#serving bawdy

[troishq]

CINDY KIMBERLY via tiktok.

[versacethotty]

a ruthless serve idc

[hookedonph0nixxx]

Loving my ever changing body, soul, and mind. Staying open to all possibilities and keeping my heart open despite the bullshit. I am a powerful alchemist, please watch yourself with me😘

[versacethotty]

@awayfromher us 🩷

UHD | Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion at the VMA's, September '24

[ghostsstolemymoxie]

A request here for smut! enemies to lovers hot hate sex on a mission then people over the intercom back at the mansion here oops 🤭

AHHH OK I love this ideaaaa, just hoping I did it justice <3

【You're so gorgeous - then you start talkin'!】

Logan x F! Reader - Enemies to lovers: Hatefuck edition Divider credit @cafekitsune Tags: No use of Y/n, explicit content (18+, MDNI), unprotected p in v (be smarter than Logan and reader folks), rough sex, spitting, unintentional voyeurism, accidental exhibitionism Please don't click read more unless you're over 18 and willing to see 18+ content and the above tagged content. WC: 3k words

"He's the most arrogant, boorish, misogynistic, vile bastard I have ever met in my life!" You hissed down the comms, trying very hard to hide the scowl etched into your features. "Yes, but he's also your partner on this mission," Ororo replied, calmly, her voice crackling somewhat as it travelled into your ear through the wireless bud for your communications.

All around you, all you could hear was chatter, laughter and bawdy noises.

Serves you right, really. After all, you'd been so desperate to get back into the swing of things and get onto the missions since your injury, you had begged Charles to assign you the next mission, not even caring what it was.

Lo and behold, it leads to you and Logan being sent out on an intel-gathering mission at a casino just by the Canadian border. All you needed to do was listen out for some plan to do with Sentinels being built. Charles had been stingy with the details, though you weren't quite sure why. You supposed he'd given the brief more to Logan - the experienced X-man.

As though summoned by your distasteful thoughts, Logan soon joined you in the casino, already holding a glass in his hand. Whiskey, no doubt, with plenty of ice. He stepped up alongside you, glancing you up and down and taking in your black-tie attire with a smirk on his face. "You scrub up nice. Makes sense. You're only here as arm candy." He grumbled, taking a sip of his whiskey. In truth, it was a wonder that his muscles didn't burst free from the white suit he was wearing, but this was no time for gawking at the wonderful body attached to this awful man. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the worst person they've ever met?" You mock, even as you follow him to one of the tables. "Has anyone told you that you've got a smart mouth? That's not an attractive quality in a lady, y'know." Logan's retort was fast and icy, barbed in a way that only Logan's tone could be.

"Both of you, you need to focus on gathering intel, not on bickering." It was Scott's turn this time, shrill down the comms as he made sure that both of you heard. From the scowl on Logan's face, he heard perfectly.

A friend of Bolivar Trask was on the roulette table tonight - and apparently, he got loose lips after enough scotch. So, Logan took his seat at the same table, keeping his head down and focusing on looking inconspicuous, whilst you lingered at his side, playing the part of the pretty girlfriend attending alongside her man. Logan chugged the rest of his whiskey, holding out the glass to you. "Get me another one, won't you sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. God, that was the worst word he could use for you. It only made you angry. He had that stupid smirk on his face, too, that said he only knew how mad it made you. Despite his mockery though, you kept your composure, putting a smile on your pretty, painted lips. "Sure thing, hun." You said, leaning in, feigning a kiss on his cheek as you whispered: "Call me sweetheart again, and I'll cut your dick off."

He replied only with a scoff, as you headed to the bar, a scowl plastered on your face. The only way you knew it was because you glimpsed it in the mirror whilst waiting to be served. Once seen, it was schooled quickly, though that didn't stop a passerby from noticing.

Whilst you waited for the bartender, idly listening over your comms to hear whatever was being said at the roulette table, you barely noticed his presence, until he sided up right alongside you. He was a handsome guy, though regrettably not as handsome as your begrudging date for the evening, who remained at the table, unaware.

"Now, what could possibly make such a pretty face look so grumpy?" He asked, cooing the words so condescendingly. "I'm not grumpy." You reply, sourly, before forgetting that whilst you can always hear on comms, they can always hear you. A creak across the room sounds as Logan turns to look at you, and a look of something spreads across his face at the sight of the younger man quite obviously coming onto you. You didn't know what that something was, but it lit a strange, desperate spark in your stomach for just a brief moment.

Still, you needed to deal with the interloper first, so you turned back to him. "I'm kind of in a rush. I'm just here to get my partner a drink." "Partner, huh?" He chuckled. "I get it. Long-term relationship but no ring… has he convinced you that being partners is just as good as being married?"

He had clearly gotten the wrong end of the stick, though it was probably more your fault for saying partner rather than boyfriend. "It's not like that." You reply, trying to think of the best phrasing to get him to just leave you alone. "Then what's it like, gorgeous?"

