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hamletthedane · 3 months

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

#shut up e #long post #Saturday thoughts #this has been in my drafts for a week haha #also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong #forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong #because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation #even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it #unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???

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luveline · 1 month

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could i request one of the girls having a nightmare in kbd? 🥺

kbd —dove has a nightmare, you and steve help her get back to sleep. mom!reader

The crying is expected. Toddlers are still babies, in a way, and some start to settle, but Dove is a toughie. She’s more sensitive than she shows, and she needs a soft touch each night to get to sleep, sometimes multiple times a night.

The screeching is less expected.

You tumble out of bed, heavy with your own tiredness and unhappy to be woken. You’d shout for Dove if you thought it wouldn’t wake the others. You settle for rushing. Steve says, “Babe?” as you leave, and you’re thinking he’ll probably go back to sleep.

You nudge open her door. Dove sits sobbing in her toddler bed, the high side to stop her from falling also preventing her from climbing down to see you, her first wrapped tightly in her quilt. “Mommy,” she quivers, holding up her hands, quilt and all.

“Oh, bubby,” you say hoarsely, “what’s the matter? Come here, come here.” You scoop her up into your chest. “It’s okay, Dovey, it’s okay.”

You pat her back. She sobs like you’ve imprisoned her, though after a moment she starts to calm, twitchy but her sobbing less aggrieved. Steve makes his way into her bedroom and guides you back to bed.

“Shh, lovely girl,” you say. “Try not to wake your baby sister.”

Dove isn’t old enough to just shush like that and you aren’t expecting her too. If Wren were going to wake, she would’ve roused at the violent sobbing. Steve pushes the bedside crib toward the wall and ushers you and Dove into bed, looking eager to lay back down, even more so to turn off the light.

“I want it on,” Dove sobs suddenly.

It flicks back on. “Sorry, Dove,” Steve says, pulling the blanket up to her legs. Sometimes when she cries it’s just because she’s woken up and doesn’t want to be alone. You can bring her to bed and that’s the end of that. Not tonight. “What’s wrong?”

“Spiders.”

Your tired eyebrows rise. “Spiders?”

“In my room.”

“There’s no spiders, baby,” you whisper, sliding down into bed with your poor girl clutched to your chest.

Steve slouches down with you into his gargantuan pile of pillows and cushions, reaching for her chubby elbow. “Sounds like you had a bad dream,” he says softly, tongue tied with parentese.

“Is that what it was?” you ask, stroking tears from her cheeks. “Did you have a bad dream, Dovey? There’s no spiders on mommy’s wall, I promise.”

She is not convinced. Dove cries for a long, long time against your chest, her bad dream pervasive and lingering in the scared huddle of her face and her arms tangled around your neck. You hum by her ear, tap-tap-tapping a soothing rhythm into the bottom of her spine, gentle reassuring that doesn’t seem to do any good.

“Want me to try?” Steve whispers.

You pass her over. You’re sweaty where she’d been laying and your cheek is tacky with her transferred tears, too hot in the dim room. Dove grizzles at being moved, doesn’t settle at all in Steve’s arms, her foot digging into your hip as she cries all over again.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay!” he whisper shouts, enthusiastic and adoring, all things loving despite his tired squint.

“Lots of spiders,” Dove cries.

“I won’t let anything get you, bubby, no spiders no nothing. Me and mommy won’t let any of the spiders get you. How about you go in the middle, would that make you feel better? Me and mommy will be on either side of you and we’ll make sure nothing gets you.”

Dove doesn’t answer. Steve slips her into the small space between you, the three of you squeezed together. Long shadows cast from Steve’s arms as he pulls the blankets over her legs and tummy. He rests his hand on her ribs. “No spiders,” he promises. “Good dreams. Mom’s gonna kiss them into your head.”

You lean down and kiss her as suggested. “Dreams about me and daddy and you and your sisters,” you say, though it takes a while, each few words said between pecks. “What do you think? What do you want to dream about, Dove?”

She sniffles. “Ummm…”

“Anything you want,” you say.

“Swimming,” she says finally.

“Yeah? At the beach, or at the pool?”

“At the beach… daddy makes a dolphin.”

Steve let the girls ride around on his back the last time you went. It’s a great memory you didn’t know she had, and it’ll make for good dreams. Steve wraps his arm around you both as you kiss it into her limp hair, murmuring, placating, bringing your pinky to her face to draw lines down the bridge of her nose. She falls asleep not long after that.

Steve rubs the lengths of his fingers into the crook of your arm. “Can I get one of those good dreams?” he murmurs.

You kiss him goodnight. Thankfully, none of you wake again before breakfast time.

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copperbadge · 2 months

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I'm pretty much full up on messenger bags but I still have fabric to use up and the will to Make, so I decided to make the cryptids a little quilted cat bed. They don't like soft or fluffy things, my baby spartans, so I made it fairly plain, then put it on the bed where they spend most of their day.

It's fun, right?

[ID: Two images of a quilted cat bed in bright fabrics, sitting on my duvet. In the second, Dearborn the tortie is sitting just outside the bed, while Polk the tabby is standing in it, sniffing the edges.]

It started out well...but then...

[ID: Polk has somehow flipped the bed over to show the sushi-print fabric underside, and is now underneath it like a turtle, head poking out the "entry" with her tail poking out the back.]

Polk, no, what are you -- that's not --

[ID: Polk has now turned around and is sitting in the bed backwards, with it still upside-down on top of her and her butt sticking out the entry. Dearborn looks nonplussed.]

Dearborn, show your sister how you -- not like that.

[ID: The bed has been flipped right side up and Dearborn is sitting in it, but she is facing away from the entry with her nose pressed to the back of the bed, and it has somewhat collapsed around her.]

Well, I suppose at least they're enjoying it.

#dearborn and polk #cats #cats of tumblr

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miguelswifey04 · 9 months

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miguel o’hara x blind! wife headcanons

love language: physical touch…i think miguel would always cup your face, caress you face, gently rub his nose against yours which earns you some giggles, nose kisses, cheek kisses, forehead kisses, and of course regular kisses <3 but he would always go in the order

he may kiss your neck and collarbone and gently trace circles onto your skin to show you his love…you may not see him :( but you can imagine your husband being handsome (like imagine not being able to see your beloved’s face ☹️)

always holding onto you whether he has his arm wrapped around your shoulders or holding your hand whenever you go so you don’t bump into things, now, you’re capable doing anything on your own but miguel is very protective of you

he made sure that whenever you went out in public you had the best technology to assist you wherever you may go & safe to say it has worked wonders for you !! lyla makes sure to check up in on you every once in awhile and reports it to miguel because he a worrisome person (he tracks your location LMAO)

other than that though, you like to paint and draw on your free-time!! you’re very into arts and crafts so you made miguel a big quilt! he was in utter shock because it was very intricate and pretty, very well made done. he made sure to use it whenever he could :) and he cannot thank you enough for thinking about him <3

miguel is your muse 🧚🏽‍♀️

you’re very outspoken and love to play around with miguel in which miguel adores a lot! “i can’t see you but i do know you’re handsome….” “well, how do you know darling?” “i can hear it in your voice” and you both break out in laughter, honestly so cute 😭

another love language; words of affirmation…you always tell your husband how much you love him and how he his your dream man for as long as you could ever remember :( OH! miguel is very good at affirming his love with you, definitely mutters sweet praises whether you’re doing a chore or doing nothing <3

music is a part of your life

miguel has brought you to many concerts to your favorite artists

gabriel is very fond of you and he thinks you’re a very cool person yet he always pokes fun of miguel because he genuinely thought no woman would ever fall for him because of his stoic and serious nature. gabriel refers to you as his sister and loves you like one

“for as long as i live, you’ll always be the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he says it while he holds your ears in his hands and gently caresses them which makes you all flustered and shy <3

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @meeom @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider person #blind reader #blog post #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel headcanons #miguel o’hara fluff

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sturnslcver · 2 months

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matt fic based on valentine by laufey !!!!!! pls n ty

