#I know i know

[deepdwellingsteamboat]

RE-ANIMATOR 1985・dir. Stuart Gordon

[ritamariealan]

Yet another showing of Alastor doing the scared/angry cat fur thing.

I love when Mr. I'm Definitely Not Prey starts showing his prey traits.

[frenchublog]

❎[🔒...]

[fading4ngel]

i edited this together in 2 minutes.

[themeraldee]

Sweet Valentine

[Masterlist]

| 3.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Fluff. Some silly banter. And a whole lot of kissing and cuddling. Homelander is still Homelander (i.e. thoughts of murder occur on a daily basis, though not aimed at reader). Teeny tiny bit of Homelander trying to get frisky ('trying to' being the keyword here)

Summary: After a week of being spoiled with gifts leading up to Valentine's, you treat Homelander to a surprise of your own.

Author’s Note: This was meant to be done for Valentine's but hey at least it's still (barely) February!

Written for @discowizard88 for this request🩷

That’s just his rotten fucking luck. 

Marketing thought it would be a good idea to book his entire week full of appearances, shows, interviews and commercial shoots because they didn’t think he had anything better to do. Fucking imbeciles. He has you now.

He’s been looking forward to this day for months. Throughout your first year together Homelander’s been counting down all the occasions, events and celebrations that he’s not really had a chance to cherish before. Maeve was never the type to accept his grand, downright scripted, romantic gestures. Their last celebrated Valentine’s she all but laughed in his face when he brought her roses. Needless to say, they’ve not celebrated any consequent Valentine’s from that year on out. 

But you’re different. You appreciate it, you appreciate him. You turn downright giddy anytime he showers you with gifts and love. He was more than ready to smother you in love on this day. It’s a day for lovers, after all, what good would it be if he wasted that opportunity.

He planned it all out. Valentine’s day was gonna be big. As if you could expect anything less from him. And while the gifts kept coming, so did the TV appearances and commercial shoots.

It took one blink for the entire week to be pretty much over without him getting to participate in many of the activities he had planned. 

Homelander hasn’t felt this frustrated in a while. While he tried his best to move the schedule around, Madelyn was adamant about the importance these event had on his image and he couldn’t do much but grit his teeth and comply lest he upset her. But why doesn’t she see how important this is to him? Isn’t it obvious? 

He feels his eyes twitch. His smile becomes tighter, strained. Easily turning from his TV smile to the threatening grimace it truly is. These fucking photoshoots are beneath him. As if he doesn't have anything better to do than to stand here for hours until they've taken thousands of photos of him.

His irritation rises with each click of the camera, each flash blinding his eyes. He barely notices the way his eyes subtly heat up over the sound of ringing his ears. He's seconds away from blasting a hole straight through the camera lens and the photographer's brain. The urge to let go is strong, so strong in fact he can already imagine the bitter scent of burning wafting through the air.

Only thing that takes him out of his irritation is a subtle vibration against his leg signaling a new message. He instantly knows it's from you, nobody else gets texting privileges. Heat blooms in his chest. Just the thought of your attention brings back a genuine smile. 

He graces the crew with a smile that really is meant for you.

“Sorry folks, I gotta take five.” His lips are stretched into that awkward thin-lipped smile and he puts his hands up in a faux-apologetic gesture. He steps off the backdrop to the side, already fishing out his phone from the hidden pocket he had the costume department sew in. They carved out a space in the fake musculature of the suit so it fit right in without leaving an awkward rectangular outline in what's meant to be a skin tight suit. 

He unlocks his phone, greeted with the sickly sweet photo of the two of you. Sometimes this joy feels like his little secret. A vindictive joy against the odds. 

Come to the cabin when you're free. I've got a surprise for you ❤️

Even a simple message from you causes the weight on his chest to drop, dissolving his anger immediately. 

Aren't you a saint? Unknowingly you've just saved the entire studio. And they don't even know how grateful they should be that he has you. 

And with a promise like that he can't really stand to have one more photo taken. He slips his phone back into his pocket, turning around with a swish of his cape.

“Whoopsie-daisy, gonna have to cut this short, the city calls for my help. You know how it is, the criminals just looove to push their luck. Anyway, you got enough right? Yeah? yeah I thought so." He makes some broad gestures with a solidifying thumbs-up as if he was committing to a deal and salutes with a, "Alright. Laters.” He talks fast enough to shut any critical comments down before they even have a chance to spill from their worthless mouths.

