#what about a Llama?

[travellingwiththedead]

Ok, so I decided to finally catch up with the His Dark Materials series and I'm near the end of s2 and some stuff is just kinda icky...or maybe that's just me.

It's been ages since I read the books and I don't remember how it was there but: were the books making as big a deal of the difference between children and adults in regard to "sin"? Like the show makes it out like in Lyra's world as soon as a child hits puberty the adults just go "you're a sinner now". Also how /do/ they actually differentiate between child and adult? Puberty's a whole process, takes years. Hell, your brain isn't out of puberty until you're like in your 20s.

Also all the misogyny in Lyra's world is just pissing me off but I hope that's intentional xD

(Edit: Oh but I do love Ruth Wilson, she's fab)

[sword-wielding-sapphic]

jesus fuck the BBC Radio 4 Sherlock Holmes audio dramas are gay

I mean, I heard Mary accuse Watson of marrying her "under false pretence" while his heart belongs to Holmes

I heard Holmes and Watson reciting Tristan and Isolde to each other about "existing only in each other, wrapped in love"

but Watson being so scared to tell Holmes that someone wrote a play about him where he's straight! "you're not angry? it's hardly in character"

insane. hilarious. iconic.

[mochiwrites]

gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny. 

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him. 

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home. 

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him. 

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown. 

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger. 

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person. 

His son. 

His little Pitta. 

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now. 

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft. 

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him. 

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him. 

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down. 

The very thought makes him nauseous. 

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace. 

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son. 

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave. 

Does he even know how to be a father? 

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked. 

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in. 

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum. 

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats. 

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders. 

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been. 

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch. 

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods. 

Not in the way it matters, at least. 

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him. 

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love. 

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up. 

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?” 

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie. 

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?” 

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.”  Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never. 

[ingravinoveritas]

"The boy did good" is so possessive yet so incredibly fond--that perfect mix of heartfelt and horny that I first noticed in 2019 and that is so characteristically, thoroughly Michael. That combination of something classic and timeless--because love never goes out of style--with something modern and different. Michael showing his heart without a moment's hesitation.

And then just to make sure we didn't overlook the horny part, he threw in "And he looks good in a kilt as well, doesn't he?" as a chaser. As if to say, "Oh, you thought this was me complimenting my buddy on a job well done? No, this is me saying that my boyfriend looked fucking hot in a kilt." Just to remind us of exactly who Michael Sheen is (like we could ever forget).

Well done, Michael. Well done indeed...

[llamagoddessofficial]

Evil mc…but prison au? 👀

The cell block is her dance hall, and all the boys want to tango. Since she's a villain I'm assuming she's a fellow inmate.

Sans: Her eyes and ears in the prison... her unassuming spy who learns everyone's business and funnels it straight to her. Evil Mc being Evil Mc, she's probably found a way to place herself in the lower-risk prison block- perhaps convincing the prison board that she's at risk of being attacked if she's in the main cells. Perhaps Sans did the manipulation for her to get her more freedoms. Either way, she and her right hand man get a lot of quality time together.

... Sans likes having someone who knows the truth about how fucked up he is from the very beginning. She saw through him from the start. He doesn't have to pretend to be goofy, harmless, he doesn't have to wear a smiling mask; she knows exactly how dangerous he is and she likes it. It feels good to be alone together... to have someone with which he can completely drop the act.

Red: They still have that on-and-off highly flirtatious relationship that they have in the regular villain AU. He's just as devoted as before, he can't get enough of her, and she can't get enough of him either- he likes the danger. She likes his claws.

... Rather than being her ogeneral, he's more of a... bodyguard/supplier/willing boytoy. He keeps her safe if she ever ends up in the main prison population, he twists the guards' arms into doing what she wants, and he constantly delivers her a stream of any banned goods she needs (no questions asked). She respects the chokehold he has on the prison population and doesn't try to disrupt his command like another villain might- ironically, it means he now wants to give it to her willingly. It puts her in a position of massive power.