The moron was grinning, missing the point as if he was a professional. All you could do was just roll your eyes and try to catch the bartender's attention. Sooner rather than later.

As you turned to speak to the bartender, the guy spoke up again, this time laying a hand on your arm as he did so. "Come on, Honey, you can tell me. I've been told I'm a wonderful listener. I've had my shoulders wet once or twice. I've got something else I'd love for you to get wet too."

The crudeness wasn't lost on you, and the thought of doing anything with this guy made your nose crinkle in disgust. But before you could reply with anything, you felt the guy's grip get snatched off of you as another, larger hand slid its way around your waist.

"Somethin' I can help you with, bub?" Logan's voice rumbled from behind you, and it clearly rattled the other guy to be challenged by him. After all, Logan was 300 lbs of muscle and adamantium and had the mug of a mean bastard to go with it. Even if that mean bastard was ruggedly handsome and carved from the finest Canadian oak.

You could have defended yourself. You knew this easily, and you were certain Logan did too, though the intensity of his gaze whilst he stared down the other guy forced a needy sensation in your core, betraying any lingering sense of feminism you had.

"No, just talking to the lady here." The guy replied, as politely as he could muster up, despite the fact he was no doubt shitting his pants. "Botherin' her, more like." Logan scoffed. "That cologne of yours is vile, by the way. You should probably try and wear something that doesn't smell like shit next time you try and flirt with a lady. Especially one who's spoken for."

The guy stammered, tripping over himself in trying to respond, his eyes running from you, then back to Logan, lips flapping comically but with no sound coming out.

Logan took this opportunity to tug you away from the bar instead. "C'mon, Sweetheart. Let's go have a talk." He snarled. "Logan, what are you doing? You need to focus on the meeting! Now is not the time for it!" Scott's voice down the communicator was cut off when Logan tore his out of his ear and yours as well (though he was uncharacteristically gentle as he plucked it from your ear).

He stuffed them both in his pocket, dragging you past the roulette table and the blackjack and into the men's bathroom. A single cubicle, with a lock on it that he immediately clicked shut the second that you were both in.

"What the Hell are you thinking?" You snap up at him, tearing your arm from his grip. Logan didn't reply instantly. His nostrils were flared, his beautiful mouth twisted in a vicious sneer and his whole body vibrating with the kind of energy that was more animal than human. His arms were tense, you could see the seams of his jacket nearly fraying at the effort, whilst those Hazel eyes of his burned into yours.

"I'm thinkin' about how furious I am." He snarled in reply, after a moment to think. "I'm thinkin' about how idiotic you are for even strikin' up a conversation with that guy in the damn first place. I'm thinkin'…" One tantalising step forward, and all of a sudden you were braced against the tiled wall. Thankfully the casino was clean, or at least looked it. Logan loomed over you, his breath heavy and stuttering, and for a moment you wondered if he had finally snapped and was going to drive those claws of his into your chest and finally be done with it. "I'm thinkin'… Dammit, that dress is good on you."

You blink, a few times as you look up at him, trying to confirm that you'd heard him correctly, that his eyes truly were raking down your body like that and not that you'd just dreamed it.

"Logan-" "Shut up." He snapped, cutting you off. "Just… shut up. Stop talking. God, you're so gorgeous and then you start talkin'!"

Despite your indignation, you didn't get a chance to reply. In moments he had gripped at your ass, squeezing full handfuls and lifting you from the ground, only to move you, seating you along the counter where the sink was, his eyes burning into yours all the while. He dropped you onto the counter with a thud, and in moments he was ruching up the fabric of your dress, the fabric slipping upwards from your ankles up to your mid-thigh. Hastily, you tried to tug it back down but he was far stronger, and it was a better option to have the dress lifted than torn, especially considering you'd both need to head back out to the floor. Now that there was a little give, he burrowed his strong thigh between your own, until his body was firmly planted between your knees.

"God, what am I doing?" He groaned, hanging his head, his hands planted on either side of your hips, trapping you in place. "You don't want this. You hate me as much as I can't stand you. But… I can't take this anymore. The… the tension, the burning, the need. The ache." His voice trembled as he spoke, his shoulders jerking with his difficult breaths.

As if all at once, you seemed to realise his intention here. He wanted you. Needed you. In a way almost primal and carnal, that seemed completely separate to the mission, or their usual distaste of one another.

A searing hot coil tightened in your gut, pulsating with desperation you didn't know you had in you. It had been a while, that much was for certain. 6 months? A year? Longer? Too long, by all measures. Too long since you'd shared your body with someone so vulnerably, so intimately.

And God, how you longed to share it with Logan.

"Shove me away." He demanded. "Shove me away. Smack me. Tell me I'm a brute and a bastard and you don't wanna fuck me. Do it. Because if you don't, I'm not stopping, mission be damned."

Instead, disobedient to his pleading, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling every ridge and valley even through his tuxedo. There were no words shared, no refusals or acceptances. Only a gentle touch between the fiercest of enemies.

