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farceargon · 2 years

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Namekian Oc Time!

About time I posted my first oc here... It took me enough procrastination- Long post warning, I ramble a lot- There’s a TLDR under the artworks! (He’s not one of 2 main characters for an OG universe and plot for nothing-)

(Awesome art made by my partner over @painterofstars)

(This piece commissioned from the lovely Aerhys over on flightrising) Here’s a TLDR for the guys who can’t actually be bothered (I feel ya, though there’s some fun facts at the bottom if you wanna scroll all the way): - Called the Harbinger by his people but called Harper by future friends and family. 120 years old. - Melanistic Namekian, abandoned out of superstition, left to die at 1 year old and hunted for sport later on by his people. - Found by an ancient dragon god of rage, fire and death (imprisoned in it’s own dimension but using a small raven as a vessel). Raised by it, since it needed a Namekian host to get it’s freedom it waited on Namek for thousands of years for the chance. - When enraged his carapace lights up in a red glow. He can exhale red fire from his nose and tends to when fed up or angry (I just think it’s neat). - You’ve never seen sudden and deadly, seething rage until you’ve met this guy. Despises all Namekians and it’s a 50/50 on whether he attacks them on sight. Unjustified aggression and immediate hatred is 100% guaranteed. ~ REAL info below, it may be lengthy but he’s my most developed oc to date!!

The Harbinger (Harper) This Namekian hatched melanistic. Unfortunately, the Namekians of his universe were very superstitious. They tried to raise him anyway, even though they were terrified of him. When a horrible storm ruined the land and a drought dried out the crops the last straw was finally drawn. At only a year of age he was deemed the ‘Harbinger’ and abandoned to die alone in the wilderness, even hunted down and treated like game by the younger warriors later on (few who made it back alive). When the eyes of a red raven fell onto him curled up by a river, his fate was sealed. The raven was a shred of power, an incarnation of a bigger, more violent and fearsome draconic god sealed away in a dimension of its own (known as the Demon Dragon King). Only through a Namekian could it be free and now it had found the host it’d patiently been waiting for. For over 100 years the Harbinger was raised by the raven (not knowing its true form). It fanned his flames of hatred for his people and helped his rage to fester deep within his very being. At 60 odd years the Harbinger created a set of deep purple dragonballs littered with eyes, ones that linked him to the Demon Dragon King for eternity. Unlike normal dragonballs, any wish made on this set without permission will grant the complete opposite effect. Wishing for eternal life will bring a slow and painful death, wishing for fortune will remove all of it from the one who asked. Now the Harbinger is an enraged being who despises all Namekian-kind simply for being part of the species that abandoned him. Only the death of his enemies at his own hands can bring him the joy and satisfaction that he craves. - Some bonus facts if you managed to read through all of that (and I’m impressed if you did, I love to wax poetic- Literally had to simplify the above to shorten it): - Harper is immortal thanks to a wish he was told to make using his dragonballs (the raven told him to, knowing he’d be eternally bound if he couldn’t die). ‘Death’ is still painful, draining and traumatic, but he isn’t able to be properly killed. When reviving he’s completely engulfed in red flames like a phoenix. - Hellfire and death energy are two of his signature forms of power granted by the Demon Dragon King. Hellfire is a pure red fire that, while not hurting upon contact (unless it gets inside the body), slowly ramps up in pain until it’s impossible to handle. If Harper’s knocked unconscious, weakened enough or ‘killed’ the fire goes out and the pain itself only ramps up based on the target’s battle drive/lust and anger (making it effectively useless against composed/emotionless enemies). It also has no effect on machines. Death energy is similar to destruction energy, but can’t disintegrate matter that isn’t organic. It’s tiring to use but any hit is devastating. Harper often covers and lengthens his claws with it, making his slashes incredibly dangerous. - His power level is stupidly weak, barely even worth looking at. It’s incapable of building beyond a tiny threshold. However his telekinetic power is terrifying. Harper can freeze powerful enemies for up to 3 seconds, though times his attacks for the split moment that he can get up close and deliver an instant final blow to any vital organs or arteries. Because it’s tied to his Ki (not directly in power but in connection), anything that shuts Ki off or can distract him/cause enough pain to him can easily render him almost defenseless.

- Harper can and will go for the kill as quickly as he can, no matter how messy or animalistic it makes him look. He’ll use his claws, his fangs, anything he can so long as the enemy never gets the chance to attack. - His horns and underbite are actually a physical mutation as a result of his body being used as a vessel for the Demon Dragon King. His eyes are also fully red and have reptilian slits instead of rounded pupils.

- If befriended (which takes a while) he’s a great ally if not also... A bit of a loose cannon. Deathly loyal to a fault, overprotective to the point any minor threat might get a much worse one in response. - At present has 2 kids :] One biological and one adopted (A Namekian and an Icejin). - Actually really loves food. He can eat just as much as any Saiyan and spends most of his time laying around. Much later on in his story he ends up basically becoming the epitome of dad/mum, dad/mum everything. Dad/mum instinct, bod, cluelessness, overprotective drive, seething rage- Wait, that’s not a thing? Oh well. - I love him so goddamn much you don’t understand I’m- ;-; He’s everything to me I hold him so gentle he makes me so happy I ;O;

#eldritch squeaking #leo's blorbo box #dragonball #dragon ball #dragonball oc #dragon ball oc #namekian #namekian oc #A LOT OF TAGS CAUSE I KNOW THAT. theres a lot of tags i think no clue <3 #anyways yeah no i fucking love him so much hes my special little traumatized wet cat of a man #MURDEROUS wet cat of a man who definitely wants you very much not alive #YOU try being abandoned and hunted down by your own race for 100 years and see how you like it. spoilers: not fun #current storyline he has a wholeass found family with icejin and humans and saiyans and EVERYTHING #2 kids (and like 4 semi-kids that belong to the others but he still basically adopted them) that he loves to absolute death #nowadays hes just a lazy dad sitting around #mans loves his famwy very much :] will slaughter universes for them :]#so... uh... enjoy the he... oc...#its free flaming snail #e #;-;#harpy me belofed.....#dragon ball z #dragon ball super #I add these ^ because of timeline. he is not in fact old enough to be behind these #he likes gohan :] and… *tolerates* piccolo. his big crew met canon crew and he doesn’t like most but #funnily enough actually made friends with the girls. Bulma chichi and videl. and they enjoy tea together uwu #and talk about how annoying the husbands are.#gohan and harby stare at bugs and ramble. no one knows what they’re talking about but insect good

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thegnomelord · 7 months

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what if reader worried about speaking around the 141 boys because he worries what if his voice alone is too overwhelming for simple human minds to grasp and the sound of it alone could accidentally melt their brains into mush? Being finally comfortable to say a few words around them but still being hyper-aware of keeping his voice and all aspects of his form under control so nobody gets hurt.

Okay the absolute angst you could come up with this is astounding anon but also I'm in the need of fluff after a depression inducing exam sooo;

Imagine Calling Their Name For The First Time

CW:SFW, Fluff, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost x Eldritch reader (separate) slight hurt/comfort with Price, each part is roughly 600-700 words.

Imagine GAZ — As a cat, your presence used to help him sleep calmly on nights when his mind was hell bent on reminding him of his failures. Petting your belly or scratching down your spine while you laid on his chest gave his hands a mindless task he could succeed in, the sensation of your fur on his fingers just enough to keep him lucid and grounded when it felt like his bed wanted to swallow him whole. But now that you've revealed your true nature... things have changed.

He was the first one on the taskforce to trust you again; but make no mistake, it still took him months to stop jumping at shadows in the corners of his eyes. He still touches you, but it's different. Now his touches are contained to a pat on your shoulder or a small scritch under your chin when he thinks no-one's looking.

Even in the body of a cat you'd been silent as the grave, so he knows better than to force you to speak. Hell, he even offers an alternative after he sees how you struggle to express your thoughts through paper and pen: Sign language

It's a joint effort as he doesn't know it either, but you can't be mad at him when he giggles so sweetly every time your uncouth hands sign something ridiculous. It's hard to move your fingers with finesse when you've forced yourself in such a limited body and it translates to your language with it ending up bastardized and warped when compared to the real thing just as you are to reality itself.

