a moment. “And you promise to use them with no hesitation?”

“Yeah,” Hob nods. “And you should too.”

Dream slowly blinks at him, looking surprised.

“You can use them too,” Hob clarifies. “You're allowed to say if you're uncomfortable, yeah?”

Dream is silent for a few moments, forehead creased in thought. Then he slowly nods. “Alright. And I should like to give you control to shape the Dreaming.”

“What?” Now it's Hob's turn to be surprised.

“My realm is tied to my temperament. I may cause a storm without meaning to. Or an earthquake. While you might not be powerful enough to stop these things entirely, you will have the ability to shape the environment to conjure whatever shelter best suits your comfort.”

The first thought in Hob's mind is how utterly sweet Dream is to even think of granting him that much power over his realm; Hob is aware that that much trust given to him is not to be taken lightly.

The second thought following closely after is that Hob wants to see just how much he can make Dream lose control while sharing his bed. He wonders if he can pleasure Dream enough for him to make actual fireworks appear.

Dream chuckles and rests his forehead against Hob’s. “Your priorities continue to fascinate me, Hob Gadling.”

“Shall I show you how fascinating I can be, then?” Hob reaches up to run his fingers along the collar of Dream's silk shirt.

Dream purrs low in his chest and holds the back of Hob’s neck to slot their lips together.

Hob groans softly and clenches his fist into the fabric of Dream's shirt, pulling him down to lie on top of him.

“I thought you wished to do this in my realm,” Dream says playfully against his lips, pupils already blown.

“Still do. Take me there then, my lord.”

There’s sand and the familiar feeling of drifting off to sleep, and then all at once Hob feels a different bed under him, smooth as satin and softer than goosefeathers.

Dream is looming over him, his black robe nearly slipping off a pale shoulder. His blue eyes flicker down to Hob’s clothes, running over them with a curious gaze.

Hob looks down and realises that he’s wearing a bottle-green robe, loosely tied at the waist and with nothing else underneath. “I owned something like this back then,” he recalls. “In the 1500s, I think. It was always comfortable.”

Dream nods in approval and noses along the line of Hob’s jaw. “Good. Here you shall have every comfort.” He sinks his teeth in the skin beneath Hob’s ear with just enough pressure to make him shiver.

“I wish I could carry your marks with me to the Waking,” Hob says breathlessly.

Dream pulls back to meet his eyes, and for a second Hob wonders if had said something wrong.

“If you truly wish it, I can extend my consciousness to my physical form currently sleeping beside yours. I will make love to you in the Waking as I do here. And you will have my marks until your body heals them away.”

Hob feels his eyes widen, his heart thumping in his chest. And once again he wonders why they’d never done this before. “Will I be able to feel what you do to my physical body? Even here?”

Dream considers it. “I can put your consciousness in the liminal space between sleeping and waking, just enough for you to feel my touch in your realm. Is this what you wish?”

“Yes,” Hob whispers, absently realising that he has his hands clenched into fists on Dream’s robe.

“Very well.”

Dream closes his eyes, and suddenly Hob feels smooth hands trail slowly up his thighs, even when Dream hasn’t moved at all. Cool fingers wrap around his cock and he gasps, hips jerking up against Dream’s thigh.

“Did you vanish my clothes?”

“I did not think you would need them.” There’s an edge to Dream’s smile, and when he opens his eyes the blue has vanished too, replaced by pools of black with brilliant stars at the center.

Hob pulls him down for a kiss, and Dream opens up immediately. Hob loses himself in the feeling of their tongues against each other and Dream’s body undulating above him. They both still have their robes on, but Hob can feel a hand slowly stroking his cock, a mouth around his nipple. He hears a whimper that might have been his but never felt it leave his throat.

“Dream,” Hob gasps, hips stuttering against Dream’s thigh. The sensations in the Waking haven’t stopped, but with most of his consciousness here in the Dreaming they all feel distant, like a vivid memory that can never live up to the real thing. “Touch me. Here.”

