#Fat Lenny

[quix5gg]

cover art for my upcoming simpsons illustration fanbook :]

[h0dge-p0dge]

i made another

I didn't know there was a tags limit LMAOSOA

[squisheelady]

Mayored to the Mob [S10 E9]

"Homer, use the for-" "The force?" "-The forks! Use the forks!"

[michaeldamico]

Even Johnny Tight Lips needs someone to listen...

[freakova]

Oh look. A cosmetic collection BASED AROUND BRAZIL and it’s another tank top, leather pants and down hair with bandana.

Jeff mains are treated so unfairly by dbd, they get a jacket cosmetic and MAYBE a recolour in the rift once a year then are never fed ever again.

What’s that? Bhvr are doing a charity for national cat and dog day? Jeff canonically owned a dog but give Claudette a dog cosmetic. Oh? The next chapter is artist related? Hoping Jeff gets a skin cause he’s an artist? Well have I got news for you

[muldermuse]

Butcher having a wet dream about you when he knows he shouldn’t even be considering it 🥴

that’s so fucking hot oh my loooooooord

your pregnancy is kicking your ass. the morning sickness is worse than anything you’ve ever experienced. billy winces every time he hears you running to the nearest toilet to throw up some luminous yellow bile. all you can stomach is salted chips and orange ice pops. you’re exhausted, sick and emotional. butcher feels so guilty that you’re suffering BUT he’s noticed something else

your body is starting to change, especially your boobs and ass- they’re growing already. your lower abdomen feels firm but nothing to show a pregnancy. butcher knows you don’t want to have sex and he understands 100%- which is why he’s getting himself off in the shower to the thought of you basically daily

when he gets into bed later in the week, he smiles when he sees you already passed out underneath the sheets. nowadays, the only time you look comfortable is when you’re asleep. MM says that Monique was the same in her first trimester but felt better as it went on- he’s hoping it’s the same for you. he cuddles into you, wrapping a strong arm around you and pulling you into a spoon.

he’s asleep within seconds

butcher dreams a lot. if he’s unlucky, he’s back in London with his dad and lenny. if he’s lucky, it’s about puppies and kittens and if he’s really fucking lucky- it’s a dream like this

your body is the same in the dream; your tits beginning to swell and the fat of your ass looking bigger than ever before. your skin is smooth to the touch, he gets hard just from touching it and then you smile. fuck. the mischievous grin when you want it hard, he pushes his thumb into your mouth which you take gladly- pursing your lips around his calloused finger and tracing your wet tongue across every ridge. the scene moves quick and before he knows it, he’s fucking you from behind. there’s a floor to wall mirror hanging in front of you so he can see the blissed out look on your face and the motion of your tits moving. you’re so tight, your walls like plush velvet and he can’t decide what to look at; your reflection or your ass slamming against his strong thighs

it’s over for him as soon as you start to throw your ass back against him, your nasally voice begging for him to cum in you. “feels so good every time billy, please please please gimme your cum again”

he wakes with a jolt. you’re still snoring softly in his hold and seemingly oblivious to what has happened. he doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact he’s had a wet dream or the feeling of his cum soaking his boxers. he groans as he gets up to shower and prays that your first trimester comes to an end soon

[androgynealienfemme]

"Yes, it's true: I was the type of young femme who managed the girls basketball team in high school, just to be able to take in the sight of all those butches parading their muscles up and down the court. I found Girl Scout camp to be femme heaven and reveled in being able to explore my athletic self and still maintain my femmeness. And, to my horror, I have to admit pushing Tina away from my breasts in the back seat of a Buick while attending Mount Saint Mary Seminary. And then there was feminism... Although I came out as a "gay" woman before reading The Feminine Mystique, the seventies brand of white feminism had me trimming my nails and cutting off my hair. Soon I was outfitted in farmer jeans and high tops. And still I was told by my "sisters" that I didn't "look like a dyke" (read: I didn't look butch). I began to lead two lives- one as an outrageous, skirted, lipsticked femme while I worked in and traveled with carnivals, and another as an imitation butch back home in the women's community. Eventually, I pulled the pieces of my being back together and proclaimed boldly, "I am a working-class lesbian femme." So I had maybe six years reveling in unleashing my seductive femme self when, as lives go, mine changed: slowly at first and then more dramatically. Recurring back pain and limited range of mobility were finally diagnosed. Soon after came decreased mobility. No more mountain climbing. No long mall walks in search of the perfect piece of sleaze. No more standing against kitchen walls being gloriously fucked by some handsome butch. I stopped using alcohol and drugs, became ill with what is now known as CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome), and began to use a three-wheeled power chair. The more disabled I became, the more I mourned the ways my sexual femme self had manifested through the nondisabled me: cruising at the local lezzie bar, picking up a dyke whose eyes refuse to stray from mine, dancing seductively, moving all of me for all of her. Cooking: love and suggestion neatly tucked into the folds of a broccoli quiche. Serving my date in varying, sleazy clothing, removing layers as the meal and our passion progressed. And making love... feeling only pleasure as my hips rose and fell under the weight of her. Accomplishment and pride smirked across my face as her wrists finally submitted to the pressure of strong persistent hands. There are the ways I knew to be femme, to be the essence of me.

