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creatingblackcharacters · 2 months

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"Defying the Default"- Skin Tones and the Presence of Black Characters

Okay, this one is going to be half lesson and half a thought experiment- it may get a bit frustrating, as conversations like this often do- but remember, discomfort is not always a bad thing! So I ask that you walk with me for this one.

It’s also interesting, because I’m going to direct this towards everyone (readers included!), but specifically towards my fanfic writers of media with no visual medium, as I’ve noticed this pattern there, and it makes up a good amount of creators on this site. Okay? Okay.

Behold! Many shades of brown!

I had to wade through a lot of colorism for this, and even this link is subtly racist in its introduction- the idea that brown is ‘unexciting’ 🙄.

Anyway, you know where I’m going with this:

"Chocolate and Coffee"

Even the link above pulled this! Writers who use this... they’re not ‘wrong’ per se but… often uninspired. It feels... Lazy. When you can tell an author has put no thought into the brown of choice, it makes Black readers feel like you believe these are the only shades of brown- that that’s all we look like. Even chocolate is more diverse (white, milk, dark, marbled, cookies and cream?) Coffee can come in numerous shades as well (light, medium, dark roast? Type of bean?)

My first direction to help with this: make it a point to know what shade that character is (whether canonically, or if you're the original creator, look at a reference and write it down) and find a name! Be consistent! Find similar browns to one another. If the canon Black character's skin color is done poorly, find something similar and use that! (I'll get more into this in the next lesson!)

Our skin colors may modify as we age, it changes over the seasons/presence in the sun, and some people even have vitiligo! But we're not gonna be “dark roast coffee” one morning and “light milk chocolate” suddenly. We're not chameleons lmao.

And you know what? That shade you choose might very well be 'coffee'! But it's not going to be because you didn't look and assumed we're all some random brown! That’s the intent showing! If we can find endless ways to describe the beauty of white/pale skin, we absolutely can for brown! Be willing to unpack why you may not believe brown to be capable of beauty, and work through unlearning that- it will show in your writing! One way is by pausing with yourself, and recognizing when you had a biased thought. Even by this, you’re learning!

Here’s where I want us to get into the thought experiment:

I want you to think about the description of characters in stories (as a whole). Challenge yourself- in the fics and stories you read, how often is anyone blatantly labeled 'White'? Read a story or fic; how long can you imagine them as not-White before it's ever clarified? Because not even 'pale' automatically implies a White person!

You know how I’ve mentioned before that 'Black people are not a monolith'? I can find you at least some examples of Black people fitting some of the common descriptions of white characters.

"Brunette with brown eyes"

(Fun fact: I actually learned back in my Masters program that genetically no one has ‘black’ hair- our eyes are processing it as black, but it’s really just dark brown due to eumelanin. Regardless, if you stand us in the direct sunlight, you will see that our hair is usually just dark brown!)

"Red hair with pale skin"

“‘tanned’ skin with hazel/green eyes”

“blond hair" (period!)

Now, I’m not saying that blond haired Black people or Black folk with albinism are overly representative of my people. What I AM saying is that it needs to not be taken for granted that a reader is automatically assuming a character is White in your piece of fiction- I can assume your character looks like anything if it's not stated! Especially if the OG source is a book or a podcast! We’re just used to assigning these features- and characters- as white until ‘proven not’! The default!

I am guilty of this too! Even still, I reread many of my works and go ‘ah, I didn’t clarify.’ And I have to work on doing better at it. This is having intent for your Black characters, but really, it’s having intent for all of them!

(This doesn't mean going “the Black man said,” the way sometimes people say “the Chinese said” (which…. Tbh we should all stop doing that anyway, it's weird and racist))

My Next Challenge:

Some people may disagree, but- Ahem:

Say BLACK!

Breathe lmao! Take the time to recognize that it's OKAY to introduce a character as Black, to say Black, it's fine! Obviously be sensitive about it, don't shove it in there to “win your diversity points”, but like… People are Black. It's not a bad word. What matters is the context in which you used it!

You don't even have to say it every single time. Really just the first, introductory sentence will do. For example:

“[Character A], a bright, young, Black girl with knotless braids to her mid back, glittering hair clips matching her bright green t-shirt, and a brilliant smile that shined against her bistre skin.”

I recognize that some might argue that by saying “bistre”, you don't need to say Black. But 1) you don't have to be Black to be brown or dark skinned, and 2) There's a social stigma behind even saying Black- of discussing race in general, because it leads to discomfort. Race (as a sociological construct) exists. When we say nothing about it, allowing Whiteness to be the default, we're still emphasizing race, however silently! If you're already doing it... Why not mention it? 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

(here's a good clip of Ijeoma Oluo discussing the difficulty of discussing race; while I highly recommend the whole thing, the relevant clip is 4:25-5:39)

Maybe they're in the Black student organization in a lead position, maybe they're in a Black main cast of a play- it's okay to have those things in the story to help develop the idea that your Black character is actively Black! Just do your research to make sure you’re not leaning into stereotypes!

“There’s no races in my fantasy/future world!”

That’s fair! But I want to give you an example of how people will still project these identities onto your characters anyway:

No one has an explicitly stated 'race' in Avatar: The Last Airbender (afaik); they’re all divided by element culture. YET, many people were offended that a mixed-Korean actress was cast in her role in the live action- they ‘just didn’t see it’, because subconsciously they'd imagined her ‘face claims’ as WHITE, despite it never once being mentioned in the canon! (there’s also a firm sexualization and east Asian fetishization argument to be made about it, but that’s not within the scope of this particular conversation.)

Point is, if you are including humanoid characters in your fantasy stories, fine. You don't need to say ‘Black’ outright. But, that just means that you’re going to have to be even more detailed in your description. Because if I were watching a TV show and a Black actor shows up as an elf… I know what features I’m seeing! Entire protests have occurred over the casting of Black actors in a role ‘meant for a white person’; so... everyone sees it!

Conclusion

This is another reason why intention in character design and writing is important! Context clues and socialization help me understand who your character is. If it works like this for white characters, it can work like that for everyone else! You just have to know enough about me to write it in (and that's where the social and societal bias lie, because how much do you really know about me?)

A way to better understand this is reading books by Black authors (for fantasy, I would highly recommend Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko and Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi) as well as Black literary classics! Finding and reading Black fic authors in fandoms with Black characters! By learning how we describe ourselves and our skin colors, you’ll learn and practice how to appropriately describe us!

Now I can't make you do any of this! But I do want you all- writers especially- to start noticing our bias, how we may default to the experience of whiteness- and how that affects the way we write. When we have Black characters, and really any character of color, we need to start paying attention to how often their features, culture, and activities are emphasized, even for what we may consider to be 'background' details. That’s how we normalize creation and understanding, and become better at writing!

It’s just something to practice; remember, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

In addition, if you are interested in a simple read into why approaching race is so uncomfortable as a whole, I've attached Robin DiAngelo's book here! Thank you to the PDF guru @toiletpotato for the link!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black writers

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ikinremu · 28 days

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what about a tommy fic where he punishes you for teasing him in public.. please and thank you in advance <3

Hi anon! Thank you sm for requesting, hope you enjoy! <3

What you’re told

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Teasing, Public, Pussy Spanking, Light Spanking, P in V, Riding, Cream Pie, Degrading

"Cheers!” A messy, drunken uproar rattled through the Garrison's walls, a faint smirk playing upon Tommy's pinkish lips as he watched the celebration radiate between his men, his arm slung lazily round your shoulder.

The two of you were easily to be deemed the least intoxicated there, though the others made that a rather easy accomplishment considering the amount of empty glasses strewn across the table top. Truthfully, you weren't exactly sure what they were celebrating, though whatever it was seemed to have grown adults grinning like giddy little boys.

Raising your own drink to the brink of your lips, you smiled as the folk conversed in sloppy, practically unintelligible sentences. Your opposing hand rested gently upon Tommy's leg beneath the table. It only then occurred to you that nobody's eyeline was within actually seeing under the surface - given the cramped atmosphere, and an idea sprung into your whirring brain, banishing all other thoughts. Besides, yourself and Tommy were at the very edge of the table, Tommy to your right and a blank space to your left.

With a slight, well-concealed smile, you snaked your hand slowly over the broad of Tommy's thighs, finding the bulge of his crotch as your palm gently brushed over it. His eye twitched a little, though he upheld his unbothered facade as well as ever; if there was one thing to note about Thomas Shelby it was that it was incredibly rare to see him break.

He lifted his tall, half-empty glass to his lips, tilting it backward as it masked his mouth. Softly, you began stroking the length of him through his dark, costly trousers, feeling him harden beneath your teasing touch. He spluttered into the very brink of his beverage less than subtly, caught off guard by the way your pace quickened, applying ever so slightly more pressure.

Briefly glanced at by a few men, Tommy offered a dismissive signal - assuring that he was alright despite the cough.

You made a successful effort to defy attention, just mildly arching your hand as you stroked his stiffening cock through the lavish fabric. He shuffled atop his seat, a light hitch of breath catching in his throat as he shot you a clear, sharp warning glare. You tossed him a kind, innocent furrow of your brows in response, presenting as though you were oblivious to whatever he was implying. This only irritated him further, you could tell.

Finally, you trailed your eager grasp from the harsh strain of his crotch, and you could see the momentary relief paint his face, though you knew it wouldn't last long. Instead, your palm took ahold of his own, slowly guiding it between the warmth of your legs. His jaw ticked. You hadn't worn any underwear, and you wanted him to know it, to feel it. You slid his large, callous hand to the part of your thighs, brushing his fingertips against your bare, slickened cunt. His Adams apple bobbed in this throat, and he quickly wet his lips with his tongue.

Tommy inhaled sharply through his nose, turning only slightly, breath angled hot and quiet against your neck.

"Drop it now, or the fucking second we're alone, you'll regret it." He whispered, "Understand?"

He granted himself another short sip of his drink with with his unoccupied hand.

His words were understood, of course they were, though understood and cared for were two entirely different things.

You sported a sweet smile as the chatter continued around the table, and you lead his familiar touch to the direct, sodden heat of your bare pussy, feeling the rough skin of his fingertips brush against you.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, frustration playing on his falsely calm features.

"Fine." He mumbled in a low tone, "Have it your way."

And you planned to.

--------

The dark, obnoxiously sleek wood of the door slammed behind you as Tommy's strength hauled you into the bedroom.

"What did I fuckin' say to you, eh?" He spat, pale hand rubbing harshly over his jaw as he stared at you with shamelessly pointed frustration.

Refusing to shake your own pride, you shrugged, "Uhm.. I can't quite remember, can't have been that important."

His jaw twitched once again, and he utilised his grip to position you atop the bed, your clothed back pushed to the well-polished headboard as he joined you on the mattress, roughly parting your legs.

"No panties, hm?" He raised one thick, tame brow, "What kind of fuckin' game are you playing, eh?"

Butterflies danced around in your stomach, swarming with anticipation for whatever was to follow.

"Tommy, I-" You began, although judging by the vexation on his features, his question was rhetorical.

With a teasing pace, his fingertips brushed against the slickened arousal of your cunt, toying softly with your clit. "This what you wanted? You wanted my fingers fucking your desperate little cunt, hm?"

A sweet, broken moan slipped your mouth as you nodded frantically, "Y-Yes, please.."

With zero trace of warning, the rough palm of his hand met your bare pussy, a light slap tingling against the sensitivity as a harsh gasp rolled from your tongue.

"Think you deserve my fingers?" He mock frowned, "This is what you fuckin' deserve, love."

You stared directly at Tommy's satisfied face, your own eyes far wider than his.

Once more, you felt the very same smack of his hand against your sopping cunt, this time more intense than the last.

"Fuck," You couldn't help but curse, breath pouring shakily out, your tormented cunt twitching beneath the sting of his hand.

His other hand snaked quickly up your torso, resting quite gently around your throat, offering it a small squeeze.

Each slap felt slightly harsher than the previous, useless pleas filling the air as your drenched arousal pulsed against Tommy's hand.

After each smack, he brought the graze of his thick fingertips to the swell of your clit, granting you mere moments of sweet pleasure before tearing it away.

Despite the punishment, yourself nor your body could deny the spark of enjoyment.

"You're drenched." Tommy chuckled, feeling the heat of your slickness on his pads of his fingers, "You want more, that it?"

"Mhm." You offered a gentle, willing nod.

"Tell me what you fuckin' want, love." He encouraged, a low gravel to his tone.

Breath hitching in your throat, your soft lips parted,

"I..I want you to fuck me."

"You want my cock filling you up like a pretty fucking whore, hm?" A smirk tainted his pert lips.

His hands eagerly seized at your hips, altering your relaxed position, bringing you to straddle him as he leant backward atop the mattress.

Tommy offered the thick of your ass a rather harsh spank, freeing his hard cock with the opposing hand, "You're gonna take what I fuckin' give you, understand me?"

Fist surrounding his twitching shaft, he lined himself with your begging entrance.

"My fuckin whore, isn't that right?" A low, hoarse chuckle escaped his lips, your heavy eyelids fluttering together as his thick, pre-cum coated tip brushed with your cunt. Once more, his familiarly large hand came down on your behind, scolding you. "Look at me."

Stomach flitting, you did as he asked, met with his satisfied features.

"Better." He praised, "So you can do what your told, eh?"

One loud, breathy moan fled your throat as you revelled in the sensation of his length filling you, ridges of your teeth planting themselves down on your bottom lip. A groan vibrated on his tongue as your soaked folds wrapped his cock, squeezing his shaft as you took him in.

At the absence of his hips snapping up, you peered at him, painted in puzzle.

"I'm not going to fuck you, you're going to do it yourself." Tommy stated, and it certainly wasn't up for debate, "This is a punishment, remember."

Having brought the instruction upon yourself, you began slowly grinding your hips upon his, the pair of you swarming the air with both humidity and eager, sultry sounds as you moved. His greedy grip met your ass once more, kneading the flesh, bringing you impossibly closer.

You whined helplessly as the throbbing head of his cock caressed your g-spot, reaching deeper and deeper, his eyes fixated on the motions in which your breasts moved beneath your shirt.

"That's it.." He practically grumbled, chest rising and falling, "Take it."

Your empty palms sought out a rest atop Tommy's well-concealed torso, utilising the hold to stabilise your motions, beginning to bounce so very softly at your own pace.

"You're fucking killing me.." He groaned roughly, landing yet another - far lighter - spank to the rocking of your pelvis, pace quickening rather drastically as you yearned for a new-found sense of depth.

"Fuck.." You whimpered, only further intoxicating Tommy as your chain of broken, breathy noises floated by. The apple of your cheeks flushed with raw heat as your warm skin hit against him, "P-Please, Tommy.."

"Work for it." He instructed, no lenience present whatsoever.