On a night when his mind has run him ragged and chased away any hope of sleep, you find him on the roof of the base. He's easy to track when millions of your eyes dot the night sky; though you may be a god, you are so small you escape his notice as a storm of thoughts clouds his bloodshot eyes, not even the blanket you drape over his shoulders gets a reaction.

So like a young fool, you try something else.

Just like your sign language, just like you, the sounds escaping your throat are a distorted mockery of the real thing. What should be clean notes come out filled with whistles and chirps and the whispers of a million dead sacrificed to you over the millennia, each one speaking a fraction of a second out of sync to form a low and warbled "Kyle."

His name comes out like tar and sticks to the fabric of all that is, the air around you vibrating. He deserves far more than this, but it's the most human you can make yourself sound.

His head snaps to look at you, mouth agape and wetness around the corners of his eyes. For a second your nonexistent heart shreds itself into pieces thinking you'd broken him and you're ready to disappear into the blackness you crawled out of in an attempt not to harm him further; his hand stops you, pulls you by the front of your clothes so his sturdy hands can wrap around your body.

"Took your sweet time." He whispers so quietly even you need to strain your ears, burying his head into your shoulder. His rapid heart drums so hard against his ribs like it's trying to leap into your cold chest, and for a moment you can almost believe you have one of your own.

Against your better judgement you open your mouth again, speaking in just as quiet a voice as him, yet it still shakes every bone in his body. "You broken?"

He hugs you tighter. "Nah." Gaz gives a weak chuckle, squeezes his arms to check if you hadn't disappeared; that you're more solid than the dead men in his nightmares. "Keep talking to me, please? Say my name again, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

Imagine PRICE — At first, he doesn't know what to do with you.

Finding out the cat Soap and Gaz had begged his ear off into getting is actually some unspeakable god is one thing. Realizing he'd been letting said god use his tits pecs as stress balls and nap on them is a whole 'nother can of worms. Having to chastise a damn god about what is and isn't appropriate, let alone why trying to burry your head into his pecs in front of recruits isn't, is just down bizarre.

But he still treats you like any other soldier in need of guidance, he gives you structure despite the fact you, by definition, are structureless. He's strange like that, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to his asinine stubbornness, but he's a little more resistant to your existence than most. This lets him sit you down every week on the same day and try coaching simple words like 'yes' and 'no' and 'here' out of your throat, wearing ear muffs more for your sake of mind than protection.

Granted, you're as bullheaded as you are old, so most days he ends up talking with himself. But he considers it a small victory every time he manages to pull a word out of you.

Then your hubris makes a mission go to shit, because while you may be immortal in your human disguise, the three bullets in Price's chest that nearly kill him can attest he isn't.

Humans often speak of a god's wrath and they are right; you make a blackened hole out of the enemy base when you find him bleeding out, steel and stone bent into obtrude ways to ensure it may never be restored. You are lucky he's too exhausted to see parts of you burst out of your human back, tentacles of liquid abyss reaching through solid walls to grab the enemies and pull them down into the waiting jaws of nothingness. Not even a bug can save them from being erased from existence like they're drawings on a paper sheet...

But they hardly speak of a god's sorrow; you stay by his bedside while he sleeps, every inch of every surface of the room dotted by your eyes so you can make sure his chest continues to rise and fall in an even tempo, bearing your teeth at Death until it scampers off.

But it's still not enough with how regret claws at you, so you lean over to cover his body with your own, mindful of his sutures as you bury your head into his chest and let out all the words clogging your throat.

It's the tremble of his bones that finally wakes him, his eyes fluttering open to be met with a sea of maddening eyes across the ceiling staring back at him. But with exhaustion clouding his mind the incomprehensibility of the sight simply washes over and past him like a small wave, not even tickling his brain.

But your voice gains his attention, the soft saccharine croon in your voice, the little crackle of lightning in the bleakness behind each syllable vibrates every rib in his chest as you mutter something into his skin, like you're trying to pass a secret to his heart without him hearing it.

"Now what's that, Mittens?" He calls you the name he used when you were a cat, raising a hand to ruffle your hair. Your body hovers over his, enough to feel you against him but not enough to crush him. "Speak up, c'mon, ain't going to hurt."

You raise your head to look at him, his eyes are too blurred to see the gateways to oblivion yours have become, little drops of starry tears bleeding from the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for getting you hurt." You speak before you can even remember you shouldn't, "I'm sorry John."

He just chuckles as much as the stitches will let him. "Well look a' you." He slurs and kneads the muscles at the nape of your neck, hand trailing down to hook his fingers over the harsh edge where your back is still hollowed out like a rotten tree until he can feel solid nothingness press against his skin. "Only took me nearly dyin' for you to finally talking in full sentences." He draws in a sharp breath and pulls you by your back so you're splayed out on top of him fully. "Go on, purr for me some more."

So long as he forgives you, you'll speak until the whole world's gone deaf.

Imagine GHOST— Ghost is the most vary of you after you reveal what you are, he still is in a way. You can feel his eyes on you whenever you two share a space as if he's just waiting for you to drop the charade and turn monstrous, but at the very least his fingers don't twitch for the trigger of a gun each time you draw close.

He doesn't force you to speak, not when he's not much of a talker himself. A simple grunt or a shift of the eyes is all it takes for you to understand him and vice versa, he even learns a few simple words in sign language, though he doesn't acknowledge it when Soap calls him out for growing soft on you.

Because your control of your human body is amateurish at best, he pulls you into sparring frequently. Of course he won't admit that he likes the power trip he gets when he pins you down, even if he does mock your godhood in his deep baritone that makes something new churn in your stomach. And he pins you down frequently, your superior strength of little use when he knows better techniques.

Somehow, this time you manage to knock him down on his arse with only a little cheating on your part. He stares back at you and you grin down at him to the best of your ability, not quite right but close enough, and with a happy glow in your eyes you let out a short and quiet "I win." without even noticing, the air around you vibrating with the laughter of reality.

You freeze and it feels like the cold oblivion in your veins turns to ice, and Ghost uses that distraction to grip your shoulders and roll you over so he's on top of you. But this time something feels different; you can't read his mind like you do communicating with your kin, but you see the tenseness in his muscles, the stiffness in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes like he's on a mission.

"I win." He growls, pushing all of his weight down to pin your shoulder on the ground despite you not struggling as he rests his hand on your throat with his fingers on your silent pulse points. "Now, say my name." He orders. "Go on, sing fer me."

You swallow and feel the tightness in your throat from the resistance of his hand. It's funny; he is like a fly to you, yet you're the one who feels small. "Ghost?" You warble out with just enough intonation to phrase it as a question, something echoing in the silence behind your voice like the crackle of flame and the snapping of old bones.

A shiver races down his spine as he feels the you wiggle and shift beneath your human suit, pushing against his hand as if to caress him through the thin separation of skin. It makes something hot burn in his chest, something primal demanding to feel this supposed god trapped beneath him; to taste twisted divinity and maddening oblivion.

"No, not that one." He growls, lifts his mask just up to the bridge of his nose and then leans down so his eyes are level with yours. "Say my name." His order is clear even as he mumbles it against your cold lips.

You breathe in his scent, the edges of your form rippling in and out like fog or a glitching computer in a desperate attempt to hold on to your body. You tilt your head so your lips brush against his, suddenly short of breath despite the fact you don't need to breathe. "Simon." You whisper and you can taste heat on your tongue with each letter, the ground beneath you shuddering.

You feel him smirk. "Much bettah." Then the hand on your throat is tilting your head up further and his lips descend on yours. Distantly you can feel a bit of your oblivion seep from the pores of your skin, dark abyss clutching him tightly as the sweet taste— of heat, of life, of Simon —steals your ability to think.

You suffer a thousand deaths when he pulls away, the air turning heavy like cement. A low warbled whine escapes your throat and Ghost just chuckles. "Say it again."

You do, you do it as many times as he asks, each word rewarded with a kiss that leaves your eternal mind blank like paper.

Imagine SOAP — You think he's gone mad when he's more bummed out about losing a cat than learning you're actually a creature beyond human comprehension that can destroy him with a blink. If anything, it's like he sees no difference between human 'you' and cat 'you'.

