#Ambiente Bio

[fourgottencoast]

'generative ai is here to stay so get over it and accept it' what happened to 'ai is the aesthetic of fascism'? the slave labor? the environmental costs (and the racism/classism that goes with it- data centers destroying ecosystems and the local- usually poor/majority nonwhite-towns' health)? the pollution of the internet with misinformation? its use in mass-denial of healthcare claims? the scraping of people's labor without consent to be regurgitated for cheap, and the real people being fired en-masse in favor of new shiny cut-corners? the nsfw deepfakes of nonconsenting adults AND CHILDREN? the propaganda? its use in modern-weaponry and surveillance??

'no ethical consumption under capitalism' UR NOT EVEN TRYING!!! utterly spineless!!

[pier-carlo-universe]

CHE COS'È IL VERDERAME?Un elemento essenziale per l’agricoltura e la viticoltura sostenibile. Di Alessandria today

Un’antica soluzione per proteggere le piante

Un’antica soluzione per proteggere le piante Il verderame è una delle sostanze più utilizzate in agricoltura per la protezione delle coltivazioni. Si tratta di un composto a base di rame, storicamente utilizzato per le sue proprietà fungicide, che rappresenta una soluzione ecologica ed efficace per combattere molte patologie delle piante. Questa sostanza è particolarmente nota nel settore della…

[blogghiamo]

Biologico = costoso e inaccessibile? Non è sempre vero! Leggi il nostro articolo e scopri come fare la spesa bio senza spendere una fortuna.

[dajabonnoticias]

Medió ambiente realiza jornada de limpieza en Dajabón con privados de libertad

*Dia Internacional de la Limpieza de Ríos y Playas*   La limpieza de ríos y playas es fundamental para la preservación del ecosistema y la biodiversidad. En muchos países, esta actividad se celebra el 21 de septiembre, mientras que en otros, como la República Dominicana, se lleva a cabo el tercer sábado de septiembre. Esta fecha busca generar conciencia sobre la contaminación de los mares y…

[genteyhogaressostenibles]

Más jóvenes en acción en el IES El Escorial

En el proyecto En Madrid, cada plato es un paisaje estamos muy contentas con la acción juvenil ¡Por otra alimentación, jóvenes en acción! que hemos realizado esta primavera con el alumnado de 1º y 2º del Grado Superior Técnico en Educación y Control Ambiental del IES El Escorial.

Gracias a todas las personas implicadas en este proceso de ApS: ¡Ha sido una fantástica experiencia! En la crónica “Más jóvenes en acción en el IES El Escorial” te contamos cómo fue el taller formativo, la visita a la finca Suerte Ampanera y la acción de concienciación sobre alimentación sostenible en la que un grupo muy comprometido ha conseguido involucrar a la comunidad educativa.

[sanzameta]

Resistenza contadina

Fabrizio Bertuzzo era un architetto, ricercatore e docente universitario. I suoi interessi sono sempre stati rivolti alla pianificazione urbanistica e territoriale. Il suo approccio è una metodologia di ricerca storica interdisciplinare nei confronti del paesaggio e della sua evoluzione. Un approccio di tipo “integrato”, attraverso la collaborazione e la concertazione fra le sedi istituzionali…

[bikewalden]

OGM e AMBIENTE

Intervista a Antonio Pascale Realizzata da Luciano Coluccia

QUANTO MENO?

La resa di un ettaro di terreno coltivato a grano è rimasta invariata per secoli, fino all’avvento dei concimi di sintesi e degli agrofarmaci; la complicata vicenda del cotone e dei suicidi in India; la convinzione che la battaglia non possa che essere quella per produrre di più, non di meno. Intervista a Antonio Pascale.

Una Città n° 193 / 2012 Aprile

[hello-eden]

Dead on Main time travel with a mom Danny twist.

Jason calls in a favor from someone on the justice league dark team for help with a case that got magical. the person sends him Danny. it goes well. they're both working very professionally. something happens and they end up back in time in their younger bodies.

Both of them are in the same city that they were working the case on. They are far away from home but Jason is 15 a few months before he finds out about his bio mom and Danny at this time is incubating Dan and Ellie's cores.

Neither of them quite realize the repercussions of what's Happening. The two of them team up to try and get back home. What the two of them don't realize is Danny's friends and family have no idea where he is though they are less worried than the bat family who fully believe Jason is kidnapped.

The two of them go on adventure trying to dodge any local heroes or villains. Eventually the two of them are able to get into contact with Clockwork and Clockwork tells them that they have altered this timeline too much for them to go back. 

The two of them angst about that until they have to get forced out of that because they run into a local hero. I want to say one of the Titans that work with Nightwing because then they recognize Jason but have no reason to know that he's missing.

the two of them then realize that because they're in their younger bodies everyone has no idea where they are. This is when Danny realizes that at that age he is incubating Dan and Ellie which makes him try to split off from Jason.

As Danny's trying to figure out a way to tell Jason what's going on Jason realizes that Danny is getting really sick or at least he thinks is really sick. He's getting tired more easily than before and keeps throwing up. Jason originally thought it was due to stress of the situation but it becomes more and more clear that it is not. They end up having a confrontation which leads to Danny telling him that they are basically pregnant. 

Jason tells Danny that they are not leaving them, especially not after everything that happened. The two of them decide together where to go. The two of them end up deciding the only places that they can go are Amity park or Gotham because of the ambient ectoplasm.

