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#sometimes its just fine and its just different

delopsia · 2 days

Text

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 #hawtho #hawthorn au #oneshot #tw food

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wixenburr · 1 day

Text

Saw some ppl talking about Reverse Robins and i had thoughts

Talking abt u guys @eldritchdreamss @brucewaynehater101

Why kill Tim when you could kill baby Jason? What I want is for all of them to keep their own backstories and personalities (Developed in line with the story of course) So ofc i had to write a 1,000 word brainrot abt it.

(Also i'll only be going over the main 4 batbros for now i will add more later but these guys are the ones im most passionate about so here we go)

Damian

Let Damian come in, desperate to be of use and be worthy of his father, only for a softer, less jaded bruce (since jason hasnt died yet) to help him open up his heart and let him act as a kid. With no competition for so long, I imagine he and Bruce get along very well while he works with him. Yeah, they need to work on the no killing deal and Damian's... i guess impulse control? But i think it would be easier with very intensely focused reparenting; no distractions of other kids you know? No favoring or anything.

I see Damian growing up as a stoic, jaded adult. He's had a rough life. Maybe he sticks with the vigilante business. but I really love headcanons where he gets out of it, and focuses on something calmer, like his art. (I do appreciate and love the veterinarian Damian AUs, but im going for FULL calmness, you know? And doctor/vet work is Not calm lol)

So yeah, maybe he grows a real passion for heroism, maybe he doesn't? Maybe he goes on to be an artist and that's just what he does. Bro is ready to settle down as a scarred, veteran trophy husband and i adore him for that.

(Sorry lol i just love Damian and i love the idea of him growing out of both of his parent's legacies. Let him live his own life!!! He fights so so hard for at least 15 years. ALL 15 years of his life. He deserves to have some peace.)

Tim

Tim i think would need a much different story to join the Batfam. He still starts out as a stalker who follows batman and. . . . . . . Redimar (meaning Redemption iykyk (I just spend 17min researching names rip)) at night, takes photos, etc... Since Damian doesn't die, maybe he finds Tim? and like, tim is like 11 and Damian is 17 or 18. He's started going out as Redimar less and less, not that B really minds? In fact hes probably happy for his son so...

But then Damian finds Tim, and now he has to keep going out because he can't let this kid get himself killed like this. He would hold himself accountable since hes the only reason Tim keeps going out so much- also i imagine Tim follows Redimar more than Batman.

Cue a classic Tim Joining The Batfam plotline. They get to know each other better, get a grasp on Tim's situation, Damian finally introduces Tim to Bruce... (Probably something like Dami: "Father, this is my new brother. Timothy, say hello to Father," Tim: "Hello, Father," Dami: "Perfect." Bruce: "*falls off the batchair*)

Anyway, so, Tim ends up kinda just merging with the Waynes. They start training him, its all good and nice, and Tim makes his own little hero team unlike Damian, which is actually pretty interesting here; its Tim who made the first young hero team. Damian only ever had Jon (Superboy 1 in this!!) and he finds Young Just Us and becomes a great leader and its all fine and dandy.

Tim and Damian get along well. Damian is the sage older brother whos kinda distant, but only because he has such high emotional walls (but secretly a softy). He is very much like Bruce- nope, nevermind, hes definitely worse than Bruce in this AU, since Bruce is depicted as being much more agreeable before Jason's death, you know? So yeah, Damian is the emotionally constipated bitch in the fam and we love him for that. But hey!! Tim does manage to get through his walls! And Bruce does sometimes too!! (Tho i imagine Bruce and Damian's relationship to be very.. idk let me try to expalain. Dami: "Father." Bruce: "Son :)" Dami: "Tt." Bruce: *nods* "Hrn." Dami: "Hmph." Bruce: "Hm.") DO U PICK UP WHAT IM PUTTING DOWN--- lmfao. They hardly need words.

