#and the worst part is that none of it is unfounded!!!

[great-tusk]

ughhh I need to stop having mental breakdowns over little things.

[aphrogeneias]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 — lingerie

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: dry humping. jealous!eddie (blink and you'll miss it).

"Are you gonna do that for me, one day?"

Standing at the back of the crowd while you watched a local band perform, you and Eddie shared a laugh watching what was going down on stage. The crowd whooped and hollered as a girl in the front row threw her red lace panties on stage. 

The frontman was sort of a heartthrob of the local underground metal scene, used to that sort of attention — but in your, not at all biased, opinion he had nothing on the guitarist of Corroded Coffin, the boy throwing his arm around your shoulder.

"In your dreams, pervert."

You rolled your eyes, but nothing in your tone suggested disgust. Quite the opposite, as Eddie smiled, all sharp teeth and soft dimples, the dichotomies of the Munson boy never ceasing to amuse you. He smacked a loud kiss to your cheek, and turned his attention back to the stage, still holding you to his side. You rested your head on his shoulder, and kept that scene in mind.

Later that month, Corroded Coffin played in that same venue.

They were over the moon about it, obsessing over details and rehearsals, showing up extra early for soundcheck, losing sleep over playing for a larger, unfamiliar crowd. Eddie, especially, was losing his mind on the day of, which in turn drove you crazy — the ever dutiful girlfriend of an emerging rockstar, playing your part in keeping his head in place.

You'd promised Eddie that if he got up there and not let his nerves get the best of him, you'd have a surprise ready for him.

The surprise couldn't wait for the end of the show, though.

You were right at the front row, where you usually stood even though Eddie always worried you would get hurt, or get accidentally dragged into a mosh pit, or hit by a crowdsurfer. None of those concerns were unfounded, but you wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

Not where you couldn't see him. Bare arms flexing while he shredded on his guitar, sweat flying off his damp hair as he headbanged, possessed with divine madness. Your own rock god, meeting your eyes and winking at you before entertaining the crowd who was just as mesmerized by his stage presence.

Looking around to see if you'd get caught, you found no one was really paying attention to you. Quickly, you bent down, and just as the song headed to an end, slid your panties down and out of your legs. You were wearing Eddie's favorite pair — dark green lace, leaving little to the imagination.

As soon as he looked at you, between songs, you threw them at him. He caught it in the air, wide eyes not quite believing what he's seeing — your eyes meet halfway, and all you did was smile. Sticky sweet, an offering of devotion. You blew him a kiss, and not looking back, made your way through the screaming crowd, away from the stage.

He caught you backstage, on his way to the dressing room.

You barely had time to greet him. Looking back at it, it was silly to think you'd have it. Eddie caught you by the arm and led you to the nearest empty room, pressing you against the closed door. The room was dark, but you could see his eyes glinting in the low light.

His hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Do you know how hard it is to hide a boner in these jeans?"

Despite the grip he had on you, you giggled. "Oh, I know. Been there a few times."

"You're the worst." He joked through his teeth, fondness shining through his dark eyes. He leaned in, biting your cheek, leaving a trail of spit with his tongue to soothe it. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you."

Eddie kissed you like a man starved, stealing your breath away. You clung to him as he slid his thigh between your open ones, thick denim coming in contact with your bare pussy. His large hands made their way down your waist, to your hips, his hungry kisses never faltering.

Moans leave your lips right into his, making a wet mess on his pants, arching your chest into his whilst his rhythm didn't relent, the drag of your clit on the rough fabric, over and over, bringing you to the edge way too quickly.

He nosed your cheek as you clinged to his shoulders, moving his mouth to ear. "They were all looking at you, you know?" Eddie's voice was thick with desire, "They were all staring at my baby. The most beautiful girl in this fucking place, and she had such a sweet little gift for me." His leg moved under you, and you undulated your hips, seeking your release, guided by his voice, "All for me, because you're mine. It's me you're going home with, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You nodded frantically. "Mhm. With you, baby. Always you."

Your toes curled on the floor, and your body tensed all over. You could feel yourself make a mess on his jeans, leaking more and more as you reached your peak.

"Yeah, that's right. Come for me, baby. Fucking drench me."

Eddie kissed your forehead, the top of your hair, the side of your face, as you came down from your orgasm. As you caught your breath, learning against the door, he let go of you. You didn't have the strenght to ask, all you could do was watch him kneel before you, and take your panties out of his back pocket.

He delicately helped you back in them, one leg at a time. After securing them in place, he placed a kiss on each of your still trembling thighs, and lifted himself back to his full height again.

"Keep these wet for me, okay?" A kiss to your chin, a thumb on your cheek. "Want them to keep smelling like you."

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: All this late night talking was not enough for you.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Harry Styles x reader

♡ ꜱᴏɴɢ: Late night talking by Harry Styles

The apartment felt strangely quiet without Harry. You found yourself glancing at your phone more often than you should, each silence stretching longer than the last. You knew he was busy—new albums don’t make themselves, after all—but it didn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest. Things hadn’t been the same recently. The calls were shorter, and the late-night talking that once felt like your lifeline had become sporadic. The worst part was that you didn't even know why.

Scrolling through Twitter for a distraction, your eyes caught a picture of Harry with his arm around someone. She was beautiful, smiling up at him as he laughed, carefree in a way you hadn’t seen him with you lately. The caption was brutal: "Harry Styles spotted with mystery woman! Is the love story over?"

You quickly shut your phone, pressing your palms into your eyes, fighting the oncoming tears. You knew it was just a tabloid—an unfounded rumor meant to stir up drama—but it still hit hard. The image of Harry with someone else gnawed at your insecurities, especially when things had felt off for weeks.

Taylor’s voice cut through the haze. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked softly, handing you a mug of tea as she sat beside you on the couch. You hadn’t even heard her come into your apartment. Being your best friend for years, she didn’t need an invitation to sense something was wrong.

You took the mug, staring into the swirling steam. “I don’t know… I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing, but things have been weird lately with Harry. And now this—” You gestured toward your phone without picking it up, and she sighed knowingly.

“That tabloid nonsense? You can’t take that seriously, you know that,” Taylor reassured, but her voice had that edge of concern she couldn’t quite hide. “Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t want to seem clingy or make it into something bigger than it is.”

Taylor set her tea down, her expression soft but firm. “You’re not clingy for wanting to talk to your boyfriend, especially if something’s been bothering you. Communication, babe.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You both glanced at it, and you felt a small, familiar jolt when Harry’s name lit up the screen.

Taylor gave you a supportive nod. “Go on, answer it.”

You picked up the phone, nerves fluttering in your stomach. “Hey,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Hey, love,” Harry’s voice came through, warm as always but with a hint of something that mirrored your own unease. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” you replied automatically, though you both knew that wasn’t true. There was a pause before you took a deep breath. “Actually… I’m not. I saw the photos.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and you could almost picture Harry running a hand through his hair. “You know that’s not what it looks like, right? She’s just a friend—nothing more.”

“I want to believe you,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But things have felt different, Harry. We’re not talking like we used to. I miss you, and I don’t even know if you miss me.”

Harry sighed, and you could hear the frustration in his voice—not at you, but at the situation. “I miss you more than you know. This… this distance, it’s killing me too. I’ve been wrapped up in the tour and the album, but I’ve let that get in the way of what really matters—you.”

You bit your lip, your heart aching at his words. “It’s just… it’s hard, Harry. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

“You’re not losing me,” he said firmly, his voice full of sincerity. “I know I’ve been rubbish at showing it lately, but I’m here. I’m all in. We’ve just been caught up in everything going on, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you let out a shaky laugh. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

There was a soft chuckle on his end. “I just want to make you happier, baby.”

You smiled through your tears, finally feeling the tension ease a little. “I just need you here, Harry. The late-night talks aren’t enough when I’m missing you this much.”

“I’m coming back,” he promised. “No more waiting. No more distance.”

Before you could reply, the door to your apartment clicked open, and you froze, heart pounding as Harry walked in, phone still pressed to his ear. “Surprise,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up.

You stood there, stunned for a moment before launching yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest. He held you tight, his presence finally grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “For everything.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled against him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you. “Just… don’t ever leave me hanging like that again.”

