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thejoyofseax · 10 months

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Why We Can't Have Medieval Food

I noted in a previous post that I'd "expand on my thinking on efforts to reproduce period food and how we’re just never going to know if we have it right or not." Well, now I have 2am sleep?-never-heard-of-it insomnia, so let's go.

At the fundamental level, this is the idea that you can't step in the same river twice. You can put your foot down at the same point in space, and it'll go into water, but that's different water, and the bed of the river has inevitably changed, even a little, from the last time you did so.

Our ingredients have changed. This is not just because we can't get the fat from fat-tailed sheep in Ireland, or silphium at all anywhere, although both of those are true. But the aubergine you buy today is markedly different to the aubergine that was available even 40 years ago. You no longer need to salt aubergine slices and draw out the bitter fluids, which was necessary for pretty much all of the thing's existence before (except in those cultures that liked the bitter taste). The bitterness has been bred out of them. And the old bitter aubergine is gone. Possibly there are a few plants of it preserved in some archive garden, or a seed bank, or something, but I can't get to those.

We don't really have a good idea of the plant called worts in medieval English recipes. I mean, we know (or we're fairly sure) it was brassica oleracea. But that one species has cultivars as distinct as cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, kale, Brussels sprouts, collard greens, Savoy cabbage, kohlrabi, and gai lan (list swiped from Wikipedia). And even within "cabbage" or "kale", you have literally dozens of varieties. If you plant the seeds from a brassica, unless you've been moderately careful with pollination, you won't get the same plant as the seeds are from. You can crossbreed brassicas just by planting them near each other and letting them flower. And of course there is no way to determine what varietal any medieval village had, a very high likelihood that it was different to the village next door, and an exceedingly high chance that that varietal no longer exists. Further, it only ever existed for a few tens of years - before it went on cross-breeding into something different. So our access to medieval worts (or indeed, cabbage, kale, etc) is just non-existant.

Some other species within the brassica genus are as varied. Brassica rapa includes oilseed rape, field mustard, turnip, Chinese cabbage, and pak choi.

We have an off-chance, as it happens, of getting almost the same kind of apple as some medieval varieties, because apples can only be reproduced for orchard use by grafting, which is essentially cloning. Identification through paintings, DNA analysis, and archaeobotany sometimes let us pin down exactly which apple was there. But the conditions under which we grow those apples are probably not the same as the medieval orchard. Were they thinned? When were they harvested? How were they stored? And apples are pretty much the best case.

Medieval wheat was practically a different plant. It was far pickier about where it would grow, and frequently produced 2-4 grains per stalk. A really good year had 6-8. In modern conditions, any wheat variety with less than 30 grains per stalk would be considered a flop.

Meats are worse. Selective breeding in the last century has absolutely and completely changed every single species of livestock, and if you follow that back another five centuries, some of them would be almost unrecognisable. Even our heritage breeds are mostly only about 200 years old.

Cheese, well. Cheese is dependent on very specific bacteria, and there are plenty of conditions where the resulting cheese is different depending on whether it was stored at the back or front of the cave. Yogurts, quarks, skyrs, etc, are also live cultures, and almost certainly vary massively. (I have a theory about British cheese here, too, which I'll expand on in a future post)

So, even before you go near the different cooking conditions (wood, burnables like camel and cow dung, smoke, the material and condition of cooking pots), we just can't say with any reliability that the food we're making now is anything like medieval people produced from the same recipe. We can't even say that with much reliability over a century.

Under very controlled conditions, you could make an argument for very specific dishes. If you track down a wild mountain sheep in Afghanistan, and use water from a local spring, and salt from some local salt mine, then you can make a case that you can produce something fairly close to the original ma wa milh, the water-and-salt stew that forms the most basic dish in Arabic cookery. But once you start introducing domestic livestock, vegetables, or even water from newer wells, you're now adrift.

It is possible that some dishes taste exactly the same, by coincidence. But we can't determine that. We can't compare the taste of a dish from five years ago, let alone five hundred, because we're only just getting to a state where we can "record" a taste accurately. Otherwise it's memory and chance.

We've got to be at peace with this. We can put in the best efforts we can, and produce things that are, in spirit, like the medieval dishes we're reading about. But that's as good as it gets.

#medieval cookery #medieval cooking #food history #historical cookery #historical cuisine #medieval arabic cookery #horticulture #genetics

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lazyworksinprogress · 7 months

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The art of the pivot or "when life gives you lemons" monologue as performed by Roderick Usher - The Fall of the House of Usher, episode 3 "Murder in the Rue Morgue"

"One thing I tried to teach them, the art of the pivot. When life hands you lemons... first you roll out a multimedia campaign to convince people lemons are incredibly scarce, which only works if you stockpile lemons, control the supply, then a... A media blitz. Lemon is the only way to say "I love you," the must-have accessory for engagements or anniversaries. Roses are out, lemons are in. Billboards that say she won't have sex with you unless you got lemons. You cut De Beers in on it. Limited edition lemon bracelets, yellow diamonds called lemon drops. You get Apple to call their new operating system OS-Lemón. A little accent over the "o".

You charge 40% more for organic lemons, 50% more for conflict-free lemons. You pack the Capitol with lemon lobbyists, you get a Kardashian to suck a lemon wedge in a leaked sex tape. Timothée Chalamet wears lemon shoes at Cannes. Get a hashtag campaign. Something isn't cool or tight or awesome, no, it's lemon. Did you see that movie? Did you go to that concert? It was effing lemon. Billie Eilish, OMG, hashtag... lemon. You get Dr. Oz to recommend four lemons a day and a lemon suppository supplement to get rid of toxins 'cause there is nothing scarier than toxins. Then you patent the seeds. You write a line of genetic code that makes lemons look just a little more like tits and you get a gene patent for the tit-lemon dna sequence, you cross pollinate, you get those seeds circulating in the wild, and then you sue the farmers for copyright infringement when that genetic code shows up on their land.