They can go to Amity Park except last time Danny was there it was a bad Fenton parents reveal which led to both Dan and Ellie dead with jazz wheelchair bound as well as Sam and Tucker in comas.

 Or

they could go to Gotham except Jason is probably presumed missing. Having Wayne and bat family connection is probably best for them except for Jason having a falling out in the last timeline as well as knowing that he is supposed to be dead in a few weeks. Jason knows that his death is a major turning point for his family as well as many other things in the timeline.

[attualebrasil]

Edifícios Doentes

um Edifício é considerado doente quando 20% dos seus ocupantes, desenvolvem algum tipo de problema de saúde relacionado à permanência no local. De fato, é difícil imaginar que dentro do ambiente de trabalho, aparentemente seguro e confortável, estamos propensos a adquirir doenças apenas por estar respirando.

Para que você mantenha seu escritório seguro e livre se contaminação conheça nosso avançado sistema de desinfecção no qual em instantes o ambiente é totalmente desinfectado contra vírus e bactérias.

[bioai]

¿Cómo puedo usar Chat GPT para crear nuevas cartas rpg para NFTs?

¡Hola! Puedes usar Chat GPT para crear nuevas cartas RPG para NFTs de la siguiente manera:

Define el contexto de tu juego RPG. ¿De qué se trata? ¿Qué tipos de personajes, habilidades y mundos quieres incluir?

Escribe algunas oraciones sobre los personajes, habilidades o mundos que deseas incluir en tus cartas RPG. Trata de incluir detalles interesantes y únicos que hagan que tus cartas se destaquen.

Usa el modelo de lenguaje natural de Chat GPT para generar texto adicional que puedas incluir en tus cartas RPG. Puedes hacer esto proporcionando al modelo una muestra de tu texto de partida y solicitando que genere un texto adicional basado en esa muestra.

Utiliza la salida generada por Chat GPT para crear descripciones de personajes, habilidades y mundos. Asegúrate de ajustar el texto generado por el modelo según sea necesario para que se adapte a las necesidades de tu juego.

Una vez que hayas creado tus descripciones, puedes agregarlas a tus cartas RPG para que los jugadores puedan aprender más sobre el universo de tu juego.

Espero que esta información te sea útil. ¡Buena suerte con la creación de tus cartas RPG para NFTs!

Inglés.

How can I use Chat GPT to create new rpg cards for NFT?

Hello! You can use Chat GPT to create new RPG cards for NFTs as follows:

Define the context of your RPG game. What is it about? What types of characters, abilities, and worlds do you want to include?

Write a few sentences about the characters, abilities, or worlds you want to include in your RPG cards. Try to include interesting and unique details that make your cards stand out.

Use Chat GPT's natural language model to generate additional text that you can include in your RPG cards. You can do this by abrading the model with a sample of your starting text and requesting it to generate additional text based on that sample.

Use the output generated by Chat GPT to create descriptions of characters, abilities, and worlds. Be sure to adjust the model-generated text as needed to suit the needs of your game.

Once you've created your descriptions, you can add them to your RPG cards so players can learn more about your game universe.

I hope this information is useful to you. Good luck creating your RPG cards for NFTs!

[theharddeck]

do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone. 

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit. 

But. 

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app. 

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do. 

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play. 

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones. 

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena. 

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you. 

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy. 

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter. 

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering. 

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.  

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip. 

Why did guys in real life never moan? 

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure. 

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low. 

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only. 

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you. 

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste? 

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy,  acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin. 

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.” 

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his. 

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?” 

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper. 

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you. 

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper. 

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him. 

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?” 

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds. 

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you. 

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly. 

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl. 

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy. 

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?” 

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against. 

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded. 

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.” 

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect. 

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there. 

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow. 

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.  

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to. 

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear. 

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set. 

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you. 

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door. 

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time. 

Some might even say, with a pep in your step. 

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed. 

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat. 

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly. 

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on. 

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing). 

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person. 

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets. 

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration. 

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze. 

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too. 

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise. 

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips. 

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago. 

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.” 

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock. 

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms. 

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it). 

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal. 

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before?? 

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot. 

A knock on your door startled you. 

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically. 

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door. 

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused. 

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. 

He looked the same. 

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you. 

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills. 

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them. 

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral. 

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away. 

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse. 

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room. 

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced. 

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t. 

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room. 

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again. 

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it. 

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep. 

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react. 

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation. 

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again. 

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you. 

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly. 

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him. 

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob. 

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway. 

Of course he did. 

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately. 

Objectively, Bob was the best. 

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you. 

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you. 

He pushed himself off the bed. 

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either. 

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay. 

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it. 

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question. 

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break. 

You kissed him. 

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer. 

He was so soft. 

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him. 

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention. 

“Can I show you?” you asked. 

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry. 

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely. 

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous. 

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him. 

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard. 

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.  

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on. 

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze. 

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently. 

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you. 

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually. 

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked. 

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob. 

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered. 

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them. 

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett. 

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard. 

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him. 

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need. 

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch. 

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission. 

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations. 

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing. 

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing. 

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it. 

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric. 

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob. 

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again. 

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob. 