“Never,” he promised, pulling back slightly to kiss your forehead. “You and me—late-night talking or not—we’ll figure it out.”

Taylor stood up, smirking. “Well, I guess my job here is done,” she quipped, giving you a playful wink. “I’ll leave you two to sort this out.”

Harry laughed, glancing over at her. “Thanks for keeping her sane.”

“You owe me,” Taylor teased, grabbing her jacket. “You can repay me with VIP tickets to your next show.”

“Deal,” Harry grinned as Taylor slipped out the door.

The weight that had been pressing on your chest for weeks finally lifted, and as you looked up at Harry, you couldn’t help but smile. The haze was gone. You were both here, and that was all that mattered.

“All this late-night talking,” you said softly, resting your forehead against his. “I’m glad it brought you back.”

Harry’s thumb brushed your cheek gently. “I’ll always come back to you.”

[linkito]

scarian 34 maybe.. but theyre in love..

#34 …to pretend.

Scar’s honestly not sure what Scott is on about with his whole Relationship Ranch thing. He’s not as obtuse as Grian is about it, pretending like their relationship isn’t mangled and strained, like the idea of couple’s therapy is entirely unfounded for the two of them, but— the goats? Really? Even at their worst, he and Grian aren’t stupid enough to get hit by a goat.

Even at their worst, they’re still a team. None of these trust-building activities are of any use to them.

The only reason Scar is going along with it at all is because of Scott. Scott who might know the most about the ins and outs of his and Grian’s complex relationship throughout these life games. But he’s beginning to have his doubts. Scott seems distracted.

Grian seems to have the same idea, because this time he calls Scott out when he pulls out his communicator for about the dozenth time. “Who do you keep talking to?”

Scar instantly dogpiles onto the accusations. “Are we not important enough for your undivided attention, doc?”

“No, you’re very important!” Scott protests, stuffing his communicator away. Scar narrows his eyes in tandem with Grian.

“Maybe he realizes we don't need this after all, G,” Scar says with a shake of his head, eyes flicking upward to watch for Scott’s reaction. As expected, Scott twitches nervously and immediately begins to wave his hands in placating disagreement.

But Grian speaks before Scott can. “Yeah, we’ve passed all your little tests, so what are you on about anyway?” With a disgruntled huff, Grian slots in beside Scar and crosses his arms, looking Scott up and down with the same level of scrutiny. “Scar and I are fine.”

It almost feels true when Grian is leaning into Scar’s space like this, taking his side like they have a common enemy, playing up the charade as much as Scar is to push at someone else’s buttons. On that rare occasion they’re on the same page, things do actually seem fine.

That’s possibly the worst part of it all— the almost fine.

Scott takes a moment to compose himself, now on the defensive as he speaks slowly and calmly. Unfortunately for him, however, he chooses the wrong words:

“But back in the desert—“

Both of their faces sour instantly, for different reasons perhaps, but they can both agree on one thing: that those words do not belong on Scott’s tongue.

Grian is partway through muttering a bitter “that’s none of your business,” when Scar chimes in with a theatrical twirl of his hands and solemn shake of his head, stepping forward so Grian is behind him and doesn’t have to address the unfinished accusation.

“Oh, Scott, come on now,” Scar says with a twinkle in his eye, slipping on the mask of a man not-scorned in order to pry himself from this situation. “That was then and this is now! People change! Relationships change! That isn’t always a bad thing, is it?”

Scott blinks, trying to keep up with Scar’s rapid-fire string of almost nonsense. “Uh.”

“Exactly!” Scar says, as if it were an agreement. He turns to face Grian, but keeps his feet pointed toward Scott, ever the actor, never fully turning his back to his audience. “But we’re perfectly happy, aren’t we now, Grian?”

Scar loops an arm around Grian’s back, tugging him closer and lowering his face so it’s level with his soulmate’s, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

His words pose a challenge, one Grian is intimately familiar. Scar rests his hand just beneath the base of Grian’s wings, where he used to hold onto when they embraced, when he would scoop Grian up into his arms and kiss him senseless while the scorching sun beat down on their necks. There’s that same level of firmness Grian had grown accustomed to paired with the gentle graze of fingers over his cheek from Scar’s other hand— that strong sense of security combined with unparalleled tenderness.

Grian doesn’t even realize he’s parted his lips, leaning forward in dizzying anticipation, acting on instinct alone, leaving all his senseless doubts behind as Scar slowly leans in closer, lips only a breath apart.

Scar’s hand trails over Grian’s cheek, ghosting over his jaw, then settling perfectly in place to hide both their lips from Scott’s prying eyes.

And then Scar smiles, and something about it is askew, something Grian can’t quite place— it’s too crooked, almost self-satisfied, almost—

And just like that, Scar pulls away.

“See?” Scar says, eyes flicking over to Scott, who, according to Grian’s short-circuiting brain, no longer existed at all. “Perfectly happy.”

It takes Grian far too long to realize those words were directed at someone else, or that there was not, in fact, sand at his feet and hot air brushing through his feathers. Scar is still speaking, and none of it is directed at him, because they aren’t alone atop a mountain of sand, in their own private corner of the world. They’re in a new game entirely, one where things are far too similar, yet not the same at all.

One where he definitely didn’t expect Scar to kiss him for real.

One where he definitely wouldn’t have let him.

“Grian,” Scar calls, snapping him out of his dazed state, and Grian hopes to god he doesn’t look too desperate when he glances up at him. “I’m pretty sure the rest of the server is tearing up our base looking for sugar cane.”

“They’re what??”

[maxiemumdamage]

Honestly, as much as I’m shocked the spin-off novels seem to be coming into canon, the Crown really makes sense as Agents of Salem (although they did stand the test independently).

Basically their whole deal is promoting the notion that Vacuo was better off without the influence of any of the other kingdoms, even those that didn’t do direct harm like Vale.

And the key thing is that none of that resentment is unfounded. Mistral and Atlas straight up colonized them, and destroyed the desert ecosystem in the process. Vale did nothing to help (Velvet, who’s from Vale, notes this in the books, so it’s likely true — she’s got no reason to tell an ugly lie about her home). And then Vacuo sided with Vale in the Great War just to lose their own monarchy and government in favor of what Vale wanted.

Vacuo’s history is a testament to the worst parts of humanity, to the divide and conquer strategy Salem loves so much. Pitting her enemies against each other is their thing.

But the Epilogue shows us through Qrow that as much as there’s conflict and strife between native Vacuans and the many foreign refugees, there’s also rather a lot of kindness and charity and goodwill. A lot of it centered on the memory of Ruby’s speech.

Ruby, who exposed Salem to the world and thus gave every nation a common enemy. Ruby, who ensured that everyone understands that they have to come together now. Ruby, who is gonna return to Vacuo with a potentially permanent solution not just for Salem but for the gods who created her.

Getting Amity Tower up even for a moment really was a triumph.

[itsclydebitches]

I know there's a lot to unpack in James' new interview but I am feral, FERAL I SAY, over this fucking line right here:

"His need was to be loved, and his tragic flaw was the belief that he was unlovable."

Back before Season 3 hit and Tedependent became ~trendy~ (not actually lol) I was heacanoning and writing Trent as a pretty anxious individual, someone with a ton of internalized self-loathing whose "whole vibe" was more of a mask than legitimate self-confidence. At the time I worried about him coming across as too OOC because really, what did we have to support this? Ted Lasso's prevailing theme of men discovering love and support when they previously had none? The lovely parallel of Trent struggling with many of Ted's own flaws, but presenting in opposite ways (cutting cynicism vs. endless optimism)? The then—far less developed—comments from James that Trent might have a rough relationship with his father? It felt unsubstantiated, unpersuasive, built more on my own interest in those kinds of characters and the occasional awkward moment from Trent than actual canon. Even into Season 3 I questioned whether my reading of him as struggling, significantly, with the care Ted offers wasn't just a result of my own, imagined inner life for him.

But NOW.