It's been five years now since I began using my wheelchair. I am just awakening to a new reclamation of femme. Yes. I still grieve the way I was, am still often unsure how this femme with disabilities will act out her seduction scenes. I still marvel when women find passion amidst the chrome and rubber that is now a part of me.

There have been numerous dates, lovers, relationships, sexual partners, and fliterations along the way. Cindy, Jenny, Ellie, Emma, Diane, Dorothy, Gail, June, Clove, Lenny, Cherry, Diana, Sarah I, and Sarah II. You have all reminded me in your own subtle or overt, quit or wild ways that I am desirable, passionate, exciting, wanted.

Yes I am an incredibly sexual being. An outrageous, loud mouthed femme who's learning to dress, dance, cook, and seduce on wheels; finding new ways to be gloriously fucked by handsome butches and aggressive femmes. I hang out with more sexual outlaws now- you know, the motorcycle lesbians who see wheels and chrome between your legs as something exciting, the leather women whose vision of passion and sexuality doesn't exclude fat, disabled me.

Ableism tells us that lesbians with disability are asexual. (When was the last time you dated a dyke who uses a wheelchair?) Fat oppression insists that thin is in and round is repulsive. At times, these voices become very loud, and my femme, she hid quietly amidts the lists.

Now my femme is rising again. The time of doubt, fear, and retreat has passed. I have found my way out of the lies and oppression and have moved into a space of loving and honoring the new femme who has emerged. This lesbian femme with disabilities is wise, wild, wet, and wanting. Watch out.

-"Reclaiming femme... Yet again" Mary Francis Platt, The Persistent Desire (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

[moonlightkitties]

Christmas/Winter Themes Prompts

These are the fics I will be writing every day up in December until Christmas! Most of them are fluff but I have a few angst ones I'm going to write. I'm so excited to write these!

First Snowfall of the Year (Sean MacGuire x Reader) - Celebrating the first snowfall of the year in your new homestead, you and Sean sleep in and spend some time with each other.

Snowball Fight (Micah Bell x Reader) - After doing all your chores and just wanting to rest, Micah ruins it by throwing a freezing cold snowball at your face.

O' Christmas Tree (John Marston x Reader) - John is struggling to put the Christmas tree up while you sort through decorations.

Snowy Horse Ride (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - After a long day of chores, you and Arthur relax by taking the horses out in a cozy snowy ride.

Snowstorm Cuddles (Charles Smith x Reader) - After getting stranded in a snow storm while on a hunting trip, you and Charles share body heat to help warm up.

Christmas Movie Marathon (Michael De Santa x Reader) - Having nothing to do, you and Michael spend the day watching every Christmas movie you find.

Gingerbread Houses (Trevor Philips x Reader) - After getting gingerbread houses for both you and Trevor, you get home and ask him to make one with you. Trevor being Trevor, makes it into a competition and gets frustrated when the icing doesn't keep the walls up.

Christmas Cookies (Wade Hebert x Reader) - You and Wade make Christmas cookies and get flour everywhere.

Peppermint Mochas (Dave Norton x Reader) - Wanting to spoil your older, exhausted husband, you surprise him by making peppermint mochas.

Christmas Lights (Steve Haines x Reader) - You force Steve to take you to go look at Christmas lights.

Pretty Kitty (Lenny Summers x Reader) - You and Lenny find a cat in the snow and take it home.

My Big Strong Man (Bill Williamson x Reader) - You watch Bill chop firewood from the porch of your home.

Mistletoe (Dutch Van der Linde x Reader) - Going to a Christmas party at the Marstons place seemed fine and dandy, until Dutch tries everything he can to get you under the mistletoe.

It's Beginning to look a lot like Christmas (Michael De Santa x Reader) - Michael hasn't been spending a lot of time with you now that he makes movies. Feeling bored, you take the Christmas decorations down from the attic and start decorating.

