#their relationship is undefined

[its-very-clamplicated]

mystery chan (name pending) and fun girl :)

they live in their own world between the old and new universe where they get up to various tomfoolery. such as chasing the other around

[spacemancharisma]

y'all are all about "not romantic, not platonic, but a secret third thing" until someone actually has a secret third thing

[ravenlilyrose]

Tim and Cass are besties in the “you have done no wrong ever” way

Tim and Steph are besties in the “you know what you did” way

Dick and Tim are besties in the “I really don’t care if/what you’ve done, I’m going to break in and attack you anyway” way

[tomgrcg]

if you're asking if a succession character did something out of love or for their own personal gain the answer is yes

[cuubism]

Exploration

Dreamling | Explicit | 2k

--

“Are you… sure you don’t want me to touch you, too?”

Hob brushes light fingertips over the back of Dream’s hand as he says it. He is lovely, to wish to give so. And he is lovely where he lies back on top of the covers, head pillowed on one arm, hair loose across the pillow and bare chest gorgeous and tempting in the low light.

“You don’t have to,” Hob continues. “I just. I feel kind of bad.”

“I would like that,” Dream says. The phantom thought of Hob’s hands lingers over him; he can perfectly imagine how Hob would touch him, with strength and heat and surety. “But. Later. I wish to focus on… exploring you.”

He has been promised a chance to touch, to breach this wall that has not yet fallen with his curious hands. He has been wanting to, without true reason or allowance within the boundaries of friendship — and yet Hob allows him.

“Alright,” Hob says, “I’m not going to turn you down again.”

Dream settles on his knees by Hob’s hip, studying the warm tones of his skin. The bedroom lamplight is flattering on him, illuminating each curve of his body in gold. Everything is flattering on him, to Dream’s eye. Hob is the vitality of the universe condensed into a form he can touch, and it is overwhelming to hover his hands over those coals, but Dream carefully lays a hand on his chest anyway. Lets warm skin and coarse hair surprise and please him in a way little does.

He drags his thumb up over Hob’s collarbone. Hob had been confused, at first, when Dream asked simply to touch him, perhaps thinking it a precursor to more — but it is simpler than that. Dream has just been compelled by the sight of him; he watches the flex of Hob’s arms and back when he lifts crates of beer down in the inn, and the curve of his cheek when he smiles, his solid thighs, and strong brow, and the breadth of his chest under thin t-shirts. Dream does not want to delve through daydreams to understand outside perspectives on these matters — he wants to know what Hob’s body feels like himself, to be close to him for no other reason than just that.

He is not used to touching humanity so intimately, but Hob is one he would know.

Hob’s gaze is locked on him as Dream wraps a light hand around his throat, feeling the bump as he swallows, and the kick of Hob’s pulse under his thumb. He doesn’t linger or hold him there, instead touches his jaw, his cheek, leans in to study the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“I can’t decide if I feel like an exam, or a slice of cake,” Hob says, voice low and hushed and fond. Dream feels like a bit of a silly thing that’s being indulged, and it’s surprising not to mind.

“Neither,” he says. At least, that is not how Dream feels. Puzzled, yes, hungry, yes, but more so as though he is sitting too close to a hearth, overheating, getting smoke in his eyes, just starting to sweat under his clothes but still not moving because the fire is so gratifying after the winter’s chill.

Hob’s eyes are bright and amused and hungry, too, but he doesn’t move, lets Dream peck over him like a curious bird. His eyes are so warm and good; everything about him is warm and good. Dream touches underneath one eye, feels the fragile skin there.

“You are beautiful,” he murmurs.

“If you say so.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “I do believe my opinion is the only one that matters at the moment.”

Hob laughs. “Alright. You’re not wrong there.”

“Do you not agree with my assessment?”

“Eh. It’s not that.” He does touch Dream then, just a light brush of the hand over Dream’s thigh. “It just has so much more gravity when you say it.”

Dream would like to… have gravity to Hob.