Tim ends up growing up very very capable. Once his parents die, he gets a little jaded, but hes still Tim. He and Damian become kind of an... ice prince duo? If you get what I mean. But Tim is the one whos actually the ice prince, Damian is secretly a HUGE softie. He is Delicate and Tim protects him lmfao.

Jason

Jason comes along like he does in canon. Has the same backstory. Tries to steal the Batmobile's wheels. Tim is sleeping over at Damian's flat for the night, so its just Bruce. They bond. Shit happens. Jason joins the fam.

I don't imagine them not getting along, but they don't immediately hit it off either. Jason is wary of all of them for a time, but he ends up warming up to Damian pretty fast after realizing what a softie he is. He pokes fun at Damian and Damian just freaking takes it lmao. Hes an adult he cannot be disturbed. Bro has seen too much and he finds Jason adorable. (Dami: "You were never this cute, Timothy." <- he is lying. Tim: *offended* "What the fu- flip!?" Jason: "Lmao Tim just say fuck." Dami: *deadpan stare* Tim: "JASON NO DONT SAY THE FUCK WORD-") ahem.

anywho and then Jason dies rip skill issue ratio.

The whole batfam is heartbroken. Genuinely shattered. Jason was a light in their lives. Not that they were WITHOUT any light, but Jason was the epitome of a sunshine child.

It's been too long since Damian has killed someone. Bro's god oodles and oodles of trauma. He can't bring himself to kill the Joker.

but Tim can.

It's a whole dramatic thing; Damian feels awful that he made his- now only- little brother kill. Bruce is hella upset but feels responsible for not seeing how badly both of his kids were handling the death of their brother. Tim goes a little off the deep end.

Things turn out.... okay. sort of. but not really. Tim changes his hero name to Red Cardinal. He feels pretty lost. Maybe he stumbles into Ra's al Ghul or smthn idk maybe smthn happens there perhaps. Maybe Damian has to put on Redimar again and rescue him? But its less of a rescue and more of a "Stop joining the dark side Tim jesus christ-" (and it does work).

They go home. Tim gets a boyfriend or two. Damian falls into his art. Bruce is throwing himself into work. They're all kind of a mess, but they keep moving.

and then

Dick

(lmao that sounded wrong)

ahem; and then the circus comes to town. The batfam- well, Tim, Damian, and Bruce- all decide to get together to do something fun. Take the opportunities given, yk? So they go to the circus together.

Wham bam rip the falling Flying Graysons.

They see Dick, breaking apart, and they know they have to do something. Bruce is the first to move. Then Tim. Damian is the last.

It's pretty quick getting Dick home, since Bruce is already a foster parent cuz of Tim yk. So Dick doesn't have to suffer in Juvie at all really. But that doesn't change the fact that he is ANGRY.

Dick is SO angry. he wants to kill the person who murdered his parents. He knows what he saw.

The fam of course do their best to investigate. Mostly Tim, who feels unworthy of being around an innocent little kid after his whole.... villain era, i suppose lol. (ofc Dick thinks Tim doesnt like him lol misunderstanding arc GO)

The whole "Dick accepts that justice is better than murder kinda maybe FOR NOW" storyline happens, and Dick becomes the conniving, bright, little Robin we all know and love. (Thinking of the Young Justice Cartoon Robin (but not the characters- just Dick's character) aaaand

Womp womp GUESS WHOS BACK

Jason's Back

but i'll leave that for later.

#my writing #personal #batfam #reverse robins #batman #damian wayne #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batbros #batkids #batfam fanfic

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pansyfemme · 1 day

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i have this weird pet peeve where i think a lot of artists define their ‘style’ waaaaay too fucking narrowly because sometimes i see someone saying their style is inconsistant and it’s like.. so not at all. like its super consistant they just view any small difference in arangement of line as deviant and therefore bad. like style inconsistancy is not a bad thing but also relax you are FINE