“As my love commands.” Dream unties Hob’s robe with one hand before pressing their lips together again.

Hob sighs against the kiss as he feels Dream’s hand caress his torso, gliding lower and kneading the flesh of his thigh. He wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, runs his fingers through soft midnight hair that seems constantly ruffled by wind despite the lack of any breeze.

The sensations in the Waking stop abruptly, and before Hob could begin to wonder why, he feels teeth sink into the inside of his thigh.

“Ah!” Hob arches his back, breaking the kiss and pulling Dream’s hair. His cock twitches and he feels the heat of Dream’s mouth wrap around him—in the Waking. Hob moans in frustration, his cock hanging heavy and neglected in the open air. “Do you even have plans to fuck me here?”

“I am marking you in the Waking. That is what you wish, is it not?” Dream rakes his nails lightly across Hob’s chest, scraping a nipple and making Hob twitch.

“Just in the Waking? What happened to being greedy?” Hob quickly bunches up Dream’s robes, thrilled to find that there’s not a stitch of clothing underneath. He grabs Dream’s bare arse and pulls him flush against his groin.

Dream throws his head back with a shaky gasp, his eyes fluttering close.

Hob pulls him down and mouths at pale clavicles, licks at Dream’s icy throat and nips at his jawline.

Dream surges down to kiss him, and at the same time Hob feels his thighs being spread open in the Waking.

Dream's tongue reaches into him from both ends, soft and slick and far longer than any human tongue should be.

Hob squirms as he feels Dream’s tongue move inside him in the Waking, feeling full and empty all at once. He grips the back of Dream's neck, ruts against his cock.

Dream makes a wounded noise and returns the enthusiasm, grinding down hard until Hob’s sure they're carving a dent into the plush cushions.

Hob feels precome on his belly, and he needs Dream inside him now but he also needs him to never stop moving.

And then Dream does stop, even his movements in the Waking.

Hob opens his eyes, mind clouded in a haze of confusion and lust. He sees Dream looking around their surroundings and blinking.

Hob begins to realise that even though they're still on the same cushions, they're no longer in Dream’s bedroom.

The ceiling made of a starry night sky is replaced with an elaborate mosaic of figures that might be deities, and the marble walls are now stained glass windows letting in colorful sunlight that dapples on the steps leading down from where he and Dream are.

Dream shifts to his side to give Hob room to sit up and look around. He realises that they're on a raised platform overlooking a great hall with long tables and tall double doors at the far end. They're the only ones here, and the vastness of the place has a solemn quiet to it.

“Where are we?” Hob’s voice echoes softly.

“You brought us here, beloved.”

“What?” Hob frowns and looks around again, paying more attention to the details.

The wall behind them is painted with doves and bells so intricately that Hob can almost hear them, and he suddenly recognises that the deities depicted on the ceiling are who the townspeople considered the gods of marriage from about six centuries ago.

“This is a wedding hall,” Hob breathes. I brought us here to shag on the altar.

Dream blinks at him slowly. “Why did you choose this place?”

“I didn't mean to,” Hob scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “I guess, um…” he feels his face warm up. He looks down and fidgets with the sheets. “I'm not proposing or anything, I don't even know what that would mean for you but… I s’pose I liked the symbolism of it. Us getting married…” He trails off and hesitantly meets Dream’s gaze again.

Dream is looking at him in bewilderment, and Hob feels panic rise in his throat, images of a rainy night and a black figure storming off flashing in his mind.

“Look, I can't control what my brain thinks,” he hurriedly says. “You can whisk us back to your room—”

Dream moves and pins him down on the cushions, claiming his lips with teeth and tongue and the intensity of the birth of a star.

Hob’s body quickly gets back with the program, whatever he was feeling before they got interrupted by the location change has come back in full force, and then some.