Sit back, rake in the millions, and then, when you're done, and you've sold your lem-pire for a few billion dollars, then and only then, you make some fucking lemonade."

#fall of the house of usher #monologues #very long monologue

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leviathan-supersystem · 1 year

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It's genuinely dispiriting that "people who believe in ancient aliens are stupid" is a controversial take. What's next, "you can't make fun of people who don't believe in evolution" discourse?

honestly if someone spun the talking points the right way i could see the dumber tumblr sj softlords being duped into that position. cross-pollinate a "let people enjoy things" stance with like anti-atheist talking points about "fedora bros" and i could see it happening. maybe use a non-european creation myth to represent the creationist position and frame evolution as "eurocentric" and dumb tryhards with performative white guilt could absolutely get into it.

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iveseenstrangerthings · 1 year

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more than friends - a steve harrington imagine

summary: a real fluffy imagine after writing angst for the past few, best friends turns to lovers. Reader is teased about their close relationship with Steve by a jocky asshole, so Steve decides to do something about his feelings. both are obviously pining for each other but just don’t know how to do something about it!!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: really cringe asshole male talk about female character (inappropriate sexual remarks) & swearing.

thanks @urfriendlywriter for the friends to lovers confession prompt!!! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alrighty class, notes for the biological study are on the blackboard, you have the full hour to complete this. I expect everyone to have the practical experiment done, and their write up started by the bell. Am I clear with that?” Mrs Peters stands with her hands on top of her blooming belly, slightly leaning against the desk with her hip.

The class grumble a response and Mrs Peters smiles, nodding. “I’ll float until my ankles hurt,” She starts, hinting to her swollen pregnancy ankles and gets a murmur of laughter in response, “Off you go!”

The equipment is already lain out for you and your lab partner, Brad. He stands awfully close to you as you sort through the different brightly coloured flowers scattering your table. You have a feeling you’ll end up doing all the work, with Brad copying everything down in the last ten minutes.

“Jheez.” Brad whistles under his breath as the class volume raises to the sound of students discussing their impending flower dissections. “Wonder who the lucky bastard is that gets a ride on her.” You turn to face him, your insides screaming with utter disgust, he motions his head to Mrs Peters and slides his eyebrows up and down.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to the white peony that you’ve set out for your first dissection. Brad hears, and just laughs to you. He takes that as a joke, as a compliment, and it disgusts you even more. “Can you start to take the petals off those,” your eyes flit to the five other flowers laid out in a neat, colourful row, “and make notes on their type of pollination?” A tinge of annoyance already lacing your voice.

“Their type’ah what now?” He sits picking the petals off roughly, not following any of Mrs Peters prior instructions, and that fills you with rage. As someone who excels in school and wants to do well, your lab partner pairing feels like someone, somewhere, wants to torture you. You realise that it’s going to be easier, and less painful, if you just do it. Just crack on with the lab practical and let Brad sit there and sniff the pretty petals. “Can you get high on this stuff?” He says, his nose dotted with a tiny bit of pollen from where he dug it into the centre of the flower.

You widen your eyes and nod enthusiastically, “High as a kite.” You confirm, sarcastically, and his eyes glow back at you. Jesus...

Time passes and you’re in your element, investigating stigmas and anthers up close under the microscope, adding to your quick diagrams of each part with brief, but helpful, notes. Ones that Brad will no doubt copy from in due course. He’s sitting, like an impatient child, folding and tearing the petals he picked off earlier. The only time he’s made an effort so far is when Mrs Peters made her rounds and he came to stand by you and ‘make notes’ on your observations, only to sit back down again and scribble in the margin of his notebook when she slunk back away.

“Harrington shown you a good time yet, huh?” Brad’s voice breaks the silence between the two of you and your cheeks flush a deep red as you squint through the lens of the microscope. A thick glob of saliva forms under your tongue which you swiftly swallow back. “Come on, we’re in biology... can we not discuss things like that?”

You lift your head from the lens and look at him. His face is expectant, expectant of your response, hoping for a bite back, and he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. Your cheeks are still firing up, your vision goes slightly blurry for a short while as white-hot anger burns up inside you. After glaring at him for some time, you return to your position at the microscope.

Before you could realise, he’s bumping your arm with his and leaning down to speak to you, not even the beautifully intricate flower beneath you is giving you any sanity. “If he’s too much of a pussy to do it, let me show you what a good time is really like.” He’s so close you can feel his breath warm your ear and send shivers down your spine, feeling like it’s hitting every vertebrate on the way down.

“Steve and I are just friends.” The more uninterested you seem, the more likely he is to give up on his pursuit and just shut the fuck up. Or so you’re hoping.

He scoffs, “Pfft.” His tongue creeps from his mouth and licks his bottom lip, “Friends with benefits? C’mon. I ain’t stupid.” He goes quiet then you feel a soft tickle forming down your spine, Brad’s finger. Then, his breath back in your ear, “Bet he doesn’t know your sweet spots.”

You shoot back from Brad, holding your hands up, like you’ve been scolded with a hot iron, “Okay. That’s it.” You charge from your station down to the front where Mrs Peters sits, grading papers. “Mrs Peters.” You say, quietly now that you’re down here, not wanting anyone to hear your conversation. In your hands, your fingers tremble slightly with the adrenaline of the conversation you just had. “I would like to request a change of lab partner.” Your voice comes out strong and confident but your face paints a different picture. “Please.”

Mrs Peters looks behind you, at your now half empty desk, and to Brad who sits and moves stems and petals around the table into a phallic shape. He grabs the attention of the pair in front, who seem displeased at the childish distraction. She raises her brows in his direction, when he meets her glare, his cheeks flush a light pink, and he rearranges the flowers into the muddle they were before.