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premamelody · 18 hours

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i plan on redesigning these 3 a this point so imma just post these ones here

basically almost like a bunch of months ago i made a happy future au where drones, worker and disassembly pretty much live in a society (no way incredible) and lineage of most of the main become influential families or smth

if you're wondering no these 3 arent directly nuzi children they're just in that lineage that last name was kinda kept but changed to dooress bc someone down the line found doorman cringe idk

important detail about hybrids: in short, bodies are separate from the system. systems can mix wd and dd coding but bodies have to be created to appeal to hybrid systems which in this not too long from its creation society (about like uhhhhh 200 years did I settle on? thats like a bunch of gens. enough for 2nd gen nuzi line to not be there i think.) hasn't been made yet. oh yeah dds look different all of them do to separate from the solver.

vera is a dd dominant wd hybrid. her system was incompatible with a wd body but with her dd body she cannot access certain functions. she is leading the drone defense force one of those dooress aimed positions. she doesn't really express herself much,,,really because of family pressure as she's the eldest current generation child in the family so a lot of expectations. i remember having a plot point where she couldn't hang out with a wd she had a crush on bc his family wasn't rich enough.

rocky is a regular dd. on the doc it says he leads a weapon manufacturing unit but i guess the day i drew this i was on construction. mmmmmmmm we'll see. hes stressed ah but plays it off with :D and a charming attitude (please help him). likes to pick on older sister, vera and rocky i think play fought a lot. his #1 argument is "you're short" ofc jokingly. yes i named him after rocky, whose va is kovach, the va of n. funny reference.

then theres my favorite, mina. she's a sort of therapist or counselor for solver drones and manages records on Mother Heir's (explaining later) to ensure they're doing fine, especially the Cyn ones. she's kinda n but would not take hate for an answer. she doesn't appear to be hurt by much and sometimes has a sort of aggressive happiness. like uhh you scream at her and she'll scream back in revenge or smth. lil gremlin.

#murder drones #md happy future #premaposting

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sirenjose · 2 days

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Facts and Theories related to Fool's Gold and Norton

Part 1: Facts and Theories about Pyrite aka Fool's Gold

TLDR - Facts:

comes from the Greek word for fire

the dangers of pyrite oxidation (sulfuric acid, sulfur dioxide)

pyrite can contain small amounts of real gold, called “invisible gold”

TLDR - Theories

Pyrite containing real gold parallel to Norton being good deep down

Fire connection to Infernal Sin

Pollution in Lakeside water and soil as well as cause of fish and plants dying because of Golden Cave?

Part 2: Facts and Theories about how Norton escaped Golden Cave

TLDR:

Norton didn't just simply dig himself out

Facts about mines, mine collapses, dangers, potential escape routes, etc...

Part 1

Facts

Pyrite (aka fool’s gold) comes from the Greek word ‘pyros’ meaning ‘fire’, and will create sparks when struck against metal or a hard surface.

It is capable of scratching glass while most knives won’t be able to scratch it.

In the presence of moisture and oxygen, pyrite oxidizes, releasing its sulfur content as sulfuric acid.

Pyrite rich waste from mining operations can increase acidity of surface water. This can harm downstream ecosystems, animals, and even pose a risk to humans.

Sulfur dioxide is produced by burning the pyrite in coal, which can combine with moisture in the atmosphere to create acid rain.

Pyrite oxidation is sufficiently exothermic enough to produce heat, and as the temperature rises, the coal heats up and in some cases cause it to self-ignite and cause fire. This is called spontaneous combustion, a very real problem in coal mines. Pyrite dust can burn even with only a little oxygen, and it burns well due to its sulfur content. Sulfide fires can burn for years.

Despite its reputation, pyrite can sometimes contain small amounts of real gold, although it is notoriously hard to extract. This gold is sometimes referred to as “invisible gold” because it isn’t observable by the naked eye or standard microscopes (you need sophisticated scientific instruments). It can come in different forms: either as particles of gold, an alloy where the pyrite and gold are finely mixed, and in defects (imperfections created when the pyrite crystals are forming) in the crystal structure . With the latter form, the more deformed it is, the more gold there is in the defects.