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering. 

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob. 

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking. 

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did. 

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled. 

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him. 

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.” 

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him. 

It was better with him. 

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing. 

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good. 

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there. 

You felt like you were floating. 

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him. 

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he? 

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life. 

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right. 

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips. 

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you. 

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself. 

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner. 

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin. 

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin. 

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned. 

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.” 

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had. 

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless. 

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered. 

He wasn’t done, either. 

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…” 

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses. 

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man. 

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace. 

You loved the feeling of his skin. 

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you. 

Fuck. 

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders. 

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric. 

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself. 

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him. 

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick. 

Holy. Shit. 

He looked like a work of art. 

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl. 

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky. 

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat. 

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again. 

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it. 

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact. 

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you. 

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him. 

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them. 

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking. 

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster. 

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much. 

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly. 

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot. 

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you. 

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more. 

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn. 

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect. 

Fuck, he felt so good. 

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon. 

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked. 

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.  

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.  

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything. 

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop. 

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.  

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying. 

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core. 

He knew, somehow. 

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising. 

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…” 

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him. 

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back. 

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop. 

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant. 

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him. 

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips. 

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you. 

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you. 

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips. 

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher. 

And then. 

And then he got close. 

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you. 

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it. 

When you came back, you were on your side. 

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.  

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction. 

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

//

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

[ragzonacamrencruise]

Azutara #10

highschool popular kid / nerd au

oooooh i got it. okay let's go.

***

Katara forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Most of her junior year, she spent sat at them bleechers, her nose buried in at least two books alternatively, checking out the dissimilarities between them talking about the same subject. She then combines the two to create her own version, taking the gist of it and applies it to her exams. It seems to be working really well cuz she keeps getting straight A's.

She always prefers the bleechers, mostly because of the ample space the benches provide her to actively spread out the study material. But also because the ambient noises of students training for various different sports, provide for a great white noise for some reason.

AP Biology rocks her world like no other subject has ever done. In knowing the intricacies of the human body, as well as other nuanced processes that tag along with it, Katara's even better than her teacher, sometimes. Proving to be humile, she bites her tongue every time her teacher get it wrong. So, it's safe to say that Katara knows fairly well how the human body works.

That is exactly the reason why she's surprised when she realises she forgot how to breathe. Standing there, two meters away from her, sweat glistening on her body, looking directly at her, is the school's most popular girl.

Azula Fyre.

All these days Katara spent on the bleechers, she had had to control her eyes whenever they betrayed her, straying to the pale Asian girl, running the circumference of the whole ground at least 5 times before she went in for her routine workout. And each time she passed Katara, the blue-eyed girl couldn't help but stare at Azula's lithe frame, whizzing past her. In theory, Biology came easy to Katara. But practically, she has no control over her body whenever the popular girl is involved.

Azula steps closer to her, cautiously. "Do you ever do anything else other than study all the time?"

Up unitl now, Katara, not really keen on sending her body into a frenzy, had been quiet, trying her best to ignore Azula's scrutinizing look. But now that she's directly speaking to her, and no one's around for at least 50 meters, Katara has no choice but to interact.

"Who? Me?" She asks. She knows it's dumb. But she can't help but let her brain short-circuit.

Azula lets out a chuckle, the afternoon sun doing it's best to tan her pale skin. "Yeah, you. There's no one else here. I see you here all the time and you've always got your nose buried in heaps of books."

"Right." Katara blinks, looking around awkwardly, trying to settle her nerves. "I do other . . . stuff. It's not just reading."

Azula arches one perfect brow. "Like what?"

Katara takes a moment to answer. Not because she doesn't know the answer, but because she just started sweating through her shirt for some reason and her body doesn't seem to be listening to her. "Does wrestling with my brother for mundane stuff count?"

Azula lets out a breath, smiling ever-so-slightly. "Maybe." She steps closer and takes a seat right beside Katara.

Katara tries to go back to reading. She really does. But the heated presence of Azula physically stops her. She doesn't know why or how.

"You're Katara Ocean, right?" Azula quips, after a second, resting her palms on either side of her toned thighs, looking at the blue-eyed girl sideways.

Katara perks up. "You know my name?"

"Uh . . ." Azula blinks for a moment, seemingly faltering for some reason. But she quickly collects herself. "You're in Bio with me."

Of course.

"I'm Azula." She says, with a soft smirk on her face. "You would know that if you turned your head to the back of the class too, from time to time."

Katara fights a smile, which unfortunately for her, breaks through her lips with barely any resistance. "I know that." She manages to mumble, looking down at her books.

Even if she didn't turn around in Bio class, she would've known that.

Azula tries to catch Katara's eyes, bending forward a little. "Then you must also know that I do track."

Katara nods, looking at the pale girl through her eyelashes. What she doesn't know is why is this girl talking to her?! She literally is at the top of the food-chain. And Katara is . . . well, Katara. She hangs out mostly with Aang, who's a freshman and her brother Sokka, who's a senior. She keeps to herself most of the time.

Seeing that Katara isn't that responsive, Azula lets out a short sigh. "Well . . ." She says, making a move as if to get up.

But Katara, seeing that her chance is slipping right through her fingers, interrupts her. "Do you only sprint?"

"What?" Azula sits back down, smiling.