He returns to his studies, traveling lower, running his hands over Hob’s biceps, the bend of his elbow, the coarse hair on his forearm and his strong hand, threading their fingers together briefly before letting go. The more he touches, the more he wants to touch; he only feels hungrier, never sated, and he goes back to Hob’s chest, laying both hands on his sternum. His pectorals. Dragging a finger over one nipple, which gets him a little gasp, and a shiver that runs up Hob’s spine.

Dream likes the way Hob’s body responds. He likes how sharply he can feel Hob’s attention, every ounce of its intensity on him. He revels in the novel textures of this so human body, so different from his own even when he is playing at humanity.

“You have very tempting hands,” Hob murmurs, but still doesn’t move.

Dream doesn’t respond verbally, but he does keep touching. He drags his fingertips down the ladder of Hob’s ribcage — he can feel each rib if he presses hard enough, although much less so than on his own chest — and then to the soft belly that gives inwards under his touch, that rises and falls under his hands. Hob has a thin white scar just beside his belly button, and Dream can imagine a knife slipping in there, gutting, spilling organs. He traces his thumb along it and feels the history there.

“Permission to touch stops at the skin level,” Hob teases, as Dream lingers there.

“I was not intending to play with your innards,” Dream says.

“Well, let’s not be too hasty.”

Dream meets his eyes again, and finds a spark of unbearable playfulness there. He finds he is looking forward to returning to Hob’s offer to touch him in return. He is also wondering if he might be allowed to explore with his mouth next.

But there is much he can do with his hands.

“I have frequently been too hasty,” he admits, and lets his hands ghost lower, to Hob’s hips, and dragging through the trail of hair from his belly to the button of his jeans. He glances up to meet Hob’s gaze again, and Hob just nods, breathless.

Dream plucks open the button and zipper of Hob’s jeans, anticipation curling inside him. There is nothing new about this, but it is new with Hob. And even if it weren’t, Hob has a way of making everything Dream touches feel new.

He considers pulling Hob’s clothes off all the way, and perhaps after he will — but there is something wondrous and thrilling in sneaking his hand into Hob’s pants, pushing his underwear down just low enough to free his cock. He feels like he is, for once, allowing a momentary slowness to unveil things one at a time, instead of all at once.

He imagines that afterward Hob will insist on returning the favor, so to speak, and Dream is not inclined to decline such an offer — perhaps then he will strip them both bare and touch every inch of skin, feel the heat of Hob’s body all along his. He thinks it might ruin him for an evening, that Hob’s hands on him, around him, in him, might set him alight when he has been but ashes for a very long time. He thinks perhaps he’d like to be ruined for an evening. Or forever, though that is too much to hope for.

For now, he listens to Hob’s breath pick up and shudder in the quiet bedroom. He fixates on the weight of Hob in his hand, how he’s rapidly growing harder just from Dream’s touch, his presence. How Hob squirms under him for the first time. “Dream—”

“Hush,” Dream tells him. “Do not worry. I won’t tease you. I intend to see you come.”

“Fucking hell.”

Dream licks his palm to provide the barest amount of slip and returns to Hob’s cock. He strokes once, twice, experimenting as Hob fills out in his hand. His own arousal simmers between his legs, up his spine, but it’s background noise in comparison to his true focus. The blush rising to Hob’s cheeks. His flailing hand, reaching for Dream.

Dream takes it, but rather than entwine their fingers he pins Hob’s wrist to the bed, two fingertips pressed to his pulse. He wants to feel the thrum of Hob’s blood, and his heart tripping over itself as he comes.

Hob bites his lip on a groan, head tipped back. “Fuck you’re strong.”

“I could pin you down,” Dream says, as he twists his hand around Hob’s cock and pulls another strangled gasp from him. “Would you like that?”

“Jesus, Mary, and— and— and what? You’d take what you want from me?”

“Or fulfill all of your dreams.” Dream gives in to his own craving and kisses Hob’s pelvis, nosing at the base of his cock. Then keeps working with his hand at the base as he spreads his lips over the head, hearing Hob curse above him again.

Dream has never been good at going slow, but he is only feeling rewarded for this failure by the weight of Hob in his mouth. He is salty and musky and hot. Dream bobs his head, swirls his tongue curiously around him, and under his fingertips, Hob’s pulse trips double time.