With a quick glance to the corner of the room where Ashley is already standing anxiously arrow-straight, he doesn’t need to say anything to know that she will fight and bargain to save the situation to the best of her meagre abilities. However the fuck she does is not his problem, not like he needs to explain himself.

He doesn't wait to see the other people’s reactions, already eager to lose the watchful eyes of the crew and the camera lens. He downright stomps his way out of the studio and at the first glimpse of the bright blue sky he takes off, kicking off the ground with an obnoxious boom that rattles the foundations of nearby buildings.

He’s giddy with excitement. As he rips through the clouds, the wind pulling his hair back, slashing through the gelled cast, he can’t take that smile off his face. The adrenaline-like rush he feels in his gut over your surprise is new. It’s exciting! He doesn’t remember the last time somebody treated him to an honest-to-god surprise. A proper one at least. None of the slimy corporate schmoozing.

He reaches the location in record speed, just under seven minutes—though it still feels like forever. But the excitement clouds his vision and suddenly he’s barrelling down the atmosphere, seconds away from performing one of his ostentatious landings and exploding the ground around him. He catches himself last second, putting his heel first as an emergency break.

His landing is clumsy. He staggers as soon as his foot hits the ground, kicking up the leaves around him into the air. He regains his balance at the last tremble of his foot, sparing himself the embarrassment of a failed landing—one he hasn’t experienced since the lab days.

God, now look at his pathetic simpering self.

Literally falling head over heels because you blew your whistle. Like a needy puppy he races to you, zipping through all obstacles, unwilling to lose a single second of the allocated time he gets to spend with you.

The sweetheart you are, you’d probably praise him for it anyway and kiss his boo-boo away. That thought alone makes him rethink the fall. Not that he can actually get scraped by a measly rough landing. Though, maybe the extra attention is worth the damage it would do to his ego. 

“Woaaah, you okay?” Before he’s had a chance to look around and lock his eyes on you, you’re in his field of vision by your own doing. Quick footsteps, muffled by the leaves covering the ground become louder and louder until you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of his, helping him up. As if he actually needed it. He’s so charmed by the way you treat him as if he were fine china.

You give an awkward little chuckle. “Don’t want you getting hurt because of me.” 

Overcome with surging emotions, Homelander pulls you closer, both of his hands cupping your cheeks as he gives you a big sappy kiss. It’s as much a hello as it is a I love you with all my heart. 

Now that his heart is satisfied, for the time being at least, he lets you go. Immediately tempted to dive in for more after he sees your flustered face, all giddy twitches to the corners of your lips as you look everywhere but him. Almost embarrassed that somebody might see you two kiss so passionately.

Yeah, he can’t let you go without more. He pulls you in again, and this time his kisses are silly. Loud with a wet mwah each time he presses a kiss to a different part of your face. Your cheeks, nose, forehead, chin and lips don’t stand a chance. This time his kisses do force flustered giggles out of you, a squeak or two after he squishes your cheeks with his numerous kisses. Good luck keeping count with him around.

Oh how he missed you. This week has been nothing but one item on Vought’s itinerary after another and his hunger for you and your love has been growing each passing second he spends in your absence.

You finally manage to push him away, the rapid-fire smooching already getting you ticklish and wobbly. Not that he wouldn’t catch you should his affection be too much for you. Of course then you really couldn’t escape the descent of affection he had to give. 

But he’s a merciful god, and he lets you create some distance. Satisfied, he watches your giggles slowly die out as you look every bit in love. “Hey,” you finally break your loving eye contact and you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Hey, you.” He echoes, his smile equally fond, eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

“You got here very quickly.” You note. Both a little impressed and suspicious. He’s very aware of the way your thumb is rubbing over his glove. Though dulled through the leather, each stroke makes his heart gain a little momentum.

“Well, you know,” he waves his free hand in the air, “the shoot was just wrapping up. I left as soon as I could. Wouldn’t wanna miss our secret little rendezvous.” The fact that he was close to burning down the studio is a little detail you don’t need to be privy to. Though at this point, you can probably tell. 

“Speaking of,” Homelander continues. “There you go, summoning me to a quiet, middle of nowhere, cabin in the woods. Mind enlightening me what’s all this about? What kind of naughty plans has your pretty little head cooked up that require total isolation, huh?” His grin is sharp and he by no means hides the immediate thoughts running through his head.

