#they really do need a ship name

[heartofspells]

Tuesday Snippet

Thank you for the tag, @brandileigh2003! <3

A little piece of the Sirius/Benjy goodness for everyone because it's the only current thing I have that I'm allowed to share, and honestly, they're really clogging my brain right now.

Gently tickling @tracingpatternswrites @mycupofrum @squintclover & @theresthesnitch

--

Groaning deeply, Sirius lets his head fall backwards, thumping his skull against the bricks behind him. His eyes roll towards the star sprinkled sky above them, Sirius tracking the blankets of clouds as they drift and block his view.

"D'you remember when we used to do these assignments together and never talk? I miss that," he mutters in irritation.

Beside him, Fenwick huffs out a tiny laugh. "I don't see why," he responds, not sounding bothered. "Talking makes the time pass much faster."

"We're not even meant to be talking."

"Yeah, because you're such a goody-good for the rules," remarks Fenwick in a knowing way, and Sirius curls deeper into himself, scowling at the dark sky. "We're safe. We've got the muffling charm, and there's nothing happening in that building. Nothing's going to happen in that building, you know that as well as I do."

Silence descends around them for a moment until:

"Do you have a problem with me talking to you?" asks Fenwick.

"When you're doing nothing but prattling like a loose-tongued prat, yes," drawls Sirius.

Fenwick clicks his tongue, almost like he's mocking Sirius' foul temper. "I don't consider asking about your life as senseless prattling."

"Why do you care?" demands Sirius waspishly, rounding on the other man, brows lowered deeply over his eyes. "You don't like me."

Fenwick blinks at him. "When have I ever said that?" he questions dumbly, and Sirius scoffs.

"You don't have to say it. It's been perfectly clear. You barely graced me with a look until the first time we were paired together, and don't think I didn't notice how unhappy you were about that."

Humming quietly, Fenwick tips his head back in a mimic of Sirius' previous position. "I'm not sure why that points to me not liking you," he says calmly, body completely relaxed. "I'll admit, you didn't impress me much in the beginning. You were too eager, too juvenile about the whole thing, but you're young. It's to be expected, so I pushed you to the side."

"Like you're so old?" counters Sirius a bit scathingly, pulling Fenwick's gaze to him again.

"Compared to your once bushy and wagging tail?" he responds plainly. "Yes."

Knees spreading apart as he shifts, Sirius fidgets with his cloak, pulling it more tightly around him to block out the cold, not that he feels it much, doing everything he can to avoid looking at the other man, but he can't make himself avoid it for long. His eyes flicker around, landing on Fenwick, narrowing as he calculates his partner.

"So, why the questions now? What's changed?" he asks gruffly, and Sirius is surprised by the slow-spreading smile that begins to engulf Fenwick's features, shadowed in the darkness but still obvious.

"You've grown on me," answers Fenwick easily, not moving as he stares at Sirius, "and now I find you fascinating."

[francy-sketches]

sorry I got posessed by the wattpad demon I'm normal now (lying)

+alt version that didnt fit the #aesthetic but it better represents my #vision of them ^_^ hashtag couplegoals

[pinkcadavart]

I'm still learning the characters rn so this might not be accurate but please tell me its at least funny

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[megalomari]

so that third movie huh

[emberandshadow]

I gave in and started a new playthrough to do Karlach x Astarion romance and I'm-

They're so 🥺🥺

[pinnithin]

yknow i didn't necessarily start my wyll origin run with the intent of romancing astarion in mind but the more i play the more i find their similarities amusing when it comes to like, the surface level personality they present to strangers in act 1.

wyll is a compulsive flirt. you see it in dialogue with shadowheart and lae'zel - he just tosses out a couple lines that clearly aren't supposed to go anywhere (asking lae'zel if she believes in love at first sight, blatantly reusing the same flirtation attempts with shadowheart) and i see this as part of his Blade of Frontiers persona. obviously a traveling vigilante would have no time for romance or relationships, but he's socially aware enough to have learned that people respond well to a certain level of rogueish charm. especially if his reputation precedes him. he can safely and positively engage in surface level flirtations with the people he interacts with because the person doing the flirting isn't real - at least not to him. he often says the Blade is his best self, but to him its an ideal he strives to achieve, not the person he really is. and i imagine that includes the ability to give discouraged people positive attention in a nonthreatening way. its safe. its superficial. he doesn't have to follow through.

this is overshadowed somewhat by astarion's tendency to flirt with anything that has a pulse, but the perspective they both have on it is pretty similar. theyre both coming from a place of not actually being interested in the recipient of their attention - whether that be through astarion's ulterior motives or wyll's lack of capacity for a relationship - but they both still put on this front because it's habitual. it's worked for them and it's gotten them through the varying degrees of social contracts they find themselves in. so they wind up trading lines easily because they've studied from the same script.

anyway what im getting at is bumping these two personalities against each other can definitely result in wyll and astarion committing to the bit so hard they accidentally wind up in a relationship. like, you're safe, you know the rules, you're speaking in a language i'm familiar with but we both understand that neither of us expect anything back on an emotional level. wait when did we start confiding our deepest secrets with one another. what do you mean you trust me.

[sunnys-side-upside-down]

Inktober Day 6 - Garden

Prompt list by melosprout on Insta

[mrmosseater]

how fake brawl stars yaoi likers feel when REAL deadsilent fans come at them

[birdricks]

honestly beth and jerry have maybe my second favourite relationship in the entire show just for how interesting and tragic it is. like its brushed aside a lot in favour of other stuff but they were really both just kids... and the saddest part about them is that they maybe do love each other but its always in some way artificial

[aweirddreadfulterror]

Idk man take this shity comic and leave me alone ToT I might clean this up, but probably not 😅😅 and I am Obsession with Maximus’s sad lil eyes O-O this was done without references and was done pure memory so it’s not accurate, and they aren’t drawn with clothes because I was feeling lazy -_- 

[porcelainvino]

i think i hate kurt x adam out of all of the kurt ships because you can’t even make up silly things about them together like that guy has NO PERSONALITY… I HATE THAT MAN OMFG—

[salmonentrees]

i dont particularly ship charlastor but you have to admit that thematically speaking its a fucking goldmine. like come on, there's a whole bakery's worth of layers there

[rist-ix]

https://www.tumblr.com/rist-ix/749015401700229120 not you reblogging this when you ship bloom with the man who murdered her family 😭

Bloom's into ppl who slay! Hope this helps :3

[scribblebirddd]

I’ve been stuck on these two for a hot minute, and the fact they bring out the best in each other just melts my heart. They’re probably not much for public flirtation but shhhh let me be indulgent,,

Shoutout to all my fellow Briliam Shippers and general Liam Enjoyers fighting the good fight 😔✊

[gatheredfates]

Me to @riftdancing: "We're a PACKAGE DEAL. We're a SHIP. ...Haha, get it? SpicySeas."