His eyes flared, bright and incensed, and in moments he had shrugged off his jacket, tossing it haphazardly backwards, not caring where it landed, before dropping to his knees.

His hands planted themselves defiantly on your inner thighs, holding them open as he brought his face towards your core, whilst your needy fingers kept your skirt bunched up and out of his way. Logan didn't even bother to pull your panties aside, at first. He pressed chaste kisses at first to the seam of your womanhood, feeling how it slicked at his attention, enjoying the way you reacted to his attention, the way the scent of your desire seemed to permeate the air around him from every angle. He hummed into his kisses as well, the vibration only making that coil in your gut tighter. At the attempts to close your thighs, he only snarled, his grip getting firmer as he held them apart, shooting a glare up at you as if to warn you that if you didn't stop, he wouldn't keep going.

You relaxed your thighs, and he quickly crooked a finger around the gusset of your panties, tugging them to the side, taking in the sight of you with a cocked, eager eyebrow.

"You got a pretty pussy, sweetheart. She's a needy thing, huh?" He teased, before toying with his thumb, running along the seam a moment before holding you open, just in time for him to dive in again.

He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you like a hound starved for days on end would lap at the sweetest, most delicious meal. Quickly, he shrugged your thighs onto his shoulders, holding you against his face, as he slung one arm around you, holding your thigh in place on him and sliding his hand over the plane of your hip before he began to rub at your swollen clit, whilst his tongue diverted his focus to your weeping honeypot.

There couldn't be a finer sight anywhere in the world. You didn't care you were in a casino bathroom, or that you were meant to be working tonight on an important mission. Life or death meant jack shit compared to the sight of Logan kneeling between your legs and devouring you. He even seemed to hum in delight as your hand tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, nearly drowning him in your need.

He pulled back a moment later, strings of your desire still connecting you to his lips, before he swiped them away, licking them from his fingers.

At your whine, he only scoffed. "You don't finish anywhere but on my cock. You understand me?" He grumbled, standing up again, and unfastening his trousers, letting them and his boxers fall in a puddle on the floor in one swift, easy movement. When you glanced down, you could see he was already at full mast. Larger, thicker, veinier than any you had ever had before. It throbbed in his hand, with 3 beads of precum already leaking down his shaft. He palmed himself a moment, letting out a groan, holding his head in line with your clit as he rocked back and forth, gently. Just enough to soak himself in you.

"Mmm… I don't think you're wet enough." He grumbled, a smirk on his face. You were dripping on the counter, you could feel that already, so you knew he was lying, leading up to something. "So what are you gonna do about it?" You ask, locking your gaze with his own.

He pumps his fist along his cock still as he grins back at you, not averting his gaze as he spat, a thick glob of saliva landing right where his cock met your cunt. He smeared it on himself, on you - on where you both would soon become one - and he chuckled. "I always wanted to spit on you. Never thought you'd get so red from it." "I'm not red from tha-" You went to protest, but before you could finish, he had bucked, his entirety sheathed inside of you in one agonisingly ecstatic movement. All of him was buried in your warmth, and your walls shuddered around him. You didn't know which one of you had let out that moan - but you had a sneaky feeling it was both of you.

Your hand gripped his shirt, holding onto the fabric tightly, seeking to anchor yourself however you could, feeling how your body pulsated around him, acclimatising to his invasion. "Fuck," He cursed, resting his forehead on your shoulder, forcing himself to remain in place, not moving until you'd gotten used to him. "What, has it been so long since you've had a dick you re-virginised? You're so tight…" He ground his hips against your own, not yet pulling out, but making sure to give you that friction that brought another moan from your lips. "This pretty pussy's been needing a stretch. Don't worry, Princess, I'll give her a workout."

With that, he pulled back, each inch that he rescinded leaving you clenching down on nothing, feeling desperate without him. Against your will, you whined, tangling your fist further in the fabric of his shirt, urging him back again. Even after pulling out so slowly, he bucked in fast, torturous and barbaric in his speed. He bucked so hard that your entire body jolted with the collision between you, but he pulled back as if he wanted to watch you crying at the loss of him.

"What's the matter, Princess? You look about ready to sob." He mocked, before grunting as he thrust back in, just as hard, and you cried out in your mixed delight and pleasure. "You're the worst," You retort, through gritted teeth, trying to maintain your brain function even as every slight movement of his cock penetrating you seemed to make you want to melt into him, drooling and moaning like a moron who knew nothing other than taking Logan's cock. "Am I?" He purred in return, grinding his teeth as he let out three sharp thrusts in succession, robbing you of your breath as you forced your nails into his chest, drawing a groan of animalistic delight from him.

"Sounds to me like you're 'boutta cum, Princess. If I'm the worst… maybe I'll just stop." "No!" God, your voice sounded so breathy as it echoed back around the room, and Logan lit up at the sound. "No?" He parrotted, lips pursed and eyes amused, before he tutted. "No what? Use your words." "No, don't stop." "You don't want me to stop. 'cause I'm not the worst, right?" "N-not the worst…" You repeated. "Not the worst. Good girl, Princess. I'm the man who's 'boutta make you cum all over my cock, ain't I? I'm the best I am at what I do. And what I do is fucking girls like you 'til you're stupid. Right?"

