#ISME

[ilexdiapason]

are um. you guys okay???

yea we had lunch 👍 are YOU ok if all this happened while job

[misty-missdee]

Turbo scrub fit check™️

[jettacar]

second entry in cars around the world, i'd like to take this opportunity to spotlight an interesting truck from algeria! ^^

[chaoticsimlish]

After forever, I finally got into the game for the first time in ages! Just made a quick sim, I imagined her style being a blend of the dark academia vibe and vintage clothing.

Her name is Ismene Tskakis (Isme for short)

(also apologies for the screenshots, I don’t have any pose traits lmao)

[rosesfromnovember]

$uh dude. 🌹✌🏾

Ig: @rosesfromnovember

[sixth-light]

Yet another good reminder that even other Anglosphere authors have to basically arm-wrestle US book editors to be allowed to retain any vestige of their own dialect and culture in their writing and this is why lots of people have Opinions about American...everything.

[asmimir]

kamamar doodlessss no comics atm bc schoolwork, but I AM working on a silly forket one, for now i hope this'll suffice eeeee

[ies10]

Exploring Excellence: Unveiling the Marvels of ISME Bangalore

Exploring Excellence: Unveiling the Marvels of ISME Bangalore

Introduction: 

Bangalore, in the heart of India's Silicon Valley, is home to the International School of Management Excellence, commonly known as ISME Bangalore, a reputable institution shaping the future of management education. Committed to providing comprehensive education, encouraging innovation, and developing leadership skills, ISME has emerged as a pioneer of excellence in the field of business administration. This blog will delve into the different aspects that make ISME Bangalore a great choice for aspiring business leaders, discussing student academic performance, campus culture, industry connections, and overall experience.

Academic Brilliance: 

A symbol of academic excellence, ISME Bangalore offers a diverse range of programs designed to meet the demands of the dynamic business world. The institution's commitment to quality education is reflected in a faculty of experienced academics and industry practitioners. These professionals bring real-world insights into the classroom, bridging the gap between theory and practice.

ISME's curriculum is designed to encourage students to think critically, problem-solve and innovate. From foundation courses to specialized electives, students gain a comprehensive learning experience to hone their analytical and decision-making skills. The institution also focuses on experiential learning, offering case studies, live projects, and internships that provide students with hands-on insight into real-world business scenarios.

Campus and Cultural Vibrancy: 

ISME Bangalore's spacious and modern campus provides an ideal environment for academic pursuit and personal growth. This educational institution believes in cultivating not only the spirit of its students but also their overall development. The campus features state-of-the-art facilities, including well-equipped classrooms, a resource-rich library, state-of-the-art research laboratories, and recreational spaces that foster collaborative learning and interaction.

ISME's campus culture is a vibrant mixture of diversity and inclusion. Students from diverse backgrounds and cultures come together to create a dynamic ecosystem for cross-cultural and global exchange. The facility also hosts a variety of cultural events, seminars, workshops, and conferences for students to engage and broaden their horizons beyond the classroom.

Industry Integration: 

One of ISME Bangalore's hallmarks is its strong links with industry. The institution has formed strategic partnerships with many companies to help students gain practical insights and familiarize themselves with the corporate world. Regular guest lectures, industry visits, and workshops by industry leaders give students a platform to learn from the best companies and understand the real challenges facing companies.

The institutions of this educational institution are designed to provide career opportunities for students. ISME's strong corporate network and alumni base play a key role in securing student placements and internships with reputable organizations across industries. Emphasis on practical skills and industry interaction gives ISME graduates a competitive edge in the job market.

Student Experience and Extracurricular Activities: 

Beyond academics, ISME Bangalore offers a wealth of extra-curricular activities that contribute to a comprehensive student experience. Various student clubs and committees cater to a variety of interests, including entrepreneurship, sports, cultural activities, and social welfare. These activities not only promote the overall development of the students, but also promote teamwork, leadership skills, and time management skills.

The agency also fosters entrepreneurship and innovation through its incubation centers, providing aspiring entrepreneurs with the resources, mentorship, and guidance they need to turn their ideas into successful business ventures. This approach reflects ISME's commitment to developing future leaders who can drive change and make a positive impact on society.