"Track." Katara says so fast, it's barely English. "Do you only sprint?"

Azula looks at her curiously for a hot second. "No, I'm uh . . . I signed up for marathons too."

Katara frowns. "That's . . . dichotomic . . ." Azula raises her brow again so Katara explains herself. "I mean, sprints require white muscle groups to-"

"-to provide me with a quick, short burst of energy, I know." Azula finishes Katara's sentence and Katara can do nothing but let her lips fall open at her surprise.

She's smart too?!

Azula looks down at the ground. "I need to improve my stamina; build up my red muscle groups so that I can sustain for long periods of time too." Then she turns to Katara. "That's why I signed up for marathons and been practicing for it ever since."

Her almost golden brown eyes scan Katara's face, noticing her surprised look. "What?"

Katara closes her mouth in a hurry. "N- Nothing."

"I'm in Bio class with you remember? If that's what you're thinking . . ."

"She taught us that completely wrong in class."

"Well," Azula gets up from her seat, with a tone of finality in her voice. "I may be a jock. But I'm not that dumb."

She smirks at Katara and her stomach suddenly flips without her permission. "See ya later! It was nice meeting you!" Azula shouts over her shoulder as she sprints away in direction of the locker room.

The grin on Katara's face doesn't let her read anymore.

...

"Yes, Miss Fyre?" The Biology teacher, Mrs. Hung, pulls her glasses down to the tip of her nose to see better.

Katara turns around in her seat to follow her line of sight, and soon enough, her eyes fall on Azula's raised hand, at the back of the class.

"15." Azula states simply, with a bored look on her face.

"That's incorrect." Mrs. Hung says with a sigh. "Anybody else?"

"15 is the correct answer." Azula says again with an annoyed look on her face.

Mrs. Hung sighs again. "I'm afraid the correct answer is 12, Miss Azula."

Azula rolls her eyes. "No. I'm pretty sure it's 15. You forgot to add the 3 molecules of ATP when pyruvic acid is converted to acetyl coA and oxidation by the mitochondrian transport system. The answer, hence, with basic math, 12 + 3, is 15."

Katara gulps.

Azula's right. Mrs. Hung's been messing up the entire Kerb's cycle today and it feels like that was Azula's last straw. But the look on Mrs. Hung face, the glare that she's aiming at the popular girl, her cheeks turning redder than Rudolph the reindeer, alarms Katara.

"Are you questioning my method of teaching, young lady?!" Mrs. Hung boils.

"I most definitely am, old lady." Azula says with a smirk on her face.

Katara's eyes widen. The whole class goes "ooooooooohhhh" at that.

"Alright, that does it!" Mrs. Hung yells. "Miss. Fyre, out of my class. Now!" She points to the door.

"Gladly." Azula breathes a huge sigh of relief, gathering her notes in her arms and walking to the front of the class.

When she reaches to where Katara's sitting, her golden brown haze locks with sparkling blue ones and Azula throws her a victorious smirk, just before exiting the class.

That's the second time this week Katara's had trouble breathing.

...

That afternoon, as soon as Azula's golden brown eyes fall on Katara, she comes running to the bleechers. Katara's face heats up quickly as she makes the blunder of looking at the popular girl's toned abs in her track uniform as she runs.

She averts her gaze as soon as Azula nears her.

"One may think Hung will shut up for decades after I embarrassed her like that. But that isn't gonna stop her, is it?" The lithe girl breathes out, panting a little.

Katara looks up with a hesitant smile. "But, you shouldn't have done that."

"What? And let her grow a bunch of dumb-witted jerks?! I don't think so."

Katara doesn't try to stop her grin this time.

Azula looks at her longingly. "You can laugh. It's funny."

"It was kind of funny." Katara chuckles.

Katara's eyes, heavy from straining to hold itself up, drops down to Azula's heaving chest, where a single drop of sweat runs the length of her neck and drips down, and disappears between her-

Katara clears her eyes and averts her throat-

Wait, no- She clears her throat and averts her eyes.

God! She really needs to get a grip!!

"Your hair looks . . . very dark." Azula says hesistantly, and Katara meets her gaze again. "It can house an entire school of Anglerfish in it. Because . . . it's so dark." The pale girl slightly points her finger to Katara's hair to further insinuate her point.

Katara frowns slightly. That was a very . . . specific compliment to give. If you can even call it a compliment. Azula seems to realise her plight too and she subtly scratches the nape of her neck awkwardly.

Nonetheless, Katara offers her a sweet smile. "Thank you."

Azula's face immediately lights up, and Katara practically swoons at the girl's smile. She tries to distract herself again, by letting her eyes fall down to the book in front of her, but not before she hears the golden-eyed girl mumble something along the lines of ". . . can't believe that worked!" to herself.

A few seconds of silence passes, until Azula breaks it, again. "I'm sorry, I know I should just let you study, but my track-meet is coming up this weekend and I was thinking that maybe you could . . ."

Katara looks up at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Y- You want me to attend your track-meet?"

Azula offers her a nervous smile. "Well, the whole school would be here, and since you study so much I thought maybe you wouldn't be interested these kind of . . . activities. I thought if I invited you personally maybe- you know what? Forget it. I never should've asked and-"

Katara involuntarily reaches out to place her palm on the rambling girl's arm. "I'll be there."

Azula sucks in a sharp breath. "You will?!"