He's touchy and tactile, his fingers always lingering on your cold skin like he's trying to pass the warmth of life into you; his hand ruffling your hair after a job well done, his fingers feeling up your bicep when you work out, the little tap tap tap on your side when you and him cross paths in the hall, his possessive grip on your hip whenever some recruit gets too close to you.

And all the while he's yapping for the two of you, talking with you as if you'll answer only to continue speaking about some other topic a second after you remain silent. You let him because the sensation of his touch and the sound of his voice outweighs the annoyance you feel when he tries to pry words from your mouth.

Even after witnessing first hand what you can do, how reality pours through your fingers like wet sand, he's arrogant to think he can withstand what you are. He's worse when he's drunk, booze loosens the chains on his tongue and inhibitions and makes your Icarus to jump into your lap when you're reading.

"Now what's thaet for?" He slurs as he knocks the book out of your hand, "Thought yea was some all knowing dobber." He nearly makes you topple over when he winds his arms around your neck and pulls your head down until your noses touch, the scent of booze washing over your face.

He hopes to get a reaction out of you- even elephants swat away flies when they buzz in their ears long enough -maybe a curse or a harsh 'MacTavish' with how many mannerisms you've picked up from them; the only thing that makes it's way out of your hollow throat is a small hum of surprise, ringing like the inside of a dead planet and scrapping against his ears like an iceberg on the ocean floor.

Soap gives you an indignant huff like you've offended him, shifting in your lap until his knees are on either side of your hips, thick thighs caging you in on the couch as if something without true form can be contained. "What's thaet s'posed tae mean?" He tries to lean in but overshoots, bonking your foreheads together before nuzzling his nose into your hair. Under the veneer of standard issue bodywash and cologne he can smell something exclusively you, like the heat of a dying star and the cold of the void you spawned from.

You furrow your brows, worry gnawing on your stomach. You know alcohol is poisonous to men though you've seen them drink plenty of it, and Johnny is more out of it than usual. "You are drunk." Each letter crackles though the air like firecrackers, his hair standing on end as your words are warped by an accent of a language so ancient the earth is too young to know it.

"Nea I'm not." His brain is so drowned in booze your voice barely gets pop rocks to fizzle in his ears, but he wiggles his hips like a tempter and when you don't catch the hint he grabs your hands and places them on the curve of his arse. "'M nae as think as ye drunk ah am." He whines, pulling back to look at you with wide blown pupils before he grinds his hips down into your lap.

His name flies so fast out of your mouth it nearly sucks the air out of the room, "Johnny." the lights overhead flicker, your traitorous hands gripping his rear tightly. Your voice continues to echo after you've closed your mouth, each letter creating little pockets of nothingness in the space you share for a second before reality can fill them back up.

"That ah am." He grins like a child and bonks your heads together, placing a wet kiss on your cheek seconds before he passes out on top of you. You sigh and recline back into the couch, letting him use your shoulder as a pillow while he snores like a pig.

And, perhaps, you let yourself whisper his name a few more times...

#Gnome's Imagines #Eldritch reader #cod mw2 #x reader #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x male reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 6 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Eye Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Jonathan Sims/The Archivist (The Magnus Archives):

I just think it'd be funny if an asexual character won

(im ripping this from the wiki btw) John has prematurely greying hair and looks older than he is. He often looks very tired and is physically unfit, as other characters refer to him as scrawny and he tires easily from physical tasks that others perform with little exertion. he also has lots of scars.

(propaganda, spoilers for The Magnus Archives) He's a wet cat and at one point dated Georgie Barker and does date Martin Blackwood. there is also a whole tag/movement for "hot Jon rights". he may not be like, 10/10 on the attractive scale but his far off gaze has captivated me

Nikignik (Hello From The Hallowoods)

They’re an eldritch being who narrates the entirety of the show. They have a lot of cosmic power, such as the ability to affect the story as it plays about, but typically try to stay out it because they’re a storyteller and aren’t supposed to interfere.

100 eyes on the dark. They see all. They are a sad boi (gender neutral). They are perfect.

a wet cat of an eldritch being who is visiting you in your nightmares :)

#Eye Bracket Round 3 #Jonathan Sims #The Archivist #Nikignik #Nikignik HFTH #The Magnus Archives #Hello From the Hallowoods

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jane-john-doe-tournament · 3 months

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Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) Propaganda:

Great singing, also she’s literally wearing a doll‘s head bc she lost hers

do they have their soul or is it rotting somewhere with their head?

BALLAD OF JANE DOE IS SO SAD AND SHE IS GREAT AND I ONLY WATCH RTC ONCE BUT SHES NY FAVE OK

cool asf

She forgets her name after her death and has no story told in the production

She's so sweet and deserves the world. Her song (The Ballad of Jane Doe) is great.

the song goes so hard just listen to her song guys please

she literally died and her head was cut off so nobody could tell who she was PLEASE let her take one (1) W

BECAUSE SHE IS AMAZING. First she already won the tournament in the musical to regain life, as she won them over with her sad wet cat energy because she did not have a head and feared that she lost her soul. Second, she died on a roller coaster and lost her head, but stole her doll's head and thats very gender. Third, throughout the musical she is used as a vessel for religious allegory, she is an angel, she is jesus, she is a demon, she is forsaken but she is purity itself. Fourthly, she is is given the identity of Savannah with the greenest eyes after the other characters who died with her hold her a birthday party, and I think thats sweet because its probably some kind of meaning I cant see but auughfhfhh shes so cool

i mean her name isn't TECHNICALLY jane doe but we refer to her as such. she's so silly!! autism powers! i don't have a lot of propaganda tbh. i would've just been surprised had she NOT been submitted

She lost her head literally when the rollercoaster derailed. She wasn't able to be identified apart from the school uniform she was wearing.

Her name is forgotten, and so is everything about her. So she’s called Jane Doe. She’s very sweet and very creepy, but she doesn’t mean it

and im asking WHYYYYY LORRRRRDDD

I LOVE HER! she died in a roller coaster accident and was decapitated, her body not being found. in the show, her head is actually just her doll’s head. the coroners couldn’t identify her, so she was dubbed a jane doe. in the game to be alive again, she ends up being voted, her name being revealed to be penny lamb. anyways she’s a little creepy and also quite silly and she does her funny little waddle like a porcelain doll (or corpse).

She deserves it! She lost her head she shouldn't lose this too.

Not convinced you didn’t start this tournament just for her tbh

They have a great song and a true air of mystery to them. They also have arguably the best song in the musical, The Ballad of Jane Doe! I would definitely recommend listening to it >:)

—She LOST her HEAD and had it replaced with a PORCELAIN DOLL —In all seriousness her story is really poignant. No one could identify her body so she arrives in the afterlife not knowing her identity and she spends the show vacillating between depressed and angry at her situation, leading to… —“The Ballad of Jane Doe”, specifically Emily Rohm’s version, might be the most haunting solo in musical theatre history.

John Doe (Malevolent) Propaganda:

Spooky gay eldritch disaster (am I doing this right?)

Could have chosen any name for himself and picked John because a kind person called him that :)

fractured piece of an eldritch god that shares a body with a private eye after being fractured. chooses the name John Doe after said private eye goes into a coma

Because he’s an eldritch god who wants to feel human and who overcame a lot of obstacles and dangers!!! He sincerely cares about the main character!!! And he chose a name himself! Isn’t he cute??? He lost his body, he almost lost his memory, he fought for his right to exist, he loves animals, he loves his friend Arthur and I love him!

Being an ass, friendship, spooky supernatural stuff, he’s got it all

My man heard the name John Doe, realized he didn’t actually have a name, and just. Took it for himself.