:ੈ✩‧₊˚ VALENTINE ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

— matt sturniolo x fem reader —

— fluff, smut, sex warning!

today was valentine’s day — to you, valentine’s day was a day of all kinds of love. not just relationship love. it was a day to love your friends, a day to love family, and day to cherish pets, and a valid excuse to gift give and stuff your face with all the chocolate you could find. but this valentine’s day was different, because you actually had a valentine that wasn’t your best friend or your sister. a romantic valentine. while this made you excited, it also made your stomach turn. you had no idea what to expect. all you knew was that your boyfriend had something extra special planned. the term “boyfriend” didn’t exactly roll casually off the tounge for you. this was your first romantic relationship ever. you and matt have been dating a little over a year. although things are great between the two of you, you’ve been extremely inexperienced in a healthy, loving relationship, along with the physical aspect of expressing affection.

you eagerly awaited upon matts arrival, staring out the window watching for his car. you jolted as he began pulling into the driveway, beating him to the front door. “hey.” matt delicately smiled, his hands full. “these are for you.” he exclaimed, handing you each item one at a time. “happy valentine’s day.” the first consisted of a bouquet of white roses and pink tulips. the second was a pink wrapped box with a lace ribbon. you sat on the doorstep, pulling the mystery box down with you. in the box were two pink stuffed animals. a bear and a pig, along with some chocolates, a heart shaped locket, and some perfume. “thank you, matt. this is really sweet. i love it.” you stood back up, your fingertips advancing to matt’s waist as you drew him in for a kiss. matt slid his hand into yours and gently swung it back and forth.

“the sun’s gonna set soon” “i’m nervous” you chuckle. “don’t be. i promise it’s gonna be really chill and fun.” he reassured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“we’re almost there” matt exclaims excitedly as you begin unbuckling your seatbelt. he practically flies from the drives seat, and to your door once the car is parked. he offers a helping hand as you move from the car. he slides up behind you, with both of his hands blocking your view. “am i going the right way?” you question with your arms out. “turn left.” matt mumbles. he removes his hands and a small picnic in a flower field in revealed. “this is so pretty” you glisten. “i’m glad you think so.” matt laughs.

he pats the quilt, signaling for you to take a seat next to him. he plucks a pink flower from one of the nearby bushes and places it behind your ear. “you’re so pretty” he claims. you fall silent for a few moments. no guy had ever seemed so genuine toward you. “thank you” you reply, a smile forming on your face. you wrap both your arms around one of his and rest your head on his shoulder as he prepares the food to be eaten.

he leans further into you and presses a delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth. “take your pick.” he hands you a heart shaped tray of chicken tenders and a variety of sauces. you point to an orange sauce. he opens it for you before the both of you begin to shovel down your food.

stars evidently show up in the sky as the clouds evaporate and the sunlight dims. “i really appreciate you doing all this for me matt” “good, i had fun setting up and im glad i could do something special for you.” his arm snuck around your waist as his fingertips began exploring the small of your back. he started to pepper kisses all around your face. your nose. you chin. your lips. your jaw. your cheeks. you smiled against his lips as he transferred you onto his lap, his hands digging into your waist. you arch into his lap as his hand glides up to your breast, lightly clasping it. your hand advances up, following his touch as his other hand slips up your thigh, under your dress. matt gently pulls away. “is this okay? we can wait. i don’t mind.” he reassures you. you rest your arms around his neck loosely, actually considering if this is what you want. you finally nod. “i want this.” “you’re sure?” he tilts his head and slightly raises a brow. “yep” you shrug comfortably .

he leans back in, hooking the waistband of your panties with his finger. he tugs it down,waving them right above your knees. you begin to pant needy breaths as you and matt advance to open mouth, sloppy kisses. he gently rubs up and down your wet folds, before kneading your clit. you gasp as he unhurriedly slides his middle finger into you, pumping in and out. your head falls into his neck as you ride his finger gathering as much friction as you possibly can as he curls completely into your g spot. “more” you utter breathily as his finger curls into you. “another finger?” you nod violently. between the nipple play and the fast pace thrusts and curls inside you, a warm tingle begins forming at the pit of your stomach. matt bucks his hips as you tug his pants below his thighs. you feel his hard growing beneath you with every bounce down. you earn a sharp whince from him as your fingertips clamp down on his bulge. you palm him gently, allowing a warm liquid spot to form in his boxers. “feel good?” you mumble into his neck. “so good” he whispers back. you slide your hand through his underwear, setting free his hard, red, swollen cock already dripping in pre-cum. you trace the veins around it and spread the juice before aligning yourself with his hard. matt grunts shooting his hips, as you slowly sink down onto his cock. he swiftly takes charge, firmly gripping around your thighs as he pushes himself up inside you. he feels your clench around his cock. his head lands in the crook of your neck before he utters, “you feel so good.” your hands trail up his shirt and you dig into the back of his shoulder blades. his jaw falls slack as your head shoots back, both of you chasing your climax. “i think im close” you whisper feeling the liquid tense in your lower abdomen. “let go” matt replies, his jaw slack. those words were all you needed to hear before your shoulders rose, and the knot in your stomach snapped, allowing you to slowly release all over his dick. he groaned at the feel of your wet coat, before picking up the pace. you gasped, squeezing matts side, as you were highly sensitive. “i’m almost there.” he breathes heavily, as his dick twitches, letting go inside you. he slows down but doesn’t stop, riding out his high. he stays resting inside you as he makes his way to a full stop, both of you resting your heads in one another’s neck, panting heavily. a few moments pass before matt voices, “that was amazing. you were great.” his head lifted, leveling with your glassy eyes. you smiled at him in return, placing a compassionate kiss on the tip of his nose.

matt gently lifted you before discarding all the garbage and swatting the crumbs away from the quilt. he took hold of a napkin, tapping your thighs as a gesture to widen them. he lightly dabbled you, soaking up your mess with the tissue. he flipped the quilt to the other side. your head lay gently on top of his chest, legs intertwined, fingers interlocked, creating your own constellations in the stars as you listened to one another’s breaths slowing and your heartbeats returning back to normal.

he placed his fingertips to your hair, gently stroking it back with one hand, his other occupied up your dress, leaving light scratches to your back. “i love you” he murmured into your hair. your face fell, mortified at the realization that you loved him back. you now had something to lose, something that so deeply infatuated you. you gained back composure, wanting this moment to last forever. “i love you too.” you chuckled. “happy valentine’s day” you whispered up to matt sympathetically.

hope u enjoyed! this was a little rushed since i wrote it in the car!! keep requesting though :) i’m happy to write anything!! 🫶

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sempersirens · 10 months

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a bird in your teeth, I

masterlist

summary: since moving into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, you've become close with the miller family. as a young woman living alone joel is protective of you, and he intends to show you how much so

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. no smut (yet)

word count: ~1k

"Okay, missy. Bedtime!" Slapping your knees, you rise from your armchair to eject the copy of Notting Hill from the Millers' VCR.

You check your watch and curse softly under your breath. 10:06 pm. Joel should be pulling into the driveway any minute.

"Are there really guys like Hugh Grant back in England?" Sarah asks, tossing her quilt over her shoulder and bundling the pillows under her arm.

"If there are, I could never find them."

"That why you moved all the way across the ocean?"

You turned to Sarah, clutching your chest in mock outrage.

"Maybe. I liked the idea of finding a cowboy. Like Clint Eastwood!" You giggled and clapped your hands together. "Anyway, get upstairs before your old man gets home and initiates a Mexican standoff because I let you stay up past nine on a school night."

Smoothing down Sarah's hair, you place a quick kiss on the top of her head before scurrying her up the stairs.

"Goodnight!" She shouted over her shoulder before her bedroom door closed behind her.

Sarah was definitely old enough to look after herself on evenings like these, but since you moved into the neighborhood a few years ago it became routine to watch the teenager whenever her dad was going to be home late. Neither of you minded, you had bonded like sisters over your time spent together, despite your ten year age gap. You got the impression that Joel liked knowing you were both under one roof while he was away.

Ain't no need f'a young woman to be alone too long he would say, always eliciting an eye roll from both you and Sarah.