He grunts when he feels Dream slip a finger inside him, the sensation so vivid that it takes him a second to realise that it's happening in the Waking. Dream adds another finger, slick with the lube that Hob keeps in his nightstand drawer, or possibly dreamstuff, Hob doesn't really care. He grinds down on empty air here in the Dreaming, a moan of pleasure and need escaping him.

“You wish to be united with me in this manner?” Dream is actually breathless, and his form is starting to blur at the edges like a freshly made oil painting hanging on a lord’s wall.

He has a subtle glow about him, and Hob can believe that it's coming from the stars in his eyes that seem to burn brighter now. His dark hair ripples softly as if underwater. It's as if one of the gods from the mosaic came to life just to loom over Hob and look at him with utter adoration, as if Hob is the one worthy of worship.

“Of course I do.” Hob threads his fingers through Dream’s hair, caresses his face, his shoulders. Marvelling at how he's allowed to touch a being such as this. “I'll have you in all the ways you would allow,” he says quietly, reverently.

Dream presses their foreheads together. “Hob.” The syllable drops from his lips like a prayer and then he's kissing Hob again, their robes vanishing in an instant.

Hob cups Dream’s face in his hands, his eyes falling close as he inhales the scent of rain and ozone and fresh ink on paper.

He feels Dream's fingers pull out of him in the Waking, and his stomach clenches in anticipation.

The familiar shape of Dream's cock teases at his rim, and Hob realises with a gasp that it's here in the Dreaming. 

Dream tenderly takes his hands and pins them beside his head on the pillow, their fingers lacing together.

Hob is already slick and soft and open, and his eyes roll back in his head when Dream slips in, filling him up inch by delicious inch as Dream’s lips move down to his neck. Their fingers remain intertwined, but Hob feels soft touches up and down his body, becoming more insistent as Dream thrusts deeper into him.

Hob’s eyes flutter open to see that shadows seem to be bleeding from Dream’s form, shaping into tendrils that act as his limbs. Hob doesn't even bother to try counting them, especially not when one tendril touches his nipple, flicking and rolling the hard nub until Hob is squirming and jerking his hips up to meet Dream’s thrusts.

The teeth that scrape and nip at his neck are definitely sharper than usual, and a shiver runs down Hob’s spine, prickling his skin with goosebumps and making his toes curl.

Dream tightens his grip on Hob's hands and slowly pulls out before slamming into him in both realms.

“AH–!” Hob arches his back, or tries to, but finds that the shadow tendrils are pinning him to the bed; wrapped around his waist, his arms, holding his thighs open as Dream continues to thrust into him.

Dream's face is pressed in the crook of Hob’s neck, making growling noises that could never come from a human throat.

Hob’s weeping cock twitches from what little friction Dream’s body is giving, unable to get any more of it no matter how much he strains against the tendrils. Dream slams into his prostate and Hob cries out a sob, tears forming in his eyes.

Dream slows down and pulls back to look at him, the tendrils loosening their hold. “Colour, my love?” His voice sounds wrecked.

“Green,” Hob whines, taking advantage of his mobility to raise his hips and take Dream deeper into him. “Green— Fuck, Please…”

Dream captures his lips in a searing kiss. The tendrils wrap around Hob once more, but this time they help him move, raising his hips to meet Dream each time, faster than what Hob would have been capable of on his own.

He can feel Dream's teeth on him in the Waking while he's being fucked into his own mattress; on his chest, his jawline, his neck, oh his neck, Dream is making good on his promise to mark him, sucking bruises onto the skin and soothing them with his tongue. When that tongue moves down to his nipples, Hob feels so keyed up that he can almost feel it in the Dreaming as well.

A tendril wraps around Hob’s cock and strokes him quickly while another one teases at the slit, and it's all too much and not nearly enough. Hob doesn't quite remember how to breathe, and he tightens his grip on Dream's hands as the tendrils manhandle him to buck and rut against his lover.