"Of course." Katara reluctantly withdraws her hand from Azula's arm, but not before getting a glimpse of how toned it felt under her fingers.

The grin Azula gives her could dull the Sun. "Okay, great!" She stands up abrupty. "I will look forward to it." She walks back awkwardly. "See you there. Bye!"

Katara waves her goodbye and Azula once again, sprints to the locker room.

...

It's loud. Very loud and Katara almost starts an headache. But she pushes it to the sidelines as she focuses on a jumping Azula, way over there on the race track. She's twisting from time to time, hopping on her feet, warming up.

Katara's never seen the bleechers so full. Ever. She's sitting at the blue side of the seats that represent their school. Azula hops a little more, and Katara stares at her, hoping against all odds that she would win.

Suddenly, Azula's eyes find her, and Katara's breath catches painfully in her throat. Even from this distance, her golden brown eyes are striking.

She waves directly at her and Katara's face heats up quickly. Every person around Katara waves back to Azula, thinking they were the ones being waved at.

Azula just rolls her eyes, noticing it and returns back to hopping.

A few minutes later, a shrill whistle echoes through the area and the contestants immediately fall into position, bracing their fingers on the ground, ready to sprint.

It's a 200 meter run, and Katara's heart rate quickens in anticipation, her eyes never leaving the pale skinned girl. A voice on the mic says, "Set." and the runners' butt lift in unison.

Silence falls heavy on the bleechers, building up the anticipation. Then suddenly, the shrill whistle blows again and the runners take off in jet speed.

The crowd erupts in cheers, urging their favourite players on immediately. Katara clasps her fingers together, watching with bated breath.

Azula runs like the wind. She runs so fast that there's at least a meter's gap between her and whoever's behind her. She quickly takes the lead, crossing the finish line in a whirlwind, securing the first place, with the kind of ease only she seems to posses.

The crowd goes wild. Their cheer slowly turns into a chant of Azula's name over and over again. Every one rushes into the track, scooping Azula in their arms and lifting her up.

Katara almost cries.

...

Monday afternoon sees Katara hesitantly walking into an empty girls' locker room, eyes scanning for a specific someone.

A locker door shuts close and immediately reveals Azula clad in just her bra and sports shorts. Katara gulps, averting her wandering gaze quickly. But before she could even start talking, Azula's captivating gaze falls on her.

"Hey!" She beams. "I was so worried! You weren't there after the track-meet ended and I didn't see you at the bleechers today either."

"Sorry." Katara says sheepishly. "I was a little . . . pre-occupied."

Azula gives her a suspicious look, but doesn't question it further. She throws a towel over her forearm and holds her silence for a second longer before she chuckles. "I had no idea you'd know the way to the locker, considering how your nose is always in a book."

Katara reaches over and slaps Azula lightly on the arm. "Shut up."

The motion causes the towel over Azula's arm to fall to the floor. Katara immediately steps closer, bending forward to pick it up, before Azula could. She straightens herself, a sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through her viens. "I'm so sorry. I-"

And for the fourth time, Katara forgets how to breathe, as she suddenly realises how her face is merely an inch away from the sprinter's face.

"Don't worry about it . . ." The golden-eyed girl is saying, but she trails off, too close to even whisper. Her gaze dips to Katara's lips, staying there a second longer before she returns her now darkening eyes back to Katara's brilliant blue ones.

"Azula . . ." Katara whispers.

And before she knows what's happening, Azula is upon her, hungry lips crashing with hers in a cacophony of new emotions Katara didn't know the human body could feel.

It all happens so fast. One moment Katara's eyes are widening from the shock and the next moment she's kissing the popular girl back just as hungrily. The towel in her hand falls down once again and neither even pays attention to it.

Azula's hands find her hips and she grasps it firmly, before lifting Katara up with ease, slamming her against the locker. The blue-eyed girl could do nothing but whimper, as she wraps her legs around Azula's toned back. She tries to keep up with the pace Azula's setting, but fails miserably.

Azula pulls back a little, planting her lips under Katara's ear. "I've been wanting to do this since I first saw you at the damn bleechers months ago." She rasps into Katara's ear and Katara can only shudder in response.

She clutches onto Azula's neck for dear life, as she captures her lips again with a raw hunger, devouring her to submission completely.

Silent whimpers from Katara's throat when the kisses become deeper and filled with more purpose, makes Azula pull away, resting her forehead on Katara's.

"Azula . . ." Katara says again, but her brain seems to freeze completely, focusing on nothing but the way Azula's holding her right now, painfully aware of the fact that Azula's between her legs.

"I wanna do this right." Azula states, panting like she just ran one of her sprints. "Jasmine Dragon. Saturday night. 7 pm."

Katara nods frantically, bumping her nose against Azula's. The sprinter lets out a chuckle, kissing the tip of Katara's nose softly, before giving her a chaste kiss again on the lips.

She lets her down from her grip, and Katara slides down, knees buckling under her. She fights the urge to just slam her lips back on Azula again.

"Get out of here before I change my mind." Azula breathes out.

Katara stumbles all the way back to her home, her brain still not grasping on to what the heck just happened, a stupid smile on her face.