In a way, it does actually mirror the general and his superior. The army just happens to be the population of the prison.

Skull: Skull is less like her personal guard, and more like a personal bomb.

The fits of rage Skull enters when separated from Mc are something to behold. The prison, reluctantly, allow Skull and Mc a lot of time together- anything to get him to stop killing. Though he's muzzled and bound he still follows her everywhere like a lost dog, ready to take off the fingers of anyone who gets close; she happily feeds his obsessive connection to her, she's very doting and loving with him. The constant stream of attention actually leaves him in a stable enough state of mind to hold slow conversations, and forge alliances with the other two skeletons- it's easy to find common ground over their shared desire to be with her and keep her safe.

It's not dramatic to say he'd do anything for her. The moment she asks him to, he'd kill anyone, he'd break anything, he'd lay down mid-rampage, he'd start a riot. Anything she asks. Many 'incidents' of death or dismemberment chalked up to Skull just being insane were actually direct commands from Mc... though 'command' is a pretty harsh way of putting it.

All she did was ask softly, and kiss his cheekbone. That's all he needed.

[dogcircle-scans]

hi. just wanted to say thank you for all the work you put into translating natsume yuujinchou. i hope you're having a good day, and if not, i'm sending you some of my strength so we can keep going together.

On behalf of my group, thank you!

These last few days have been kinda rough for me, but today was a really good day! I doing on an errand run which took up a good chunk of my day, but there was a lot of exciting news or updates for media I really enjoy! 🥹💚 It's just nice to finally go out again even if it's just for errands a;jdfk since I've been bedridden for almost a month 💔

And thank you again! Your words of encouragement made me feel really good 🥹💚 I'm sure the strength we give each other will get us through 2025! In the meantime, I hope you have a good rest of the year, and enjoy the holiday season. If it sucks, then I will draw a very crude Nyanko-sensei.

- 🦙

[llama-bird]

With the current Story and lore on the HermitCraft Server in mind, this is my take on what happens if Grian doesn't find his missing permits any time soon…

Grian knew this would happen. That didn't help the experience, though.

It didn't help him stop the shaking in his hands. It didn't help him control his breathing. And it didn't help the sinking sensation in his stomache. "This is nothing personal," Cub said. And Grian believed him. It was never something personal. That didnt't help either. Cub was looking down on him, from where he sat at his office chair. He was taller than Grian anyway, most people were, but Grian also suspected that he had build the room this way to ensure the power dynamic would display just like this. It took all the self control he could muster to remain in his chair. His knuckles went white from the grip he had on the fabric above his knees. Beige trousers, a mint shirt. Grian didn't even like the uniform, didn't even like the colors. They were too light, too neutral, almost washed up. The same soulless color as this whole building. Yet, he would probably be wearing it for a while longer. "Cub, please," he said, barely keeping his voice steady. "Give me just a little more time. I swear I'll find the permits." Cub's expression gave nothing away. Neutral. As always. His hair was neatly styled, the tie perfectly even, the shirt without a stain. He looked at Grian with almost tired eyes. For a Moment, Grian thought he'd considered it. But then- "No," Cub said, locking eyes with someone behind Grian. He gave a nod. A short, rigid motion. Grian had waited for that. And maybe that was the only reason he lasted as long as he did. Lunging out of his chair he drew his netherite sword and by the time of the first strike, he was ready to parry. In contrast to Cub, Skizz' face was bleeding emotions. His lips were pressed thin, his eyebrows scrunched, his eyes big and watery. He was almost shaking as bad as Grian. Almost. Skizz retreated and Grian had to focus on the next blade of a sword. The hit was harder, netherite and diamond clashed with a sharp cling that made Grian feel like it rattled his bones. Scar was better at hiding his thoughts, but still he wasn't as good as Cub. Grian could read the crease on his forehead and the way his movements carried more force than they needed, looked jerky and rigid. None of them wanted to do this. Not Grian, not Skizz, not Scar, maybe not even Cub. Yet, there was no way to avoid it. "Fighting will bring you nowhere," Cub said, voice sounding almost tired in all his monotone. "We destroyed the bed. You won't respawn in this area." Grian didn't answer. He was busy blocking and dodging the strikes his friends were letting lose. If they were in it with their whole heart, he'd already be dead. Grian knew that. Both, Scar and Skizz were about a head taller than him and that made their reach with a sword significantly larger. Normally, Grian could have dodged, sure. He was smaller but he was also faster, more agile. But here, with Cub's desk in his back, and between chairs, he couldn't make use of that. It was only a matter of time. He knew that. Yet, he couldn't give up. He couldn't. He didn't have to. In the end, Grian wasn't sure whose sword it was. All he felt was a piercing pain, right where his ribcage ended. The world dissipated into colored blotches, and his sword fell to the floor, cluttering on the wooden floor. He might have let out a scream, he wasn't sure. But when he opened his eyes again, he had to blink against the setting sun. A lighgt breeze rustled his mop of brownish hair, making him have to brush it away to look around. Exile. He knew this place, he'd build it no less. But he hadn't really thought to end up here. Call him stupid, but he'd hoped it just wouldn't happen. Now it had. Grian looked up at the sign above the deliberately unfinished build.