“Say no more, sweet pea.” She says with an exasperated sigh, shuffling papers to pull out her seating plan. You look over as she pulls a pencil from her pot and pats her lip with the eraser. “Eleanor’s in need of a partner.” She says, tracing over the spare seat on her plan, “That sound good?” Mrs Peter’s kind eyes meet your own and she offers you a sincere smile.

“That would be great.” Your heart leaps with relief.

“Finish up there for today, you can move on Monday. He can stay with me.” As you make your way back to your desk, Mrs Peters calls out from hers. “Brad Norton.” The class falls silent, her usual sing-song voice has turned cold, stern. “I don’t recall asking you to make penises with your pretty little flowers. You can stay and do your lab work, tho-rough-ly,” she sounds out each syllable in the word, the veins in her neck protruding with distaste at her student, “with me in detention.”

The classroom remains quiet as you find your seat and complete your notes. “Bitch.” Is muttered venomously from next to you and you’re unsure if it’s directed at you or Mrs Peters, but you’re past caring.

✦ ✦ ✦

On Friday nights, you and Steve like to walk from school to the diner which flickers welcomingly in the dark winter light as you approach. As usual, you take to your table which is located in the corner of the diner. It is cosy. You love coming here, especially with Steve. It’s a time that you can spend together, just the two of you, have a burger, have a milkshake, and just catch up on the week. You adore your Friday nights with Steve.

Now, you’re leaning against the comfy backing of the squishy diner chair, the fabric crinkling awkwardly as you get yourself comfortable. You’ve both cleared your plates, smears of ketchup and dustings of salt lie in remnant of what was two full plates of burgers and fries. Gluttonously, as your stomach feels heavy with the greasy food that you adore, you continue to gulp your milkshake.

“I heard Brad Norton got a detention today in bio.” Steve finishes dragging his last fry through a dreg of ketchup before placing it into his mouth, laughing at the new conversation topic. You simply roll your eyes and let the milkshake freeze your back teeth before swallowing.

“He’s an asshole.” You retort, swirling your straw around in the thick, creamy drink. Your eyes stay fixed on the pink substance in your glass, watching the small particles of ice slowly melt the more you stir. “I’ve switched partners, finally. I asked Mrs Peters to move.”

“Really?”

You nod, your brows furrowing. “Uh, yeah. I don’t fancy sitting and getting creepy back strokes from him for the rest of the year.”

Steve sits back against the seat, “He did what?” A surge of jealousy, and anger flits through him and you can see it flash across his eyes, a change so subtle you feel proud you noticed. He knows that would’ve made you uncomfortable and he knows where Brad usually goes on a Friday night, he runs over the possibility of going there and beating the shit out of him, but quickly decides that would be a terrible idea. “Is that what he got his detention for? Being a creep?”

You laugh slightly, “Close.” You take another gulp of milkshake. “He was making dicks out of the flowers.” You realise you’re talking to your milkshake and not to Steve, he’s noticed too and realises there’s more to this story than you’re letting on. He knows you too well.

“You sure that’s all he did?” He knows not to push things with you, but the feeling is bubbling up inside of him.

You toy with the idea for a moment. Tell Steve, let Steve get angry and potentially make your favourite night of the week awkward? Or, don’t tell Steve, enjoy each other’s company and go from there?

You’ve both been close to sharing your feelings with each other on multiple occasions, sat in this very booth. The diner must have an aura that allows you to become content with your feelings with one another, almost becoming more than friends. The diner is where you’ve shared feelings, ranted about shitty weeks, shitty dates; cried into milkshakes over the clear downfall of Hawkins. But it’s also where you’ve brushed hands as you reach for napkins, letting your fingertips linger a little longer than is necessary. It’s where you’ve held eye contact as you talk about things that interest you, the other listening with intent adoration. His eyes glisten as he listens to you discuss another biological theory that you love talking about with him, his lips curling as he listens intently and marvels at your passion and drive for science. You return the active listening as he discusses the trips to the Upside Down, watch little pieces of him break apart as he cracks open his memories of things he tries so hard to supress, but keep creeping back into his consciousness.

So, with all that in mind, you decide to tell him. “He quizzed me on whether you show me a good time.” You blurt out, placing your milkshake down and folding your arms onto the table. “said he would show me a good time, said he knew my sweet spots. Basically, he spent the lesson trying to get into my pants.”

His face is a picture of disgust, his eyebrows furrowing so deep you think they’ll knit together. “I promise you; he is one of a kind.” He holds his hands up in defence, “We are not all sex crazed lunatics who like making people feel uncomfortable.” His features soften and he looks over to you, taking in your features as he likes to here. They look softer in the glow of the luminous light that hangs above their window, the streetlights casting a yellow tinge into the corner where you sit tucked away. “I’m sorry he made you feel like that.” His voice is sincere.

You shake it off with a whip of a hand, “Shall we get out of here?”

He nods, leaving the money on the table. “Come back to mine? We can watch a movie.”

As you stand to straighten yourself up, you smile back at him warmly, nodding gently at his offer.

✦ ✦ ✦

Warm waves of air circulate out of the heater placed by your feet as you sit in Steve’s basement on the couch, watching a new film Steve rented out. You haven’t really been paying attention, you’ve been more interested in gradually moving your limbs inch by inch closer to Steve’s, your breath hitching as you feel him doing the same. Soon enough, you’re sat with your arms pressed against one another and your leg is resting comfortably against his.

“Can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said to you.” His voice sounds weird after not talking for so long, the only sound being the grumbling heater and the soundtrack of the film playing out in front of you.

You rub his arm gently, sighing, “Stop thinking about it Steve, he’s not worth it.”

