tis the season

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Janaina Medeiros
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Claire Keane

#extradirty
hello vonnie

blake kathryn
DEAR READER
Sade Olutola

if i look back, i am lost
Keni
wallacepolsom

ellievsbear
cherry valley forever
we're not kids anymore.
will byers stan first human second
Mike Driver
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Tunisia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Colombia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Sri Lanka
seen from United States
@iroironaa
tis the season
Caress.
This was making the rounds again so I wrote down what everybody was thinking. Idk what happened, this is basically just a smutty alt-text
"Yes, that's it," Hob whispers.
Dream doesn't answer, his hips undulating against Hob's thigh, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration.
They're still clothed save for Hob's shirt, both of their jeans uncomfortably tented, while Dream rides Hob's thigh with the precision of a machine.
He doesn't breathe because he doesn't need to, focused on the rough slide, the pull of the fabric against his groin, the way his hidden arousal nudges the crease of Hob's hip.
Suddenly Dream can feel Hob's hands on his hips dip under his t-shirt, bright-hot spots tasting porcelain skin, and his rhythm stutters.
The surprise makes him inhale, the maddening spark of oxygen in his lungs racing downwards to meet the sharp arousal of an involuntary hard grind.
Dream catches himself with one hand on Hob's chest, takes in another breath, because the body that he has bid to experience human lust desires it, demands it. Revels in the simultaneous feeling of momentary satisfaction and want for more that it brings.
Dream drives his hips down harder, more urgently, and then Hob pulls him into every thrust, angles his knee up, and it's so good Dream could cry, the pressure against his bollocks, Hob's unrelenting hip bone against his prick, the harsh tug of the fabric.
Dream sobs out another breath, his body a wanton animal, humanity and desperate hunger swirling through his very core, the world reduced to that delicious pressure, Hob's burning hands on him, Hob's warm chest under his fingers, Hob's whispered praise.
Hob checking notes
Hob taking a shower
Hob watching a movie
Hob taking care of the In
Hob sleeping
I have no idea where this came from but I’m never going to turn it into a full fic so I’m releasing it into the void.
Dream is some sort of fae creature whose son died, so he sneaks into a mortal village and kidnaps a young boy around the same age his son was.
(Part of his heart hurts because he never took part in the traditional changeling child/fae kidnapping thing because he couldn’t bear to leave his son with some stranger, he loved him too much, and he knows deep down he shouldn’t do this to someone else but he’s desperate for something, anything, to dull the pain of his loss).
When single dad Hob wakes up and finds his son Robyn missing, he’s fully prepared to go scorched earth to find him. When it becomes clear he’s not in the village, he going charging alone into the woods, too impatient to put a party together to help him. (He’s terrified- he’s heard rumors of fae in these parts, but there was no child left behind. What could have taken his little boy?)
After a few days searching, he hears Robyn’s voice up ahead. He’s got a sword at his side, but for now he draws a bow and arrow, moving forward slowly. Eventually he comes to a clearing, peeking forward and preparing to shoot down whatever took his child. But then. He pauses.
Robyn is smiling, and laughing, and has an abundance of flowers adorning his hair. He is plucking some berries from a bush and popping them into his mouth under the guidance of the most beautiful creature Hob’s ever seen. As he listens, he realizes that Robyn is talking about him, telling stories of how his papa taught him to identify the things that are safe to eat in the forest, and how tall he feels when he sits on his father’s shoulders, and how his papa has a terrible singing voice but sings the loudest anyway and so Robyn loves it.
“I think papa will like you lots!” Robyn declares, and the creature smiles sadly.
“I… doubt that… but he sounds lovely.”
Hob is so confused by the whole situation that he doesn’t notice he’s taken a step forward until a branch snaps under his foot. Robyn looks over and immediately bursts into a wide smile, even as the creature lets out a panicked series of chirps and bolts in the other direction.
“Papa!!”
Robyn throws himself into his father’s arms, and Hob drops his weapons to hold him, beyond relieved to have his son safe in his arms, unharmed. He spends a few minutes just peppering his son’s face with kisses and telling him how worried he was before finally looking at the spot where the creature had disappeared into the woods. Robyn follows his gaze, smiling and tugging on Hob’s hand to guide him into the clearing as he calls out.
“It’s okay, Dream! Papa is super nice to everyone, you don’t have to hide!”
Hob’s sees two bright eyes in the shadows before the creature- Dream- hesitantly steps forward. He looks sad and scared and ashamed and Hob is smitten almost immediately.