“I thought this was exploration, not a mission to kill me.” Hob’s voice is cracked. He grasps at Dream’s hair with searching fingers, and Dream tips his head closer in acquiescence, and if he makes his hair just a bit longer to make it easier, well, no matter. Hob takes a fistful of his hair with a grip akin to what Dream is currently exerting on his arm, and Dream’s moan is pulled out of him.

Hob may not have the supernatural strength of Dream, but his grip is sure, and Dream wonders if Hob would let him flip the narrative, if Hob would not only touch and explore him but also hold him. The thought makes him shudder pleasantly.

He pulls off long enough to speak, a line of spit trailing from his lips to Hob’s cock. “I have not known exploration to kill you, Hob Gadling.”

“You might.”

“I do not desire this, though I admit it might be flattering.”

Hob laughs, a warm, rough sound. “Just the sight of you is enough to strike me where I stand. And your mouth… I better not start or I’ll come just from talking about it, and I’d rather come in your mouth, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is not the same, it is preferable,” Dream says, and Hob’s breath hitches, and Dream takes him back in his mouth, deep enough that Hob bumps against the back of his throat. Hob curses, pulling his hair, sharp and painful, pushing him down— Dream swallows convulsively around him, Hob’s cock heavy and pleasantly bruising in his throat.

“Dream—!” It’s broken off and choked, and Hob comes down his throat. Dream pulls off and manages to swallow, though a line of Hob’s come escapes from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away. He feels blissed out, light and sated, for all that he is still hard in his jeans.

Hob takes him by the arms and hauls him up. “Come here—” Dream crashes into his mouth before he can finish that sentence, bruising himself on Hob’s lips as Hob pulls him close. Hob’s hands go back to his hair, but gentler now, petting, running through the strands, cradling his head. Dream licks into his mouth, a rumble of happiness building in his chest. He had not intended to explore quite so far, but he doesn’t regret it.

He runs his hands over Hob’s strong shoulders. There is still so much more to touch.

“Dream,” Hob murmurs, when they pull apart, expression so soft and tender now. He runs his thumb over Dream’s lower lip, and Dream wants to open his mouth for him again, wants to open everything for him. It’s a heady feeling to want, and feel comfortable wanting.

“Does your offer of reciprocity still stand?” he asks, voice rough. He doesn’t even truly care if he comes. He just wants Hob to touch him.

“Are you kidding?” Hob says. “I think I might die if I don’t touch you.”

“I do not understand this obsession with dying because of me,” Dream says, but hums with pleasure as Hob kisses him again.

“It’s because you’re making my heart stop.”

“I felt your pulse and know this to be untrue.”

“I’d think you’d be the first to know that not everything that’s true is physical, King of Dreams,” Hob retorts, with such fondness in his voice, in his hands, in his body under Dream’s.

What he says is true, for none of Dream is truly physical, and all of him is going tachycardic over all of the points where they touch.

“I want you,” Dream says. “I want—” he takes Hob’s hand and places it on his neck, his thumb over the pulse that Dream allows just for this. It flutters in his throat, new and yearning— “you to touch me.”

Hob kisses that brand new heartbeat. “Darling, that is the easiest thing in the world for you to have.”

[tea-cat-arts]

Honestly, the more I look into mxtx's reasons for not writing side couples (aside from mobishang), the more based I think she is

[nova-they-exist-yup]

Keep smiling through, just like you always do

[y-rhywbeth2]

You ever have an OC that absolutely fucking nobody should date, both for their own good and the ocs? Like; 'you need 1000 years therapy not the pressures of a committed romantic relationship.'

But you give them that relationship anyway, usually with a character who also probably shouldn't be in a relationship right now, because they're fictional and there for you to study like bugs under a glass. And unrealistically it works out despite being a train wreck because you're self-indulgent and want the characters to have nice things. Spicy nice things, with an occasional hint of bitter when you're in the mood. Plus a thousand AUs where it doesn't work out that don't ruin the enjoyment because 'that doesn't happen in the canon-headcanon'

[shoezuki]

Dya have any more headcanons for sampard?

Maybe ideas on how they fell for one another. Would you see it as an X fell first but Y fell harder or a flirting for fun but realising you've caught feelings?

