#lol I forgot to reblog it here

[zombiekillerbiceps]

Closing In

Leon follows reader home...

Note: thank you to anon for suggesting this premise, ohhhh I did not realize how much I would like writing this - and thank you everyone for your patience!

Content: 3.9 k words, 18+, cnc with enthusiastic consent, stalking roleplay, slasher roleplay, home invasion roleplay, denial, rough sex, taunting, humiliation, crying, overstim, sadism/masochism, Slasher!Leon, obsessed Leon, LeonxReader, fem reader, no y/n. 

-

"I dunno, I just think it's kind of romantic," you say. Your hands fiddle nervously with the tassels on your throw pillow.

"He was a stalker, babe." Leon's voice hides just a hint of amusement. "He cut women up."

"Okay, but besides that-"

"Besides the... The serial killing."

"Yes! Besides the serial killing."

Leon stared at you, an eyebrow arched in judgement. You tried to stay straight faced - by God, you tried - but he had a way of half-smirking his way past your mask with his annoying, pretty face.

"Look, I'm just saying," you roll your eyes, not even sure why you keep talking, "something about... Obsessing over someone like that is kiiind of romantic. What's the point of love if it doesn't make you a little crazy? Y'know? Anne Rice would agree with me."

"Anne Rice was horny for a Confederate twink," he points out.

You gawk for a moment. But like, he's kind of right. So instead of saying anything clever, you throw the pillow at him. He deflects it with his forearm, but that gives you the opening to jump on him. You're wrestling in no time, breathless and sweaty and... Moving against each other...

-

You're out for lunch with your friend, Jessie, at some too-fancy Parisian style café. You sip a caramel iced latte and share a plate of rose coloured macarons. She complains about her studies, you complain about work, and you both come to the resounding agreement that deadlines suck. She complains about her last date, some butch that was more well-read than her that accidentally made her feel stupid. You don't have the heart to tell her that they sounded cool as hell. You tip-toe around telling her about Leon. It's not that you weren't proud of him, it was just... With the nature of his job, what were you going to say? Yeah, I'm seeing this guy who has a gun case built into the dresser and is super paranoid about people visiting his place and won't tell me what he does but he's like, totally a sweet guy and not some psycho? Yeah. Okay.

You stretch, appreciating the summer sun on your limbs and the peaceful breeze around your skirt. Your phone rings. Jessie snatches it up before you have a chance to, and then gives you the most scandalous, shit-eating grin you've ever seen.

"No. Don't you dare-!"

"Hiiiii lover boy," she coos over the phone.

Oh fuck, kill me.

"Jessie, give me the phone!" You reach across the table, the ceramic plate between you clattering loudly against the glass table. You freeze, feeling eyes on you. Jessie opens her mouth in mock embarrassment.

"So you're the secret boyfriend that my best friend keeps hiding from me?"

"Jessie, come on."

She listens for a moment, then laughs. You get up from your chair and walk over to her while she tries to twist away from your grasp.

"mhm, mhm - oh, sorry, I think someone wants to talk to y-"

You finally snatch it from her grasp. You give her a stare with the intensity of someone who can kill by staring. You try to keep your voice as flat as possible.

"Hey, sorry about that. What's up?"

"Is that Jessie?" He asks. He's got that... Quirk in his voice. The one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel Jessie watching you and try to keep it cool.

"Yeah, sorry, she's like, literally five years old sometimes."

"She seems fun."

"Babe, I'm kinda busy, did you have a reason for-"

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

You freeze halfway to sitting back down in your chair. Jessie tilts her head, giving you that concerned-puppy-dog face she did when she knew something was up.

You clear your throat and find it suddenly dry. You sit back down but you're a little clumsy, your skirt getting caught on the arm rests. You snatch it back, and then trying to regain your cool, you take a sip from your iced latte. You hear him chuckle on the other end. Did it get cold all of a sudden?

"What, uh, what do you mean by that?"

You can practically hear him grin into the receiver.

"I mean," he says, drawing out every syllable. "I can see you. And you look pretty today. That skirt will roll up pretty easy-"

You hang up on him. Mostly in panic. There was no way you were going to do that in public! Your eyes scan the area around you. Pretty cafe patio, pretty park across the street, some people going about their daily business. You can't see him anywhere. He must be fucking with you. He must have known you were going to wear a dress, it's so hot out, and where would he even be hiding?