Living alone wasn't something that bored or intimidated you. On the contrary; independence excited you. The thrill hadn't subsided in the slightest. Texas had been more than welcoming to you since you decided to leave North London for a new life. As soon as you received the scholarship letter to undertake a Ph.D. at UT Austin, your bags were packed and you hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.

You had, however, been immediately put at ease when you pulled up to your new home and caught a glimpse of Joel and Sarah walking to the truck in their driveway, lost in conversation, wide-eyed and giddy on an inside joke. You watched over time as the two spent their days in a blissful world of their own making, soaking up each other's company as naturally as the sun burns into the tops of your shoulders on a hot afternoon.

It had been an exceptionally warm Friday evening when Joel first knocked on your front door.

"Evening, ma'am." He had spoken, tipping his head slightly with his hands tucked loosely in his jeans pockets. Your palms had instantly turned clammy, internally praying that he didn't reach a hand forward to introduce himself.

"Hey. What can I do for you?" You had just about managed a reply between mediating your quickened breathing and trying to actually speak words rather than babble.

The rest of the encounter felt like it had flown by. Joel had invited you to a barbecue, too many burgers for jus' two people, he had reasoned. No such thing, you'd replied. Like you had needed any incentive to accept his invitation. You spent the evening with your ankles dipped in their paddling pool, belly laughing and wiping ketchup from the corners of your mouth. You'd be lying if you said your stomach didn't flutter every time Joel directed a question or comment solely toward you, or that your breath didn't hitch when you accidentally brushed fingers passing him the bottle opener. But that had been then, and you promised yourself you wouldn't get so Pride and Prejudice about a man you had just met. A single father, no less. As time passed, you spent most weekends together along with Joel's brother Tommy. Barbecues, family get-togethers, birthday parties; you were invited to them all. Weekends bled into weeknights, and you became an extension of their little family, let into their secret language of exchanged glances and inside jokes.

Lines were never crossed between you and Joel, but that knot in your stomach never seemed to fade either. You knew it was just an unreciprocated crush; misplaced gratitude for all the kindness he had shown you. Southern hospitality and charm had that effect.

Pulling you from your thoughts, Joel's truck headlights illuminated the living room. You quickly cleared the bowls of popcorn and bags of M&Ms from the coffee table before heading into the kitchen to refill your glass of water.

Joel's keys turned in the door and you heard his shoes wiping on the doormat. He called your name softly.

"In here." You responded in just above a whisper.

He walked in wearing a smart button-up, the top two undone, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

"Pint?"

"If you'd be so kind, darlin'." Joel sighed, pulling out a stool before tapping the one next to him for you to perch on.

"Date not go so well?"

"Do they ever?" He laughed as you handed him a cold bottle of beer. "Not having one f'yourself?"

"They won't if you keep expecting them to be a disaster. None for me, I need to head out soon. Meeting some friends for a few at a bar in the city."

"They're all fine women. Just got nothin' in common. S'probably me."

It made you feel dirty when Joel came back tipsy. With his guard down and inhibitions numbed, he was so open. It felt like you were taking advantage of him. You had to fight everything inside of you to argue with his self-deprecation. Of course it wasn't him. He was the perfect man. You tried to not show too much pleasure at his string of failed first dates.

"Should've told me y'had plans, sugar. I would've come back earlier so you could get goin'."

You waved his statement away. "It's no problem, the less time I'm there the better. I should probably head off, though." Before you could move to grab your keys, Joel's hand hovered over yours resting on the table.

"Thank you, by the way. I doubt I say it enough." Eye contact with Joel always stirred something inside of you. Those damn brown eyes. You smiled at him, softly.

"You don't need to thank me, Joel. I like spending time with Sarah. You know that."

He shook his head slightly. "S'not just that. I mean for everythin'. If you ever need me, you call. You know that, right? Hate thinkin' 'bout you in that house all alone."

It's not the first time he had said something of the sort. You always assumed it was the over-protective father inside of him, bursting out at the seams. Or maybe his Southern chivalry finding its feet after a couple of beers.

"Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it." You turned your hand in his and squeezed once before making your way to the door. You felt his eyes on you as you walked. You always felt his eyes on you. Sometimes you would be changing in front of your window and be sure you could feel Joel's gaze from across the street burning into you. But whenever you turned around, he was never there.

"I'm sorry your date didn't go well." You said, lingering in the doorway.

Joel scrunched his nose slightly and shook his head.

"I'm not."

a/n: hi guys! this is my first fic uploaded to tumblr lol kind of nervy but hope you guys enjoy. i plan on writing a couple more parts to this! message me for taglist for part two!

dee x

#joel miller x reader #tlou hbo #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #my fic #fanfiction #neighbour!joel #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories #pedro pascal #breakfastatjoels #a bird in your teeth fic #a bird in your teeth

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the-kr8tor · 4 days

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More twins recs!!! I definitely have baby fever 😭

The twins reacting to another baby sibling? Like you could take this as R finds out that she's pregnant again and doesn't know how to tell the twins so Hobie comforts her (or she doesnt know how to tell Hobie so the twins tell him!)

Or maybe the twins gently holding their baby sibling, talking to them, playing with them, maybe questioning why the baby isn't talking 😭

OR MAYBE R is quite heavily pregnant and the twins are hugging her stomach with their tiny little baby palms and talking to the baby and wondering why they can't see it 😭🥺 they're so sweet 🥹

I chose the last one! Hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Pregnant! Reader, dad! Hobie, Billie and Ramona AU, dad AU, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Why is she quiet all of a sudden?” Billie asks you, her cheek is smooshed atop your stomach, listening intently. Her smaller hand is splayed over it gently, rubbing oh so carefully at your swollen belly.

“Maybe she's sleepin’?” Mona pokes your side, gentle yet you still felt the tiny prod from her painted nail.

“Her?” Hobie pipes up from your side, arm slung over your shoulders, side eyeing his girls. Knee to knee, he scooches closer to you, chin resting on the crook of your neck, tickling you abit. “What if it's a boy?” He teases the girls, knowing that they really want a baby sister.

You and Hobie opted to not know the sex this time around, in a few weeks though when you're ready to pop, you'll all know whether you have another little girl or a baby boy in your arms. Billie and Mona aren't too happy at the decision because they want to know now. You teasingly told Hobie that they got their impatience from him.

They both make a face at their dad's comment. Noses scrunching, eyebrows adorably knitted together. Their expression reminds you of Hobie whenever you say no to him for a web-swinging date. (You always agree at the end though)

The telly is on, playing some old cartoon that you randomly put on. You both thought that the girls would be interested in the show but it's you and Hobie who's currently watching it. The girls are far too busy rubbing their little hands around your pregnant belly, giggling whenever they hear that whoosh and gurgling sound when the baby moves; and gawking at the indents when the baby kicks.

It's a quiet night in, snow slowly collects outside, dusting the windows in soft marshmallow like snow. The large quilt made by Ned rests at your legs, guitars and web designs are lovingly stitched on it. Hobie lifts it up on his side to get in, to which you happily share the warmth.

Comfy pjs on, the girls are extra bundled up, with their thick fluffy socks and colorful pajamas, they look properly happy whispering into your swollen belly. Hobie nudges you with his cold foot, you gasp lightly at the contact, Billie and Mona giggle from how your stomach moved while their heads were laid on top of it.

“Whee!” Billie jokes, hands raised like she's on a roller coaster. Mona follows suit, opening her mouth to act like she's screaming on the ride.

You chuckle at their silliness, both hands lovingly patting their heads. The baby seemed to like it too, they kicked right under your belly button, your little family saw their little foot rise up under your skin. Hobie's used to the sight, chortling at the alien-like movement, rubbing comfortably at your belly button to ease the ache. Billie and Mona on the other hand are perturbed at the sight.

“Eww!” They say simultaneously with an unsure laugh. Their heads lean away from your stomach like the baby is gonna reach for them and yank them both inside and back to where they came from.

“It's just like in alien! Where it bursted out of that astronaut's chest!” Billie says with a disgusted look.