Or have ya got an entirely different view on it! :D Oooooo. Do you perhaps have a timeline for how they traverse the "enemies" to friends to lovers stages.

Can you tell I love all your ideas and headcanons T-T

thankyou anon i am ghglg. im in love w u now. yes i have Many Ideas bout these two bastards like i have so many thoughts you cannot believe. like i have a post drafted where i write hcs when im bored and headin to class lkshglhg. heres some hcs

sampo falls in love first. very, very early in when he is new to the planet and is just drawing the attention of the silvermanes. It's not exactly some 'love at first sight' thing its more like the first time gep almost catches him sampo thinks 'oh he's cute' and a few times after that he's like 'wait im enjoying this. a lot.' and its downhill from there

whether sampo Realizes it is another thing tho. i can see him just enjoying the attention and thrill of evading the silvermanes and not realizing his disappointment when gepard isnt there is cuz hes infatuated w gepard.

but he Would realize it. at some point itd hit him like. why he enjoys the chase so much n lets himself Almost get caught. why hes memorized gep's schedule and where he patrols the most. and it hits him n hes like 'oh fuck. what the fuck. holy shit.... well anyways.'

(probably freaks out to seele over drinks but he's too incomprehensible through his tears n she has no clue what hes whining about)

Sampo flirts and teases gepard unabashedly, kisses grenades before throwing them into gep's arms, saying 'woah youre so strong geppie' while gep punches the wall behind him narrowly missing his face, leaves notes with lipstick marks on em at crime scenes, all that stuff.

but for sampo. it isnt supposed to actually Go anywhere. he knows he likes gepard more than he should and its kinda just to scratch that itch in his heart yknow.

sampo very much thinks that. gepard is the captain of the silvermanes, a wellknown and noble person in belobog, and sampo's a slimy secretive conman that just enjoys pushing the captains buttons. theres no hope for anything more so he might as well enjoy flustering the captain right?

gepard on the other hand. doesnt allow himself to really think of sampo as anything else but a criminal. it takes a long Long time for him to realize he even feels anythin for him

gepard does look forward to trying to bust sampo, though, in a sort of frustrated way. sometimes the front lines or patrols are so monotonous and sampo's tendency to appear whenever gep's bored out of his mind is impressive

he is insistant on arresting sampo and 'bringing him to justice' to an obsessive degree, though. he's not even typically assigned to investigating criminal cases but he has basically inserted himself into bein the lead investigator of any sampo related case now

(intelligence officers and detectives and other silvermane's are so used to it now. they could be investigating a house fire or a break in, find a note with lipstick marks on it and curly writing, and they all just sigh and call gepard.)

sometimes other worry that his insistence on arresting sampo and how dedicated to it is concerning. they ask why he hates sampo so much n he just says 'hes the most prolific criminal in belobog and needs to be apprehended'

(he cant say he hates him, though. for some reason. he cant figure out why he thinks about sampo so much. he just figures its to arrest him)

gep finds himself starting to relax when sampo sends him on wild goose chases n they both leave other guards in the dust. its probably not intentional, how sampo always seems to draw him away to somewhere quiet and secluded when his head is killing him or he's stressed or exhausted.

(its intentional)

sampo falls first, but gepard is absolutely the one who initiates.

i imagine it'd take... something for gepard to reconsider sampo and let himself think about sampo outside of his criminal record

during a chase out in the snow plains, just sampo laughing and taunting him as gep tries to hunt him down, they get bombarded by fragmentum monsters

sampo holds his own; he fights with a sort of viciousness gep has never seen from him. his bombs arent just smoke, but powerful explosives that shatter fragmentum. he's insanely fast and doesnt even break a sweat. but as soon as theyre all dead he pretends he's exhausted and that gep needs to carry him back to the city before giggling and vanishing.

gepard realizes that this whole time sampo has been holding back. he realizes that sampo could easily cut through the silvermanes, use his lethal bombs or easily outpace gepard and outrun him.

