#endless teeth

[oopsl]

Board Up the House by Genghis Tron, 2008

[reverseisekai-richie]

The One who Feasts in the Dark

This is why I don’t draw Nibbly often despite being my favorite design out of all his brothers.

In a classic chthonic deity fashion, I wanted to associate him physically with wealth, so studded along his body are the remains of the jewelry his sacrifices wore. Their pearly little veneers dot his gums amongst his more bestial teeth. Each of his own arms are made up of intertwined human arms with perfect manicures.

[road-kill-eater]

[colbyheartland]

Okay so this is just crack but I couldn’t stop thinking about that post that points out Dream likes to make himself AT LEAST one to two inches taller than people he’s with except Lucien. (Also what a petty petty power move it’s so funny I can never unknow this. Why is he Like That)

What if he starts doing that with Hob after they get together. Just subtly and slowly shrinking himself until he’s like an inch shorter. But he does it slowly because he doesn’t want Hob to question him about it. Hob either assumes it’s Dreams eldritch nonsense or notices immediately because of all the changes Dream has ever made to his outfit, hair, ect his height has never changed. Hob decides not to say anything as Dreams forehead is now always within reach for kisses.

[puppypuppypuppypuppy]

energetic

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Beautiful Nightmare 🖤

[anime-to-the-t]

[itzscribz]

I realized while browsing Mage’s wiki that Mitch’s story (and other Demi-human storylines) and the Vampire hunter storyline both happen in the same world actually ? Meaning that THEORETICALLY, there could be a Demi-human vampire ! I really like the concept so here’s Pandemonium and his big sister :D

Found family siblings duo my beloved <3

[therotconsumed]

inv ancient redesigned

[imidori-ya]

Been thinking about Nico Robin again (when am I not tbh) and I don’t think Oda is using her to her full fucked up body horror potential. This woman can spawn any body part from anywhere. Show me bone swords! Have her line her arms in teeth like a goddamn leiomano! I want to see her trap people in literal rib cages! I’m begging you, Oda. Robin is a body horror queen she deserves better. Junji Ito would know what to do with her.

[heckofabecca]

anyone here watch Dead Boy Detectives yet??? I want to talk about it

[ginjones]

Dreamling for the Holidays! Happy whatever you celebrate Everyone!

Christmas shopping, for Hob at least, is now a relaxed affair. It starts on the first Saturday of September, when damp leaves flutter in their burnished hues, and finishes in the zephyrs grey gales of November. This year, gift buying is punctuated with a stroll through Hyde Park, then coffee with Sarah and Marlow the dog; a brief scoot to the New Inn to fix rotas, then back to the flat for dinner and scotch and Byron’s Hebrew Melodies- ‘She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies’.

Christmas shopping is categorically not the cataclysmic disaster it was two years ago when, only a month into his fledgling power as Hope of the endless, he had naively sauntered down Oxford Street in December and was immediately bombarded with the hopes and wishes of several thousand people. From a cursory glance at their aura-space, it became clear that the majority were hellbent on receiving the most expensive version of whatever had piqued their Pavlovian response. It was all a bit sad really. A hopeful celebration reduced to consumer fodder.

 In the thrum of the crowded street, Hob had found himself omitting a quiet, internal light which searched vacantly for direction. It found none. Pulled between his function to obey the will of the people and disinclined to offer his gift to the undeserving, he had panicked, abandoned his shopping, and ran to the marginal safety of the nearest pub.

It was an experience not worth repeating.

He had seen Dream in these recent months. Usually on gilded evenings where they would walk the hillocks of Hamstead Heath, their pathway illuminated in the jewelling light of early autumn. They would talk about Hope and how Hob was feeling and Dream, in his somnolent tones would tell him stories about the heavy burden of purpose; the arduous confines of duty. Then, when Hob would place an arm around his shoulder and sigh warmly, when he would send a little of his hope out into the world around them, Dream would smile at the change in the air and talk about presence and creation and magic. And everything, once more, would seem like a gift.