I'm sorry, hold up, can I just re-confirm that TRENT'S TRAGIC FLAW IS HIS BELIEF THAT HE'S UNLOVABLE? Unlovable??? Thank you, James Lance, for validating every reading I've had of this character since he first appeared on screen. Do people realize the depth this adds to every interaction Trent has? Particularly with Ted? Unlovable Trent Crimm starts off this relationship with a sincere compliment on his style ("I like your glasses"), something that Season 3 will present as a core part of his personality, something he's largely hidden away. Unlovable Trent Crimm grappling with the fact that yes, Ted enjoyed spending time with him. Him. WHILE he was playing the part of the asshole journalist. Unlovable Trent not being rejected when he admits, in moments of vulnerability, that he "Loves [their] chats." Unlovable Trent having his father's (likely snide) "Independent" comment reframed as a fun pun + advice to follow his "bliss": you have support, Trent, no matter what you choose to do. I don't care if you're successful covering a masculine-coded sport, I care if you're happy. Unlovable Trent committing the ultimate betrayal and being forgiven for it, immediately. Unlovable Trent being forcibly integrated into the Richmond family; actively accepted rather than passively tolerated: yes you should work here, yes you're a Diamond Dog, sit your butt down, Trenthouse Magazine, you will never be excluded again.

I'm sorry for the rambling post but I'm just so!! Insane about this!!! So much of Trent's hesitance could have been written off as a result of his career. That is, it might have been merely a learned reaction after decades of deliberately pissing people off. Of course they dislike him, but take him out of that environment and everything's fixed. Yet James has confirmed that he played Trent as intrinsically believing this. The career was a result of that unfounded fear—Might as well keep people at a distance before they hurt me first—as well as, simultaneously, a desire to somehow achieve the love that should have been unconditional from the start—Maybe my father will like me if I can be that "alpha male man's man" in print. Because this isn't just a flaw, it's a tragic flaw, a literary term that denotes a deficiency that leads to the character's downfall. This belief is so entrenched that it has led to Trent actively self-sabotaging his chances of being loved in the first place; a horrible self-fulfilling prophecy. He NEEDED someone like Ted—a fucking love sledgehammer that forces people to accept his care in the least subtle ways possible, even when they're acting as their own worst enemy—and by god, he got him!

Aside from Nate, Trent has always felt like the most isolated character to me at the start of the series (and even Nate has a good relationship with his mother and sister). What we've learned in Season 3 and James' interviews has only reinforced that reading for me: he was closeted in his marriage, unintentionally hurting his daughter, he's suffering under his father's expectations, he hates the press persona he's created to survive, he's bored at his job, footballers and other potential interviewees despise him—and not without reason (Roy). He has no friends that we see pre-Richmond and he's reached a point where the simple act of someone saying that they liked spending the day with him—again, while he's actively TRYING to piss them off and keep his distance—has him in such a state of shock he runs for the door, pens an uncharacteristically hopeful write-up, and is well on his way to upending his entire life for that man.

Because of course he is!!! From Trent's perspective Ted is a fucking impossibility shaped into human form. This is a man in his 40s whose greatest lifelong fear—now all but a certainty at his age—has been dismantled in a matter of hours. I'd write a book-length love letter to him too! And RIP to finale!Trent, but I would have run fucking Rom-Com style after the man who not only changed my life, but my entire sense of self-worth. (Ah fuck, but there's that tragic flaw again, keeping Trent hesitant. I now stand by my reading of the "I'll leave you be" scene as an unrequited goodbye.)

But finale aside, the man who'd convinced himself he was unlovable fell for the man who was love incarnate.

If that's not the most romantic shit you've ever heard idk what is!!!

[666herescared]

Start of Something Awful(ClingPeachesAU)

Okay, so I decided to write another part of this AU. It's fun to write the emotionally volatile Wukong.

---------

Mk felt awful. He had been living with Wukong for about a week at this point and he hadn’t even tried to leave! Worst part is that the king wasn’t even keeping him there. Mk has the ability to leave but he just- can’t! He’s scared. Not of the sage but of what his friends will think. He stayed that first day because he was in shock, and the second day the king had planned a massive celebration of Mk’s immortality, so it would’ve been rude to not stay!

  But after that… Aw, geez. He was terrified! Each day he spent with the Monkey King was another day he spent away from his friends. He thought they would hate him for staying when he could have just gone home. He wanted to go home! But he was too scared to bring it up with Wukong lurking everywhere. Mk hadn’t even managed to get out of monkey form, which delighted the king to no end! 

  His cub was responding to his chirps in this form, and the boy seemed cheerful too! He was so happy to see the kid being upbeat in his true form! Of course, from Mk’s perspective, he wasn’t glad at all. He forced a smile for the king, but internally, he was terrified! Why couldn’t he get out of that form?! 

  He just wanted to go back. Back to when he was just a normal noodle delivery boy, with the powers of the Monkey King. He knew he could. Obviously he could! If he just left and went home, he could pretend none of this ever happened! The only difference would be that he and all his friends were ageless now. They would get over any anger at him within a week and Mk was sure they’d eventually forgive Monkey King. 

  It would be fine, so why couldn’t he leave? His fears were unfounded! He hated himself for staying. He didn’t have to! The king wasn’t holding him captive! He was allowed to leave so why wasn’t he able to? He was waiting for a rescue he didn’t need! He could just go so why can’t he?! It made no sense- “Heya, cub!” The sage’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

  Yeah. Monkey King was calling him cub now. It had taken the place of ‘bud’ in the king’s vocabulary. “Hi, Monkey King!” The kid said, masking his previous fearful expression with a smile. 

  The older sat down right next to his cub- ‘Too close! Too close! Too close!’- and wrapped his tail around the younger’s waist. It was clearly meant to be a comforting gesture, so why did it terrify him even more? “Having fun?” 

  ‘Too close! No escape! Can’t run!’ “Yup! I’m fine!” Mk said with a forced grin and shuffled to the side.

  The king noticed and grabbed his cub’s shoulder to hold him in place as he moved closer again. “Why you tryin’ ta run then? C’mon kid! You can tell me!” He said, though the message was clear. ‘If you have a problem I will fix it.’ Something that some people might find comfort in, but for Mk, who knew the sage, it was terrifying! 

  Who knew what this impulsive wreck of a ruler would do to keep his cub safe? What if he decided it was Mk’s friends’ fault and dealt with the problem rather… drastically? Mk couldn’t risk it. “It’s nothing. Really! I’m fine!” He deflected with sweat running down his face.

  The king knew though. He always knew when Mk didn’t want him to, yet he was always oblivious to the general fear. “I can tell you’re lying, cub.” He tightened his grip.

  Mk let out a sharp gasp that almost sounded like a sob and gave in. He steadied his breath and asked softly,  “What would you do if I wanted to leave?” not wanting to anger the sage.

  “Hm. Well, I’d be sad, but as long as you keep visiting, I’ll be fine!” Was the ruler’s response. The look on his face made it clear he was telling the truth. 

  And yet, Mk still couldn’t even manage to want to leave. What was wrong with him?! He wanted to see his friends again, but he felt trapped without anyone trapping him! He was free to walk around and Wukong didn’t have anyone stopping him from leaving! Even though it was scary how the monkeys seemed closer when their king wasn’t near. He hated the thought; the thought that he was trapping himself but there wasn’t any other explanation! Wukong wasn’t keeping him there!

  He put on a smile and murmured, “Okay, Monkey King.” before moving his gaze to dodge the king’s.

  The grip on his shoulder tightening startled him and caused him to groan. “I hope you at least consider staying longer. The monkeys would miss you so much.” The older said with a threatening tone. Mk could almost hear the horror sting, before the grip loosened again and the ruler pushed him off of the rock. He knew better than to move by now. The king shifted to sit behind him and started grooming him calmly. “Sorry if I startled you, cub. I was just a little nervous. You’re so happy here and I don’t want to ruin that.” The sage stated. Like it was a fact.

  The kid started tearing up, the tension getting to him. Maybe he should stop pretending everything is fine. Especially since the king seemed to believe him. Though… as the king wiped his tears he considered; maybe he didn’t have to pretend. The sage wasn’t trying to hurt him. He just wanted to keep him safe, right? Maybe… he could enjoy himself! So he decided to just stop pretending. It was high time he let himself relax!