Welcome To Exile.

Maybe it was time to find Jevin…

[nenoname]

seeing a post complaining that "oh the show never showed the trauma that ford got from bill!!!!" and it's just ???????? that's literally the majority of his character????

[ruinsofxerxes]

Omg you’re alive 😭 I sent some asks long ago but you didn’t answer or update your blog, so I thought something had happened to you

Hope you’re well 🤧

I am alive!! It’s glorious! :D

BDKSJDHD IM REALLY SORRY I IGNORED YOUR ASKS!!!!!! Please feel free to send them again if you remember them :) imma be honest here….nothing even happened to me, I was just being too lazy to log on and suddenly months passed HSJSJDHDKDJ i meant to come on for October 3rd at the very least (!!!!!) and then time slipped away 😭😭😭 but I’m doing great, just cruisin through life as I always do lol I’ll be on more bc I love you guys so much *gives everyone a lil forehead smooch*

Anyway you’re very sweet for this ask and I hope you’re well too!!! I’m sorry if I worried you!!! D:

[unadulteratedkr]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54461146

featured tags: Miscommunication, Pining, Monster-fucking, partially transformed Anton, Viago in a corset, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Biting, Blood Kink, Spit Kink, Spit As Lube, (magical werewolf spit as lube specifically), Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Multiple Orgasms, Size Difference ~

HELLO, FRIENDS!

I am back with some more Vianton if anyone was in the market for a pining werewolf and his hot af vampire not-yet-boyfriend. This all started with one of the many comments about how grippable Viago's waist is, and what was I supposed to do, NOT write Anton transforming so he was big enough to wrap his hands all around said waist????

This is dedicated specifically to @oatmilktruther who egged me on to write this and definitely led to it being ten times filthier than I anticipated.

anyway *bangs pots and pans together* COME GET YER MONSTERFUCKING PORN

[mushiewrites]

Attack of The Blobs

helloooo! I have been working on like 6 fics at once, but the other night @wishitweresummer, @fluffallamaful + I were just yelling about ideas and summer said "what about george just being tickled by a hundred dream blobs?" and my brain immediately just....spit whatever this is out. I feel like it's paced slightly different from how I normally pace things, but I think I like how it turned out???? so yeah, anyways, enjoy :D

(lee!george / ler!blobs : 1.7K words)

warning: intense tickles

The scream that George let out should’ve alerted his two roommates, but unfortunately for him, there was no one coming to save him. He squirmed harshly on his bed, twisting and turning, kicking and shoving, trying his best to get away from the tiny white blobs that were covering his entire body. He felt a bite to his ribs and cried out again, making a move to bring his arm down to shove the small blob away from the sensitive area. To his horror, multiple blobs threw themselves over the flailing limb, pushing it down into the bed and raising it above his head, now leaving more of his ticklish torso exposed to additional torture. 