A cold hand touches yours and you almost jump out of your skin. Jessie's taking your hand in hers, and when you meet her gaze, she looks like she's about to cry.

"I'm so sorry if I caused any issues between you, I totally shouldn't have answered it. I didn't think he'd like, get angry with you," she starts to wetly babble, swaying between guilty and protective. You love her very much, but you don't know what to say.

Oh, it's just this weird sex game we play, I promise this brooding dude who you've never met and only spoken to once is definitely a good guy and not like emotionally abusive.

"Hey, hey, Jessie. Don't worry about it. It wasn't about that he's got this... Thing. Unrelated. But uh, look, I have to go."

She frowns, almost curving her pink lip-glossed mouth into a pout.

"If he so much as leaves a scratch on you, I will kill him."

Your thoughts flit to the bite marks and bruises that are just covered by your dress. If only she knew.

You kiss her cheek, snatch up one final macaron, and take your leave. You try to control your pace, look cool, act natural. Your eyes scan the buildings and alleyways around you. You seriously can't find him.

Your phone rings.

You stare at it for a moment. Your hands are shaking a little when you answer it.

"It's sweet how much she cares about you," he says. An idea dawns on you. You nod and give an mhm sound, listening around you for anything noticeable. A church bell rings just ahead of you and you hear it echo over the phone.

"You're close," you say. You try to sound threatening. He just laughs at you.

"Obviously. How else would I know you're wearing that citrus perfume I love?"

"I wear that everyday." Your voice shakes as you speak, and you can't help but whip your head around. You half expect to see him there, but it's just some guy who gives you a dirty look.

"No, you don't. You only wear it when you're going to see friends. You usually wear the vanilla one. You like that it's so subtle."

You're a little impressed he noticed that. It was kind of sweet, really, if he wasn't totally freaking you out. How did he possibly get close enough to smell your perfume without you noticing?  You start walking again. You want to catch the train home. Maybe you can trap him there.

You use the shop windows as you pass to get a better look, pretending to window shop.

"Do you think I'd look good in that," you ask, with no idea what you're referring to. You're looking past whatever is behind the glass to observe the reflection. A spot of blonde hair, maybe... He got a totally different hair cut? No. Not him.

"Using the reflection. Clever."

He hangs up.

You spin around again, desperately searching the crowd. He was a beefy guy and he moved like a panther, there's no way he was just casually blending in. But, you can't find him.

You wrap your arms around your core. Knowing you're being watched makes you want to shrink into yourself. Yet you can't ignore the excitement you feel. It was kind of romantic, really. Kind of dangerous.

You liked Leon best when he was dangerous.

You set off again, somehow walking a knife's edge between nervous and confident. Both prey and prize. You keep looking over your shoulder as you pass into the crowded underground of the subway station. It's right around rush hour and it's so packed you can hardly move. Other people are breathing your oxygen and you're just recycling theirs. It's tight, and hot, and moving at the exact speed that makes you feel like no one is really getting anywhere. You pull your purse tight to your body and try to shove past people, only to be confronted with more people.

Your phone rings. You hang up. And then, in a stroke of brilliance, you call back.

His ringtone echoes out in the tiled halls. You try desperately to find it, but it only rings out twice, then it's lost in the sea of people.

"Clever," his voice is deep on the other end. "I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah. Why don't you stop hiding?"

"Oh, I know you're eager, but I didn't think you'd want me to cut you up in this crowd."

He's impatient. You can tell by the sharpness of his voice that he's more frustrated than he admits. The threat sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but picture yourself bent over on the filthy tile floor, knife to your throat, fucked within an inch of your life as people step past. The ebb and flow of the crowd pushes you towards the oncoming subway.

"What exactly is your plan?" He asks. You can hear the screeching brakes over the phone. "I know you take the 76 Southbound until Queen Street. I know you get off and walk two blocks to George Street. I know you live in a turn of the century brownstone with a heritage plaque and bathroom sink that takes forever to drain."

You step onto the 76 Southbound near the front. You press your back to the wall and watch as people get on.