  His first mistake was thinking the king would let him go if he wasn’t happy.

  His second was not thinking about how his friends were gonna react.

  This was the start of something awful, and everyone was about to learn that. Especially the king’s former mate.

---------

Part two complete! Any suggestions would be great! Again, feel free to make whatever in this AU and of course,

Have fun, and happy scrolling!

(Also, is there a term for Mk's condition? I don't know and I don't think it's Stockholm syndrome)

[kyathedino]

I’ve been out of the wbasn loop for a bit if you don’t mind we asking what happened in the discord are you ok???

Before I explain, I want to make it clear that this will be the only time I say all of this publicly. I'm pissed, and the whole situation sucks, but it is not in the slightest what I want to be known for, so once more, this is the only time.

That said: in August, I was kicked out of the Witherburn discord server. I had no warning. Instead, I woke up to a message detailing that an anonymous report had been filed against me, saying that I was underage to be in the server. There was no proof included. I was told that, in order to regain access to the community I had been a part of for around a year, I needed to provide ID. The only alternative to this was a one year ban, regardless of whether or not I truly was underage. None of the proof I could provide was considered adequate. I should have ID sometime in the next month, so maybe I'll get to come back, but that's besides the point.

Obviously, I am a bit bitter. I knew these people for, once more, about a year. I considered most of the members of those servers to be my sincere and close friends, including the mod who ended up giving me the circumstances of my departure from the server. For a long time, and even now, I felt betrayed and untrusted. All it took to get rid of me was one unfounded report. But the worst part is that I still get asks like this. People still have no idea that I ever left, that any of this ever happened. I have no delusions that I'm some important figure, but damn. Nobody knew I was gone.

To answer your second question, yeah. I'm mostly okay. It still burns, and I'm working through it, but I'll get over it. Thank you for your concern.

[webbyghost]

Rewatching that yt video of all of Doug’s scenes and I feel so bad for him

uh really long rambling under the cut lmao dont mind me

In the first scene he’s in, you can tell he just wants to be included, part of the conversation. He’s not sure how to join in, but he’s trying so hard, laughing at Clint’s ‘joke’, reacting to what others are saying, but from afar.

And all Wade has to do is say his name in that warning tone and Doug backs away so quickly without protest. They’ve done this before, multiple times. Doug knows he���s not fitting in, not quite getting it right. He’s trying so hard. Reading books to try to figure out what’s missing, putting himself out there. He says things he thinks other will agree with (I blame rap music), whether or not he actually believes them isn’t clear.

He tells his students about his (probably very stressful) weekend, but not his coworkers, because out of the two groups, only one of them will listen. They may not really get it, but they listen, and he can understand that feeling.

When the shit hits the fan, he’s still so unsure what to do. He puts a hand on Lucy’s side (going for assurance, maybe?) but removes it just as quickly, looking like he regrets it. He yells what he probably thinks is some kind of encouragement at Clint, wrestling with Patriot on the floor. He’s looking to everyone else for some sort of indication on what to do, but everyone’s panicking, so he’s panicking.

This is an unfounded headcanon but I think Doug usually does the whole exaggerated be quiet thing for his students and they think it’s funny, so he’s used to doing it that way and now it’s his default. (That or he has possible auditory hallucinations? Also an excuse to dunk on Rebekkah which is a good enough reason in my book lmao)

He risks his life to study Clint’s infection, and not only does nobody else react, but Wade outright says he doesn’t care. Not a single one of these people care that he puts himself at risk trying to help. And when he finally does return with his hypothesis, their main concern is that he did it all with his bare hands. As if that’s what’s important in the moment.

He’s used to it. That’s the worst part. He’s used to their indifference or dismissal. When he asks them to follow him so he can explain what he’s discovering, and nobody does, he just shrugs like he expected it and continues on with his observations.

I’m kind of surprised they didn’t just leave him there when he gets tackled by the kid, use him as a distraction while they escaped. Maybe they knew they’d need his knowledge, maybe they figured they needed all the hands they could get. Maybe they just acted without thinking, who knows.

And he’s so smart, and able to compartmentalize in a way that none of the others seem to be able to do. Yes, this is a child, a former student, that he’s dissecting (brain surgery with his bare hands???) but it’s necessary to understand what’s happening. He’s not trying to be a creep when he asks Tamra about hitting puberty, he’s gathering relevant data, and I’m willing to bet the more sinister implications of asking a child about her body never even crossed his mind in this situation. He’s a scientist.

And he’s still trying so hard. Trying to prove that he has things worth sharing with the group, trying to help them understand like he does, going into detail so they can get where he’s at. He sounds impatient when his knowledge gets questioned, so he gives context, but the spike incident isn’t relevant here, Rebekkah (dunking x2 combo)

When Lucy attempts to correct him, his response is ‘oh ok this is how i’ve seen people respond to this, anyway moving on’ (So he obviously doesn’t notice when the word switches happen, or at least not all the time)

Just about every time he tries to add onto a conversation he gets something wrong, and you can tell he knows it, but he keeps trying. (I’m not deep-diving into his bucket list comment lmao)  During Wade’s hype speech, he doesn’t mean to take away from the momentum, he just knows Wade was factually incorrect.

Then he makes a fucking CATTLE PROD???? Fuck Tracy’s fork-studded safety cone, clever as it is, my mans made a CATTLE PROD. IN A CAVE. OUT OF SCRAPS. (ok, in a basement, out of batteries. close enough.)

And again with the compartmentalization- they’re not human, they’re no longer his students. They’re in the way between the group and survival. He does what he has to do, with less fear than he had when trying to make small talk. He’s even able to joke during the chaos. (I saved your life, nbd, just get me a sandwich and we’re even)

The next time he says ‘come here’, though, they do. And again, he’s trying, he’s confident that if he can just get his hands on some infected nuggets, he can keep being useful, he can help fix things. He’s still worth keeping around. He tries to lighten the mood, too- the mask, the pun. It’s just the wrong timing, and he knows he messed it up again.

But he’s trying.

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 2, Part 2/3 (p. 440-614)

Read the previous post here.

We pick up this second third of Act 2 by reading another section of Rose's GameFAQs walkthrough.

Credit where it's due, I like this section title.

Rose wants to know more about this hypothetical Pornsprite. This girl is freaky. Too bad Ao3 didn't go into open beta until a few months after Homestuck began, she would've been all about it.

Interesting how she only cites part of her guide as "logorrheic sludge." Honey, that's the entire guide. Brevity is not your strong suit.

Rose and Jade's first pesterlog. I'll use this as the jumping off point to talk about Jade since she has only appeared sporadically at this point and none of her logs were worth talking about.

Actually, she did have one log in Act 1 where she asks John about his present. The one interesting thing is that she apparently didn't know what Sburb was when John mentioned it.

So John, Rose, and Dave all knew about Sburb and none of them thought to tell Jade about it? Huh... guess that tells us a lot about the dynamics of their friend group.

Anyway, I realize this might be a "hot take" given her inexplicable popularity in the fandom, but I don't like Jade. And unlike with John, there never was a point where I did. I am of the mind that Homestuck would've been much stronger and have a tighter pace if she was cut from the cast of kids (or at least, this version of her. The story could also work if she had some heavy rewrites) and it was limited to John, Rose, and Dave. Rose and Dave alone make for an engaging pair, and I suppose John acts as a sort of "anchor" to ground their increasingly esoteric insincerity and bullshit. If he was fleshed out more, it definitely would've worked.

But Jade doesn't help with this dynamic at all. Like John, Jade is also much more grounded and sincere, but her personality is also coupled with an overwhelming optimism where she believes everything will be okay if left up to chance. If John is true neutral, Jade is 100% positive. He barely reacts to the otherworldly things happening to him, but she actively seems to enjoy them (the meteor crashing near her house is something she wants to explore regardless of the risk, and John struggling in Sburb is "exciting").

She doesn't serve as a convincing counterbalance to Rose and Dave and comes across as more of an extraneous extension of John's lack of danger sense than anything else. Do we really need two happy-go-lucky kids with slight variations on the same niche? The very fact that the story is able to progress without her involvement thus far shows just how little she matters.