Rather deeply, he grunted as his gratified length twitched between your walls, taunted mercilessly by your hot, dripping pussy. Grasping your behind with a depraved force, Tommy trailed one hand up your spine, swathing the back of your neck with his touch, craning it so your eyes met directly with his own as you moved.

"Fuck," He uttered, "There you go.."

Clenching eagerly, your cunt quivered, stomach fluttering with the intimacy of his hand cradling your neck, helpless moans escaping your throat, skin burning with each intensifying bounce.

You picked up the pace, overworked legs trembling, chest practically heaving beneath the thin cotton of your shirt.

Tommy's plump, pinkish lips curved upward, forming a familiarly smug smirk as his cock twitched, reaching deeper. Abruptly, his loose grasp upon your neck faltered, instead sliding its way over your body, halting between the warmth of your thighs.

His gaze flitted directly up to yours from below, his callous, skilled fingertips merely ghosting over the swell of your clit.

Your teeth punctured down on the pillow of your lower lip, further weakened by the teasing manner in which he brushed over your heightened sensitivity, "Please.."

He chuckled, "Right there, hm?"

Nodding mindlessly, you whimpered gingerly as his digits applied pressure to your clit once more, toying flawlessly with his touch.

The sensations combined with the perfect angle of his tip to your g-spot, you revelled in the build of a familiar, long-awaited sensation brewing in your abdomen.

"I'm so close.." You whispered out.

"Cum on my fuckin' cock.." Tommy encouraged, planting yet another - perhaps more gentle - slap to your ass as he worked his fingertips faster, his words blatantly breathy. He was close too.

Accompanied by the likes of a loud, pent-up moan, the lustful coil in your stomach snapped so suddenly, waves of insurmountable pleasure submerging your body as your orgasm hit, "Oh, F-Fuck.."

His fingers only continued, assisting to ride your orgasm out. As your sodden, spasming walls squeezed him with your release, Tommy groaned similarly loud. Seemingly beyond his control, his hips bucked upward, smacking messily against yours, a warm burst pooling throughout your cunt.

The pair of you breathed in synchronised, heavy breaths, Tommy’s plush lips parting to speak once more, "You going to do what you're told next time?"

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

#smut #smutty #drabbles #oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader

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sytoran · 11 months

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𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

the aftermath of your mindblowingly hot sex with the goddess of lust, natasha romanoff. as it turns out, no one escapes the consequences of their actions.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)

note: once again, howdy, folks! this is the even longer-awaited part 2 to the goddess!nat fic! i am terribly sorry for the wait, hopefully this long chapter will satisfy your needs :)

word count: 3.0k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

Previously...

You, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. The Goddess of Lust, Natasha, granted you one wish as a repayment. You could've had just about anything, but turns out all you need is right in front of you.

Spoiler: It ends up in mindblowingly hot sex with a certain Goddess.

Now, two months later...

"Baby…" Nataha sighs, her eyelids fluttering close as you move under her sheets.

Or, more specifically, as your tongue moves in her cunt.

There's just something about giving the Goddess of Lust the best head of a lifetime that does it for you. Maybe it's her stupidly sexy moans, or the way she twisted her delicate hands into your hair, or maybe just how sweet she tasted.

Or, maybe, it's the knowledge that you're the only one who can ever make her feel like this.

"Please, oh, fuck," Natasha whines, as you move your tongue in tight little circles against her sweet spot. Not quick enough to make her cum, slow enough to make her feel.

"Oh," she whimpers, hearing the lewd sounds of you eating out her soaked pussy on a Saturday morning. You shift under the blankets, breathing hard as it gets warm.

Worshiping the Goddess as you rightfully should was perhaps your favourite pastime, driving her wild with your fingers and your tongue and your cock.

Which is exactly what you felt throbbing in your pants when a hushed whimper of 'Daddy' falls from Natasha's sweet mouth. Your head spins at the title, just like the first time she had ever called you that.

It was half by accident, really.

On a private rented beach in Malibu, with miles and miles of space and no one else, there you laid under the shade of a palm tree, thrusting into the Goddess with a youthful vigor.

"Oh, you feel so good," Natasha cries, scratching her long nails down your bare back. She shakes with each of your thrusts, melting into your touch like your forgotten ice cream in the Malibu sun.

"Do I?" You tease dangerously, both of your orgasms dangling close to occurrence. "Mhm- Oh, yeah," Natasha responds with a lewd moan, moving her hand down to play with her clit.

That's all the extra simulation the Goddess needs before she's tumbling over the edge, clutching onto you as pound into her cunt.

"Oh, I- Oh, please, daddy!" Natasha shrieks when you harshly pinch her nipple with your free hand. It does wonders for her pleasure.

But as soon as those words fall from the Goddess' lips, she retracts like she's been scorned. You halt your movements.

"Did you just call me daddy?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, as Natasha looks away flusteredly.

"...No."

"Darling."

"No! I mean, well yes, but I didn't mean to!" She tries to move under your grasp, her cheeks turning an incarnadine pink.

You take her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, and use the other to still her moving hips. The Goddess pouts at you, but you know better than to give in.

"Has the Goddess of Lust never called anyone 'daddy'?" You ask seriously, trying to make sense of her seemingly unorthodox shame.

"It's complicated." Natasha states, squirmimg under your inspective look. She trails her hands down to your cock again, but you deny her of that pleasure. "We're not done here, sweetheart."

"Fine," Natasha grumbles. "That's the first time I've ever called it out, like, in the heat of the moment. I'm always the one doing the seduction and the flirting, so I call my partner that if I think they'd be into it. It's never been… spontaneous, I guess."

"Oh," you say softly, tracing her rib with a ginger finger. "I think I quite like it."

"You do?"

"Mhm."

"Okay, daddy."

"Shut up, sweetheart."

"Make me."

What pulls you out of that blissful reverie is Natasha's whine. You're not in Malibu anymore, you're under Natasha's sheets.

Even then, you've never felt more fulfilled with this glorious woman by your side.

"Why'd you stop?" Natasha asks, pulling the blanket away so she can see you.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss onto her inner thigh. "Thinking."

"About?"

"You."

"Oh," the Goddess replies, evidently flustered.

"What were you thinking of?" she then says, flirtatiously. She adds on the charm of batted eyelashes, prepared for whatever you might do to her body.

What Natasha wasn't prepared for, however, was the tenderness in which you regarded her with, a serene smile and a warm glow on your face.

"What is it?" Natasha says, laughing awkwardly as you litter kisses all over her stomach. You're glowing, sickly-sweet and dumbstruck.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you, Natasha Romanoff. I love you not because you are the Goddess of Lust but because you have the most brilliant heart I've ever had the chance to feel. I love you for everything that you are, everything that you're not. I love you for your bed hair, and your goofy jokes, and your brilliant green eyes I could melt into a thousand times. I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us. And you don't have to say it back, but just know-"

You take in a deep breath, not realizing that you've spoken so much with quavering breaths like you'd die if you didn't profess your love. Like you'd die if you didn't bare your heart to Natasha. You gulp for air, stroke her face. "Just know I love you. So much. So, so, so much."

Oh.

There's silence, afterwards, like the world has stumbled on its axis and the stars have collided.

Natasha looks at you with an indescribable feeling, like her heart wants to burst out of their seams. It's only when you gently stroke her face that Natasha realizes there are tears on her face.

Why's she crying? Why do you cradle her in your arms with such a ginger tenderness? What did she ever do to deserve this kind of love?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed it," you mumble, almost ashamed. You press another kiss on her bare stomach as an apology. "I'm-"

"No, I- Fuck, I love you too." The Goddess voices hoarsely, her shaky tone a far cry from what should be expected of a regal Goddess. "I love you too," she says again, with more confidence, almost as if it would make the words even truer.

That stupid smile is back on your face again, even wider than before. Your cheeks hurt and Natasha's heart melts.

"You love me?" you ask earnestly, and there's such an innocence and genuineness to your question that Natasha almost cries again.

The impact of 'I love you' sinks in. Natasha feels.

She's never felt like this before. She's never loved like this before.

Finally, in the sacred silence, Natasha whispers. Scared to ruin the moment. Scared to tarnish what could be.

"To every universe and back," the Goddess answers, and your world starts orbiting again.

—

Ever since that fateful day of your love confession, the two of you were inseparable. You would look at Natasha with such wonder in your eyes, wonder what you ever did to deserve this, but the Goddess would look at you the same way, and you knew everything would be fine.

She would take you to any universe you liked, across any dimension. From earth-bound lands to intergalactic islands to space. It was as vast as her love for you.

But, you were riding that high with no heed for the consequences of your actions.

You were foolish enough to stay with Natasha, dumb enough to drown out the warning signs, blindsided by the prospect of loving a Goddess.

You should've known, from the start, that you and Natasha were a race against time.

You should've known that it would end up in flames for you.

You should've known better.

—

Since the very day she was born the Goddess of Lust, Natasha had her life laid in front of her.

To exploit that thrall she was given, to seduce men and the occasional woman, to live above and beyond because she was a Goddess.

That had been her life for over decades, sitting comfortably at the top of the chain on a gold throne; Toying with hearts like it was a daytime hobby, then shattering them like glass.

She slept around for the hell of it, just because she could. Just because she was the Goddess of Lust.

Then came along a stupidly charming attorney with a coffee stain on her suit and the most unusual request.

Just like that, her world stopped revolving around what she was supposed to do, and it started orbiting around you.

And, you, were definitely not what Natasha was supposed to do.

Despite how incredible you were in bed. Despite the plethora of orgasms you had brought her to. Despite how she felt her walls to her heart tumbling down around you.

When the two of you shared that passionate confession of love in bed on that fateful Saturday morning, the Goddess knew she was done for.

Which is exactly why she's currently under the scrutiny of Supreme Headquarters: Intervention of Extraterrestrial Liabilities Directorate, aka SHIELD, aka she's completely and utterly fucked.

SHIELD was essentially the Gods and Goddeses' version of a monarchy, that was infamous for its cruel ruling and cutthroat decisions.

"You're a smart girl, Natasha, and never would I have expected something so childishly foolish to fall from your lips."

The Goddess stood in defiance. Despite all her power and her status, she seemed so small in the wide hall, paling in comparison to the mighty Gods that surrounded her.

That previous statement had been made by none other than Wanda, the Goddess of Magic. The woman was a stature of power and composure in her throne, hand poised under her chin like it was a medieval painting.

"I'm not a girl," Natasha snapped at the Goddess, fire behind her eyes. "And I'm very capable of making my own decisions, despite how foolish they may seem in your condescending point of view."

The Goddess of Magic was irritatingly unfazed by Natasha's outburst, flicking that poised hand and in a dismissive wave. God, Natasha wanted to crush that stupid hand.

"Steve, talk some sense into her. I can't bear to hear any more of her senseless arguments." Wanda said offhandedly, looking over to the God of Justice for support.

Natasha wants to retort that she isn't just spewing senseless arguments, but a warning look from the God of Justice shut her up. Of everyone in SHIELD, he was the most likely to give her a fair hearing. Hence his name.

"Natasha, we're not saying that you're incapable of making your own decisions." The blonde man reassures, pressing his hands together in contemplation. Natasha breathes harder than she should be doing.

"We're saying that what you're doing isn't the best," Steve continues, and Natasha is grateful that the eyes are not on her anymore. The God of Justice had a presence that simply demanded respect, an impeccable aura that no one would dare deflect.

"Sleeping with someone not godly is one thing, but entering a romantic relationship with a mortal, a human being, is simply…"

"Unacceptable."

Natasha intakes a short gush of air harshly at the interruption. It's Thor, God of Thunder. For a God who had lived centuries, he was painfully traditional. Narrow-minded, even.

Thor's loud, booming voice carried throughout the hall, from his electric-blue throne at the far corner. Mjolnir, his trusty hammer, was held in his big hands with a firm grasp. Natasha forced herself not to feel threatened.

Thor continued, firm and hard and oh so unforgiving. "Do you want to end up like my brother, Goddess Natasha?"

At that, the entire hall was silenced. The only thing Natasha could hear was her own sporadic breathing.

Everyone, undoubtedly, knew the story of Thor's brother.

Loki, the God of Mischief. The fallen angel, some said. The devil's incarnate, others whispered.

He had used his power for wrong, abused his status to commit the darkest things imaginable. It wasn't before he was banished from the land of Gods, never to be seen again.

Some say he's still clawing his way out of hell. Some say he's destined for a lifetime of hurt.

"Don't you fucking dare compare me to him, Thor," Natasha growls, and the larger blonde man even seems taken aback by the ferocity behind Natasha's words.

"I- I think what Thor is trying to say," Bruce frantically cuts in, in an attempt to mediate the situation.

The God of Science was a bespectacled man with quirky mannerisms, ever the peacemaker. Logic, to him, was most important of all.

"Is that you, Nat, are a Goddess," Bruce continues. "An all-powerful being that transcends the laws of space and time. You have been blessed with such power, such strength, unfathomable to lesser beings. And Y/N L/N, this earth-bound creature who lives and breathes on the very ground we carved, couldn't possibly be who you want to run off with. I mean, we- you, you're so much more than that."

"You're going to love her, Nat? Give her your heart? You, an immortal being? She's going to die some day, inevitably, and then what will be left of you? A broken, desolate mess, grieving for the rest of eternity?"

Natasha swallows harshly. She wanted to despise Bruce, hate his reasonings and refute his logic – but she couldn't, could she? He was right. Bruce was right.

But there was a part in her heart that screamed, yelled, kicked - she couldn't give you up, now. Not when she'd finally found what she's been searching for. Not when she can feel again.

Not when she's found the love of her goddamned life.

"I'm on Nat's side," Tony says, mouth full of a pink-frosted donut, slicing through the tensed silence. He spews crumbs as he talks, but Natasha doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for the man.

Tony was the God of Heroes. Brilliant but brash, proud yet arrogant, charismatic and eccentric. He was a God no one could explain in few words, and for that Natasha was immensely grateful he understood.

"True love cannot be broken," Tony says, folding his arms. "It transcends all else, goes beyond our social status and our physical capabilities and who we are as individuals. If Nat has truly found it, then who are we to judge? It shouldn't be criticized, it should be celebrated!"

Natasha locks eyes with Tony, in silent thanks. The two of them may butt heads at times due to their self-righteous natures, but in the end they were always there for each other.

However, the rest of the Gods didn't seem to quite agree. There was quiet murmuring amongst themselves until Steve began speaking again.

"Let's settle this with a vote. If majority wins, Natasha will be able to continue her pursuit of a romantic relationship with the human and mortal Y/N L/N. If not, Natasha will be forced to cut off all ties with said mortal and they are to never see each other again."

The Goddess of Lust felt her heart clench. Of course Steve would choose the fairest way to determine Natasha’s fate. Of course this would result in a losing battle for her, based on the prior reactions.