“First of all, this is your cabin. Not some middle of nowhere. Second of all, get your mind out of the gutter—now.” Even through your scolding you giggle, grinning at him as you walk backwards, dragging him with you.

Turning just around the end of the cabin presents a sweet sight. On the soft grass lies a picnic blanket, adorned with a woven basket, a colourful spread of food, pillows, and even a bunch of roses. As if taken straight from a romance novel. 

Except, this is real. Unlike most of his previous love life.

“Tada! Happy Valentine’s day!” You let his hand go and you raise your arms in the air at the reveal. Right along with your pretty glittering smile. The joy of this moment feels unreal. Is this really happening? Is this really his life these days? He can’t remember a time when he last experienced a joy this pure that wasn’t with you.

“W-uh-what? You put all of this together?” He’s a little shell-shocked. After a busy week, filled with more work than time with you—much to his displeasure—this feels like an oasis. He’s been parched all week, dragging through the desert that was working for Vought and here you come, rescuing him with the most delicious sip of water. Well, more like a whole reservoir of it.

“I had a teeny tiny bit of help but yeah,” you pinch your fingers together to show just how little help you’ve had.

“I had to make it a secret! And you’ve been treating me so well all week, I had to have a little surprise for you too.” He can’t tell which one of you is more excited. You look more excited with your near ‘skipping to the picnic blanket’ attitude, but his heart is hammering against his ribcage with this overwhelming joy he’s not felt in a while. He still so easily gets disarmed by all the ways you show your love. This is just another cherry on top of what feels like an infinitely tiered cake that is your relationship. Each time he thinks you surely don’t have more to give, you go and add another tier or another cherry. Sweeting his sour life, one moment at a time.

“Come on,” you walk—no, skip—back to him, aiming to grasp both of his hands. Homelander catches you right before you manage to, one arm around your waist, the other supporting the back of your head and just like that you’re yet again caught in the web that are his kisses. He presses his lips firmly against yours, waiting for you to relax, letting him have his way with your now-parted lips. With pleased little sighs and long hums in between, he renders your legs into a jelly-like state, supporting your weight effortlessly.

“I love you,” he breathes out heavily when he finally pulls away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I love you too,” you catch your breath. The smile you offer up steals his heart a hundred times over, while the sped up pitter-patter of your heart soothes him. You’re just as enamored by him as he is by you.

“Let’s enjoy this together.” He lets you take his hands this time as you walk him to the picnic. You sit down first, carving out a space for the two of you, impatiently patting the area next to you. Homelander takes care to move his cape out of the way while not knocking anything over or covering anything up.

“I hope your calendar is free the entire weekend because I brought a lot of food, drinks, blankets and movies and I plan to spend all this time spoiling you.”

“I thought it was the gentleman’s job to spoil his lady.” He looks at you fondly, one wouldn’t even recognise him like this. Though most haven’t earned this reaction from him. You have. 

“What can I say, I’m all for gender equality. So just let me spoil you for once.”

“Alright then missy, let’s see what you’ve got.” He’s lying on his side, propped up on his elbow. 

While you reach for the furthest tray filled with all sorts of sweets and finger food, Homelander looks around at all that you’ve prepared, curiously picking up an iced cookie.

“Are these… our initials?” He asks after he inspects the heart shaped cookie from each side before biting into it. They’re clearly custom made with the love for each other in mind, but the idea of you ordering these from a bakery makes him chuckle. What’s next, are you gonna get him to carve out your initials into a tree?

Well, he definitely could.

Maybe, he should. 

He could carve out your initials into the moon if you asked him to. 

“Cheesy, I know.”

“Sweet too, just like you.” 

“I take it back, you’re a whole league ahead of the cookies.” You deadpan.

“Come on babe, when else if not on Valentine’s day? Cut me some slack.” He was gonna put the rest of the cookie down, not wanting to overwhelm himself with too much sugar but seeing his initial all alone now that he’s bitten off your letter looks too sad for his liking. He pops the rest of the cookie in his mouth, wiping off the crumbs with his glove. 

“Now, now. Don’t get too full on cookies. I’ve got more for you.” You pluck a chocolate covered strawberry from a tray. “Here, open up.” You hold the chocolate covered tip of the strawberry close to his lips, waiting for him to take a bite. It’s only appropriate for a man of god-like status like him to be fed and worshipped by his love. You always fill that role so well. His most devout one. 