These first two acts shroud her in so much mystery, and we barely know anything about her even through these sparse pesterlogs. (As we later see, this amounts to nothing, so all this intrigue is unfounded and only leads to an unsatisfying payoff). At this point in the story, we only know that she lives with her grandfather and someone named Bec (which Dave refers to as a "devilbeast"), she has a "goofy modus" which frustrates even Dave (who, mind you, mocked John for using a simple modus earlier), she lives in a far-off part of the world, and that she has some degree of inexplicable precognition.

Jade's cutesy cagey attitude about her precognitive abilities is fucking annoying, and it is perhaps the worst thing about reading her logs. "oh gee i know all this stuff but its a secret and you gotta find out on your own tee hee! :)" This truly is typical hackshit writing when handling characters with prophetic knowledge. You can't make them too useful, or else there won't be suspense or conflict. Instead they have to act as a ineffectual plot device to softly guide the characters along. Except she doesn't do any guiding. She just unhelpfully alludes to things that the others don't know yet and leaves it at that.

In fact, Jade as a whole is less of a character and more of a plot device, by which I mean she doesn't have any sort of character to speak of. Her overbearing cheerfulness is not endearing to read, neither is her dropping hints that she knows more about what she lets on. She doesn't have any entertaining chemistry with the others either. Her interactions with John are like watching two morons acting excited with each other while the world is literally ending around them. Dave intentionally strips himself of his personality because he has a crush on her and wants to impress her by being "nice," but she doesn't seem to reciprocate his feelings at all. Also, come on, dude, Rose is right there.

Rose is the only one who shows any scrutiny about Jade's "quirky" clairvoyance. But even so, she only expresses this through occasional, bemused remarks. Jade dodges the question whenever Rose asks how she knows about things she realistically shouldn't, and Rose doesn't ever press further.

So Rose had prior knowledge about a game that will bring her cat to life. We later find out that this opportunity to revive Jaspers was her her motivation for playing Sburb. Doesn't seem worth ending the world for, but whatever. I daresay this casts Jade in a bit of a villainous role for planting the idea in Rose's head in the first place.

Actually, if Jade ended up being a twist villain, that would've been interesting and provide, you know, intrigue! Or if nothing else, it would've at least added something of substance to her character, something she desperately needs. Even ignoring that angle, you'd think the other kids might be more than a little resentful toward Jade since she knew the world was going to end, yet never told any of them about it.

But no, Hussie can't implement anything that would've been conducive to good storytelling. Especially if it leads to, gasp, conflict!

Okay, enough of Jade, let's get moving.

I want to bring attention to this passage and compare it to the earlier "symphony impossible to play" one with Rose. First of all, it's worth noting the rain/drought contrast between their respective settings. Unlike the more elegant and cerebral prose in Rose's section, this one reads more like a stream of consciousness from Dave's perspective. Loose and casual, even ending with a Snoop Dogg-esque rhyme at the end before transitioning to an actual Snoop Dogg verse.

Yeah, for those who haven't caught on, John Keats didn't actually say that. Very easy to miss, I'm sure. For those counting, this is also misattributed quote gag #5. I am positively rolling with laughter.

I find it noteworthy the room where Bro has his whole setup is stated to be the living room, not a bedroom. I'm quite certain that the Striders live in a one-bedroom apartment where Dave gets the room and Bro has all his shit in the living room and kitchen.

Dave's relationship with Bro is an inverse of John and Rose's relationships with their guardians. Whereas Dad and Mom decorate their homes with shit they think their kids will like in order to seek their approval, Bro isn't doing any of this for Dave's sake. He fills his home with his puppets and weapons because he's the one into that shit (ironically or otherwise, it doesn't matter). Dave in turn adopts Bro's mannerisms because he craves his approval.

The amount of mental hoops he needs to make in order to justify his brother's fixation on sex and puppets is concerning. Is Bro even being "ironic" or is that just an excuse he tells Dave so he doesn't have to explain this stuff any further? I think the love of Lil Cal, his childhood possession and best friend, led to a love of puppets being a core part of his personality. Everything else that extends from that is up to interpretation.

Like Dave, Bro is also a hipster doofus who does things seen as patently "uncool" in a bold display of being unique. The logic is such: a disregard for what society deems "cool" is what leads to it becoming "cool" ironically. At a glance, Bro's interests include typically "cool" things like ninja weapons, video games, and rapping. Bro plays with expectations by using these interests, which he may very well only enjoy ironically, in conjunction with puppets, which he loves genuinely but passes them off as ironic since most people deem them creepy and uncool. Applying a sexual element to the puppets makes an interest in them even creepier, so Bro does so if only to make his love for them appear even more ironic.

Convoluted and confusing? Yeah, that's Bro Strider, baby.

I don't know how necessary it was to show just how Dave gave Lil Cal a fist bump, but I do like this panel. One of the few reminders we get that these characters are, in fact, small children.

Bro's 6-character password is "puppet" right? It has to be. (Correction: a helpful anon has informed me that the password is actually "lilcal"). Also, just like his home, his desktop organization is also a mess. There's no method to this man's madness.

For all the negligence and questionable parenting methods Bro is guilty of, he still cares for Dave in some capacity. He stays up to date on his webcomic and blogs, and even hangs up one of Dave's SBaHJ drawings on the fridge. I wonder if Bro, on some level, likes the idea of raising a kid that he can raise to be just like him, but is just a woefully inept guardian that he doesn't know the first thing about parenting.

Remember, these are the kinds of websites Rose says she likes.

Just gonna say perhaps it's not ideal that Dave is being exposed to this kind of thing at such a young age. As much as he idolizes Bro and wants to emulate him, he can't get over the fact that all this sex stuff disturbs him. Yet he doesn't even view it as sexual, only as a form of irony, one he can't comprehend until he can somehow overcome his aversion toward it. It's kinda sad, really.

Unsettled, Dave's first recourse is to talk to John to try and calm down. John leaves him hanging. Such a good friend, am I right? He then goes to Rose, where they have the earlier conversation where she says she likes Bro's websites, but this time we get added context.

Dave of course is attempting to act casual about the whole thing, only slightly alluding to his deeper distress, and Rose is just like "That shit rules. I like it." This whole exchange is both tragic and darkly comedic.

Rose really does come across as a little pervert sometimes. She casually drops sexually charged phrases in conversation ("sun's lurid glare"), her username is a lewd double entendre (tentacle the... I'll let you finish that phrase), and she does show a marked interest in sexual topics (Bro's websites, the Pornsprite... honestly I'm surprised she doesn't suggest that to Dave at any point).

Both she and Dave play with innuendo and act as though they're mature and know all about sex. However, Dave's attitude toward sex is more a response to his exposure to it at a young age, whereas Rose is more casual about it and sees her flippant attitude toward it as a mark of maturity. She must love treating sex as this trivial little thing that might make others uncomfortable, but not her because she's soooo grown up.

Also, if Rose truly did give a shit about psychoanalysis, she probably would've picked up on Dave's cries for help in his messages. She really isn't as perceptive as she lets on.

Thank you, Rose, for saying what I was thinking.

Rose gets a kick out of Dave's webcomic and laughs when John makes references to it. Also, she doesn't tell John about what Dave told her earlier about the puppets when he mentions it. How nice of her. John is a fucking jackass though. Seriously, fuck him.

I'm putting a pin in this for later. Rose being able to "see only [...] what John can see, or has seen already" will be important to note later on.

Another tragicomic exchange where Rose continues to make light of Dave's distress. I wonder if she is incapable of seeing Dave as being sincere in this moment and thinks he's overreacting as a part of their usual back-and-forth.

Here it is. My favorite Homestuck page.

Dave wants to please Bro and goes along with his shtick no matter how far he pushes the envelope. This only encourages Bro to go further and further in his methods of fucking with Dave. Is his end goal to push Dave to a breaking point, or does he truly hope something with click that will make Dave truly understand him? Either way, it's fucked up.