By now your tongue had gone numb. You couldn't form a word in your mind, let alone in your throat or mouth. Instead, all that passed your lips were gasps and mewls and needy moans, as you forced yourself to nod, trying to get your point across.

It seemed Logan was too far gone as well, as he grinned down at you, feral and angry and delighted.

He leaned in, pressing heated, feverish kisses all over your neck, up and along the column of your throat before his forehead rested on yours.

"Fuck, Princess. I'm not gonna last much longer…" He panted out, his thrusts becoming faster and faster, no longer taunting you, and instead chasing his peak. His free hand reached down as well, his fingers splayed over your womb whilst his thumb played with your red, sensitive clit, eliciting another loud moan from you.

"Where'd you want it?" Logan snarled. "Tell me, and fast before I… ngh." He bucked, his movements sloppy and desperate. You longed for his warmth inside of you. To feel him spill and buck and ride out his afterglow whilst still nestled in your perfect pussy. To watch the look on his face as he pulled out and saw his own seed oozing from you. "Inside," You demand, the only full word you've managed in a long while. "P…please… inside. Inside." "Wish is my command, darlin'." He grunted out.

His lips crashed against your own, tasking of whiskey and pine and your own sweet nectar, the sensation of receiving a kiss from Logan so tender and desperate finally being enough to tip you over that final cliff.

Your legs wrapped around his middle, tugging him closer, as your pussy fluttered all around him, milking him for all he was worth, as a wave of white-hot euphoria rolled over your mind. Your moans were swallowed by Logan's mouth, as he kept kissing you, letting his own moans and grunts escape as well, the shared sounds of your pleasure rumbling in the caverns of your mouths. "Just like that." He rumbled, between open mouth kisses, murmuring into the plush flesh of your lips. "Cum all over me baby. Make my fuckin' day."

You barely even felt the sensation you'd so longed for as Logan buried himself as deep as he could inside of you, spilling every drop of his cum inside of you, whilst you squeezed every ounce he was worth, the pair of you riding out your orgasms at once.

It took a few seconds for you to catch your breath. Both of you had heaving chests and red faces. Logan pulled free from your lips, though not before offering one teasing, apologetic lip to the seam of your mouth, as though to apologise for kissing so hard and leaving you swollen.

You slid an arm around his shoulders, a silent plea not to pull away, as you pulled him in for one more kiss.

But he froze halfway, and glanced down at his trousers, his eyes growing wide and his jaw tensing.

"Logan? What's the matter?" You ask, leaning forward and glancing down as well, brow furrowed. "I didn't mute the comms." He replied, bluntly.

Didn't mute the comms. The comms that had been in his pocket, and would have picked up their activities.

"Get back to the blackbird, you two. Now. Before you're kicked out of the casino." Scott's voice, tinny and furious, escaped the two comms, even from where they were buried in Logan's discarded trousers. "And don't think for a moment you're not going to be punished for this."

Logan chuckled, reaching down to fasten his trousers back on, returning his gaze to you. "I dunno about you, Princess… but I don't care if I get punished. We're doing that again on the way back. C'mon."

You slid your panties and your dress back into place, stood from the counter and took his hand, heading out of the casino with him, already brimming with excitement for round two - this time with muted comms.

I hope you enjoyed and hope I did this justice - I've not really written enemies to lovers before so this was super fun <3 Feedback is super appreciated so please let me know if you enjoyed!! If you're interested, my requests are open so please feel free to send me any questions, ideas or headcanons you'd like me to explore (please just make sure you've read my pinned post first) TYSM for reading and hope you enjoy <3

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

[notbougie]

Chlöe serving bawdy

[arcielee]

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond 💜 I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin. 

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?” 

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!” 

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp. 

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.” 

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot. 

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited. 

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade. 

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more. 

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap. 

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention. 

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.” 

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you. 

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.  

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style. 

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face. 

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.  

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss. 

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs. 

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. 

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.” 

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed. 

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes. 

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine. 

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing. 

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…” 

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…” 

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.” 