And the discovery of new gold deposits declining world wide, with the quality of ore degrading in parallel to the value of precious metal increasing.

Invisible gold is primarily found in pyrite and arsenopyrite, and this is now a common resource for the gold mining industry.

Theories

I really wanted to bring up pyrite having some real gold (even if the amounts are very small). Especially as I can draw a parallel with that to Norton, who may normally seem suspicious, but he isn’t entirely bad. He may seem unapproachable, but you may make progress if you dig deep enough and try hard enough. He isn’t completely “worthless”.

Pyrite coming from the word for fire connects well to Infernal Sin, while pyrite being a fire starter in the fast due to its ability to create sparks fits well with Norton’s how we see Norton causing the explosion in Golden Cave in his trailer.

Then regarding the sulfuric acid, this actually made me wonder if the contamination in Lakeside, revealed in Yidhra’s letters, could be related to or from Golden Cave.

Ground water is water that seeps into the ground via rain or snow melt. As it makes its way underground, it can collect or react to the minerals and rocks down there, including pyrite, which can eventually result in the oxidation (and all its problems) I described earlier. This can percolate to form sediment at the bottom of rivers with mine drainage, which is water drained from mines. Acid runoff further dissolved heavy metals into water, and acid mine drainage can be increased by the action of certain bacteria (aka, sulfuric acid from pyrite can leech heavy metals from rock, and the acid can be worsened by bacterial action, resulting in this drainage becoming highly toxic).

Problems with mine drainage include contaminated drinking water, disrupted growth and reproduction of plants and animals, and corroding effects of acid on structures.

In general, sulfide rich and carbonate poor materials produce acid drainage. In contrast, alkaline rich materials, even with significant sulfide concentrations, often produce alkaline conditions in water.

Abandoned mines can fill with water (flood) because there’s no pumping occurring (the steam engine was 1st invented to solve mine flooding). This results in unabated chemical reactions, potentially making it very toxic, and this water can even discharge into lakes and streams, killing aquatic life and polluting the environment.

Further acid drainage can result from waste rock, which is material that must be removed to reach the ore. It is often deposited in piles close to the mine, and as it is exposed to air and moisture, it causes weathering, which can generate acid drainage.

Yidhra’s 3rd letter does mention “microbial deposits” in the water and soil as well as the soil’s “acidity and alkalinity”. So maybe it could be connected…?

Part 2

Thoughts regarding specifically how Norton escaped Golden Cave

Norton’s 3rd letter states the police report claimed Norton “dug his way out through a mountain creek a few dozen meters away from the mine”.

It is unlikely Norton simply dug himself out from the mine.

Golden Cave’s backstory states it was “hundreds of meters” deep at least. Mines back in that day (late 19th century) were already 1000s of feet deep (1 was 700-900m = 2300 – 3000ft). Prior to the 1850s, miners could simply walk in to a mine to get where they needed to go, but later on, the mines became so deep, they had to use steam elevators to enable access to deeper seems.

We know Norton was trapped in Golden Cave for some time after the mine collapse considering we know he came out with meteorite chunks. Based on what we see on the lowest level of Golden Cave in game, this likely implies the meteorite was potentially at the bottom, meaning there’d be quite some distance to dig himself out.

The other issue is most miners don’t simply dig themselves out after a collapse. There’s nothing to support the roof and sometimes little space to put the material you remove, not to mention usually a lack of suitable tools. Trying to dig yourself out of a collapsed mine may even weaken the area near the collapse, potentially causing further collapses. This is why most miners usually have to wait to be rescued.

It is possible that Norton was able to access an alternate escape route. Mines were required to have more than 1 shaft following the Hartley mine disaster in 1862. If it or a raise (vertical or inclined passage) had a safety ladder, it’s possible he could work his way back up. During the Barnes-Hecker mine disaster (the mine was flooded), the sole survivor saved himself by climbed 80 stories (around 800 feet) in just about 14 minutes.