I LOVE HIM. MY SON. HE’S TRYING TO CHANGE AND BE BETTER AND :(((( He’s a fragment of the soul of the King in Yellow (god of trickery and suffering iirc??) that gets trapped in a book in our realm while the rest of the King stayed in his own separate realm. When a human named Arthur Lester opens the book they get linked and John gains control of Arthur’s eyes & kills his partner (oops!). They proceed to go on a quest to find a way of separating them because neither likes the situation, and at first John (or The Entity, which is what he’s called at first) just wants to trick and use Arthur, and control his entire body (through the first season he also gets a hand & a foot) even though he doesn’t remember being The King In Yellow at the time, but Arthur makes him change and become more human. His turning point is when Arthur is shot and falls into a coma for a month. They get treated at a hospital and while John waits for Arthur to wake up so they can carry on, the body itself still gets taken care of. The time John spends alone, contemplating on humanity & everything he’s seeing and learning from Arthur, as well as the way a certain nurse speaks to him every day (specifically, she greets him good morning and good night, despite the body being unresponsive, John still hears because he is an entity linked to the body) and calls him John (they didn’t have ID on when they were found so they were classified as John Doe), changes his outlook and plans for good, and he asks Arthur to call him John; from this point on he admits he cares for Arthur, looks for his wellbeing too, and in general attempts to be a better person and to live for himself. The rest of the podcast (ongoing!!) explores Arthur & John’s relationship, struggle to survive, adventures in the eldritch… All while tackling each of their issues with themselves and each other and watching them both grow. John in specific learns to be the person he wants to be, how sometimes you’ll take a step forward and two backwards; he can be cruel and manipulative sometimes but he still tries. Personally I love his journey, it’s very realistic and you can see he is trying his best, and how he wants to be better than he was as the King In Yellow, and how much Arthur has changed him and how much he cares about him because of that; and how he’s slowly growing into being his own person :) if it ends badly ill cry so hard but!!! he’s John Doe because that’s the name he was being addressed as, and he’s made it his, and being John means he’s no longer the King and that he wants to be different, and John can fail or make mistakes but it’s part of who he is now, and that’s what matters. I am So Normal About Him

JOHN DOE (Malevolent) SWEEP

OH MY GOD JOHN DOE MY BELOVED 💛💛 (watch me just not clarify that would be so funny ahah) John doe (Malevolent) 💛💛💛 my silly He's so funny he makes Arthur bump his head into a dock because he didn't say duck in time and then laughs at him 💛💛

#jane john doe tournament #jane doe #jane doe rtc #jane doe ride the cyclone #rtc #ride the cyclone #john doe #john doe malevolent #malevolent #round 4

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linddzz · 4 months

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32 with Dreamling? 👀

Smut Prompts:

#32: A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.

Edit: Full fic on AO3

Wordcount: 6977 (nice)

Warnings: Canon typical descriptions of violence. Dream being an unhinged little nightmare, but Hob is so down for it. Also, it's a smut prompt. So there is smut. Dicks abound. In typical fashion it took me a while to get to said dicks though. No beta and only the barest editing.

Summary: Service Dom Hob is here to give his bizarre Eldritch boyfriend the tenderest, gentlest domming of his Endles existence. Dream is still going to be a hissing little brat about it. Tbh I waffled a bit on which way to go with this one, but realized that what I really want sometimes is to have Hob scruff Dream like the pissy wet cat that he is and tell him to SHUSH while Dream goes all ragdoll. I also fully embraced a horny headcanon of mine where Dream is more sensitive to physical touch in the Waking.

Shout out to @amahhi, because I picked little bits from our RP here and there for this. What can I say, we got a good Dream and Hob.

Edit 2.0: trying to get the blog unflagged, so the read more has the fic up to the spicy bits. Full fic is in the AO3 link 🙃

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It's been a very normal, mundane, and drab sort of day when Hob comes home at the end of it. There's the standard London drizzle tapping away at his window, transforming the world outside into a melting blur of darkening gray shot through with bright smears from electric street lights coming on one by one.

Electric lights. Brilliant. Literally brilliant. They're all going to pay for it in the long run of course, but fuck is it nice to just come home and flick a switch - like so - to light a room up.

There's a corpse on his sofa.

The corpse is on its back, arms rigid at its side. Its skin has a drained, cold paleness with veins as gray as the current sky. The face is perfectly still and perfectly expressionless, with flat blue eyes open and unseeing towards the ceiling. The startling ghastliness of the corpse is offset by the soft black t-shirt, along with black pajama bottoms decorated with alarmingly cheerful blue stars.

This is also, increasingly, a normal part of his day.

"All right, love?" He asks, shutting the door behind him. The first time he came home to Dream lying out stiff and apparently lifeless in his flat there had been a bit more yelling and panicking, followed by careful explanations about what the unexpected sight of a pale and unmoving body with open, unseeing eyes showing up in a safe and comfortable space can do to someone who has been through a few wars.

It kept happening, which meant Dream did not actually understand. But now Dream always makes an effort to put his form into pajamas first, possibly with the logic that if he were dressed comfortably for sleep, then he couldn’t possibly look like a corpse. Which meant he was trying, even if severely misguided. It's more touching than it should be.

The corpse on the sofa routine all started when they became...whatever they are now. The best explanation Hob ever got was that a chunk of Dream’s duties involve delving into the vast unconsciousness of himself, sinking into the wild depths that were made of every dreaming mind that created him to make sure everything was flowing smoothly.

It was all very metaphysical in all the ways that Hob tries not to think about too much. When he compared it to a computer shutting down for maintenance, he got himself a curdled look of such offended disgust that he knew he was on the money. He compared it to sleep instead, which mollified Dream at the time.

In the past this deeper delving into himself was done from the throne room. Then Dream started showing up in Hob's flat every now and again, refusing to explain why. Hob isn't stupid, so he doesn't ask why after the first few times. Whatever the metaphysics of it, Dream wants to come here and lie on Hob's furniture being vulnerable in the Waking world, despite all his grumblings about said world. Dream may not be able to explain the want for a space outside of work to go to, but Hob gets the difference between grading papers at his office and doing it in his living room. The fact that Dream seeks this space out makes Hob's chest go all fluttery and hot, and he will never question it ever.

It's why he doesn't make a fuss about the fact that Dream hasn't figured out that he looks like a fucking horror movie prop when he does it.

“Obviously.” Dream rumbles in answer. His voice has a deep, slow resonance that's being dragged up from the darkest fathoms. It's a growling sneer, the sharp warning crack of a cliff face about to give. It says that asking things like “all right?” is the most low, simple mindedly human thing Hob could ask, because there is no reason Dream would be otherwise.

“That sort of day then? Budge up.” Hob tosses his coat to the chair, which earns him an annoyed huff of a sound, and shoves a space for himself by Dream's hip, which earns him a growl.

“What. Sort of. Day?” Dream asks darkly. He turns his head, slowly. His movements are always slow when he's coming up from his not-sleep, and Hob is always fascinated by the process. He imagines Dream reeling himself back from wherever he has gone to, a long thread of his consciousness spooling up to refill the shape of his body. The waxy deadness in his skin doesn't exactly liven up, but it becomes more luminous. The stiffness melts from carved stone to…well not relaxed but something with a bit more give to it than stone anyway. The eyes change the most. The empty flatness of them turns into a clear, bright blue. They're flashing with liquid fire when Dream looks up at Hob, even if the rest of him is still an angrily stiff bunch of sharp edges.

“Not a great one, I think.” Hob leans, propping his shoulders on the back of the couch with Dreams waist and arm against the small of his back. Dream turns his head with his jaw clenched, and Hob reaches out, brushing the backs of his curled fingers in the barest caress over the plane of Dreams cheek.

There's a nearly imperceptible tremor in the core of the body he's leaned himself against. The corners of Dreams mouth tightens, and his eyes flare, like that lightest touch has opened a raw nerve.

“Maybe the sort of day I could help you forget?” Hob murmurs. He hasn't decided exactly what he's offering when he offers it. They could just stay here, watching some meaningless picture while Dream stays pressed between Hob and the sofa, and Hob combs his fingers through that downy soft black hair until all the tension melts from him. Hob could make that milky, sugary lavender infusion Dream is fond of and kiss him slow and sweet for hours. They could have a wild shag or the easiest love making. Whatever will help ease the coiled tension that’s churning just beneath Dream’s carefully still surface. Anything.

The caress continues. Hob traces his fingertips up the edge of Dreams cheekbone and sinks them back into the wild black hair to cradle around that impossible skull. There's a suspicious scraping sound down by his hip.

“That better not be you clawing up my upholstery.” He hums, rubbing his thumb over the hairline at Dreams temple. “Come on love, what do you want?”

“What. I. Want?”

The stillness breaks. A hand snaps up and clamps around Hob's wrist. Dream surges up, sitting awkwardly with Hob nearly in his lap, his eyes flashing dark and his teeth bared close to Hob's mouth.