It was on one of these walks that he got the idea, and the signature white box was the easiest to find.

He had found it on Ebay of all places. It wasn’t as expensive as he had imagined but expense, of course, had not been the point. The gift itself, had been harder to track down. He had found it at last in a rundown antique shop near Columbia Road. A tiny little thing, mottled with the faint impressions of distant fingerprints, its paintwork faded, its silver motif browning with age. He held it up to the light and every one of its stories solidified and sang out. It was perfect. In pencil drawn font, the price read £12.

The shop owner, Sebastian Rossi, had not been home to visit his sister in 8 years. She grew tomatoes in her garden and played backgammon on Sundays and called Sebastian ‘piccolo leone’ even after all these years. Hob smiled at Sebastian and gave him £50.

He had hidden the gift in his flat for weeks on the off-chance Dream might make a surprise visit. He did in fact, several times, and Hob had been mindful to divert his attentions away from the little white box and the gift it contained. Hob had found, much to his chagrin, that his daydreams were still very much on display despite his ascension to endless. It was however, much easier now to simply hope them away, when Hob could physically see the threads of thought forming. Pass a hand over the opalescent swirl and sweep it gently from the air, fold it up and tuck the remnants away in his pocket.

Gift giving was not a tradition when he was growing up. Gifts, or any items not made for the sheer purpose of living and surviving, were few and far between. Instead, gifts came in the form of the first blush of springtime, when winter frost melted, and wild garlic bloomed. Or in the first mouthfuls of summer fruits and plentiful game, that made children plumper and bellies full.

Between 1851 and 1858 Hob, fresh off a successful investment in Singer sewing machines, had rented a house in Regent’s Park and employed the services of two maids. He had enjoyed treating them to the fancier linens when Boxing Day came around and would dutifully send out for orders of pink lace and taffeta.

And now here it was finally. Christmas Eve 2022 and Dream was sitting in the warm light of his living room, the only entity in existence who could make a battered couch look like a regal throne. They had spent the last few hours curled up together, reading silently. Dream, a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Hob, The Black Tudors by Miranda Kaufmann.  It was a pastime they had both come to enjoy, especially as Hob’s power blossomed and their thoughts could interlink in a stream of words, allusion and metaphor. It was like reading two books at once although at first, the whole concept had been baffling. As the last page was turned, Hob placed the book down and went to fetch the gift from the cupboard in the kitchen. Returning back, he placed the little white box in Dream’s hands and curled up next to him.

“That’s for you.” Hob said, draping an arm over Dream’s shoulders and pulling him in closer.  “It’s just a little thing. I know you don’t celebrate Christmas or Yule or whatever, but I just thought you deserved something. So…”

“A gift for me?” Dream answered, in a soft tone that sounded like the ebb of the sea on a clear, crisp day. His finger traced over the golden embossment on the top of the box. “Pandora” he continued; confusion etched on his features for the briefest of seconds before Dream’s face lit up from within at the story beginning to form. He looked back to Hob and then, in a display of feigned dramatics, opened the box tentatively and peered inside. With careful movements, as if what lay inside was as precious as hope itself, Dream picked up the little dove ornament with its decorative band of silver stars and laid it gently in the palm of his hand.

“Got it in an antique shop.” Hob said “Like I said, it’s just a silly little thing but it’s supposed to represent…”

“You,” replied Dream in wonderment.  “The only thing that remained in Pandora’s box…”

“Was Hope.” Hob finished, smiling.  “The silver stars are you though. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, the…being I’m becoming without your guidance.”

They were quiet for several moments. Dream had closed the box carefully, almost reverently, and held it along with the ornament tight to his chest. The world outside would tell its own stories in the pale moonlight of Winter. December skies are often clear and somewhere, in the unfathomable stretch of night, mortal men would glimpse the celestial journey of a shooting star.

“It is perfect.” Said Dream.

