#(but also this time i would be wiser and make sure its only a few pages long LMAO)

[undefeatablesin]

Me, who has not finished Altar yet or even half of the 50+ things on my to draw list: I should make a comic about Aloysha.

[itostea]

the strongest (gojo x wife! reader)

gojo can't help but feel annoyed that he feels concern for the wife he swears he doesn't care for.

warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo refers to you as his wife, enemies to lovers (?), gojo tells you to lift up your top, slight angst, he's really bad at feelings okay, image from loving yamada-kun at lv999 (part of gojo’s wife series)

The lines of intrigue and fear are often blurred. It explains why we admire fire from afar, careful not to get too close in hopes of not getting burned. It explains why we find peace in parts of the ocean and tense up in deeper parts. It also explains why Gojo Satoru seeks your presence yet pushes you away the moment he finds himself feeling something other than indifference or vexation–it’s never hatred though. The strongest can’t envision himself ever hating his wife and it scares him. 

He’s not sure that can be said about you. Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you grew to hate him after the treatment you put up with. 

Your marriage is what you call a “marriage of convenience” and Gojo made sure you remembered that. He wasn’t always so distant with you. Back then, you might’ve considered him a friend but time did its bidding and you two drifted apart, your time together merely a memory. Now fast forward a few years and you were wedded to him, taking up his surname and sleeping in the same house as him–in separate rooms of course. 

Your steps on the wooden floors were silent as you intended not to make a single noise at such a late hour. You sighed, feeling the weight of your heavy shoulders drag you down. 

Gojo might be considered cruel to you but the elders were on a different level. They knew this mission would be too much for you yet they sent you on it as punishment for speaking your mind the last time everyone gathered. 

At that time, your husband had an unfamiliar gleam in your eyes as you voiced your thoughts on the matter of Itadori. He’s a nice kid, you thought when you first saw the pink-haired boy. 

Taking away his youth wouldn’t be fair. After all, he didn’t choose to have the Ryomen Sukuna use him as a vessel. Yet, sentiment doesn’t do well with the higher ups and they made sure you knew your place with the mission they sent you on. 

You inhaled sharply, wincing as you felt the bruise on your rib with your palm. There was blood soaking your tights, little cuts littering your legs. You’re so tired you can’t find it in yourself to even eat. Then again, you needed to be in your best condition tomorrow since another mission was sent out of you and specifically you. Those in power always make sure it’s clear that they are in power. Your voice of opinion meant nothing to their beliefs in tradition or what you liked to call, “backward thinking.” That’s one thing you and your husband could agree on. 

“Ow,” you wince for the nth time as you open the fridge, scanning the items. Mochi. Ice-cream. Leftover cake. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to go grocery shopping a day prior so you could have a proper meal. This was the kind of stuff Gojo could live on but you couldn’t. Closing the fridge, you opt for instant ramen instead. Not the best choice in regards to healthiness but cracking an egg in there meant more protein and it also minimized the spice levels. 

You’re halfway in between preparing the noodles when you feel a presence right beside you and soft breathing besides your ears. “You’re home,” your ‘husband’ mumbles, his eyes half-lidded from just having woken up. 

“God! Satoru!” You gasp, flinching away from and only realizing how close he was. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in you, he didn’t know what personal space was. “How did you know I was home?”

“Your cursed energy leaked in,” he shrugs his shoulders, peering down at you without the constraints of his blindfold or shades. You gulp as his eyes flit up and down your appearance, causing your insides to tense up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Being scrutinized by the six-eyes himself wasn’t much fun and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that your hair is disheveled and your face is sweaty from just having come home from a grueling mission. 

You don’t even notice the glint of rage that crosses his hues before he masks it. “Who did this to you?”

“Huh?” You blink, coming to your senses that your body was bloodied up and battered from having fought a curse. “Oh it was just a mission. It’s normal to be hurt on missions.” 

Gojo’s been living with you for nearly half a year now and he knows you’re more than competent when it comes to shaman duties (not that he’d ever tell you). He knows you return home by 7 p.m.., and never at hours well past midnight. He knows that you usually only get injuries on your back because you get careless at times. But now, he sees cuts everywhere and he’s not sure if you’re running on adrenaline or if you’re too tired to notice. 

His eyes glance at the way you press a palm on your rib, subconsciously squeezing the area as if hiding it from him. “Let me see.”

Your surprise is immediate and he would’ve felt a strange fluttering in his stomach if not for this concern he was experiencing for you. You smile. “See what?”

“Your injury. Let me see it,” he says again, pressing on the hand you hold close to your ribs, narrowing his eyes as you hiss in pain. “Don’t be stubborn (Name).” 

His voice is different from the cheery one he often uses and you’re left leaning further into the kitchen counter, acutely aware of the fact that his taller frame wasn’t allowing you to escape. His eyes widen the slightest once he gets a glimpse of your flustered expression as you peer up at him and he only realizes what he was asking from you. Part of him tells him to ignore this and pretend his concern for you was brief. Yet, part of him screams at him that he was your husband, so he should feel the right to be worried–even if he was months late. 

He sighs, tilting his head. “I’m just going to look. I promise I won’t do anything else,” his voice is oddly tender as he speaks to you, a contrast to the usual nonchalance you’re used to. 

You gulp and let out a shaky sigh, giving in when your fingers reach to pull your top up for him to see the bare skin that you can’t even say is spotless or void of marks. Multiple wounds litter your skin–some faded, some new. You’re scared his gaze would show some signs of judgment or disgust but you’re left bemused when you see how his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. For a second, you allow yourself to be deluded by the fact that he might be worried but you quickly abandon that thought, averting your eyes from him.

You can see how he pieces everything together. From the way you rebelled against the elders and how they saw it as a means to punish you. He does it so quickly that you can only blink when his blank expression morphs into something different. You almost feel relieved from the fact that his expression of pure anger wasn’t directed at you and rather those who sent you on the mission.

It’s almost natural how he slides the top further up, mapping the extent of the bruise with his eyes. His hands are warm and calloused. They’re also gentle, tracing the bruise carefully to not hurt you. “I’ll kill those old bastards,” he chuckles with a sneer. “They have some nerve letting my wife take this mission without me.”

You frown as you see his anger first-hand. “Satoru–”

“Why didn’t you go to Shoko?” He interrupts, gently holding on your waist to prop you on the counter while he stands in between your legs. He watches you intently, in search of answers.

You feel somewhat embarrassed as his hand still lifts your top up to see the bare skin but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t want to bother her so late at night…”

For the first time since today, you see him flash a genuine smile, as if exasperated by your reasoning. “But you’re fine with bothering me?” 

“That’s different!” You say, a pout slowly forming on your lips and he can’t help but feel drawn to you even if he doesn’t want to. 

He laughs as you pull your top down with a huff, finding it cute that you were so bashful. “Because I’m your husband?” 

You go silent and for a second, Gojo thinks he’s messed up for mentioning that. Despite being your husband, he’s not the greatest at doing his job. He’s not callous or spiteful towards you, instead taking on more of a cold and aloof attitude towards you. Even so, he thinks that hurts just as much as a few insults. 

He’s about to pull back but your voice draws him back to you. “Yeah. It’s because you’re my husband.”

Gojo can’t stop himself from glancing at your lips at that single statement. He was today years old when he realized he was a man of simple tastes. All you had to do was tell him that he was your husband and he’d want to kiss you until your lips turned red. He considers himself lucky that you didn’t see that slip-up of his–though he wouldn’t have minded if you did.

He breathes out a sigh, propping his chin atop your head while his fingers draw circles around your hips. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

It’s a vow he swears to keep. 

“I know,” you whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “You’re the strongest after all.”

He thinks it’s funny that even as the strongest, he feels weak when he feels your fingers play with his sleeves. No words are said after that and a comfortable silence drifts between you two. It’s like the barrier between the two of you is cracking once you feel his lips press gently against your forehead and you think it's his way of sealing the promise. 

Gojo Satoru thinks–or rather he knows that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with you. And he knows that he should fix his behavior around you and stop running away. That way, instead of a kiss to the forehead, he can finally give you one on your lips. 

[blogfullofemos]

Miguel on Supportive Husband Duties

Okay, me 🤝 lactation kink and Miguel O'Hara breathing the same air. This man has every right to be a Daddy in me 😲 (I meant to write in my eyes but as you can see, the mind never lies at night). But enough about me, enjoy this depravity of mind. It's really not THAT filthy. Also give your girl some feedback, let me know how you truly feel lmaoo.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Summary: A heated debate becomes the prime example of what not to do when you're expecting.

Warnings: Lactation, a lot of descriptive words to explain how lactation works, oral fixation on it.

Word Count: 1836

Enjoy you filthy scalawags. I love it though. 😈

   Miguel sat back with crossed arms as he watches the scene play out before him. Calling, for yet another, group meeting to better the team on catching anomalies. Something he much rather have done himself. “But Miguel you have to see the broader picture....”, “Miguel just hear me out…”, “Miggyy can you just give it a chance…” your voice echoes within his tension headache. Intentionally staring at you from across the table while you were deep in the throes of passionate word spar about tree branches with the group. He wondered why you were getting so aggravated by such a small thing that Peter, of all people, would bring up. Putting all the spiders in the room (Jessica, Gwen, you, Hobie, Pavitr, and Peter) into a whirlpool of sassy remarks and quick rebuttals. Even Mayday had her say in it; loudly babbling and blowing wet raspberries as she sat on the middle of the table. 

    He silently seethed in annoyance as he continued to observe. Jessica, Gwen, Hobie, and Pavitr in one ring. You and Peter in the other. Mayday just being her usual chaotic evil to even out the playing the field. He saw as your face slowly redden and eyes watered over time, constantly having to adjust something about yourself while you tried to catch your bearings. Miguel’s brow rose at your odd composure, “ALRIGHT, EVERYONE CALLATE!!” he roars slamming his hands on the table while lurching forward. He did it on your behalf, not too sure if you were becoming too uncomfortable by the situation. But he could definitely tell you were overwhelmed. Shockingly everybody’s incessant yelling dwindled down into sly laughs and a few sucking of the teeth. Mayday just simply turning her back to him. “NOW LET’S FOCUS ON SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT!! LIKE CATCHING ANOMALIES!! THE REASON THAT WE CAME FOR!!” he continues to yell, as his hands gave a theatrical display to his words.