The air feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike, and Dream is panting in Hob's ear as a sudden wind whistles through the wedding hall, the light from the stained glass windows changing colours rapidly as if the sun is moving erratically outside.

Seeing Dream so affected is what hurls Hob over the edge, and he comes with a roar that might have broken the windows but he can't hear anything else above his own voice and the pleasure lighting up his spine.

Dream speaks against his ear, soft lips almost caressing. “This dream is over.”

Hob slams back into the Waking with a strangled cry, frustration crashing over him when he realises that Dream has a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stopping his release even as Dream repeatedly fucks into him, his other hand bracing himself on the bed for leverage.

The whiplash of going from a mind-shattering orgasm to his cock heavy with wanting has Hob going half-mad.

“Dream–!” he digs his nails into Dream’s back, squirming as he tries to get free of Dream's iron grip, only succeeding in deepening the angle of Dream inside him.

“Shall I fuck you into unconsciousness, my lover?” Dream is in his human form again but his blue eyes are no less piercing. “I can take you here, and in my realm, going back and forth until you can no longer distinguish between Dreaming and Waking. Giving you endless pleasure in my realm where you will not tire, and holding back your release here until I decide that I am done with you.”

A full-body shiver runs through Hob; Dream's voice only stokes the fire already burning Hob from the inside, his words making Hob’s cock ache and twitch in desperation.

“You are mine, Hob Gadling,” Dream's hips stutter out of rhythm before speeding up. “Not to capture nor possess. But to adore and—ah—cherish. Mine to care for. Mine to love.” His eyelids flutter and his breaths are coming in pants. “Just as I am yours. To do with as you please.”

He thrusts deep and Hob cries out, his nails raking red lines across Dream's back.

A flash of concern appears on Dream's face as he looks down at him.

“Green, green!” Hob screams before Dream could even think to slow down. “Dream, my love, please…” he whimpers.

“Yes,” Dream says breathlessly, leaning down to kiss him. “Your love. Yours,” he says against Hob’s lips. He deepens the kiss as he strokes Hob’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Hob clenches his hands into Dream's hair, moaning wantonly in his mouth as his hips buck up and down of their own accord.

“With me, my love,” Dream gasps. He slams into Hob’s prostate and twists his hand.

Hob's vision goes white and he screams, his body thrashing under Dream as he spills and spills between them. He hears Dream’s guttural cry in his ear and it only flings him higher into his peak, where nothing else exists except the two of them and Dream’s spend filling him up more than he thought possible.

Their embrace tightens as they shake and tremble, listening to the sound of each other’s breaths as they begin to calm down, their chests heaving.

Dream gently slips out of him and they both groan at the sensation. “Have I fulfilled your expectations, my love?” he asks quietly, brushing away a lock of hair that had stuck to the sweat on Hob’s forehead.

Hob’s brain takes a few moments to understand the question. “Have… What…” he tries to form a coherent sentence while still catching his breath. “I only ever expect for both of us to feel good, and I think we'd been pretty vocal about that just now.”

Dream smiles, a soft thing that brightens up his face. “Indeed. And now, you must sleep,” he brushes a thumb across Hob's cheekbone. “You have been exhausted this week, and even immortal bodies need rest.”

Hob just hums. Given how his eyelids are already feeling heavy, he doesn't have much room to argue.

“Cuddle?” he manages, sleepily running his fingers through Dream's hair.

Dream leans into his touch. “Both here and in the Dreaming.”

Hob vaguely registers Dream waving his hand to clean them up, and then Dream is lying down beside him and snuggling close, tucking his head under Hob’s chin.

Hob wraps his arms around Dream, drifting off to sleep and smiling at what a lucky bastard he is.

———

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[kafka-ish]

part 1

Patrick asks Art if he got the stuff and how much to which Art replies: yea just an 8th tho and Patrick replies Dude wtf

No dude. You never told me your dealer was hot!!!