He bites half of it, letting you eat the rest. You put the green top back onto the tray when you’re done with your portion.

“You know I’ve never had those before.” He says after a thorough tasting session.

You have the audacity to look at him like he’s grown another head.

“You’re fucking with me. You’ve never had chocolate strawberries?” Your face scrunches in disbelief as you speak over a mouthful of goodness.

“I’ve had chocolate. I’ve had strawberries. Obviously. Just never together.” He shakes his head a little, acting as if you’re the crazy one.

“Wow. Okay. We’re gonna have to explore this bizarre list of things you’ve never had before.” Indulgently you go for another one, and he takes another mental note of your likes.

When he says nothing you prompt him with, “Well? What’s the verdict? Is it everything you’ve ever imagined?”

“Did you make them?” He asks, confusing you, instead of actually answering your question.

“No, I picked them up from the same bakery I got the cookies from.”

“Okay good, well, it’s not my favourite. Sorry to disappoint you there.” He clasps his hands together as he looks at you with a terribly fake apologetic smile.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. Were you about to lie to me if I said I did make them?”

He sputters, blowing a raspberry as he looks away, pretending to just be scoping out the place.

“Who, me? No, never!” He feigns innocence without actually putting any of his acting chops behind the gesture.

“You ass!” You gently smack his chest. “What didn’t you like about it?” Now that you know he’s not a fan, you eagerly hog the tray, scoffing down one strawberry after another.

“The taste is fine enough. It’s the texture that’s all wrong. Mushy and crunchy at the same time is just, bleugh.” He shakes his head a little bit as if disgusted, acting all dramatic. He’d happily be seen as silly and dramatic if it gets you to laugh as joyously and heartily as it does this time.

When your chuckles die out, you call him out. “Fussy. Oh well, more for me.”

He takes his time. Watching over you closely as you enjoy your sweet little red treats.

“You know what would taste better?” 

“Hmm?” You hum absentmindedly, putting the tray away after discarding another leafy top.

“You.” He pulls you down to his level when your hands are free, lying you across the top of him.

You yelp at the sudden pull. After you settle on top of him a little better, you mumble. “I taste just like the strawberries!” 

“Mhm, but you feel a hell of a lot better. C’mere.” Just like that, he’s kissing you again. His hands can’t decide where to hold you so they slide around your back, your hips—stealing a cheeky squeeze of your ass, shocking a little nip to his lip from you—and all the way around your neck, head and arms. His hands are just as greedy for you as his lips are.

And you were right. You do taste like strawberries and chocolate. The hint of sweet and delicious alongside the taste of you that he so loves. You don’t take his kisses as seriously. Giggling and wobbling on top of him.

You pull away with a burst of giggles at the awkward position. You’re almost spread entirely across him, limb to limb. Body part to body part. It’s admittedly a little silly looking. Like two people making snow angels on top of one another. But still, the effortlessness that comes with the sounds you make, swells his heart with fondness.

You reach your arm out into the woven wicker basket and pull out a can of whipped cream.

“Well if you don’t like the chocolate ones, I’ve got some whipped cream for you.” Except instead of covering one of the fresh strawberries, you squirt a dollop of cream at the tip of his nose.

Homelander’s bewildered at your child-like actions. Especially so, when you lick the cream off with a disgusting slurp.

“Welp, now you’ve done it.” He easily wrestles you for the can without needing to use even an ounce of his strength, twisting the two of you around. 

He manages to knock over some of your pretty trays but he can’t force himself to care. Now when you’re underneath him.

You look so pretty like this.

Happily taking your place underneath him, cheeks puffed up with your laughter, lips in a constant wide grin. Your happiness around him makes you the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He has to stop himself from descending on you with another avalanche of kisses, instead opting for continuing this playful little wrestling match you got yourselves into.

Homelander squirts the cream in a line over your lips, licking and kissing it off in between the laughter that still shakes your body. He leaves your lips leaving all sticky and improperly cleaned. This distracts you well enough for him to draw a line from your neck to your cleavage.

With a scandalous shriek you try to push him away. “Oh my god are you crazy, not out here!”

You squeak even more when you feel the cream land in between your breasts, spreading across your skin as it slowly warms up and turns liquid.