    Miguel sits back down and sighs in relief, “Now I know tree branches be whacking us off our game, but it just shows that we need to be more vigilant.” He says pinching the bridge of his nose. Albeit he lost a few anomalies because of those hellish whips of leaves, its why he much prefers a city landscape. Like mostly all the spiders do. “It’s all about timing and-.”. Jessica clears her throat.

“The velocity of the swing guys. I don’t have it fully down myself, but I’ve gotten better. Now to the anomalies.”

“Uh Mig-.”

“Shut. Up. Peter. The anomalies are only getting stronger and wiser. Wiser. That’s what-.”

“MIG!!” Mayday babbles clear enough to shock Miguel out of his technical rant. Stopping him from massaging his nose to ease the tension headache still beating at his temples. He looks at Mayday, who’s now in her dad’s arms, and points at you with furrowed brows. Making everyone’s eyes slowly travel from her to you, as you bring your eyes down to where she was pointing. Two apparent dark spots rest on your green shirt, making you and Miguel realize the reason why Mayday tried to say her first ever word. In seconds you stood up and covered your chest, your face turning back a brighter shade of red as you rushed out a “I need to go to the bathroom.”, before awkwardly stumbling away from your seat and running out the door. “Now Mayday, what did I say about pointing.” Peter says as Miguel gets off his seat to follow behind your trails.

     As he enters his private bathroom, he can hear your sniffles bounce from the walls. It didn’t take him long to see you wiping your eyes with tissues as you looked at yourself in the mirror. “This is so embarrassing!” you sob, throwing the tissue into the sink. 

“It’s only natural bebita.” he goes behind you and rests his chin on your head looking at you through the reflection; “S’nothing to beat yourself up over.” He finishes as he wraps his arms around you. But before he could fully pull you into an embrace, you hiss and push his arms away instantly making him drop them. You whine as you spin to rest your head on his chest, “It hurts Miguel.” You inform him quietly as he brushes the back of your head. Miguel closes his eyes as he racks his brain from jumbled lewd thoughts to more empathetic solutions. Giving the top of your head a peck, he simply states “Take off your shirt.”. You look up at him with watery doe-full eyes, making every state of his being fight to stay as innocent and professional as ever. He gives you a reassuring smirk before giving you a peck to your lips, “Trust me carino.” He soothes.

   You move away from him once more to take off your shirt, following your now soaked bra. Exposing your full breasts before him, and god did it awaken the urge he always had for you. You sniffled as you wiped your eyes with your hands, slowly calming down knowing it’s just you two. Miguel looks at you “You okay?” he asks touching base once more.

“Yeah.”. Miguel looks at your heavy breast, seeing as your veins became more apparent under your skin. This wasn’t his first rodeo helping his lover through the milestones of childbearing, but he could tell it was yours. “Alright bebita, so all you have to do is massage your breasts.” he instructs, keeping his distance between you two. He didn’t want to fully take charge of the situation, not knowing if it would make you uncomfortable and also wanting you to learn by your own. So he just decided to guide you. You place your hands on your breasts and make a stuttered side to side motion, “Like this?” you say looking at yourself. Miguel bites his bottom lip as he shakes his head, with an unapproving hum. The size difference between your hands and breasts just so treacherously sinful that his cock has something to say about it. “More of a circular motion around your areola, and you must make sure you apply enough pressure to help the milk flow out. As you do try to pinch your nipple throughout the process.” he instructs.

    “Okay.” you affirm, trying to find your rhythm with the session. After a few minutes of you focusing on yourself, Miguel quickly sees your frustrations build up as only small spurts left your swell mounds. In seconds you let out an exasperated sigh as you throw your hands down, “Miguel don’t just stand there!! Help me!!” you yell and that’s all he needed to hear. In seconds his broad hands takes a firm hold of your breasts, making you let out a quiet “Oh.” As you move back. The bathroom sink stopping your in an instant, “Watch me carino.” He coos, making your cheeks flare with unabashed lust. You loved when his voice instinctually sung to you, warm and enticing. “Yeah okay.” you say breathless, looking down at your hand covered breasts. You watch as Miguel meticulously massaged your breasts with a firm circular motion, hissing as you grip the edge of the sink. “I know bebita. It only hurts the first few times you do it, promise.” He says lovingly. After a few more moments, your milk starts flowing freely easing your pain drip by drip. You throw your head back as you close your eyes, breathing out in content, lavishing at the feel. As you bring your head back, you look up at Miguel and smile. Flashing reddish/brown eyes looking back at you with shaky restraint, “You’re making a mess bebita.” He taunts as his hands deepen the massage. You bite your bottom lip, stifling a moan “Yeah… W-well where else is the milk going to go?” you quip. Suddenly you watch as his eyes stay its reddish hue as he pinches one of your nipples to go at even level to the other.

    “Where it truly belongs.” he coos once more, before wrapping his lips around your budding nipple. In an instant your washed with an intense feeling of overwhelm as you feel him suckle you. Your legs trembling to stay still while you take hold of his head. You throw your head back again, unable to watch the man you love before you drink your milk with such fervor. You moan as you feel his teeth slightly pinch while his tongue prodded and lapped at your nipple. Hearing him audibly take in every gulp. As he finished his job on that breast, he popped his mouth off and you looked back to him. His hair becoming a sweaty mess as his dress pants were making his desires more apparent to you. His eyes lull like he’s already milk drunk. If only you knew how drunk he was on the prospect of fucking you right on the bathroom sink. Nice and quick, but he didn’t want to ruin anymore of your clothes. Evening out his breaths he looks at you, “Last one.” He says with a smirk. Suddenly you watch as Miguel licks the milk from the back of his hand before latching onto you again. Your body naturally rutting out for some friction as the lewd display ignited the dam to crack within you. You try to look away and distract yourself with something in the space, but Miguel pops off and tells you “Keep your eyes on me bebita.”. And you obey, god do you obey when you see him kneel in front of you. He nips your nipple making you hiss and tug his hair, earning a roll of his eyes and a grunt as he drank. You realize his other free hand is now between his legs, squeezing himself when he gets too flustered. 

      He lets milk seep out the corners of his mouth, making you thoughtlessly say “I want a taste.”. He moans as he squeezes himself again, his cock aching treat his baby right. After a few more swallows, he gathers as much milk as he could from your diminishing supply and pops off. In seconds he takes your lips with his in a bruising kiss, making you lean over the sink so the back of your head rest on the mirror. You taste your milk as he swaps it from his mouth to yours and swallow, gripping his shirt sleeve as you feel his hand cup your covered sex. After a few more tongue dances and rubs to your sensitive bundle of nerves, you break the messy make out. “Not here.” You say catching your breath.

“Need you.” Miguel pleads rubbing his head with yours like a cat.

“I know baby.” You give his lips a peck “But we need to get back before they truly suspect what we were doing was right. I’m in their heads enough today.” You conclude pushing him off and away from you.

“Now give me your shirt and lets go end this meeting, if they haven’t gotten the hint yet.”

[simply-ozul]

ok- so i see so much ronance angst and it makes sense for their characters, the shows and all yalls broken hearts

HOWEVER

that means that by default i have become the fluff master. for whatever reason, i cant get myself to make heartbreaking angst like everyone else unless its my own characters, so i will forever and always be fluffy. bittersweet from time to time, but fluffy

also a mutuals recent snippet killed me so i need a lil hurt/comfort typa stuff

here we go

robin helping nancys fear of steve’s pool

like i cant not imagine a pool party at steve’s with all the kids and nancy’s the only one who refuses to go in the water

steve(if he notices) doesn’t really feel worthy to help, so here comes robin

robin is immediately up next to nancy, chattin away like its another day

nancy knows robin can tell, which is why she appreciates it even more, even if she’s a little confused

when the kids all rush out of the pool to eat and cause a mess inside, followed by an exasperated Steve, Robin gently tugs on Nancy’s arm urging her to stay

They talk for awhile, about what happened, and why Nancy feels the way she does. Robin never pushes any of it, she simply offers her genius little ears to listen

When she’s finished, tears streaming down her face as she leans into Robin, the lanky girl just smiles down at her and pulls her up

Robin brings Nancy to the edge of the pool, stepping in herself and just.. standing. Nancy’s cnfused

“What are you doing?”

“Standing in the pool silly :)”

Robin holds out her hand patiently, smiling all the while Nancy has no idea what she’s doing

However, her curiosity gets the best of her, and delicately places her hand into robin’s

step by step, robin get’s nancy up to her knees in the water before she freezes, gripping onto Robin painfully

robin stops instantly, soothing her with gentle strokes on her arms

she’s gently praising her, but not coddling her. nancy hates being coddled

nancy gets the water to her upper thighs before she’s shaking her head, backing out of the water

robin lets her, following slowly

she’s surprised when nancy pulls her into a bear hug, mumbling a thank you into her chest

robin’s immediately stuttering out a “welcome”, patting the girl on the back

from then on, every time theyre at the pool, robin helps nancy get deeper and deeper unti she can float gently with a hand on Robin’s arm

the first time nancy dunks her head under, she panics. she shoots out of the water, immediately wrapping herself onto robin, who holds her tightly, soothing her with praise and soft touches

nancy feels like she might cry. she never thought she’d be able to step foot in any pool again, she never thought robin of all people would be so very patient and gentle with her

without much thought about it, she grabs onto robins face, shoving their lips together

robin squawks and freezes, but eventually relax

they spend the next few minutes just.. kissing. pouring all their love onto one another

when they finally walk into the house, giggling and smiling to themselves, steve is none the wiser, chalking it up to “girl things” as they called it

not sure how to end it so ima just cut it there

lemme know ur thoughts :)

[xmarchwarden-of-lothlorienx]

Nothing is Trivial

Elrond x nonbinary!reader

Requested: Anonymous

Summary:

TW: Fight scene that describes some injury

Hello sir can i request a elrond x gender neutral reader where he confesses his feelings for them thinking they are a girl but they come out to him as nonbinary (they do share the feelings though) and he's like "i love you anyways" ?

Also i love your writing 💛

Authors Note: Happy Pride Month!! Once again, I apologize for keeping you waiting. I do enjoy that as a trans masc writer I get quite a few requests for LGBTQ+ fics, so keep 'em coming!

As the early evenings sunbeams danced across the valley, the waters of the trickling falls and brooks appeared as though they were teaming with diamonds. As a traveler, you had passed through Rivendell more times than you could count; Yet, those visits had been brief, never exceeding more than a week, despite the assurances of Elrond that you were welcome to stay as long as you liked.