“NOHOHOHO!” George pleaded, his voice bouncing off the white walls of his room. He cracked open his eyes in time to see one of the smaller blobs wobbling it’s way up from his waist, diving under his arm and vibrating its body as fast as it could. This sent George into a fit of hysterics, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed, trying his hardest to dislodge his arm from the little creatures without success. “P-PLEHEHEASE, DON’T!”

George wasn’t even sure they could understand him - he sure as hell didn’t understand their little chirps and jingles as they communicated with each other. He didn’t know where they had come from, or when they got here. He could only remember the tickles, coming in quick waves as they took their places around his body, taking turns holding down different parts of him as they tickled him senseless. His eyes were wet with tears from his hysterics and his brain was mush from the nonstop tickling, keeping him in a never ending loop of squeals and screams. His voice was hoarse from all the pleading he was doing, unable to stop himself from begging for mercy, even though they hadn’t shown him any. 

“NOT THERE! NOT THEHEHERE!” He wailed as multiple blobs climbed onto his torso, headbutting roughly into his overly sensitive ribs and vibrating themselves there, following the lead of the blob that was still perfectly tucked in the center of his armpit. They targeted the soft muscle between each bone, sliding up and down the area to make sure no spot was left untouched. His chest heaved with every quick breath he tried to inhale, slapping his free arm against the bed and attempting to push some of the blobs away. 

However, when he went to reach down, his arm was tackled once more, this time with two blobs holding his fingers down against the bed while another nibbled at the middle of his palm. George screamed at the tickly feeling, throwing his head back and mistakenly offering his neck to more curious creatures. The sensitive skin under his chin was compromised immediately, a blob occupying the spot and nibbling there while two blobs blew tiny raspberries on either side of his neck. George was unable to shake his head as more and more blobs appeared, biting at his ears and nuzzling into his cheeks. A sudden vibration against his collarbone sent him into another round of laughter, feeling as two tiny blobs made their home in the dips there. 

Another scream ripped from his throat as one of the bigger blobs made its way under his other arm, crawling up George’s sleeve to begin nibbling and kissing and blowing raspberries around the area. The boy was in hysterics, gripping the sheets of the bed with the hand that wasn’t being attacked in an attempt to try and dispel the ticklish feeling that was coursing through his entire body, but it was proven to be pointless when he felt a blob make its way under his shirt and over his tummy. It quickly burrowed itself over George’s belly button, vibrating and wiggling there to make George shriek. He kicked his legs in flustered frustration when he felt tiny nibbles over his hip bones, his laughter breaking into brief bouts of silence as he laughed even harder. 

The kicking only seemed to draw their attention to the area, with more blobs seemingly appearing out of nowhere and jumping onto his thighs and shins. When the blobs began to nibble and vibrate into George’s extremely ticklish inner thighs, with no protection from the thin black shorts he was wearing, his laughter jumped an octave and he felt the tears finally spill as he squeezed his eyes impossibly tighter. It only grew worse when a few of the little blobs squirmed their way under his knees, attacking the backs of them with ease. He couldn’t think of anything other than how badly it tickled, and how incredibly helpless he felt. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before - completely defenseless, taken over by tickles. 

“NAHAHA- NOHO PLE-PLEHEASE!” George begged through his hysterics in another attempt to get their attention, whining when he was ignored again in favor of making their way to his feet. It felt as if a million little blobs were nibbling every inch of them, unable to move or curl his toes with the pressure of how many were surrounding them. He screamed in horror as he flung his eyes open, watching as the tiniest blobs wormed their way into his socks and up between his toes, spinning and vibrating their bodies and driving him absolutely insane. Just when he thought that the tickles couldn’t possibly get worse, a few of the smaller blobs that didn’t fit into George’s socks migrated their way up to his torso, easily sliding under his shirt and going for the back of his ribs, right where George was most ticklish. 