Another option is via an intake airway (or downcast shaft), which brings fresh air from the surface into the underground mine. Miners could feel the air to figure out a way out of the mine, and this was breathable air, free from fumes and dust in the case of a fire or explosion. A return airway (upcast shaft) is also an option, but not as nice of one due to the fact it carried air out of the mine to the surface, and this air could include dust, toxic fumes, and such. But miners have escaped via vents before (such as in the Quecreek Mine disaster, which they did to escape the mine as it started flooding).

And if acid mine drainage is potentially related to the pollution and dead animals/plants in Lakeside (Yidhra’s 3rd letter, Grace trailer/deductions), maybe that means there was drainage or some other hole into or out of the mine around there that Norton could’ve used to escape. Norton’s deduction 9 does make it sound like police didn’t expect anyone to survive, which could imply the normal entrances or exits were inaccessible following the collapse, meaning using an alternate, less known route might make sense. We know Norton was knowledgeable, and in the trailer we see him with a map, though based on how his coworkers in that scene look like they might take it from him, he might not have had that, but he may have at least memorized the different ways in and out, and thus how he could manage to escape (especially as explosions can damage the lifts they use to normally get down to the deeper levels).

Norton likely survived due to being some distance from the blast. Some of his coworkers likely died from the initial explosion. The others potentially could’ve succumbed to lack of oxygen, potentially aided if any fires started as a result (which could further weaken supports or cause more collapses), or due to potentially high concentrations of firedamp further down. Afterdamp (choking gas) is a mix of toxic gases (carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, and nitrogen) after a methane explosion, and it is just as deadly as the actual explosion. Symptoms include head swimming/disorientation, feeling very tired, difficulty doing anything or exerting yourself, and a desire to just close your eyes and go to sleep (followed soon by death from the lack of oxygen).

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #Fool's Gold #hunter norton #idv fool's gold #idv hunter norton #identity v fool's gold #identity v hunter Norton #sirenjose analyses and theories

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cripplecharacters · 21 hours

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that has a supporting character with dwarfism, and he's really close with his older brother, who is pretty tall. would it be weird if i sometimes had the younger ask his older brother pick him up so he can reach things? its supposed to be a cute little quirk of theirs that shows their bond, but i'm worried it might come off as weird for some reason. also, do you guys could give me a couple more tips on writing a character with dwarfism, if you have any? thanks in advance! (2/2)

Hi! the guy who asked about less talkative autistic characters here. sorry about that! i was going for more of like... don't talk to a point where it wouldn't be considered "socially acceptable?" but i had a character limit so i couldn't really get my point across that well. now that i think about it, that would probably also be lumped into just, yknow, not being talkative too. anyways, i have another unrelated question! probably equally silly but w/e. i'm writing a slice-of-life story (1/2)

Hello lovely asker!

I just wanna say that because of the ask backlog and the rotation of mods I'm afraid I don't know what ask your talking about, but I'm sure it was simply just a question that was in good faith of curiosity which is what this blog is for 😊

And to answer your question, I'm curious with how old the younger brother is. I haven't been picked up since I was probably about five to help me reach something and even then I was getting yelled at for climbing counters and such. If the younger brother isn't a very young child I would avoid this.

Being picked up is a general no. if you wouldn't do it to anyone else don't do it to someone with dwarfism or any person with a disability. Unless it's under their explicit permission, or help with transferring (from say a mobility aid to a bed or another place etc) or life or death situation, it's almost always a no.

Instead using things like the broom handle to hit tall switches or they even have these things called a "Reacher Grabber" that makes grabbing high up things super easy. Stool also are a big help, the small collapsible ones are easy to carry and move, and certain placed handles help too. Tall people are an advantage I will say though. Having the older brother bring something down to the younger brother is fine. Also have the younger brother climb things and stack objects and use the environment around him so he can get what he wants. I assure you this is what most of us do a lot.

A few more writing tips I have would be:

Research different types of dwarfism and find out which one you want your character to have and how this will affect him. It doesn't have to be mentioned at all but you knowing what type will give you much more insight into building this character.