I am too busy now to write much so I just wanted to go out with a bang and dedicate this to @moorishflower and @landwriter who are leagues above me in ability and storytelling. Thank you for all the amazing content that has inspired me to work harder and write better! x

[napping-sapphic]

To be clear broccoli is the best vegetable but cabbage and zucchini need SO much more love they’re so good😭😭

[whyeverr]

Of course, there's no such thing as a truly quiet day at home—not living with these goobers. The loose tooth saga continued well into the evening...

"Your tooth! It's gone! Dasia lost her tooth!"

"What? Where?!"

"I don't know! You didn't feel it?"

"I was wiggling it before! I, I— Did I swallow it? OHHHMYGOD! ITHINKISWALLOWEDMYTOOOOTH!"

"That's— Oh. Um... Yeah. I'm sure you'll be alright."

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Diego: Whats gotten up your ass? You’re being meaner than usual

Five: Im being “mean” because Im over-stimulated and I can feel my brain pulsating

[wolfgirl-valentine]

Retired Dream AU, lyrics from “(I love you) For Sentimental Reasons” by Nat King Cole

It was a quiet evening, the interior of the apartment warm and cozy in contrast with the freezing temperature outside. 

It felt…domestic. A concept that was still a novelty for Morpheus. A companionable quietness  between them as they prepare dinner together, only the sound of the utensils as they are used and the music coming from Hobs speaker breaking the silence. 

Morpheus have acclimated to his new…situation, more easily that he expected, and he is sure Hob have played a key role in that. They have rekindled their friendship before his change of status, and when he and Death have showed at his doorstep a rainy night, he only looked at his drenched, shivering and very human shape before opening his home for him.

It was supposed to be a temporary thing, only until he found his footing, but the more Morpheus spent time with him, the less he wanted to leave.

When after a year living together, he confessed his change in feelings (so tentatively, so scared of rejection) and Hob responded with a bright smile and teary eyes so full of love, Morpheus feel his chest filling with a warmth that has stayed ever since.

Right now he can feel it from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, as he help chopping the vegetables meanwhile Hob stir the pots on the stove. It pulses as a beating heart as Hob places a sweet kiss on his cheek when he comes closer to pass the cut carrots to be added to the stew.

The song from the speaker ends, and as Hob places the lid of the pot and adjust the heat another begins.

"Oh I love this song!" Suddenly Morpheus founds himself being dragged to the middle of the small kitchen, embraced by the warm of Hob arms, being rocked softly to the rhythm of the music, Hob humming quietly next to him.

" I have told you Hob, I do not dance." There is not real heat behind his remark, and by Hob chuckle he knows that.

" Ah but we are not dancing Love, we are…just embracing in our kitchen, moving together, with background music…" Morpheus huffing gains him another chuckle, and he lets himself enjoy the moment, so many things he is experiencing at the side of this ridiculous, wonderful man.

When the next verse starts, Hob voice joins it, and as Morpheus finally pay attention to the lyrics, a coil starts to burn in his chest.

"I love you,

and you alone were meant for me,

please give your loving heart to me

and say we'll never part"

Morpheus vision becomes blurry, and he is mortified to realize he is crying, but this time there is no negative feeling involved, just warm, Hobs warm, the comfortable warm of their kitchen, and the warm inside Morpheus own chest, and he realize that warm is love, a sob left his lips, but a smile is stretching them, and Hob just hug him tighter("It's ok love"), still rocking him as he whispers the next verse, and Morpheus only let the tears run free, because he can have this, Hob, their home, their love…nothing, nobody is going to take this from him, and as the last line repeats again, he joins Hob voice, his own hoarse but firm.

"I've given you my heart"

(sorry for any grammatical error, english is not my first lenguage)

(photos of my drawings taken with my phone)

This idea make me get out of my bed at 3 am, going to let it in pencil because I’m sure if I try to ink it I’ll make it worse.

Dedicated to my people in the “Dreamling con ñ” server