“You would offer yourself then? A sacrifice to what you would call a bad day?” Dream asks, his voice dropping into a hard scrape. There's a sharp prick against the skin of Hob's wrist as claws grow from Dreams fingers. “You ask for what I want?”

“Obviously.” Hob repeats Dream’s earlier answer back at him. This is always the most uncertain part, when Dream is in one of these moods. This night could go a million different ways, but Hob finds himself keen for any of them. Any that keep Dream right here with all of his attention, snarling or otherwise, right on Hob that is.

There's a hiss of sound, sharp and explosive. The sharp pricks against Hob's skin turn into bright bursts of hot pain, and he feels the wet slide of blood down the inside of his arm. There's a shudder, and Dream suddenly curls down against him with his forehead ground into the curve of Hob's shoulder at the base of his throat. It's an awkward reach, but Hob brings his far arm around to run his palm up the knobbed curve of Dreams spine.

“It's alright, love.” He whispers. The slump is not a loosening at all. Hob can feel the jerky tension in every line of Dream’s body, and his love feels like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

“No.” Dream spits. “You ask what I want. The things I want. You are foolhardy. Brash. You understand nothing. Ignorant.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, my Dream.” Hob keeps running his hand up and down Dream’s spine, thinking that he really is wound up if those are the best insults he can come up with.

There's a bizarre, inhuman sound. A sharp, jagged, snarling grind. Dream's other hand splays against his ribs, vibrating and sharp. The Endless goes quiet again, and Hob keeps stroking his back, happy to wait for whatever comes next.

“The way you say my name.” Dream whispers. “I want to open your ribs and make you say it. I want to pull each apart, one by one, like the petals of the rarest flower. I want to splay them, pin them. Expose the secret parts of you. I want to see how your lungs fill and shrink when you say my name, when you scream it. I want to see how your heart beats when you dream of me. I want to put my hand around it and feel the precious fluttering of it when I punch my fingers through the chambers. I want to feel it burst like the most wondrous fruit plucked out and crushed in my grasp. I want to feel the pockets of your lungs crackle against my palms when they fill with air. I want you to be screaming my name when I do it.”

His hand moves as he talks. Long fingers drag along the valleys between Hob's ribs, slow and methodical. They're also shaking, a sharp electric buzzing of claws through Hob's button down shirt.

That sort of night then?

“If you're trying to scare me off, you’ve already done that sort of thing in a few of my more exciting dreams.” Hob points out.

“I want to do it here.” It isn't even a whisper now. It's just an exhale shaped into words. Hob notices that it isn't a threatening snarl, or the low purr of Dream enjoying the build up to a grand old violently nightmarish time. There's a shivery dread. A horror deeper than the obvious goriness of it all.

“You fantasize about killing me?” Hob asks, curious. Ok fine, it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would feel like it.

“You can't die.”

It's an immediate response. Breathless. Rapturous. Terrified. Hob is starting to get the idea of what's going on here.

“Scariest thing you've said to me, that was.” He observes with some interest. It's true, after all. He's just learned that his immortality fuels his love's apparent wish to vivisect him in the plane where they both know it would hurt the worst, where the violence of it would be all of the bloody screaming reality without the cushioned fantasy of the Dreaming. Dream admitted that in a way that was clear that he thinks about it regularly. It is, objectively, a scary thing to learn. There it is. Horrifying and alarming. Huh! How about that.

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised at himself when his cock twitches against his jeans. The only thing he isn’t sure of is if it’s the violent idea itself, or the fact that Dream is very obviously holding himself back from affectionately mauling him right this instant.

He's still petting his hand up and down Dream's spine, and he can feel the way his love bunches in on himself with a cracked whining sound that makes Hob's chest ache like his heart’s already been torn and exposed for the soft tender thing it is. There are talons still scraping anxiously at Hob's ribcage. There are still claws dug into his arm, but with less force than before. Dream is tense, already in a state, and in the fine process of working himself up into what could possibly be a legendary tantrum of self loathing.

“Right.” Hob declares, coming to a decision. “First thing: put a pin in that idea. I have to sit on it a bit and work up to it, but I did just get a little hard there, so it's not entirely off the table. I don't think that's what you want right now though.”

Dream froze with shock halfway through that, and Hob knows the best course of action is to keep moving before that impossible head has enough time to tangle itself up in a new way. The hand on Dream's spine sweeps up and grabs Dream by the nape, hard.

There is an explosive hiss of incredulous shock when Hob yanks him back. The face that Hob pulls off of his shoulder has wide obsidian eyes and a snarl with a wicked set of fangs. He holds the nightmare scruffed, meeting glittering dark eyes while his heart pounds with what isn't nearly enough actual fear.

“You want me to stop you.”

Dream’s eyes widen further, the hand on Hob's wrist drops lifeless to the sofa. Hob watches a burst of pink bloom across the unnatural white of his cheeks before the response is wrestled back down. Dream’s eyes narrow, but he's watching Hob closely.

“You are. Incapable. Of stopping me.” He growls. It's not a threat, just reality. Which is how most of Dream’s threats go.

“You're going to let me though, I think.” Hob says. He digs his fingers a little into the hard muscle of the back of Dream's neck, and takes several mental notes on the way the nightmare’s head lolls back and the hand on his ribs goes still. Hob turns where he's sitting to bring one leg up on the sofa, to bring himself closer to the odd monster he loves so dearly. He pulls Dream further, already feeling dizzy at the way the jagged, black eyed nightmare with his luminous white skin and razor teeth goes pliantly until he's leant back, practically being dipped with Hob over him.

“I think you need to let go, love. But you don't like what you might do if you let go.” He says with a smile. “How about we try things my way hm? You let go, but you hand the reins to me. Let me take charge.”

Dreams face goes through some fascinating shifts. He gazes up at Hob with such a raw, wounded want that it looks painful before the expression flinches when Hob's other hand comes up to stroke his cheek again. There's a jerk though Dream's limbs, and Hob is sure the joints are doing things that would make him feel queasy if he looked.

“You…here?” Dream asks, and his voice is thin and sharp and shivery. Hob knows why Dream’s clarifying that, and why here is making Dream writhe and flush with his mouth stretched a little too far on teeth that weren't meant for a human jawline. Hob knows that things feel different for Dream, when he's in the Waking. He's a creature of thought and idea, and touches in the more physical Waking world come across stronger than he's used to, more overwhelming. It’s not that Dream never bottoms, or even that he never submits. But it’s always in Dream’s own realm, where his submission isn’t really submission at all, but a coy play where he acts up the part of a sweet wilting fae lover or a wanton hedonist. He has a harder time staying in control of the situation, when they’re in Hob’s world, where there are less heated fantasies for him to sink himself into.

And the Dreamlord would never admit it, but Hob has noticed the way he keeps showing up in the Waking world to initiate things, even if it's just to cuddle up against Hob and find ways to get petted until he turns into a shivering puddle of nerves. But cuddling here is one thing, this is something else, something new.

“Here.” Hob nods, stroking his thumb slow and firm over Dream's nape, feeling the little vibration that goes down Dream's spine from that point. “I need you to say you want me to though, ok?”

That gets a furious, low hiss of a growl. Dream’s eyes flash and he snaps his mouth full of razor teeth with the sound like a bear trap. Hob lets him squirm and hiss and shudder. He's always such a trembling little thing, like there is too much going on inside for his outer shell to hold in. One day, Hob is going to properly catalog all of the ways his cosmic power of a lover shivers like a leaf when he thinks he's keeping himself all grim and stoic.

“You. Wish me …complicit.” Dream hisses, the words grinding out from his chest, as there's no way the wide maw of needle teeth is currently capable of speaking that clearly. “You would have me voice it. Admit to it. To be brought low and ragged.”

“I want your consent,” Hob huffs a small laugh, which might not be the best response but God does he love this proud twit, “you pretty, deranged little thing. I'm not doing anything if you don't actually want me to, and we can stop at any point. It's important to me that you get that.”

“My consent,” Dream spits, and this time there's a tearing sound when he does start clawing up Hob's upholstery, “is that I am allowing it.”

On paper, true enough. Dream is thrashing and snarling and gnashing his monstrous teeth with eyes like flaming pits. He's also kept in place by the weak, flesh and blood human hand holding him by the back of the neck. The only reason Hob is able to scruff him and have his head tilted pliantly back to expose the long white throat, is because Dream is letting it happen.