"Yeah, well," you say victoriously, "I know you have to go the same way."

And then you see him. He walks directly into your trap, and realizes it too late. His blue eyes widen in realization. The door slams shut behind him.

You hang up.

Some people pile up in front of you, giving you cover from him. You watch him from behind shoulders and under arms. Open, navy bomber jacket and a grey t-shirt with black jeans doesn't exactly scream slasher killer. But, something about how casual he looks keeps your attention. He blends in, he's unsuspecting. And, to your surprise, he's grinning like a fox.

He's broad, and when he moves through the crowd, people make room for him. He scans every seat and every face with purpose. Inching his way towards the back. You realize you have nowhere to go. You start to panic. Maybe you get off a stop early? And then what, he beats you to your house and waits for you?

No, you have to get home before he does. Lock the doors before he can get in. You push closer to the door so you can be the first one off. You turn to track his progress and directly meet his gaze.

Fuck.

His expression drops, his eyes glaring at you from under his brow. You're almost hypnotized by them, frozen in place while he cuts through the crowd.

You're pinned down with nowhere to go. But, surely, nothing will happen in public, right?

He pushes past a few more people and then he's on you. He towers above you, his broad shoulders cutting out other's view of you. You notice how his t-shirt clings to his body. How well fitting his jeans are. You also notice the angry squint in his eyes from under his brow.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" He brings a hand down to touch your hip, holding it in his grasp. You quiver against him as he leans down, close enough to whisper in your ear. "Don't you know I’ll always find you?"

You turn your head away from him defiantly. Your eyes scan the train, but passengers nearby don't seem to notice. They all have that vacant long-day- commute stare.

"No one's going to help you, sweetheart." He closes in, one arm rests on the wall beside you, his body angled to ensure prying eyes can't see. His free hand slides up your body. It caresses the curves of your hips, the softness of your tummy, the round of your breast.

You flush. Your hands come up to his chest as if that will stop him from pawing at your tits.

"Leon, seriously? Here?" You whisper it, completely embarrassed.

"I can take you whenever I want." He uses that commanding voice you've only heard a handful of times before. "You're mine."

To prove his point, his hand dips between your thighs, and he presses his fingers against your pussy over the fabric of your skirt. It's so sudden and strong, your hand goes to his wrist on instinct. He doesn't stop, rubbing hard enough to make your legs shake.

"Could probably take you right here," he mutters, his breath hot on your ear. You feel yourself get wet at the thought.

"Queen Street." The robotic, automated subway voice chimes out from overhead.

The door opens. You lose your balance, but manage to recover quickly. You move fast, hoping to put as much distance between yourself and Leon as you can. You take the stairs two at a time until you breach the surface, taking in the fresh air like it would save you. But the summer heat brokers no peace, and you know Leon isn't far behind.

You don't look behind you for fear of slowing down. You take one block normally, then decide to cut through an alley way to save time. Every minute was another he could be gaining on you.

As you take a few paces into the alley, your hair starts to stand on end. It's somehow darker here, the smell of mildew and gasoline making your stomach turn. Your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Stop calling!" You snap, betraying more fear than you mean to.

"An alleyway? You're smarter than this." Leon is unphased by your outburst.

You give in, turning your head to look behind you. He stands at the other end, the sun behind him obscuring his features.

Then he moves. With long, easy strides, he makes ground quickly. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he whistles a slow, off-beat tune. 

You turn and run. Your hand meets the corner at the end of the alley and you use it to redirect your momentum. Full tilt sprinting in a sundress down a public street in the middle of the day probably makes you look crazy. Leon made you look crazy.

You get to your brownstone on George Street. You take the few steps up to the front door. You throw your phone in your purse as you frantically rip through it for your keys.

Fuck, come on, where are they? Lipstick, tampon, water bottle, wallet FUCK! There. You snatch them up like they'll save your life. Your hands shake as you put them in the lock. It turns, and you take one last look to see Leon - oh shit!

He's at the base of the stairs! He takes them by two. You manage to get the door open wide enough to barely squeeze through. His hand slaps against the door but you throw your full weight against it. It slams in his face. He turns the knob. You struggle to hold it against him as you turn the dead bolt. Then the chain. He slams a fist against the door and you slowly back away from it.