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

[unknownknowns]

Auntie Mary Serving Real Bawdy With The Yeeks

[beas-mind]

Serving BAWDY and giving Gojo🤍🤍🤍

[historiaxvanserra]

I know I've been gone forever but I'm back and working on a forced proximity, political allies to lovers, arranged marriage, azriel x CoN reader fic that might grace your dashboard in the coming days...

sneak peak below

The narrow streets of Hewn City are rife with transgression; I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts from the merchants and patrons. As they beg, barter and brawl in the slums in the rotten heart of the city. The fetor of petrichor and decay linger in the air. So putrid and palpable I can taste it; even through the bouquets of vervain and bitter almonds that shade the wheelhouse in their noxious musk. Throngs of beggar children chase the carriage as it rolls turbulently through the pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark inside the small carriage.  As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the fallen women as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs.   It is then that panels of the carriage yawn open to reveal a tavern. The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city and the neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights, like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above it's dark mahogany door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name.  The Jade Pearl. Painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold. The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls fill up the cups of patrons with a sly smile. The high-arching melody of lyres cuts through the cacophony of carnal sounds; officious laughter, vulgar curses and the honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants.  Here, patrons and prostitutes alike, subject to their most base desires.  I adjust the hood that veils my face and retreat into the darkest parts of the tavern, nestled somewhere near the open hearth.  “Can I help you, mistress?”  I look up from my seat, across the emerald painted surface to the wraith standing before me. She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren.  Dangerous and inviting.  “A drink and a warm meal perhaps,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes, “or maybe you desire some company tonight?” She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her. “A drink would be nice,” I say, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the table, “If it’s not too much trouble.” “It is not trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm.  “You should keep it -- I’ve no use for it anyway.” I say, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner, whose name I know to be Arik, draws the girl's attention away.  She voices her gratitude again before leaving me to my pitcher of ale.  The liquid is of a deep carnelian color that glimmers like burnished bronze in the dying light of the hearth. It is cloyingly sweet and viscous like honey and flavored with moonflowers and jasmine.  A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

[frostedlemonwriter]

A Knife In the Dark

A new novel that I will work on to the detriment of all of my other WIPs! It's based off an old fanfic I wrote over a decade ago. With major overhaul and changes.

Cast: The Water Vipers Leader The Thief: Nadia Elfendottir A half-elf born to a poverty-stricken mother and never knew her father as he died in battle before she was born. With mother working every day almost all day at the Bawdy Octopus Inn, Nadia has spent her whole live between there and the streets. With a natural talent for thievery and roguery, when she reached the age of adulthood, Nadia had collected a group of destitute and those down-and-out into a small gang called The Water Vipers. Which claimed the southern half of the harbor as their territory. Nothing goes on without her approval, and a bit of a tribute. Second-In Command The Best Friend: Olaf "One-Eyed" Andersen Olaf is the pure definition of a street urchin. Her mother died during childbirth, and being a prostitute, meant she had nothing to leave for him. Being left at his grandmothers, she died when he was just 10 years old. Having come across Nadia, seven years his senior, she kept the boy safe and taught him how to make it on the streets. Despite this, he has been in and out of a jail cell, with the longest stint being a few months. Each time Olaf was taken in by Nadia, where over time they had grown into a close bonded almost beyond friendship. His loyalty is unquestioning to Nadia. The Infiltrator: Joana Amicco Born in the Merchant Republic of Vornavis, she didn't have the privileges or rights of citizens as her family had been indebted for generations, which left her no better than a slave. When she turned 11, she escaped out of the manor house that served as her prison. Yet was captured, where a R was burnt into her right cheek. Two years later, she escaped again and made it to the kingdom of Iona, particularly the port city of White Haven, where she met Nadia. Who took her in, and taught her skills that fell in line with her natural ability to blend into crowds of servants and slaves. The Girlfriend/Mentor/Fence: Aoi Born on the island of Neptiko, off the coast of the West Weld towards the middle of the Norweldian Sea where an archipelago of islands sat that was the center of Sea Elven power. The daughter of a merchant from a long line of sailors and explorers, she was vested to become the bride of a powerful man and to be stuck in a gilded cage of silk and gold. With other ideas for her live, she left. After years of travel, ended up in White Haven, where Nadia came across her one night in the Bawdy Octopus, and the two hit it off. The Drunk Fighter: Jaxin Thornfist Jaxin isn't a man to speak of his past, even when completely drunk On his arrival to White Haven, he was ambushed and mugged by the Crimson Raiders, found almost dead by Nadia and Joana one night. The newest to join The Water Vipers, after Nadia saved his life, he intends to take many lives in her honor when needed. Antagonists The Thane: Arvid Gunnarsen of the Eagle-Eye clan Arvid Gunnarsen was bred and born to be a ruler. Though his body may not be as strong as many of his peers, or his clan mates, his mind was sharper, stronger than any others. Blessed with the nickname of The Cunning. This Shrewd man married Thane Helga, who after ten years of marriage, finally conceived a child and died during labor, which, much to what Arvid wished, gave him a strong boy to bring together the Raven Foot and Eagle Eye clans together in their alliance. And, conveniently to Arvid, made him the defacto ruler of White Haven and its surrounding environs. He has brought great wealth and influence to White Haven, but is known for his usage of assassins, spies, and courtiers to keep his realm secure, as much as his armies and axe. The Sister-Initiate Assassin: Emily "Emy" Wolfe Much like many of the Sisters of Loira, Emily's past isn't well-known. Knowing their history, she more-than-likely came from the dredges of society. Though her name is very much from the East Marches, no one dared ask her anything, unless it concerned the job the sisters were contracted for. A brutal killer still new to the sisterhood and willing to do anything to make her way in the organization.