“It's called a chest burster, Bee.” Her sister corrects her while you look at Hobie with a glare.

He moves away, hands on the side of his head in surrender. “I didn't know they watched it either!” Your scowl deepens, and he knows to not anger you, especially when you're heavily pregnant. “I swear, love, it ain't me!”

“Then who?”

Hobie shrugs then turns to the twins. “Mac and cheese, where'd you watch that flick?”

They share a look, wordlessly communicating. You sometimes swear they have telepathy, it's not that far fetched, seeing that their father can climb on walls and have the strength to carry a plane.

Turning to face you and Hobie, they have the straightest faces ever. The same face you only see when they're about to say something Hobie-like.

“We're not snitches.” Talking above the other, you facepalm with a groan. Hobie would laugh if not for the danger he's in right now. But he's 99% sure that it was James who let them watch it.

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nena-la-fresa · 2 months

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The Dragon and The Wolf |Part 3|

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Part 2 | Part 4

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f! Stark Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage | Murder/Suicide | Soft Aemond |

Word Count: 2233

A/N: Hasn't been proof read yet. I feel like this took a hard fucking turn and idk how I feel about it. But it's the only direction I feel like it could go in.

Aemond had dressed first so that he could stand in front of you as you changed back into your dress. He hid your body from his brother as he refused to look away.

“I’ll have you know sister. I tried many times to get him to bed a woman in the whore house. I had no idea he was capable of that.”

“Brother I think you speak too much for a man on his deathbed.”

“That is exactly why I need to speak my dear baby brother.” Aegon began to cough violently. “Come.” Aegon lets out.

Aemond looks back at you to check if you are dressed before moving to sit on his brother's bedside. You follow closely behind to fill up a cup for Aegon.

“I have spoken to mother. As my children have all died you are to be my heir.” He began to cough again.

As he does, you pass him the cup, “Thank you dear sister.” He takes a sip to provide relief to his throat.

“Forgive me dear brother. I never wanted to be king. It should have been you. You should have been King. You wanted it far more than I did.” Aemond watched as his brother spoke.

“As you have consummated your wedding I see no reason why I should drag my life on longer.”

Confused by his response you looked over at Aemond and back at Aegon.

“Aemond, I need you to kill me. I can not live like this. This is no life. I will not live like father.”

Aemond scoffs and gets up from his brother's bed, “All you have is broken bones and scar's brother.”

“It is an infection.” Aegon removes his quilt with what strength he had left to show the infection that had been growing on his legs. “I had the maester hide it from mother.”

All Aemond could do was look at the infection that had spread from Aegon's leg to his chest. Aegon infection had looked exactly as their father’s.

“Aemond. Please. I beg of you. You had not let me run away back then. Let me die now. Let me go before I end up like that man.”

Aegon's eyes pleated with the silent prince. All Aemond could do was nod.

“Aemond.” You spoke lightly. Your thoughts racing at the possibility that your new husband was about to do.

Aemond turned back to you, watching as your figure cowered. He had made his way over to you, he tilted your chin upwards towards him. His grip was firm yet soft, “Make your way to my chambers. Speak to no one, and remain there even if I do not return.”

You looked at him hesitant, your eyes flickering between him and his brother.

“Y/n”. It was the first time he had spoken your name since the moment you had arrived. Your eyes had now locked on his face.

“Do you understand?”

You nodded lightly. You began to walk away before turning back and looked at Aegon, “I wish we would have met under different circumstances. But may the gods of the old and the new be with you.”

Aegon gave a faint smile, “And to you.”

You had made your way out the door closing it behind you. You stood there for a few seconds before walking off. Your mind clouded, vaguely remembering where Alicent had showed you where Aemonds chambers were.

“She’s beautiful.” Aegon spoke to fill the awkward silence.

“She is.” Aemond’s view lingered on the door for a few seconds before returning his attention to his brother. “I will return. It would be best with poison.”

“No.” Aegon coughed before speaking again, “Where would you find poison at this hour? There are too many eyes watching.”

“Anything else and it would be obvious it was an assassination.”

“Use the pillow.”

Aemond hesitated but he watched his brother. “Please.” Aegon whispered.

He had looked frail, he hadn’t noticed until now how weak his brother looked. The man his brother once was was gone. There no longer resided the whore of a man. The one who would always tease him. All that was left was an empty shell of a man who was asking for mercy.

Aemond picked up the pillow and hovered over his brother. Aegon could tell Aemond was hesitant, “Don’t worry bother. I will forgive you.” He paused for a moment, “I love you my dear brother Aemond.”

“And I you brother.” Aemond lowered the pillow down against Aegon's face.

He had pressed his weight down more. And after a minute or so there was a jolt. Aegon’s body had been fighting against the weight. His hands found Aemonds arms as he grasped onto them. Holding them for what seemed like hours Aemonds hands shook at the pressure he was putting. Until the jerking motion had stopped. There were no longer signs of struggle coming from Aegon. Removing the pillow Aemond saw his brother's face. It was lifeless, it looked like he was resting and that at any second he would take up.

Aemond put his finger to his brother's nose to check for air, and there was none. He had done what his brother had asked for. He had remained loyal to his brother. But at what cost. The wave of guilt and regret hit Aemond. He placed the pillow down where it was first found. He had begun to back away from his brother. His mind racing, his heart beating out of his chest.

He should have said no. He should have let his brother suffer. He should have suffered because now he is burdened with the weight of this. Now with the weight of becoming king. He had always wanted to be king. But this was the cost. Was this really worth it?

Consumed by his emotions Aemond left the room making sure there was no one. He then made his way through the doors of the Red Keep. He had climbed onto Vhagar making the dragon fly into the storm that had been stirring. Aemonds cursed the gods but they had been drowned out by the clapping of thunder.

As you walked into Aemonds chambers you were greeted with the decorated colors of black and red. The candles had provided the only light as you stood there in front of the door. You had tensed up after hearing a knock on the door. As you turned around you saw a maid with towels in hand.

“Princess, before the Prince left he had asked me to draw you a bath. Please sit as we get everything ready.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a half smile. You had made your way to the small balcony, the cold night air made you shiver slightly. But as you breathed in you could smell a hint of petrichor.

“Please princess, sit by the fire. You might catch a cold.”

You chuckled lightly, “Winterfell has had colder nights.” But you listen to the maid regardless and sit by the fire. You had begun to wonder where Aemond had gone. Or what had happened. Had he fulfilled Aegond's wish?

As the other maid finished drawing the bath the other helped you remove your gown. No matter how many times you refused she didn’t take no for an answer. Just as you were about to step in, the sound of thunder and the bedroom door swinging open were heard.

Startled, the three of you turned towards the door to see Aemond drenched. The look on his face was hard to read. One could say it was a somber look. You wrapped yourself in a sheet and excused the maid out.

Closing the door behind them you made your way to Aemond. He had made his way to the fire, leaving a trail of water behind him.

“Aemond?” You place your hand on his arm, yet he makes no response.

“Come bathe with me.” You lead him to the bath and begin to remove his clothes for him.

You let him get in first. Trying to figure out where to sit, you decide that the only option was his lap. You step in slowly as you avoid stepping on him. You slowly sink down and straddle his waist. Instinctually his hands placed themselves on the curve of your hips. You grabbed the cloth nearest and dipped it into the warm water. You began to run the cloth against his chest, shoulders and to his neck. You grabbed his hand, cleaning his palms before you cleaned the rest of his arm, you had done the same for the other. You had rinsed the cloth before cleaning his face. You gently cleaned around his face but got to his eyepatch. You hesitated for a second but decided to remove it.

Aemond, now out of his trance, stopped your hand.

“Not there.” His voice was different. It had almost sounded like defeat.

You put down the cloth against the tub. Grabbing his hand you placed it on your waist. Gently you grabbed the eyepatch and pulled it away. He had his left eyelid closed, making his scar even more noticeable. You picked up the cloth again and gently patted it so as to not hurt him. When you were done you leaned in and kissed his eyelid.

You had pulled away from him, once you did he decided to show you. Show you how hideous it was. How hideous he was.