“All those in favour of the disallowance of Natasha Romanoff’s and Y/N L/N’s romantic, physical or any other relations, please raise your hand.”

Thoughts of you swam in Natasha’s mind, of you smiling while kissing her hand, stroking her hair while she fell asleep, trailing kisses up her spine on sinful nights.

Thor’s hand went up first.

“I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us.” That was what you had said that Saturday morning, with a serene smile, so gentle it caressed Natasha’s heart. She remembers the warm glow of the sun, the temptations of paradise, the falsehood of the promised land.

Wanda follows suit.

How could Natasha have let it all succumb to this? Why had she let herself grow so soft and malleable around you? The walls around her heart she had spent so long constructing was so easily taken down by you. You, who wormed your way in and made a nest in the center of her universe.

The next hand that goes up is Bruce’s, albeit with an uneasy look from the man, like he didn’t want to be there anymore.

Maybe she shouldn’t have dived headfirst into love with you, professing her feelings so vulnerably. She was the Goddess of Lust, not Romance or any of that bullshit. A long-lasting relationship had been a childish fantasy, much less for someone who was meant to constantly seduce.

Like a final seal of her demise, Steve’s hand goes up, and only then does Natasha realize the tears that have fallen from the corners of her eyes.

There is a deafening silence that follows the grounding decision, and even Tony doesn’t look so aloof anymore. He’s the only one at the table who didn’t raise his hand.

Natasha swallows harshly, in an attempt to calm the building pressure within her.

She swallows again, willing the tears in her eyes to go away - no way in hell would she openly cry in front of the Gods who put her in this situation.

This time, she wishes the ground would swallow her up instead, to whisk her away from this nightmare of a reality and wake up beside you once more.

“You have until sunset to settle things,” Steve says, a painful lack of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t coincide by the rules, you know what consequences you will have to face.”

For the first time in an eternity, ever since unknown creatures roamed the multiverse and there was no difference between dark and light, the Goddess felt helpless.

Even then, there was only one thing on her mind.

How the fuck was she going to tell you that ‘To every universe and back’ had been a bloody lie?

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigolbitties @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713 @xxsekhmet @marvel_simp @maowlxslay @lizbugwanda @peggycarter3 @flositaa @dooblekhay @aliherrerasz @theo-021 @hopelesslyfalleninlove @secretbackrooms @natasha10273 @justyourwritter69 @theo-221b @wandaromanoff69 @eatkobi @lovelyy-moonlight @morganismspam23 @unexpected-character @rdfgfv

ok i’m literally so tired while posting this ‘cos i just got out of a seven-hour flight like yesterday, but i reallyyy wanted to post this because i haven’t posted anything in so long. anyways I HOPE YOU LIKE THE LORE and just a recap for everyone before part 3:

anyways it’s all set up for more angst and hardcore smut (yes i promise that is in part 3)

natasha - goddess of lust

carol - goddess of galaxies

wanda - goddess of magic

steve - god of justice

thor - god of thunder

bruce - god of science

tony - god of heroes

y/n - basic bitch

#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel smut #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader angst #natasha romanoff x reader fluff #goddess natasha

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darkcircles4lyfe · 2 months

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it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

#lin speaks #bnha meta #bnha manga #bnha 419 #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bkdk #dekubaku #dkbk

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hanniejji · 2 years

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date me, please. oh, we're already dating?

[ kaedehara kazuha x s/o ]

summary: drunk and utterly wasted is kaedehara kazuha. but he's also drunk in love. it's a good thing you are too.

notes: was typing the phoenix fic but i have to get this out of the way so I DON'T KEEP GETTING DISTRACTED GOD DAMN IT KAZUHA | m.list

words: 928 | warnings: alcohol ofc

you're about to punch venti into a pulp.

by the time your group had left the tavern, it was already dark and most of the city folk were already tucked inside their home, with the exception of a few knights and drunkards outside who greeted you a good night… and a concerned look at the boy hanging over your shoulders.

"i want… a ukulele!" he gushed, giggling uncontrollably, "did you see,"—he cuts himself with a giggle—"that one bard with a small… a veeeery small! oh it was a tiny little thing! with strings!"

"yes, i saw love. i was there with you."

the walk to the inn was quiet, only his occasional rambles of traveling, the things the wind tells him, and the random giggles that he does.

archons, he's adorable.

it didn't take long before you reached the inn, lugging kazuha over your shoulder across the stairs and to your room. the man simply fell into the bed like a sack of potatoes, plopping on the soft sheets with his whole weight. yet his face sports a dreamy smile—his eyes are still closed and he resumes his faint whispers of his dreams.

"you better be glad i love you enough to deal with this."

with slacking limbs and weary drowsy eyes from exhaustion—not to mention it's been a long day of traveling for the two of you, with the addition of xinyan—you quickly went around the room to clean up, taking a damp towel and a glass of water with you to the bedside table, taking a seat besides a giggling mess of a kazuha.

"love, are you asleep?"

he muttered something in response, eyes still shut and a loopy smile.

despite the extra weight on your way to the inn, you can't deny that the sight of kazuha being vulnerable and loose—albeit with the influence of alcohol—does not make you feel a little at ease. he doesn't make it look obvious, but kazuha had always been on the guard for something. perhaps it had been a natural thing for him to be cautious and careful even from his younger days, but it certainly makes you happy to see him having his moments to let his guard down, even for a while.

you just hope it won't always be from the influence of alcohol, he can barely handle a few drinks.

you press the damp towel on his forehead, wiping down around his face. your other hand thread through his hair, combing and taking it out from its usual ponytail.

at your concentration and inner state of mind, you failed to notice how his half-lidded and woozy eyes opened to stare at you. sluggish, but desperate to touch you in some way, he wraps his hand weakly around your wrist.

"love?" you glance down at him quizzically.

"am i your 'love'?"

"huh?"

he squinted his eyes right back at you, lips tilted to a pout.

"you called someone 'love'. am i not your 'love'? do you call someone else your 'love'?"

you couldn't stop yourself from huffing, amused. however, this only made him frown, an uncharacteristic whine coming from him and his hand that was holding your wrist flails in a mini tantrum.

"whyyy? why, why, why? why not meeee? are we not lovers?"

"kazu—"

"noooo," he whines, taking your hand to place sloppy kisses on your knuckles, "you can't call me by that name! date me right now! call me love! i love yooou, it's not fair!"

you just hoped that no one would complain about the loud laughing fit you made at this time of the night, but can they really blame you? here he is, drunk and being the most adorable idiot there is. who are you to not find this endearing?

"love—" you grin at the satisfied happy hum he made at the pet name, "—we're already dating."

his smile fell to a shock look, gasping audibly and his eyes lighting up, putting the moon and the lamp beside you to shame.

he looks very much awake—and breathtakingly handsome—despite being wasted.

"w-we are?"

ah, he looks as ecstatic as he did when you first reciprocate his feelings.

"yes, we are, love."

as if to accentuate your words, you litter kisses all over his face, grinning at the chimes of delighted giggles and slight upward tilt of his head. his face is practically asking for more kisses. flustered and pink in the cheeks, yet his drunken state seems to diminish his sense of bashfulness.

"i love you," he sang.

"i love you too, love."

he looks so content right now. his rosy cheeks lifted into a precious smile that only tempts you to kiss them—which you did, as you should—and the happy little giggles that he makes. you place another kiss on his nose.

"get some rest, love. we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

he doesn't resist this time—probably because he got his dose of affection from you—easing into a curled position on the bed, your hand is still in his. the smile on his face softens, eyes shutting and his voice more sluggish.

"can you say it again?"

"which one, hm?

"say… say you love me again."

almost immediately, you leaned close to his ear, kissing just above his ear.

"i love you, kazuha."

"aga… again?" he drowsily asked once more, slipping into a peaceful sleep.

"i love you, kaedehara kazuha."

and i'd repeat it however many times you want me to.

"i love you too~"

maybe you won't beat venti into a pulp. for now, at least.

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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Part 2 now up!

Oooh, yes yes I know exactly what I want to write for these lovely Anon prompts! (edit: oh yeah, Aemond popped off in this one...I was expecting to be writing harsh words, and maybe threatening...but nah he uh kills them)

Aemond x wife!reader | crude language | protective Aemond | violence

Moonlight washed over your face, the cool night breeze rustling your skirts as you snuck outside the Keep walls. You knew he waited for you, just below the descending stone steps in front of you, awash in silver light.

You saw a figure in a cloak, hooded and tall, lithe of frame, waiting for you, his hand on the banister as he turned toward the sound of your hurrying feet. "Y/N." Your name on his tongue like honey as your husband extended his arm for you to take. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost leaving our rooms."

"Aemond." You chided. "That's only happened once, and I had Aegon as my escort, we were both thoroughly in our cups."

"Mmhmm." He guided you swiftly down the remaining stairs, out into the open streets of King's Landing, the Red Keep a looming fortress at your backs. "You were undetected?"

"I had to navigate around some guardsmen, but yes. No one knows we're sneaking off to the fire festival." You looked up at him from under your own hood. "Why are we sneaking, Aemond?"

"Anonymity is half the fun." He mused, squeezing your arm briefly. "I'd rather enjoy the festivities with my lady without peasantry taking notice of our presence."

Firelight up ahead caught your eye. As the two of you strode forward the quiet darkened streets gave way to raucous revelry. Small folk laughing and cheering as fire dancers whirled and spat flame. There was an open pavilion with a makeshift stage whereon actors flounced about in comedic costumes. Bussers carrying platters of drink and food navigated their way through the chattering crowd. The smell of baked goods and sweet delicacies teased your nostrils as you inhaled, sharing a smile with Aemond.

Aemond did not release his grip on you the whole time you indulged in as many festival activities as you could. At all times he had a hand gripping your cloak fabric or tangled his fingers with your own. More often than not, he would watch your face rather than the performances of the acrobats and fire eaters. You would be gazing at them open mouthed in wonder at their skill, then your eyes would flick to Aemond's face, and he would be studying your expression with a soft half-smile upon his curved lips, the firelight reflecting in his lilac eye.

As the night wore on, your feet began to ache despite the support of your leather boots. You were loath to leave, even as the crowd began thinning and the booths of food slowly turned in their wares.

A group of men, huddled together near a mossy stone wall, caught your attention as one of them said Aemond's name in a gruff voice. His fellows erupted into laughter at whatever he'd just said about your husband, and your fists curled into instinctive fists. Aemond's hand at your waist indicated he heard it too, and you glanced up to see he was staring at ground, his lips firmly pressed together as he concentrated on overhearing their conversation.

You both didn't have to strain your ears overmuch as the next words were clear to be heard, spoken in a deep drunken drawl. "He's lucky to have landed a lady like her."

His friends grunted in agreement.

Another man spoke up in a reedy voice. "Landed?" He scoffed. "Bedded is more like. What I wouldn't give to get a piece of her."

You noticed Aemond had stilled so completely, he had stopped breathing as his narrowed eye flitted to the huddle of men.

"Man like that Aemond Targaryen. Missing an eye and all that and still gets between the legs of something like her." A rail-thin man took a derisive swig from a bottle. "I would give her a good fucking and she'd be able to stomach my face."

"Get bent Tarful." His companion growled, pushing the thin man on the shoulder. "I'd love me the chance to put a bastard in her belly though."

"Aemond no!" You hissed, grabbing onto your husband's cloak but to no avail. The fabric was wrenched from your grip as Aemond strode forward, throwing back the hood of his cloak as he unsheathed his sword.

There were three of them, inebriated as they were, and only one of Aemond. You crouched to the ground, feeling around for a loose stone, anything that could be used as a weapon should the need arise.

The men didn't take note of Aemond's presence until he was almost upon them.

"What the shit?"

"Who the-"

"Oh, hells take me."

Horrified recognition slid across their faces as they took in the sight of Aemond's livid face. The prince stood rigid, a hand behind his taut back as he pressed the point of his sword into the eldest man's throat.

"You dare speak of my wife in such a manner." Aemond could barely speak for the overwhelming rage constricting his throat. "You dare have such vile thoughts about her."

His long silver hair shone under the moon, cascading down his back and over his shoulders, his violet eye aflame, clearly indicating who he was even to the drunken men before him.

The reedy man reached for a small dagger at his belt, drawing it and stepping toward the enraged prince.

"Foolish." Aemond seethed, barely glancing at him as his sword flashed in a blur of movement.

A spray of blood, the man crumpled. You gasped, looking away as you covered your mouth.

"Y/N. Leave." Aemond commanded, his tone still hard and imperious. "Head back to the Keep. I will catch up with you."

"Aemond..."

"Go!"

You scrambled upright, running across the deserted courtyard, only glancing back once to see the remaining two men cowering before the Targaryen prince, his long sword still extended, now dripping red.

Few others were still in the streets, and they paid you no mind as you hurried away, back up the hill to the Red Keep. Your stomach twisted with the memory of those men's violating words, and the sound of that body hitting the cobblestones with dull finality.

Aemond was gentle and kind when he was with you. You almost forgot he had the blood of Old Valyria coursing hot through his veins. His fury scared you as much as it thrilled you. You had never before seen this side of your husband. Now you understood a little better why the Targaryens were so feared and respected, the words of their family running through your mind.

Fire and blood.

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dduane · 1 month

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Of parsnips and parsnip soup

So the question of parsnips, and particularly parsnip soup, came up secondary to this quote from an interview with Terry Pratchett. (Thanks to @captainfantasticalright for the transcription.)

Terry: “You can usually bet, and I’m sure Neil Gaiman would say the same thing, that, uh, if I go into a bookstore to do a signing and someone presents me with three books, the chances are that one of them is going to be a very battered copy of Good Omens; and it will smell as if it’s been dropped in parsnip soup or something in and it’s gone fluffy and crinkly around the edges and they’ll admit that it’s the fourth copy they’ve bought”.

And when @petermorwood saw this, he immediately reblogged it and added four recipes for parsnip soup.

These kind of surprised some folks, as not everybody knew that parsnips were an actual thing: or if they were, what they looked like or were useful for.

The vegetable may well be better known on this side of the Atlantic. (And I have to confess that as a New Yorker and Manhattanite, with access to both great outdoor food markets and some of the best grocery stores in the world, I don't think that parsnips ever came up on my personal radar while I was living there.) So I thought I'd take a moment to lay out some basics for those who'd like to get to know the vegetable better.

The parsnip's Linnaean/botanical name is Pastinaca sativa, and in the culinary mode it's been around for a long time. It's native to Eurasia, and is a relative to parsley and carrots (with which it's frequently paired in the UK and Ireland). The Romans cultivated it, and it spread all over the place from there. Travelers who passed through our own neck of the woods before the introduction of the potato noted that "the Irish do feed much upon parsnips", and in the local diet it filled a lot of the niches that the potato now occupies.