he starts thinking about other things sampo does; how natasha mentions he delivers medicine to him, how lynx sometimes talks about finding supplies and food in hidden ruins and obvious places around her camp, or the notes sampo leaves and how they sometimes give hidden hints about other criminal operations the silvermanes have been tryin to investigate.

he doesnt know what to make of it, what sampo wants or why he's doing this. the next time sampo sends him running through abandoned streets in belobog he slows down, realizes that sampo also slows to his pace so gepard keeps chasing him.

gepard asks point blank at some point, what in the hell sampo wants from him, why he's doing this. sampo doesnt know how to answer. just shrugs and says hes just trying to have some fun.

from then on gepard and sampo's 'chases' tend to... dissolve. sometimes gepard just sits down and takes a moment to forget about being the captain, to relax. Sampo acts like a skittish, stray cat who's ready to bolt until he eventually relaxes as sits by gepard too.

gepard collects all sampo's notes, all the fragments of his bombs with the hearts painted on metal shells, and keeps them as 'evidence' in his desk.

sampo pushes his luck constantly; as soon as gepard relaxes or gives him any room to get closer, he takes and takes as much as he can get.

gepard catches sampo, entirely on accident, when he's off duty. climbing out of a window or something. and sampo freezes but gepard just says 'hey i'm not working now, i can't arrest you.'

(they both know it's a lie. being out of uniform never stopped gepard before.)

sampo starts just appearing more and more around gepard when he's off duty, showing up walking alongside him like he's been there the whole time, or just 'passing by' when gep is in the florist's shop.

gepard leaves his window open. sampo takes the invitation and crawls in and strange hours when gepard cant sleep. he just sits on the couch or a chair or stands there like he is a foreign intruder. gepard just nods and makes him some tea.

when it would hit gepard, that he's in love with sampo and has been for a while, he'd just blurt it out. 'huh. i think ive fallen in love with you'. and sampo would erupt into flames and kiss him so hard his lips bruise

[callmehide]

vash and wolfwood have a kinda sam and frodo flavor to them. no matter how you prefer to think of their relationship to one another, romantic or platonic or both or maybe something else, there is a love there. binding them together

[stardustfanfare]

i still cant wrap my head around zelink. like that is the most aromantic girl (link) i have ever fuckking seen. jesus christ. he would not be in love with anyone. they are weird friends who have an immeasurably deep bond. they understand each other better than anyone. they have gone through the horrors together. they love each other so much. they would not be in a relationship

[jane-lynndrake-t]

I'd like to ask about your brother.

<3

Jamie is my half-brother. He loved creepy crawlies and flying things.

Mom would lock me alone in a room with him to 'bond'.

And I used to really dislike him because he ignored me for weeks. After about a month, I was so frustrated that I threw his book and deliberately got him in trouble.

As payback, he would talk my ear off about owls and insects every time he saw me.

Looking back, I was lucky my brother was, well, Jamie.

It's never a good idea to lock your 8 year old daughter inside a room alone with a 15 year old boy.

[troubled-bog-witch]

(Guy who is about to announce their unpopular opinion voice) Now hear me out hear me out. Not to make the malevolent canon MORE bleak but hear me out. The Oscar business from s4 was still fresh when John tried to erase Arthur's memories (the BLATANT disrespect sgjhfshd). And then, ok, John was put in a really emotional situation where he had to save Arthur's life and do a lot of introspection and admit his love. Which he then tells Arthur. I just think it would have been realllll spicy n compelling if, upon this confession, Arthur was too hurt to reciprocate. Like, he did love John and he probably still loves John, but he doesn't forgive or trust John and it makes the timing all wrong and sad and awkward for both of them. And it's a solid narrative way of illustrating how serious recent betrayals were without detracting from how genuine John's love for Arthur is. Instead of moving right along like we seem to be. Hello. Hello can anyone hear me. Is anyone thinking about those. Please

[moonlit-dreamers]

servant sun and redeemed eclipse au, anyone?

sunshine and solstice r my babies and i love them

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[witchofthewild]

My watcher girl for pillars of eternity 💕

[operationslipperypuppet]

“Oh my god, do I love the smell of mushrooms after I wake up from death” Hardwon Surefoot still bringing the wife guy energy 200 years later. As expected