Northern Lights (Charles Smith x Reader) - Celebrating your first Christmas in Canada, Charles takes you to see the northern lights.

Winter Blues (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - When Mary shows up, unannounced, at your and Arthur's snow covered homestead, what should have been a happy December day, turns into an anxious one as you wonder if Arthur still loves her.

Ice Fishing (Kieran Duffy x Reader) - It's your first time ice fishing with Kieran and he makes sure he has everything before the long weekend.

Christmas Dinner (Dutch Van der Linde x Reader) - You and Dutch go to your parents for Christmas dinner and he hits it off with your father.

Ice Skating (Jack Marston x Reader) - You and Jack have been dating for a few months now, when it starts snowing and the lake has been frozen over, you convince him to ice skate.

Sledding (Kieran Duffy x Reader) - After buying a sled for the kids, you and Kieran spend the entire day pulling them around and pushing them down hills.

The Fat Man (Trevor Philips x Reader) - Ever since he was a child, Trevor Philips was scared of Santa. When you and him have children, he swore he wasn't going to introduce them to "the fat man." After pouting and begging him to let you do Santa with them, he reluctantly agreed.

Twas a night before Christmas (Lenny Summers x Reader) - Lenny reads "A night before Christmas" to your kids.

Sick on Christmas (Orville Swanson x Reader) - It's Christmas morning, and instead of opening presents like you wanted to, you're stuck in bed battling a really bad cold with Orville to help you.

Christmas Eve (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - After putting the kids to bed and putting the rest of the presents under the tree, you and Arthur slow dance in the living room.

Surprise! (Bill Williamson x Reader) - Bill has been weird all week, very giddy and anxious for Christmas day. When it comes, he brings out the one thing you have been wanting for YEARS; a blue merle border collie.

[choccy-zefirka]

Living Bodies

Woe! 3K words of body worship with Emmrich and a plus-size Rook, who that had a horrible first time as a teen and internalized her partner's disgust, be upon ye!

Content warning for references to bullying, dubious consent during the aforementioned first time, fatphobia, and also everyone's privates being out among the Necropolis flowers :3 (They are doing it in a cute skeleton-adorned gazebo that came to me in a dream)

Dear Lottie,

I am so terribly sorry you fell sick and missed all the fun! But we did it! We actually did it, all according to plan! Sprung the trap for my "secret admirer"! And our suspicions were correct!

All those gunky little lumps of soap Papa found folded in my laundry — they were put there by the washer girl! That knife ear, the one that looks like a toad! I think her name is Len-something, but who cares? And yes, she made them herself, out of whatever goop she's gathered round the alienage — because she has a """"crush"""" on me! The cheek! As if just because I don't like boys exclusively, I'd ever give the time of day to a walking, talking potato! She isn’t even cute in that scared rabbit way, like elf girls are supposed to be!

She did come to the "date" me and the girls arranged, too, and blathered on and on about how beautiful I am (fact) and how much she likes me (yuck)... Until we had enough and pushed her into the river!!! Oh, I wish you were there with us, it was ab-so-lu-te-ly hilarious!

Say, since you are sat by the window in your chair all day, have you heard any news out on the street? From the paper criers, maybe? I want to know if Len-whatever ended up drowning.

Correspondence between two traders' daughters. 9:40 Dragon

***

Happy now, Sticks?

Did her like you told me to. All the way. What a shitshow. Lardy Lenny is even lardier naked, that's for sure. Felt like sticking my dick into a giant slug. Next time I lose this stupid game, just send me into a shem's mabari kennels with salami for a sword. That will be way less painful.

Don't know how I'll fuck normal girls no. The fat cunt ruined it for me. Think I'll be having nightmares for years after this. Told her that, and she started bawling. Didn't even look funny like she usually does in tears. Just gross.

So yeah. Enjoy, I guess.

Note from an alienage boy to his friend, attached to a crumpled set of girl's underclothes. 9:42 Dragon

***

At first, Lenore is too distracted by turning and flexing her left hand. Her wrist has been getting a little stiff lately: she probably holds her arm at an uncomfortable angle when mixing potions. No surprise, since she is self-taught. Aching joints and sleepy pin pricks are the least of her problems, really! When she was just starting out, on a work bench that was just a half-rotten plank of wood balanced on a rock in the alienage backyards, she'd splash hissing, blistering liquid all over herself, turning her forearms into pale clumps of scar tissue, like cold leftover noodles plastered sadly at the bottom of a bowl.

Maybe if she observes Emmrich more closely during their studies together, she will figure out how to position her arms properly... Ugh. She'll find any excuse to "observe" him, won't she? Well, she's allowed; they are a couple now, outlandish as it sounds!