You can do all kinds of things with parsnips. The Wikipedia article says, correctly, that they can be "baked, boiled, pureed, roasted, fried, grilled, or steamed". But probably the commonest food form in which parsnips turn up around here is steamed or simmered with carrots and then mashed with them: so that you can buy carrot-and-parsnip mash, ready-made, in most of our local grocery chains.

It also has to be mentioned that most Irish kids have had this stuff foisted on them at one point or another, and a lot of them hate it. (@petermorwood would be one.) I find it hard to blame anybody for this opinion, as one of the parsnip's great selling points—its spicy, almost peppery quality—gets almost completely wiped out by the carrot's more dominant flavor and sweetness.

Roasting parsnips, though, is another matter entirely. They roast really well. And parsnip soups are another story entirely, as it's possible to build a soup that will emphasize the parsnip's virtues.

So, to add to Peter's collection, here's one I made earlier—like yesterday afternoon, stopping the cooking sort of halfway and finishing it up today.

I was thinking in a vague medioregnic-food way about a soup with roasted bacon in it, but not with potatoes (as those have been disallowed from the Middle Kingdoms for reasons discussed elsewhere. Tl;dr: it's Sean Astin's fault). And finally I thought, "Okay, if we're going to roast some pork belly or back bacon, then why not save some energy and roast some parsnips too? The browned skins'll help keep them from going to mush in the soup."

So: first find your parsnips. I used four of them. You peel them with a potato peeler...

...sort of roughly quarter them, the long way...

...then chop them in half the short way, toss them in a bowl with some oil—olive oil, in this case—spread them on a baking sheet, and season them with pepper, coarse salt, and some chile flakes. (I used ancho and bird's-eye chile flakes here.)

These then went into the oven for about half an hour, and came out like this.

While that was going on, I got a block of ready-cooked Polish snack bacon out of the freezer.

On its home turf, this is the kind of thing that turns up (among other ways) sliced very thin on afternoon-snack plates, with cheeses and breads. But we like to score it and roast it to sweat some of the fat out, and then use it in soups and stews and so forth.

So I scored this chunk on most of its sides, browned it in a skillet, then shoved the skillet into the oven for twenty minutes or so. Here's the bacon after it was done.

While it was cooking, I made about a liter of soup stock from a couple of stock cubes. If you can get pork stock cubes, they'd be best for this, but beef works fine.

This then went into the pot and was brought up to just-boiling while the bacon and the parsnips were chopped into more or less bite-sized chunks. After that, the meat and veg were added to the pot and the whole business was left to simmer for a couple of hours while I went off to do some line editing.

Finally I turned it off and left it on the stove overnight (our kitchen is quite cool, it was in no bacteriological danger from being left out this way) and then finished its simmering time around lunchtime today.

And here it is. (...Or was. It was very nice.)

...Anyway, this is only one of potentially thousands of takes on parsnip soup. Recipes for more robust versions—based on mashed parsnips and more vegetables, or different meats—are all over the place.

Meanwhile, as regards how much damage this soup could do to your copy of Good Omens if you dropped yours in it, I'd rate this at about 5 damage points out of 10. ...Call it 5.5 if you factor in the chiles. Soups along the boiled-and-mashed-parsnip spectrum would probably inflict damage more in the 7.50-8.0 range. But your results may vary: so I'll leave you all to your own experimentation.

#parsnips #parsnip soup #Good Omens #Terry Pratchett #Neil Gaiman #recipes

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dr3c0mix · 9 months

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Can we get a zombie horde with a gn! Reader where their abusive family finds them again?

after years of inactivity im fucking back ! sorry for the long long wait but at least im able to put out a few more fics !

Zombie Horde!Reader's Abusive Family Finds Them Again

CW: verbal abuse, abusive family, (mentioned) being rejected food

💀 You haven't always been alone in your travels, in fact, you were with your family when the outbreak happened. But to be fair, you never liked your family..

💀 They would always bully you, boss you around, even put the blame on you whenever something bad happened, the torment didn't end even when there were zombies banging on your doors!

💀 In fact, because of the virus, they got even more cruel to you.

💀 They would take away your food rations for any small mistake you did, make you take the night watch for days on end, even send you out to get supplies just because 'you talked back that one time'!

💀 You couldn't take it anymore and left, knowing anywhere would be better than being stuck in a house of people who did nothing but torture you.

💀 You thought you were safe from them, cuddled up with Ribs in your bed as the others wandered around the abandoned mall, but it all came back when you heard a familiar voice shout out your name from the distance..

💀 "(Y/N)?! I know you're here you runt!"

💀 It was your dad...

💀 Ribs sat up as soon as he heard it and snarled, crawling out of bed and going out to see the commotion.

💀 Your heart raced as you followed him, but it was hard to walk with your body trembling at the thought of seeing him or any of your family again.

💀 "Jesus there's four of them!" "What are you waiting for you stupid bitch?! Shoot em!"

💀 It seems your mom was also there..

💀 You run the broken escalator and see the horde fighting with your family, gunshots ring throughout the mall as you see your beloveds blasted with bullets.

💀 You weren't scared though, they were dead after all, but it was still heartbreaking seeing them get hurt.

💀 You pick up a nearby rock and throw it at your dad to get his attention away from the boys. They all look at you, your family glaring at you while the horde coos at your presence.

💀 "(Y/N) you come here right this fucking second we're coming home!" Your mother shouts at you, walking over angrily and grabbing your arm strong enough to leave a red ring.

💀 Bo fumes and pulls her of you "You stay away from my mate ya hear me?!" he growls.

💀 "It talks?!" She yelps as your dad comes over as well. "Mate? Don't tell me you're hangin out with these monsters! Are you that much of a dumbass?!" he scolds you.

💀 You shrink, knowing whatever you say will make things worse..

💀 "Why you little whore.." Your dad growls, about to slap you, but Screw runs over and pushes your dad away, sending him back a few feet.

💀 Ribs and Soda smile and clap as Bo and Screw help you up.

💀 "You ok darlin?" Bo asks you in a sweet tone. "Is your arm ok? Does is hurt? Do you need a bandaid? I have a pink one with a cat on it.." Screw looks at the mark your mother gave you.

💀 You smile and assure them everything's ok.

💀 "Fucking freaks..(Y/N) do you hear me?! Get your ass up and let's go!" Your dad yells at you again as he stand up.

💀 "They're not going anywhere mean guy!" Ribs growls at him.

💀 Your mom is to the side next to Soda, she sneers at him and he looks back at her, giving her the middle finger, making her scoff and look away.

💀 In a shaky tone, you ask how they found you. You've cut off contact with them for months, there was no way they could find you..

💀 "Hah! Your dumbass thought you were just some person in the middle of nowhere? Half the state knows about your little talkin freak boyfriends!"

💀 You look down in shame as Bo and Screw comfort you "I think it's about time you folks leave..." Bo says, glaring at your parents.

💀 "Oh no you're not kicking us out! We came all this way to get this ungrateful little leech back! We gave them shelter and this is how they repay us?! You should've learned your place and stayed put!" he berates you. You finally snap and yell back at him, telling him all the things you've endured in their household, how you were treated like dirt every day, how you were much better off without them.

💀 Finally you firmly tell them to leave, pointing to the exit as you look at him with no fear left in your eyes. He scoffs "Fine..go get killed on your own then! Don't come to us for any fucking help!" he yells as he leaves, your mom in tow.

💀 Ribs laughs at them as they leave while Soda smiles at you.

💀 After the whole interaction, you were completely exhausted, the boys huddling up with you to calm you down.

💀 You give them all well-deserved kisses for protecting you, they all coo and chirp at the affection and kiss you back.

💀 "Do you still want that bandaid?" Screw asks you softly.

💀 You say yes.

this one was pretty short but expect more fics to be sent soon ! love you guys and remember that youre awesome and amazing !

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carolmunson · 10 months

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the moon had turned to gold.

(soft!eddie x badatfeelings!gf)

and we're back folks. i'm going through it so i had to revisit my kids. the badatfeelings!gf set is a series of ramblings with no rhyme or reason, flow of conciousness. not from a 'you' perspective but 'she/her' has no physical descriptors.

tw: depictions and descriptions of depression (eddie to the rescue). because i'm sad!

Her eyes have been half closed for days -- wakes up and gets out of bed, makes coffee, reads the paper, gets back in bed for an indescerable amount of time. More coffee, hand fulls of shredded cheese, water from the side table that's been there for days. She hasn't been going into work, just in the dark of her room while the hum of the window unit drones on and on and on. He knocks, opening the door to darkness despite the warm glow of golden hour outside -- her black out curtains a bigger success than she expected. She's awake but not really, eyes glazed over watching snow on the TV she moved to her bedroom.

Summer blues she called it, summertime sad. The air is stale, he can tell she hasn't moved much this morning. She hasn't moved much all month. "Hi." Quiet and soft, rounded edges in his voice, "Bad day?"

She uses whatever strength she has to lift her arm out of the covers and give him a thumbs down. He lets a huff of a laugh out of his nose, "Yeah, I see that." Despite laying in bed all day her body is tense and he knows that maybe she'll feel better about moving when she knows the sun is going down. He thought this vampire sleep schedule shit would've been sexier -- but it's not. It hurts to see her like this, so tired from just waking up, so sick of just existing. He's seen her cry more than he has in the years they've been together. But at least she's like -- crying. She never used to cry at all.

He sneaks onto the edge of the bed, his backside and hips nestling in the dip of her waist over the covers, "Do you know what would be nice?"

"Hm?" she asks, body heavy while she flops over to put an arm around where she can reach. "Taking a shower," he offers, hand resting on her hair, thumb grazing her forehead, "You always feel a little better after." "Mhm," she nods sleepily. "I can put your jammies in the drier so they're cozy when you come out," he smiles, voice still soft, still rounded edges. Her lashes flutter before she looks up at him, glassy and glazed, half here half not. Zombie girlfriend, vampire girlfriend, monster girlfriend, sad girlfriend. She's so pretty, he thinks.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Yeah to the jammies in the drier?" he asks. "Yeah," she says, her voice is quiet -- meek. 'Yeah' was her first word of the day. "That," she nods again, deep breath in through the nose and it rattles at the exhale, "Shower, too."

He helps her up and hears the crack in some of her bones, the stiffness in her joints while her face contorts at the change in position. She's been in the same sleep shirt for three days, some field day shirt from college. Green socks on her feet, the tops shoved down her ankles, one nearly falling off. No crumbs in her bed at least -- he knows she's too anxious for that. But the dishes aren't done and the bag of shredded cheese is abandon on the counter. Mugs of varying fullness off coffee are sitting in random placeholders in the small apartment. Forgetful -- foggy.

"C'mon," he coos, pulling her in at the shoulders to take her to the bathroom. She's so tired from doing nothing that she can't help but keep doing nothing. He pulls off her sleep shirt and panties, he helps with the socks, turning the shower on to a medium heat. Forhead kiss, cheek kiss, cheek kiss. Poor baby.

"Do you need help getting in?"

She shakes her head no.

"What do you want to wear for PJs?"

She shrugs. He figured she would.

He pulls back the shower curtain and she gets inside, he waits for the inevitable sigh she lets out when the water hits her. He peeks in, her naked body not important the way it usually is -- its those eyes, half closed -- less sad, less sleepy. Contemplative, alive. Half dead lover. His ghoulish girl.

"I'll leave them in here for when you're done."

He knows he has time to clean up for her -- easy to get lost in the void when you stand in the shower and that's where she is. Here and gone and here and gone again. Tongue tucked away between her teeth -- he almost misses when she's mean. He misses her so bad, but he takes what he can get, even if it's putting sweats in the drier.

When the hot water runs out she emerges, wet hair dripping down onto the new t-shirt -- still warm like the sweats on her legs. Fresh linen scent radiating off her like her coconut conditioner. She doesn't even care that the rest of the house is warm and sticky from the air outside. It's fresher now, he opened the windows and did the dishes. Cleaned out all the mugs. Opened your bedroom door to let the coolness flow to some of the house, too make things less stale. He lit two candles, sugar cookie scented -- it's all you ever bought because that's his favorite.

"Thank you," voice still meek. Still under twentywords today. Eyes a little more open. He puts down the mug he was drying and tosses the hand towel over the faucet of the sink.

"S'no problem, baby," soft round edges, soft round boy. Patched vest left behind on the kitchen table chair, soft cut off t-shirt left behind. Tattooed arms outstretched to her in the sterile light of the kitchen, the sun is down now -- the stars starting to peek out of a dark navy sky.

She lets herself get pulled into him and it feels like it's happening in slow motion -- face in his chest, he closes in on her like a wave. The pressure is welcomed -- she's alive but barely. Biceps crush on her shoulder blades, her neck cracks -- reanimator boyfriend, zombie girlfriend. Living glass doll that feels better off dead. She falls into the hold while he sways with her, chin on her wet hair.

"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone..." he sings quietly while he sways, his own eyes shutting, "C'mon, sing it with me." He feels her head move in a 'no' on his chest. "It's your favorite," he argues, "It'll feel good." Another sigh -- the inevitable. "Without a dream in my heart..." He smiles at her voice, coming out a little stronger than before, he snickers before beginning again. "Without a love of my own..."

"Blue moon," they start together, he smiles a little stronger. She's doing her best so he doesn't push it when she doesn't keep singing. He peers down while he continues, her eyes are closed against his chest but she feels alive. Just safer. The kind of safe where she'll sleep good tonight, might even eat breakfast tomorrow.

"And then suddenly, appeared before me..."

He shakes her to the beat the song normally has, bum bum bum bum. She huffs a chuckle a the shimmying, smile stretching against the warm fabric of his shirt, the inhale like laundry detergent and summer heated skin. "The only one my arms will ever hold, I heard somebody whisper, 'Please, adore me'..."

"That's me," she interrupts, he pulls her in tighter, the sway stops slow. "Yeah," he sighs out, "That's you. Dropped right outta the sky." "Yeah," she says, head tilting up. The whites of her eyes glisten despite the redness creeping in at the edges. "I ordered pizza," he says, "Cause I know you didn't eat."

Her brows furrow, mouth souring.

"I know, I'm awful," he giggles, "Gotta feed the girl in your brain that isn't so sad -- that's my girl in there."

"M'still your girl even when I'm sad," voice back to sleepy meekness, she yawns.

"Yeah, you are," he confirms sweetly, plush lips pressing against her forhead, "Always my girl."

In the cool white green light of the kitchen they stand in damp solitude -- with a heave of her chest she starts to cry. He doesn't need to know the reason, just as long as she does -- as long as he's there to hold her through it. Alive girl. Fully alive in the darkness of another deep blue summer night.

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold.

more badatfeelings here

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things au #badatfeelings!gf #baf!eddie

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jyeshindra · 3 months

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ALL ABOUT LIBRA RISINGS

Hey folks! We're back with the next installment of our rising series centering our artsy socialites, Libra!