You were fond of the Lord of Imladris - after all, he had proven a faithful friend time and again, was wiser than any scholar or wizard, and always extended some kindness to those residing in or passing through his lands. However, wanderlust had kept you on the road - at least that is what you told yourself and others you encountered - the excitement of seeing new lands, discovering yourself by trying on the lifestyles and customs of those coming from all walks of life. You were still young, believing you would have plenty of time to stay in one place once you had grown old and grey.

While this was not necessarily a lie, you were leaving out a portion of the truth. You avoided any extended stays within the hidden valley because in your heart, you knew you could stay forever, especially if it’s lord simply asked. It made your heart race - feeling as if it was sitting inside your throat, half choking you - to think of what may, or more likely may not, happen should you stay. It was easy to run away from the uncomfortable prospect of life changing (or failing to) after your heart had led you to crawl back to Rivendell between criss-crossing half the continent. That is, until an unexpected ambush resulted in an extended stay within the valley.

--

You passed Weathertop two days ago. Another day's journey and you would be able to spend a few nights resting in Rivendell. It had been well over three years since you had last sought respite in the valley.

While on your travels, you encountered Brunwulf - a kindred spirit. Months of travel and fireside chats with the individual resulted in many realizations, including one acknowledging your gender identity. Brunwulf's friendship was instrumental in becoming comfortable, and later proud, of being non-binary (a term and a concept they introduced, but fit like a glove once explained to you).

You promised yourself that during this short stay in Rivendell you may share the news with Elrond - he was your friend after all, and the time felt right to share this aspect of your life with him. His reaction was sure to be welcoming, you were only friends after all, yet you couldn't push away the building anxiety surrounding the "what if's?" rushing through your mind.

That shall be a problem for the future me, you thought as you lifted your pack onto your back. For now I must actually make it to Rivendell. The day seemed to drag on, the mild morning weather given way to a blistering heat by the early afternoon. The last leg of the journey taking its sweet time now that rest and warm food were finally in sight.

You had nearly passed over the border of Imladris when a sense of dread grew in the pit of your stomach. Your heart rate increased, every hair seemed to stand on end, and you quickened your pace. Nothing is wrong, you are simply worried and weary from travel, you tried to convince yourself. No foul being would dare come this close to-

The hideous echo of an orc horn upon the surrounding hills sent a shiver up your spine. You began running through the sparse pine wood and golden grasses. I only have to make it to the border, I only have to make it to the border, I only have to make it to the border, your mind repeated again and again. It felt as though you were running in a dream: no matter how hard you tried to run, it seemed the distance in front of you only grew greater.

A warg mounted by an orc rider cut across your path. You nearly tripped right into its jaws as you struggled to redirect your momentum. The beasts rider took a swing at you with his foul blade. You narrowly avoided what could have been a fatal blow, ducking and drawing your own dagger. The warg and it's rider were strong and cruel, yet you were cunning and quick, easily able to outwit the pair. Feigning your movement to one side, you dropped and rolled in the other direction, sticking your dagger in the side of the beasts neck while it tried to turn to where you had been a moment ago. With a grunt, you removed the small blade and the warg collapsed. The orc rider muttered something, probably a curse, in Orkish. He dismounted from the warg, and you readied your dagger for the offensive.

It was easy to parry and direct your own attacks at first, but the exhaustion of days spent traveling were creeping up on you. Perhaps your reaction time had delayed, for in an unregistered blink a sharp pain extended across your abdomen. You could feel blood starting to seep from the wound and into your clothing. Pressing one hand to your side to stay the bleeding, you fought on.

Blocking a forceful blow from your opponent sent another shot of pain through you. Your body felt as though it were on fire and the world was spinning. You fell to your knees as another call from the orc horn sounded. The orc gave a guttural laugh. You felt your eyes rolling back as you crumpled to the ground.

The sound of a sweeter second horn, though this one you could not tell if it was real or just a dream.

A steady thunder of riders moving closer.

Nothing but blissful ether.

--

That had occurred over a month ago now. You woke up days later, wrapped in a cozy blanket on a soft, warm bed. Elrond soon visited you. He asked how you were healing and told you of what had happened after you collapsed - how he and his riders fought the orcs, brought you to Imladris, and tended to you himself.

For once, he looked... tired, as though his thousands of years may finally be weighing on him. Surely that must be a projection of your own state, elves rarely displayed such things... right? Regardless, Elrond insisted that you stay until you were fully healed. You agreed given your near-brush-with-death, and were still resolved to have a heart-to-heart with Elrond about your identity. You just had to wait for the right time.

Except, it had been over a month, and still it had never been the right time. This is what led you to wandering the gardens on this particular evening. To continue waiting for the right moment, or to make the right moment, or to just abandon the whole thing completely and wait for some other visit to the valley. You plucked the petals off a flower, going between the three options. You had already gone through this process with two other flowers, unsatisfied with the results both times.

"I wonder what the flowers have ever done to you." A voice that was as warm as a late spring breeze caused you to jump. You jerked your head to the source.

"Sorry," You placed the naked flower down beside you on the bench you had been occupying. "I thought it may help me make a decision, but I guess I just made a mess of your gardens instead." Making room on the bench, you gestured for him to take a seat, "You may join me if you wish."

"They will grow back," He smiled, taking the seat you had offered. "I cannot say I don't blame you. I have also had to make some decisions of late." Elrond's gaze dropped towards the ground before meeting yours. You had seen the elf Lord worried before, but something else, something more personal, seemed to be a miss. You gave him a slight nudge.

"Well, I may not have all the wisdom of the elves, but I am here if you would like someone to listen."

"You are precisely who I've been needing to talk to," he held your gaze, his voice laced with earnestness. You quirked your head to the side, slightly confused, but remained silent waiting for him to continue. "We have known each other for awhile now, and recent events have shown me I must be bold as the world grows dark once more. I should like if you remain in Imladris."

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure what you mean." Bold? Bold how? Against the orcs?

"I have met many elleths and daughters of men, yet none have stirred my heart quite like you. I understand many of these attachments often result in tragedy, but after the grief your injury gave me I believe it would be a greater tragedy if I were to bury my heart for all the ages of the world." You swallowed, taking in the full (and very clear) meaning of his words. The right time is now.

"I confess, I have something I must share with you as well." Elrond's expression dropped, fearing for the worst. "I do return your feelings," You reassured. "It's just... I do not want to be referred to as a daughter of man, or even a son of man, simply a child of man. It may seem strange, and I hope that we may continue to be friends at least, but on my recent travels I learned of this term: non-binary..." You had started fidgeting with your hands, feeling as though you were losing control and losing everything you had only dreamed of hoping for until a moment ago.

"Ah, I see." Elrond took your hands in his, running his thumbs across your knuckles. "I am familiar with the term. I understand that in the world of men such things may take more time to be accepted," he said, gently squeezing your hands. "But among the elves, our ideas on this subject are much more fluid. I shall always stand with you, melleth nin."

At these words, you could not help the tears that began to brim and fall from your eyes. Elrond raised one of his hands to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears sliding down your face. Noticing the concern knitting his eyebrows together, you couldn't help but softly laugh.

"They are happy tears, I promise," you explained, placing your hand over his. You saw the relief wash over his features and the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a small, relaxed smile. You couldn't help but lean into his touch, pressing a small kiss against the inside of his wrist. "Your words have meant the world to me. I cannot believe I have been so lucky to know you in this lifetime." Your eyes glanced towards his lips. "May I?"

"You may," he returned with a smile, closing the gap between you.

Tag List: @themerriweathermage @entishramblings @miriel-estelwen

[sytokun]

Ok but how cathartic would it have been if instead of Jaune being the famous Rusted Knight all along, V9 was written so that Ruby fell into the Ever After and became this aged warrior in a tattered cape called the Hooded Huntress or whatever, spending the last few decades stewing over her friends' death and her perceived uselessness, pushing herself to protect the Ever After as its sole guardian all this time.

Her teammates try to find and console her, but reuniting with them after so long just brings back all the bitter memories and she does everything she can to avoid them, even Yang. Inwardly Ruby is torn because the chance of meeting her team again was why she's even alive and fighting after all these years, but now... she can't even bear to face them.

Slowly but surely her team reaches through to her. And then it all slowly clicks: Ruby and her friends figure out she's the Hooded Huntress. She's the hero in the books Ruby always looked up to. She's the fairy tale ideal Blake wished the world could be. She's the hero Weiss would think about to push herself through her training. She's the hero Yang would read to her about during bedtime. Her tale may have even been old enough to inspire Maria and Qrow to become Hunters. Summer herself.

All of this hits Ruby like a truck, knowing that she was always meant to be a hero and has still done so much good, more than she'll ever know. And Ruby learns to accept her mantle once again and returns to Remnant wiser and better than ever. She may not have been enough to save the kingdom of Atlas or Penny, but she poured her everything into the Ever After to make up for it and in doing so, became the hero the world would soon need; that it always had.

Fuck your ascension and fuck your suicide tea; Ruby chose to keep going for one more day instead of giving up, if only for the sake of others, but found not only the light at the end of the tunnel; she was the light guiding others through it, even when she was too caught up in the darkness around her to see it herself.

But I guess we needed Jaune to be the big hero again. He's canonically now a bigger and more influential hero than Ruby, Summer or almost any other Hunter in existence can hope to be - immortalised forever as an enduring tale thousands of children and aspiring Hunters would emulate, even after Team RWBY themselves are gone.

Like. Let Ruby have fucking something. Is she still the protagonist or is she fucking not.

EDIT: Also this would have been our one chance to get scruffy long-haired Ruby. Let that sit with you abit.

[lady-raziel]

Going to give some of my thoughts on the overall situation in the Democratic party and pre-empt this by saying that the intention is NOT to say "don't vote" or give up, before people in the notes claim that anyway. Not voting doesn't help, but also thinking that voting once will solve systemic problems instantly is setting people up to become disillusioned with everything when it doesn't happen like that. Anyway.

What's happening in the Democratic party is a tragedy, because I think due to their own faults, including allowing elites to cling to power and refusing change, the party might have signed their death warrant. And in a moment where the US has long been a two-party system and the only way to pose a challenge to the other party is to unify behind a candidate and participate in the system as it exists...if the Democratic party suffers such a severe crisis of confidence and credibility that it cannot pose a challenge, then it becomes significantly harder to oppose Republicans in any meaningful way.