A couple.

All at once, her mind catches up to what her ears heard after Emmrich, gentle and attentive as always — what has she done to deserve him? — pointed out her stiff wrist.

Finer points of anatomy.

Her eyes dart upwards from her hand, and she gapes across their elegantly arranged tea table. Emmrich smiles, soft yet playful, eyes half-lidded and shining in the wisp light.

There is that side of him, that confidence — decades' worth of it — that sometimes makes her, all flushed and boiling alive in unspoken greed, wish for more than just quick kisses and lingering glances and fingertips resting on knuckles, shoulders, waists, whenever they stand too close. As if all of that was not already a gift far more generous than normally granted from someone like him to someone like her.

It has been a harmless enough indulgence to entertain, she supposes. A guilty pleasure, something titillating to think about in the secret alone hours while she touches herself. Not that she does it too often; bodies like hers aren't really meant for this, she's well aware... But still, that's also something couples are allowed to do, right — imagine each other's faces in place of characters from the Randy Dowager's Gold Collection?

But here and now, with Emmrich looking at her like that, it hits her with the full force of a Venatori blood forge trampling her to the ground. A keen, panicked awareness that this is not the Randy Dowager's Gold Collection. This is real — they are real. Especially her. Too real, too heavy, suddenly suffocating under her own weight, suddenly feeling the scented air of the Memorial Gardens with every pore of her skin, so tangibly, disgustingly physical that it begins to itch.

Most of her is carefully concealed underneath her usual Veil Jumper leathers, but if Emmrich, the real, non-fantasy Emmrich, decides to explore these finer points of anatomy, if he lifts the covers and sees just how much she the opposite of that...

Oh. Oh no.

She still remembers, a decade later, how the sight of her naked body broke the first and only boy that agreed to touch her. And that was before she got most of her scars!

She can't do that to anyone else, ever again. Especially not to him, not to her most treasured friend, not to the man who has been so kind to her that she dared bother him with her clumsy attempts at romance. Because with him, she could be certain, at last, that it would not turn out to be a prank.

How can she repay him by giving him nightmares?!

"Dearest? Why are you crying? Was I... Was I too forward? Too much?"

She did not even notice when the tears came. But here they are, marring her vision, so that there are two Emmrichs circling the table, kneeling in the grass next to her. Unafraid of the stains that will be left on the pristine Nevarran satin. Clasping her hands.

"I know that not all experience attraction the same way; if you would rather not explore this side of romance, that is perfectly fine, and wonderful! Your affection has already been such a beautiful gift."

Past her, the one that clung to the shadows, beyond the welcoming golden glow of camp fires, outside the reach of a friendly embrace; the one that spoke in sparse, grunt-like words, and kept her head down, beaten more than once, and shy far, far more than twice — that her would have made a vague noise and slunk away, never to bring this up again. But Emmrich — and Manfred! — was the one who brought her out of her shell. He deserves the truth, spoken with her whole chest.

"I... I do feel that kind of attraction towards you. You are a beautiful man, inside and out, and when I am with you, I sometimes forget myself and... pretend I am beautiful too."

She draws in a long, labored breath. She needs all the air in her lungs before this next plunge — she should know, she almost drowned once.

"But I am not. Especially not... from the neck down. You may have gotten used to my face..."

She dips her head — a habitual motion by now — letting her long, side-shaved fringe fall into her eyes. There's always quite a bit to hide under her hair: the dark rivulet of a birthmark on one side, the scar and the squinty damaged eye on the other. At least now she can do alchemical experiments in a mask and protective goggles. Less of an eye sore for Emmrich, to be sure.

"But trust me... My body is much worse."

She shuts her eyes and shrinks back into her seat, momentarily losing her present, adult, more or less mature and competent self (at least when it comes to alchemy and to… saving the world?) in the sheer blood-curdling terror of being seventeen again.

"The boy who took my virginity was so appalled that he said I'd scarred him forever. This has haunted me for ten years. And the... deed itself was punishment from his friends for losing some sort of dare. Do you understand?"

She forces herself to look into his eyes, even as the unseen, tightly wound strings holding her together begin to snap, one by one.

"Being with me... in that way... it's torture. I care for you too much to ever — "

"Lenore, my darling..."

Still on his knees — and still so tall that their faces are level — Emmrich pulls her hand to his lips and covers it in kisses. First on the outer side, swift, soft, each touch a beat of velvety butterfly wings; then, long, nearly reverent, on the inner side, where her pulse hammers against her bluish-pale wrist.