A review of the ascendant: it is our mask (how we are perceived), our blueprint for life, the indicator of our chart ruler, the purest manifestation of our energy, and our physical body.

PERSONALITY

Libra Risings are ruled by Venus. As opposed to Taurus, Libra is the yang-oriented airy half of Venus. This means Libra has an extroversive quality to it (concerned with external realities and ego expression) and is more detached than Taurus.

Libra energy focuses more on the ideals of love and beauty. This gives Libra both an artistic and intellectual flair. They are oriented towards refinement and social grace. For these Venusians, there is a proper way to communicate (air) in service of connection and harmony (Venus).

Libra intrinsically understands the value of relationships. Being as such, they anticipate the needs of others and weigh things fairly. There is an amazing ability to see all perspectives with Libra.

These are balanced folk who have a charm that often incites conversation and flirtation. They usually know how to maneuver socially, and even if they're a bit awkward, they tend to be respectful of others and well-mannered. Libras hate anything that's unsightly or crude. There's a proper way to be and Libras will remind you of this!

APPEARANCE

And so their presentation is often just as proper. One word we could even use with Libra is...ah...meticulous. In the same way one may obsess over scaling as they try to perfectly measure something. Libras may have a balanced appearance. All hairs are in place, all buttons buttoned. Shoes will match the fit, hair will be kept and neat. They're very much like Virgo, but Libra is often more fashionable. They know how to dress and like to present an elegant, refined, and trendy look to the world. It'll be something that speaks to their innate sense of beauty, the same sense they project onto the world.

WHAT DO YOU SEE, LIBRA?

What needs justice? Who needs help? How can I make things more equitable and fair? How can I refine this? How can I make this more beautiful? Like Pisces there can be cases of rose-colored glasses, but Libra has a more cerebral approach to their environment that separates it from Pisces. An ability to judge and weigh all options equally.

ANGLES IN THE CHART

Libras will have their 4th house ruled by Capricorn, giving a Saturnian edge to their childhood experiences. There was likely always someone to enforce the rules and create boundaries in the home. This likely gave the Libra their sense of authority and lawfulness. The emotional climate of the home could've been cold as Saturn has a frigidity to it. Boundaries and rules are useful, but depending on the astrological personality and whatever the soul contracts are...the Libra's relationship to such restrictions in the home could have been something they rebelled against.

A 10th House in Cancer means Libra Risings will ultimately be seen for their devoted and caring nature. Their careers will likely have something to do with serving other people. Libra Risings have a deep sense of love and justice for the world and do not want to see harm being done to others. Cancer ruling their public life and persona makes sense here, these ascendants want to give their heart to the world. Something about their emotions may be on display as well, Libra Risings could turn to art to express themselves or take the role of some sort of public defender (Cancer is a protective energy).

I also think this may indicate that Libra Risings may go through a couple different careers! I feel as though Moon-ruled houses are subject to a lot of change seeing as the moon shifts constantly.

7th House in Aries...phew...we can take that a couple different directions. Subconsciously, Libra Risings will likely repress their own assertiveness/ego. They will want to keep the peace which may take the form of people-pleasing! Such behavior often builds resentment and denies the person healthy expression of boundaries/ego. These Venusian ascendants than project this onto their partner or seek it out in their relationships. To be a little traditional, this is the compliant housewife seeking an aggressive provider. Or good girl seeking bad boy (to be even more simplistic). It could also simply mean that Libra wants to be in relationships with people who have a healthy sense of self. A lot of Libras are relationship-people, I see this all the time. In this case, I'd say Libra Risings simply want their relationships to remind them of who they are. Their partnerships become a stabilizing force in this way, empowering the Libra to make their own choices and love themselves even harder. Personally, I think that's beautiful.

Libra Risings, ultimately your ability to see and balance all is your power. Your esoteric ruler is Uranus, the planet of innovation and insight. Your mind when applied to the world and your community can help raise the vibrations of love and fairness. Our society benefits from both your romance and your wit. Never change.

-jyeshindra

#astro observations #astrology #horoscope #natal chart #zodiac #astro notes #astrology signs #astro community #ascendant #libra #libra ascendant #libra astrology #libra rising #rising sign #astroblr #astro posts #tropical astrology #natal astrology #astrologer

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wuishu · 10 months

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She's everything. He's just Ken

(I love the Barbie movie so much)

“WHAT THE FUCK? I AM DONE WITH THIS GAME. I don't wanna do this anymore!” he whined while covering his face in frustration. Despite his efforts to work his way out of his enormous debt by streaming another truck sim, he still failed miserably. He was not really angry, he was just putting on a show. He was also getting tired, and doing this stunt made his end stream funnier.

“Alright, I’m done. I’ll read your donations, and then end stream.”

Finishing his late-night stream, he couldn't wait to just rest with his girlfriend on a couch, watching movies until their eyes fell. He sighed and walked towards your recording room. You were currently streaming a game that wasn't a sweat-inducing game, but a chill game. Talking to chat while reading donations, you were getting comfortable when you heard your door open.

“I’m still streaming.” You moved your mic away from your mouth and looked at Schlatt. He hummed, indicating that he heard you. Your relationship was public, but people seeing you together in a stream was new to you. He was different on his channel, the usual crazy, anger-issued guy who has odd humor; he showed your viewer that he’s different when you're together.

“Hey, Y/N’s chat” He waved his hand at your camera and smile, he found a wooden chair near you and pushed it next to you so they would see him on your stream. The chair was a bit small compared to you, but he still looks bigger. “What are you playing right now?” he asked you, handing him your other bud to let him hear the relaxing background music.

You slowly swerved your chair, so you could be close to him. “It’s hidden folks. It’s like where's Waldo but listen” You pressed the chest and a man used his voice to imitate the sound of a chest opening. “Oh wow, not weird at all” he smiled

“It’s not weird, I think it’s cute that they're using their vocals for the game” He nodded and looked at your monitor, trying to help you find the things that you needed to win. You on the other hand, watched your chat roll looking at what they thought. He held your hand and moved the mouse to hover over a person. “There, that little shit hiding in the bush.”

‘Well, you look at that chat. What a helpful man”

After about half an hour has passed, he was getting so tired of helping you that you gave up and talked to your chat. Slowly he laid his head on your shoulder and also answering some of chats questions. You placed your hand on his hair and patted it like a cat. “Yeah, we wanted to watch the Barbie movie, but our free time rarely collides.” You didn't realize that Schlatt was falling asleep because of how soothing your voice was and how gentle you are at massaging his scalp.

: Your ken is falling asleep

You slowly looked at your screen that opened your stream. You can see his eyes closed while he is silently snoring. “My ken is asleep… Alright, chat. I think we're gonna head out. I’ll see you guys on Monday,” you whispered.

You woke Schlatt up to let him know that the stream had ended, he walked to your shared bathroom and started brushing his teeth. After doing everything he needed he lay down, and made himself feel comfortable in bed. You did your nightly routine while scrolling through Twitter, you noticed a screenshot of your stream earlier and a picture of Ken placing his head on Barbie's shoulder and clinging onto her for dear life and the caption was “They're literally Barbie and Ken”. You giggled while brushing your hair.

"Babe, are you awake?” he hummed quietly. You got on the bed and suddenly a hand was wrapped around your waist.

“We should totally watch the new movie Barbie tomorrow.”

#schlatt #jschlatt #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #idk man #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt imagine #schlatt fanfic

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snaccpopstudios · 10 months

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Hi everyone! We're here with the long awaited post on our newest bachelor, Simoun. We know you've all been abuzz with questions about him so we hope to answer some of that in this deep dive into his creation. This post is in lieu of our usual Wednesday devlogs as we've been writing this over the span of several weeks, and was co-authored, edited, and reviewed by Tobias, Jude, ToyboxToonz, Primarvelous, and Sauce. The above image was drawn by @toyboxtoonz.

You can read the full post for free on Patreon, or click the readmore to see it all!

Personally speaking, some of my concerns since Simoun's debut are thoughts like "Do people think I'm making SnaccPop Studios push an agenda?" and "Do people think I'm going through a checklist while making new characters?" It's made it difficult for us to write this quickly because this is quite personal to myself and the rest of the sensitivity consultation team on the DachaBo team.

Concept to Creation

The story of DachaBo begins way before SnaccPop Studios itself was even a concept (that's Sauce's story to tell though). Early Patreon art of Simoun exists from November 2022, back before I was signed on to manage the Patreon and any other projects besides Sunny Day Jack. Sauce had some ideas laying around for several other characters in the DachaBo universe that didn't make it into the proof-of-concept demo:

I dug up an old draft for the DachaBo cat character we teased and it featured a story concept where the cat character was originally a female DachaBo character, referencing the original female design. And overtime he got tired of how he was being treated and decided to change his own self to reflect who he wanted to be, not the sycophants who collected the toys and whatnot ... It was shelved because I didnt have the means to sensitivity check it The designs are half cooked is all but he was supposed to be Indian ethnicity coded for no other reason than I've never seen a character like that

One thing that's important to note is that there definitely are Indian folks who are gender diverse (see Hijra on Wikipedia for a quick primer on one of the traditionally recognized nonbinary genders in South Asia) so it's not a novel concept by any means, but it's also not very common in media whatsoever.

Why The Long Wait?

One of the other contributing reasons as to why Sauce wasn't able to do much with the concept at the time is because we didn't have a VA for him confirmed yet, as I explained in May:

One thing that's rather unique to SnaccPop Studios in all of my experience as a game developer is the fact that all of our series involve coordinating with Voice Actors from the start, which means we need to take the VAs themselves into account when making characters. Adding another layer of complexity in hiring is the fact that SnaccPop Studios is a strictly Erotic Adult brand focusing on masculine love interests, and even if we focus more on the softcore, there's still the unfortunate stigma that any 18+ work has when attached to your name. All of these contributing factors make the potential talent pool that much smaller. This isn't to make excuses: I know SnaccPop Studios can do better on this front. While we can't make changes to some of the existing series' main cast (we don't want to put people out of a role they've been promised), we will do better moving forward to incorporate more diverse characters into our future titles, and that's a pledge

In the field of voice acting, it's best practice to cast actors with similar backgrounds to the character they're voicing, particularly for characters from marginalized populations (ethnicity, culture, gender, etc.), because it's a recurring issue in all professions where marginalized folks are regularly turned down for employment or career opportunities. You don't have to look far for instances where other voice directors failed to cast the proper talent for a character, even in the AAA sphere where they ought to have the resources to be able to find the proper talent; at SnaccPop, we wanted to avoid that situation at all costs.

Finding Simoun's Voice

So we had to confirm a VA first before we could do anything. Sauce, Reece, and I all tried to put private ads out for a trans masc POC (any ethnicity with dark skin) actor for a R18 game, which was largely met with silence at first, then responded to by folks who didn't fit the role in a full capacity (many only hit one or two of the criteria we laid out, some of them none at all). And it's not hard to imagine why: it's common knowledge that the majority of erotic works often fetishize marginalized people who are otherwise underrepresented in mainstream media. Things such as skin color, body type, hair color, age, etc. are treated as traits to be objectified, and on the off chance that queer folks or people of color might see themselves in porn… it's usually not for the most flattering or empowering of reasons. How could we, an exclusively Adults-only studio, convince someone who isn't familiar with us that we wanted to make something for people like them rather than something that turns them into mere masturbating material?

We were almost about to give up on the Catboy until I decided to take a chance on contacting a VA whom I hadn't had any formal and proper interactions with before. I'd been a fan of his work and knew him from an audition he sent in from a previous game I had worked on, but he knew me solely by name at best since we were following each other on Twitter. Still, it was a lead, and after chewing my nails for half a day, I shot off a message to Soren Viloria.

And what do you know? He said he'd give it a shot as his first NSFW role.

Naming the Lad

Soren is a Filipino VA, and despite the fact that I myself seem to be mistaken as Filipino by other Asians quite regularly, I'm actually not as well-versed in that culture as I ought to be.

There's actually a reason why we were so secretive with Simoun's name for a while: he didn't have one yet, so internally we just kept calling him "the Catboy." We wanted to pick a culture-appropriate name for him, something that was meaningful: Soren initially suggested "Siopao" as it was a common cat name (it's a type of Filipino Steamed Bun, so think of how many pets you've seen who have names like Cupcake or Nacho Supreme), but that didn't seem serious enough for a tsundere catboy like him. A few days later, Soren did a little research on a few well-known characters from Philippine media/culture that fit the bill a bit better:

Elías from the Philippine Revolution novel Noli Me Tángere (a required reading in the Philippines). Cat may like his radical tendencies for revolution and his deep, devoted connections.

Simoun from Noli's sequel, El filibusterismo. Holds revolutionary values similar to Elías, but far less noble and more of a loner. Violent at times, and will do what it takes to get his way.

Panday/Flavio, a very popular hero. Part of his charm is that he doesn't have special powers, but took matters into his own hands and forged a magical blade. Has been portrayed in both 'cool' and comedic ways.

Ricardo "Cardo" from the Philippines' longest-running TV drama Ang Probinsyano. Just a cool action hero dude who cares about family, but is also very ambitious and angy.

Seeing as how we already had an Elias Gallagher, Simoun seemed to be the perfect fit, and the name stuck pretty easily.

Simoun's Boundaries

Now that Simoun had a name, we were able to talk about him more seriously beyond the simple "tsundere cat" tropes. You've all already met Gil Finnegan, who we originally brought into SnaccPop Studios to handle the narrative design for DachaBo but was then onboarded to help with Sunny Day Jack, and those of you in the Patreon Discord server are familiar with our mods Tobias and Jude; along with me and Soren Viloria, that brought the grand total of openly trans masculine members on the team.

We all talked about our personal experiences as trans masc/AFAB people, what things we rarely saw reflected in both mainstream and indie media, things we wanted to see more of. Something we all agreed that was difficult to find was trans masculine folks in sexually dominant roles in erotic media, whether that was live video, audio, writing, art, or a combination thereof; there was only a handful of series we could count on our fingers as far as sexually explicit content that featured trans masculine people in roles that weren't exclusively submissive/bottoms, and the majority of us had already seen those or at least heard of them before (ie. Gummy and the Doctor and Sasha From The Gym were prominent ones). Either discovering this content was difficult due to Search Engine Optimization favoring depictions of trans feminine folks, or it simply didn't exist.

All of this, along with the backstory that Sauce had for Simoun, led us to determine that Simoun would be adverse to submissive roles in intimate situations. Simoun isn't the type to want to be penetrated either due to previous trauma surrounding his gender. Bear in mind that this isn't meant to imply or suggest that there is only one "acceptable" sexual preference for trans masculine folks, nor is Simoun meant to represent all of trans masculinity; he may be our first trans masculine character but certainly isn't the last, as we hope to feature more types of characters at SnaccPop Studios.