I didn't want to get into Bro Discourse during this reread. I know there are opposing camps who either think he's a monstrous child abuser, or a silly guy who did no wrong. Personally, I think that while he doesn't read as outright malicious, it's safe to say this dude is a menace and has no business raising a kid.

It's really skeevy of Bro to incorporate his underage brother in his fetish videos, which will doubtless be uploaded to his site for others to view. This is probably the one of the more damning things he's guilty of.

Bro has reduced the kitchen as a storage space for his weapons. It's a wonder how he's able to take care of himself, let alone a child.

It's stated that Bro doesn't have anywhere else to store his stuff, which further reinforces my theory that Dave has the only bedroom in the apartment.

Yes. Thank you. One can only watch characters launch objects at high speeds for so long.

Dave's sylladex shenanigans are a little more tolerable than John's. Assigning different names to objects in order to make them fit in the modus is more fun than watching things eject once the deck is full.

This metaphor caught me off guard. It's so abrupt and out of pocket, I love it.

Shit's about to go down. Let's see how things resolve when I finish Act 2 next week.

Read the next post here.

[gingeragenda]

An Insignificant Endeavour

Explicit content. Very smutty version of S2ep1. The collar features heavily. Background dubious consent in relation to breeding orcs, in fact for the whole thing none of this is ok. Dream sex. In Heat (because I actually think Adar is too tired to fuck and Sauron and I should leave him alone). You have been warned.

In the end, he lets the Southlander go. 

Adar is not entirely sure why, but this is what he does. His mind has become… fogged, fragmented, ever since his children brought the false king before him in chains.

Some part of him reaches out for the answer to his increasingly untethered thoughts, but each time the solution comes close, it is snatched away once more. Another part already knows the cause, knows this feeling, knows it intimately though it has been dormant for so so very long Adar had almost completely convinced himself that it had faded forever. The urge, the drive, the heat.

He is brought sharply back into the present moment by a curious and concerned “Lord-Father?” from Glug. The tone suggests this is not the first time his child has addressed him; how long has he been lost in this confounding reverie? 

“Lord-Father, perhaps you should rest?”

Yes, perhaps he should. Maybe sleep will bring clarity. 

_________________

Why had that memory not only leapt into the forefront of his mind, but forced its way through his lips? In front of his aggravating captive no less. Or no, that was the point, the whole reason such a reminiscence had surfaced, something about this false king…

a tantalising little tendril of understanding brushing against him but darting away just as he tries to grasp it.

Worse though than the unease that comes with the knowledge that he has spoken aloud of such things after so many long years is the lingering physical sensations that have been stoked within him. Now Adar is alone in his tent, freed from the worried and searching eyes of his children, he lacks the willpower to ignore the fire rising unbidden in his body. He had thought himself long liberated from this particular gift, bestowed by Morgoth as one of many experiments into the creation of corrupted life. Of all the terrible things Adar has done since allowing himself to be lead away from the light, surely the breeding was the worst. The urge, the all-consuming urge that had been twisted and coaxed and forced into his very being until he could not stop himself from taking, taking, always taking regardless of how he pitied the intended mothers and despised himself.

No, this simply cannot be, he tells himself whilst angrily divesting himself of armour that feels increasingly chafing and constricting by the moment. Once down to his undershirt and breeches, Adar feels his body begin to calm. Perhaps his fears of a sudden return of the insatiable mating desire that blighted his younger days are unfounded. Yes that seems right, just an unsettling aberration inexplicably brought about by the Southlander’s intense yet indiscernible gaze. All is well. The bone deep tiredness that rules over his present existence sweeps over him, and Adar sinks down into his bed and into slumber.

————————————

Adar sits atop his makeshift throne and surveys his camp, simultaneously struck by intense Deja vu and the sense that the world is not as it should be. He is far too aware of himself, as if he is not himself at all, but some unseen observer, cataloging the fine details of his own body. Certainly he is too familiar with the appearance of his own exposed hand to feel this degree of fascination. Still the effect is not unpleasant and it is very flattering to receive such attention. The scene that begins to unfold is also familiar; the alleged king of the Southlands being brought before him, and yet almost instantly things shift and change. The once-bustling camp quietens as passing Uruk fade into the background and when Adar refocuses his attention on the disheveled figure before him, even the ones who had been so proudly dragging the prisoner along have disappeared, along with their other captives. Adar is alone with the low man - Halbrand, hisses an unseen voice - who smirks up at him in such an arrogantly unrepentant manner that he has to look away. Away, and down, to where the long chain that connects to the collar is somehow now wrapped around his gauntleted hand.

Halbrand shifts his weight a little, Adar recognises impatience in the movement but remains frozen in place despite the fire that invades his body once more, even more fiercely than it had during the reality of the day, and settles almost painfully in his cock. Though it is surely impossible for Halbrand to observe his arousal given the distance between them and Adar’s modest attire, in the exact moment that he reaches full hardness, the low man’s grin widens and rather than half heartedly advocating for his ‘people’, simply sneers “Well, what will you do with me, orc?”

Adar yanks on the chain, the swift, sharp movement sending Halbrand toppling forward onto his knees, his manacled hands barely breaking his fall in time to avoid hitting the ground face-first. The infuriating man peers upwards through strands of unwashed hair, his eyes glittering all the more when Adar manages to grind out “Many things, your majesty”, and begins to haul in the chain arm over arm, until Halbrand is forced to begin an ascent of the dais itself. What little concern, if any, he may have had for the comfort and dignity of this supposed king has been wholly eliminated by the drive to take and have, and yet Adar is still able to note that Halbrand does not seem overly concerned by this rough treatment. In fact, once he nears the throne, Adar realises he is breathing heavily and murmuring to himself a refrain of “yes, yes, that’s right, that’s it, you have me, oh please, Lord-Father, please.” 

His lust-fogged mind is too chaotic to properly dwell on the last time he experienced the intoxicating combination of his own wicked urges and a willing partner to slake them upon.  The pain of mutual betrayal is hurled away and only the recalled sweetness remains. Halbrand is now so close that Adar can feel the exhalation of panting and begging on the tip of his cock. How is it that he can still be sat so proudly in full armour and yet have this intimate part completely exposed? Somehow, he knows the answer: because this is how Halbrand wishes things to be. The human shuffles even closer, insinuating himself between Adar’s spread legs and leans down, pink tongue peeking out, ready for a taste.

————————————

This is so easy, why had he wasted any time allowing himself to be captured and trying this in the flesh when it is so much easier to slip into his dark elf’s mind? His ego insists that even in the miserable reality of that disgusting orc prison shack that he had very nearly triumphed in his seduction, head pressed to the ground by his recalcitrant lover’s feet. Maybe if those revolting underlings hadn’t been present… but no matter now as this vision has come to wonderful fruition and he can finally be filled, just a little bit, just to aid focus on larger schemes, then banish all thoughts of Adar for evermore. 

He can already taste it as he leans in that last bit to suck in his prize… 

The collar bites into his throat as the Uruk forces his head backwards. He swallows as best he can and is gratified by the way Adar’s gaze tracks the movement. As his eyes begin to water, the pressure on the chain tightly looped around the gauntleted hand is released slightly, and Sauron uses the softest version of Halbrand’s voice he can manage to coyly ask “would my mouth not please you… my Lord?” It had better. He feels too wild, too greedy to permit much further delay.

Adar’s bare hand reaches out to rest over the collar, with just his thumb stroking then pressing in to the side of his neck. “It will suffice,” he calmly states before roughly pulling Sauron’s mouth onto his cock. Adar does not yet try to move within him, but between the hand on his collar and the other now gripping his hair far too tightly there is no possibility of respite from the steady, too deep pressure. He’s choking, his eyes sting with tears, he cannot breathe it is absolutely exquisite and he may have begun vainly thrusting into the air in a somewhat desperate fashion. 

“Are all men such wanton beasts?”

Men? What have they got to do this? Oh yes, he is Halbrand, of course. How ridiculous, he had become far too caught up in his own illusion, but it is such delicious work and Sauron fears the movements of his hips are becoming even less dignified by the second

“You may free yourself,” the magnanimous decree is accompanied by a slow withdrawal of hardened flesh until Sauron is left with just the tip to suckle as he clumsily tries to take up the invitation with shackled hands before gathering the wherewithal to simply make vanish the offending clothing as he had already done with Adar. Far too caught up indeed. 