“I think you would allow me to do a lot of things you don't want me to.” Hob says gently. The thrashing stills, the snarling quiets, Dream's teeth finally shrink down into more standard shapes.

“There we are.” Hob breathes, smiling. His chest feels like it may burst, like Dream may end up getting his dark little fantasy after all. It's more than any man could deserve, seeing the way Dream goes quiet and panting, eyes fixed wide and blue again as they stare up at Hob. He keeps the hold on Dreams neck, and smoothes the other hand back through Dreams hair.

Dream makes a thin, fragile sound, eyes flashing black before returning to their clear blue.

“I need to know you actually want this, darling.” Hob explains again. “Not just that you're allowing it. I can't go thinking that you might just be going along with what you think I want from you.”

There's a shift of movement, more of a little squirm than the furious thrashing from a few seconds ago. Dream clenches his jaw together and stares, eyes glittering with new wetness. Christ. Hob is going to get a complex. It can't be good for his ego, having Dream like this.

“Yes.” Dream finally whispers, swallowing thickly. He even nods with little jerky movements against Hob's grip. “I want…what it is, you are planning. Here. In the Waking. I want you to have me. Your way.”

Hob rewards him with a hard kiss, mostly because if he doesn't get his mouth on those quivering pink lips he might explode. Dream goes lax with a whining sound that is absolutely going to give Hob a complex. Plush lips part immediately under his, as sweet as anything. Then teeth flash against his mouth, still sharp and wild but followed fast by Dream’s tongue lapping hungrily at the bite. There are hands clawing at him again, pawing at his back, twisting in his hair, digging into his hips. Dream is doing some impossible wiggling and Hob realizes that there is more than one pair of legs hitching around his hips and tangling between his own legs. It must look like he's snogging an enthusiastic spider.

“Enough of that.” He chides, pushing a hand on Dream's chest. Teeth sink into his lip again, and there's a low growl when Hob pulls his head back so Dream can't start trying to get his tongue down Hob's throat. Or trying to affectionately bite his lips off. “Shush. Lie back, and settle down dearest. Christ, you're all wound up.”

Another small push does the trick. Dream goes down with a little huff when his back hits the sofa. He’s suddenly as meek as a kitten, if that kitten had blood on its lips and a sharp intrigued glint to its eyes. Rather like a kitten then, actually.

Not that Hob is thinking much about kittens. He's far more focused on the way Dream’s skin has gained a more human flush to it, on the curious little chirrup noise that comes from him. He's looking up at Hob with swollen pink lips and his eyes still blue, but the dark blue of a deep ocean. The shirt he's wearing is stretched at the collar, revealing the tantalizing dip of his clavicles, and his ruffled hair is the most adorable thing Hob could imagine. It's such a flip from the snarling monstrous thing Hob had scruffed less than a minute ago, and all of it is so wonderfully Dream. Objectively terrifying in his violence, objectively sexier than sin.

“You're horrible for my ego.” Hob declares, sitting up kneeling between long legs that are still clad in the damn cartoon star pajamas. Dream answers this with a velvety pleased sound, and Hob feels legs bent around his hips and hitched up his waist and one bends a knee up on his shoulder-

“Ah-ah, stick with two.” Hob taps at one of Dream’s thighs before getting to work unbuttoning his shirt enough to tug it up over his head. “We're in my world right now, so we’re doing things my way. With a human shape. And stop eyeballing my ribcage, thanks. I told you we're putting a pin in that.”

He can hear the displeased hissing sound, and decides to give Dream a pass on that. There are times where words seem to lack the correct expressions for the Prince of Stories, and he has an astounding repertoire of inhuman, and even inorganic, sounds to fall back on. Despite his orders to stop with the rib stuff, there are long hands on his sides as soon as his shirt is tossed away. When he looks down, Dream’s eyes are half lidded and dark, fully fixed with stark hunger on Hob’s exposed torso.

There's a scrape of claw, smoother than before, and the bright line over his side goes right to his prick. It is…so tempting…to change his mind and tell Dream to have at it. Just to see what would happen, to see how it would feel to get torn apart by something that loves him so much. Except there's a little tense pinching at Dreams mouth, even as his eyes darken further and his hands spread over Hob's ribs to feel them expand with each breath.

“Hands to yourself.” Hob decides for both their sakes. He taps a finger between Dream’s eyes in chastisement, and nearly loses that finger when teeth snap up towards it. Dream is fast, but he's used to getting away with things, so there's only a surprised hitch of sound when Hob grabs under his jaw and shoves his head back.

“My way.” Hob reminds him, surprised at how low and rough his own voice comes out.

FULL FIC ON AO3

#dreamling #my fic #dom gadling is here to be the gentlest mildest service top #dream is a weird eldritch cat

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snowyh2o · 4 months

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Is no one gonna talk about how Alastor shows up at the hotel one day, offers his services to Charlie, and then just fucking moves in with them and brings along 2 new flatmates.

Like, how did that conversation even go?

Dude attached a whole ass radio tower to the hotel! Was he homeless? Did he need a place to stay?? Is that why he was so interested in the hotel???

Nothing about him being the hotel’s manager or host or Charlie’s sponsor would necessitate him to actually move in and live with everyone else at the hotel. I can’t imagine Charlie or Vaggie would’ve been particularly welcoming of him deciding to start living with them. Or the new additions to the hotel.

Radio Demon shows up at your door like a wet cat and doesn’t leave. All attempts at removing him result in failure and eldritch horrors best not mentioned.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #shitpost #but also a legitimate question #what I wouldn’t give to see what happened during that first week #Alastor just spontaneously claiming a room and terraforming it into a swamp #charlie too cautious to ask him why he’s staying #Alastor ignoring Vaggie’s attempts at kicking him out #I’d say the rest of the hotel being just as tense #but the rest of the hotel is Angel ‘he looks like a strawberry pimp’ Dust #and Husk and Nifty #who are used to his antics #the AU where Alastor sponsors the hotel not for nefarious means but because he needed a place to stay and it’s free rent

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go-to-the-mirror · 11 months

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He’s a pathetic little wet cat, he’s a poor little meow meow, he’s aspec, he’s genderqueer, he has an eldritch being in his head that has a vested interest in him not dying, he is the reason the people closest to him have died, he’s an orphan, he’s completely alone, he’s killed people and would do it again, he’s killed people and seen his reflection in their corpse, he’s a monster, he’s so achingly human.

#jonathan sims #arthur lester #aromantic arthur lester #malevolent #tma #malevolent podcast #the magnus archives #landscaping your mind chapter one #not to me not if it's queue #i love them so much i need to make a thousand posts about them #i need to talk about aromantic arthur lester until i Die #i need to work on my english essay about tma #date is 16/06/2023 #happy pride month lol

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y2kbugs · 8 months

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Why Rincewind deserves your love

Tumblr loves characters like Rincewind right now. The sad, weary one who really doesn't want to be here but does it anyway cause no one else bothered, and is often vulnerable, cowardly, and a weakling compared to everyone else. In other words, the pathetic wet cat, the poor little meow meow.

Vimes is also a perfect example of this archetype, he's there and he's great, but Rincewind to me is a sort of hidden gem bogged down by the author's early writing and the struggle to live up to those later, more deep characters. It doesn't really help that Pratchett also got bored of writing him, and only felt obligated because he had fans (which in a way sounds like Rincewind himself), but...

The first two books aren't even bad. The only thing I'd say is that TCOM has some confusing writing going on and feels more like a collection of stories but it's good and could be better if rewritten. Rincewind is a wonderful character and Twoflower is a delight. TLF is a definite improvement writing and character wise and gives development to Rincewind.

He's not "a weak character who doesn't do anything but run". He is not badly written. He is a character who does not want to be the hero but does it anyway. He has deep empathy and believes that throwing your life away for a good cause is inherently selfish rather than selfless (and! he does this himself, kind of. He does make a sacrifice to help somebody, but he lives).

He isn't stupid. He might be the smartest character in his books, but that's more because the other characters are relatively kind of dumb. The only thing he's really bad at is being a wizard, that's it. He's not a good wizard, but he's a great strategist, he knows a lot about magic, knows almost every language on Discworld and this was how he got to know Twoflower in the first place. I would call him an average intelligence and very high wisdom character in DnD. He's intensely rational and will point out gaps in reasoning and logic. He might be a pessimist, but he has experience and he's going to use that.