“There is literally nobody out here. I’d hear them.” Or well, let’s be real. He’d burn their eyes out for accidentally seeing you in a mildly compromising position, he wants to add but chooses to keep the moment sweet for your sake.

Obscenely, he licks up all the cream he covered you with. No matter how much you act as if this is the filthiest thing he’s ever done. There are plenty more filthier things he’s got planned with this whipped cream. Suddenly you’ve opened up a whole world of possibilities he hasn’t thought of before.

Thinking he’s already got you hook, line and sinker as soon as his tongue hits your skin, he’s in for another surprise when you don’t give in as easily. You manage to snag the can from his hand right before he gets any further.

“If you want to continue this, we’re gonna have to pack all of this up and take it indoors.” You threaten as if you were scolding a child.

"Fine. We can stay here." Finally, with a huff, he drops his advances, instead dropping his weight on you for a second before readjusting your position. Really, he’s glad that you have a mind of your own. Which isn’t something he can say for most of the people he’s surrounded with.

“See, this is nice.” You pull yourself up a little so that his head rests on your stomach. You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly and he enjoys the slow rise and fall of your torso. To have someone so alive and eager with him really feels like the best Valentine’s day gift. That sickly sweet dimpled little fruit could never compare.

So yeah. It is nice. Really nice.

Your fingers cradle through his locks, gently breaking apart the hair product the styling team piled on for his photoshoot. He hums his pleased approval into the softness of your stomach, nuzzling himself into you.

Shenanigans can always wait. Now, he has this. And the rest of the weekend to catch up on all the time lost.

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

[wehavekookies]

First of all, how are these five years old already.

[evermarch]

hey! you said you had more to say on asterid and im so curious about your thoughts. I wonder what you think about how she might represent the progression of submission (from implicit, to anxious when she bans the hanging tree song, to silence when burdock dies). Just feel like you might have some interesting words on this.

i’m still processing all my *thoughts and feelings* so this may be a bit half-baked, but i think asterid is a fascinating case study in implicit submission. because she doesn’t start that way. and most importantly, she doesn’t end that way.

asterid can be analyzed by considering hume’s doctrine of implicit submission from his “of the first principles of government” essay iv, which says that while “force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion.” hume extends the “opinion,” which can be understood to mean ideology (maybe not the best word idk), into two categories—opinion of interest and opinion of right. the former involves the idea that government in general is a good thing, and also this government isn’t really worse than any other conceivable form. opinion of right can be further divided into the right to power and the right to property.

right to property is somewhat self-explanatory, so we can look next at the right to power. that is largely about how a government in power gains a lot of its power from the idea that it (and by extension, the people in power) has always had power, so it will, and thus should, continue to have power. this concept is much like the heavensbees in the capitol—snow himself disdains but cannot refute the notion that the heavensbees embody panem, because the heavensbees have always embodied panem, and thus maintain the right to wealth and the sprawling mansions and the endless libraries. he tolerates it, largely because he, too, is among this class. he implicitly submits.

asterid, likewise, is among the privileged within her community. the “government” which affects her day-to-day life is, yes, the capitol, but more so its extension of the peacekeepers and the mayor in district 12. she doesn’t engage with the capitol citizens or its rulers, but she does engage with the peacekeepers that require her family to place a banner in the window and the mayor who reads the treaty of treason at the reaping.

asterid should subscribe to the “opinions” of government more than most—she certainly should have an opinion of interest, because, she is decently fed, has friends, and not the worst life. yes, she’s in the reaping, but so is everyone tangible in her world, and she’s in the bowl less than most. there’s no real reason for her to be able dream up a better system, or necessarily to want to.

as far as opinion of right, the government owns the property (see katniss and snow’s conversation in the study in cf, where she says “he has no right, but ultimately every right,” to occupy her home). but asterid has all the access she needs. and with the right to power, the capitol has always had power, true, but so has she—it’s understood through the physical features that the merchant class shares (blonde hair, blue eyes), which differs tremendously from the seam (lower class) people, that the privileged, “powerful” class in district 12 have always been afforded proximity to the government’s right to power and the benefits therein.

but asterid doesn’t. she, much like plutarch, rejects the submission which should come easier to her than to most of the people of district 12. why? because of the three limitations on the opinions which empower government—“self interest, fear, and affection.” hume emphasizes that these limitations don’t overthrow a government on their own; they require a lot of people to reject and/or utilize them accordingly. that said, an individual’s expression of any of the limitations can extend somewhat far in terms of their own autonomy.