Don’t bother. Asked if she’d trade head for half. Wouldn’t budge. Strict business or whatever.

Two seconds later: Still. I’d tap that.

Art decides against telling him about the sample he got. Sticks the joint you rolled in his desk drawer. Does weed have an expiration date? he wonders. He drops by Patrick’s who asks how the deal went. If you gave him a discount for it being his first time and all.

“How much’d she charge?” Patrick wonders aloud, comparing prices in his head, secretly hoping his friend got ripped off.

It takes Art awhile to settle on a number. He still doesn’t know the price of weed. “Like fifty?”

“For an eighth?” Patrick laughs at this like okay this chick is insane and Art realizes he said the wrong thing.

“She said it was the good stuff.” Art shrugs, trying to play it off.

“Whatever man, but you need to learn how to negotiate… So we gonna smoke this shit or what?”

Art begins to make appearances more frequently. But he has to be calculated with how he goes about this. Doesn’t want to seem desperate, hooked on fucking weed. How pathetic. He has to pace himself. At first his visits are periodic. Comes by a few times a month for his regular pick up. But he can’t get enough. Sporadic turns into every other week and every other week turns into Friday nights after his games or if not a tournament, practice. He’s at your door with takeout in hand. Something different every time; he keeps you on your feet and you like the surprise. Tacos, Thai, Lo Mien. Indian when he wins his matches.

You don’t smoke with him at first when he asks, though; you have a rule about smoking up with clients.

“Oh,” he says, feeling defeated. Disappointed that’s how you think of him.

“You still want that eighth?” you ask.

“Um, no. Actually I think I’m gonna go.”

“Art,” you say and the sound of your voice calling his name has him frozen in place. His hand is still on the knob for a moment before it drops, falls by his side. He wipes it on his pants, a habit he has. "Don't do this."

"What? Change my mind?"

"No--"

"You're not trying to peer pressure me, are you?" You wonder if Art's being serious right now. If he's using your methodology of paying tuition and groceries against you. It's your turn to freeze.

"Fine then. Leave. But just so you know I wasn't the one hitting up strangers for weed." You're calm when you say this, only making it harder for Art to reach for the door once more.

Of course, he comes crawling back. Ends up blowing up your phone.

Art: Hey

Art: I'm sorry for what i said the other day. I wasn't thinking. Obviously. It just hurt when u called me a customer. Which i guess i technically am. I dont kno.

Art: I think ur really cool

Art: I guess i just wanted to smoke with someone other than patrick

Art: Did i mention i think ur really cool

You roll your eyes at the thread of messages, how they still come in and your phone can't stop vibrating; you're not finished reading but it keeps pinging. Still, you're smiling. Can't help but read his texts over and over again before responding and you feel a heat on your cheeks when you haven't even lit up.

You text him the same thing when he always texts you after one of his games: My place 9?

"You think I'm cool, huh?" You nudge Art, sitting next to you on the couch. His legs are crossed, facing yours.

Art blushes at the question, the pressure you put him under. Finally musters up the courage to say, “yeah. Really cool.” Then leans in, does that thing that guys do where they grab your jaw, almost caresses it, then brings you in to kiss your lips. It’s soft. Gentle. Thinks he might hurt you if he’s not careful. And he doesn’t linger long but you can taste his chapstick. Mint. You miss him already when his lips leave yours and your tongue sweeps over where flesh once was, itching for another taste.

He sees this. Locks his lips on yours again. Instinct. It's just as quick and sweet as the first one. You feel him grin when his mouth meshes with yours and the sensation of his smile pressing into your cheeks gets you all giddy-like.

“So does that mean you’ll smoke with me?” His smile doesn’t leave when you pull away. And you see his eyebrows are raised while his eyes are blue and bright. A dash of hope shimmers in them and you can see your reflection in them.