That's not to say he doesn't make mistakes. He absolutely does, but making dumb mistakes is much different from willful and sheer ignorance which he does not display.

His hat says "Wizzard" because it's supposed to be a pun on "he can't spell", and it's highly unlikely that he actually misspelled it not knowing the actual spelling considering he reads a lot.

He is very, very defensive and adamant about his identity as a wizard. It's pretty much everything to him and he has a crisis whenever other characters mock and have general distrust of wizards.

He's done the following:

Beat the shit out of an eldritch horror until it ran away from him (TLF),

forced an extremely powerful spell out of his head with sheer will (TLF),

Defeated the most powerful deceased wizard possessing a magical staff with only a brick in a sock, and took both himself and the wizard's son into the Dungeon Dimensions, where he fought back creatures to allow the boy to escape. (Sourcery)

Gave the boy a speech about how it's important to not let anyone define who you are as a person and no one should have to tell you what to do (Sourcery)

Used a whole terracotta army to beat an entire army, and succesffully intimidated them via psychological tricks. (Interesting Times)

Brought rain back to Fantasy Australia and talked back against Death who convinced him to give up. (TLC)

Maybe he's not the most sympathetic character, because he's not chivalrous or manly. He has no bravery and freely admits to being a coward, he's kind of a jerk who cools down as time goes on, and he's selfish enough that he thinks being selfless is a total waste of time and is selfish in itself. He's a cynic and a pessimist with a worldview shaped by his terrible experiences on Discworld, but he's very well-traveled even against his own will, and from this experience he knows precisely how to get out of danger, how to outsmart an individual (or a whole army) and more.

He's shown empathy. Being tired at the world at large and not liking the other wizards very much but going out of his way to save the world from a wizard gone rogue anyway because nobody else bothered to and he's angry, saving a boy from his abusive father's power and diving headfirst into the Dungeon Dimensions, trying to convince an "army" of mostly children why trying to fight against a legitimate army of warriors is a horrible idea and will only get them killed, Helping some thirsty sheep out to get access to water despite not needing to, bringing rain back to Fantasy Australia even though he could have given up and gone home at any moment, being made a "test subject" for the wizard's project in creating Roundworld/Earth, learning aabout the life on there over millions of years and talking about how hard it is for life to grow on there in its earliest millions of years, teaching Roundworld inhabitats the importance of art and creativity not only to outsmart the elves but because he wanted to (while the other wizards considered him stupid for this idea).

And he doesn't want to be a hero, he has no obligation to and is perfectly happy just being alone in the library and reading old books. He wants a life of peace and quiet and nothing life-threatening, but unfortunately he's pushed into these situations. Often though instead of simply resigning himself and giving up altogether, he sucks it up and goes and does it anyway with the expectation that he can go home in the end. That, and by now he's already expected this is his role: to fix shit and go home, even though he'd love to have someone else do his job.

It rubs me the wrong way to see people call him one-dimensional or just "the guy that is scared and runs away"...That to me is like simply calling Vimes "the depressed cop who drinks a lot" or Granny Weatherwax "the old witch who kicks ass". Of course the character will seem one dimensional if you describe them that way. Vimes is better written overall and gets better development for sure, which is also what his character is built for, as well as a more serious story that doesn't lend itself as well to basically slapstick. Rincewind isn't built for overcoming his fears, but rather his selfish attitude and to finally find peace with himself, and he works as a comedic character while also balancing out the fact he can be anything other than a clown or coward.

He gets what he always wanted in the end too. Pratchett might not have wanted to write him anymore, but instead of simply putting him on a bus, he gave Rincewind a position at Unseen University, only dampened by the fact the other wizards clearly don't respect him, therefore he can't really be a professor as a job, but he doesn't mind. In fact, he loves that. He gets free food, a quiet place to stay, and has zero obligations. He's happy, and the last thing we know of him is that he's studying the effects of plants on the nervous system (Raising Steam), and he's very important in the Science Of Discworld series, initially being a test subject and later being the "to go" for information about Roundworld/Earth, even getting to keep the globe in his room.

#discworld #rincewind #this initially started out all casual but then it got long and essay-like as i am prone to writing #i probably got things wrong...correct me

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ananxiousgenz · 1 month

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I just started malevolent out of sheer curiosity and um. what the fuck. yall really were not kidding about how much this arthur guy whimpers

#no idea who's who but the guy who stole eyeballs and sounds like he's talking through a metal pipe seems. interesting #I'm guessing he's the king in yellow guy?#no clue #malevolent #an eldritch being and his wet cat

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i-will-change-this-someday · 10 months

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Is Jon tall or short?

I think he’s short. (I’ll explain why under the cut)

This is to Jon; I think it’d be kinda weird to describe oneself like that if you’re shorter than the person you’re talking to. (I know this might just be about weight, but to me it seems more like it’s all dimensions, including height)

Granted this is from a weird eldritch being, that, I think, can be rather large. So perhaps not concrete evidence.

Again, this a threat, so might just be hyperbole.

Another threat(?), might just be belittling. Edit: Nikola also calls him “little Archivist” in episode 97.

Once again, another threat, so might still be an exaggeration.

You guessed it, another threat, but I feel it at least safe to say Jon’s smaller than the cop.

While it’s not, perhaps, the best evidence; I at least think it’s enough to say Jon’s not particularly tall, perhaps average height at best?

There’s also the fact Jon could barely carry a pipe around, (a pipe Elias could, apparently, bludgeon a man’s head in with). Jon also looks pathetic enough that Basira can’t even fathom him being able to murder someone.

(To be clear, I’m not saying Jon isn’t tall, just giving my reasons for why I think he’s short. Headcanon him whatever height you’d like)

His only concrete description is that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Just for kicks, here’s my personal headcanons on the archives staff’s (and Elias[and Georgie]) height and/or build.

Jon: Tiny. To me, he is the smallest wet cat of a man, 5’4” (162.5 cm) at most. No meat on his bones, just a little guy.

Martin: Like he says, not the smallest guy, I imagine he’s a heavy guy, very huggable. I know there’s the common headcanon that he’s exactly 6’(183 cm), but to me, he’s got 6’2” (189 cm) energy. (Am I the only one that took “not the smallest” to mean absolutely jacked at first, just a total beefcake)

Tim: Average. Average height, average build. Probably 5’9” (175 cm) decently muscular, (from those kayaking trips)

Sasha: canonically tall. Sasha’s tall, I’d say 6’1 (185 cm) I kinda imagine her to be curvy(?, I don’t know if that’s the right way to put it) you know those people who have, like some good arm fat? (I’m sorry, that’s probably the worst way to describe it, but I don’t know how else to explain it) Really soft, kind looking type of person.

Elias: Elias is an odd one, ‘cause depending on the day I might think he’s kinda big, like 5’11” (180 cm) and somewhat muscular (less so than Tim), ‘cause he did bash a man’s head in. But on other days, I might go with the common twink version of Elias, I’m thinking 5’6” (167 cm), so still taller than Jon, but shorter than most guys. (He was also described as a “weird little freak” by Daisy, but that was, once again, a threat, so might just be intimidation)

Melanie: Canonically skinny. Honestly, a lot like Jon, I imagine her to not have much meat on her bones,(although, probably more muscle on her than Jon) she’s all sharp angles. While I do like the idea she’s the exact same height as Jon, I think she’s either one inch taller or shorter, either way she’s intolerable about it.

Georgie: I don’t really have any specific height for Georgie, but I’d probably say somewhere around 5’5” - 5’7” (165 - 170 cm). Like Martin, she gives off very huggable vibes, kinda like that one person you know that’s really nice and soft looking, but can also just verbally destroy someone.

Basira: Average height, on the heavier(?, not sure that’s the right word for it) side. It’s implied that she and Martin are not as skinny as Melanie, so I think Basira’s pretty muscular, but it’s like in a weight lifter kind of way. I feel like she’s probably 5’8” (173 cm).

Daisy: strong. If anyone is absolutely ripped in The Magnus Archives, (other than Jared Hopworth) it’s Daisy. However, I don’t think she’s that tall, probably same height as Tim at 5’9” (175 cm).