"Thank you for being frank with me. And I am truly, deeply sorry that you were betrayed with... such utter cruelty, in one of your life's most vulnerable moments. That fool of a boy was not the one scarred. You were. And oh, my dearest, you are still bleeding."

She listens to him in petrified silence, still as a startled halla before a long, soundless leap away from danger. She does not mean to — she knows Emmrich better than this by now; if he is disgusted by her, he will be much more polite about it — but instinctively, she braces herself for him to recoil away, grimacing like he is about to vomit. Overwhelmed by the sheer mental image of her laid bare before him. A slug; a toad; the stuff of nightmares.

Any second now. Any second.

He never does recoil.

"I know I cannot close this wound with a few words, much as I wish I could... But, darling, please try to take them to heart nonetheless."

His eyes, fully open now, reflect so much of the Gardens' ephemeral glow that it feels like she's sinking into two pools of starlight.

"Every body is as unique, as precious, as beautiful as the soul within. We study them, we mend them, we venerate them, in life and beyond. Your body is already dear to me because it is yours... And if you were ever to open it to me, like you opened your beautiful mind, there would be no greater honor than to discover — to savor — every last inch of it."

"I..."

Lenore swallows, her head swimming. If this lofty speech were delivered by anyone else, she'd have scoffed in doubt. Does she look like someone to whom a man (or woman, or anyone) would wax poetic about the sanctity of mortal flesh? What's the catch? But it's Emmrich, her Emmrich, whose voice and touch make it so easy to... Well. Forget herself.

"I want you to. Please."

He beams at her, placing one final kiss in the middle of her palm. Like a seal for a secret pact.

"Of course, dearest. Follow me."

They both get up, leaving Manfred (who has been off chasing the see-through Fade butterflies among the headstones, bless his innocent makeshift heart) to clean up their little picnic... Or at least to amuse himself with exploring how tea cups can be neatly stacked together.

Emmrich leads her to a secluded gazebo, crowned by yet another rendition of the embracing skeletal lovers that she has seen throughout the Gardens. Its threshold is barely visible, overgrown by a rustling carpet of delicate white blossoms that heave like the softest seafoam around Lenore's ankles.

"Shroud's kiss," Emmrich muses, after plucking one fragile white cup and placing it in Lenore's hand, right over the spot he kissed. The petals feel weightless against her skin, effervescent as a melting snowflake, as if woven from the Veil itself.

"I always loved the legend around this flower. They say that it grows on lovers' graves, and that one moves closer to the Fade simply by inhaling its fragrance."

He gestures to a bench under the intricate dome of metal lace, which is also cushioned in countless white flowers. She sits down, and a pale blue barrier shimmers into place around the gazebo. Shielding them from prying eyes. Emmrich's doing — or the Gardens'? Was this a secret rendezvous nook for someone else, once? Someone who might be buried underneath? Or, knowing Nevarrans, cast into the statue at the top of the dome?

"Do you think that legend is true?" Lenore asks, momentarily unable to contain herself. The fingers of her free hand race along the tips of the blossoms, and her alchemist's mind races in tandem.

"If we could maybe extract the essential oil and run a few experiments; but oh, that would require sacrificing so many of these beautiful flowers..."

Emmrich chuckles. He has leaned over her, bringing his lips so close to hers that she can drink in his breath, a pulsating heat beginning to rise at the bottom of her stomach.

"It is true if I will it, my dear," he murmurs, and the second he closes the distance, his tongue meeting hers in a kiss deeper than any they have shared before, the air all around them erupts in a cascade of pale-green sparks. Ghostly petals glide through the air, and if Lenore truly does tumble into the Fade, it is in a part of it that is as serene and sheltered as their Lighthouse.

The fragrant breeze is like silk against her burning cheeks, caressing her, each stroke leaving her more and more light-headed. Somehow, her body stops feeling like a heavy heap of scrap metal that she has to lug around while everyone stares at her; it is hugged gently by the cushion of petals, while Emmrich, as promised, explores it with both affection and... and gratitude.

He is still kissing her, diving deep with no fear of drowning, when his gloved hand unbuckles her belt and slips past the innermost layer of her traditional elven tunic. Her insides clench at the sensation of velvety fabric against her stomach rolls, and then her chest. As if she is balancing on a precarious clifftop somewhere back among the floating ruins of Arlathan.

But that startled pang soon dissolves into sweetest bliss. Emmrich has loosened the tunic's collar, allowing her shoulder and breast to escape, out into the warm, perfumed air. How scandalous! How very like the Randy Dowager's Gold Collection! Does she... Does she actually belong in one of those stories?