“No, I know.” He’s quiet for a while again, the flickers of vibrant colours on the screen lighting up his features and your eyes travel around them all. He feels your eyes on him and leans to pause the TV, the sudden cut of sound making the room feel too quiet. Your breathing slows, waiting for him to start the conversation again. Sheepishly, you slowly pull your hand from his arm, suddenly feeling awkward having left it there for so long. He turns his body so he’s facing you and you scoot back a touch, propping your arm up on the back of the couch and leaning your head against your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You probe delicately, you can tell he has something whirlpooling in his mind.

He shakes his head, smiling coyly. “Just thinking.”

“About...” Your hands tumble over one another, hinting for him to go on.

“You.” His bluntness makes your stomach squeeze tight, as if you’ve just dropped from one of those free-fall rides at the amusement park. His face remains unchanged, his eyes studying yours. “Thinking about you.”

Slowly, you take a deep breath in. Unaware you were holding it in the first place. “Why me?” Annoyingly, your voice comes out as quiet as the hum of the heater, almost inaudible to someone who wasn’t trained in on the conversation. Suddenly the room feels warm, and you realise this could be the time to have the conversation you’ve been longing to have.

“’Cause I think about you all the time.”

You’d hoped all this time that he does just that.

And he does, he thinks of you when you aren’t there, when he’s lonely, when he feels sad, when he lies awake at night wishing he could turn over and feel the warmth of your skin against this. Wishing he could spend the night with you in a blur of heavy breathing, lustful kisses and soft moans. Wishing he could tell you how much you mean to him afterwards, holding you close whilst you both catch your breath and settle into the sheets in a dream-like state. He’s realising now how close he is to having all of this. To having you. If you want him, that is.

“I know you feel what I feel.” His voice is low and his hand travels to rest just in between the two of you, like he wanted to commit to holding you but got scared half-way and changed his mind.

A speckle of heat rests on your cheeks. “What is it that you feel?” Again, your voice is quiet, and you feel the pulse thick and fast, the heat rising up your neck from your chest.

He clears his throat. “I know we both enjoy the time we spend together, as friends. But I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Silence settles over the pair of you, but you know that he’s not done yet, so you wait patiently for him to continue. “You make me feel so comfortable and you always know how to cheer me up, when to give me space, when to distract me from whatever’s going on...”

Hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the tingling sensation of adrenaline courses through your body. He continues, “I hate the fact that even assholes like Brad know there is something between us.” He sighs softly but carries on, “The fact that we haven’t even done as much as discussed how we feel, yet he’s happy to make degrading sexual comments to you about us.”

You nod along in agreement. “I know.” Suddenly, your whole body feels drawn to him and you slide back along the couch, shuffling down into his side and placing your head in the crook of his neck, resting your arm over his stomach. This feels right, you think to yourself happily. “I love spending time with you, too. I have loved growing close to you these past few months and I-”

He lets his arm fall around your shoulders and he cuts you off, “Wait.” He insists as you feel his other hand come to rest gently against your neck, his thumb resting lightly against your jaw. “Look at me when you say it.” With his hand still resting on your neck, he gradually guides your face up so that it’s inches away from his own. His eyes travelling lazily over your features he’s grown to know so well before locking in with your own.

Inside your chest, your heart is hammering wildly. Never have you been this close. Never this intimate. “I want to be with you, Steve.” You quietly admit, although it’s not much of a shocker. A smile forms on his lips, which have now moved ever so close to your own. Impatient and running on adrenaline, you close the gap between the pair of you and bring your lips together. His hand stays firmly on your neck, his fingertips gradually gripping the hair at the nape of your neck as your fist grasps his t-shirt as the kiss intensifies.

The months of longing are finally coming to a head here and now as you are both desperate for each other. Not just in a sexual longing, but an emotional and physical intimacy longing, too. You can feel yourself getting lulled further into the kiss as his tongue searches for your own.

After a few moments have passed, you both pull away gently, chests slightly heaving as you both work to catch some of your breath back. You rest your forehead against his and brush your nose past his, moving back to give him a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “What do you say then?” You can see the happiness radiating across his face, the creases by his eyes and the soft pink glow gives it all away. His thumb traces across your cheek, “You wanna give us a shot?” He says.

Nodding, you reflect the same happiness glow that Steven is portraying. “I wanna give us the best shot.”

Satisfied, he takes his hand back from your face and you feel how hot your cheek has been under his touch. He holds you close to him as he reaches back down to play the movie. A couple minutes later, he clears his throat. “And, if ‘Brad’” He uses air-quotes around his name, “Or any of his asshole friends wanna make any comments to you again, I’ll drop those motherfuckers.” He point blank says as his eyes follow along with the scene playing out in the movie before you.

The sudden threat from Steve brings a laugh out from you and it fills the room. Your shoulders shake as your laugh intensifies; he gestures his hands towards the TV. “Hey, do you mind keeping it down? Trying to watch a movie here.” He tuts and shakes his head playfully before resting it on top of your own, tracing his fingertips over your arm so that tiny goosebumps raise on your skin. A couple of minutes later, you find your breathing rising and falling at the same time as Steve’s, your eyes fall softly closed as you’re lulled into a light sleep, cocooned under the blankets and Steve’s arms.

#masterlist #stranger things prompts #stranger things preferences #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things blurbs #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic

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suzukiblu · 5 months

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Day twenty-four of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

“I’d say maybe a picnic in the park or something but that seems incredibly dangerous unless I can pre-verify that Ivy’s in Arkham,” Tim muses, smacking a few more goons upside the skull. The others are already scattering to bolt, and there’s not much point in chasing them down; they broke up the deal and sent the suppliers running, and that was the main concern. Now they can track down their source and go from there. “And even then it’s kinda fifty-fifty.”