#Tma #The Magnus Archives #Jonathan Sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #Tim stoker #elias bouchard #basira hussain #alice daisy tonner #georgie barker #if there are any other descriptions is Jon #I didn’t see them #I already spent too much time on this post #polls #fandom polls #tma headcanons #height headcanons #My Post

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elf-punk · 2 months

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✨Masterlist✨

Hello dearies, and welcome to my corner of purgatorial lechery. I currently write for Dune, Dr. Who, Supernatural, and Avatar (James Cameron's version - I know). But the list can and will grow in the future, depending on what my brain decides to calmly, and normally, hyperfixate on.

My work is scattered across Tumblr and AO3, and I'm currently in the process of getting it all together. This masterlist is my first attempt at doing so!

Find me on AO3!

Avatar

Bless the Plague - 3k

A character-based piece for my favourite wet cat of a villain, Parker Selfridge. Retells the story of the destruction of Hometree from his perspective with a cameo appearance from a mysterious figure.

AO3 Link

Doctor Who

A Moment of Sympathy - 2-3k per chapter Simm!Master x Reader

A fluffy series which begins during the Master's hot girl skeleton phase a la End of Time. Includes hypnotism, snark, and the Master being an all-round eldritch horror.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Dune

Feyd-Rautha Character Headcanons - 1k

Supernatural

Michaelmas - 5k Adam!Michael

It's Michaelmas, but Michael isn't feeling all fond of himself. You make it your mission to change that.

Post S15 AU in which Michael gets un-disintegrated, shacks up with the reader in a cute cottage and goes on Reddit. Light warnings for angsty, self-hating Michael but it'll soon give way to fluff. Implied smut/suggestive themes, nothing explicit.

AO3 Link

#masterlist #fanfic #dune #supernatural #spn #doctor who #avatar the way of water #parker selfridge #feyd rautha #michael spn #the master #simm!master

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dragonnan · 3 months

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#the sandman #dream of the endless

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valiantstarlights · 1 year

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tumblr fics masterlist ✨️

My AUs are growing by the day, so here's me trying to list them all in one place. I hope you enjoy reading them! 😊

Fics, fanarts, playlists, etc. inspired by my writing are most welcome. 🙏 Tag me! I would love to see them.

Due to the entire AI scraping thing going on, my fics in AO3 can now only be viewed by registered users. I apologize for the inconvenience. 🙇‍♀️

Last updated: September 15, 2023.

AU List

101 Dalmatians Meet Cute AU - Dream's dog is a purebred named Jessamy (very calm, very regal), and Hob's dog is a mutt named Matthew (excitable and energetic).

Art by designtheendless

Android Corinthian AU - (Hobrintheus) Dream and Hob are husbands who bought a sex android (Corinthian) for them to use.

Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) AU - featuring Hob as a demon butler, and Dream as a monsterfucker nobleman.

Canon Divergence

Enlightenment - Hob takes Dream's words in 1889 to heart, and realizes that he has never had a single friend in his entire life.

The origin story of monsterfucker Hob Gadling

Recently recovered amnesiac Hob and currently amnesiac Dream inspired by beholdme's prompt. 🔥? 😂!

Chef Hob AU - Hob is a chef who owns a food truck selling authentic Indian food, and Dream is someone who doesn't really eat well. (He had a bad breakup a year ago and it caused him to eat less. He's trying to eat better with his siblings' help.)

Food by carnelianmeluha

Dungeons and Dragons AU - The Endless siblings and Hob playing DND. Details about their characters, that kind of thing.

Fae Dream and Vampire Hob AU - Fae!Dream runs away from home in the middle of winter and has no choice but to shelter in a castle. Coincidentally, Vampire!Hob lives there.

Hamilton AU - 1789 Albany NY. Hob has amnesia and is going by Capt. Gideon "Leon" Roberts. Dream is masquerading as a rich foreign lord named Mr. Thomas Murphy to better keep an eye on him. (Also an American Gods crossover.)

The Feeling of Freedom (AO3 link)

Keep Me in Comfort For All My Days (AO3 link)

Mermaid AUs

Little Mermaid AU - Dream is the king of Atlantis, Orpheus is his only son who is all about that land stuff, and Hob is a (human) thief being transported with other convicts to a penal colony.

Little Mermaid AU ft. Human Hob and Merman-turned-mute-human Dream inspired by designtheendless's art. 🍬🤗

Teacher Hob and Merfolk Performer Dream AU inspired by (OP: cosmic--static's prompt. 🍬!

Personal Trainer Dream AU - Dream is a personal trainer trying to be professional while being horny on main for his newest trainee, Professor Robert Gadling. (Except he's not trying very hard, and Hob also thinks he's super hot.)

Priest Hob and Demon Dream AU inspired by alexxuun's art.

June 7 episode 💀! 🔥? (Kyrie Eleison on AO3)

December 24 episode 💀! 🔥! (Offertory on AO3)

Shadow and Bone AU - Dream is the (sad wet cat) Darkling and Hob is the (soft dom) Sun Summoner. There are two versions of this AU: one where Dream is in the position of power, and one where Hob is.

Show x Comic Swap AU - Basically Comic!Dream x Show!Hob, Comic!Hob x Show!Dream, and other variations. inspired by alexxun's art.

The angsty version 😭! (The Burning House on AO3)

The spicy+happy(?) version 🔥! 💀! (The Gilded Cage on AO3)

The actual happy ending 🤗🍬 (Fidelity on AO3)

The Truth Can't Hurt You, It's Just Like The Dark (AO3 link)

Slice of Life

Professor Hob and Thirsty 24/7 Dream inspired notallsandmen's Kirby!Dream meme. 🔥! 😂?

Tiny Dream AU - Sometimes, when Dream is in the Waking World, he likes to be small. So he retreats into a Barbie doll house that he has since renovated into a Dream doll castle.

Playtime 🔥 (AO3 link)

Urban Fantasy Spy AU - Dream (half-eldritch being, tech officer) and Hob (full human with an immortality mutation, field agent) are co-workers working for The Agency, and they have a 600 year history of not liking each other.

Try to Hide Your Hand (AO3 link)

Vampire!Dream Soulmate AU (a.k.a Lord Dimitrescu!Dream AU) - History professor Hob Gadling wins an annual faculty raffle that enables him to take a 3 days, 2 nights trip to anywhere in the world, and he chooses to visit the little village of Dreaming somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Here at the Boundaries of Dream, All Shadow-Wrapped on AO3

Wedding Planner AU - Dream is getting married to Calliope, and the wedding planner is Hob, the one that got away.

events/commissions for charity

Dreamling Week 2023 by (OP: mr-sadman)

Day 1: Meowpheus - 5 Pictures of Dream as Meowpheus, and 1 Picture of Dream as Himself (AO3 link) [Canon Divergence] 🍬 😂

Day 2: Dragon - A New Beginning (AO3 link) [The Hobbit AU] 🍬 🤗

Day 3: Curiosity (killed the cat) - An All-Consuming Kind of Love (AO3 link) [Human AU, Professor!Hob/Student!Dream] 💀! 🔥!

Day 4: Fake Dating - Fidelity (AO3 link) [Show X Comic Swap AU, Show!Hob/Show!Dream] 😭 🤗

Day 5: Jealousy - The Feeling of Freedom (AO3 link) [Hamilton AU] 🍬 🤗

Day 6: Sick - In Sickness (AO3 link) [Canon Divergence] 🍬 😂

Day 7: AUs or Crossovers - Of Surviving (AO3 link) [The Hunger Games AU] 😭 🤗

Dreamling for Ukraine by (OP:dreamlingforukraine)

Try to Hide Your Hand (AO3 link) for seiya-starsniper

Keep Me in Comfort For All My Days (AO3 link) for bazzybelle

The Truth Can't Hurt You, It's Just Like The Dark (AO3 link) for hoblingtyrant

Sandmanniversary 2023 (OP: mr-sadman)

Day 1: Size Kink - Playtime (AO3 link) [Tiny!Dream AU] 🔥!

Day 2: Soulmates + Hunt - The Helpful Stranger (AO3 link) [Vampire!Dream Soulmate AU]

miscellaneous stuff

The Dreaming Loyalty Card

Lord Byron AU memes

#my writing #dreamling #hobrintheus

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