Don't be afraid to give them mobility aids. A lot of people with Dwarfism have them and use them because they help us and they're pretty common in the community. (Do plenty of research there too if they do have one!)

A joke once or twice, especially if the two characters are very very close, about his dwarfism is okay! Me and my friends joke about mine all the time but quantity control along with a joke in good taste and timing is very important.

The character getting frustrated with his disability is okay too! It happens to me a lot but usually I'll find a solution right after to the thing that frustrated me and that frustration is gone as quick as it came.

If he's having a long conversation or an eye-to-eye conversation with someone that's tall, have them sit down somewhere, get to eye-level (I wouldn't have them lean over to his height though). It really does start to hurt your neck and head after looking up at everyone for so long.

And lastly, I certainly use my height to my advantage in multiple different scenarios. Small hands and small containers or spaces are very compatible with one another. And even though I have to shop in the small teens or kids section for clothes or shoes, I will say certain things are made better for kids (for some reason). But I also know how to hem my own clothes and how to fix them! A lot of people with dwarfism make or modify their own clothes. I can't tell you the amount of times I've gotten discounts at buffets and restaurants because people just assume I'm a child and I'm not gonna protest the discount either so. There are many fun aspects to having dwarfism, I have more fun with it and get more laughs and community out of it than frustration or anything else.

I know there's many more little things that I'm forgetting right now but the dwarfism community could probably add a few things too. Good luck writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

#mod virus #anonymous #dwarfism

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cloysterbell · 2 days

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What’s your beef with Frank Gehry?

It's not so much my beef with him as it is my beef with what he represents: modernist/contemporary architecture.

So Gehry's most known works include things like the Lou Ruvo Center, the Disney Concert Hall, or the Biomuseo in Panama (which I have been to!). These buildings are all pretty wacky, using flat sheets of metal that curve in unusual ways or inward facing angles. And while I think it's interesting to be able to physically build something like that, all of the credit has to go to the engineers because as someone who studied architecture in college, I can promise you that no architect goes into a design actually thinking about how it'll physically be made.

But here's the thing: anyone can design a statement building. I can and have designed statement buildings. It's easy to think "what's the most wild thing I can do" and then throw uncommon angles and sheer faces at something until you have a building that twists and turns and becomes a spectacle. And sometimes it's cool. The Biomuseo is a flash of color that feels very almost bowling alley carpet with its accordion folds. I love the MoPOP's statement wall with that bright purple that catches the sun. But ANYONE can do this. It's not a challenge to design an eyesore like the Marqués de Riscal hotel. I could crumple a piece of paper into a ball and bam, there's my building design.

But you know what IS a challenge? Designing a building that blends in with the landscape. A building that isn't meant to stick out but is seamless and intentional. Buildings that use the color palettes of their surroundings, like Lake|Flato's Horizon House or Marmol Radziner's Scottsdale home. Incorporating native flora and materials and climate and setting into the actual design. Having the house face east so that it can temperature regulate more naturally or keeping everything single-story so it doesn't disrupt the horizon. It's taking inspiration from historical pueblo-style homes instead of doing more and more glass and metal which gets hot as hell in the direct sun.

I'm very much a Mies van der Rohe fan, I think the Farnsworth House and the Barcelona Pavilion are some of the sickest buildings ever made because there's something more impressive about doing more with less. FH and BP are both white boxes. They have flat roofs and open floorplans and all right angles, but there's something so much more impressive about doing something iconic within those limitations than there is doing whatever the hell Gehry and his contemporaries like Libeskind are doing. The ROM looks like what happened in S3 of Fringe when the building from the other side collided with its opposite on this side. It feels like it's trying to be edgy (literally) and different for the sake of being edgy and different. Which is fine, but it's not that impressive to me.