“Yeah,” you say, hushed, almost a whisper as if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. You’re breaking your rules for him, is what Art’s thinking. And you tell yourself it’s just a one time exception but when he comes over next Friday you find yourself rolling a joint and passing it to him in between kisses.

And now it’s your routine.

He doesn’t need to text you asking for an eighth and you don’t need to tell him what time and place. He just shows up after practice. Of course, you expect him.

“I hope I didn’t get you addicted.”

“Nah.” Art’s lean frame is already hanging on the doorway and he doesn’t come inside immediately when you welcome him in. Instead, he takes you in his arms. They feel stronger each time. Plants a big wet kiss on your lips. And he is addicted. Just not what you think.

[lvndrfucks]

Hiiiii I love your writing smm and you’re one of the only people writing for the wallows 😭😭 Do you think you could do a Braeden or Cole fic where the reader’s the new photographer for the band and one of them starts having feelings for her? Thank you!!!💕

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ you’ve been hiding in plain sight｡˚📹 ࣪𖤐💋

You’ve only had one job in your life and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You were lucky to get an opportunity like this, knowing how many would kill to be in your position. But it was also the fact you were doing what you loved with the people you loved supporting you.

You were first introduced to the Wallows members during a photoshoot. Nothing crazy, just a basic background and the boys being themselves. Despite the seriousness of the photos, they were always cracking jokes. You couldn’t help but laugh a few times with them.

“I feel like I’m doing those Kohl’s family photo shoots,” Braeden said. “Can we pose like that?”

You chuckled a bit. “Go for it.”

They lined up close together, putting their hands on each other’s waists and stared into the distance. You laughed while getting the shot.

“Okay. Why don’t we take a break and then we’ll bring in the bench prop for the next portion.” They nodded at your instruction.

While you were reviewing some of the photos on your laptop, you noticed one of the boys approaching.

“Hey. I was just wondering if I could look at how the pictures came out so far.”

“Yeah, of course.” You moved over to let Braeden view the screen.

“These are amazing,” he spoke after a moment of silence. “The lighting and everything is like perfect. How long have you been doing photography?”

“Well, I started in high school. Just taking photos for yearbook and stuff. Then, in collage, I got my Bachelor’s in Fine Arts. I didn’t get hired until two years ago,” you explained. “I’ve also done a few concerts and events.”

“Wow. Thats impressive,” he complimented. “Do you mind if I see your other work?”

You nodded. You decided to show him the photos you took from a festival at the start of your career. It was the first time you’d ever been to an event so wild and full of energy. You felt lucky to had been given the opportunity.

“Wait, is this Lollapalooza,” Braeden questioned.

“Um, I think so. I don’t actually remember.”

The further he scrolled, the more excited he became. “Oh, my God, it is! Look, there I am!” He clicked on one of the photos that showcased him singing on stage with the rest of the band.

You laughed slightly. “It was so long ago, I didn’t recognize you guys. What a crazy coincidence.”

He smiled, agreeing with you. “These photos are sick, though. You’re really talented.”

“Thanks.” You looked down after feeling your face start to warm.

“I don’t know if this seems appropriate or not, but we’re going on tour soon and we could really use a photographer. I don’t want to steal you away from your job or whatever, I just think you’re the perfect person we’re looking for.”

You must’ve heard between the lines because all you could pay attention to was the fact he called you the perfect person.

You were speechless at the offer and told him you’d have to think about it. It sounded like a dream, but you didn’t want it to backfire in the future and ruin what you’d built up so far. It took a lot of time to think over and you consulting your friends about it. In the end, you were sure you made the right choice.

The concert had just ended. Everyone was still high on adrenaline and congratulating each other on another successful show. You were packing up all your belongings when Braeden walked towards you.

“Hey, did you make sure to get my good side?” He made a model-like face that made you laugh.

“All your sides are good,” you replied playfully.