A chilling thought dawns on you.

Back door.

You run to the other side of the house, tripping over shoes and a discarded purse as you do, cursing as they steal precious seconds from you. You turn the corner and run directly into the door. Your body stings from the impact. You shakily turn the lock.

Silence. For a few, long minutes, there's just silence. You wonder, disappointed, if he gave up, but take the time to catch your breath.

Your cell phone rings. Sweat rolls down your back as you answer it.

"I got you, motherfucker."

"Did you?" He asks. His voice is cool. Calm. "How confident are you that you got to the back door before I did?"

"I would have heard you come in." You aren't so sure.

"Would you?"

Your apartment is small. You approach the bedroom, then quickly snap the door open. It lies still. Empty.

"You don't scare me," you lie.

"I really almost had you there, didn't I?" He's calling your bluff as you move into the kitchen, "What do you think I would have done if I'd caught up to you?"

The kitchen is still and quiet too. You don't have an answer for him, anxiety knotting in your stomach. You take the turn into the living room.

His arms wraps around your waist with enough strength to lift you off the ground. You scream. You kick at him, but he doesn't budge, dragging you into the living room.

You see a window open.

"Did you climb the fucking trellis?" You ask, shocked and amused at the sight. He tries not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"What are you, Romeo?"

"You said you wanted romance," and then, his voice drops again to that cold, serious tone that makes you feel like prey, "isn't this what you wanted?"

He lets you go and you take the opportunity to run. But his hand is entangled in your hair, the sharp pain making you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes and you whimper. You grab his forearm and try to pull away, but the self-inflicted pain makes you freeze. He rolls his eyes.

"You're just so fucking predictable."

He drags you across the living room floor. It hurts, bare knees roughly hitting the hard wood floor. He lifts you up with an arm around your stomach. Then, he's bending you over the couch.

You try to push back against it. You struggle against him. He pulls your head back by the hair and you nearly sob.

"Please, don't," you whimper. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Not our safe word, sweetheart."

His words make you feel so beautifully helpless. The tears finally fall down your cheeks and, at the same time, you become aware of how soaked your cotton underwear is. His hand comes up and slaps you sharply. You whimper. He does it again, this time harder. The stinging in the side of your face is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He pins you to the side of the couch his hands on your hips. He rolls your skirt up, and makes a choked sound at the sight of you. He tears your underwear down harshly. 

"Please, don't," he mocks with a harsh slap on your ass. "Try and tell me you don't want this."

A finger slides along your slick, from hole to clit. He presses his finger against it just slightly but it's enough to make your hips buck. He gently rolls a finger around your clit a few times, already building that high in the pit of your stomach. He barely fucking touched you and you're already desperate to cum, breath ragged, legs shaking. Leon pulls away. You whimper in disappointment. Then his hand comes down hard against your ass cheek. Then again. Then again. Then again.

The pain is overwhelming. But god, you don't want him to stop. You want hand-shaped bruises on your ass, you want to remember this every time you sit down for the next week.

"You look so pretty for me when you cry" His hand still wet from your cunt comes up and rubs your tears away, leaving an obscene mix of your tears and your desperation for him on your cheeks. The tears keep falling anyways. Then, softly, "you do remember our safe word, right?"

You nod, but you don't say it. You want to go further. You want him to hurt you more. 

“Hey, answer me when I’m fucking talking to you,” he grabs you roughly by the jaw, wrenching your face to look at him. 

“Yes,” you nod, desperately. “I remember.” 

“Wasn’t so fucking hard,” he says. He slaps you again, hard enough to stun you into a stupid, teary-eyed grin.

You hear his pants unbutton, then unzip, then fall to the ground, but you're so overwhelmed you can't move. His hand still in your hair, still tugging enough to remind you of your place beneath him, he lines his hips up with yours.

Then he's pushing into you. One, smooth motion is all it takes, your cunt greedily pulling him in. A high pitched moan escapes his throat, followed by a groaned "so fucking wet."