George let out a blood-curdling scream as his most sensitive spots were tortured with no end in sight. The tears kept flowing as he yanked uselessly at his arms and legs, all the strength he previously had zapped away with the amount of tickling that he was enduring. His face was bright red and his chest felt like it was on fire, ready to explode at any second as he struggled more and more to catch his breath. He let out one last shriek as he made another attempt at escaping, and suddenly everything stopped.

He sat up quickly in his bed, a hand clutched to his chest as he looked around with wide eyes in the dark. George felt himself breathing heavily, the panic from the previous events still fresh in his mind as he tried his best to ground himself. He realized his room was dark and turned to grab his phone off his desk, checking the time - 2:30AM. George flipped the desk lamp on, quickly turning towards the shuffling coming from beside and finding Dream lying next to him. Dream was rubbing at his eyes, clearly woken up by the sudden movement and brightness of the light. After a second he squinted up at George, sitting up himself and reaching a hand out to place on his shoulder. 

“George…? What’s going on? You were making a lot of noise, like you were struggling. What’s happening?” Dream asked with urgency as he noticed the panic written all over his face. He pulled George in for a hug, squeezing tight and allowing the older boy to melt into him. 

“Nothing, I just…I just had a nightmare.” 

“A nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The question made George’s cheeks heat up immediately, thankful that his blushing face was hidden deep into Dream’s shoulder. He shook his head and clung to Dream even tighter, too flustered to even entertain the idea of telling him that his nightmare was actually about being tickle tortured by hundreds of Dream blobs. 

“No no, it’s okay. Let’s just…let’s just go back to sleep.” George slowly unwrapped himself from the blonde a few minutes later, quickly moving to turn off the light to prevent Dream from seeing the redness of his cheeks. He watched as Dream made himself comfy again, laying down under the blankets and fluffing George’s pillow for him before he inched his way back under the covers himself. He curled into Dream’s arms, letting his head slip under the blonde’s chin, just the way they both liked it. The silence was comforting, and he could feel himself getting calmer by the second as he listened to the sound of Dream’s breathing. His eyelids were growing heavier the more he allowed himself to relax, almost falling asleep completely before letting out a yelp when a finger poked lightly into his side.

“You know, you were laughing in your nightmare,” Dream teased quietly, his finger wiggling against George’s bottom rib when he poked into the sensitive spot again. He let out a quick stream of air from his nose when George squealed at that, hiding deeper into Dream’s neck with a whine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were being tortured with tickles.” 

George whined against Dream’s neck, making the blonde break out into bright giggles at the tickly vibration it made. He giggled harder when a small hand found its way to his tummy, scribbling for a few seconds and making the younger boy squirm as George tickled him. 

“If you wanna survive the night I suggest you shut up, idiot.” George threatened, words slightly muffled from his place in the crook of Dream’s neck. Dream rolled his eyes as he grabbed the tickling hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing it up to his lips to give it a quick kiss. 

“Fine, you big baby.” Dream let out a fake sigh of disappointment, placing a kiss against the top of George’s head when he hummed in satisfaction. 

After a few tense minutes of waiting for Dream to change his mind, George finally felt the boy relax against the bed, hearing his breathing evening out and letting him know that the blonde was finally asleep. George smiled sleepily, turning his head and placing a gentle kiss against the boy’s neck before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off to sleep. 

…And maybe, just maybe, secretly hoping to continue his nightmare.

[motheatenscarf]

God, I hope patch DT msq is good.

[ingravinoveritas]

Oh my God. MICHAEL.

[beardedmrbean]

[insightfulllama]

Scrolling back several years in my liked videos on youtube like a scientist examining an ice core.

[tvguts]

kinda worried i'll get sick of disney down here in orlando but tbh it's not much different, saturation-wise, than seeing ads for coca-cola everywhere in atlanta or how nobody in kansas city could shut up about our football team. maybe every city has something it's annoying about and that's beautiful or something.