He grinned. “We were thinking of going out for some drinks. You should come with.” You hummed unsurely. “Come on,” he urged. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fine. But I’m gonna change really quick.”

“That’s fine. I can wait and we can ride together.”

As much as you got along with Dylan and Cole, you and Braeden seemed to have a different relationship. You two often complimented each other so much that it was borderline flirting at this point. On plane and car rides, you both always sat next to each other and have shared hotel rooms before. There was one incident of having to share a bed because all the other rooms were booked. Neither of you complained.

You enjoyed the company of Braeden and how you felt around him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than friendly behavior.

Back on the tour bus, you put your camera equipment away and changed. Braeden was waiting in the small living room area when you stepped out. He looked up from his phone when he heard you.

“Uh, you look great. Very, very pretty.” He let out a small nervous laugh.

“Thanks, handsome.” You smiled and patted his chest. “Come on. Let’s get drunk.”

The music was loud inside. There were flashing lights on the dance floor and bodies everywhere. You and Braeden held hands while maneuvering around to find the others. For safety reasons, of course.

The others were already occupying a booth in the corner. You and Braeden managed to squeeze in, your bodies pressing close to each other. You could feel his chest against your back and he kept one arm behind you on the back of the booth.

Shots went all around, which you weren’t very fond of. Braeden laughed at your cringed face in disgust as you downed the drink. He left briefly to order something else.

“So,” a smirk painted across Isabella’s lips, “you and Braeden showed up together?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where the conversation was going. “Yes. Just like you and Dylan and everyone else showed up together.”

She threw her hands up in defense. “I’m not saying anything. Just pointing out a fact.” You nudged her shoulder with a smile.

Braeden returned with two drinks in hand; one for you and one for him. You thanked him and clinked your glasses together.

The next hour or so consisted of laughing and drinking. In that time, your head was already buzzing and you were swaying in your seat. You gasped suddenly hearing the music change.

“I love this song!” You patted Isabella’s arm. “Let’s go dance! Please!” She laughed and nodded.

Braeden moved out of the way to let the both of you out. He wasn’t that drunk, wanting to keep an eye on you. And everyone else. He watched you and Isabella start singing along to the song, jumping around with everyone else. There was a faint smile on his face that he didn’t realize was there.

He felt someone pat his back. Dylan gave him a knowing look.

“Are you gonna make a move or stare like a creep?”

“I don’t know if she likes me like that,” Braeden told. “Yeah, I guess we flirt and stuff, but don’t friends do that?”

The whole table stared at him.

“Dude, no,” Cole said. “Have you heard how she talks to me? One time she yelled at me for drinking her Dr. Pepper. When you did, she said it was fine and bought more.”

“Trust me, she likes you,” Dylan concluded. “Go over there, man.”

Braeden looked down in thought, then nodded to himself. He chugged the rest of his drink and stood up. The boys cheered behind him.

Braeden said something in Isabella’s ear you couldn’t hear. She nodded and walked back to the table. She gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder.

“Is it okay if I cut in?”

You nodded at his question and felt your body draw closer to him. There was small hesitancy in his movements when all of a sudden, his hands gripped your waist. You raised your brow before draping your arms over his shoulders.

“Can I tell you something,” he asked.

You gulped. “Of course.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, like he was trying to find the right words. He looked into your patient eyes and decided: fuck it.

Braeden surged forward, his lips landing on yours. A few seconds later, he pulled away. He awaited your reaction. Your mouth slowly upturned before tugging him towards you.

hera speaks!

tysm for the request and i hope you like it <3 i’m working on a few more and some of my own, but requests are always open !!

[gamesetart]

ohhhhh idk something about both of them trying to get you back into their lives at once, behind each other’s back. for themselves, yeah, but as a gift to the other. They just need to figure out how to get their claws in you first!!

and when Tashi breaks through first— when she invites you out to a “business dinner” that ends with the two of you in the backseat of her fancy ass car and you’re on your knees taking care of her the way you used to— the way art didn’t know about <3 messy and slick and her hand is in your hair and she’s telling you what a good job you’re doing, that she needed this, needing you.