What is A Knife in the Dark?

Set in the land of Norweld, a large continent bordered by the Norweldian Sea to the west, the Dragonspine Mountains to the north, the great expanse of the Wyrdeep forests to the east, and the shifting sands of the Tehir to the south. Once all governed under a singular empire hundreds of years ago, now lies as a scattering of petty kingdoms, merchant republics, and loosely-aligned tribes and villages.

With a goal for one major heist to not just raise the respect and standing for The Water Vipers, and to make herself and her associates rich, Nadia hatches a plan to rob Thane Arivd after his return from raiding across the ocean as his ships were laden with exotic goods, gold and hack silver, and various finery that would fetch beyond a princely sum.

Though the heist goes off without a hitch, a little agate gemstone that Nadia found, and to everyone's surprise, imbued with rare magical powers that has not only Arvid trying to reclaim it, but a shadowy organization who will kill everyone and destroy everything in their way to get it.

What will Nadia sacrifice to keep such power? Or will she join the growing pile of bodies in pursuit? And what does a forgotten elven god want with it?

[watchnrant]

A Bold Twist on History: Why My Lady Jane is a Hidden Gem in the World of Fantasy

My Lady Jane is a defiant breath of fresh air in the world of historical fantasy, embracing its bonkers nature with unapologetic enthusiasm. This series takes the rulebook of realism, tosses it out the window, and instead opts for a wild ride that blends history, fantasy, and romance into one delightful package. The show doesn’t just flirt with the boundaries of reality; it gleefully dances right past them, making a Black man the King of England and introducing shapeshifters as part of the social fabric. This bold move pays off beautifully, inviting viewers to suspend disbelief and simply enjoy the ride.

What sets My Lady Jane apart is not just its entertainment value but its sharp wit. The protagonists are a joy to follow, with Jane and her fellow female characters serving as the true heart of the show. Jane herself is fantastic—her earnestness is both endearing and occasionally irritating, but always compelling. Surrounding her are standout characters like her cunning, sex-positive mother, Lady Frances, and her fiercely independent sister, Lady Margaret, who exudes a strength and determination that would give even Lady Lyanna Mormont a run for her money.

The series doesn’t just rely on its characters to make an impact; it excels in world-building and plot twists, all presented with a satirical sense of humor. The tone is a unique blend of modern feminism and historical toxic masculinity, creating a fresh take on the period drama genre. It’s a show that doesn’t shy away from revising history, much like Dickinson or The Great, and in doing so, it crafts a narrative that feels both contemporary and timeless.

However, the show isn’t without its faults. At times, the blend of genres and tones may feel jarring to some viewers, and not all of the humor lands perfectly. The pacing can also be uneven, with some episodes feeling slightly stretched while others race through pivotal moments. But these are minor quibbles in an otherwise delightful series.

For those who enjoy a mix of romance, action, and wit in their shows, My Lady Jane delivers in spades. The chemistry between Emily Bader and Edward Bluemel is nothing short of magnetic, their love story evolving from enemies to lovers with a perfect balance of spice and sweetness. Their portrayal of Jane and Guildford is so compelling that you can’t help but root for them, even as they navigate the treacherous waters of political intrigue and personal growth.

The show’s historical twists add tension and excitement to the narrative, making it more than just a simple retelling of history. It’s a femme-centric romp that flips the script on traditional damsel-in-distress stories, showing what happens when women take control and defy the patriarchal constraints of their time. My Lady Jane is outrageous, audacious, and delightfully bawdy—a show that isn’t afraid to be dirty and daring.

That said, this show might not be for everyone. Fans of more traditional period dramas or those who prefer their fantasy with a bit more realism may find the show’s irreverence off-putting. But for viewers who appreciate a fresh, bold take on history with a heavy dose of humor, My Lady Jane is a gem.

Although My Lady Jane was one of the best-reviewed new shows this year, it sadly failed to find a broad enough audience. The series received a 91% critical approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, yet it never landed on Nielsen’s Top 10 weekly streaming rankings for originals. Despite the initial online buzz, it didn’t translate into enough viewers, leading to the show’s quiet exit.

In my opinion, insufficient marketing and the overshadowing by other, more heavily promoted series prevented My Lady Jane from reaching the wider audience it deserved, ultimately contributing to its untimely cancellation. It’s a real shame, because this show had all the elements of a hit: humor, heart, and a unique blend of magic. From the clever reimagining of history to the standout performances, My Lady Jane was special in many ways. For those who did find it, My Lady Jane remains a gem—one that will be missed but fondly remembered.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Let's talk about Hound Dog

With the upcoming release of the movie Priscilla, it seems that there are tons of trolls out and about on Tumblr trying to inundate the #Elvis tag with lies and misinformation about Elvis.

Like, for one, that he stole music from black recording artists. One of the most pervasive--and incorrect--rumors specifically revolves around the song "Hound Dog."

People say that Elvis stole the song from Big Mama Thornton, a talented (and black) rhythm and blues singer/songwriter.