Global Perspective: 

As the world becomes more and more connected, ISME Bangalore understands the importance of a global perspective. The institution collaborates with renowned international universities to facilitate student exchange programs that provide opportunities to study abroad and experience different cultures. This presence fosters intercultural competence, adaptability, and a broader perspective in students, preparing them to excel in a globalized business environment.

Conclusion: 

In the field of management education, ISME Bangalore is considered a center of excellence, innovation, and comprehensive development. Her commitment to academic excellence, industry integration, and fostering a global mindset make her a preferred choice for aspiring business leaders. Through its vibrant campus culture, diverse extracurricular activities, and industry partnerships, ISME creates an environment where students not only learn but grow. ISME continues to shape the future of management education, paving the way for new types of leaders who can drive meaningful change in the world of business and beyond.

[shushmal]

"I think it's sweet," Steve says.

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Nothing about Eddie Munson is sweet. He's a sewer rat, at best. Or like twenty opossums in a trench coat."

"Opossums are cute."

"He probably has rabies."

"You say that about me all the time, so I guess that's good. We'll have rabies together."

"He gave you a rock."

"You give me rocks all the time," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He runs his thumb along the textured edge of the rock Eddie'd handed to him.

"Yeah, good rocks." Robin scoffs. "That one sucks."

[angelaism]

close enough. welcome back mabel and dipper pines

[soulthom]

Spectacle et simulacre

La question du vrai culmine dans la société du spectacle sous la forme de sa ringardisation à la fois inaboutie, utopique. Son présentisme de façade est incapable de faire oublier le passé, d’actualiser le présent.

Le temps du simulacre est finalement, au-delà de Baudrillard lui-même, celui dans lequel la question même du vrai ne se pose pas, abolissant tout avenir et passé, c’est le « temps » d’une indéfinie nostalgie du réel, fondement de toute question, mais aussi celui où l’individualité se dissout totalement dans la catégorie, le jeu obsessionnel des catégories se remaniant indéfiniment de sorte à ce que jamais rien n’échappe au simulacre. Ainsi la notion même de rupture n’a plus de sens, car elle devient elle-même une catégorie du catéchisme global où plus personne n’existe, l’ « impersonnel » du spectacle n’étant lui-même finalement qu’une illusion. L’ « anti-globalisation » est de fait et par définition la forme la plus aboutie du simulacre, dans son absurdité intrinsèque d’une part, et prétendant s’opposer à un choix politique, donc à quelque événement du monde d’autre part. Le spectacle épuise « désormais » le réel et l’intelligence artificielle ringardise la question même de l’être qui ne se résume bientôt plus qu’à une apparence assumée.

Note ir-réaliste :

Dans une situation où le monopole de la violence et du spectacle appartient à nouveau exclusivement à la bourgeoisie (qui va jusqu’à prétendre être contre elle-même de nos jours avec une infaillible hypocrisie, se dissimulant derrière des slogans muraux, alors même que je connais précisément l’histoire de leur mensonge - féministe (*) par exemple - de près, ayant été plus ou moins impliqué dans différents mouvements contestataires) le crétin moyen n’est aujourd’hui « de gauche » qu’en se réclamant d’une dédramatisation (qui apparaît facilement comme critique du communisme) des totalitarismes stalino-mao-castro-…, qui effectivement l’ont toujours servi car il les a toujours servi lui-même « vaillamment », au bon moment, faisant preuve alors d’un classisme « salariste » (« ouvriérisme » réactualisé) censé être preuve irréfutable de sa bonne foi…alors même que dans son cas le rejet (liquidation) de la propriété est l’expression (« luxe » d’un nouveau type) d’une situation d’inclusion privilégiée. En effet il y a toujours ceux qui ne peuvent accéder à la propriété (logement, terrain), et ceux qui à l’inverse peuvent s’en passer car ils sont assez riches pour ça…et y tiennent !

Ce qui est toujours vrai :

« Le spectacle est une misère bien plus qu’une conspiration ».

« Les spectateurs ne trouvent pas ce qu’ils désirent, ils désirent ce qu’ils trouvent ».

« Le spectacle n’abaisse pas les hommes jusqu’à s’en faire aimer, mais beaucoup sont payés pour faire semblant » (histoire finalement virtuelle comme toutes les histoires).