But it's so much more impressive when you don't just plonk some big crazy metal and glass building down in the middle of a city or when you're trying to design something specifically to one-up your other architect buddies. When you have to make something feel intentional from start to finish, that's so much more interesting. When you have limitations from the beginning like materials and weather and the sun, that's where only a real expert can design something that really shines.

#questionbell #feline--floozy #there is one particular house i was obsessed with but i cannot for the life of me remember who designed it

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aedemoth · 1 year

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Hey, does anybody else like the Shadow & Bone TV show more than the books? Because I like the TV show more than the books.

There’s a weird culture among readers who tend to always think the source material HAS to be better than the movie/tv show and HATE any changes, but I just think that’s silly.

#wait till you hear my unpopular opinions about the hobbit movies #i think the last of us tv show is better than the video game too #sometimes its better tan the source material #sometimes its worse #sometimes its just fine and its just different #shadow and bone #grishaverse #grisha trilogy #six of crows

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witchspeka · 10 months

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I dont think Mob is naive as much as he's socially unaware, like the reason why he trusts Reigen so blindly is a bit more complex than just him being naive

Cause Mob reached out to Reigen because he was desperate to find someone like him, someone who understood his psychic specific issues, someone that could truly know what he's feeling and going through and give him guidance and support

Post incident Mob's thinking process was something along the lines of my powers hurt people -> my powers are bad -> my powers (my emotions, my instincts, myself) cannot be trusted

So he lost all confidence and trust in his own actions, resigning to being as passive as possible to avoid any further damage to anyone else, thus he started doubting his own perception of reality too

He's a kid already struggling with being ostracised for being socially inept, who just got traumatised and all of his insecurity increased by the tenfold, he doesn't know how to process what he's going through. He needs help.

And here comes Reigen, seemingly reliable, a responsible adult in a child's eyes, someone who claims he can understand him

Even tho Reigen doesnt. But it doesn't matter, because Mob finds comfort in his words and takes them to heart

Even if Reigen doesn't fully get it, even if he doesn't see the bigger picture, even if his advice isn't always the best

Eventually, Mob grows up, realises Reigen isn't as honest as he seemed through his 11 year old perspective, but like most things, he refuses to acknowledge it on a deeper level

Mob knows, but never tells Reigen, never thinks about what all those lies mean to him (ofc until he forces himself to face those doubts regarding Reigen, to properly acknowledge both of their flaws and accept them as they are, I should scream into the void about Confession Arc more God)

Due to his lack of trust in himself, Mob has relied on Reigen for years now to shape his moral compass, his thoughts, his decisions

Because well, Reigen lies, sure, but he isnt a bad person. When he hurts Mob, it isn't intentional or with ill intent, he still wants the best for him, what's the issue?

Except that it stunts Mob's growth. He doesn't develop as a person, doesn't have goals or wishes or ambitions, can't make choices on his own, he doesn't even let himself acknowledge his own emotions, he refuses to let himself exist

But Mob realises in time that he wants more than that, he wants to become better and be independent and feel again

Still, he puts the acknowledgement of the lies on hold for as long as he can, unwilling to question the way things are

This can make him feel a little naive, he constantly relies on Reigen and trusts his decisions and raises questions rarely until separation arc when he finally puts his foot down

And I do think that moment is the most resounding proof we have that Mob knows and allows himself to be used by Reigen, not wanting to shake the status quo, until he gets fed up

I mentioned the social ineptitude at the beggining but idk if I should even elaborate on that, you've watched the show, you know what I mean

He's blunt and can't read social cues or tonality that well and can't speak in front of crowds and is overall pretty awkward and I do think some people conflate that with naivety

Mob is still a child, he doesnt fully understand how the world works at the ripe age of 14 years old, but some folks take that as him being inherently naive/innocent/whatever which I don't find true

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timetodiverge · 2 months

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None of these men know how to buy kids' clothes 🙄 (It's okay tho, she DOES love it, girl has 99-core fashion all figured out)

In honour of all the people who instantly wanted this one-liner on a t-shirt:

(in all seriousness, as someone with a disability and chronic illnesses, the way Wrecker delivered this line- with such straightforward humour, warmth, & self-acceptance- meant so much to me.)