But she’s Married. And you think about Art and feel that sad ache in your chest, like a missing part of you. You’ve always had a soft spot for him, of course you did. He was a good boyfriend, until the end when he started getting distant. You couldn’t hurt him the way you currently were. With Tashi’s taste on your mouth and her looking at you like you’re some magical missing piece that can fix her life.

So you’re the first to leave. Tell her it’s a mistake and you Can’t do it. You think about texting Art, but he texts you first. “Can I see you?” And you think he knows, that you’re going to have to explain and apologize. Then you get a second text from him. “I just miss you.”

And you’re sitting there thinking about how fucked up their marriage is.

Okay byeeeee

being possibly The Only Person privvy to how absolutely fucked up the donaldson marriage has to be the best and worst position on earth.

because you didn't, nay, couldn't imagine tashi had ulterior motives when she invited you to dinner. how could you? you've seen their press conferences. hell, you were invited to their wedding. (a shitshow for another day). they have a beautiful marriage and a beautiful daughter and a beautiful life.

still, you've never been able to feel totally... secure around tashi. so you shave every inch of yourself. you polish your skin in the shower until you glitter. you do your hair just the right way, perfect around your face. you put on your favorite dress, a gorgeous little black number that laces up the back and shows off perfect, tennis player legs. you remember the way you were - just before art, when it was just you and tashi, and you spent ages together under covers, trading kisses, tangling limbs.

(there wasn't ever an overlap, but you always did feel a little guilty never telling art you and tashi used to hook up. probably it would have fucked with his head. or he would have cum his pants.)

so you're astonished when you end up in that backseat. tashi tastes so familiar, and it feels so right to be back like this, doing the one thing you knew you did best: please her. she might have been the better tennis player, but you'll be damned if you aren't the best lay she's ever had. and for a moment, it's nothing but perfect as she looks down at you, ankles braced on the front seats, smiling coyly. telling you how much she's missed you, how much she's "missed this, baby, you're doing so good for me, that's it, that's it, fuck, just like that--" and it's amazing how well you still remember exactly what to do with your tongue, exactly how to drag her orgasms from her sweet, sweet cunt.

you leave, hop out of her car and take yourself home. you tell her this can't happen again, and maybe its best if you avoid each other at events for the near future. tashi doesn't expect that to hurt, but she also didn't expect you to be able to turn her down like that. you never did before. oh, my darling, she thinks, you've grown. tashi loves to get what she wants, and she will. but shes a little bit pleased you're so assertive now. it'll be that much sweeter when she finally does land you.

it'd kill art to hear it from you. a betrayal of the worst kinds, to the boy you dated all those years ago and the man you're still a decent friend with - the one who greets you with a hug at every social event, the one who danced with you at your first olympics event, when you hovered awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor. the one who texts you updates about his life and meets you for brunch if you're both in town. the friendship with art is distant, and you rarely meet in person, but it's there. you're bound together by that year at stanford. by the loss of your virginity on your ballet-slipper pink dorm room bedsheets. by the locket with his face in it he gave you for your six months. by the leather bracelet you wrapped around his wrist. by every kiss, every hand held, every sweet nothing in the middle of the night. and every bit of purely platonic friendship after.

but you should tell him. bear the brunt of his hurt. you deserve it, you tell yourself. and you're going to, too, you draft the text in your notes app and everything. prepare yourself, the next day, to send it but you don't need to.

art �� 3:23 pm

can i see you?

your heart falls into the floor and you think, oh, god, he knows, he knows and i didn't tell him and its all my fault and he knows--

but then the second message comes in. after a minute or two, like he was debating sending it.

i just miss you.

and you realise for all their publicity, for all the game changers posters and the matching public smiles, the donaldsons are one fucked up couple.