« Ainsi l’un veut admirer dans mon film un lyrisme de la rage, un autre y a découvert que le passage d’une époque historique comportait une certaine m��lancolie. D’autres, qui surestiment assurément les raffinements de la vie sociale actuelle m’attribuent un certain dandysme. En tout ceci cette vieille canaille d’époque poursuit sa manie de nier ce qui est et d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas ». Ceci devrait répondre à bien des inepties concernant Debord, toujours à l’ordre du jour.

Citations tirées de « Réfutation de tous les jugements, tant élogieux qu’hostiles, qui ont été portés sur le film « La société du spectacle » » (Guy Debord).

(*) L'imposture féministe a consisté à plaquer un schéma simpliste, à tendance essentialiste, récupérant pour ainsi dire les revendications légitimes des femmes (avortement, droit de vote, parole...), base "légitime" pour réactualiser aujourd'hui le sexisme par un biais paradoxal, ce que les féministes ne peuvent que nier évidemment, tout comme leurs "adversaires" de droite qui font mine de croire qu'on s'en prend à la différence sexuelle alors que le but est de la revaloriser. C'est donc toute une orchestration savante (à base de confirmation politicienne réciproque) en vue d'une restauration du sexisme sous la forme du sexe tout d'abord, puis finalement du genre (certes, une loi de 2016 permet sous conditions spécifiques le changement de genre (état civil) sans changement de sexe), n'en déplaise au dénégations des féministes, nous allons voir comment. Mais la ruse consiste à faire valoir par ailleurs les droits des minorités sexuelles, homos ou trans, sans pour autant accorder aux gays (non trans) d'être considérés comme "spécifiquement concernés" par les lois adoptées par Sarkozy contre le harcèlement ou le viol puisqu'ils restent des hommes (assez écœurant lorsqu'on sait que les "pédés" sont facilement victimes des violences en question). Et c'est justement là que je veux en venir : sous prétexte de lutte contre le harcèlement, les violences sexistes et le viol, ces deux derniers au moins concernant majoritairement les femmes, on crée des lois différentialistes (punissant plus sévèrement des violences faites aux femmes que les mêmes contre des hommes). On nous fait donc habilement confondre le fait que les femmes font le gros des victimes (et donc du problème, certes) avec le fait que les lois qui en découlent soient genrées (donc infantilisantes pour les femmes), comme si ça allait de soi, et on se retrouve face à une bataille médiatique spectaculariste dans laquelle deux camps s'affrontent : les "pour" (les nouvelles lois, ceux qui sont donc contre "les" violences, qui curieusement ne posent jamais le problème de l'étendue de ces lois) et le "contre" (au prétexte qu'il s'agit de privilèges accordés aux femmes (comme si ça épuisait la question) : on ne pose pas vraiment là non plus le problème de l'étendue des lois en question). Ce n'est pas parce que les victimes de violences sexistes sont majoritairement féminines qu'on se doit de faire des lois genrées, puisqu'on limite ainsi "bizarrement" leur portée (une femme harcelant ou violentant un homme au sein d'un couple, par exemple, n'est pas visée par les lois de 2010), de même que ce n'est pas parce que, mettons, des statistiques montreraient que les blonds commettent plus d'accidents de la route que les bruns, qu'il ne faudrait pas punir les bruns de la même façon lorsqu'ils en commettent, même si les blonds étaient responsable de l'importance que prend le problème, tout le monde reconnaîtra cela. A partir de cet exemple il est évident que la stratégie féministe consiste à finalement remettre au goût du jour le différentialisme (une représentation bornée et traditionaliste "améliorée" du genre) au nom de l'antisexisme face à une "dangereuse" histoire qui allait dans l'autre sens, ce qui est d'essence fasciste.

Au hasard de blogs parcouru, je me souviens être tombé sur une féministe qui par exemple reprochait littéralement à des femmes d'aller draguer en boîte et d'éventuellement coucher, ce qui reviendrait à un viol consenti ! On n'est pas là si loin de ces promoteurs du voile ou de sorties limitées au prétexte que cela "protégerait" les femmes.

Quant aux lois contre les signes religieux ostentatoires, qui autorisent à virer des filles, souvent voilées de force par leur famille, de l'école publique, no comment (il faut dire qu'on nous a présenté opportunément à l'époque le port du voile comme un choix... ce qui revenait à minimiser le problème, oh paradoxe !). Tout cela pour mieux justifier de ne pas faire son boulot éducatif au nom de la "liberté de conscience" ?