I've spoken before about the Democrats' history of preferring one of their own elites as a presidential candidate and their history of suppressing changes to the status quo. Joe Biden is the product of all this. In a better world, he might have been convinced not to try for re-election early in his term and the party could have prioritized elevating alternative candidates so that there was a base of awareness and rapport by the time 2024 happened. But that didn't happen, and Biden chose to run again.

When his candidacy faced questions about his age and capability for duty from the start, it would have been a challenge even if those concerns weren't seemingly confirmed in increasing incidences over the past few weeks (but the debate particularly). The resulting crisis of confidence has brought questions of Biden stepping down to the forefront, and it seems like now that Biden has been diagnosed with COVID, compounded with events on the Trump side of things, it's becoming more likely that he'll listen.

I think all of this highlights how stuck the Democratic party is, and how they've maneuvered themselves into a very tricky corner. In all honesty, it was likely a mistake to pick Biden as nominee in 2020 because I think it was more anger with Trump than genuine belief in Biden that caused that result-- I don't believe that Joe Biden and Joe Biden alone is the factor that caused Trump to lose then. In retrospect, it would have been much wiser to prioritize a candidate who wouldn't have been at risk for the natural challenges age poses and would have been sure to be able to defend the presidency in 2024. But the Democrats didn't do that, and the seeds of all this might have been in place even then.

Because if Biden chose not to run again, it would have meant the Democrats had backed someone who couldn't "finish the job" and running someone else after a single term would cast doubt. Just like if Biden backs out now that the Democratic establishment has been backing him, cleared the field so no other candidate could run against him, it's an admission they chose wrong. That's part of the degradation of credibility I'm talking about-- why would anyone trust a party that doesn't know what it's doing? It erodes confidence. It erodes already-strained faith.

The terrible thing is that even if Biden bows out, the Democratic party is still very, very stuck. I'll tell you why, after spending some time examining the rules the party has established around its nominating process. Parties can write their own rules about how candidates can get chosen, and the way the Democrats have structured their system, surprise surprise, gives enormous power to their elites-- the "superdelegates."

Democratic superdelegates are existing and former high-ranking elected officials, members of the DNC, etc.--basically the ruling class of the party. And they have the power to independently vote for whichever candidate they want to be the nominee. This makes up a large portion of the Democratic delegates-- a nominee is chosen when the majority of all delegates agree on a candidate.

The rest of the delegates are chosen from states, and most operate with the assumption that they will use their vote to back the winner of their states' primary or caucus.

Here is the critical problem-- the primaries and caucuses have already happened, and Biden won all of them. The people in those states (even given that there were, by design, not many alternatives) CHOSE Biden. If Biden drops out, there is not time to redo every primary. The delegates would, independent of their now-void state results, have to vote for someone else.

The new nominee would be selected by the Democratic establishment elites and delegates who had really just been intended to rubber-stamp the states' results. The magnitude of this needs to be spelled out explicitly-- the candidate option for millions of people, the only chance in the current system for defeating Trump, would be chosen without ANY input from the common people. The Democratic party, with democracy in the very name, would choose a nominee openly and publicly in a very non-democratic way.

And yeah, in the end it would be the people's choice in the general election, but if there are only a limited number of choices and one of the two who even have a shot of winning was picked without input of the people, is that really a totally democratic choice?

Whatever the Democrats decide, they lose credibility-- either by pushing forward with a struggling candidate and ignoring signs of crisis or by pulling out and choosing someone new undemocratically. It looks bad for them in any scenario from a long-term viability standpoint. Lose because they refused the signs and refused to change, or possibly win but severely cripple their ability to claim their own NAME?

It would be bad at any time. It's especially bad when the other main party is having a moment of power, and the US isn't set up for a coalitionary system of government if the Democrats were to splinter into smaller ideological faction parties. To pick a president, a coalition would still have to pick one leader from one of their parties--and I don't know how likely that would be to happen in short amounts of time.

Here is my best-case scenario outcome-- rally progressives to back the Biden-replacement candidate with the knowledge that the common people didn't pick that person, and then use that as leverage to demand massive overhauls of the Democratic party top to bottom on both policy and process. Win with 2024's Democratic candidate, outlast and overcome Republican backlash claims of election fraud, and relentlessly force the Democrats to reform. Because otherwise they will not wake up to their mistakes, would use winning the presidency as a mandate to continue with business as usual, and continue to fuck over everyone who doesn't want a conservative future.

It's a hard path to accomplish. But it's one of the only ones that mitigates the destructive effects of a second Trump term and forces the Democrats to change to ACTUALLY be all the things they claim to be, including, you know, democratic.

[tyrannuspitch]

How do you HC the conversation where Thor finds out Loki is a Jotun foundling went?

Oh this is a VERY interesting question, and not one I have a full answer to yet.

First of all, since some people have very understandably suggested otherwise - I do think Thor knows. No, he never acknowledges Loki's species specifically, he just talks about "adoption"... but A) I don't think Odin would send Thor out in The Avengers without telling him everything he told Loki, because otherwise he'd be handing Loki a way to manipulate Thor; and B) Thor looks *decidedly* anguished (actually close to tears!) when Loki is talking about ~mindless beasts pretending to be people~ in The Avengers, which would make no sense if Loki were really only talking about Bruce, a mortal Thor's only just met.

So I think it's clear that Thor knows that Loki is Jotun and understands that internalised space-racism is a huge part of what's "wrong with" Loki. He just doesn't know how to help, so, in classic Odin fashion, he's avoiding it for fear of making it worse. (And probably also wrestling with his own lingering space-racism, guilt, denial, etc.)

As for the conversation itself... I'm not sure. I do think it happened very promptly, because Odin was right there and Thor was devastated and confused and would demand Answers. What the hell just happened to my brother?!

I think realising that he's been lied to his entire life by both his parents would be a major blow to Thor, after his trust has already been shattered by his father apparently leaving him on Earth to die and by, uh, pretty much everything Loki did. On its own, the lie wouldn't be as powerful to Thor as it was to Loki, but in context... Thor's entire world has been turned upside-down repeatedly in a few days. He lost his home and identity, he thought his father was dead, he thought his brother was going to kill him, now his brother IS dead and perhaps he never even knew him... He just has no stability left at all.

And I think that's why he expresses such faith in Odin in their final conversation: "There will never be a wiser king than you, nor a better father." It seems like a really odd thing to say after everything that's just happened, and a lot of people get outraged on Loki's behalf, but... I think it makes sense, psychologically speaking. From Thor's perspective, questioning Odin's will was what nearly ruined his life and ended his brother's. The lies plus the exile make it suddenly really clear just how far Odin is willing to go to enforce his power over his children, and Thor is the only child he has left. What further disasters could further resistance bring? So Thor gives in, and chooses to believe what he's giving into must be good and wise and necessary, because he just can't go on otherwise.

(Thor often reminds me of a quote I once read about how abused children hating themselves is really a survival strategy, because their parents have such power over them that they're effectively their entire world. So, from the child's perspective: if the child is "bad" but the parents are "good", then it is at least within the child's power to try to be better; but if the parents are "bad" while the child is "good", then the world itself is broken, and the situation is hopeless.)

So... I don't think Thor would be angry. I think he's too shocked and shaken to express anger, or to really blame anyone but himself. But I think Thor might still have a hard time accepting that this is the truth, as in... believing, understanding, and coming to terms with it.

Like... Thor has definitely not unlearnt all his prejudice against Jotuns in a handful of days on a completely different subject realm. He's probably not far off from where he started at all - sure, he's seen a few Jotuns face-to-face, so they're probably realer to him now, and he wouldn't accept Loki's plan for total annihilation... But in his mind, they're still enemies, still a grotesque, frightening Other, almost certainly still monsters.

So hearing that Loki is and always has been a Jotun will be really, really hard for Thor. He's going to be in utter turmoil over this, and there isn't any comfortable answer to settle on.

So... maybe Loki's not really Jotun. Okay, he can't see any reason why his parents would lie again, but maybe it's only true on a technical level, maybe Loki's really more like "one of us" than "one of them", on the inside. (But what actually makes a Jotun a monster? Is it behaviour? Culture? Biology? Is it some inherent property of their souls?)

Or maybe Jotuns aren't monsters, not all of them, not inherently. But everyone on Asgard has always acted like they are. If this is true, Thor has blood on his hands, and so do his parents, and his friends, and their entire society, the society Thor is responsible for and beholden to.

Or maybe Loki is a monster. (Was a monster.) He always seemed like a person, and Thor loved him, but apparently Thor barely knew Loki at all. In the end, Loki violently rejected Thor's love and did monstrous things, and it seems like he was lying very well for a very long time before that. Maybe Thor has been played for a fool, and he never had a brother at all.

Or maybe Loki was a monster, but he didn't want to be one. Maybe it wasn't entirely his choice; he was delicate, and their parents were trying to protect him, but Thor was careless and he broke him (by revealing his heritage; by leaving him alone in a crisis; by whatever long-standing failure he still doesn't understand that made Loki hate him so much and so personally in the end.)

Out of these, I think Thor ultimately settles on a mixture of #1 and #4. But there's so much going on here (grief for Loki; anger at him; fear of him; guilt in completely contradictory directions) and no way to really work through it or understand what's true that I think it takes a very long time. And there's probably a great deal of rain in Asgard in the meantime.

--

Anyway. This is... a very long reply that manages to avoid ever really being an answer. But here are some musings on Thor's state of mind in the wake of this revelation.

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Day 21: Shade no warnings. bit of shadowbringers spoilers. word count: 664 Ao3

How quiet these streets Hythlodaeus once knew are despite the whispered chatter Emet-Selch created for them in this haunting undersea rendition of Amaurot. Some almost play on loop as he wanders and searches for them. 

His beloved

Surely if his friend was going for accuracy then he would have created them also, even with the grumbling debate as each shade was created. Hythlodaeus’ memories end after the sacrifice and it’s there that Emet-Selch’s begins and Hythlodaeus can see a rendition of just what happened between them. Their fallout and the yearning for both of them to come to an understanding, a yearning that won in the end. And so he searches.

He walks among many going about their day, souls he never thought he’d see again performing their final hours. Few look up and when they do it’s right through him to someone else that Emet-Selch didn’t know well enough to give form to, didn’t want to do a disservice to. He contemplates asking one of the many shades, but so few knew them and he did not find them at the Akadaemia Anyder, so it seems a pointless endeavor.

Among the myriad of colors a single shifting of blue and green crosses the corner of his eye. “There you are!” He can feel his smile grow as he makes his way ever closer to them, hand clasping onto theirs when he’s close enough to reach. And fading when they turn to him and they like all the others hold no facial features, it is only by their posture that he knows for a fact it is his beloved. 