Robyn explains that when he woke up he had been scared, but Dream had hugged him (almost as good as his papa’s hugs, he claims) and told him he would keep him safe and take care of him. Then Robyn had been sad because he already missed his dad, and when he told Dream about him he had immediately realized the error of what he had done and resolved to return Robyn. It had taken some time because Robyn had insisted he was too big to be carried (it’s one thing if he was sleeping, but he was a big boy he could walk home just fine, really!) so they had traveled together, Dream never feeding him anything that would bind Robyn to him, instead just pointing out food and water for him to gather himself.
Dream is still standing a bit aways from them both as Robyn tells the tale, looking at the little boy with aching fondness.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly to Hob, “I just... miss my son so much,” he smiles weakly at Robyn, “I believe you and Orpheus would have been great friends.”
And oh, Hob gets it all of a sudden. He had been fully prepared to do all sorts of questionable things to get his son back, he can’t imagine what he might be compelled to do if he actually lost him. And Dream was bringing him back, so he finds it very easy to forgive him.
He finds it even easier to invite Dream to finish the journey back with them, and then invite him to stay, and then invite him to build a home in the woods together, and share kisses and a bed and a life.
Robyn is very smug.
He told Dream his dad would like him.
Professor Gadling. We were robbed not to see this man in a lecture hall.
Morpheus is a pathetic wet cat both in the comic and the TV series but
Netflix Morpheus is more like
And comic Morpheus is like
Y'kno...
I complained that Morpheus's season 2 cemetery fit wasn't tits-out, @magnusbae said "tits in outfits are so devastating because you know there's tits to be seen but they're in," I decided that's something Hob would say while drunk and that he should say it to Dream's face. And here we are.
--
“Listen,” Hob says, with the slurred, utter conviction of the very intoxicated, “listen. This’s. Important.”
“I am sure,” Dream agrees, sipping his wine. He himself is not drunk, but he’s gaining a surprising amount of amusement from watching Hob.
“You listening?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah,” Hob sighs, looking down into his glass. “You’re a good listener.”
Before Dream can respond to this, Hob shakes himself.
“But listen. S’such a tragedy you know?”
“What is?”
“Tits,” Hob says passionately, and Dream chokes on his wine.
“In,” he manages, once he’s swallowed and not asphyxiated, which felt dangerously possible despite his nonhuman form, “what way?”
“Always covered up,” Hob says mournfully, face crumbling. “Should be more societal—” he stumbles over the words, tongue heavy in his mouth, “socially acceptable to just. Be tits out. You know?”
Dream is not certain he himself has a strong opinion on the matter. He does not spend much time contemplating others’ breast tissue.
“Perhaps one day it will be,” he says, in an attempt to soothe Hob’s devastated expression.
“Can’t come soon enough,” Hob agrees, and raises his glass to Dream’s in a toast to the matter.
Dream obligingly clinks their glasses, and after Hob has drunk, swaps Hob’s glass of beer for a glass of water. Hob doesn’t seem to notice.
“Horrible to know that they’re there and you can’t even see them,” Hob continues.
“Torturous,” Dream agrees. “Unsurvivable.”
“Nah nah nah,” Hob counters, waving a hand. “Tits is a reason to survive.”
“I see,” Dream says, hiding a smile. He suspects Hob will be too hungover to even remember this in the morning. Probably it is for the best.
“Eleanor had great tits,” Hob sighs. “Among other things.”
For a moment Dream worries his cheerful drunkenness will tip over into melancholy, but then Hob adds, seemingly oblivious to how he’s blowing past his usual boundaries, “You know. I always thought—” he hiccups “—that you would have. Fuckin’. Bangin’ tits.”
Dream drops his wine glass.
It shatters against the table, but he pays it no mind as he stares at Hob, who’s looking off into the middle distance, lost in a memory.
“Dunno why,” he says. “You’re always so. Covered up. But I know there’s something there. You’re beautiful, you’re…” he trails off.
Dream does not know what to say to this, to the revelation that Hob is thinking of him in such a way. It strikes him more strongly than even hearing the word tits applied to his person, which is its own hard shock indeed.
Perhaps he is more drunk than he’d thought, for the first response that does come to his mind is would you like to see them?
This is undoubtedly a cue to end the evening.
“I think perhaps you should have some water and sleep now, Hob,” he says. “Your body will not thank you tomorrow.”
“Mmm,” Hob says, not really listening to him. “Yeah…”
Dream takes him by the arm and pulls him up from the table, manages to maneuver a stumbling Hob to the stairs at the back of the inn, to his bedroom, where he lays Hob down on the bed, pulling off his shoes. Hob reaches for him, and for a moment Dream is afraid Hob is going to grab at his chest, but he doesn’t, just lightly touches Dream’s cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words all blurred together, and something in Dream’s chest tightens.
“Sleep now, Hob.” He brushes a hand over Hob’s forehead, and Hob falls asleep instantly, relaxing into the pillow.