[1eos]

some offense to that person but you're shocked that the annoyingly white liberal fanfiction website that insists racism and pedo content is freedom speech, with members of the board that are so sinophobic an asian person having an opinion sends them into nuclear defense mode, and is like 77% white is.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................zionist? we're at the point where u shouldnt be like omg the devils sacrament is backing a genocide i can't believe i volunteered here like why tf were u volunteering at the devils sacrament at the first place? like you should put the pieces together and figure out u are indeed at the devils sacrament

[contact-guy]

Noble Bachelor doodles I HAVE A THEORY and I have to make it funny or else I will cry

(this is a part of the Watson's Sketchbook series)

[mini-ism]

#— HEDONE.

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,443

synopsis: hedone (hēdonē), an ancient greek word that describes "pleasure.” after the girls leave, it’s just you and lighter. would you let him hold your hand if it gave him pleasure, if it gave him the answers he’s always sought? would you let him fuck you?

warnings: p in v, semi-clothed, hand job, choking, reader gropes lighter, accidental erection, daydreaming/fantasizing, fingering, he’s just a guy who wants to h*ld h*nds, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

the throttle of motorcycles and bikes were a sound you’ve grown accustomed to.

a lot of things in life can be chalked up to the philosophy, the belief, of chasing pleasure. why would you do something you hate if it reaps no reward you enjoy? why would you do something if you don’t like it?

that very same idea can be considered the reason people do anything, generally. subjecting yourself to pain is undesirable to many, the most masochistic of people have their limits too.

the roar of engines grew quieter, replaced by the heavy click of boots against hardwood flooring. it was smart to wear boots around, the wooden flooring was splintered, worn from years of trampling and stomping. a gloved hand landed on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance-like state.

“you good?” the hand on your shoulder drifted down to your upper back, rubbing circles, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. his voice was deep, a handsome sort of rumble. it took some effort to peel your eyes away from the scratched up window.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you brought your gaze up to lighter’s, whose was concealed by his beloved aviators, tinted so dark you wondered if he could even see at times. he stood behind you, to your side, his touch still lingering in circles, inferior to your lower neck.

his demeanor seemed stoic as always, keeping to himself, staying “low-key” as he put it. “the girls are all gone,” he murmured, the hum of their bikes so distant it couldn’t be heard anymore, “just us now.”

lighter’s eyes were glued to the environment outside the window, seemingly entranced, lulled into the same kind of deep thought you were in.

would one derive satisfaction from thought? what is pleasure? how much chasing would someone do for that rush, the release of ecstasy?

lighter’s gloved hand moved lower, to the small of your back, his touch growing into a gentle, almost ghostly, caress. you looked out the window, observing the tan, dusky dirt and sand, the orange hue of the evening sky, the constructs of blazewood, the few little pebbles and rocks scattered around.

your eyes trailed back to him, his gaze now focused on you, still hidden by those fucking sunglasses. his brows had a small indent in them, creased by their furrowing, lips slightly pursed. his gloved touch had since stopped rubbing circles on the superior base of your spine, fingers daring to go lower.

you let out a soft, confused noise, his lips parting slightly. the crease deepened a bit more. how far is someone willing push the limits to fulfill their own desires for satisfaction? depends on who they are.

lighter’s face was contorted into a strained, almost guilty look. his lower lip glistened with a thin and awkward sheen of saliva, expression taut with a shameful tension. how apt is someone to escape pain by indulgence? his fingers crept to your side, clutching it tightly.

you didn’t pull away, not at all.

internally, lighter was warring with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he knew that was a damn lie. it’s not like you're anybody’s personal property, not like you’re pulling away, not like you're running from him. it really isn’t like that, not like you’re touching up on him too, not like you’re more than friends. it scared him, the uncertainty, but he just can’t help himself. you’re irresistible, every part of you.

was pleasure worth the risk of pain? what is pleasure without pain? to perceive one means the other must exist. his grip pulled you flush to his side, pressing you to his body, hold unrelenting. he could really get lost in those eyes, he was already tumbling over himself just staring at you.

you stayed flush against him, even pressing your cheek to his chest. could you hear his heart hammering? it was already thrumming in his ears, blood rushing harder, faster, further, everywhere.

everywhere.

he could only hope you could ignore the raging boner tenting his pants, standing quite proud. his tight pants really don’t help, they felt even more like a barrier than before. his breathing grew heavier, clawing at the last remnants of composure. he was a man that prided himself on his ability to keep it together, always level-headed, despite the circumstances. wouldn’t it be good to let that go? just for a little, just for a while.