You were met with a blue sight. The space where his eye was supposed to be was replaced with a blue sapphire.

“Hideous is it not.”

“You’re beautiful.”

They had spoken at the same time.

It had taken him a bit to register what you had said. You leaned down again to kiss his scar and the corner of his eye. No one had ever used that word to describe his eye. He had kept the eyepatch as a courtesy for others as many of the times they were repulsed. Saying things behind his back, ‘He now has only a face a mother could love.’

“You must be blind.” Aemond turns his head away from you. His hands no longer rested on your waist as he moved his arms against the tub.

“I can assure you my dear husband that the only blind one here is you.” You smiled lightly as he turned his head back.

“You dare joke now?”

“You are blind to your own beauty. You after all have that Targaryan ethereal beauty. A horrible attitude yet a very pretty face.”

He continued to glare at you. There was a distant look that was scattered across his face. It was hard not to notice. It was hard not to ask him what he was thinking or feeling. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.” He grew stubborn though you clearly knew his mind was flooded with thoughts. This was the first time he was docile. No sarcastic remarks, no anger behind his words. Perhaps it was best to leave him with his thoughts for now.

“Alright well-” You paused, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.” You were going to leave the tub when his hands found your waist again. His fingers danced across your waist.

The man you had seen that day in his mothers chambers was now different. Although it was only a moment, it had been enough for you. Enough that you saw another side of him. Not the angry man he was. But a loyal man, a man who would do anything his family asked of him, no matter the action.

Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist. He sat up slightly, coming closer to you he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Do not leave. Not yet.” His voice was soft, almost angelic.

He had confused you. He had made your mind try and piece together if you should hate him or comfort him. He still had disrespected you when he did, he had still lashed out when he did. But the last few hours, since the moment you had entered Aegon's room, it was different.

In this moment you were choosing comfort. You wrapped your arms around him. You felt his warmth, the way his skin touched your skin. You felt the way he was breathing and his heartbeat. Your fingers ran through his hair in an attempt to soothe him in any way you could. After all, you were now his wife. His future Queen. Was this not the role a woman in this society needed to take?

Perhaps you were delusional. Perhaps you were just trying to justify his behavior. But would that really be so bad? After all this? After knowing a secret with him. Knowing you have to keep this secret. It was frustrating. Frustrating that in the past three days you had not had a single dream or vision. Nothing that could help you in dealing with all this. Nothing that could help prevent it. Perhaps you had angered the gods in some way. Either way you had to gain it back, you had to be in the favor of the gods. After all, being what you were was the only reason as to why you were in this situation at all. It was the only reason why your family was alive. To remove that from yourself could cause chaos and the death of your house.

#xreader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #x reader #hotd x reader

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angryschnauzer · 1 year

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On Your Knees

Summary: As general maid for 221 Baker Street, you assist most of the residents. However on one quiet night when most of them are out, only one resident returns to his home... a little worse for wear. He thanks you in the easiest way possible.

Fandoms: Enola Holmes 2, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, NSFW, Drunk Sherlock, Oral Sex (Female Receiving).

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Wordcount: 1854

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

On Your Knees

The cold wind rattled the fragile glass in the frame, a chill advancing into your room even further as the dark night continued. The building of 221 Baker Street was colder than usual, most of the apartments empty for the night due to various parties and festive events happening this time of year meaning the tenants wouldn’t be back until the morning.

As the scullery maid of 221 Baker Street you were in and out most of the apartments each day, tending to the fireplaces and delivering meals if required. The housekeeper who supervised you telling you where to go and what to do wasn’t around either, though her instruction was rarely needed anymore, you knew the routines of all of the tenants and could read the calendar hung in the kitchen showing who was home and who wasn’t.

At that moment the wind rushed against the window again and you pulled your dressing gown further around your body, shivering beneath your quilt. Glancing at your own laundry you’d hand washed that evening, your bloomers hung on the wooden airer where the chimney breast rose through the building. With every pair you owned doing little to dry in the cold attic room, you cursed your schedule for not giving you time to do it earlier in the day when the sun had been coming through the window. Now you just had your thin nightgown and woollen stockings to keep you warm beneath your dressing gown.

You were drawn from your thoughts by the sound of movement in the hallway far below your room. Freezing you wracked your brain to try to remember if any of the tenants were due back tonight, but none were. Through the eerie quiet of the house there was another bump and a quiet curse. You reached for the large floor brush that still sat beside the door to your room with its dustpan, lifting the brush as a weapon as you opened the door and carefully stepped out onto the old floorboards to peer down through the stairwell. Clinging to your brush you leant forwards over the bannister and peered through the darkness, a single lamp in the hall four floors down barely illuminating the entryway before you suddenly saw a shadow move. Letting out a small gasp you clamped your hand over your mouth as you watched, but that tension evaporated when you recognised the wide shoulders and curly dark hair of the tenant in apartment B;

“Detective Holmes!” you called out, the figure below swivelling rapidly before spinning and looking up.

“Ah. There you are…” a soft hiccup followed as he swayed on his feet.

“I’ll be right down Sir”

Just last week Mr Holmes’ sister helped him into his apartment having had too many drinks at the pub, and it would seem he’d done the same again tonight. Padding on stocking clad feet you descended the stairs quickly, soon arriving in the hallway as Mr Holmes swayed a little on his feet;

“Can i help you to your apartment Sir?”

“Oh that would be *hiccup* wonderful Darling”

Hooking your arm around his back and pulling his own arm over your shoulders, you started to help him up the stairs one at a time, before arriving at his apartment.

“I have a… I have my… dammit” Mr Holmes cursed as he fumbled for his key, and as you glanced down you could see that the bunch of keys in his pocket had caught on the fabric and were stuck. Without even thinking you batted his hand away and slid your much smaller hand into his pocket, moving the keys around until they were no longer snagged on the fabric. You tried not to think of the heat radiating from Mr Holmes thigh, barely separated from your touch by a thin layer of cotton, nor the firm muscle beneath the fabric that flexed as your delicate fingers brushed against it. He answered your silent thoughts with a grunt, before you pulled the keys out and unlocked the door, all whilst he had his arm around your shoulder.

His body was firm and heavy, a welcome weight against your cold frame, and as he swayed you did so too, before he finally pulled his arm free of your shoulders and started to shuck off his coat and scarf, struggling as he went about the task.

“Mr Holmes, Sir, please let me help…”

He swung around, shrugging his shoulders, his coat now held on his arms around his elbows, his wide shoulders only accentuated by the white shirt and silk waistcoat that clung to his torso. Whilst distracted you didn’t spot his flailing, one stray arm of his coat socking you around the chin, and although not hurting you, caught you by surprise and knocked you back where you lost your footing and fell on your bottom.

“Ta-da! Done it!” he proclaimed proudly, before spinning around; “Where did you…?”

Climbing to your feet you took the bundle of coat from the floor;

“Ah, there you are Darling, didn’t get you did i?”

“Just a little Mr Holmes. Let me hang this up for you”

As you hung the coat onto the hook near the door you heard a gasp and a soft thud, turning to see Sherlock on his knees before you;

“Mr Holmes!”

“My Darling, i am so sorry, so very very sorry”

He had big puppy dog eyes as he looked up at you, his drunken state obviously accentuating his normally muted emotions; I should have been more careful… a heinous crime I have committed to sock a young lady around with my coat, please… please forgive me…”

You tried very hard not to laugh, for this was so far removed from what Mr Holmes was like normally, but also it stirred something within you, to see this big man on his knees before you, his face mere inches from your stomach.

“Please Darling…” He edged closer, wrapping his arms around your bottom and pressed his cheek to your stomach; “Please forgive me…”

At first you were frozen with fear, this was not only completely out of character for Mr Holmes, but wholly inappropriate, but the long days and lack of sleep perhaps clouded your judgement and you cautiously rested your hand on the top of his head;

“It’s… it’s ok Mr Homes, Sir”

He turned his head and peered up at you;

“Let me make it up to you”

You could only watch in shock as he moved his hands to rest them on your stocking clad ankles, before he started to inch those warm palms up your legs. When he reached your knees his fingertips rubbed soft circles against the backs of your thighs, your nightgown bunching at his wrists. For the whole time you kept eye contact, unable to draw your gaze away until his fingertips reached the top of your woollen stockings and he let out a small grunt of appreciation. He ducked his head forwards and pressed a single kiss to the skin just above the tied ribbons that secured the stockings in place.