***

i throughly enjoyed writing this omggggg

if you find any typos, no you didn't 🤭

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

Hello. I am sure this week you are swamped with notes. But I feel compelled to contact because of discourse around one direction. I’m a middle aged mom who didn’t know the band in their hey day but my daughter who is now in her 20s did for sure. She is now what I guess is called a Harrie. During quarantine I stumbled onto Tumblr and read about the band including all the drama of bbg, hiatus, later xfactor gigs. Harry’s pop hits are impossible to avoid but it’s Louis’ music that I really love probably because I grew up on Green Day, Oasis, etc and have diverse music taste. I think that makes me a Louie? Anyway I have to say your takes on the industry and the boys’ personalities seem spot on to me. You have no reason to care about my opinion. But as an older fan I am confident Louis is the real deal. His bio and vibe formed an authentic human with so many relatable qualities. I tend to cheer on the underdog in life, maybe that contributes to my fanning for him. But I have no doubts. Call it middle aged sixth sense having dealt with all sorts of people in my private and professional life. Louis is lovely- flawed and human as are we all- but lovely to the core. I’m so glad his fandom enjoys you at the helm. I really appreciate your Tumblr! So thank you and keep up the good work lol!

Hello and welcome to the madness!

Thank you for sending a message. Yours is a kind, reasoned voice in the wilderness. Believe me, it is rare and much appreciated. 🥰💕

It’s understandable that most people know Harry Styles better and are more likely to be his fans. He was heavily promoted and now he’s everywhere, a marketing tour-de-force. Most casual listeners want ambient background music; Harry’s music is all ear worms. He wanted to be a sex symbol and now he is. The world is his oyster.

It’s especially great to hear from people who have had some life experiences, because for you (and me), perhaps disappointment, career ups and downs, heartbreaks and grief aren’t hypotheticals on a page. In our early twenties, we made mistakes that in retrospect were impetuous and unwise. We know we wrongly cut people off, or were selfish, or didn’t return love the way we should have. Now it’s too late to undo some stuff.

I think Louis is relatable on this level— he’s not perfect but very human. He has made some bad choices. He has regrets and feels remorse. He’s incredibly successful but also just a normal person.

The genius of Louis Tomlinson is that he’s able to express all of this in three-minute pop songs, in a way that doesn’t wave away the responsibility or regret but nevertheless gives us grounding. His songs let us pause to breathe, to reset and regroup, and finally to find joy in being human, being alive, belonging to a community of caring. “This one is a thank you for what you did for me.” Louis gives us the gift of empathy: even in the worst of times, we don’t have to go into the dark woods alone.

Louis gives us permission to forgive our past so that we can believe in a better way. He also allows us to acknowledge the pain in the details, to recognize that grief ultimately comes from love.

There have been times in the past that I’ve driven for miles in sadness, not knowing who to talk to or where to go, alone except for Louis’ music in the car. Sometimes we are faced with dilemmas without happy solutions. We want to talk to people who have passed away. We yearn not to have to go through fire. We think the darkest thoughts.

Somehow it helps to hear very simple words sung honestly. “It comes/ it goes/ we’re driving down a one way road to something better.”

So, welcome.

[thedeathharbinger]

❀-.-``S.N.'s Character Sheet/Bio.``-.-❀

-------------------------------------------------------------

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Name: S.N. Going into the contents of my name is unnecessary.

Nicknames: S, Death, Creepy lady, Bad Omen, Deathbringer, Death harbinger, Madame.

Birthday: 10/7

Physical Age: 25.

Actual Age: . . . Getting into the specifics is quite lengthy, so you could say . . More than a million .

Occupation: Goddess of the unworthy dead, subordinate for Noli.

VC: Me or Arlecchino.

Quote: Οι πράξεις σου έχουν συνέπειες, παιδί μου. : )

Theme songs: Candle Queen, Butcher's Vanity, Valse Sentimentale, Blue Hair.

Species: Goddess. Was it that obvious? Pfft.

Scent: Dewdrops and a mixture of men cologne and woman's perfume.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Likes: Tea, Wine, Macarons, Mystery, Books, Silence/Ambient spaces, Gardens, People who aren't afraid of her on first sight. Negotiations are better without either side fearing eachother.

Neutrals: Death, Cannibalism, Making friends, Her "brother" JLN, Liz, M.E., showing any true emotion.

Dislikes: JACOB DAVIDSON, Discovering new emotions[ It's quite perplexing for me to understand sometimes. ] , Pushy people.

Note: Never give me human parts to eat. Unless you want me to go out of control and go ballistic ! Strongly unrecommended. : )

[WIP! MORE COMING SOON!!]

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[doctorbunny]

(Part 6) MILGRAM x AVOIT bluetooth earphones collab: Mikoto and Kotoko voice lines

[Brief context: On 28th December 2023 a crossover was announced for bluetooth earphones featuring original voicelines from MILGRAM characters. [Website]

PRISON.009 Mikoto Kayano Vertical text = こんなところで何やってんだろ、僕 = What am I doing in a place like this...? [the first line of Mikoto's first voice drama]

Voice Guidance: 電源オーン = Power O~n 電源オーフ＝Power O~ff 接続成功、やったね = Connection successful, woohoo! [he cheers 'yatta ne' same as Yuno did, which is a celebratory cheer, so you can imagine him saying 'yippee' here too if you'd prefer ww] 接続解除 = Connection terminated ペアリングしてるからちょっと待ってね = It's Pairing so just wait a bit, ok? ペアリング成功 = Pairing successful あれ、ペアリング失敗しちゃった = Eh- The pairing didn't work at all そろそろ充電したほうがいいんじゃない? = Shouldn't you put it on charge soon? ノイズキャンセリングオ〜ン = Noise Cancelling O~n アンビエントマイクをオンするよ = Ambient mic turned on, y'know ノーマルモードだよ = It's on Normal Mode