But what if I told you that "Hound Dog" was written by two Jewish guys?

And that Elvis' rendition was not based on Big Mama Thornton's 1952 version, but rather on Freddie Bell & the Bellboys 1955 version?

First, let's talk about how the song came to be in the first place.

In 1952, bandleader Johnny Otis introduced Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton to songwriters Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who were inspired by her powerful and gritty blues style to write the song. Characterized by its bold lyrics and Thornton’s robust delivery, the song told the story of a woman dismissing a useless man from her life, with the iconic opening line serving as a euphemism for a man who is a burden rather than a benefit ("You ain't nothing but a hound dog/Been snoopin' 'round my door/You can wag your tail/But I ain't gon' feed you no more").

The writing process was influenced by both Thornton's imposing physical presence and vocal style and sought to capture her fierce and unapologetic personality without using explicit language.

And quite frankly, the song is kick ass. Have a listen here:

It was written for a woman to vocally chastise her selfish and exploitative man, making use of metaphor and sexual double entendre common in the bawdy genre, and effectively embodied Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton's robust and unapologetic persona.

In a stroke of genius, Leiber and Stoller crafted the iconic piece in just 12 to 15 minutes, with Leiber jotting down the lyrics spontaneously during a car ride. The process involved a challenging rhyme scheme and a complex metric structure of the music. In addition to the original version, they also created an alternate version titled "Tom Cat," adding diversity to Thornton's musical repertoire.

Thornton’s rendition of "Hound Dog" played a pivotal role in transitioning black R&B into rock music and symbolized the blending of racial lines in music ahead of legal desegregation in public schools. Initially, Thornton performed the song as a ballad, but Leiber and Stoller, who held her version as their favorite, guided her to the more rhythmic and edgy style that became iconic. New York University music professor Maureen Mahon highlights the significance of Thornton's version as "an important [part of the] beginning of rock-and-roll, especially in its use of the guitar as the key instrument."

Many assert that Elvis was the first to cover her song, but that is untrue. By the end of 1953, at least six "answer songs" that responded to 'Big Mama' Thornton's original version were released. According to Peacock Records' Don Robey (who, it would come to be known, defrauded Leiber, Stoller, and Big Mama Thornton out of money for "Hound Dog"), these songs were "bastardizations" of the original and reduced its sales potential.

By 1955, enter Freddie Bell and the Bellboys.

In 1955, Bernie Lowe of Teen Records believed "Hound Dog" could have a broader appeal and commissioned Freddie Bell of Freddie Bell and the Bellboys to rewrite and sanitize the song for mainstream audiences.

Jerry Leiber found these alterations irritating, criticizing the new lyrics for making "no sense", even though the modified version became a regular feature in Bell and the Bellboys’ Las Vegas act.

You can listen to their version here. Sound familiar?

Finally, we come to Elvis.

In 1956, Presley and his band first heard "Hound Dog" while they were in Las Vegas, where they were booked to perform at the Venus Room of the New Frontier Hotel and Casino. During their stay from April 23 to May 6 of that year, they encountered the song at the Sands Casino, where Freddie Bell and the Bellboys were performing their sanitized version of the tune, having transformed it from a racy song about a disappointing lover into a song literally about a dog.

Elvis Presley was instantly captivated by the song. Its catchy melody and lyrics had him returning to the performance multiple times to grasp its chords and lyrics fully. Scotty Moore, Presley's guitarist, and D.J. Fontana, his drummer, corroborated that Elvis was heavily influenced by the Bellboys’ version of the song. Presley, although acquainted with Big Mama Thornton's original bluesy version, was more drawn to the Bellboys' rock and roll, more comedic rendition.

Soon after, Presley introduced "Hound Dog" to his own live performances, first showcasing it at the New Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas. Initially, his execution of the song bore a more measured pace and almost burlesque feel, influenced directly by the Bellboys’ comical, Las Vegas-style performance.

At around 1:30 in the video below, you can see and hear the slowed-down version as Elvis might have performed it in Las Vegas.

It was not long before the song became a staple in Presley’s performances, and a twangy guitar and a hard-driving rock and roll beat were added, making its debut as the closing number at the Ellis Auditorium in Memphis on May 15, 1956. The audience of 7,000 at the Memphis Cotton Festival witnessed the inception of what would become a classic element in Presley’s shows, enduring for a time as his standard closer.

Elvis Presley’s version of "Hound Dog" is not considered a direct lift of Thornton’s original, but rather an adaptation of a song that had not reached the status of a "standard" in the music industry. Presley encountered the song through the Bellboys’ version, which was itself one of a number of covers of the original. Furthermore, respected music analysts and critics, including George Plasketes and Michael Coyle, emphasize that most of the audience in Presley's era were not familiar with Thornton's 1953 original recording, and thus, Presley's version cannot be perceived as a theft or usurpation.

Moreover, it is essential to highlight that Presley held a deep respect for Thornton’s original version and even had a copy in his personal record collection, indicating an acknowledgment of the song's origins.