“Yeah, you never know what she’s left out there,” Dick agrees. “Plus sometimes the things she’s left out there cross-pollinate, and then no one knows what’s out there, including her.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tim says with a grimace, having unpleasant flashbacks to the skunkweed thorns and pitcher plant trees. Ivy’s creative enough without any accidental cross-pollination happening.

“So what does planning a date have to do with that YJ-related op?” Dick inquires casually as the last of the grunts either hit the ground or flee. Tim does not freeze, because he's not fucking new here.

“Nothing,” he lies. “I’m cycling through the projects I have scheduled to work on this week. Next there’s a stakeout uptown and some reoptimization of my utility belt organization.”

“Planning dates is in the same category as ops and stakeouts and equipment maintenance, huh?” Dick asks with a laugh, holstering his sticks and then reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Never change, baby bird.”

Tim is absolutely going to, but again, hopefully not before thirty and ideally while bringing Dick along for the ride. Dick would be a terrible supervillain and also probably pout if Tim put Superman in a kryptonite death trap to sit and think about what he’s done, but Tim loves him and wants him to be happy and also wants to make this awful fucking world a better place, and you don’t do that by just ditching all your friends and co-workers; you plan ahead and work with them, flaws and all.

Anyway, Barbara would be good at being a supervillain, and she’d be a lot likelier to come along for the ride if Dick did. So that’s also another reason to recruit him.

They’d both probably like to kill the Joker, anyway. Maybe they could make the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan a group activity? That’d be nice.

Look, Batman doesn’t kill, obviously, but Tim isn’t Batman, Dick and Babs are also not Batman, and none of them ever intend to be. So “Batman doesn’t kill” is, in fact, only Bruce’s problem.

“So I know you’re going to laugh at me for this, but you know the circus is in town next week, right?” Dick says, sparing him a smirk. Tim considers tripping him with his bo staff. “You know, for this totally theoretical and generic one-size-fits-all date that you definitely don’t have anyone in mind for.”

“While I appreciate the suggestion, the person I don’t have anything in mind for has terrible self-esteem and I promised her someplace ‘nice’ for this totally theoretical and generic one-size-fits-all date,” Tim says, because he is definitely still in the closet here and he is not giving a Bat the clue of saying “they” to obfuscate Kon’s gender. Might as well light the Bat signal with a pride flag filter over it, for fuck’s sake. “She might take fifteen-dollar tickets and sawdust floors the wrong way.”

“That just means she lacks taste, baby bird,” Dick hums easily, putting his hands on his hips and tapping a foot in consideration. “Hm. Well, Zatanna also happens to be in town next week.”

Tim considers what it’d do to his self-esteem to watch Kon spend an hour-long show drooling over a gorgeous older woman in fishnets, spanks, and a sexy tuxedo jacket and decides not to go there. Also, there’s the issue of Zatanna potentially recognizing him, and also potentially recognizing Kon, who he doesn’t think she’s ever met but is both terrible at secret identities and a teen heartthrob superhero whose face is all over the place and also looks exactly like Superman’s on top of that. And Zatanna has definitely met Superman.

So yeah, that seems unlikely to end well either way.

“Maybe,” he says, finally retracting his staff and putting it away. “I don’t know if she likes going to any kind of shows, honestly. Like–I just don’t know her that well yet. Theoretically, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dick agrees with a laugh, pulling out his grappling gun and wagging it at him. “Race you back to the Cave? Winner gets tips on how to charm a totally normal civilian who definitely doesn’t fight crime in a cheerleader skirt.”

Tim has no idea how he feels about the fact Dick is so certain Cissie is the one he’s trying to plan a date for. Then again, Cissie is the one who yelled at half the Justice League. So maybe he sort of understands the assumption.

Kon looks better in a crop top, though, Tim privately promises himself to never actually say out loud. Like, he definitely does look better, in Tim’s opinion, but a) Cissie would shoot him for said opinion and b) Kon would be unbearably smug about said opinion. And unfortunately, Tim finds Kon’s preening smugness increasingly charming, so he really can’t be doing that to himself.

He was so damn proud of himself about the fucking crop top, the bastard. Tim should burn it. Or buy him twenty more. One or the other.

The shorts he’s just not going to think about right now. Like. Ever again.

He’s pretty sure they’d work better with a thong than boxer briefs, though. Or just going commando outright, maybe. Tactile telekinesis probably makes chafing less of a concern, Tim figures.

Not that he’s thought about that. At all. In any way. Ever.

Definitely not.

Dick fires his grapple and takes off. Tim pretends to be extremely heterosexual about Cissie and not even slightly gay about Kon, though he has very little idea how to actually do that, and rushes after him. There’s basically no way he’s actually going to beat Dick unless criminal activity interferes or Dick just lets him beat him, of course, because Dick’s been flying all his life and flying in specifically Gotham since he was literally prepubescent, and Tim has just been sneaking around random rooftops and alleyways and only actually known how to do a basic somersault for a couple of years, much less any real acrobatics or aerial work. So like, there’s definitely a skill gap there.

Might as well chuck a flying fish at a hummingbird and see who comes out ahead, really.

Technically, though, Dick mostly works out of Bludhaven these days, so technically . . .

Look, Tim just so happens to know about certain construction-related shortcuts that may or may not be currently relevant thanks to some surprise rogue attacks last week, and even if he weren’t pretending to be heterosexual about Cissie he’d be trying to beat Dick back to get first dibs on Alfred’s jaffa cakes, so . . .

The jaffa cakes are delicious, though the dating advice is unfortunately irrelevant.

Tim appreciates the thought, at least.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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rosalinrabbit · 2 years

Text

Over - Pollination

Pairing: Morpheus x Nymph!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, sex pollen/sex drugs, drugging/spiking, slight non-con (reader isn't exactly sober/of sound mind...), cum obsession, begging.