He continues to trace the outlines of her half-bared form, and his fingers are soon joined by his lips, which wander away from her gasping, half-parted mouth, and keep slowly moving down, paying a tribute of little kisses to each curve, each mole, each stretch mark. With a few motions of his deft, scholar's fingers, the layers of clothing peel off her torso completely, like she herself is a blossom unfolding.

His gaze measures her, from the flaming tips of her teardrop-shaped ears to the contours of her stomach. He smiles, a languid, hazy smile.

"Thank you for letting me see you, dearest."

"Can I..."

She clears her throat, part of her still dumbstruck in disbelief that this is actually happening. That she is actually saying this — to him.

"Can I see you as well?"

"I would be delighted."

She bites her lip, unsure where to start. But, ever so helpful, he weaves his fingers through hers, and patiently directs her through unclasping first his largest bracelet, then his collar pin.

Her heart hammers in her throat when she removes his jewelry and lays it on the bench beside her. With the bulkiest pieces out of the way, the buttons on his vest and shirt go next, and each of her little conquests over the delicate buttonholes is rewarded with a kiss from Emmrich. It does not slip past her that each of those grows a little sloppier than the next, a little more intermingled with bites and short, panting breaths. It's as if... As if he's enjoying her touch as much as she enjoying his.

At long last, his shoulders are bare as well. Exhaling softly, she marvels at the way the shadows of the gazebo’s lattice sculpt his bony clavicles, and runs her hands over the bristly cloud of short silver hair on his chest, and up his throat, where the skin is more worn with years of living, experiencing, being... him.

"You are perfect," she whispers, her thumb trailing over his cheekbones. At the sound of her words, his skin radiates rosy heat, and her body responds in kind.

"As are you, my darling."

His hands are back on her chest, as hers are on his. She chokes back a sound that might be a moan, or might be a sob. He pauses his chain of tender touches, uncertain if she is distressed. But she assuages his doubts by pressing into his mouth with another kiss, and if any tears do roll down her cheeks, those are tears of relief.

He hums in contentment at the back of his throat, and his fingertips, in their endless conductor's dance, brush along the texture of Lenore's many potion splash scars. She shudders when the cold metal of his few remaining rings glides over her, and the pulse between her legs, which has been growing stronger throughout their tender exchange of touches, of admiration, teeters close to its peak.

"Emm... Emmrich?"

She resurfaces from the kiss, dizzy and emboldened by the taste of him, and fumbles about for his hands, guiding them, like he guided hers, to push down her pants. His name comes out sounding as an awkward, stumbling mix between a needy plea and a tentative question. Emmrich, she means to say. Can you... Do this?

The thing is, she has no clue how to accommodate him between her thighs, underneath the soft pillow of her stomach. The worst parts of her, as the mirror says, as the memories in her head jeer.

But he smiles at her, and lavishes her with even more kisses, while she squirms under his searching lips, both nervous and aroused. Soon enough, he finds a comfortable angle... And again, he is on his knees before her. Fully giving himself to worship.

In romance serials, the good, beautiful partner with the perfect body orgasms when they are pleasured by their equally good, beautiful, perfect lover, and merely pretends to orgasm when the bad, comically inept or tragically forced lover, always fat, sweaty, and disgusting, slams against them like a dying tusket. What happens to the fat lover in the meanwhile, tends to be left out of the picture, because theirs is not the part of the story that the reader is here for. Perhaps, when the good lovers elope together into the sunset, the bad, fat lover is left to touch themselves all alone, in shameful secret, making a point not to overindulge, just like Lenore has in the past, because that would be disgusting...

And yet here she is. With a song of short, gasping notes coaxed from her lips, as his tongue circles within her and the ghostly blooms all around them merge into a flash of blinding white light.

When the peak is reached, when the wave hits her, and she, for once, is unafraid to drown, she impulsively grabs at the hair on the back of Emmrich's head... Which she only realizes once her mind stills a little — and instantly lets go, tumbling from the realm of pleasure back into awkward, clumsily physical reality. Apologizing for hurting him, again and again.

He looks up at her in half-drunken confusion, his hair in disarray, the pearly thread of her sex glinting in the corner of his mouth.

"Darling..." he manages to slur, his breath hitching. "You did not — "

Despite herself, she glances a little further down. And, for the first time — oh, by the Maker, Mythal, whoever, she is still so clueless! — she notices the bump in his pants. The little wet spot.

Oh. Oh.

He liked that.