As an aside, it should be noted that the trend of erotic trans feminine content being more readily available doesn't necessarily mean that trans women have more positive representation per se; for every kinky piece of art created by trans feminine folks out there, there could be ten more works that fetishize and objectify their bodies. We probably don't need to tell you about the common derogatory slurs that have been used to refer to them; trans feminine and trans masculine people deal with varying levels and types of transphobia as well as situations that oversexualize (or even undersexualize) them, and it's important to focus on content that doesn't strip them of their autonomy.

There actually was a period of time between the release of his concept art after Soren was onboarded where the team observed comments both on Patreon and in the Discord regarding Simoun, and we discussed how we could avoid having people try to ship Bo and Simoun together; because Simoun hasn't had bottom surgery of any kind, we wanted to ensure that tokophobia (fear of pregnancy) or dysphoria wouldn't become a thing for any of us involved in the team or for our trans masculine Patrons. It was a bit of a chicken or the egg situation, trying to keep up with the evolving comments about Simoun to try and anticipate what people might accidentally say.

Debut Day Thoughts, & Moving Forward

We were quite happy with the general reception everyone had with Simoun, and we're excited to see so many people taking a liking to Simoun after his reveal. SnaccPop Studios has always strived to provide inclusive and diverse stories for those who don't often get represented in media, much less NSFW media, and the team was quite elated to see folks who were just as happy to see Simoun.

We hope that the love and care we put into building Simoun has shone through in this post and will continue to shine as we write more of him for DachaBo, because we're just getting started.

#dachabo #character design #trans masc #transmasculine #transgender #minors dni #gamedev

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mittensmorgul · 8 months

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Hi everyone! I just need like two minutes of your time.

Have you enjoyed all the scripts that the @spnscripthunt has posted over the last few years? Have you screenshotted them and written meta and made gif sets or just cried over your favorite scenes again? Have you supported the group in any way?

Would you like to OWN one of those scripts, autographed by the stars of Supernatural?

Maybe you miss participating in GISH, doing some wacky fun good in the world and the style of fundraising we learned there-- that many people making small contributions can come together to change lives.

Well, we are down to our last little stack of scripts now, with no new scripts coming on the horizon. This project has been thrilling, and we're trying to send it all off with a bang. We're giving away the final portion of the collection, all signed by the cast and crew, and hopefully doing a little good in a very big way.

We picked RIPMedicalDebt as our final charity, because of the exponential power of increasing how far our donations will go. $10 donated pays of $1,000 of medical debt, free and clear with no tax burden to the recipients! With a small donation, you could literally change someone's life.

We get that folks outside the US might not understand how completely messed up the US healthcare system is, so for some perspective, 65% of people who file for bankruptcy in this country do so directly because of crushing medical debt. We know personally how horrifying the medical insurance system is in this country. One illness, one accident, can be financially devastating. But we can save a few people from having it completely destroy their lives.

We got the idea from John Oliver. This entire episode is eye-opening about debt in the US in general, but the part we're specifically interested it begins around 17 minutes in.

youtube

We're already a quarter of the way to our goal! Thank you to everyone who's already donated! What we need now is to spread the word!

If you've spent any time at all enjoying the work we've done, the scripts we've collected and shared with fandom, we're hoping you'll consider sharing our posts widely with anyone who might be interested. Our contact network has been demolished as twitter collapses (and historically the vast majority of our contributors have come from twitter), and we're practically begging just for a signal boost.

All the details on how to donate, and then enter the raffle can be found right here:

You can also see all the prizes we'll be making available, too! And if for some reason you're not interested in a prize and just would like to support the campaign, that's fine too, of course!

(but the prizes are super cool... at least we think so...)

You only have until November 5, 2023 to enter the raffle, and our final group of prizes will unlock when we hit $5000 donated (which could pay off half a million dollars in medical debt!)

Please help us spread the word, and good luck!

#supernatural #spn script hunt #signal boost #Youtube

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fresne999 · 7 months

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Half way through the journey of our analyses

I feel like roughly half of the analysis I'm reading about OFMD S2 is folks who clearly fixated on a character (it's Izzy, it's always Izzy that inspires this kind of analysis) write analyses that cause the 2nd response of, "Um…did you ever study literary analysis in school."

Now I come at this from a slightly odd place in that I did study literary analysis in school (30+ years ago) where I learned it's possible to interpret anything about any way, because we're all bringing different lenses to the analysis. Which isn't to say that an author can't have an intended interpretation.

Dante in Canto V of Inferno (Divine Comedy) would still like folks to understand fixating on the two damned-lovers and ignoring the details that the artist is putting in there for you to catch about how they are damned because they won't change the toxic patterns that got them there in the first place. Also, they can't because they are in hell, and hell is like that. That Dante-the-writer had Dante-the-character swoon over those same two damned-lovers (because Dante-the-character is on a journey of moral correction) is hilarious, but doesn't make it any less the point of that section of the work, but I digress.

As a career, I am very aware that folks love to misinterpret what is meant to be very clear instructions. Of course, I'm writing policies and procedures, which is a bit different from writing fiction, and is worlds away from creating a t.v. show. But that's the life experience that I always bring to literary analysis. Frequently, people choose their interpretations to fit what they want to see, and that's part of being human.

I've seen a fair number of folks interpret Izzy's redemption arc in S2 as one of a queer man struggling with disabilities and mental health issues whose struggle is made meaningless by his demise. Which sure, you could interpret it that way and in that it's coming from I'm sure an emotional place, I get it. And hmmm… I might give this interpretation more credence if I hadn't read a lot of Izzy analysis for S1 that was wildly different than the text.

So let's take a step back.

First, know the rules of the literary universe: OFMD is a show where the reality is not ours. It is either the Core Universe or something very close to it. BTW: If you've never heard of Core Universe or read the seminal BtVS+HtLJ "When Hellmouth's Collide" (https://www.ltljverse.com/index2.htm), a Core Universe is one where everything lines up. Row boats are magic, and where there is a Badminton, he will accidentally stab/shoot himself.

Terminology more befitting of that fancy literature degree might be to say that OFMD functions along the logic of Magical Realism. Characters will appear briefly for the purposes of the story and then disappear not to be mentioned again (Nana, Calico Jack, Mary Read & Anne Bonny). Things align because they are meant to align. It is a universe where the Gravy Basket is a real place, and meant to be taken seriously. It's also a universe where a man may become a seagull, because he loves the sea. You change for love, but the ways you change may be positive or toxic.

They can result in a bird that never gets to know rest. Always flying over the sea. Or they lead to becoming a bird, who can float in the sea or land on a unicorn's leg.

Transformation.

Anyway, S1 - Stede commissioned a ship with secret passageways. It did not have a buxom mermaid on the prow, nor something more befitting a ship named the Revenge. He commissioned a unicorn prow and went off to become a pirate.

A not particularly violent pirate. But a pirate who didn't have a problem with the violence of piracy. See Stede telling Lucius (hardest working man on the ship in S1) to take notes during a violent raid where the show's logo was literally carved into the chest of a dead man.

BTW: The tone about violence is darker in S2, but the violence was there in S1. It was just presented in a more whimsical way. The nose jar was full of noses in S1. We heard about Blackbeard's violence. A man was skinned alive off screen, but we focused on the Prussian (but also sort of French) party.

What Izzy needed to be redeemed from was established in S1. The problem is that folks who interpreted Izzy as a) the central focus of the show and b) a put upon manager just trying to do right by his crew (or as one Tumblerina referred to him as the man/father of the family going out to hunt - excuse me while I vomit - and support his family as men must do), are not going to understand what Izzy's S2 arc was all about.

Ed and Stede are the main characters in a romantic story. There are other characters with their own arcs, but they are the main characters.

In S1, Stede created a safe space where characters had a chance to breathe for the first time. Possibly ever, and as a result revisited parts of themselves they'd lost. Wee John got back in touch with his roots as the son of a seamstress. Frenchie got back to what he loves, scamming the rich. The Swede sang like a siren of the sea, because it doesn't always have to be scary.

Ed had his first good time in years. After expressing suicidal ideation to Izzy because of his terminal boredom in S1.E4 - Discomfort in a Married state, Ed found himself some balance. Some sweet marmalade.

Ed and Izzy were in a toxic relationship that only reinforced their toxic behavior. And yes, I'm going to overuse the word toxic. While piracy is a place where you can go be yourself and shag whoever you want (whatever happens at sea stays at sea), it's not a place where you can be soft. Gentle. Emotionally open. Available.

Ed's only path out that he could see at the time was to plan to skin the face of the man who built a ridonculous boat with a unicorn on the prow and wear it for the rest of his life. A plan to send Stede to Doggy Heaven.

BTW: This is why Izzy uses the line in S2.E3 - the Innkeeper, that they put Ed down like a mad dog, so that Stede could reply that they sent Ed to Doggy Heaven. Reiterating this concept of piracy as violence, as taking away faces / identity / lives, but also losing one's own. Forgetting even what day of the year it is. Also revealing that Stede knew about Ed & Izzy's plan to murder him, send Stede to doggy heaven, and had moved on.

This is also why the respite in S2.E4 - Fun and Games is so critical. Mary Read/Anne Bonney are portrayed as direct parallels to Stede/Ed. They are selling what are, no doubt, the spoils of their piracy. But they've chosen a remote location with no community, but each other and a life where they are not actually communicating. Which on its surface is where Ed and Stede end up, and yet…the Revenge can sail back. They are on the shore facing the sea, not in a jungle lost from a clear view. I'll quote the relevant Dante in just a bit, never fear.

Ed and Stede's new inn has the potential for a solid foundation, because the unicorn has been planted firmly in the ground, and if we get an S3, I firmly expect the unicorn leg to have transformed into a tree, because I've read a lot of medieval literature and that's how that sort of thing works.

Well, it could be a penis tree (this was a thing in medieval marginalia), but somehow I don't think it will be.

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

Back in S1, the plan to murder Stede and take his identity broke down despite Izzy trying to perform an intervention to get Ed back into the toxic soup, and ended with Ed curled up in a bathtub and opening up about murdering his father. An image the show chose to flash on the screen multiple times in S2 just in case folks forgot that this was a traumatizing event for Ed, and was itself the culmination of years of traumatic abuse at his father's hands.

Just as Stede kept flashing back to the moment his father tells him what it is to be a man, and kills an animal, the blood splashing on Stede's wee little face.

That this is the point of the show. Transforming past trauma. It's there. You always carry the scars. Sometimes, you decide to tattoo yourself with the image of the thing you fear, and then the thing you fear is always there, but you've got to keep moving forward. To stay in one place, to stay trapped in the same emotion/action, is hell. I've read a lot of lit crit of Dante's Inferno. Trust me, it's the same thing.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the events of S1E6 - Here Dragons Be, because it's where the pustule of his relationship with Ed breaks. His attempted intervention fails to get Ed to kill Stede, so Izzy tries to kill Stede. Not realizing that a) Stede is a main character and b) this is a Core Universe show. Where it's possible to win a duel by being stabbed in the left side of your gut and stay there for many hours and not die. So he loses the 1 thing that defines him, his job.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the events of s1E8 - We Gull Way Back, where he enlists Calico Jack to lure Ed off the boat (with all the toxic masculinity that entailed) so that the British could show up and shoot the head off the unicorn, and kill Stede. So Izzy can crawl back into his old patterns / job / life.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the big drama confrontation in S1E10 - Wherever You Go There You Are, when as a person whose entire identity is tied up in being Blackbeard's First Mate and after realizing that he couldn't cut it as a captain on his own, he does whatever the f- he can to get Ed back into the toxic soup so he can get his old role/job back.

This isn't to say that Ed's off the deep end actions in S2.E1&2 aren't his own choices. He is a main character. His emotional arc is one of the driving forces of the show. But they are the choices of a man who wants to die. After a lifetime of violent action that had been increasingly drowning him, he wants to die in the violence of battle, but the enemy are never good enough. He wants Izzy to kill him, but Izzy won't. Until he does…sort of. He wants to die in a storm. He's carving notches on his wall hoping to lure Ned Low to him so that he can die in pain. But Ed is the devil and does not die.

Except Ed's not the devil. He doesn't have a head made of smoke. He's a man. Not a fisherman. Not a fisher of men, and what an interesting attempt to go Christ himself off into the wilderness only to be fired for not being that good at it, and then receive his letter from the deep.

Because in a show full of magical realism, the bottles with messages will reach the intended recipient eventually.

"In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood for the straight way was lost. Ah, how hard a thing it is to say what that wood was. So savage and harsh and strong, that the thought of it renews my fear. It is so bitter that death is little more so. But to speak of the good that I found there, I will tell of the other things I saw…and like one with laboring breath comes forth from the deep onto the shore, who turns back to the perilous water and stares, so my spirit still fleeing turned to gaze upon the pass that has never left anyone alive." Dante, Canto 1, Inferno.

Instead of dying, Ed goes not to Purgatory (sorry I'd quote the opening lines, but Inferno actually works better here), but to the Gravy Basket, where he confronts the spirit of Hornigold. Dead spirit. Aspect of Ed's self. Both. Neither. Hated. Self. Unkillable.

Is saved by a goldfish incarnation of Stede.

But just as the imaginary as Stede's vision of what / who he thinks he needs to be for Ed, this is not true. Life being what it is, Ed and Stede rush when they need to go slow. They break apart because they are saying words, but the other person is hearing based on their own interpretation.

BTW: The clue Dante-the-writer gives the reader in Canto V of Inferno is how one of the damned lovers, Francesca, explains how she hooked up with her brother-in-law, Paulo. She describes reading an Arthurian romance. She and Paulo kissed when Gwenevere and Lancelot kissed in the story. Except the version they are reading (and Dante tells the reader which version this is) was intended as a cautionary tale. Also, Paulo and Francesca were real people who were murdered by Francesca's husband when he caught them together. So there is that too.

I always like it in fiction when characters misinterpret each other because they hear based on their life experiences and don't hear the things that are said/unsaid based on the life experiences of the other person speaking. That's good writing. It's also how we end up with wildly varying interpretations of works of fiction.

But I digress.

Izzy's S2 arc is that he must let go of his relationship with Ed and turn to others. He must learn to let go of toxic masculinity and let in softness. Not weakness. Water is not weak, but it is soft. Calypso, goddess of the sea, is not weak. Her birthday is whatever day you need it to be. She is vast and deep and soft and relentless.

In Ro-sham-bo, it's a shame that there is not a gesture for water. Because it is not paper that defeats stone, but water that wears away the stone. Of course, scissors wouldn't do much to water either, so that would sort of break Ro-sham-bo, so I suppose it must stay as it is.

It is through a craft's project that the crew of the Revenge find healing. Turn Izzy into the unicorn. A unicorn that Izzy's own actions caused to be decapitated with a British cannon ball in S1. That Izzy rendered legless (drunk). But the Revenge is a boat. They just need to swim/sail. It is through a craft's project that Izzy is able to offer healing to Lucius, who in turn is then able to turn their art away from fixating on Ed, and the trauma that he's been through and back towards love, and Black Pete.