Summary: Desire has a fondness for trouble, but perhaps just this once, their goal is a little less nefarious. As their brother Morpheus, Dream of the Endless continues to shut himself off from everyone and refuses to let himself be happy, Desire sets a plan in motion. A plan that will only have one outcome, for Morpheus would never let you struggle alone.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: A super smutty one-shot in honor of our favorite King of the Dreaming. How can you possibly watch Sandman and not instantly become obsessed with this lovely man? I adore him.

In terms of new stories, I have been super busy but written A TON, but I don't like uploading multi-chapter fics until they are finished for editing/not abandoning and leaving everyone suffering purposes! Please bear with me, I hope to have them out soon.

SMUT 18+ / Minors DNI

Do not translate or re-upload any of my work. Works are only cross-posted on AO3.

Morpheus was interrupted from his work by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he sighed, reluctant to have to speak to anyone. He only grew more annoyed when he laid eyes on his sibling as they entered the room, slinking about with that stupid grin on their face. “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t visit my brother?”

“You never just visit. Why are you here.”

Desire smirked and leaned against the wall by Dream’s desk. Annoyed eyes narrowed at them, trying to discern the purpose of their visit.

“Death and I had a little chat the other day. And you know what she told me? She said that you’d gotten yourself a pet.”

“You mean Matthew? He’s hardly a pet.”

“No, not that stupid bird, I’m referring to your little nymph. The one that Death found, all lost and scared and without a home,” Desire said in a slightly mocking tone.

Morpheus’s jaw tightened at the mention of the you. “Do not refer to her in such a way. And do not mock the tragedy that befell her or her home. Death found her and her home was destroyed, she had no where else to go. I agreed to let her live here. That’s that.”

“Well, anyway,” Desire waved in the air, dismissing their brother’s disdain towards their attitude. “She’s very cute. Very sweet. I think you two would make quite the pair…” Morpheus said nothing as he continued to stare down his sibling who rambled on.

When it was clear Desire would not leave until he gave in to whatever it was they wanted, he responded. “She is very dear to me, but we are friends. Please don’t read into things.”

“You’re quite thick in the head, did you know that, brother? Which is why, sometimes, I think it’s best to force your hand…”

Morpheus stood up from his desk abruptly. “What did you do?” He asked in a low, stern tone.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Desire winked. “Goodbye, brother!” They called as they left, likely returning to their own realm now that they’ve succeeded in causing trouble.

Dream of the endless tried to sit back down and go back to his work, but it was hardly an hour after his sibling left that two palace staff came rushing into his office.

“Sir, It’s y/n…. She- she um…” one of them spoke, panting from how quickly they had ran in and clearly unsure how to phrase it.

Morpheus simply stood up and headed towards your chambers, walking at a quick pace.

He heard a strange, high-pitched whimper coming from your door as he approached it, as well as the sight of vines and leaves creeping out from the cracks in the door. He swung open the door quickly to see you writhing in your bed at the far end of the room with the plants you kept growing and twisting around the furniture and up the walls.

The palace doctor was trying to examine you but you wouldn’t quit moving. Morpheus shut the door behind him and crossed the room to where you were, looking to the doctor for answers.

“What happened?”

The doctor turned to him and pushed her glasses up slightly, sighing. “It would appear that she has been given a drug which has greatly increased her libido. It’s like she’s gone into heat, her temperature is increased and her mind is all mixed up. According to Lucienne, she collapsed in the library after being seen with Desire… I think you can guess who is responsible.”

Morpheus’s pale face nearly reddened at the doctor’s words, and his eyes trailed down to you. Your face was flushed red and your eyes squeezed shut, a few tears escaping down your cheeks, and both your hands gripping the sheet that had been laid over your body, threatening the sheet to fall and exposing your breasts.

He quickly reached over to you and pulled the sheet up, and felt your hands gently wrap around his arm as he did so, refusing to let him go. You hummed in contentment through small sobs, eyes still closed yet savoring the contact.

Morpheus had been around a very long time. Of course he knew how to fix it, but he didn’t know if he could possibly overcome his own fears of doing so. He was terrified of letting you get close, and even more terrified of losing you.

“It should wear off in two days without anyone intervening, it’s just going to be a bit painful for her… If there is intervention, it could wear off in a couple of hours to a day. Unfortunately, there’s nothing else I can do for her… so I’ll be on my way,” the doctor gave Morpheus a look before leaving the room, making a point to lock the door behind her.

He sighed, looking down at you. Gods, he thought you were gorgeous. Even in your delirious state your hair shone and your skin looked as soft as silk.

You had been living together for a few years now, and he considered you a good friend despite his reluctance to allow you to live in the Dreaming. It was Death who had convinced him.

Death impressed upon him the importance of nature, the value of giving humans dreams and visions of lush greenery and delicate flowers. It was the lack of appreciation for those things that left you without a home, weakened and alone.

You were so good to him, and he appreciated you deeply. You somehow always knew when he was in a mood, when he needed to talk, when he just needed company. For the most part, you seemed to keep to yourself, crafting those visions of nature for the humans and filling children’s dreams with butterflies. You fit right into the Dreaming, effortlessly.

As you clung to his arm, he gently moved his other hand to push hair from your face. A small gasp escaped your lips, and experimentally, Morpheus cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb across your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, more tears escaping, and you sighed at the contact.

“Morpheus,” you whined, trying to grip his arm tighter and pull him closer.

“Little one,” he whispered to you, knowing how your heart skipped a beat when he called you that. You never told him how much you liked it, how it made you feel as though you were under his protection, but he knew. “What’s wrong?”

“Too hot,” you gasped, and it was painfully true. It felt like you had caught on fire, clenching your thighs together as you felt wetness seeping out of you and down your legs. “Hurts so much. Touch me, please,” you moaned. You would normally never ever be so brazen, but your brain wasn’t working quite right and the only thing you wanted was the gorgeous god next to you to rearrange your insides.