his gloved fingers dug even further into your flesh, the sensation grounding, yet intoxicating at the same time. your body was so pliant against his, he was desperately seeking any other thought that didn’t involve pinning you underneath him, getting you bent over and compromised. his resolve was wavering with each second, you’re gonna drive him mad.

lighter’s insistently demanding cock kept stirring, retaliating with each needy twitch. every physical reaction of his spurred his dirty thoughts on further, lewd images of you under, beside, on top of him, his shaft buried as far as it could go inside of you. a particularly vivid picture of you, one leg up on top of his shoulder, leaned upright against a countertop beckoned him deeper into his fantasies. you keened as he shoved himself further inside you, drinking in every noise you made. your eyes were glassy with desire, with need, with… love. his grip on your thigh was tight, grunting with satisfaction as he slid in and out of your warm cunt with aided ease. god, you’d get so fucking wet…

a sharp inhale brought him back to reality. he didn’t realize just how tight his hold on your waist had gotten. “sorry, really, uh…”

instead of wriggling away or whining, you curled closer to him, body melting into his for some semblance of comfort or relief. whichever one was galloping through your motives. the air was tense, he was sure you could feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants, you’re terribly close. not that that’s a problem, unless you don’t want to be poked in the thigh by his touch-starved cock.

yeah, you definitely knew. “are you hard?”

no point in hiding whatever is in very, very plain sight, “uh… yeah, my bad.”

with the simple brush of your hand by his crotch, he bit back a particularly low groan, stifling it as a throaty noise. did you intend to do that? did you intend to rub up against him like that, get him even harder than before? as if that could be possible, it was. his face was strained, cheeks dusted a faint pink, becoming immersed in his fantasies again.

his breaths came in shallow, slight heaves. they sounded like soft gasps, periodic and frantic. fuck, what he wouldn’t give to hear you croon underneath him. you’d look so hot pinned to the bed by your wrists, kissing you until you panted for air, just as needy and depraved as he is for your touch. your tongue would feel so good, swiping against his own, licking down his neck, down his shaft. those darling lips would fit so perfectly around his cock, tongue milking every drop of sweet pleasure out of him. pleasure that belonged in you, hips bucking like a crazed man, drunken and starved, experiencing what it means to feel for the first time.

lighter’s eyes trailed down to his crotch, your hand lingered, ghosting just over the raised clothing over his persistent, weeping cock. he could feel pre-cum seep from the head, dampening his boxers, demanding in tempo with the beat of his heart. the color of lighter’s face darkened, hips involuntarily grinding against your palm. lighter drew in a particularly sharp breath at the much desired friction.

you gave him a knowing look as you continued to palm the prominent bulge in his pants. lighter’s fingers stayed glued to your side, his eyes wide behind the dark lenses, partially in disbelief and in welcome bewilderment. his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, mouth slightly agape. at a loss for words, he let a deep grumble out, his gaze still stuck on your hand. your grip was now entirely on his dick, pressing against the outline, moving from base to tip and back through his pants. “ah, fuck…”

he let out a deep breath, the air held in by his wound muscles, unbeknownst to him. his body relaxed slightly under your gentle touch, slipping back into the comforting coax of his daydream. damn, your hand, it feels way too good. would you let him hold it if he could? hold it while he fucks you, while he guides you, while he walks in stride with you? will you let him interlace his bare fingers with yours? will you kiss each of the scars on his knuckles, wrap your own delicate hand around his aching shaft instead of his own?

would you instinctively reach for him? in a crowded area, would you look for him the way he’d look for you? could he seek every answer in you the way you’d look to him? would you let him fuck it out of you, kiss you until you spoke every word he wanted to hear? merely the satisfied twinkle in your eye soothes his soul. he could satisfy you the way nobody else ever can and will, accept every answer in the way you speak, laugh, cry, scream, and moan… every little gasp and mewl, nobody would take you like he could.

take you from behind, from the side, below and above him, take you as you are, take every word and lack of one. take every good with the bad, every soothe with the familiar burn and sting, if it meant you understood him the way he understands you. he would kiss you the way you like, fuck you ten times over if he knew you loved it, hold your hand tight enough if it meant anything to you. seems like you’re struggling with his belt.