He fucks you deep and slow. Torturously slow, enjoying every minute of pleasure that he gets. The head of his cock presses against your g-spot, building the high like one boils water. Slowly. Your abdomen pressed against the couch makes it easier for him. The hour of teasing and adrenaline and painful foreplay has you overstimulated. But it’s really the slow, deep fucking that drives electricity through your body. Push and pull, ebb and flow, your face and ass stinging as he works. You’re already bordering on the edge, but his pace doesn’t allow you to go over. You just hover there. And hover there. And hover there. For what feels like hours you’re kept right on the edge without ever going over, building the tension inside you until it fucking hurts, and then you’re crying again. You want him to slam his hips into you, to fuck you into the couch, to do something to make you cum, but he doesn’t.

“Leon, it hurts,” you whine. 

“It’s supposed to.” 

“Please,” you beg, desperation making your voice hoarse. “Please just make me cum, please.” 

“Relax.” 

“Leon-” 

“I said relax. Or I’ll stop right now. Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” you shake your head, hair falling into your face. 

He takes his time to smooth it back, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He wipes more tears from your cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is so hard and cold. 

“Greedy little whore.” 

With no warning, he’s fucking into you harder. Faster. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re cumming on his cock. Your body tenses so hard your muscles scream, shaking and moaning and gasping for air. Your cunt tightens so hard you hear Leon breathe a fuck, baby. It feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally come down, you’re entirely dazed. 

You’re... vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, hot and sticky. But for the most part you just feel like you’re floating. Leon slowly lowers you to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow and tucking it under your head. You close your eyes. 

You wake again when the room is an orange glow, a blanket thrown over you for comfort. Leon is lounging on the couch reading a book, and when you stir, you immediately have his attention. 

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily. 

“Hey. Thought I’d let you sleep, you looked like you needed it. Why don’t I run us a shower?” 

“Yeah,” you smile softly, dreamy fuzziness still clinging to you. “I’d like that.” 

[can-of-slorgs]

Local owlbear, what she gonna explodee✨

[the-kipsabian]

[questing-wulfstan]

@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...

Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.

The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.

Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.

They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.

Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.

“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”

Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.

“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”

“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”

Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.

“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”

Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.

“May I, then ?”

“You may.”

𝄽

They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.

“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”

Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.

“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”

“No ? Truly ?”

“No.”

Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.

“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.

They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.

“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”

Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.

“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”

“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”

“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”

Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.

Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.

A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.

Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.

The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.

[adriancatrin]

hug from behind hug from behind hug from behind hug from

[smolghostbot]

-

[aeide-thea]

an impulse i don't get—

or rather, so as not to be disingenuous, an impulse i get perfectly well but strongly dislike when i'm faced with it, which means i need to reexamine it in myself when i generate it—

is the impulse to sit in judgment about What Counts As Queer. like. yeah, okay, i do get it really, we're all disempowered by hegemonic culture and setting ourselves up as petty kings shores up our egos! but if there's anything i've loved about discovering queerness in and for myself, it's been the realization that there were worldviews beyond my own—and that there still are, almost certainly! that the world is a firework show of exploding possibility, and that i and my current understanding of myself and everyone else are just one bright spark in a whole connected series of them, and that more will come after me, bringing new colors and configurations to my field of vision, if i just keep my eyes open…

and so i just always feel. god. how close-minded, to shut your eyes to someone else's vision of queerness, to say not just 'that isn't a version of queerness that i recognize or feel represented by,' but to say categorically, 'that isn't queer'! if someone's saying in all sincerity, 'this feels alien to the framework i grew up with, and exciting or comforting or both to me'—i want to hear them out, and make space in my own understanding for a multiplicity of queernesses. i'm not always perfect at it! but i want to.

because what's the alternative? join with the biphobes and transphobes who would've said my gq4gq relationship with my transfem ex was really just straight, or at least enough of a union of opposites for government work? join with the aphobes and arophobes who are constantly insinuating that if you're not actively sucking or fucking, you're a square—never mind those of us who are isolated, or traumatized, or anxious, or any of the thousand other reasons why our queerness might not be siting itself in sex or romance, right now or ever! join with the people who sneer at poly and flinch from kink, as if reexamining those relational conventions were somehow cleanly separable from reexamining all the other ones—as if we should want it to be?

anyway, this is about a lot of things, really, and at least one of them i pretty actively don't want to talk about in specific; but i just think, god, i wish we could all learn a little more generosity, and a little more humility. we know the world, and the human heart, encompass more than is dreamt of in kyriarchal philosophy; why then are we so resistant to the idea that they might also encompass more than is dreamt of in our own? movement after movement of queers have come, and built, and been built upon in turn; our personal convictions are not, i feel certain, the final course to be laid down on the great work of enlightenment and liberation—and how depressing it would be, if they were!