Dream lays a blanket over him, leaves water and aspirin on the nightstand. Stands, observing Hob, for longer than is proper or necessary. And then takes his leave to the Dreaming, where Hob’s words, drunken ramblings though they were, circle him for hours afterwards.
--
The fact of the matter is. Dream wants Hob. And has for some time. He does not know when exactly it struck him, only that he has increasingly become fixated on Hob’s hands, on the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his eyes. He has not known how to broach the topic. He has never had a lover who was a friend before.
Nor had he known whether Hob would be receptive to such a thing.
He supposes he has that answer now.
Hob has also handed him, though he probably did not realize it, an easy way to convey his interest. It will also, Dream thinks with a little smile, be somewhat… amusing to surprise Hob with the reality of his desire. Likely he never thought that would be the outcome of ranting to Dream about his breasts, such as they are.
I will visit him tits out, he resolves. Tomorrow, when he wakes.
--
Dream is no stranger to more revealing attire, though he has not cared to wear it since his captivity. This, he thinks, is worthy of making the change. He garbs himself in normal slacks and boots, his usual long coat open and unbuttoned— but under it is a sheer, long sleeved shirt, ruffled collar, cut out over the chest precisely as Hob had requested, drunk though he was. Truly, Dream thinks, observing the look in the mirror he has manifested in his chambers, the fashion of this decade is interesting indeed.
Thus clothed to the requirements, Dream commands his sand to take him to Hob’s flat, now that he can feel Hob has woken. He stands in Hob’s living room, and he waits.
Hob comes into the living room at the sound of his arrival, rubbing his eyes, still sleepy and hungover. He’s still in pajamas, and clearly has not been awake long. “Listen, Dream, I’m so fucking sorry, I should not have said— oh holy fuck.”
“I thought this would appeal,” Dream says, and watches Hob reel, eyes wide.
“Appeal. Appeal? Appeal to what, my fucking dick? Oh Jesus Mary and God-fucking-dammit, I’m making it worse—”
Dream is feeling very validated in his choice now. He smirks, taking a step closer. “You were very passionate last night. I thought perhaps. You would like to test your theory.”
Hob’s eyes are still huge. He swallows, throat bobbing, gaze bouncing between Dream’s eyes and his lips and his bare chest.
“My theory,” Hob says faintly. “Are you coming onto me? Please tell me you’re coming onto me and not just trying to break me. Because you broke me, I’m broken.”
“Until you spoke last night I… did not know that you thought of me like that,” Dream admits.
“Didn’t know? And here I thought I was the most obvious—” he bites the sentence off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not dreaming, am I? I guess it could still be you…”
“You are not dreaming,” Dream confirms.
Hob steps closer to him, then, as if hypnotized. Strokes a thumb lightly over one of Dream’s bare nipples, and Dream shivers at the touch. Then Hob presses his hands flat to Dream’s chest, cups what little flesh is there in his palms. Dream does not have a particularly substantial chest but Hob seems compelled anyway.
“Are my ‘tits,’” Dream asks, quoting Hob from last night, “‘banging,’ Hob Gadling?”
Hob goes bright red, but doesn’t remove his hands. “Yeah, Dream,” he says, strangled, “you have the prettiest little titties I ever saw.”
This is not something Dream has ever cared about or even considered about himself, but he preens anyway.
“And if you’ve no objections I’d really like to get my mouth on them,” Hob continues. “You free now? Or did you come just to upend my world and run?”
“I am ‘free,’” Dream confirms. This is, in fact, his desired outcome. “Is that the only place you will put your mouth?”
“Fucking hell.” Hob kisses him then, rough and hot, hands going to Dream’s waist to pull him in so their bellies are touching. Dream hums in pleasure. And Hob pushes his coat off his shoulders. It falls to the floor, unheeded. “No, I want to fucking bite you. Kiss you everywhere. And I dunno what you have going on down there, but I’m going for that, too.”
Dream raises an eyebrow. “‘What I have going on down there?’”
Hob huffs. “Well I don’t know, you personification of insanity. What do you have going on down there?”
“What would you like me to have going on?”
“No,” Hob says, half a whine. “Don’t say shit like that, I’m not a strong man. Come on.”
He takes Dream by the hand, drags him towards his bedroom. And Dream smiles to himself. A desired outcome, indeed.
Yum
Left pic: tw @koo02502124
ℬ𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝓇ℯℯ𝓈
Steal his look:
EXPENSIVE BABY
Lil bread
God i love all the recent behind the scenes photos of Morpheus. He looks like the only heir to a big conglomerate but has nothing to do with his family property and just wants to focus on listening to classical music and finish writing his best-selling mythic fantasy book series.
More pics from the set.
[New] The Sandman Season 2 Filming: Tom, Kirby & Indya
^ is that Wanda??? Delirium???
Btw, the actress (in green suit) is Indya Moore [source: SandmanNews]. She looks absolutely amazing! They all do! I am loving the outfits!
OMG he looks so good. I can’t wait to watch s2