“need a bit of help? i know it can be a pain sometimes. here, i got you.” he put his hand over yours, guiding it towards the overly complicated buckle, unclasping it just enough, loosening it with his own hand grasping yours until you could manage to unzip his pants. “you got it, keep going. i promise i’ll make it worth your while.

you didn’t need it to be ‘worth your while,’ having him in your grasp was already enough. you couldn’t be bothered to move from the window, hand already snaking down his boxers to grab his bare, attention-deprived cock. lighter hummed softly at the feverish contact, feeling your thumb collect the thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his cockhead. as you coated his shaft in his own pre, his head grew slightly dizzy, the sensation overwhelming, yet comforting knowing it was you.

“ah, shit, yeah…” your hand started moving faster as lighter let out a mumbled string of curses. with each passing stroke, he could feel the heat in his body burn hotter, the familiar pool of desperation in his lower gut forming, pleasure soaking into every single cell of his body. all his coherent, ‘normal person’ thoughts were melting away at the mercy of your slick stroke.

with a whispered groan, lighter leaned in, “that feels amazing, but i can’t take another minute without my dick in you.”

hesitantly, you released lighter’s cock, pulling your hand out of the waistband of his boxers. lighter pulled you away from the view of the window, just far enough from prying eyes. within the building was a lounge space and a small kitchenette. lighter cornered you inside the kitchenette, wasting no time to put his lips on yours. his kiss was firm but careful, giving you a moment to melt into his lips, your arm hooking around his neck to pull him further closer. his tongue eventually slipped between your lips, the sweet taste of your mouth mingling with his, eagerly swapping his spit with yours. lighter’s kiss grew heated and intense, exploring every inch of your mouth, his lips searing and nearly bruising. he groaned as your fingers tangled with his dark locks, his glove-clad hands coming to grip the counter on each side of you.

reluctantly, he pulled away, lips still proximal to yours, huffing for breath. lighter’s eyes burned bright with passion, staring you down as if he needed you more than the air that kept him alive. you nearly quivered under his scrutiny, the attractive green hue of his eyes keeping yours. your panties were stuck to your cunt with dampness. your hips rocked into his, heat collecting in the fabric as your cunt leaked, contracting around nothing. “do me a favor? turn the other way for me.”

you did as lighter asked, squirming around so your ass was in direct contact with his hard-on. instinctively, his hips rolled against your ass, the tantalizing swell mocking him. lighter eased your pants and underwear down your thighs and legs, letting them pool against the floor, managing to get his right glove off pretty quickly. the pads of his fingers prodded against your heated pussy, collecting the wetness between your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times from behind.

“you feel that, huh? that’s nothing compared to this dick.” seemingly on cue, his index and middle fingers slipped into your heated cunt, stretching your pussy out wonderfully. you let out a soft moan, feeling the two digits slide in and out with adept ease. each moan was punctuated by his fingers working their way back inside of you, deep within your cunt, the slap of his knuckles on your ass. lighter’s fingers curled just enough to make you croon and let your neck loll downwards, forehead dangerously close to thunking against the counter. your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, knuckles white as lighter’s other hand spread your pussy to the side. his fingers made an abrupt exit.

you mewled at the loss, trembling weakly at the absence of something inside you, of him. the coil in your gut loosened, knees weak and palms creased by the rigid edge of the kitchenette’s counter. lighter brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them nearly exaggeratedly, savoring the taste of you. he let out a satisfied “mmm,” licking the webbing between the digits, lapping up any remaining slick on his fingers. his left hand fell to his boxers, letting his cock spring free as his right hand got you to arch just right against the cold marble slate, spreading your cunt just enough again to let him take a good look.

“you’re gonna look so good taking my dick.”

lighter slapped the heavy tip of his cock against your slit, the rounded head dragging on your clit, the friction driving you wild. you could feel the excitement inside you build, anticipating the lethal stretch. fuck, you were soaked, the wetness coating his tip thickly, threatening to drip all the way down your thighs and onto the floor below you. he pressed his palm down on your lower back, forcing you to intake a sharp breath, his cock accompanying the newly inhaled air. after the tip got lost inside your heat, your cunt squeezed him tight, lungs immediately letting go of your breath. “that’s it, take it good, just like that.”

you moaned weakly, the thickest part of his cock being the shaft immediately below the tip. it felt so good, being split open by him, even with how wet you are. every fiber of lighter’s being was resisting the urge to snap his hips into yours, bury himself into you with force. your cunt wouldn't take much more, lighter opting to pull out a little to sink deeper inside. as he withdrew, you cried out, lighter hushing you with a soft “shh,” his hips moving forwards into yours again. you let out a string of soft babbles, the addictive stretch over as the rest of his shaft took.