“Stroke yourself,” the Uruk commands, as he begins to guide Sauron’s mouth up and down his length. At first he tries to make his hand match Adar’s languid pace, but soon it is flying swiftly over his own weeping cock, the little wet sounds mixing in his ears with some muffled mewling of entirely unknown origin. Before long this lewd symphony is joined by heavy gasps as Adar’s composure finally cracks and he starts making short sharp thrusts upwards and  it’s so overwhelmingly good and the next urgent movement forces the tip into his already abused throat and Sauron spurts all over his own fist and onto the ground.

He is barely done coming when he is wrenched away by the chain and, rather outrageously, slapped across the cheek. Not with the gauntlet at least, but still. Sauron briefly ponders the wisdom of having allowed Adar to retain a degree of agency within the vision, but turning his poor, already-twisted elf into a mindless slave would just not the same and anyway the unexpected sting did bring forth one last delectable shuddering little squirt of seed.

“You shameless creature.”

But he can see the truth in the Uruk’s eyes and hear it in his voice, now breathy and devoid of its earlier imperious tone: Adar thrills at the evidence of his partner’s pleasure. They hold each other’s gaze for a brief searing moment, then Sauron very slowly and deliberately takes the straining cock back into his mouth until his lips meet the fingers circling its base. At once they are moving in an urgent counterpoint of suck and thrust until Adar swells and bursts against his tongue his throat his everything. If only he had sufficient reserves of power to maintain this moment of perfect euphoria, but sadly the complexity of nudging Adar’s free will with just the right degree of subtlety combined with his necessary wrangling of Morgoth’s appalling sex-magic made that quite impossible. 

Well that is for the best. He has far more significant endeavours to attend in any case. Of this, Sauron has had his fill. 

—————————-

Adar wakes to sensations of stickiness, simmering arousal, and utter dread. 

[ask-serendipity-sky]

You say kkjkkers have a bias in translating certain parts of the Welive, and so their translations might be skewed, while you yourself are biased in your grand sweeping conclusions regarding JK. You say JK 'agreed' to let certain things play out. That is unfair at best, and an unfounded opinion posing as a fact, at worst. Because you, me, none of us were in the rooms where decisions are made, so we can't draw any intent from what played out regarding the promotion of someone's album. You like to conclude things, but if I were to say 'Jimin wanted JK to get that spotlight, he is OK with it', wouldn't that be the same? An assumption. A delusion. A lie, basically. It's your blog, and we as readers can choose to read it or leave it, but please be honest with yourself when you say you don't judge JK unfairly.

Hi anon,

Well, of course I have a bias. We all do. You do too.

And while I wasn't in the room when Jk made these decisions, neither were any of these jkkrs in the other blogs so you should send this ask to them and ask them to be more objective as well. Why do you only ask me? Is it because I'm the only one that talks about Jk in a way that you don't like?

I also want you to send this ask to the people who say Jimin chose to be sabotaged and he wanted all this. Because they weren't in the room with Jimin when all this was happening. That is not being very objective.

You should also send it to every jkkr that says jikook is together because jikook has never said this and stating such thing is not being objective and having a bias.

Stating that Jk agreed to let certain things play out is how an adult functions. He is 26 with experience in the industry. He has advisors. He knows what he is doing. In no way did he agree to do something that damaged his career.

I would believe you alls theory that he was manipulated if he didn't look so happy getting all this nice promo. If he indeed was manipulated, that would have been back in April and we are now in December and he's still going and has showed no signs of being sad because he was "forced" especially when gets recognized for his success.

If you ask me who is more objective between me or jkkrs, I will answer me. I haven't seen anyone be realistic about Jk, granted I dont read many blogs, only what my anons bring me. But jkkrs live in a bubble where nothing happened to Jimin and what Jk got is completely normal. Even ot7 jkkrs are ok with this.

But it you are going to demand fairness, start with every single blog that hasn't demanded answers for Jimin and has said zero about his mistreatment while Jk has gotten the nicest things.

Once you get an answer from every blog, come back to me and we can talk.

Hope that helps.

[yesterdayiwrote]

Since last year there is this Lando/McLaren talk that I find myself at odds with. I don’t know how to word this without sounding cruel or unfounded so it will be a bit long winded sorry :$. If I looked at lando in a 2019 rookies context, he was :(1) doing f1 tests with the McLaren car/garage. George would say the same although Merc didn’t seem to give him FP session during race weekend in their car and would throw him in a FI or whatever. Alex did none(0). (1/?)

(2) securing an F1 seat (with the “main” team) before George who was leading. This is typical F1 right place right time probably but having that certainty and stability is a rare luxury. Not to mention McLaren becoming in an upward trajectory that mirrored his development (until it didn’t). Where George stuck in the worst cars that Williams has managed to produce so far. And Alex being catapulted to one of the difficult F1 car with less than half season from stepping onto one. (2/?)

And if I look at him in a promising young group of (Max,Charles,George,Lando) then yes he is the only one winless but on the other hand he has the same amount of championships as George/Charles with Max having more wins and championships than all of them combined 🤷. (3/?)

And between them I don’t think George have had any choice but Merc. Same for Charles/Ferrari). And Max famously had Merc after him but he choose (?) RB which payed off. With Lando the only other one who apparently had a choice. A choice to go to RB(work team vs customer team) but he chose to stay with McLaren (and unless Zak had promised him a work engine deal that didn’t manifest then I fail to reconcile the changing of heart) (4/?)

And for Lando to have that in every step of the way is just.. I don’t know to have that Agency is something to kill for so I find it hard to lament his luck or whatever. Hard luck I guess.(6/6)

So, I’m not sure if number 5 has gone missing or just miscounted?

I think such a large part of being an F1 driver is that it’s peaks and troughs. I genuinely think every driver should experience what it is to drive a truly uncompetitive car and most do at some point in their career. I would say of the current drivers, Max and Lewis are probably the only two not to have driven something that was literal junk, and Lando also fits in that category (until now perhaps).

I think Lando has been lucky to step into a car at a team he knows and to join at a time their trajectory was upwards. He’s reaped the benefits of that early in his career and has been given a platform to show himself in a favourable light from the word go. If the case is that McLaren are going through a rough patch again then it shouldn’t do him any harm, often it’s what someone does with an uncompetitive car that is more representative of their abilities?

We’ll have to wait and see for certain what the situation is, but after all the fanfare of signing up drivers and locking them into long contracts, it’s going to be tough for McLaren to keep them if they can’t deliver a car that works?

[jojo-hut-jrs]

omg omg 65 and zucchero PLEASE

I should clarify that if you don’t give me specific details you want, I will take artistic liberties, but this still ended up being an X Reader at the end

65. I take it you didn’t even glance at the recipe?

In the end, he always gave you justifiable reasons to be cross with him, and he knew it.

It was absolutely something he could help, and he knew that too. A slip of the tongue was only as charming as it was rare, and a laughable mistake could only be excusable for so long. You can’t say that any anger that ended up directed towards him had been completely unfounded, wether it come from you, or more commonly, someone else.

Maybe that was why you were a little too rough at wrapping his bandages.

“Fuck,” he hisses sharply, as you allow your bare hands to rub ointment crassly against the fresh burns on his arm. You only ease back for a moment as he jerks back suddenly, but your firm pressure returns with a fresh wrapping pulled snug against his skin.

“fuck fuck fuck fUCK FUCK!” He keeps a steady slew of expletives at the ready, something he seems to now rely on as opposed to the calmer, collective demeanor he has always shown when you used to occasionally patch him up.

“Fuck you!”

You ignore him as you secure the bindings and move on to the next blotchy patch of burns.

“Fuck you to hell!”

The wounds aren’t too severe, but even if they had charred him down to the bones, you doubt he would have willingly let you take him to the hospital. The skin is an angry, blistered red with little blemishes of fluid that look ready to pop under your touch, and the raw, coarse texture of your hand accidentally brushes across a particularly inflamed swath across his shoulder.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

He snatches his arm away from you, close to throwing himself off the bed if not for the careful way he’s positioned his feet to keep himself upright and steady. He’s vigilant like that, always more aware of his surroundings and his position that you ever really noticed, and that’s part of why you’re angry this accident even happened in the first place.