“You smell divine” he muttered softly, inhaling deeply before he bunched your nightgown up in one hand and pressed his nose to the apex of your thighs.

“Oh! Sir!”

He pressed a kiss to your soft mound, before his fingers stroked softly along your seam. Never breaking eye contact he lifted one leg over his shoulder, opening you up like a spring blossom. A warm puff of breath warmed your skin before he leant forwards and his tongue found your silken pearl. If it wasn’t for his firm shoulder your leg was hooked over you would have damn near fallen to the floor, you did lose your footing a little, your back falling to rest against the door behind you and your hands found their way to his dark curls.

The slight tug on his hair seemed to spur him on, his wicked tongue parting your folds, and the appreciative murmur that came from his muffled lips only excited you more. Sherlock knew exactly what to do, and you can’t believe you had never even considered that this fine specimen of a man would be skilled in the art of lovemaking, but because of his cold demeanour it just hadn’t been something you’d thought of.

You tried to concentrate on the look of bliss on his face, but the way his long tongue was pushing at your secret canal, his nose rubbing against your pearl, it was almost too distracting. Your head slowly fell back until it rested on the wooden door behind you, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure grew in the pit of your belly. It was only when he moved a little, his lips finding your pearl again and he slid a thick finger into your tight channel did your eyes spring open;

“Oh lord!”

A quiet chuckle came from between your thighs, looking down to see the mischief in his eyes and he winked at you just as he slid a second finger in alongside the first. He crooked them just so as he moved them slowly but firmly, stroking at your velveteen walls, his lips and tongue increasing their efforts until you felt a surge of pleasure, a white hot fire bursting forth from your core and you climaxed with a loud cry of his name;

“Sherlock!”

As your body trembled he slowed his fingers, before pulling them free and holding them up to the faint candle light, inspecting the stickiness on them with a learned curiosity, before he sucked them both clean. He looked up at you as you trembled above him, slipping your leg off of his shoulder and he went to rock back onto his feet, but unfortunately losing his footing and topping back onto his behind;

“Oouf!”

As your nightdress fell back around your ankles and on unsteady legs you rushed forwards to help him to his feet, his eyes a little glazed from his drunkenness. He was like a lead weight, swaying on his feet until you managed to half carry half drag him to the chaise lounge and unceremoniously drop him on the soft cushion, watching as he twisted his body until he was on his back;

“What was i saying? I’m sure i should have thanked you for something…” he was already nodding off to sleep, oblivious to the rich smell of your sex now hanging in the room.

You let out a sigh before turning and to the quiet background noise of his snores you lit a fire in the hearth to warm the room. Making sure a heavy yew log was placed in the centre of the grate to ensure a long slow burn, you set the fireguard in place. Spotting his long blue dressing gown hanging over a chair, you carefully laid it over his sleeping form, and with one last glance back at him you exited the apartment. At least with the fire in his apartment now going a sliver of warmth would seep into your room that cold night.

#sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes movie #henry holmes #henry cavill

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jungle-angel · 2 months

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A Boy And His Critters (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob think your oldest child might be an animal whisperer

Warnings: Mentions of birth, pregnancy, cuteness overload etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @bobfloydsbabe

It was late in the afternoon in early spring, on a day when the hawthorn trees in your yard had just begun to bud and flower. Your birdfeeder already had more than enough visitors, your three cats, Freya, Thor and Pumpkin, having eyed them from the living room window. Already there had been fifteen calf births within the last two days with Bob, his father and his brothers and sisters having to wake at some ungodly hour to help with the births.

You were in the living room of your home in Montana, the soft Disney piano music playing from the speaker on your laptop. Bob lay on the spread out quilt on the living room floor, one pillow under his head and the other under his tummy while he gently rocked Baby Rudy in his little baby hammock. The sun streamed through the windows as you sat close to your husband and baby, the other three outside with their grandparents or aunts and uncles while you were busy carding the freshly shorn sheep's wool from the week before. You set aside your brushes and quickly took a snapshot of the sweet sight, hoping to add it to the photo album later.

You heard a loud meow and felt that familiar bushy tail brushing against you, looking down to find Thor rubbing against you. "You need a good brushing," you chuckled, teasing him with the carding combs.

"S'it the cat again?" Bob mumbled with a yawn.

"Yep," you answered, getting back to your work. "Rudy asleep?"

"Mmmhmm," Bob answered. "M'gonna go see if Dad needs help and come back for a nap."

Bob rose from his spot and kissed you before heading out to the barn to see if his father needed any help. "Hey sleepyhead!" the older Floyd greeted, tipping his black cowboy hat a little.

"Hey Dad," Bob answered sleepily. "Everything good?"

"Yeah everything's lookin good," Joe answered. "The hands have it all down so we don't have to worry until the spring auction. The baby go to sleep?"

"Just went down for a nap," Bob yawned. "I think I might too, my eyes are starting to itch."

Bob and his father conversed back and forth, totally unaware at first of the clanking of a metal bucket and the hurried footsteps of five year old Auggie.

"Bud?" Bob asked when he finally saw. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothin Daddy," Auggie chirped.

"Doesn't look like nothin," Joe chuckled.

"I gotta go milk the cows, Papa!" Auggie announced.

Joe and Bob were humored to say the least, more so when they saw Smokey, the crotchety old rooster weaving his way in and out from between Auggie's legs. They followed behind him to make sure he didn't get into trouble, when he approached the female dairy cow that Joe and Irene had taken in, singing in his chirpy little voice, one of the farm songs he had learned in his kindergarten class at the so-called "hippie school" he attended with the other Dagger children.

"Holy shit," Joe chuckled. "Get a load of this Bobby."

Bob was thunderstruck when he saw the old bat following Auggie into the barn with Smokey still clucking away between his little cowboy boots. Normally it would take two or three of the hands to lead her in, but here was Auggie, five years old and barely up to his father's hips, leading her into the stall with no issues.

"Un......believable," Bob laughed.

"How the fuck does this kid do it?" Joe wondered out loud, a broad smile on his face at the sight of his grandson.

Bob quickly pulled out his phone and began recording, hoping to be able to show the others when they had a chance to come by. Auggie chirped away as he milked the cow until a startled moo came from her.

"Sorry Peach, but that's what Daddy does to Mommy and it works."

Bob stifled a squawk in his throat but not before Auggie began yelling at him in his best Shrek voice.

"AYE! GET OUT ME FUCKIN SWAMP!!!!!"

"August Robert!" Bob laughed.

Auggie hurried over but Bob was in too good a mood to discipline his son. "Sorry for using a dirty word, Daddy," he apologized.

Bob picked his son up and kissed his cheek, Auggie's glasses falling slightly off the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you said sorry, but Daddy should remember the rule the he and Mommy put into place."

When Bob was able to go back inside, he showed you the video including the one of Auggie's Shrek impression.

"You'd think he was an animal whisperer by the way Smokey follows him around," you laughed.

"Sometimes I like to think so sweetheart," Bob yawned as he lay on the couch.

You set aside your carding combs and the wool, covering Bob with the spring quilt and snuggling in beside him, the two of you proud as ever of Auggie.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x y/n #top gun maverick

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scriptorsapiens · 7 months

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Classicstober Day 18: Phaedra (𐀙𐀂𐀉𐀨)

Phaedra was Ariadne's sister and married Theseus to become Queen of Athens (that must have been a WILD Christmas dinner). Things were good until Theseus' son by the Amazon queen dropped by for a visit. His name was Hippolytus (𐀂𐀢𐀬𐀵)…

Phaedra's story isn't quite as well known as many others in greek mythology, outside of a few tragedies and operas. The nature of the beast for most of these stories is that there are a couple of versions and no one can say which one is the 'real' one, but Phaedra's story, depending on the version you go by, can have wildly different vibes.