“that’s right, fuuuuck.” he gasped, your pussy immediately gushing around him, clamping down on his length like a vice. after a few merciful moments, lighter dragged his hips back, rocking them into you again. you brokenly moaned, feeling his cock slowly drawl in and out of you a few more times, each movement followed up with a loud, needy moan. fuck, you looked so hot, sexier than he could imagine taking his dick from behind. “let me hear you, come on.” he urged gently.

his right hand pinned the back of your neck down to the cold marble, his hand large enough to wrap around the blood vessels on the lateral sides of your neck. his grip was tight, not entirely brutal, picking up the pace with each drag of his hips. the heat in your tummy flared, a thick sheen of your slick coating his dick, the lubricant creating a mess of his boxers and hem of his jacket. his tight hold on the sides of your neck furthered your high, body arching into his, brain fuzzy with pleasure and disconnected from reality. his cock slammed into you, his own pleasure indicated with a guttural groan. he sounded so hot when he felt good.

“you like it when i fuck you? you like this dick?”

you could offer a broken moan as a response, pussy tightening at his deep, horribly sexy, laugh. “yeah, i know, fuuuck.”

lighter bent lower, his voice ringing in your ears, brain barely processing his words, “you close? you just wont let me go, feels amazing.” your strangled moan told him everything he needed to know. you were closer than you could understand.

the heat of your orgasm pooled deep within you, winding all your muscles tight with tension and desire. with a few harsh thrusts, you let out a cry louder than you anticipated, your neck suddenly free from his hold. lighter bullied himself as deep as he could, watching you come undone. though you couldn’t see as you rode your climax out, he had a smug, proud look on his face.

lighter pulled out of you with an effort, resisting the urge to fuck himself using you. his hand came up to the front part of your throat, where your trachea was, pulling you upwards and putting your backside flush to his chest with a gentle force. “i got you, don’t worry.”

before you knew it, lighter was leaned back on the couch, sinking you onto his cock again, your legs parted as you straddled him. your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he half sat up and half laid back, squealing in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt again. “knew you could handle it, feels so good.”

didn’t matter what he did with your clothes, now that you were naked on top of him, his signature sunglasses sitting aside on the other cushion. his scarred hands came to rest on your hips, moving you up and down, bouncing you on his cock. he threw his head back, gasping with each oversensitive movement along your walls.

an uncharacteristically high noise left his lips, his eyes focused on the bounce of your tits as he lifted you up and down on his ever-demanding cock. fuck, you looked so good, sweaty and tuckered out, yet still taking him so well. your tits are just the cutest, the way they jiggle with every motion. lighter’s hips rocked upwards, bucking wildly as the high crept onto him, your nails digging into the skin and scar tissue littering his shoulders like a mosaic through his leather jacket. lighter’s control became frantic, guiding your body brutally, the sensitive waves of your previous orgasm washing into this one. lighter grit his teeth, groaning heavily as the coil tightened even more, the intensity of his climax terribly foreign. every muscle in both your bodies ached and wildly tightened with desperation as ecstasy washed over you both.

as you rode out your familiar pleasure, lighter rocked his hips, bucking them, milking out every bit of sensation he could from inside you. lighter covered his face with one hand, peeping one eye out of the gap between his fingers, as the other hand’s nails dug into your bare flesh. “fucking hell, oh, shit…”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard lighter say such vulgar things, especially not swear that much in a minute. as his grip on your waist and hip loosened, it immediately sought out your hand, prying your dominant hand away from his shoulder and interlacing your fingers with his as he heaved. “fuck, you think you’ll let me do this again? as many times as i want?”

[balrogballs]

I'm still sad about this heartwarming and mildly amusing little section where feral adolescent Aragorn brings some joy to Maedhros in his unhinged little way, which I had to cut out of Cast in Stone for structural reasons, especially as I had gone to the trouble of illustrating it!