Maybe it is a blessing when the strings of friendship tug at his heart and he understands just why Emet-Selch left them all featureless. The guilt he would feel looking into the eyes of the few would be too much after all this time, and this wasn’t for him. No it was for his brother…in the hopes that his brother would return. Still Hythlodaeus cannot deny how hopeful he had been in seeing their grey eyes light up with their smile. Yet maybe still….

Their laugh is still the same and soothing in its melody as they ask, “Are you attempting to get out of one of your meetings again, beloved?” 

A near perfect recreation that is another actor among many. Another blessing in their lack of facial features that he can feel the few falling tears and their beloved is none the wiser. “I would not dream of such a thing,” he manages, trying to place just what day they believe it to be, “In fact it has been rescheduled, so I thought I would join you, my beloved.”

The way their head tilts and the loose crossing of their arms and he can see the little glare of disbelief that means nothing as their lips curve into a small smile. “Well if that’s the case then I would gladly welcome your assistance in my errands.”

This shade of them still fits among him with perfection when they cling onto his arm and their hand slides into his, while their head rests against his shoulder, he wishes Emet-Selch had more care in his recreation. Still he will indulge for however long this memory lasts before letting them replay their never ending part. Hythlodaeus closes his eyes with a deep breath and lets them open to the smallest of spells that makes the sun shine once again and turns the view above him into the light blue he once knew and prefers over the darker hues of the ocean. “Then what is on the docket my beloved?” 

He turns to see short dark teal hair blowing in the wind, blushed cheeks on pale skin, and grey eyes with the faintest hints of light blue that sparkle with their smile on soft pink lips, and his heart melts. For this one loop he will allow himself to see them as they once were.

His beloved Anthea.

[trickstarbrave]

listen.

i have no defense for this okay. the only thing i have to say for myself is not one not two but three whole people encouraged me. i started thinking about it ha ha ironic ha ha as a joke but now look at me. dont do things as a joke theyre a gateway drug to doing it for real

anyways. heres omegaverse nerevoryn. let he who is without sin cast the first fucking stone at me.

also its not done im just horrified i wrote so much so fast

--

There were, despite the stereotypes, perks when it came to being an omega. In fact, in a way, stereotypes could be one of the perks, if you played your cards right. And if there was anything Nerevar knew how to do, it was use anything and everything to his advantage. 

There was a common belief omegas were all delicate, gentle hearted, peace-keepers--or worse, treasures that lay in wait for some big strong alpha to come take them. It wasn’t like there were no docile, delicate omegas, but Nerevar was certainly not the type. He could make peace all right--with persuasion and his blade however, not rolling over with his belly up begging everyone to stop fighting. 

Most people thought he was an alpha, given how headstrong he was and how quickly he took charge of situations. That, or he was an alpha-leaning beta given he was usually able to keep his cool in difficult situations, especially around alphas acting territorial and puffing out their chests. Nerevar never bothered correcting them either way; sure, he could turn himself into some moral champion of omegas and prove they could be just as capable of politicians and warriors, but the more likely outcome was everyone he told would take him significantly less seriously. And that would mean more heads would have to roll and well, Nerevar didn’t like cleaning up messes. 

He still had heats, having to retreat into his room for days at a time, but no one said anything. Just as easily he could be locked away in a rut, or praying to Azura for several days on end. No one dared question him, and only the most trustworthy attendants were allowed anywhere near his room to be able to smell the difference. 

On the plus side, Nerevar had many things he used to his advantage; in all honesty, the fact people thought Nerevar was a beta wasn’t unfounded. Even when an alpha went into a rut, he was mostly unbothered by it. A bit of discomfort, not to mention he needed a long bath afterwards to get the smell off him, but unlike some omegas where the scent of an alpha in rut had them going into heat right away, Nerevar could force those instincts down. And, through careful control of his mental state, he could usually calm most alpha’s down without them being the wiser about Nerevar’s secondary sex and wanting to take him for themselves. His seeming immunity from an alpha in rut was often the subject of multiple jokes by Almalexia, as the two of them would mostly sit around, having a few drinks in the quiet of her room. Well, that was until she took Vivec as her mate, then most of her ruts were spent with the warrior poet instead. 

Hence why, when his meeting with Voryn had been canceled last minute after he already made his way to Kogoruhn, he simply strolled to Voryn’s room, humming casually with a couple books and food for the other. 

Much like Nerevar, Voryn was also an… Interesting example of an alpha. Voryn was usually pegged more so as a beta based on his behavior, until you got a whiff of pheromones when you pissed him off. He wasn’t as outwardly aggressive and territorial as far as most people were concerned, but Nerevar knew him well. He disguised it as dedication and love for his house, or loyalty to those close to him, but he was indeed territorial. And instead of outward aggression, picking fights and throwing fists, he preferred to temper his aggression and instead attack them when they least expected it. He may look like he forgives and forgets, but in truth he was a viper laying in wait to strike. 

Nerevar knocked, careful not to drop the few books tucked under his arm, hearing the low growl that followed. 

“Out.” Voryn hissed, and Nerevar bit back a laugh.

“It’s me,” Nerevar clarified. “I brought you some books and some food. Servants said you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Voryn, unlike his typical cool demeanor, was vicious and snippy in a rut. Since Nerevar grew up alongside him, he knew it very well, getting chased away from Voryn’s door every time. Well, that and the servants and other members of House Dagoth would shoo him away, warning him not to go near. It was customary to keep young alphas and omegas apart during heats and ruts respectively, for good reason. No one wanted any injured teenagers or anyone carrying children way too young. But Nerevar could still see it in the aftermath--scratch marks on Gilvoth after he came to force his younger brother to eat, broken furniture, a smashed window at one point--luckily he calmed down from physical violence as he got older. If he hadn’t, he doubted Kogoruhn would still be standing with all the magic the lord knew. 

“All the more reason to tell you to leave.” Voryn huffed. 

“You know ruts don’t bother me.” Nerevar snarked. “Hurry up and open the door before I drop your food.” 

After some groaning and growling, eventually Voryn did open the door, to which Nerevar quickly darted inside before he could take the tray and shove him out. 

“You are an idiot.” Voryn groaned as Nerevar set the tray of food on the desk, before tossing the books onto Voryn’s bed. “But that’s nothing new anymore.” 

“I told you, ruts don’t bother me.” Nerevar chuckled, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in the air as always. At the very least, Voryn’s scent wasn’t offensive; some alphas made him feel disgusting, if not a little nauseous. Voryn’s was much more familiar and a lot more welcomed, given he was used to it in much smaller quantities over the years. In fact, it was kind of nice; warm, a bit spicy, and nostalgic. 

“I can’t help but fear you’re just playing with fire when you say things like that.” Voryn sighed, before plopping himself on the bed. He was dressed very loosely, no doubt feeling hot and antsy. Nerevar, unbothered, also sat beside him with a grin on his face. 

“Come on, I’m not being that reckless.” 

“You’re tempting fate, that’s what you’re doing.” Voryn huffed. “But you’ve always been like that, haven’t you? Always pushing your luck to its limits until it blows up in your face.” 

“It hasn’t blown up in my face yet,” Nerevar asserted proudly. “Until several of Sil’s little inventions.” Voryn rolled his eyes at that.

“Because you’re constantly poking and prodding at them even when he specifically told you not to, that’s why.” Nerevar, seeing as Voryn was making a good point, instead side-stepped it entirely.

“Come on, you know you get lonely during a rut,” Nerevar instead circled the conversation back around. “Bored, stir crazy, antsy…”

“That’s the nature of a rut so I don’t rip someone to pieces.” Voryn huffed. “I’m not supposed to be relaxing and having fun but defending my territory and looking for a mate as far as my instincts are concerned.” 

“Mm…” Nerevar hummed. “I heard mate does make them easier. At least, as far as Ayem told me.” Nerevar hadn’t minded his wife taking a mate that wasn’t him; in terms of sexual compatibility, Nerevar didn’t find her very appealing. Not that she was ugly or anything--far from it! She was very beautiful, tall, strong… All things an omega should be dying to have in a mate. But there was something about her scent that put him off from ever wanting to mate. Just as well, she didn’t find his scent all that appealing either, and most political marriages didn’t end in mating even in the case of alpha and omega couples. 

“And I am in no mood to tear apart Vvardenfell looking for one.” Voryn scoffed, before laying down. Despite doing so, however, he didn’t look comfortable in the slightest. All of his muscles were tense as he laid there, stiff as a corpse. “I have things to be doing, research to do, meetings to be had--”

“Shh…” Nerevar hushed him, scooting closer to rub his back. At the touch Voryn snarled, before slowly he began relaxing, bit by bit. “There…” Nerevar smiled fondly. “You’ll have time for all of that when this is over. It’s only a couple of days right?” Nerevar asked, before working at a knot on Voryn’s shoulder. “Roll over and I’ll rub your back. You’re way too tense.”

Despite all his huffing and snarling, Voryn did roll over, face planted in a pillow, allowing Nerevar climb on top of him to massage his back. For most alphas having an omega crawling on top of them in the middle of a rut like this was no doubt humiliating, but Voryn had in fact relaxed gradually. The scent in the air turned from one of hostility and warning to more of a gentle warmth as Nerevar continued to work knot after knot out of his back. 

“What research are you working on now?” Nerevar asked, hoping some light conversation would help relax him further. 

“Mm…” Voryn groaned softly, fingers clenching and unclenching the blankets under him. “Dwarven explosive powder…”

“Making it?” Nerevar asked, raising a brow. 

“No,” Voryn clarified. “Dwemer machinery is required to actually… Make it.” He hummed softly as Nerevar rubbed at his lower back, working the especially tense muscles nice and slow. “Machinery far too large and complicated to fit into Kogoruhn.”

“What about it then?”

“Dwemeri oil has a number of alchemical properties…” Voryn continued. “I was hoping to test if their explosive powder had any as well.” 

“Without blowing up half of your stronghold, I hope?” At that, Voryn snorted, before rolling over and forcing Nerevar off him now that he was much more relaxed. With a grin, Voryn tugged Nerevar down to be laying beside him.

“Unlike you, I don’t have a track record for blowing things up unintentionally.” 

“You’re back on that again?” Nerevar groaned, offended but still laughing. 

“I’m not the one who brought it up the first time.” Voryn smirked. “Though tell me, how many times has Dumac saved you from nearly stepping on a landmine again?” 