You felt your muscles cramp again, letting out a heady moan as more slick left your entrance and the vines around the room twisted up another few inches. You could never quite control the plant growth when your emotions were running rampant.

His thumb that had been gently rubbing against your cheek slowly edged towards your lips, and without second thought, you opened your mouth, your tongue curling around the digit and sucking on it. The black haired god sat down on the bed beside you, staring into your eyes intensely.

Those grey eyes were filled with indecision and restraint. Trying to assure him, you asked again. “Please, please, touch me, Morpheus. I need you,” you pulled down the sheet covering your breasts and grabbed his hand, licking and pressing kisses against his wrists.

Morpheus knew as soon as the doctor told him what had overcome you that this would only end in one way. He cared too much to lock you in here and let you suffer alone, and he was far too infatuated with you not to take the opportunity to bring you to several mind-numbing orgasms. Especially if you would be in pain otherwise. He might be a god, but Morpheus felt powerless against you. He knew he’d do anything for you.

You watched his eyes as his resolve broke, pulling his arm away and yanking the sheet entirely off your body. The cool air of the room felt better against your feverish skin, but you burned under his intense gaze, his hand ran over your skin, across your breast and down to the curve of your hips, before stopping. You whimpered, and his hand finally glided over towards your legs, up your thigh feeling the liquid that had been dripping out of you. A strange, low growl emitted from his throat as he felt just how wet you were, and you nearly cried when he finally touched your center, fingers circling through the wetness and around your clit.

“Shh, good girl,” he whispered as you moaned wantonly with his fingers on you, desperate to cum in any way you can get. “Does that feel better?”

“Mhm, so much better,” you sighed, trying to move your hips against him. His long fingers suddenly breached into your pussy and slid in with ease, curling up over and over again, making your body feel like it was being wound up impossibly tight. “Oh, gods, please,” you moaned as he continued curling his fingers slowly inside of you, the slow pace torturous yet making the buildup even more intense before you shattered, crying out his name and squirting liquid onto his hand as your legs shook and your pussy convulsed around his fingers.

The orgasm took the burning, painful heat away and took the edge off of the pain you had felt, leaving you warm and buzzing as the aftershocks rolled through you. Morpheus pulled his fingers out of you and his clothes were gone in an instant, climbing over you and claiming your lips with his own in a messy, heated kiss.

You kissed back fervently, feeling the needy heat inside of you flare back up as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, whimpering into his perfect mouth and rubbing against his leg that was now between your own.

“You’re being so good for me, darling,” he told you in that seductive voice which had always affected you even when you didn’t want to admit it. His voice sounded like pure comfort and sin.

“Oh!” You gasped when his mouth came into contact with the spot under your ear, nibbling down and making you feel like you could burst at any second again.

You watched in awe as he worked his way down your body, clutching the sheets beneath you when his mouth sucked and gently bit on your nipple, giving attention to the other one as well before continuing down back to your center, eyes locked on you as he began to place kisses on the inside of your thighs.

When you felt his tongue part your soaked folds you were convinced that you must be dreaming. But you weren’t, and the man between your legs was the one responsible for all dreams in the first place. No, it was all shockingly real, and every time his tongue swirled your sensitive clit, the warmth added even more pleasure as he worked you back up to your peak.

He paused, and you felt a hand grip your breast as he spoke. “Look at me, y/n.” As if he needed you to see it was him bringing you pleasure. It was him you revered, him who was making you see stars, and you of course complied, looking down to see his ever-messy black hair slightly covering his eyes as he looked at you.

The sight of him between your legs mixing with the look of pure power he was giving you as he sucked your clit made you cry out his name as you came once more, juices dripping down his chin as you gushed and your walls clenched around nothing, his name coming out in pants through your overwhelming pleasure. When he finally ceased his movements his hands both gripped your thighs as he sat up, looking down at you. Your hair was messy and your eyes were beginning to glaze over in ecstasy.

Morpheus often wondered how you looked so perfect, so effortlessly beautiful. Perhaps it was because you were simply of nature, a nymph made to protect and nurture, sweet by mere creation. Now, looking at you in your post-orgasm haze, he realized he hadn’t been appreciative enough of you. You were beyond perfection, made of pure wonder, better than anything he could ever imagine. And now, you were under him. You were his, looking up at him as if he was the only important thing in the world.

How had he waited this long?

Perhaps, despite Morpheus’s disdain for the pain the condition was causing you, Desire’s meddling had worked out well for once. Not that Morpheus would ever let Desire anywhere near you again…

The feeling of his hands gripping your thighs was oddly comforting, making you feel powerless against him. And that’s all you wanted. You wanted him to absolutely ruin you, to pull you apart at the seams and put you back together as his.

Your eyes were skimming across his slender, long body before landing on his cock, erect and leaking, and you let out a whimper at the sight of it alone, moving to sit up and reach for him, but he didn’t allow it, putting a hand on your shoulder to stop you from getting up.

You let out an unhappy noise at the refusal but he quickly reassured you with kisses along the side of your face.

“You’re still burning up, let me take care of you, little one.”

Nodding, you opened your legs for him, but still quickly wrapped a hand around his length and pumped up and down gently, experimentally almost, and watched his eyes flutter closed for a moment as he let out a deep groan.

“Such a needy girl. You need to be filled up? Will that make you stop hurting?”

You nodded again, desperate for him to stop talking and shove himself deep in you already.

“Say what you want,” he taunted in his seductive voice.

“I want you, Morpheus. I want you in me,” you breathed impatiently.

He finally lined his tip up with your entrance, the intrusion warm and causing you to gasp.

As he pushed in, he began to fully stretch you out, causing a slight burn. But the burn felt so right, and you just wanted him deeper. You wanted him everywhere. You wanted to feel like you were so full of him you could burst.