But I realised it reads perfectly fine standalone, so you guys can have my crumb of Maedhros-joy instead. No context required: Maedhros and Maglor are temporarily staying in the Shire during the late Third Age, Maedhros had a horrible night of traumatic dreams and was being maudlin — until young Aragorn, aka Elros II and the bane of his life, turns up like a bad penny, as he often does. Enjoy!

---

"You look unhappy," said Estel, sitting down before Maedhros, legs crossed. "Does your hand hurt? Surely it can't be as bad as when it got chopped off, can it?"

"No, but leave me be, Estel, I have —"

"All right, but let me ask just one question. I promise, then I'll go away. I just remembered something from my lessons, and every time I ask Ada he looks up at the sky and asks the Valar where he went wrong in raising me," Estel moved closer, looking around for eavesdroppers. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I would like to know."

Maedhros frowned, swallowed the lump in his throat and dragged in a breath. "What?"

"Fingon rescued you on one of those enormous eagles, didn't he? On that mountain with Morgoth and all of that. It was one of those, right? Manwë's Eagles."

"Yes. He did. I do not wish to answer any further questions on the matter, clear off."

"And it was quite a long journey, wasn't it?"

Maedhros grunted.

"I've always had a question about it… and again, you don't have to tell me if it's too traumatising," Estel's eyes shone, as though he were about to hear a state secret. "And I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Spit it out, boy, or leave me now. I am in the mood for neither company nor memory."

"Did it… you know…?"

"If you're trying to ask me if losing the hand hurt, yes it did," Maedhros snapped. "Now leave me alone, I've had enough reminiscing for a damned century. Get off home, now!"

"Oh, shut up, I wasn't asking about your stupid hand, I don't understand why you think everyone sits around thinking about your hand," Estel scowled, pursuing his lips, before deciding his quest for scientific knowledge was more important than whatever had crawled up Maedhros' arsehole and died. He widened his eyes conspiratorily, looked around again. "My question has nothing to do with that! I just wanted to know, did the eagle… you know?"

"Estel, I am not going to repeat this, get out of my sight right this —"

"Did it take a shit?"

"Did… what?"

"Did it take a shit?" Estel flushed as he said the word, Elrond's parental touch finally taking hold, though in a predictably useless manner. "And if it did, how big was it? As in, was it normal bird crap, or was it, you know — like a bucketload of it?"

Maedhros blinked. Estel held his hands out to demonstrate.

"I've always wanted to know that about them, you know," the boy continued, stroking his chin like a philosopher. "Manwe's eagles, that is. Surely if they're big enough to carry two people, one being a towering beast like you, their droppings must be massive."

"What…?" Maedhros couldn't formulate words, a state of being Estel clearly had no familiarity with. "Their… what?"

"And yes, I know they're divine, all of that, but surely they can't be toilet trained, can they? I just don't see Manwë having enough time to toilet train an eagle, you know. Could you imagine just… going about your day, and having this massive tub of birdshite fall on your head? Oh, it could drown a person, I'm sure of it!" Estel grinned, as if said occurrence would be the best day of his life, had it happened to him. "So, did it? And if it did, did you see if it went on someone?"

Maedhros sat there blinking at the boy in complete silence before rising quietly, taking the now-extremely-familiar ear, and slowly — like he were a corpse — leading Estel to the village gate. He didn't say a word, only gestured weakly and put up three fingers, a signal the now sulky boy was very used to.

And as Estel, muttering darkly all the while, neared the completion of his first punishment-lap of three around the village green, he heard something that sounded like a donkey in immense pain. It was a sound so tremendous and unexpected that it brought Maglor running from the house, gaping at the source, having not heard such a thing in centuries. It was no donkey, but Maedhros in complete hysterics, sitting on the ground exactly where he was when he beckoned Estel to run, sobbing with laughter, actual tears pouring down his face, which itself was screwed up and flushed so pink he looked like he'd been badly sunburned. He was trying to explain the situation to Maglor (who had been glaring at Estel as if he had personally killed his brother, and now looked upon him like he was Iluvatar himself) but Maedhros was howling too hard to even stand, let alone form coherent words.

Estel pretended not to notice, and started on his second lap. Though objectively speaking, the laugh itself sounded like something between a foghorn, a pig and whatever noise he imagined Ungoliant would make — there was something rather lovely about it that brought an inexplicable little smile to his face.

[pocketgalaxies]

C1E70 || C3E102