But it's not possible to see Izzy's S2 arc, if you didn't interpret S1 Izzy as needing to go through his own gravy basket.

That Izzy dies because his transformation is necessary. He can't leave Ed, and if he doesn't leave Ed, then Ed can't stop being Blackbeard. The kracken. He literally tells Ed this as he chooses to transform. To free the world of Blackbeard, so Ed can be Ed. Yet, I've read so many posts by folks saying, "But why did he have to die?" Which sure, you can choose not believe what the character says while dying.

Which is a narrative privilege. To get a good dying speech. "There he is" get to be transmutted from an attack to an actual seeing. The larger than life concept of a smoke headed pirate can waft away.

Stories are hard to kill. They live on long past us, and as long as someone is remembered, especially in a universe like OFMD, we live.

Though always reject the gift of a clock. That's someone telling you that you've only got so many hours left of life. If you are a character in a story.

Thus the other parallel in this season is Izzy to Auntie and Ed to Zheng Yi Sao. Auntie must allow Zheng softness. Izzy must go through a sea change to something new and strange. Also, this would be a case of Doylistically the writers needed to line up Olu with Stede for that to work, and thus the new configurations of Olu and Jim's relationship, which, shrug, could be poly. Could be friends to lovers to friends. Woulda, coulda, had more time, but that's on Max for not giving us 2 more episodes.

Prince Richard was trying to become a concept, but was too in love with the mechanics of it. Stede was trying to become a concept too. Found his fame, and all too quickly the toxic end of that particular route. Magical Realism was on his side until he tried to face down Zheng Yi Sao, the Queen of Pirates, and then the rules of the story weren't. Because those clocks were ticking. Everyone was in a very dark wood. The memory of blood splashed on Stede's face as a little boy was a warning. It was a reminder. It was the wrong lessons we take from our childhood and must unlearn to become whole.

Having the final shot of the show being Buttons landing on the unicorn leg as a reminder that this is a show about transformation. One thing becoming another thing. Somewhere the dead are dancing in Calypso's court. A dance below the sea and on the sea and with the sea. While the living keep sailing on their magic ship to do…I don't know.

Because the Golden Age of Piracy is coming to an end. They'll go create new worlds and new places to be. Transforming.

If we get no more of the show, this is a resolution.

Since I've been quoting Dante, I'm going to end this with the final vision in Paradiso. Because folks who haven't been reading my analysis for the last 30 years / read it, may not realize that the Divine Comedy (a story that begins in sorrow and ends in joy) ends with the vision of a 3 way rainbow.

"In the profound and shining Being of the deep Light, three circles appeared, of three colours, and one magnitude: one seemed refracted by the other, like Iris’s rainbows, and the third seemed fire breathed equally from both. O how the words fall short, and how feeble compared with my conceiving!…Power, here, failed the deep imagining: but already my desire and will were rolled, like a wheel that is turned, equally, by the Love that moves the Sun and the other stars."

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd analysis #ofmd meta

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delopsia · 1 month

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Icing | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 5,300 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, improper use of icing, food is mentioned several times, blow jobs, grinding, hand jobs, overstimulation, planning for a wedding 💐 it's porn with a very vague plot Brief Summary: This icing, in particular, is not going on the cake, but you don't mind so long as it's on Bob Floyd.

"Are you sure this is how we're supposed to do it?"

"What makes you ask that?" Bobby chirps, barely audible over the hum of the hand mixer. His eyes flick down to the cake pan held between your hands. "Seems perfectly fine to me."

The beater bumps into the edge of the bowl. Icing splatters across the countertop.

You think that might be the whisper of a swear, crossing the room.

"I don't know, it just...feels weird," but you're pulling open the door to the oven, anyhow. A plume of heat washes across your face, like the blaze of a campfire, threatening to roast you alive.

But fortunately, the only thing being baked is this tiny pan of cake batter. Locked away to its doom of inhumane temperatures until it rises to perfection.

"Honey, there are only so many ways you can bake a cake," Bob's entirely unaware of the blue icing staining his cheek as he reaches for a damp cloth. Now that you give it a squint, you reckon it might be up in his hair, too.

"Well, last I checked," reaching out to swipe at his face with your thumb, raising it to your lips. Different color. Same taste as before. "Most folks don't have to bake their own wedding cake samples."

His head turns back to the thin list of instructions, scanning over where he left off, and—oh, well, he's got blue in his hair, too.

"Hey, get a load of this," Rhett's voice echoes from the living room, socked feet thumping across the hardwood. "They're sellin' that ol' rodeo property in town."

You're not entirely sure what woke him; if it was the clatter of skillets as you clumsily withdrew them from the oven, or if it was the bickering over why Bobby continues to use the appliance as a storage unit. It had to have been something you two did; fifteen minutes is astronomically short for a Rhett nap.

Maybe he never went to sleep to begin with because he's got a newspaper in hand. Today's date sits proudly in the corner, next to his thumb; he must have picked it up from the gas station on his drive home.

"We should buy it," waggling the paper in his hand, like it'll somehow convince you and Bobby to scrounge up ninety-five grand for an arena that has been abandoned for the better half of two decades.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Bob's mixer kicks back on, an obnoxious noise sounding through the kitchen. Surely, there have to be quieter models out there. "We'll put an offer in next week."

"Ha. Ha," Rhett's eyes roll, the newspaper falling onto the recently cleared counter, right where Bobby was saving space for the blue icing. "Funny."

His mouth opens like he's got more to say, but nothing slips past those thin lips. Soft blue eyes flicker across the counter, scanning across your rainbow assortment of icings, the sample baggies of sprinkles and candles, and the portfolio of decorative figures. Not one of the premade couples comes with a third partner, but you're not entirely sure if you want to go that route to begin with.

Rhett's nose wrinkles; lost. You've got nothing more than a shrug to offer.

"All I'm sayin' is," picking back up on the hanging conversation, he reaches out to poke his finger into an open dish of sprinkles. The ones made to look like pearls. There were more, but half got lost when you accidentally ripped the package open. "You'll have a lotta time on your hands when ya leave the Navy."

The mixer shuts off.

"Who said I was leaving the Navy?"

Rhett's lifting a pearl to his mouth, obnoxious tongue poking out to catch it. "You, last night."

"And the night before that." You add, with a nudge of your shoulder.

And the night before that one. Sometime five mornings ago. Again, last week. After the most recent deployment and the one before that. Before the engagement and way before the house was bought...actually, when has he not talked about this?

The pearl cracks so loud that you almost wonder if it chipped Rhett's tooth. His brows furrow, shifting the hunk of sugar around in his mouth. "The hell are you two doin'...?"

"We're baking our wedding cake samples," and even with Bob saying it so matter of factly, it doesn't sound right. Nothing about this picture is correct.

Rhett's head tilts to the side. Even the dark hair cascading into his face can't hide those questioning eyes.

"See?" Throwing your hand out as if Bobby hasn't noticed the puppy-dog of a man standing on the other side of the island. "Even he's confused by this."

Nobody bakes their own wedding cake samples. This is your sign to find a better bakery! Before the stakes grow even higher!

Careful, Bob pulls the mixer from the bowl, turning around to drop the beaters into the sink. "He's always confused."

"Hey!" Rhett squawks. "Ya jus' gonna say that 'n turn your back to me?"

Not a word leaves Bob's mouth, deliberately keeping his back to you and Rhett as if to drive home his unspoken point. He's doing his best to remain firm, but even so, you can see the way the corner of his lip rises with every passing second. Must be able to hear the way Rhett's rounding the corner, big hands reaching out to grab hold of bony hips.

It's a little too easy for him to force Bob to turn.

"What, can't say it to my face?" Any venom in Rhett's tone is lost in the midst of his chuckle. Amused.

Still, Bobby remains quiet, defiantly folding his arms across his chest, like that will somehow stop the smile from bursting onto his pale face. It's a losing game. Rhett knows it. You know it. He knows it. The whole world knows it.

Rhett's tilting his head, leaning close. "Say." Kiss. "It." Kiss. Bob's hand reaches out toward the counter. "To." Kiss. "My." Kiss. His finger dips into blue icing. "Face." Kiss. "Pal." Kiss.

One blink, and you nearly miss it. The swift drag of Bobby's fingertip, smearing the artificially dyed sweetness onto Rhett's thin lips. Leaves just a big enough mess for him to lean in and press his mouth to Rhett's, that soft pink tongue darting out to lick it off. It ends as quickly as it started, with Bobby turning back to the counter, already beginning to pour another pack of sprinkles into an empty container.

Rhett's wide eyes meet with yours. Bewildered.

...huh.

"What do we think of lemon?" Bobby's speaking as if nothing ever happened. Acting it, too.

You're not entirely sure what he means by that. "I'm sorry?"

"Cake flavors," holding up a non-descript packet of mix. "There's lemon in here."

Rhett's nose wrinkles, and you can't help but wonder if he's recalling the sourness of the lemon pie you two tried to put together for Bobby. Worst damn welcome home present you've ever made.

"Is there a difference to the icin'?" Rhett asks, poking at one of the bowls.

"They're all the same." Bob's head shakes, sprinkles audibly pouring out of the packet and into yet another bowl. Who's gonna wash all these dishes, anyhow?

Rhett's eyes meet with yours. Brows furrowing, like this is the most absurd thing he's ever heard. If the initial confusion hadn't already worn off, you reckon you'd be feeling the same damn thing. Who does this, and why are you just letting it happen? Is your life so devoid of joy that this is what you've allowed yourself to resort to?

Or is Bob Floyd just very, very good at convincing you to blindly follow his lead?

Idle, Rhett's hand dips into some of the icing. Slow. Flying just below the radar of Bobby's peripheral. "So why'd ya make every color?"

And your poor WSO hasn't the slightest damn clue, reaching for yet another container of sprinkles. "To see what—"

Rhett's big hand presses into Bob's pale cheek, vibrant orange icing splattering against his skin. Dragging down, down, down his neck and onto the little bit of chest peeking out from the low collar of his shirt.

You know what's going to happen before it even starts. Bobby's fingers dive into a pool of pale yellow. Smacking it into Rhett's broad chest, gets the base of his neck and all. And Rhett's reaching for the pink, dragging it across an unwitting forearm. Bob's going for green. Reaching for Rhett's scruffy jaw. Giggles bubble through the air.

Blue splatters across the kitchen floor and across your shirt.

Your white shirt. "Hey!"

"He started it!" Bob squeaks. But he's stumbling backward, bumping into you as he reaches for another bowl—ammunition for the next attack.

All Rhett can do is grin. "Did I?"

Insufferable.

Your hand darts out from your side, venturing to the counter.

Purple splatters across Bobby's clothed belly. The only spot you could reach.

"Both of you?" Bobby's squawking. Twisting. Turning until he's got his back to the sink and not you or Rhett, his vibrantly colored hands held toward the ceiling. Surrender, or preparing his next move? You're not sure yet.

God, he's a mess. Splatters of orange, pink, blue, and plain white, stretching from his nose to his belly; you think there might be a little bit of purple lurking beneath his chin. Rhett's not doing much better, green clinging to his jaw, chest decorated with a vibrant smear of yellow.

"What else are we s'pposed t' do with all this icin'?" He asks, lifting his fingers to his lips, short pink tongue darting out to lap up the sweetness clinging to his skin.

Bob's eyes roll. You wonder if he's noticed the drop of green on his lens. "Well, wearing it shouldn't even make the list!" But it's nothing compared to the icing on his neck, sickly sweet and spread thin over the thick vein that bulges from beneath his skin.

"I can think of a few ideas," muttering, entranced.

Out of his peripheral, Rhett meets your eye. The corner of his lip twitches up, fingers slipping out of his mouth with a wet 'pop' so loud that it echoes through the kitchen.

"What..." Bob swallows. Adam's apple rising and falling. Soft blues flicker between you and Rhett; must be able to read the thoughts filtering through your head. "Would that entail, exactly?"

You don't know who steps forward first. But one way or another, your sticky hands are finding their way to Bobby's chest, bracing yourself as you lean in. Rhett's so close that his hair tickles your cheek; he had a longer distance to cross than you did, and yet he's already beating you to the point. Licking a fat, wet stripe up the side of Bob's neck.

And you're in hot pursuit. Licking up the other side, trailing across that thick vein, multicolored icing greeting your taste buds. But that sugary sweetness is nearly dulled in comparison to the soft mewl that rolls out of Bobby's mouth, his head rolling backward.

"Okay..." he breathes, "that's..."

The flavor of this icing is far from your favorite; it isn't even close to the one you had in mind when contacting the bakery, but you can hardly pay it any attention. Nothing but a mild annoyance when you've got this to preoccupy your mind with. Bob's hand, working its way up your side. Rhett's soft hum, downright delighted with this predicament.

Careful, your lips press to a soft patch of skin beneath his ear, sucking lightly. Not enough to bruise his terribly sensitive skin, but still managing to leave behind a faint redness in your wake. One tiny little mark after another, spots blending amongst the vivid orange that you've yet to lick up.

This icing, in particular, is not going on the cake, but you don't mind so long as it's on Bob Floyd. Him and his sticky, heaving chest, squirming as you work lower, lower, lower. Teeth grazing across his collar, tugging on the flesh stretched thin over the bone there.

Rhett's shoulder knocks into your side, a little too broad to be squeezing himself in next to you. His hands venture to the hem of Bob's horribly stained t-shirt, yanking upward.

"The cake," Bob's panted protest is hardly one at all, "you can't...it'll burn." And yet he's obediently lifting his arms, letting Rhett pull the shirt over his head. Maybe letting it fall to the floor isn't the best idea, but you're in no position to raise even the slightest objection.

"We have time," you murmur. Lie. You don't even know if you set the timer.

Frankly, you don't care. It's just too damn easy to forget about. Letting your mouth find its way down Bob's pale chest, a thin trail of saliva marking your path as if you could possibly become lost in this familiar terrain.

But even though you've had a head start, Rhett still manages to beat you to the checkpoint, his lips wrapping around a delicate nipple. So sudden that Bob jerks beneath you, his feet stumbling. Two can play this game, though, and Rhett can only pay attention to one thing at a time.

Without the slightest warning, you sink down. Knees thunking heavily against the cold kitchen tile. They'll ache when you ultimately climb back to your feet, but that's for the future version of you to worry about. Right now, your bold hand is soothing over the heavy bulge in these sweats, feeling how Bobby twitches from the simplest touch.

"Can't believe you're already hard, Robby," teasing, your thumb swipes right beneath his tip. The wet spot forming in the thin gray material is like a reward.

"You're..." his head rolls, fingers tugging at Rhett's hair, "surprised?"