As I mentioned, she was Ariadne's sister. In some versions, when Ariadne helped Theseus defeat the Minotaur and escape, Phaedra was with her and part of Theseus' crew when he decided to abandon Ariadne on Naxos, eventually becoming his wife in Athens. In others, Phaedra is ignorant of the role Ariadne played in Theseus' victory and is instead sent to Athens to marry him for a political alliance. The implications of both versions are fascinating from a story-telling perspective. If Phaedra left with Theseus, just how complicit was she in leaving Ariadne behind? If their marriage was purely political, what did she think of the man who had just abandoned her sister? In the end, though, the important part (story wise) is that she marries Theseus and becomes Queen of Athens.

I depicted Phaedra here in her full queenly raiment. Yes, Athens was a purely Mycenaean settlement at this time, but the Mycenaean woman's fashion borrowed LOTS from the Minoan and considering where Phaedra was born she deserved a more Minoan look. That's why she has that quilted-looking over-garment on her dress. I made her palette green to represent her role as queen of Athens, and since Athena is the goddess of olive trees it made sense to me to lean into it. She is also blonde and amber-eyed to show her connection to Helios through her mother, Pasiphaë.

The architecture here is based on Minoan buildings. I imagine that inside the Cyclopean walls of Mycenaean Athens they could afford to make things more royal and less military-pragmatism. Athens is known for being a center of intellectualism in the ancient world (an image they painted themselves with), but even though this scene is set many centuries before the height of Classical Athens' power I decided to lean into that here too.

As for Hippolytus… the sources we have for the ancient Amazons are vanishingly rare. Most scholarship has focused on the Phrygians during the Classical Period, and I was able to find precious little reference for the Bronze Age Phrygians that might represent the historical Amazons. I did find one reconstructed garment, and even though it was very plain (and probably mean for a woman) I decided to put Hippolytus in it anyway. The Amazons were practical warriors, so I doubt that, as a child, Hippolytus would have had any other clothes than what his mother had. I also decided that he should be tall, taller than Theseus, as the Amazons were said to stand taller than normal men.

I could go into more details on the very disastrous story between Hippolytus, Phaedra, and Theseus, but I think it falls outside the purview of this piece. It is a fascinating, compelling story, though, so if you have made it this far into my ramble then I recommend checking it out.

#classicstober #classicstober23 #classicstober2023 #phaedra #hippolytus #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #greek myth art #mycenaean #linear b #tagamemnon #amazons

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cleolinda · 4 months

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I am so fucking pissed. We’re hearing forecasts that we might get FIVE FUCKING INCHES OF SNOW overnight from Monday to Tuesday. In ALABAMA, where we have no snow removal equipment. Like I think we got one bag of sand for the whole town. No snow tires, I don’t even know what those are. This isn’t cute “Haha it’s just barely below freezing! Snowball fight!!!” snow. This is 14° Fuck (-11° Come the Fuck On) snow. FIVE INCHES? We get flurries and the city descends into madness.

What if we lose POWER. Everything runs off USB cord stuck in the outlet charging nowadays. This is why everyone used to run out and buy Milk Bread Batteries. Listen. I have this memory of the power going out during this wild snowstorm when I was a kid--I want to say it was Winter Storm '93. Ask anyone who lived in Alabama at the time. Like we had Desert Storm '92 the military operation one year and Winter Storm '93 the next. It was that serious in our minds, and I'm not sure you can blame us:

The storm dumped several inches of snow each hour on Birmingham, which ended up with officially 13 inches of snow.

Due to the high winds some parts of Birmingham reported drifts 5 to 6 feet deep. One state trooper reported that the roads were in the worst shape he had ever seen. "People can't tell what's road and what's not."

Low temperatures during the storm were in the 5-to-10 degree range on that Sunday.

IN A TOWN WHERE WE DON'T KNOW WHAT A SNOW PLOW IS. I think we had one for the entire county. Like I'm only kind of joking here.

And our power went out.

The snow was so heavy that it pulled down power lines either by its own weight, or by the tree branches its weight broke off. Meanwhile, the power at my house already went off every time a squirrel sneezed. I don't how many days this lasted; it was probably like, 2-3 days, but in my head, I was 14 years old boxed up with my family with no heat and it lasted two weeks. Maybe three years. The four of us slept in sleeping bags layered with quilts, huddled on the floor around a wood burning fire. (In the haunted house, no less.) The carpet was really nice, at least. We had a--do people still call them boomboxes? A big portable cassette player--battery-powered--with AM/FM radio. We listened to whatever TV shows were broadcast from the ABC station at night. We did have hot water; I took a lot of hot baths. We cooked food over the outdoor grill (which we moved to the comfortably large area under the deck, to hold off the falling snow), sometimes using aluminum foil as a kind of thin impromptu frying pan, and kept perishables like milk and meat in a cooler. Oh, did we have a bag of ice for the cooler? No, we used snow. God knows there was enough of it. Of course, I'm sure the refrigerator was perfectly serviceable even without power, because it was TEN DEGREES FUCK ALL.

I remember going outside a good bit and playing, as much as a teenager plays, in the snow with my seven-year-old sister. I remember that all the neighborhood kids got big rubber trashcan lids and used them as toboggans, going up to the top of the hill on our street and pretty successfully sledding down. Maybe it was "lmao snowball fight!!" snow when I was 14. I'm 45 now, and the cold makes me hurt. It makes me hurt all over. Maybe Winter Storm '24 will be a fun core memory for my nephew. I am pissed. And also charging all my electronics.

(ETA: It’s ‘24 now, isn’t it. My brain hasn’t clicked the date over yet. What is time.)

#me for some reason #long post

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ichorai · 1 year

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BROKEN MACHINE ; the series.

a series based on the album broken machine by nothing but thieves for our 6k milestone! fandoms included ; marvel, house of the dragon, the walking dead, the boys, game of thrones, and succession.

main masterlist. wasteland baby! series. dear science series. about me.

TRACKLIST.

ONE. i was just a kid ; (marc spector) 6.6k ↳ khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

TWO. amsterdam ; (jacaerys velaryon) 4.7k ↳ prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

THREE. sorry ; (daryl dixon) 7.9k ↳ you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

FOUR. broken machine ; (miles morales) 5.1k ↳ stuck in a time loop, miles had to witness the one thing that he dreaded the most in life over and over again: your death.

FIVE. live like animals ; (kimiko miyashiro) 1.0k ↳ you try and frenchie try to show kimiko how to have fun on a day off.

SIX. soda ; (aemond targaryen) 40.3k ↳ he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

SEVEN. i’m not made by design ; (jaime lannister) 47.8k ↳ wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

EIGHT. particles ; (peter parker) 2.8k ↳ tony gives peter the dreaded 'dad' talk.

NINE. get better ; (hobie brown) 5.5k ↳ electric guitars and strawberries, leather jackets and quilted skirts, city spiders and cottage spiders. the two of you were perfect for each other.

TEN. hell, yeah ; (roman roy) 91.5k+ ↳ pain was an old friend for the both of you.

ELEVEN. afterlife ; (yelena belova) 1.9k ↳ her sister was dead. she’d lost everyone she’d ever known. and she didn’t know you—at least not as well as she’d like to know her sister’s spouse, but yelena wanted to try. that was the least she could do.

TWELVE. reset me ; (wade wilson) 1.3k ↳ charles sends you to recruit deadpool into the x-men. expectedly, the bastard tries to weasel away from you—and when that doesn’t work, he resorts to his most lethal method: flirtation. that, and taping a kick me sign on your back.

THIRTEEN. number 13 ; (rhaenyra targaryen) 5.4k ↳ in another life, she could’ve been with you, she was sure. a life of bliss and a life not ruled by the laws of men.

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months

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Pillow Fort: Roy Kent x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @anyamcdonald @taytaylala12 @daydreamgoddess @amieinghigh @littleesilvia @blackleatherjacketz @xphantomphanphanaticx @its-a-show-stoppin-number @st4rgirliesstuff @secretsquirrelinc @meg-ro @xoxabs88xox @midnightmagpiemama

Companion Piece to:

A Perfect Night - Roy spends a completely perfect night with you.