Presley's rendition of "Hound Dog," influential as it became, was part of the broader practice of artists adapting and interpreting songs to suit different styles and audiences. Presley's had often recounted his admiration for other renditions and related songs--and often rebuked the notion that he was the King of Rock and Roll, instead preferring to refer to Fats Domino with the title.

Contrary to persistent stereotypes suggesting Elvis Presley claimed sole credit for the rise of rock and roll, the singer himself acknowledged the black community’s paramount contribution to the genre. In a 1957 interview with Jet magazine, Presley openly dismissed the notion of being the originator of the genre.

In the interview, he expressed his admiration for black musicians, conceding that his own renditions could not match the authenticity and soul of artists like Fats Domino. Elvis cited his childhood experiences attending black churches, such as Rev. Brewster’s church in Memphis, as instrumental in fostering his love for the music that would later define his career. Through such statements, Elvis sought to underscore the black community's foundational role in shaping rock and roll.

His open admiration for and familiarity with black music and black artists proved that his interpretation of "Hound Dog" was not an act of appropriation, but rather a contribution to the evolving landscape of rock and roll.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Now that you mention it Curt as an omega makes sense to me. Maybe he's how John is exposed to the injustice of everything. Buck takes it silently to be able to fly and serve his country but Curt shouts his mouth off about the shit that he has to go through and how it doesn't make sense.

"and then he fucking sticks his hand right inside me" and Bucky chokes on his drink

"what??"

"yeah without any of that stroking shit or anything beforehand. You know that shit you alphas think feels good"

And Bucky protests because he does that. And the omegas always respond well.

Curt snorts

"you think we ain't out here faking that shit?"

Really makes bucky consider if he's a good lover or not.

I know I said I don’t have a preference for what designation Curt would be, but I do really enjoy the thought of him as a mouthy, bawdy omega that mothers tut at because he’s going to end up a spinster carrying on like that, but everyone can’t help but to love him 😄

On an angsty note, I could see this meaning that less nice alphas take it as a challenge and treat him extra terrible because they’re trying to tame him and make him a good obedient omega.

On a silly note, I’m imaging Bucky having a DEFCON level 1 existential crisis because he was a love making aficionado and Curt’s just rocked his shit with this knowledge. He of course isn’t anywhere near as bad as the terrible alphas, even if he is a little ignorant he’s a sweet man at his core and does take care of his partners, he’s just not as suave as he thought.

I know this whole au was originally intended to be angsty but picturing Curt unintentionally roasting John’s stroke game is sending me 💀

[hislittleraincloud]

Afterburn Status Update

It's fucking hot in here and I can't sleep/write/do anything but stare at the wall after that spider attack (LOL) so perhaps for the 2 people who are interested:

Yes, still working on the last chapter of Satisfying Afterburn. Made some decent progress now, after my dog passed and there's no more having to take care of him 24/7. This whole damn year, coupled with the shit with the neighbor bullshit really fucked with my creative output. But it will be finished before year's end, I believe (and I know when I want to release Part 1, but I DON'T WANT TO JINX IT so I'm telling no one until all of the scenes are placed). I'll be messing with the soundtrack, because I think I've decided on a new song for one of the more important Wenovan scenes (and I need to add in Thing's Wake song and the Britney Spears one).

But as I mentioned in said aforementioned spider attack post, I'm already working on a soundtrack for Afterburn 2. I told one fic wife that I think 2 will have a lot more world building in it, as well as history re: the outcasts in Jericho/Goody Addams/Joe Crackstone. It will be very, very Nightshades heavy. Both the newbs (Wednesday & Co.) and the olds (Morticia & Co.). I fucking love Chancellor...but I also love Xavier's father, Vincent Thorpe. Both older men will be involved with AB Wednesday in their own capacity. No, it's not that...girl is super faithful to Donovan.

I had already planned to bring Pugsley and Morticia to Jericho pre-all of the W2 leaks/filming commencement, so AB Pugsley will be attending Nevermore...with Wednesday Jr. 🐕🐾 But ABW is going to absolutely despise what occurs with Morticia. Clash of the fucking Titans there 💀

Not sure what else I am willing to say, other than there will be distasteful shit in here again, but nothing to do with sex (but there will be a fair share of smut in there too): It's the Goodmen parts that will make people uncomfortable. My readers will have to remember that these are characters, some based on or patched together from real people; real racists, real bigots, real Trump Loyalists pieces of work. And in some places I will want to illustrate how disgusting these types of people are. Some of the whole cultist bigotry thing will be addressed with Gideon and Morningsong, but the worst of it will be with the Goodmen bunch and the Breeding brothers.

Sounds like a lot of heavy stuff to cover, but I'll be sure to keep the humor in there too. Maybe some soft serve for the fic wifey.

Aight, that was squick.

Maybe more squick. Or more bawdy stuff, like the Carnivorous Plants class scene.

I guess we'll see, won't we. 👹🖤💙🕸️🚔