“You’re being an asshole right now, you know that?” Nerevar shot him a playful glare. 

“Well you’re an asshole all the time and it’s never stopped you.” 

And just like that, the two were at it. Was wrestling an alpha in rut a good idea? Not in the slightest. However, the two used to playfully wrestle all the time as children and even teenagers, so it was… Oddly nice to do so again as adults. Typically Nerevar would win due to raw strength alone--and he could right now, of course--but he knew it was probably a terrible idea to piss an alpha off like that in the middle of a rut. So instead, Nerevar just put up a gentle fight, knocking several of the pillows and blankets off the plush bed, along with the books Nerevar brought earlier, all the while laughing. Then, once he felt Voryn was starting to get a bit too aggressive and his movements too hurried, he let the other pin him to the bed. 

“Gods…” Nerevar laughed, breathlessly. “How long has it been since we wrestled like this?”

“Decades.” Voryn replied, equally as breathless. “Mm… But oddly nice to get the energy out.” 

“I told you.” Nerevar grinned. “Nice to move around, get your mind off things… Sitting there stewing in it only makes it worse.” 

“Don’t tell me you go around wrestling people in heat.” Nerevar nearly choked in laughter at that. 

“No!” He had to roll over onto his side, holding his stomach from giggling. “Gods, fuck no! Azura’s mercy, I’m not that insane!” Another few chuckles followed as he tried to compose himself. “I can barely stand anyone touching me once it settles in. Everything feels so… Sharp and uncomfortable.” 

“Does it?” Voryn raised an eyebrow, but climbed off Nerevar to flop down beside him. “That sounds… Unusual.”

Nerevar shrugged. “It’s always been like that.” He admitted as though it were nothing. “You wouldn’t it get it being an alpha, I guess.” 

“Nerevar, I may be an alpha but that doesn’t mean I’m uneducated.” Voryn was oddly stern now, concerned. “Just like how you aren’t an alpha but understand how a rut works.” 

“Look, what do you want me to say?” Nerevar asked. “No healer has ever told me anything is wrong with me. It just seemed the more time that went on, the more… Painful they got?” Nerevar groaned. “Well, not really painful, I’ve found a way around it for the most part--”

“So you’re coping with it like a poorly healed injury.” 

“No!” Nerevar asserted. “It’s not an injury but a normal thing.”

“A normal process that isn’t acting as normal.” 

“Look,” Nerevar rolled his eyes, “You can bother the healers back at the palace about it if you’re so concerned. But I’ve adjusted just fine to my heats. I lay in bed, have all my food ready, stacks of books and what have you, and I deal with it.” Nerevar gave him a playful kick. “Unlike someone who went a whole day without eating.” 

Voryn rolled his eyes, getting up from the bed. “Fine fine, I’ll eat lord Nerevar.” Voryn replied, sarcastically. He then went over to his desk, finally eating the meal Nerevar brought him. 

While he ate, they still chatted and talked, Nerevar laying casually on his bed. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done it, and Nerevar expected it wouldn’t be the last with their close friendship. Even as councilman and king, Nerevar saw them as close friends above all else. The closest friend he had, honestly. 

Yet, as he laid there he found himself feeling… Uncomfortable. The air wasn’t stifling after Voryn calmed down, but his clothes felt… Itchy. Not to mention he was starting to feel feverish. Maybe that wrestling wasn’t a good idea if he was coming down with something, but he didn’t want to leave yet--he was mid conversation, after all, and it seemed like Voryn was still relaxing more and more. Yet, it wasn’t long until Nerevar was tossing and turning on the bed, trying to feel comfortable. Despite being fully dressed and indoors he got that same paranoid feeling he had being out in the open on the battlefield: antsy and exposed. 

“Are you alright?” Voryn had finished by now, coming to the bed to look at him.

“Yeah just--” Nerevar sighed. “Uncomfortable.” Then, realizing how that might be interpreted, tried to cover for it. “Not that your bed is uncomfortable, I just feel… Off, all of a sudden.” 

“How so?”

“My clothes feel itchy--” Nerevar was already scratching at his arms, writhing slightly to try and itch at his back. “It’s not flees, I just bathed… Not to mention it’s not like, bug bite itchy but like my clothes are way too rough…” 

“Stress?” Voryn asked, looking at his arms to ensure he didn’t have a rash. “I could always look at your clothes to be sure.” 

“Not a bad idea.” Nerevar began pulling his shirt up over his head to hand to Voryn who combed it over. Sure enough, the clean cloth had no little parasites or bugs crawling around in it, but already Nerevar felt relieved. He kicked off his trousers while he was at it, left only in his undergarments, much more comfortable. 

“Well the fabric is particularly rough.” Voryn remarked. “Thick material, more used for keeping warm and dry rather than relaxing. Rolling around wrestling in it probably irritated your skin.” Nerevar snorted at that, especially as Voryn tossed one of his own silk robes on top of him. He used to have no problem wrestling in the ash and dust, but now slightly rough fabric was what was going to do him in? Although, the silk robe was a lot more comfortable, the soft fabric almost soothing his skin as he curled up with it on and tied shut, breathing deeply. Voryn’s sheets were also nice and soft… 

“You are also feeling warm though…” Voryn brought the back of his hand to Nerevar’s forehead. “Not to mention I actually beat you at wrestling…” He looked concerned, “You weren’t mucking around the bitter coast again were you? Swamp fever has been on the rise there, and I know how much you love mudcrab hunting more than your own good--” Nerevar rolled his eyes.

“I came straight here from the propylon chamber, Voryn.” He did wear weather appropriate clothes given it was the cold and rainy season in northern VVardenfell, but that was just a precaution. “I wasn’t running around the bitter coast catching mudcrabs, I can assure you.” 

“Here,” Voryn stood up now, pulling the pillows and blankets back on the bed to make Nerevar more comfortable. “Why don’t you just lay down for a few minutes and see if it goes down. If not, I have a cure disease potion around here somewhere…” He then got up after piling them all back on, rummaging through his shelves stocked with an astounding amount of alchemical books, ingredient chests, and potion bottles. ‘Controlled chaos’ as Voryn would say, though Nerevar could never make sense of it. But right now he was more than content to just lay there in the pile of pillows and blankets, breathing in nice and deep as his body started to go from uncomfortably hot to warm and fuzzy. 

“I found it,” Voryn kneeled beside him, beckoning Nerevar to sit up properly. He groaned in annoyance; he just got fucking comfortable, now Voryn wanted him to sit up? But one look at Voryn’s eyes told Nerevar it was just for his own good, so reluctantly and without much fuss he sat up slightly, letting Voryn tilt his head and press the potion bottle to his lips. It briefly occurred to him he could do this himself but… Well, Voryn was just being a loyal retainer and friend right? Ever loyal, doting Voryn.. Nerevar found that trait of his kind of endearing. 

“Normally when I have to give you medicine you make such a fuss,” Voryn smiled softly, “You’re being a good boy right now, I see.” At the ‘good boy’ comment Nerevar’s breath hitched slightly as he sunk back onto the bed, Voryn piling more of the blankets and pillows around him so he was comfortable. Then, a hand threaded into his hair, rubbing at his scalp just like Nerevar liked, making him positively melt, mewling and moaning softly in pure delight. 

“That’s it…” Voryn purred, “Such a good boy, aren’t you…?” Voryn then laid down beside him, nuzzling against him, his hands brushing across Nerevar’s chest and stomach in soft strokes… 

Ah, Voryn was scenting him, something that wasn’t unwelcomed in the slightest. It was nice; being wrapped up in that warm, musky scent was only making him feel better. People would be able to smell Voryn on him after all, all over his body from his clothes to his hair and skin… Then again, he felt like he never wanted to leave the comfort of Voryn’s bed right now. He was content to just lay there being tended to, Voryn nuzzling him, feeding him, guarding him… 

“Oh Neht,” Voryn buried his face in Nerevar’s neck, breathing in his scent directly, before his tongue swiped at a scent gland. That caught Nerevar’s attention, making him moan louder, squirming in Voryn’s arms. 

“Hey--” Nerevar protested weakly. His mind felt fuzzy, but he knew that was crossing a line at least. “Watch it.” 

“You smell divine…” Voryn purred. “Nice and sweet…” He resumed the licking, leaving Nerevar whining softly, his hips moving in small circles until Voryn pressed his hips firmly against Nerevar’s ass, holding him still with a growl. His cunt throbbed at that, suddenly overcome with the realization he was empty right now, so fucking empty--he needed something in him. Right now. Fingers, a toy, a cock, just something filling him up--

Then, Voryn was pulling away suddenly, jerking his hands as though he was burned. Nerevar looked up at him confused and dazed, Voryn’s face flushed red. 

“You’re in heat.” Voryn murmured, suddenly realizing what was going on. Nerevar, however, took a few moments to process his words, before anxiety bubbled up inside him.

“No I’m not--” He wasn’t the type to go into heat smelling an alpha. He had never done so before, and he wasn’t due for his heat for a few months anyways. Besides, when he was in heat he was nesting and--

Nerevar glanced at the pillows and blankets Voryn had put around him, realizing when he had done so Nerevar felt much more secure and comfortable. He’d been antsy before, paranoid and feeling exposed until the soft, plush walls were around him. He also felt more sensitive to his clothes, feeling warm and aroused-- 

“I-I hate people touching me in heat,” Nerevar tried to explain quickly, sitting up and panicked. “I can’t be…” That was right, he couldn’t be. He hated being touched during his heat, growling and hissing as the touch was physically painful. But Voryn touching him hadn’t hurt at all, it felt…

Nerevar’s hands were trembling as he got up quickly, tugging the robe shut firmly and making sure the tie was secure, before he took off running for the propylon chamber. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he just knew he needed to not be there anymore. Something was wrong with him after all; very, very wrong with him. He paid no mind to Voryn calling after him, even as his anxiety spiked hearing the concern and anger in his voice; he just kept running through the halls, sprinting past servants and attendants until he made it to the chamber, giving quick orders to send him to Mournhold before he was teleported away. 

At the palace, Nerevar didn’t stop to catch his breath either. The air felt cold and stifling as he continued running, sprinting like a mad man until he made it to his room where he swiftly locked the door. He drew the curtains, blocking out the light until it was dark, his anxiety still not ceasing as he curled up on the bed. 