“So,” you choose to offer instead of an apology, “I take it you didn’t even glance at the recipe?”

He glares back at you, unamused.

“Of course I fucking looked at the recipe. It’s just sugar and weed killer, how hard is that to fuck up?”

The ashen remains of your kitchen stand as a testament to that. Really, the damage is none too great, more of a visual shock than an actual problem, much like the condition your friend at the moment. It’s not an impossible fix, at the worst a few of your cabinet doors are splintered and there’s a handful of broken plates you’ll need to throw away. The real work will just been in the deep cleaning, as tedious as it will be, and the temptation to unload this burden onto him as just on the tip of your tongue.

“Well,” you tell him. “You clearly did.”

His one good eye directs all of his anger towards you, but there’s a wildness hidden deep within the black of his pupil that remains you of a cornered animal, and it’s the thing that keeps holding you back. He’s not really been an angry person for as long as you’ve known him, always the type to take his lumps in a manner that had him either composed or pitiable, but never this sort of strainfully, expressive sourness that you see in him a lot now.

“You think I don’t know that?” He tells you firmly, like he’s trying to put an end to this argument right away. “What do you want me to say? ‘Sorry I blew up your kitchen?’ Well, shit, fuck me then. I’m sorry, ok?”

You press your lips in a tight line, hardly taking pleasure in his misery, but still finding some solace in this indirect punishment he inflicted on himself.

“This your first time making pipe bombs in someone’s kitchen?”

“No, course not.” He’s snippy and tight lipped, and he’s not taking his gaze off of you, though not because he wants too. “This shit is child’s play, I’ve done this tons of times.”

The thought unsettles you, and it must show on your face how incredulous you look at this almost confident claim, because he deflates a little.

“So, what-“

“I don’t know! Ok?” He lowers his head but still keeps his face directed towards you, eyes fixed on your position at the opposite side of the bed. “I don’t know what I did wrong this time.”

You can tell he wants to look away, but he can’t. His eyepatch is on your side, his blind spot, and he refuses to let you have that advantage on him, even if both of you knew you’re not the one he should be afraid of, no matter how angry you are right now.

You’re angry about your kitchen. You’re angry over the fact that his habit of inviting himself unannounced into your home as finally come back to bite you, despite your tolerance over the matter up to this point. You’re angry that he brought his work in with him and wouldn’t tell you why he felt the need to build bombs in your house other than the excuse that “it was for a friend you felt comfortable with a little more ‘reliable security’.” And of course you were angry over the fact that such a vague excuse was the most he had ever told you about his job in the entire two years that you’ve known him.

He didn’t even tell you what happened to his eye, but you knew it must be related.

The silence is lingering uncomfortably, but you’ve given him this space to breath and collect himself before you continue, because no matter how angry you are, you’re not just going to leave him like this.

You keep your movements relaxed, but obvious as you pick up the bandages again, letting him get a clear view of what you’re doing. He keeps his head low, but he doesn’t make any indication that he wants you to stop, and he stays quiet and disturbingly calm through the rest of the makeshift procedure.

By the time you’ve finished his change in demeanor had fully set you on edge with worry, and suddenly you’re less angry about your kitchen and more afraid of what he’s going to do once you let him go. He keeps looking at you, but his gaze isn’t as sharp and clear anymore, too close to how he was before and you don’t like it.

“I’ll…,” he offers after a moment, he looks exhausted. “I’ll find someone to take care of the kitchen. Shouldn’t be too much of a fix.”

He mumbles that, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear him. The first time you see his eye flick away from your face, it’s to look back at the settling haze of smoke from your doorway that’s still lingering despite the open windows. You told your neighbors you put a new bowl in the microwave that you didn’t realize had a bit on metal hidden in the rim, and they thankfully didn’t call the police. You made an excuse for him, to keep him safe, before even thinking about how what he did you were looking for ways to keep him safe.

“Well…thanks,” you said. “Just take it easy for a while and we’ll deal with it later. You can take my bed again if you want.”

He looked surprised that you weren’t outright kicking him out, but he must have known you better than to think you would turn him out while he’s going through….whatever it was that he wouldn’t tell you, right?

He shook his head.

“You shouldn’t sleep out there with the fumes. They’re not so bad but they’ll still fuck up your lungs. I’ve dealt with it before, don’t worry about it.”

He makes to stand up and leave, and you’re terrified. You recognized that look in his eye as uncertainty, wanting to keep everything exactly the way you saw it because once it was out of sight, it was out of your control. You think about last time you saw him without the eyepatch and how happy and excited he had been, but still reserved, citing just a sudden joyous mood with no further explanation.

He came back with the eyepatch and bad attitude, and now you’re afraid of what else he’ll come back with.

If he comes back, that is.

God, the living room seemed so far away.

“No,” you tell him. “Just stay in here with me then. I really don’t mind.”

He looks incredulous at that, his expression taking on a bewildered discomfort, and his mood had entirely shifted.

“But-,” he starts. “But, I-“

“Destroyed my kitchen making pipe bombs, yeah.” There was definitely more to say on that subject, but you could save it for later. “Just stay, please?”

You had no way of knowing what he was actually thinking then, or what he wanted to say before you interrupted him, he probably wouldn’t tell you even if you asked. He looked back towards the door, the swirls of powder drifting along the floor and scent of acrid fumes wafting in from the kitchen. The damage wasn’t great, but the cost would be. You wondered if he really was that careless in his actions or he if he just didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Ok,” he says.

[atlasphoebus]

BURIAL SITE: ÇATALHÖYÜK

Çatalhöyük is a buried Neolithic settlement in Turkey, originally uncovered by James Mellaart in 1958. Mellaart, after finding a few female figurines in a structure he deemed to be a temple and several other fairly loose discoveries, made the dubious claim that this was a matriarchal society. These female figurines, featuring sagging breasts and thicker bodies, could not be the work of a male lead culture in Mellaart's mind. The male gaze could not be responsible for producing female forms that weren't sexualised, therefore these figures must be the result of a bodies fertility, the only other use for a female's body. Mellaart's findings were published and sensationalised, the idea of a female driven ancient society so scandalous and exciting that the "lost city of goddess worshippers" still is circulated today. We now know, however, that these claims are unfounded. Not only is Mellaart known to be a forger to some degree, as well as Mellaart being banned from Turkey for involvement in a separate affair, but resent research has been conducted and proven more accurate interpretations of these figurines and wider culture. The figurines are more likely to each be made in the image of ancestors, of real people and therefore made to look like older women. They were likely made quickly, and held in the pocket or bag, and none being found on display in a way that would suggest that they are objects of worship. Mellaart's methods are a testament to the worst of heteronormative and patriarchal driven archaeological practice. Considering the beginnings of paleontology and dinosaur remains, of the stealing and trade of culturally significant objects, and many other problematic practices that forms the early practices of archaeology, it is not hard to see how this type of method can form and be popularised. In it becoming popularised, it then becomes the standard of practice where parts still remain to this day in the way that sites and individuals are interpreted through these restrictive narratives.

[depressed-gnome]

There is community in Culture

The one i was presented with sees me only as a tool.

There is community in Ethnicity

We have been gone too long, they will not take me back.

There is community in Race.

I will have no part in their unfounded vanity.

There is community in Homeland.

I was born to an invading force on stolen land, I have none.

There is community in Religion.

They worship their priests over their God. I will take the God with me, and leave them behind.

There is community in Nationality.

The worst of Culture and Homeland combined.

There is community in Sexuality.

I sit at a nearly empty buffet while watching others scoop piles of food i cannot see onto plates. They bond over favorite dishes i cannot smell. There is a vauge scent in the air from a scratch and sniff card. I seem to want a food that doesn't exist. I will starve. I envy those who can see half the food, who can see all the food, who want no food at all. They never go hungry.

There is community in Alienation.

There is community in Craft.

There is community in Stories.

There is community in Discovery.

...finally. home.