Distance - Roy gets into trouble while you’re away.

Pictures of You - There are repercussions to Roy’s actions

Roy leaves training early but even then, he knows it’s too late. He sees the read messages that you’ve not responded too. He knows you took an earlier flight because you were eager to get back home to him and he knows you’ve walked into a shit storm.

When he steps into the bedroom, he sees you sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands pressed between your knees. He can tell you’ve been crying; your eyes are red rimmed and your mascara’s streaked just underneath your lashes. He fucking hates it. He senses your shame, and he wants to tell you that it isn’t deserved. You did nothing wrong, you sent intimate pictures to someone you trusted, and they’ve been used against you.

He sits down on the bed alongside of you, his hand coming to rest upon you knee, his thumb smoothing over the hollow before he sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulders. His lips brush over your hairline before he whispers.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

There’s silence for a moment before you open your mouth to speak.

“My brother was the first one to message me, a couple of the guys he worked with showed him the pictures. They didn’t realise I was his sister.” You close your eyes before you bury your face into the confines of his chest, fighting back the urge to scream. “Everybody’s fucking seen it, my family, my friends, the people I work with…”

You trail off as you pull away, wiping at your eyes once more with the back of your hand.

“Everything I’ve built, the reputation I’ve created, it’s all fucking ruined because now the only thing anyone will ever see when they Google me is that fucking picture.” You shake your head. “I knew he was a vindictive prick, but I never imagined that he would do something like this.”

Roy tips your chin up gently. He wants you to see the truth in his eyes when he speaks, he wants you to know that he means what he’s about to say.

“You are an excellent investigator and a brilliant storyteller. If they can’t see past that picture then every single one of them can go fuck themselves, they don’t deserve you.”

His thumb brushes away the tears on your cheeks as his forehead comes to rest upon yours.

“Also, he should he fucking terrified, I’ve listened to your podcast. I have no doubt you could commit a murder and get away with it, it’s why I make a point of trying not to piss you off.”

That gets a smile. He sees the edges of your mouth turn up and he knows that the mood is shifting, that there’s a little less weight for you to carry.

“I still feel like I want to hide out under the covers.” You tell him.

“Well, that can be arranged. I can make the two of us a fort.” He tells you, leaning back and grasping a couple of the pillows before propping them up underneath the quilt so that they create a tent. “It’ll be like shit glamping.”

As you turn your head one of the pillows falls down, dismantling the whole thing. Despite the fact it has been such a shitty day you find yourself laughing. It’s a beautiful sound, one that Roy’s missed over the past few weeks you’ve been away. He sees the tension drain out of your body as you look up at him with those stunning eyes of yours.

“I love you” You tell him, your hand coming to rest upon his cheek. “You always know how to make me smile.”

The way you say it is so fucking earnest that it makes his chest ache.

“When you love someone, you want to see them happy.” He says as his lips brush over yours. “And I want to see you happy all the fucking time.”

Love Roy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Roy? Read his Masterlist here!

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #ted lasso

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lightwise · 2 months

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TBB S3 E4 Recap and Reaction

- Poor Crosshair keeps getting stuck on cold planets.

- Batcher banging on the chair ready to get out 🤣🤣

- These shuttles are really interesting to me. It’s rare to see a ship that size that can be piloted by two different people.

- Baby girl, I totally understand your logic in wanting to pull the data logs to see where Tantiss actually is, but given how tactful we know Hemlock has been so far in keeping his location hidden, most likely it wouldn’t pull up anything.

- What a dreary spaceport. Feels very Andor and very like Norwegian Star Wars.

- The level of snark that Omega is giving back to Crosshair is cracking me up. We don’t see her showing this level of talking back or being sarcastic with any of the other Batchers, which proves my theory that Crosshair’s constant level of highly annoyed at everything around him brings out the sarcasm in everyone else he encounters.

- Love that his knowledge as a former imperial is coming to play to help them.

- Also love that Omega was the one to recognize that they need different clothes (and the obvious pan of the camera on the clothes hanging on the line in the first shot of the spaceport to accentuate that fact).

- Quilted clothes in Star Wars is my fave (yes more Andor parallels).

- The uplilt and little scoff that Omega gives and the look she gives Batcher after Crosshair snarls about bringing “the hound” along is PRECIOUS

- Also Cross and Omega cross their arms the same way. Okay okay I’ll never be over their dynamic here.

- Crosshair’s trucker hat/scuba apparatus is hilarious. He doesn’t look too bad though. Surely he’s at least warmer now.

- The credits negotiation omg. I love how Cross is just waiting for this to play out before he makes a move.

- YES omg are my baby girls strategy skills FINALLY coming back into play??

- Oh no no no no no this kid is going to rat them out isn’t he. You guys need to be more mindful of your surroundings!! Ahhh (okay I’m glad this didn’t happen).

- Honestly at this point Crosshair would be me as well. Just lots of very annoyed sighing.

- I love that Crosshair is getting to see all the things about Omega that the other boys know already, but he hasn’t had a chance to witness yet. We know she can wipe the floor with most people on strategy games/gambling.

- Yep nope this captain is not good news. Don’t get distracted by ranting about Imperial bribery, don’t do it, don’t….*sigh* I hate the Empire so much.

- Oh no this is so bad! I swear WHY is every imperial such a slimy self aggrandizing POS.

- Aww Crossy hunched down at almost table level ready to tear the room apart if anyone touches his baby sister. Adorable murder kitten. 😸

- Also Crosshair when all of this is over: where the HELL did you learn to gamble like that!?! Omega: 🤷🏻‍♀️😇😁

- Also also what game are they playing? Those cards are beautiful.

- Oh no they’ve found the shuttle already. Dear god this episode is so stressful!!

- CROSS!DAD IS OFFICIALLY CANON lmao

- Okay I was hoping Omega would let him win bc this isn’t going to go over well

- Whoa I didn’t actually expect him to concede. Maybe he’s not quite as slimy as I thought. Doesn’t matter though, the shuttle will give them away regardless.

- Of course. There it is. Let all the seedy businesses thrive as long as you get your fine out of it. Ugh. This is paralleling a lot of imperial activities in Rebel Rising and the Ahsoka novel as well.

- I also love how Omega uses touch with Crosshair to calm him down and communicate with him.

- Whoa I did not expect Omega to throw the credits and basically give Crosshair the choice of abandoning her or not. Nor for him to actually have to think about it for a moment.

- “My skills are being wasted” the boy does not like feeling helpless. I understand.

- This is going to give Cross some understanding of what Hunter has been going through the last few years. Especially if he ends up losing her.

- “Don’t push it” and the extra head shake after lmao.

- Geez this man is just lining his pockets every which way isn’t he. Despicable.

- “Alright, let’s try things your way” “Finally” I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

- Animal stampede!

- Oh gosh is Cross going to get left behind??

- Aw he finally called her Batcher.

- We are clearly seeing how much Omega has actually been tempered by the rest of the Batchers being around her until now. The unfiltered combined powers of Omega and Crosshair at their most unhinged is maybe more than the galaxy is ready for 🤣🤣

- Also a very Andor reference with the captain being stampeded almost to death and having his gun kicked away from him in the melee

- NO WAY WE FINALLY GET AN IMPERIAL GETTING THEIR DUE BY CREATURE DEATH once again *cough cough* not a kids show

- Awwww Batcher licking Crosshair’s face. He’s so done for.

- They got away. Wow. I actually wasn’t expecting that. And with most of the money too.

- Okay. Smart girl. She did not pick Pabu.

- What an ending. Wow. So. Similar to Mando season 3 (which is also scaring me) — what the heck is the rest of this season going to be about?

- This reunion is everything. 🥹🥹🥹 the hugs. The running. The tears. The worry. The anger. The hesitation. The fear. The literal and metaphorical distance between their ships that someone will have to cross. They better not fast forward a millisecond when the next episode picks up I swear.

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb #tbb season 3 spoilers #tbb season 3 #tbb spoilers #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #the bad batch season 3

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