His bed felt wrong. Wrong, disgusting, cold, uncomfortable… Even as he moved the blankets and pillows he just felt worse. None of them were as comfortable as Voryn’s bed, covered in his scent… Nerevar tugged the robe off, burying his face in it, whining softly. The scent, despite being musty and strong was so comforting. He never used to find an alpha’s scent so soothing before, why now? Even when he was in heat he’d growl if any alpha even so much as came near his room, so why this? Why now?!

[kindheart525]

Celestia’s sun shone brightly in the sky on this summer afternoon, bathing the world in a warmth that was toasty but not sweltering. A soft breeze blew over the land, creating a ripple along the lake’s surface. Anypony who peered into the lake would find their reflection distorted by the waves—a humorous sight.

Much like the aunt and niece relaxing on its beaches now.

“There’s a version of my Dad in your world? And he had a crush on Queen Twilight!?”

“Yeah! I almost can’t believe it myself!”

The two sat there talking and laughing, catching up on a whole lifetime they’d missed out on. A lifetime that was filled with so many joys yet so many sorrows. But now they finally had time to talk about it.

“But he’s a really nice guy, he stood up for the people he cared about when it counted and he sure was fun to be around. He was in a band…maybe he still is. And he had quite the sense of humor. If the Flash Sentry here was anything like that, I can see why Sunburst would have liked him.”

Sunset Shimmer chuckled to herself, reminiscing back to her high school days and long before that, when she was young and carefree and close with her little brother.

“I think he did mention being in a band at one point!”

Luster Dawn laughed along. The pain of her loss wasn’t gone, it would never go away completely, but for once she could also feel joy while remembering the ones she missed so dearly. Like they were still alive, in memory.

“He was in the royal guard, he had to be all serious for his job but when he was with us he was nothing but fun. Papa could be stressed a lot of the time but Dad was always making him laugh, it was almost embarrassing.”

She felt a deep pang of guilt remembering the last time she saw them.

“And well…I wish I hadn’t been so embarrassed. I didn’t want to be around them, I said a lot of things I wish I could take back, and—“

“So did I.”

Her aunt suddenly broke her spiral, taking her hoof in hers with a compassionate but wistful smile.

“I was an awful pony when I was younger. An awful person. Nothing was ever enough for me, I was always looking for more power—“

She stopped, not wanting to delve into her whole backstory.

“Anyway, my relationship with Sunburst suffered for it. I said a lot of things I wish I could take back too. I regret it all the time…”

Sunset started to feel choked up, but she focused back on the niece who needed her so much.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

These words meant the world to Luster, knowing she finally found somepony who understood her situation perfectly. Somepony older and wiser, who could help her get through it.

“How do you live with it?”

She asked, desperate for a nugget of wisdom.

“It can be hard. Really hard.”

Sunset admitted.

“But the version of me that was so nasty back then isn’t here anymore, I try every day not to be like her. And I hope that the ones I’ve lost would be proud of me, and the ones I meet in the future will know who I’ve worked hard to become. Just look at you!”

She pointed to Luster’s reflection in the water, her eyes focused on the real filly before her.

“I’ve only just met you and I already know you’re an amazing filly.”

“Really?”

Luster was humbled by this, she had spent so long wallowing in her regret that she often forgot to think about all the good qualities she had.

“Yeah! Witty, smart, talented, where do we even begin?”

Both of them laughed together, a weight lifting off their shoulders as they finally allowed themselves to just be.

It was a few minutes of just wordlessly enjoying each other’s company before Sunset spoke up again.

“You know, I’ve always wondered how my brother’s life turned out. If he was happy, if he ever found ‘the one’ or accomplished everything he wanted to. But I don’t have to wonder anymore.”

“Hm?”

“Because your dads raised you, and that’s all I need to know about them. They would be so proud.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Peach Pit Next: Ginger and Lemon Tea With Honey

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 1 - IV

@mediwhumpmay Hard capping myself at 1k words for each of these in the hope I finish an event at one point. Liliana belongs to @actress4him! In this AU, the Doc works as a freelance clinician serving the criminal underworld (including vigilantes and other unregistered metahumans and nonhumans). The rustling of bedsheets caught the Doctor’s attention, dragging them from their work and to their patient’s bedside. The young lady looked much better than before, at least, and it would probably be safe to release her in a couple of hours once the saline drip had run its course and they’d completed a final evaluation. She did still seem rather disoriented, however, which they supposed was to be expected, but running the bag out did still seem like a good idea. 

“Ah, with us again, I see. Liliana, was it? How are you feeling?”

The girl was quite confused, blinking against the lab lights and pulling at the tubing. “W-where am I? I have to get…”

They gently pressed her hands back to the bedsheets. “Leave those alone, yes? You are in my clinic, you are safe here. I am treating you for severe dehydration. I was informed you had fainted, and I find that to be consistent with your vitals and other symptoms.”

This didn’t calm her at all. “I-I have to… I have to get back… They’ll look for me…” She pulled against their hands, but with little effort, evidently still tired.

Ah, so that’s all it was. “Worry not, my dear. Your team is aware of your location. They brought you to me, I will make you well again, and you will return. It should only be a couple of hours until they fetch you.” The fiery young woman who had come to the door had seemed rather annoyed to have to be there at all, but that wasn’t any of the Doctor’s business.

Recognition ignited in Liliana’s eyes. “You… you’re the doctor with no name.” They nodded. ‘The nameless doctor’ was an appellation they would not reject, though they would have chosen something different. “You’re expensive,” she added, sullen and with the faintest hint of reproach.

They chuckled. “Perhaps, but I am also discreet, no? You receive treatment, and no one else is the wiser. Regardless, all you required was two bags of intravenous saline and a few hours of my time I could spend on my research. It would be ridiculous for me to have you pay through the nose for that. No, no. It will be next to nothing, I assure you.” Her eyes still held traces of confusion, though whether because their use of English idioms was not quite correct or for another reason, they weren’t sure.

“They’re coming back for me.” Liliana did not seem enthused by this prospect, but rather, resigned to some sort of fate. Which again, wasn’t any of their business, but a person could be allowed a degree of curiosity.

The heart monitor beeped softly (pulse seventy-nine, blood pressure ninety-five over sixty) in the pause that stretched between them before the Doctor spoke. “You… do not wish to return to them?”

She looked up in alarm. “N-no, I w-want to go back!” they got the idea that she didn’t, actually, but that there would be consequences for voicing that desire.

“Our conversations are just between us. I will discuss nothing you say here with any other person.” They wouldn’t have lasted very long here if they were in the business of selling people out.

Liliana shook her head, though, unwilling to risk it. Smart girl. Even the small pots have ears, after all. Instead, the pair sat in silence, listening to the chirping of the equipment and the wind keening through the streets outside the clinic. The lab lamp flickered occasionally, and the Doctor reminded themselves to go out and buy new bulbs. It was usually quiet in the clinic. The Doctor found the stillness quite pleasant, even though it was often interrupted by shouting, slamming doors, and quite a lot of bleeding.

The girl pulled gently on the tape holding the intravenous tube. “How much longer...?”

The Doctor put their glasses back onto their face and squinted at the measurement lines on the bag. “Only another hour or so.” 

Liliana didn’t respond, and the two sat in silence as it gradually began to rain. Taglist: @i-eat-worlds mentioned they liked the doc so i'm tagging you, let me know if you'd prefer i not do that!

[cringe-y-gumi]

Forget school, embrace the dreamnoblade. For this we must imagine:

Techno being the one they put in prision, the server decided that he is the biggest threat, without him dream couldn't have blown up lmanburg, quackity would have his two eyes, tubbo won't be scarred and everyone would have their home. So they take Phil again, they used ranboo against him as much as it hurt Tommy to use his friend like this.

Techno is unsurprised but disappointed nonetheless. He spends the few first weeks trying to grow potatoes in the cauldron because Sam doesn't give him enough for his half piglin side. But one day quackity arrives.

He just wants atonement from what happened in the butcher army,but even tough he is decked out techno still manages to trow him into the lava so next time he comes back with potion, and they work a little too well in making the piglin weak.

It gets to the point even the sigth of a regen potion makes Techno pale.

This goes on only for two months.

Dream decides that Techno is worth more alive than dead (and he may or may have not missed his rival) So with the knowledge he has of the prison he gets him out nobody the wiser, Phil is still on the artic trying to make a plan with ranboo and Nikki.

Cue cottage core arc where Dream is very sweet and caring to Techno while he is very emotionally constipated. Dream gets the rest of the syndicate when Techno heals up and makes the rest of the server go boom boom.

I do not regret writing this long ass ask.

Oh gosh, I almost let this one slip out of my mind.

I'm so tireeeed... But tbh, seeing some people still enjoying the things I also like— like Dreamnoblade of course, I'm all good

ಥ‿ಥ

and YEEES!!! Please for the love of god, I BADLY WANT SOME DNB COTTAGE ERA WITHOUT BEING HIDDEN BEHIND THE TITLE RIVALS DUO ( ≧Д≦)!!!

I may be biased, but the potential, the subtexts of some of the fics I read are OH SO THERE! Sometimes I wonder if some of them wanted to actually write dnb but due to its reputation, didn't.

Or maybe I'm projecting...

Anyway, I'm getting side tracked.

I would LOVE to read this one!!! But also add this:

When Dream broke Techno out of the prison, the Syndicate never knew. So when they were executing a prison-escape— one that was a little after Dream broke Techno out, they met a barren, empty cell.

Syndicate be panicking, while Dream and Techno be enjoying their cottagecore era.

Of course, Techno needs to heal— both physically and mentally but mostly it's emotionally.

After spending 2 months in that cell with Quackity taunting the fuck out of him, his Rival/friend acting all soft and domestic is the last thing he would want to deal with. But he doesn't have a choice.

Because the thing is... Not even Dream knew why.

"Techno is a powerful ally so he needs to get on his good side" is what Dream tells himself. You see, no business partners would wake up early to make sure the other eats. No business partners would learn the way the other likes their bath (temperature) or their coffee.

When Dream first noticed himself, he found out he likes what he's feeling and is he started to do them more.

When Techno finally noticed, he found out he wasn't opposed to the feeling and so he also started doing the same.

But remember the Syndicate?

Just when things starts to become better, the Syndicate managed to accomplish their goal: To find and rescue Technoblade who they all assumed was kidnapped and kept somewhere.

So with that, they managed to catch the two off-guard— successfully getting Techno, and capturing Dream.

Techno doesn't accept it. No one is listening to him. Dream— being used to this treatment, isn't even speaking

AHHH I want hurt comfort, more when I finally get some sleep...

Also I appreciate such long ask! I like Reading them!