Random Voice: ヒトゴロシとか言われても、知らないよ･･････ = Even if they're saying I'm like a murderer or something, I don't know anything about it おつかれー。たまにはおやすみしなよ~ = I'm exhausted-. It's pretty rare that I get a good rest~ そういう音楽聴くんだ。センスいいね = The kind of music you listen to. You've got good taste マッピー、恋バナしよ、恋バナ = Mappi-, lets chat about love, girl talk! [the word Mikoto uses here is 'koi bana' which was also the name of minigram 45, it literally means a kind of light, gossipy chat about love, but officially got TL'd as 'girl talk' so I used both terms to fit it into English better] ゆんちゃん。最近JKの間では何がアツいの? = Yun-chan. What's the latest hotness amongst the JKs? [JK is a slang term short for 女子高生/joshi kousei/female high school students, closest English slang I could think of was Girliepop but it's not quite the same. Basically he's just asking her what's currently popular with teenage girls. Mikoto also filled out his interrogation questions like it was a social media bio so he's just Like This sometimes www] フータさー。そんなんじゃモテないよ? = C'mon Fuuta-. Isn't that kind of stuff cringe? [the word Mikoto uses here is motenai, which is unpopular/avoided/unwelcome, often in the sense of 'that guy is unpopular with women', its a slang term, so I extrapolated to find an English one I felt fit] 僕を守るためなら、俺はなんだってするぜ = If its for the sake of protecting Mikoto, I'll do whatever it takes! [This is John speaking, we know because he uses 'ore', in the first half he refers to Mikoto as 'boku', which is the first person pronoun Mikoto uses] ああああー! 俺をいらつかせんなぁー!! = Arghhh-! Don't piss me off- !! [John again]

PRISON.010 Kotoko Yuzuriha Vertical text = 粛清完了。当然の報いだ = Purge Complete. It's [their] just desserts. [from the second trial teaser trailer]

Voice Guidance: 電源オン = Power On 電源オフ＝Power Off 接続成功 = Connection Successful 接続解除 = Connection Terminated ペアリング中 = Pairing [on going] ペアリング成功 = Pairing Successful ちっ、ペアリング失敗 = Tsk, Pairing failed ちょっと、バッテリーないんだけど = Hey, there's no battery left ノイズキャンセリング = Noise Cancelling アンビエントマイク、オン = Ambient Mic, On ノーマルモード = Normal Mode

Random Voice: いいわ。わかる人間にはわかるから = It's alright. Because people who understand will understand エス、私はあなたの牙になろう = Es, I will become your fang 音楽で精神集中? いいね = Using music to hone your mind? Nice フータ、少しは本気で生きたら? = Fuuta, why not try living at least a little seriously? [Once more from the top- "Thank you @maristelina!"] カヤノミコト、次は仕留める = Kayano Mikoto, I'll kill you next クスノキムウ、実害がない間は見逃してやる = Kusunoki Muu, as long as there's no real harm done, I'll overlook it for that time [Maristellina also helped here. The way Kotoko says she'll overlook Muu also suggests she views Muu as of a lower status than herself ] 私が看守ならよかったのに = I think it'd be great if I was the guard さぁ、私の罪を聴くがいい = Well then, you should listen to my sins

This is PART SIX of 6 Jackalope and Es, Haruka and Yuno, Fuuta and Muu, Shidou and Mahiru, Kazui and Amane, Mikoto and Kotoko [You are here]

[playerblog]

A problemática cultura dos talkers na rp e krp br, um desabafo.

Essa é uma reflexão de uma pessoa com pouco tempo por aqui, mas que dedicou um tempo para entender todos as dinâmicas das tags e agora quer falar sobre o assunto. Não é, de forma alguma, ataque a alguém ou desmerecimento. Minha inspiração foi a resposta do Jack para uma ask. Esse é apenas um ponto de vista de outras dezenas que devem existir.

Eu li tudo sobre o "desaparecimento" dos players da tag, e dois pontos que eu acho super válidos são que estamos todos aqui, ou boa parte, mas estamos cansados de jogar e o outro, que é a culura dos talkers. Eu percebo que tem um grupo que está sempre esperando a próxima confusão, a próxima moderação que vai ser cancelada, ou player que pode vir a levar um exposed, mas jogar, jogar, jogaaaaar, o pessoal tem tido preguiça.

E nem falo naquela preguiça ruim, é que junta cansaço de trabalho + estudos + afazeres domésticos + vida saudável + o social com os chegados + filhos pra quem já tem, aí o tempo aqui vira tipo um tik tok que você abre, olha e fecha. Muita gente aplica em alguma central só pra ver o movimento, ver como estão as coisas, se sentir incluso num local que foi divertido em algum momento, mas não para jogar. Esses que jogam, esses aí, esses preciosos, são uma minoria persistente e admirável, que se perdem no meio dos desinteressados. Agora, vamos para o outro ponto.