Not in the slightest.

It's Rhett who reaches for the thick elastic of Bob's waistband. Watching through thick lashes as you help pull it downso swiftly that his cock brushes your cheek as it springs up to smack against his belly. Flushed a bright ruby, a small bead of precum running down the underside of him.

"Shit," Rhett swears; it's so quiet that you can hear the way his knees creak as he settles down next to you.

And now both of you are down here, caught up in some kind of perfect synchrony, leaning forward to run your tongues up the sides of Bob's cock. Relishing in that shuddered gasp as you and Rhett meet at his head, lips brushing in what was meant to be a sloppy kiss, but it's more of a clash of tongues than anything. Broken apart by Bob's soft cock head, caught perfectly in the middle.

"You...." Bob's hand bumps into your cheek, thumb stroking the skin there, "fuck, you two are..."

Rhett's chuckle is all it takes to have Bob's sharp hips bucking forward, pushing himself right past your parted lips. Wasn't exactly next up on your itinerary, but you're rolling with it as if it was. Sucking gently, tongue swiping back and forth beneath it. Teasing while you still can.

Not a single beat is missed. With the delicate hollow of your cheeks and the lazy way Rhett mouths at the side of him, it's almost hard to believe that this wasn't choreographed earlier in the day. As if anyone could have predicted that Bob was serious about this whole 'baking cake samples' thing.

"Y' likin' that, Bobby?" Rhett hums, pausing to graze his teeth against delicate skin. "Watchin' both of us on our knees for ya?"

You're leaning back, and Rhett's moving in to take over for you. Doesn't need to use his hands, as he sucks that leaking tip into his mouth.

Bob sucks in a breath. His other hand dives into Rhett's hair, tangling in the mess of it. "How could I—mhm, not?"

All of a sudden, Rhett's sliding further down, eyes scrunching shut as Bob knocks into the back of his throat, but that's never been enough to deter him. It's a wonder he's got a gag reflex at all. You can't help but twist yourself around, a hand coming to rest on his lower back, bracing yourself as you find your way to the underside of his jaw. Air audibly puffs through his nose. Always has been sensitive here.

Sweet, too, with all of this icing to be licked up. There simply isn't another person cut out for this sort of job. The artificial flavor is far from your favorite, but you can't be inclined to share. Not when he tries to lean into it, a muffled grunt rumbling out of him.

Above you, Bob can't close his mouth. "That's...oh, that's—"

A shrill beep tears through the air. Once. Twice. Thrice.

So you did set the timer. Lucky him.

And Rhett laughs. Barely able to pull away before he chokes, swollen lips glistening as they meld with the shape of his smile. "Guess ya gotta check that, flyboy."

This is the first and likely the last time you'll see Bob Floyd check an oven with his sweats pooling around his thighs, heavy cock bouncing as he leans down to see what he's doing. Is the cake done? Or burnt? You haven't the slightest clue because Rhett's kissing at the side of your neck, and any self-control you had left dissolves in an instant.

"Shame y' didn't get more of this on ya," he's speaking into your skin, vibrating right up into your head and rattling all your thoughts off their metaphorical shelves.

The stain on your brand-new shirt is speaking otherwise. "This stuff doesn't even taste that great."

"'s good when it's on one of you," he does, unfortunately, make a really good point. The kind that lets him get away with pushing your pants down your legs, underwear and all, right here in the damn kitchen. So much for trying to break the habit of kitchen shenanigans.

You wonder if this memory will wander back into your mind the next time you invite guests over and eat in this kitchen.

Rhett's hands settle on the sides of your waist, pulling you into him as he leans backward. Knocking the back of his head against the tile can't feel good, but he doesn't react in the slightest. Too busy pulling you on top of him, your legs straddling his wide hips. They hitch upward, so strong that they push you along with it, as he shoves his shorts down his legs, cock audibly smacking against his belly, swiping against your thigh as it drifts past.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" Your hands brace against his chest, chasing the illusion of stability.

"Mhm," is the best he's got to offer, and he's hardly got to guide you any further. You're already beating him to the punch, grinding down against his length, letting him slip between your parted lips.

Fuck, it's been a while since you last felt his weeping cock head drag against your clit. You wonder if he can feel the way you involuntarily clench around nothing, sent into a mindless spasm from that alone.

Bobby's knees audibly knock against the floor, and you're not entirely sure where his sweats went. "You two move too damn fast."

"Maybe you're just slow," there's nothing but playfulness in your tone, albeit the slightest bit breathless. You can't help it. Not when you've got this going on between your legs. Rhett and his big cock rolling up into you, chasing the feeling of your pussy against him. Beads of precum slicken the glide, every motion punctuated by a sickly wet little noise.

"'n ya say I'm the one always givin' ya trouble," Rhett's not doing much to help his own case, but then again, you don't think that was his goal.

It's an awkward angle, with Bob sitting on his knees and Rhett laying against the floor, but he's craning his head up, tongue greeting the underside of Bob's cock. A fleeting sort of thing that only lasts a moment or three.

"You're gonna upset your shoulder if you keep doing that," Bobby hums, not making any move to stop Rhett from trying at it again, lips stubbornly wrapping around his mushroom tip.

There's a spin in your head that wasn't there before. Lightheaded over the sight before you and the sweet throb of your cunt, sliding against Rhett's shaft like you're aiming to win a first-place trophy. Hands flat against his heaving chest, trembling arms hardly keeping your body upright as your hips roll.

"Can feel ya gettin' wetter round me," Rhett's eyelashes are fluttering, and it's all he can do to keep himself from knocking his skull against the tile again. "Fuck."

"As if you're not dripping like a damn faucet," your words hitching on a gasp, the embers of a whine building in the back of your throat. Getting off to this wasn't on your list of plans, but with every soft massage of his plush tip, you're growing closer to writing it at the very top.

Rhett's back arches off the ground, legs kicking beneath you, like he can feel the heat that's flooding your lower belly. Makes it so damn hard for you to keep moving your body back and forth, hopelessly grinding back and forth, obsessed with the way he kisses your clit on every pass.

"God, you two should see yourselves," Bobby says it like he's caught up in a trance; you don't think you've seen him blink since he knelt down here.

"Enjoying the show?" Speaking through a gasp. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your eyes are rolling backward, and Rhett's twitching against you, and it's so, so much.

His hands settle on your aching thighs. Blunt nails digging into the meat of them. Does nothing to ward off the shiver that's settled into the muscle there. But his hips are rising up off the floor, and he's rutting himself into you properly now, rubbing against your poor clit over and over and over.

"Rhett—" whimpering high in your throat. Head tilting back. You're...he's...

"C'mon," in that raspy tone of his, wavering with the motion of his body, "cum on my cock."

Bob's cool hand glides up the side of your neck, and that is it.

A choked noise echoes through the kitchen and into the living room. Spasming, cumming to the drag of him against your clit alone. Clenching helplessly around nothing but air, a ripple running up your spine. Your arms crumple out from under you. Stars sparkle behind your eyelids like the night sky. Falling into a messy heap on Rhett's chest, helpless as his cock keeps rubbing against your dripping cunt.

"Ah—Rhett!" Jolting. Oversensitive. And it's all you can do to slide off of him, letting gravity drag you down to his side instead, a leg lazily sprawled overtop his thigh. You don't know if he's laughing or if you're hearing the hammer of your heart beating away in your ears.

"Awful quick," Bob's eyes flick to you, hardly able to conceal the playful glint in them.

You ought to give him trouble for such a comment, but your head is still spinning like it's about to float up into the clouds. The best you can do is to swipe out with your hand, smacking against his belly. "Like you're any better."

Rhett's chest rumbles with a chuckle. You're not entirely sure when he got his arm around you, but it's carefully squeezing you into him. Keeping you snug against his chest as Bobby moves to settle between his legs.

And this...this is a hell of an angle to be observing from. You don't have to move your eyes or tilt your head at all, comfortably gazing at the sight of Rhett's plush thighs caging Bob's waist. On its own, your hand darts out, grabbing a handful of one. There's so much more to squeeze compared to when you first met; he's exchanged that wiry frame for something thicker, stronger, too.

Bob's reaching for his own cock, still wet with saliva, as he leans forward, fingers darting out to wrap around Rhett, too.

One stroke and Rhett's hips lift off the floor. "Shit."

He's so damn wet, with what mess you've made of him and the precum spilling out of his inflamed tip like a dripping faucet. Bob's thumb swipes out, collecting the clear fluid and spreading it onto himself, but before he's done there's already another bead of it forming.

"Good lord, Rhett," Bob mutters, and you're not entirely sure where he got that packet of lube from, tearing it open with his teeth, already beginning to pour the sticky substance onto their cocks.

So much for trying to break Rhett of that habit.

If he'd give Rhett a few minutes, you think he'd spill out enough to warrant forgoing lube altogether, but Bobby can only stretch his patience so far. Never has been able to hold out for very long when it comes to you and Rhett. That big hand of his gives an experimental stroke, a wet squelch sounding through the delicate air; you don't know who groans louder.

What you do know is that the sight before you is downright obscene. Rhett's legs squeezing around Bobby like he'll disappear if he doesn't, their heavy cocks twitching into one another. How Rhett's tip has a darker shade of red as compared to Bob's pale pink. They look so similar until they're right next to each other like this; it's the only way to tell that Bob's a fraction longer but not quite as thick as Rhett is.

Bob jerks forward, pressing impossibly closer. "Does that feel good?" As if he's not speaking around his own strangled breath.

You have to lift your head to get a better look at Rhett's face. Eyes scrunched shut, teeth worrying his thin bottom lip, cheeks flushed with a newfound redness. "Uhuh." His head shakes with what you think is a nod.

Maybe that's an answer Bob was looking for, but you want to hear more. "Use your words, cowboy."

"It feels—" Swallowing hard. A microscopic mewl breaks past his lips. "Feels good!"

He's already dissolving into a mess of squirms, wriggling back and forth, the swift stroke of Bob's hand too much for him to handle. Bucking upward, only to try and draw away, unshaven jaw shivering like a leaf in the wind.

Your fingers drift upward, nails dragging across the soft meet of his inner thigh, knuckles brushing against his balls as you drift past. Lightly rolling them in your palm would draw the prettiest sounds out of him, but today, you've got a slightly different plan in mind. Fingertips wander into the soft expanse of skin behind them, rubbing in loose circles.

A pitchy cry rings in your ears. Rhett's hand flies up. Tugging at his own hair. Desperate to grab hold of something. "Fuck! 'm gonna..." His head thrashes, pretty neck barred to the world. "I'm, I'm—"

"You fixin' to cum for us, sweet thing?" Bobby's voice sounds akin to thunder, a little twang in his tone. His thumb darts out, rapidly swiping back and forth across Rhett's plush cock head.

Curls bounce with Rhett's nod. Hardly able to close his mouth and stifle his moan. Yet, it's so loud that you can hear it anyway. Your fingers keep spiraling, pressing the slightest bit harder. You're almost certain that you can feel the sporadic twitch of muscle as his back arches, cumming with a wail.

A rope of white paints across his belly. The next one caught by Bobby's still moving hand. Disappearing into the squelching mix of lube and precum and your own juices, some kind of lewd recipe for disaster. Rhett's hips jerk. Yanks a grunt out of him.

But Bobby's not stopping. Still pumping their cocks together as if nothing ever happened. If anything, you think he's going faster, and it's got Rhett jumping around like a wounded animal. Mouth wide open. Brows knit together.

"Too much, too much, that's not—ah!" He squeals. Panting hard. Frantically pawing at Bob's hand, but it's doing nothing to end his torment.

"Hang on for me," Bob's eyes scrunch shut. Hissing through his teeth. Close. "You can do it."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't, that—haah!" Rhett's twitching. Wailing. Legs kicking in the air.Still smacking at Bob's rapidly jerking fist as if that can possibly save him, but he's not uttering a single note of his safe word. Merely dissolving into a frenzied babble of, "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby!"

That's all it takes for Bob's pale blue eyes to roll into the back of his head with a soft, deepened groan. Set off by the babbled cry of a helpless cowboy, trembling like a leaf beneath him. Rope after rope of cum, splattering against Rhett's lower belly and all over his softening cock. A visible shiver rakes its way up Bob's spine, and for a moment you think his glasses are about to fall off.

Finally, finally, the motion of that big hand is beginning to slow, loosening until Rhett's length slips from his grip entirely, smacking against his skin. Between the wateriness of Rhett's eyes and the redness in Bob's cheeks, you're not entirely sure where to look. Each are tempting in their own right, but not enough time to focus on both.

You suppose your distraction is why it takes a moment to realize that Bob's actually moving. Leaning down at a snail's pace, his lips pressing to your forehead, lingering for a moment or three before moving on to Rhett's, pressing a kiss to him, too. "Maybe we should call a different bakery," he murmurs, half-lidded gaze flickering to you.

If this is all it took, then next time, you'll skip the arguing and jump right into kissing down his neck. "You think?" There's a hoarseness to your voice that wasn't there before; you blame the icing.

Whether or not he caught the sarcasm in your tone, you have no idea.

"Yeah..." Bobby pauses as Rhett leans in to steal a proper kiss on the lips. "Now we've gotta do something with all these ingredients."

Rhett hums. Sounds akin to a cat purring. "I have a few ideas." You wonder if those ideas include smearing each other with icing again or offhandedly snacking on sprinkles for the next several months.

"I'll hear you out on those ideas," yawning, a strangled little noise escaping you, "when we're in bed."

A valid request, but Bobby's wrinkling his nose at it. "How about a bath, then bed."

"Y' act like we were just rollin' in mud," Rhett's fingers tap at your shoulder, gently squeezing.

"I love you two, but I draw the line at sticky sheets." Well, if Bob wants you to take a bath so damn bad, then he's gonna have to help you find the strength to get off this floor. Your hand reaches out, opening and closing in a grabbing motion.

It takes a couple seconds of looking at it for him to realize what you're asking, but after a moment, he slips his hand into yours, holding it as he rises to his feet. Something in your knee audibly pops as he pulls you up, an ache blooming in the bone from digging into the floor earlier. Your feet stumble, knocking into Rhett and nearly taking him back down with you.

"You're a mess, sweetheart," Bob laughs, pulling on your hand as if you're still due to fall at any moment. You're not entirely sure when you acquired the purple icing on your thigh or the smear of green running down your leg; you refuse to acknowledge the array of colors on the floor until after you've had a nap.

"So are you," not an ounce of venom in your tone, despite the attempt at mustering some kind of sarcastic bite. Behind you, Rhett hums his agreement. Someone started this, and it certainly was not you or Rhett.

"No, I'm not," Bob's beaming, almost proud of himself. "You two licked me clean, remember?"

It'll take the rest of the day for him to notice the icing on his glasses.

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #rhett abbott #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #hawthorn au #oneshot #tw food

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