"I wish I knew how to use my mouth the... the same way..." she stammers bluntly, still not looking away from the straining fabric.

"That is quite all right," he mouths, carelessly unspooling the band of red around his waist.

"There will be more nights like this one."

Until you become a lich and your duties take you away from someone so small and insignificant, a stray thought, like a charge of ice magic, runs through her brain, down her throat, impaling her very heart.

Grinding her teeth slightly, she wills her mind to return to the present moment. To the here and now. To Emmrich, brought to blissful ruin by the sight and feel and taste of her innermost self. To his sweet little moans and the rhythmic, almost elegant up-and-down pumps of his jeweled fingers, as they cup around the cock he finally brought out of his pants.

She never thought that Focus on his cock, focus on his cock, Lenore! would be a little chant of reassurance. The last time she saw erect, leaking flesh before her, she would rather have focused on anything else. But who knew that intimacy could be so different... even for the likes of her?

She bends forward and sneaks in a few kisses — on his wet mouth, over the desperately thrumming vein under his jaw — before his shuddering release leaves a messy splash of evidence over the both of them. She will help wash it off, of course; she knows the best potion mixes to do that... But it won't be something shameful, something that she had to get over with, retching and doubling over, her underthings stolen as evidence that the brave hero had survived the battle with the oozing, lumpy giant slug. It's simple, and natural — something that bodies do.

Bodies that are cherished and taken care of and worshipped. Hers revealed to him, his revealed to her.

Alive, here and now. Their skeletal forebears watching over them, in kindness and understanding.

[quix5gg]

🌟💚 Preorder of my simpsons illustration fanbook "ENDLESS YELLOW JOURNEYS" is out now!! 💚🌟

🔗:

More infos on my twt! 👇

For people who cannot make purchases via Superbuy here are other optional agent platforms i found

Feel free to DM me if you got any questions or troubles during your order!

[cosmicdahlias]

dude i need to rant for a sec

the red dead community on tiktok is so fucking toxic. it’s full of all the -phobics and -ists like i’m not even exaggerating. people post about l*nching lenny, calling javier slurs, calling bill the f slur, and saying that the racist guy in saint denis gained “+1000000 aura points”, and all kinds of shit. hell i can’t post a single goddam tiktok about being attracted to arthur without some cishet chud losing his mind that a fat trans person likes their favorite video game cowboy. i’ve literally gotten called the t slur like it’s insane. like it’s starting to put me off from posting shit on tiktok because every time i get a new comment notification i dread opening it.

and ik it’s not a problem in every community because the gravity falls fans literally have always been so kind to me for my ford content. i guess that just comes down to who the main demographic is. like gf mostly appeals to queer and trans folk whereas red dead (unfortunately) attracts white cishet males. afab, queer, trans, and bipoc red dead fans absolutely do exist because i’ve interacted with them and they’re all lovely but idk the gross straight men seem to be the loud majority.

what’s so painfully ironic is how little they understand red dead and it’s progressive themes. the gang practically lives in a commune, arthur supported women’s rights to vote, if you kill the racist in saint denis you literally don’t get a bounty, and the game encourages you to kill klansmen. plus roger clark literally said “trans people are people” and “terfs ain’t got no friends”. i understand that roger doesn’t speak for rockstar or what arthur would be written as supporting, but the fact that his voice actor went out of his way to support trans people should say enough.

i’m done i’m literally so fucking tired

[bagelboys-withcreamcheese]

Arthur: I didn’t miss that social cue I just thought it was stupid.

—

Hosea: If you all weren’t so stupid I wouldn’t have to be mean to you. The change starts with you

—

Dutch: I expected better from you

John: Well that was your fault, I’ve got nothing to do with that

—

Sean, to his flintstone multivitamins: Cmon child safety lid you know it’s me

—

Sadie: “I could fix him.” Whatever. I could beat his ass

—

Mary-Beth: Got an addiction to sad, weird guys unfortunately

—

Hosea: Stop your addiction to being right

Dutch: Great advice for everyone who isn’t me

—

Lenny: You like boys or girls?

Arthur: Doesn’t matter cause no one likes me back

—

Dutch: Do you have any kinks?

Hosea: Peace and quiet.

—

Sean, to Lenny: Your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this gang apart

—

Lenny: Were you a gifted child?