Temos uma moderação X, e tem grupo de player A e B que acham que sabe, e pelo que já percebi, sabem mesmo, quem é a moderação, e geralmente esses grupos não se relacionam bem entre si. Até porque, como o Jack mesmo disse nesse post, todos já se conhecem nessa altura de campeonato. Aí levantam uma confusão de mil anos luz atrás e esperam o mesmo deslize para ir onde? Resolver o problema como adultos 25+ que são?

Reclamar com a moderação? Argumentar com eles? Fazer um debate dentro do próprio RP?

Não... não mesmo. Eles vão em talkers.

Aí junta duas pessoas desgostosas com a vida no RP e mandam umas 15 asks sobre o mesmo assunto, o que faz parecer volumoso, como se todos os players tivessem a mesma reclamação, com a finalidade de que aquela central se feche. E adivinha só: fecha mesmo. E onde isso leva? Aí que vem a minha conclusão.

Sabe esses nossos players preciosos que realmente gostam de jogar? Desanimam. A gente nunca sabe qual vai ser o RP alvo da vez, ou o motivo de picuinha. A maioria dos talkers presentes não estão nos RPs citados em confusão, mas, na busca por 5 segundos de engajamento, postam e repostam.

Eu não sei se alguém já sofreu rechação ofensiva online, mas nos traz uma sensação de impotência, incapacidade, estresse e sensação de desconforto. Eu nunca moderei, e nem coloco minha mão no fogo por alguma moderação ou player, mas com que direito as pessoas falam e desfalam sobre alguém achando que não é crime só porque estão todos em anonimato?

Eu sou uma dessas players preciosas que amam fazer bio, me dedico nos turnos, amo responder todo mundo, eu realmente gasto um tempo aqui. Mas, sinceramente, é muito desconfortável pensar que eu posso ter uma personagem que pode ser assunto em um blog de fofoca anônimo sendo que eu, dona da personagem, sequer fui perguntada sobre o assunto. Imagina como deve ser isso para uma moderação?

Existe uma diferença entre desabafo e cyberbullying. Propagação de boatos continuado, é cyberbullying. Eu não estou aqui há muito tempo, mas gostaria de saber: quando normalizaram falar mal uns dos outros em um blog anônimo? Não importa se é um assunto a ser debatido, se é feito de forma acusatória sem ouvir ambas as partes, sem dar nomes aos bois, e, principalemente, perguntar se pode ser citado mesmo que indiretamente, é cyberbullying. Quem envia, quem responde, muitos de vocês normalizaram um crime em um ambiente de jogo.

A impressão que eu tenho, como player relativamente nova, é que a maioria das pessoas das tags se odeiam, e continuam aqui por nostalgia e pela sede de algum momento provar seu ponto de porque pessoa A ou B merece ser rechaçada. Parece meio absurdo, não é? Eu acho absurdo, mas quase todos os blogs das centrais recebem asks insutuosas em anonimato, e quando não conseguem o que querem, os odiosos anônimos recorrem aos talkers. Resultando no, talvez e quase certeiro, fechamento do RPG.

O que me dá mais uma impressão: uma parte está aqui pelo show em detrimento da exposição de terceiros, não pelo jogo. Eu, como uma assídua player de bons enredos, fiquei decepcionada com a recpção para novos players e como tentam arrastar pessoas novas para confusões de 2000 e bolinha. Estive em ótimos lugares que não resistiram a esse tipo de situação.

Logo, a frase que é comum tem um tempo, não vou aplicar, não vai durar, se une ao cansaço do dia a dia e a esse tipo de prática em talkers, e os players que jogam, aos poucos, vão se tornando meros expectadores de seus próprios personagens porque, constantemente, se sente em um campo minado pelo desânimo de estar rodeado por outros players que passam horas falando do que está sendo postado em um blog de fofocas, mas não sobre desenvolver as conexões que fez contigo.

Entendam bem, não estou atacando nenhum local em específico, e isso não é sobre agora, isso existe há anos, pelo que sei. Mas, o ponto que eu trago, a prática em si, é errada e, muitas vezes, criminosa. Isso é o motivo das tags estarem como estão? Eu digo que é um dos diversos motivos que possam trazer, é só mais um ponto de vista.

Existem blogs muito divertidos atualmente, mas por que vocês (players e moderações) tentam fazer tudo ser sobre atacar pessoas em anônimo? Os espaços em um RPG deveriam ser criados e usados para o bom andamento das tags. Problemas deveriam ser resolvidos entre os envolvidos, essa é uma dinâmica básica da vida adulta, afinal, não somos todos adultos?

Sei que muitas moderações são fechadas em suas próprias opiniões, e players também, mas fazer o que está sendo feito não é uma solução para isso. Não estou aqui em defesa e nem ataque de ninguém (blogueiros, moderações ou players), apenas trazendo o meu ponto de que a cultura de talkers na tag, por mais inocente que possa parecer, já trouxe prejuízo psicológico para várias pessoas e não contribui em praticamente nada no desenvolvimento de personagens.

Debates são ótimos, mas se cita alguém que não foi convidado para a conversa, é algo que, de longe, um adulto detentor de bom senso faria.

Para você que leu até aqui, meu mais sincero agradecimento. Para quem se sentiu constrangido de alguma forma, peço que ignore, pois nada aqui foi direcionado a alguém específico. É uma mera reflexão sobre o ato do cyberbullying que foi perpetuado nas tags através de talkers pelos players e como isso atrapalha os jogos.