asterid, of course, fears the government, and protects her self-interest (her life as described above). she doesn’t run from the reaping. she doesn’t step too far out of line, as far as we know. but she does wield her affection as a healer as a means of force. she treats those in the seam and takes no payment for her services. she falls in love with a man from the lower class and rejects the relatively comfortable life to which she was born entitled. in doing so, she sacrifices the right to extend such comfort to the future children she may have had with otho mellark. these actions are inherent objections to the stratification of the classes of district 12. in other words, our girl is a class traitor, and she commits.

however, embracing these limitations only goes so far. her fear for her family’s safety takes over when she bans the hanging tree, and when she silences katniss’ defiant speech at home. when her husband dies, asterid’s affection turns against her. she enters a catatonic state which endangers the life of her children. had she fallen in love with a man from town, she may have still gone into a catatonic state, but she would have the resources to treat herself and go on. because of her small acts of opposition, otherwise insignificant to the government and its power, she lost the privileges of her prior proximity to the government’s right to power. so, she implicitly submits.

but that’s not true anymore once her daughter comes back from the games. she returns to treating people with no payment. she’s in more danger than ever before, and yet, she brings gale to her home in the middle of the night. after that, she risks prim’s safety by allowing her to aid the steady stream of beaten bodies which arrive on her doorstep. she begins to envision a better world—in district 13, she does her part to help the rebellion. she models the same behavior for her impressionable little girl. a child best known for following in her mother’s footsteps in appearance and in behavior. a daughter whose life is blown to pieces because she, like her mother, refuses to submit.

while it’s true that asterid suffered far more from her small acts of defiance than was proportional, and certainly far more than she gained, i think that she stands as a extension to hume’s assertion that the limitations on the opinions of government can only achieve so much. his example is in collective action, like the rebels fighting the war. it’s true that asterid did not participate in destroying an arena or shooting a gun. but without her affection for a seam boy overtaking her fear and self-interest, we would never have had katniss. without her demonstration of love across stratified lines, katniss would not have prim to protect, or, if she did, a will to do so. without her healing, katniss would never have known how to save peeta (or herself) in the arena, and panem would have never seen the trick with the berries.

through her little acts of defiance, her incidental rejections of submission, asterid birthed a revolution.

[m4nc4v3-2000]

It's not so lonely out there.

[shipmistress9]

Sgaeyl: Hurry, Tairn, I need you.

Tairn *already on his way*: What happened? Is the Golden One in danger?

Sgaeyl: No, no, I have that covered. But my idiot of a rider is horny as fuck for this pint-sized woman here and if she gets herself killed before he can mate her, he'll mope around forever. So I need a way for her not to die too quickly.

Tairn:... you've got be kidding me...

[kisenring]

Silly boys

[abigmessofablog]

I'm sure I'm probably not the first person to note this but the reason so many works derivative of The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings fails to capture the magic of those works is the lack of the hobbityness

Tolkien was, obviously, entirely aware of he common fantasy and fairytale tropes he was playing off of and they're present in his work (placing the proper king on the throne, elves and dwarves, main character who's hesitant to start his heros journey, dragons, ext) but if need be, these elements will be sidelined to emphasize the Hobbitish philosophy about the importance of comfort and good food and so on and so forth. (Thorin's death speech, Frodo's "I can't recall the taste of food, nor the touch of grass" ext)

Warning; super long, barely readable meta rant written at 2AM below

I've seen people say in any other story, Aragorn would be the main character of LOTR and I can agree with that but I'd argue you can kinda say the same thing about Thorin. Aragorn has his whole "rightful king" plot not dissimilar to how Thorin has his "reclaim the homeland, fight the dragon" plot. In the movies our emotional involvement in Aragorn and Thorin gets beefed up a little as they get some more brooding to the both of them. Aragorn gets his angst over his ancestry, Thorin is taken more seriously (ie: his updated, much more dramatic introduction giving him an air of mystery vs his book introduction, movie Balin's speech about his loyalty to Thorin, the treatment of the whole "gold sickness" thing, Thorin's speeches being taken seriously rather than being lovingly made fun of by the narration, ext) You can easily see a version of these stories where these two kings are the main characters of the story but they aren't! but neither of these characters are our main characters. Frodo and Bilbo are, respectively. And Frodo and Bilbo are simple hobbits with simple likes and the desire to live their simple shire life before getting dragged into adventure by the narrative.