[rastronomicals]

11:35 PM EDT September 21, 2023:

Eno/Cale - "In The Backroom" From the album Wrong Way Up (October 5, 1990)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Back when it was new--and I was 25 years old--I eagerly purchased this compact disc. Oh, it was a time, man. The CD was packaged in--get this (if you can: most people today I would assume don't know what it had been)--a longbox. A theft deterrent then, and a music geek collectible now. Funny the way things transform, sometimes.

So. It being that time, I didn't know as much about Brian Eno or John Cale then as I do now, but I still knew Here Come the Warm Jets and White Light/White Heat. And because those records had been great, I expected Wrong Way Up to be pretty awesome.

Did I know then that the 3-1/2-minute revolution called "Sky Saw" featured Cale? Or that there was a cult album named June 1, 1974 that featured them both?

Not sure. Wise now, was I wise then?

Anyway, the excitement before the purchase turned into disappointment afterwards. This album, it did not rock, it bore no traces of Warm Jets or White Heat, and it wasn't weird at all, and I sold it and I forgot about it as quickly as possible.

Lately though, nearly 30 years later, thinner of hair, and wiser of the music, man, I've been on an Eno jag, and I came across a review of the album on Pitchfork that suggested the album, synthpop though it was, achieved nothing less than brilliance in its rather conflicted creation.

Hell, I hadn't even known that the artists hadn't gotten along. . . . So I figured, what *had* I known, in my judgement 30 years ago? I'd been only 25, and had probably been a little bit um, over-influenced, by hardcore punk. My tastes are more sophisticated now! I could like an album that maybe wasn't so manic. Really I could. And shit, everything I've been doing for the last month was all about what a fucking genius Eno was. . . Maybe I'd been hasty in my dismissal of WWU back then, simply because it didn't sound like "Third Uncle," or "I Heard Her Call My Name." 'Cause hell, on reflection, thinking about it in 2019, in the midst of a Brian Peter George St John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno freakout, neither does "Luftschloss."

Goddamn, then, let's try it again, I thought. So last week, I bought a CD copy off Discogs. Received it yesterday, listened to it on the way into work this morning, and ... it's unabashedly awful.

It's lame, predictable, and without a trace of the genius which otherwise marks both men's work. You're tempted to say a few things, although you should probably resist the urges. You're tempted to say that it was a case of men outside the times attempting foolishly to sound like them, but that's wrong. 1990 had no great rush of synthpop albums.

1990 was about Jane's Addiction; Jane's Addiction, and Happy Mondays and Sonic Youth's major label debut. Nobody was making synthpop. That these two major artists felt like going there, I don't know, it's odd, it's strange, it's fucked up.

You're also tempted to say, maybe, if you're not that familiar with the facts, that this was the work of giants who had exhausted their creative energies prior to its making, young lions become old farts. But, of course, that's ridiculous. Five years after this mistake of a record, Eno would record Nerve Net, which showed him as able as his youngself to stretch things out. And if you want pop, shit, Eno made Another Day on Earth in 2005, as he was approaching 60, and that is a brilliant, quirky, intelligent pop record, even if it's not as much like M83 as I might prefer.

Wrong Way Up is a detour into mediocrity. Definite, and puzzling, that is.

It all goes to show many things, perhaps most importantly--and I swear I'm not looking to trash Pitchfork specifically here--that if an artist known for making good things makes something crappy, there will always--always--be somebody around to tell people that, fuck the facts, it is in fact pretty good.

There's also the reminder given that I had the suss of the thing down back in 1990. I like to think of myself as smarter now, wiser if you have to go there, and I was prepared to second-guess myself, and take a lesson from it too, but at least in this case, me and the version of myself that existed three decades ago are smack dab in agreement. There's a stolidity about that I find appealing, but maybe, just maybe, there's also a disappointing inability to evolve.

Funny the way things don't transform, sometimes.

https://lahistoriadelamusicarock.blogspot.com/2019/04/enocale-wrong-way-up-opal-records-back.html

File under: Fool Me Twice

[legy]

random game roundup

Wand Wars - $11

Included in Bundle for Ukraine

this is pretty neat. wand wars is a party game about being wizards shooting a magic orb at each other and the last one standing wins. this has to have far more staying power as a multiplayer game but, alas, i am by my lonesome. i didnt love the control scheme (does really feel like it wants to be a twin stick shooter and not something played on keyboard). also it really bugged me that the projectile wasnt pixellated when everything else was. wand wars kinda fits the niche of a good boutique board game IMO, fun to break out with nerd friends at some nerd gathering

Baldi's Basics Plus - $10

Included in Bundle for Ukraine

my commitment to the premise of this project being vastly outweighed by how much i dont actually want to play baldi's basics. i could have hit random again and nobody would be the wiser

so i guess my take is roughly that im in the exact nostalgia bait audience for baldi's basics (i played tons of these edutainment games in elementary school) but its specifically aping so much of its aesthetic and presentation from sonic's schoolhouse which i cant imagine had a widespread school computer lab adoption. if someone made a off-color video game inspired by Disney's Adventures in Typing with Timon & Pumbaa or smth that would probably actually get somewhere. for me. also i hate jumpscares and YOU DONT EVEN SOLVE MATH PROBLEMS IN THIS ONE???? WHATS THE POINT

this is not a good review for baldi's basics sorry. i like that the camera controls are vertically locked even tho the game makes a lot of other concessions for a modern audience. and there really is nothing else in its genre that looks like this

Valfaris - $24.99

i cannot for the life of me figure out why i own this game.

ok first things first the art direction in this fucks insanely. it feels like a ps1 game in a way many other ps1 throwbacks don't. i really enjoyed looking at valfaris.

however this controls like SHIT and not in a way that i think would be fixed by a controller. i spent a couple minutes rebinding my controls so it isnt arrow keys to move and q/w for main attacks (this randomly reset to default at some point so that was cool) and i was still fighting for my life to actually accomplish what the game wants me to. there's a segment only a few seconds into the first level where you need to climb on ropes over some evil dogs to cross a ledge but 1. the dogs can jump up and attack you and 2. you can only aim your gun straight down. and the dogs respawn infinitely so you cant jump into the dog pit, slaughter them all and continue on your way. i legitimately could not get past this section because the controls were so ass. really unfortunate.

also the game has "wishlist the sequel" as one of its three menu options which: lmao

Thou Shalt Be Brave - $1

Included in Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality

this is a micro-rpg that is imo unfortunately hamstrung by its gimmick (the really small resolution). theres some really bad readability issues happening in this game. there is a manual on the itch page which helps a lot in combat but its really hard to excuse the "you sease lok s" message you see constantly.

this is pretty light on gameplay also but its generally a pretty fun timewaster. you explore the woods and fight guys and the ultimate goal appears to be maxing all your stats. i just wish i wasnt examining every button like it was a cryptic glyph to decipher

Planets Under Attack - $11.99

you know its bad when ive had this game on steam for over 10 years and have no idea what it is

i'm not sure how to describe planets under attack. it's a very minimalistic strategy game about spending resources to take over planets in each map. it seemed pretty chill but i did kinda feel like i was wasting my time playing it. the presentation is really competent and overall i think this is the strongest of the five games i played today

[bitawit]

I stared.

For hours, I would stare sometimes.

Just gazing at the little sigil upon my brow. Waiting for some divine light of inspiration to strike me. Something. Anything. To lead me along the path meant for me, and seemingly me alone.

It was a strange little thing, all curved lines and runic slashes.

Strange. Eerie.

I'd been to specialists, of course. So many, these past few years. Scholars. Divine seers. Men of dieties whose names alone were spoken in languages older than the written word. Women whose temples were hidden beneath mountains, whose walls were carved by ancient, primitive tools and murals painted with the blood of animals and the powders from plants that no longer even exist on this earth.

But no one knew.

Or had forgotten.

Every library door I walked through looking for even a hint, a whisper, of my patron diety seemed to open and close on two worlds that held their secrets from me.

The world of the past, part of our history that had seemingly been wiped clean of any trace.

The world of the present, a life with no fellow worshipers, no mentors, no gods to guide me.

I had long ago given up on the communities meant to support those who had not yet found their patrons.

They were orphanages for children whose parents always returned. Always found them in the end. As if they had only been away on a long trip.

There are no hidden gods.

Everyone gets a happy ending.

Everyone but me.

Every god but mine.

I turn away from the mirror these days, knowing my own face and it's mark so well that it has almost become a stranger again. A word said so many times it's lost its meaning.

I've become strange. Eerie.

I do little things now. When the ever-present urge to worship makes itself known. Because the urge never really goes away. It doesn't matter if your God is known or unknown. The urge is there. In every human being.

Most people find their gods this way.

Letting their urges guide them in search of their goddess in the woods or carve intricate idols from pieces of stone and clay or sing songs they feel as if they have always known but can never remember learning.

My urges are... strange. Eerie.

Sometimes, I'll write down words I've heard that week. All the interesting ones. The ones that rattle around in my head like shiny glass beads.  And then I'll take those words and burn them. Letting the ashes float away in the breeze. Or I'll bury them. Or let them float away down the storm drains in my way to work. Away. Always away.

Sometimes I'll run my fingers over the chalkboards in front of cafes. I'll rake my nails over the vinyl applique on office doors. Rip signs from their screws, leaving them in trash cans in the corner.

Sometimes I'll be in the library and pick a book off the shelf and pick a random page, tearing it out, and then placing the book back, no one the wiser. The page usually goes the same way as my little list of words. Away. But sometimes I hold on to them for a while before leaving them on the bus or in a pocket of a strangers coat.

Small things like this are the reason I'm still alive, I think. Little moments of devout worship to a God whose name has been torn from the pages of times and hidden away. Always away.

Whose story has been buried deep by the fallible memories of mortals or the hubris of stronger gods.

Whose temples may have never existed, or been burned to ashes, or swept away into the sea.

Whose last remaining temple remains in me. Inside my head. Behind a sigil only I recognize when it's backwards.

Perhaps they are the god of forgotten things.

The god of forgotten things must surely take his pleasure from the daily small offerings of millions of beings.

Perhaps I am the very last follower refusing to bend to my knees and accept their kiss of ignorance upon my brow.

But perhaps that is by design.

In order to have a world devout by default, one must also have the antithesis.

The one who knows this unknowable god. Who remembers, but only just.

And one whom will die if they forget.

To be reborn again and again into such a strange and eerie life. A living martyr. To remain, while all others fade away. Always away.

A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one