#cause sometimes its just too exhausting reframing your differences as something “positive” and you really just do feel defective #and maybe thats okay too #he's OWNING it like an advocacy CHAMP #dont worry Wrecker got matching shirts for EVERYONE (but only he Omega & Lula wear them openly)#join me in this happy bubble where Omega & Crosshair make it back to the gang safely and EVERYTHINGS FINE FOREVER OKAY #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #tbb #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #star wars #my art

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lunar1an · 11 months

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thinking a lot about wildbow's early works (worm, pact) and his more recent moralistic works (ward, pale) and the sheer difference in narrative empathy

in worm and pact you have characters who do fucked up things but it feels like a lot of effort is put into understanding the people behind them and where they're coming from. rachel's dogs maul people but there's a whole Arc of taylor learning to vibe with her and befriend her and of rachel getting what she needs (a place alone with her dogs where she can let other people in at her own pace) and growing as a person. all from the angle of 'this is genuinely good for rachel and helpful'. we want her to succeed because we care about her.

in pact we see how sandra duchamp grew up, how she's just as much a victim of her family as she is someone who perpetuates that harm, and while she's an antagonist the story doesn't spoonfeed it to us--we're allowed to see her human and sympathetic moments and we're allowed to feel bad for her while also wanting her stopped.

it felt. i don't know. like the story in general respected these characters, respected the reader's ability to empathize with those characters while also knowing Murder Bad or whatever.

but then the major worm fandom interpretations shifted. you had reddit and other popular sources going on about how taylor was actually horrible and an unreliable narrator, and how the undersiders were actually ~super fucked up and evil criminals~. pact and twig were spared this for the most part by virtue of being less popular with those crowds.

and i'm not sure if the morality discourse got baked into wildbow's brain by osmosis or if he felt like he wouldn't be appeasing his fandom if he didn't address it or what.

but by ward suddenly that narrative empathy, for the most part, is missing. it becomes conditional -- the protagonist and others do not extend empathy towards others until they Properly Recognize What They've Done Wrong. any improvement, any attempt to do better isn't legitimate unless the Bad Deeds are addressed and atoned for by whatever inconsistent standards the narrative adheres to. what matters isn't riley being in a healthier place and making connections--ward thinks that we should be rooting for riley because she recognizes she messed up and is constantly making up for the atrocities she committed.

i think it's kind of reached its peak in post arc 13 pale though. every time empathy is extended it's near-always accompanied by a patronizing little reminder of "mmmm, well you did Bad Things too".

you aren't allowed to just say "well damn i sympathize with charles", for example, because the narrative constantly reminds you that actually he is Still Doing Bad and therefore you aren't allowed to feel for him. it doesn't help that the story continually one-ups itself on thinking of ways to make charles over the top evil either.

but either way it's just. bleak. in a story purportedly about community building it's shockingly uncaring. you can't just sympathize with a morally grey character or take them As They Are without the story casting judgment and constantly reminding you of their verdict. it's just exhausting and makes any positive message the story tries to send feel hollow

OBLIGATORY NOTE: this essay does not mean "actually all fallen and e88 and etc should be empathized with". what it does mean is that in a moralistic work it becomes telling when ex-nazi rune gets her own interlude and a bunch of pagetime to show how she's 'doing better' while that same courtesy isn't extended to many villains who are traumatized and might have, say, legitimate reasons to not want to be arrested or feel like they have no other option, or legitimate reason to not support the heroes, but oh. they do Crimes so actually none of that matters as long as they're still Doing Crimes.

#parahumans #wildbow #uhhh this discusses every web serial except for twig p much so general spoiler warnings ig #also keep in mind this is about characters who werent created from the get go to be pure antagonists #its fine to just have characters who are evil. sometimes people just suck #but theres a difference between that and the story going 'actually your circumstances and any nuance doesn't matter because you suck'

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