I do genuinely like that in the Hobbit movies Bilbo gets to decide to go on the adventure by himself instead of getting unceremoniously shoved out of the house by Gandalf. It gives him more agency and we get the fun adventure that is supposed to take Bilbo out of his shell. Thats the message most people took from the story (ie "the world is not in your books..." I love this message/interpretation as much as anyone to be clear. I'm very guilty of loving my "Bilbo stays in Erebor" fanworks) but it is worth noting that Bilbo returns back to the Shire after his adventure and he gets the big speech about how more people should value the simple things in life before Thorin dies. Bilbo positions himself as sort of an unconventional hero by modern standards. Bilbo gets out of his situations more often than not through his wit and cleverly talking his way out of it rather than any displays of strength. He talks his way around Smaug, he cheats at his game of riddles with Gollum, he stalls the trolls. Bilbo wasn't even awake for the big climatic battle that gets turned into a climax for one of the movies. Bilbo, while getting braver more capable and more accepting of the situation, is still a hobbit! He wants his home and hearth and if he is dragged on an adventure, he will very loudly let you know about it. Frodo is similar in the sense that his strength doesn't come from any physical strength but from his ability to shoulder the horrors™ and then accept help from the people around him (mainly Sam) because he shouldn't have to shoulder the horrors™ alone. Again, the entire time Frodo is going on his adventure he's thinking about how much he'd rather be home. Sam sort of acts like this beacon of what the home represents and he’s the only thing keeping him emotionally stable and tries to comfort him through keeping him tethered to those memories of home. There’s the obvious scenes where Sam straight up tells Frodo to imagine home but there’s also just things like Sam cooking and insisting on making sure Frodo is fed (please note that sharing food is basically the universal signal for closeness, domesticity and the idea of a family unit. Think Norman Rockwell) or them turning their traumatic events into stories that they (again mostly Sam) expect to tell to their family and friends in a very domestic setting and then have those stories be passed down in the “Samwise the brave”, “Frodo wouldn’t have made it far without Sam” scene

You can also use this theme to sort of track the change in tone between the two stories. Bilbo's craving for the simple comforts of a warm meal, his bookshelves and a comfortable are played for jokes a few times, it's ultimately validated by the narrative. Frodo's drive to get back home is ultimately very melancholic and downright heartwrenching and when he can finally go home, it's not the same. In Bilbos case this change is sort of implied through the way Bilbo is treated very differently and treated like the neighborhood crazy guy by his peers post-adventure and this is played for laughs mostly but with Frodo it's outright stated and it is played completely straight. He's been so traumatized, so changed by his journey that he's simply not the same person he was when he left and he struggles to enjoy the aspects of the home that were previously used as an attempt to comfort him. Hence, “the Shire has been saved, but not for me." And he ends up leaving the Shire for good. As much as we know Tolkien hated the war allegory, it does bring to mind a soldier coming back home with severe trauma.

I feel like so much of this is lost in works that try to emulate LOTR and The Hobbit because of the simple fact that action sells much better. I mean, that's why the third hobbit movie is called "The Battle of The Five Armies" isn't it? There's also the want for grimmer, darker stories, since so many people view those as more "realistic" Maybe it's just the result of more cynical creators and audiences who want to watch more of the killing the dragon and cool battles with the big armies and less of the writing about trees and the value of home. I dunno I'm tired

[sunlaire]

We got in the top THREE

[ellearts]

Strollonso nation hear me out: insane gay sex but the helmet stays ON

[vacz]

The tape player || The Hunter AU (Comic)

Happy Valentine's Day! 🥰💕

[archduchessgortash]

I wish there were more Durgetash fans who liked them softer. I'm not knocking those who want them full-blast evil and ruling Faerun because that is fun to imagine. But, am I the only one who doesn't buy Durge as a feral animal? Or Gortash as a completely irredeemable waste of flesh?

Eh, I probably am.

I just... I think the Gortash we get in-game is not the same person that he was with Durge, and truth be told, many Durge 'facts' are highly debatable as facts at all. What if they really were good together? And not in a 'I'll hold them while you gut them sort of way.' In a 'holy Hells, THIS is what it feels like to be happy' sort of way.

Yup, just me being crazy over here.