You encouraged him by wriggling your hips against him as he continued to push into you, moaning softly in his ear and he let out a low moan as he finally bottomed out, fully sheathed inside of you. You were incredibly wet and your walls were squeezing him tight, and the overwhelming sensation of finally being inside of you forced Morpheus to pause for a moment so he wouldn’t cum inside you right away.

Before he even started moving you wrapped your legs around his waist and started rocking into him slowly, looking at him with pure lust and moaning in such a lovely, needy way that he had no choice but to give in to you.

He finally started fucking you in earnest, and your nails began to dig into his back as his cock dragged in and out of you, hitting every single spot as he did so and leaving you a mess. You couldn’t stop moaning, losing touch with reality quickly as he tilted your hips up and began thrusting directly into your g-spot, making you nearly scream as you saw stars.

Your eyes were locked on his, in near worship of the way the god was giving you pleasure. Your brain was obsessed with it, still locked on the idea of getting him somehow deeper, desperately yearning for him to cum in you as much as possible. There was nothing but him as his hips thrust into you, a hand moving to your breast to squeeze it roughly.

The thought alone of Morpheus cumming inside of you is what sent you over the edge. You wanted to please him, wanted to keep a part of him in you, wanted him to mark you and use you for his own pleasure.

You cried out through your fog of lust at the intensity of the orgasm, your pussy tightening around his cock and clenching down, you could feel him throbbing inside of you as you came around him and coated his thick cock with your release. Instead of giving you a clear head, the instant pleasure and release from your orgasm only lasted a few moments before you were sent further into hyperdrive.

“Oh, fuck,” Morpheus cursed at your tightness. “Give me one more, darling. One more,” and his hand moved to circle your drenched clit. You cried out, squirming under him.

“Deeper! Please, Morpheus, my lord, fuck me deeper! I need you to fill me with your cum, need it so much,” you babbled, desperate and dead set on being filled with his cum. It was the only thing your brain could think of, being marked, being his, filled to the brim with your king’s white and sticky release, the warmth spreading through your abdomen as it dripped from your soaked core.

Morpheus knew immediately that the drugs were fully affecting your words and desires, but he was quite sure that if he didn’t give you what you wanted, you would remain overheated and desperate and would go to whatever lengths it took to get him to cum inside of you.

He complied, shifting your hips once more to change the angle to reach even deeper, a high-pitched whine escaping from you as he hit your spot perfectly.

“You want me to come inside of you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please!” You cried, back arching as you looked up at him in pure desperation.

“How could I ever say no to you? I’ll fill you up so full, mark you, leave you dripping…” your moans grew in volume as he continued, still rubbing your clit. “Do you want that? Want to be so full of my cum that you feel it inside of you?”

Morpheus knew you were beyond words, you were so lost in pleasure that the vines you unknowingly controlled had began to creep onto the bed and wrap around the headboard. With the brutal pace and precision of the way he was fucking you, and the amount of liquid that kept seeping out from your core, he knew you were close.

“Cum for me again, and I’ll cum inside of you, my love. Cum around my cock,” he commanded, and you certainly complied. You gripped the sheets beneath you as you finally let go, sobbing out in your release, feeling like fireworks had gone off in your nerves and gushing around him for the second time. It was so brutally powerful, and even more so when you felt Morpheus’s hips slow as he released inside of you with a deep groan, the warmth coating your insides and filling you with inexplicable contentment. The feeling of him finishing inside of you prolonged your orgasm left you shaking. You felt perfectly full, overjoyed to be claimed by him in such a way, and your needy brain finally quieted giving you peace from the rampant lewd thoughts.

The vines and leaves shrunk away, not dying but reverting to their previous state. The overbearing heat finally left your body leaving you feeling only warm, buzzing, and sated, whispering your thanks to him in a small voice. You felt heavy and your legs felt nearly numb. Morpheus stayed inside of you but shifted your bodies to be on your sides, facing one another. “You were such a good girl for me,” he spoke softly as he pulled you closer. You quickly curled up against his chest and fell asleep, barely aware of your surroundings but feeling safe in the warmth of his arms.

•*•*•*•*•*•

You woke up feeling normal, the cool and fluffy fabric of the comforter against your skin, along with the warmth of Morpheus’s arms.

The man was always so stone-cold and expressionless that you thought he might be cold to the touch, but no, he was pleasantly warm.

Then, confusion hit you. Why were you naked? Why was he naked?

And why was he in your bed??

Your eyes widened and you shifted your head to look up at him. He looked so peaceful, messy hair hanging over his closed eyes, chest rising and falling with each breath.

As you watched him, realization began to wash over you as you remembered what you had done. You shot up in embarrassment and covered your mouth with one hand, using the other to pull the blanket up and cover your exposed breasts. The sudden shift loosened the god’s grip around you and his eyes opened.

“I- My Lord… I am so sorry!” you apologized still covering your face, bright red with embarrassment over your brazen actions.

“What are you sorry for, little one?” He asked with the ghost of a smile on his lips, sitting up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and pull your hand from your face.

You looked down shamefully, face burning and unable to meet his gaze. “For what I did… earlier…”

“Look at me, y/n.”

When you didn’t comply he reached out to tilt your chin up.

“Do you regret what we did?”

You paused for a moment before shaking your head.

“Well, I do not regret it either,” he spoke in that ever serious voice of his, smooth as velvet and dark as obsidian. He took the hand that was holding the blanket over you and pulled it away, pulling you towards him to settle back against his chest. “Though I do apologize for not doing that sooner.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, and you glanced up to see an obvious smile on Morpheus’s face.

Though an odd turn of events in your relationship with the King of the Dreaming, as you lay in his arms, you could not be happier.

#the sandman #morpheus #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #rorabbit

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