[l-tora-l]

Hiiii i know u haven't been online for awhile, but I just wanna ask if ur ok? I hope things are going well in ur life :) also happy Eid hope u get enough Eid money🙏

Hiii Rizqa !!! Super sorry for the unannounced absence, and I'm always grateful for your kindness :((( life is pretty difficult I'm ngl rn but I'm attempting to hold up ! To be honest, regarding this blog, I did try to come back but I genuinely don't feel comfortable at all here considering the mess that happened at the end of 2022 ( and tbh that whole year ) on this blog , it pretty much ruined tumblr for me, so I'm not entirely sure I would feel comfortable being on here in general, especially this account.

I do have another account if you or anyone would want it but if I'm being honest I'm not entirely happy on there either so idrk if I'm gonna be very active on there ( dumblr things LOL ) and also it's not tokrev related either so idrk if anyone would be interested but I can still give you or anyone the url if you want ! You can send an ask or dm idm ! Anyways, thank you for the well wishes for eid ! Insha Allah your eid was wonderful and your ramadan was fruitful <3 how was your eid experience ??? I hope you had lots of fun too <3

[mildcicada]

My dream girl, those eyes, that nose

[femmeroi]

kill yourself faggot

Our relationship is rough right now, but in a few episodes we will be married.

[crescentfool]

a silly little comic i drew in a one hour haze featuring @fwishfearme and i’s ocs! aka: what happens when you put fishing extraordinaire shirayuri fugetsu in the same scenario as my silly squid minatoast? (alt text/dialogue in image captions)

[dreamnexusart]

I was going through my art tag and either I didn't post this piece yet, or I forgot to tag it. Not sure how I managed that, but I'm posting it now.

"Trouble in Undertown." Created in Daz Studio with postwork in GIMP.

[clumsyclifford]

hello!!! it’s been a hot sec since i made a post about the club but here i am again to tell you that if you like 5sos and/or new friends (and are 18+) you are more than welcome to join our silly little discord server!! it is called the club for no discernible reason whatsoever and it is the most fun place in the planet. some positive reviews:

anyway if you would like to join you can just shoot me a DM and ill drop a link for you :)

[volchitsa-of-winterfell]

the F1 shipping chart!! original post here by @foo1ishheart554. blank version below the cut for YOU, dear reader, to do!

[leocreates]

I'm laughing at how different this blog is compared to my art insp blog. Mutuals who have that blog url you're seeing a part of me I don't show on here.

[strawbbunnies]

*taps mic* is this thing on?

hi i'm cameron, but you can call me nico or jamie (or strawb!) pronouns: he/she/it/bun + other neos are cool too! for more info or other socials: here's my carrd!

content creators: - smii7y+ / frog house ( smii7y / kryoz / bigpuffer / blarg / pezzy / grizzy / elasticdroid ) - goons ( mcnasty / snipingsoup / thedooo / blarg ) - markiplier / ethan nestor / jacksepticeye - bigjigglypanda / fourzeroseven / wildcat - ranboo / sneegsnag / white noise / philza / slimecicle / ted nivison / schlatt

animanga (+ fave characters): - trigun ( meryl / vash ) - my hero academia ( hawks / aizawa / ochako ) - fire force ( arthur / obi / benimaru ) - bungo stray dogs ( poe / chuya / lucy ) - the promised neverland ( emma / ray ) + so many others! {check out my anilist!}

other interests: - art ( drawing / graphic design / photography ) - writing ( original stories / fanfics / poetry ) - animals ( cats / bunnies / red pandas ) - music ( bbno$ / yung gravy / glaive / bo burnham / lovejoy / etc. ) - games ( fnaf / minecraft /phasmophobia / etc. ) - media ( stranger things / don't hug me i'm scared / analog horror / horror movies / MCU / etc. )

anyway that's all for now, take care nerds <2 -nico