Sean: Uh yah gifted with a big fat juicy dump truck badonkadonk

—

Sean: Titties so big call her boobonic plague

Karen: I didn’t ask for this

—

John, to Javier: My cigarette packs last a lot longer without you

John: …That kinda sounded gay but I meant it as in you’re always taking my fucking cigs

[godidontgaf]

RDR2 characters as dog breeds because they’re two of my special interests rn

Arthur - Kelpie. Always running around and chasing sheep (or in Arthurs case- people) so I think it’s fitting, also the pointy ears just fit Arthurs vibe so well

John - Okay don’t kill me but chihuahua. He’s tiny but he’s so snarky!!!

Dutch - He’s real serious and gets things done, so I’d say doberman. Kinda looks like him too if you squint

Hosea - Weimaraner, they’re sleek and look old. Like Hosea

Micah - Miniature schnauzer. I don’t think I need to explain this one

Kieran - Whippet, they’re super skinny and shake a lot, plus they kinda look like horses so it’s perfect for Kieran

Bill - Saint bernard. Fat, hairy, same face if you look hard enough

Charles - he’s buff as shit so American bully

Javier - Saluki, the long flowy hair on their ears kinda mimics Javiers curtain bangs (can I call them that???)

Sadie - Jack russel. They’re hunting dogs, they’re fast and they both have the same golden hair

Lenny - Golden retriever because he’s our golden boy and he is just so so cute and so happy <3

Karen - German shepherd cause she gets shit done amen

Swanson - Oh god. Irish wolfhound because 1. their hair is equally as messy 2. they’re both surpisingly big (I swear everytime swanson comes up to Arthur he’s the same height WHILE SLOUCHING) and 3. I had one knock me over at a dog park once because it wasn’t walking straight

Tilly - Teacup poodle because she’s insanely adorable and poodles often have that golden colour that reminds me of her dress

Sean - Shiba inu because they both got orange hair, they both have adorable smiles but oh my god the second they open their mouths you’ll never wanna have ears again

Strauss - Borzoi. Elegant but funny looking

Mary-beth - Cocker spaniel, they’re just pretty and have the same hair

Pearson - Pug. He’s ugly and is always breathing down my neck (yes I know we need food SHUT UP)

Trelawny - Maltese, specifically those ones with the insanely long, silky hair. Just so fancy

Eagle - Pharaoh hound? In every photo I see of them they look so serious and heroic. Also described as “elegant but rugged” which I think fits eagle perfectly

[revscarecrow]

marge and bart and homer and maggie and lisa and abe and patty and selma and moe and barney and carl and lenny and nelson and milhouse and flanders and edna and hoover and skinner and chalmers and apu and santas little helper and krusty and mr teeny and sideshow bob and sideshow mel and the two alien cunts and chief wiggum and ralph and mr burns and smithers and comic book guy and willie and moleman and brockman and fat tony and dr nick and dr hibbert and rev lovejoy and helen and more say hello

I dont think you have any fucking right to speak for other people

[roseofhybrids]

lenny told me i had to explain pipe bomb because he SUCKS

so basically pipe bomb is just v’s sentinel in a swap au me and lenny periodically think about

he is a fat fuck. short ass legs & full of oil. he loves every one but t(had) and probably can drive better than the entire main cast

also he wears a party hat, because why not, he needs to be stylish!!!

"he is a fat fuck [with] short ass legs"

he

[panelshowsource]

so many fun things coming up!

qi (series u/christmas special) — dec 18th with alan davies, eshaan akbar, jo brand, jimmy carr

never mind the buzzcocks (christmas special) — dec 19th with daisy may cooper, jamali maddix, noel fielding, harry hill, leigh-anne pinnock (little mix), ricky wilson (kaiser chiefs) + special guests dj luck and mc neat, 5ive, the wurzels, blaxin' squad

cats does countdown (christmas special) — dec 21st with jon richardson, joe lycett, roisin conaty, danny dyer, joe wilkinson

i literally just told you (celebrity special) — dec 22nd with aj odudu, ben shephard, bill bailey, sarah millican

would i lie to you (christmas special) — dec 22nd with victoria coren mitchell, alex brooker, naga munchetty, melvyn hayes

big fat quiz of the year 2023 — dec 26th with richard ayoade, mo gilligan, katherine ryan, rosie joes, kevin bridges, mel giedroyc

would i lie to you (series 17) — dec 29th

taskmaster (new year treat) — jan 2nd with deborah meaden, kojey radical, lenny rush, steve backshall, zoe ball

qi (series u) — jan 5th with alan davies, aisling bea, urzila carlson, romesh ranganathan

big fat quiz of telly 2023 — tba with russell howard, babatunde aléshé, jamie demetriou, natasia demetriou, judi love, daisy may cooper

plus a league of their own, rob & romesh vs, late night lycett, a lot!!

what are you excited for this holiday season? :)