#i can talk about this fic for hours

[biorust-art]

My man....dalorian

So recently I read @ryehouses 's 'a simple thing' again and UGH. I love this fic SO MUCH. The characters, the characterization, the heart, the Mandalorian(s) of it all... I love it to pieces. One of my favorite parts is the meeting at Krownest where everyone gets blinded by the embodiment of Manda that is Din Djarin. King of my heart.

These drawings are technically not from those chapters, but inspired by them. I just think Din's pretty with blood on his face and also with snow on his eyelashes. That's all.

[Image Description: Two drawings of Din Djarin from the Mandalorian, inspired by a fanfiction called 'a simple thing'. The drawings are on a gray background and are just the bust. The first is Din smiling, open mouth with his eyebrows raised and a gleam in his eyes as he looks to the right. he has blood running from a cut on his forehead down to his chin as well as a bloody nose. He has blood on his teeth and a bruise on his cheek. He is enjoying himself despite the concussion. The second drawing is him turned to the side looking down in concentration, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his mouth is slightly open as he thinks. There are snowflakes in his hair, on his cloak and on his face. END ID]

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kildare enduro

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, nipple play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loner reader, brief talk about wards death, takes place during s4e1 (no sofia.), drinking, kind of drunk sex but they actually specifically say they dont want to be that drunk

“not just john b- look at that other late entry…” the announcer says, looking to his co-host also positioned in front of a microphone.

“do you recognize who is under that helmet?” he asks.

“i do not… i guess we have a mystery contender as well.”

rafe looks over the crowd, frowning inside of his helmet when he realizes there's no one here to cheer him on, eyes glaring with jealousy at the crowd of pogues. it's one of his biggest complaints about the event, the fact that they're allowed to compete too with their shit bikes and even worse racing abilities.

“and that bike… is that a modified ktm 450 rally? that's a beautiful machine. not too different from rafe camerons. looks like they'll be the ones to watch today.”

the announcers statement has rafe looking over, seeing the blacked out bike with metallic purple and blue accents, and the equally blacked out face mask, not allowing him to see who it is underneath.

“thats got to be the most expensive bike racing here today. dominated last years dakar rally, and pretty much every endurance race it's entered into.”

“very excited to see what the modifications are, looks like enhanced tires for driving through the sand…” 

rafe drones out the voices, focusing on the race to come, especially knowing he's got stiff competition this year.

he takes a deep breath, watching the green flag raise high in the sky before dropping quickly, and he's off like a bolt of lightning, sand spewing up behind him.

he gets instantly to the front, but he can hear someone on his tail. a quick glance to his right reveals the metallic bike, skidding over the top of the sand like it doesn't weigh a pound.

“rafe cameron has the early lead, but our late entry is hot on his tail! this could cause trouble for our previous winner.”

rafe takes the turn and is overtaken, but not by more than a wheel.

“looks like rafe cameron is just beat out as they head into the trees!” the commentator shouts, the crowd clamoring to figure out who knows the rider currently in the lead and pulling away.

rafe doesn't let the other bike get farther than a length ahead as he heads into the whoops, the bike soaring into the air before touching down.

rafe smirks under the mask when the driver ahead briefly loses control, wheel wobbling as it hits an uneven patch of dirt, and rafe speeds ahead, taking advantage of every small mistake.

he's not ahead for long, as his bike stutters in speed heading through the dip in the road, water causing his wheels to spin, while the racer in all black and deep purple speeds past, leaving rafe to groan in frustration, especially when he turns and realizes other bikers aren't far behind.

“and here they come! around the bouy and-oh! cameron just made contact with our leader, it looks like he's getting sick of being behind, and overtakes around the turn with our mystery driver right on his heels!”

rafe smirks as he retakes the lead, not willing to let some random take over his win. rafe pops his front wheel up, revving the engine and coaxing more speed out of the bike, knowing sand is flying in the faces of the riders behind him.

“this race is turning out to be a real nail biter, it could be anyone's game as they head back into the trees.”

“wait, wait- is that? JJ MAYBANK IS GOING TO JUMP THE INLET!”

the crowd of people goes wild as jj leapfrogs to the front of the pack, touching down just in front of the new leader, with rafe hot on his back tire as well.

“and our mystery rider is closing in fast, it looks like jj isn't going to maintain his lead. there could be some serious drama at the end of our race here.”

rafe growls as the bikes all come side by side, squeezing jj in the middle. rafe watches as the other riders leg comes out and kicks at the side of jjs bike, pushing into him, and rafe barely manages to brake and get out of the way, falling behind jj.

“fuck!” rafe shouts. there's no way he's losing to a random rider and maybank. he revs on the throttle, touching the front wheel against jjs back and shoving his bike to the side, not looking back as he careens into the air, managing to keep himself right way up and barely make it to the finish line ahead of topper.

“our mystery rider takes the win! i am dying to know who is under that helmet!” the commentators calls out as the checkered flag is waved.

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like your enduro champion is…” the entire crowd watches with baited breath as the blacked out helmet comes off, and long flowing hair comes tumbling down.

there's an audible gasp, and rafe has to blink to make sure there isn't sand in his eyes and what he's seeing is real.

“is that… y/f/n y/l/n? i think it is! who even knew she raced? what an amazing, showstopping performance from the female rider!”

rafe tugs his helmet off, shoving down the kickstand on his bike. “y/n?” rafe shouts out.

he doesn't know you very well, not very well at all, but your reputation precedes you. graduated a few years before him, you've always been seen as one of the top kooks, your family being established in the area for generations.

“oh, hey.” you smile at him, fingers running through your hair as the crowd surges in now that the bikes have halted. “good race.” you look him up and down. “i mean, i guess not good enough though.”

“this is our first female winner in kildare enduro history! ladies and gentleman, give it up again for y/n.”

“let's go!” you scream out as someone lifts you into the air, raising your helmet far over your head.

rafe knows second means nothing as he grunts angrily. he kicks himself for messing up in the woods, if he would have come out before you there's no way he wouldn't be the one being celebrated at the moment.

--

“on me.” you state to rafe as you slide a beer over the counter to him, coming to take a seat next to him, sipping on your own.

“shouldn't you be celebrating or some shit?” rafe questions, his voice low and rough as he watches a drop of beer sip down your chin.

“i am celebrating.” you state. “what does it look like?”

“where's all your friends and shit?” rafe looks around, expecting to see the same gaggle of girls you used to hang around with in high school.

“what friends?” you scoff under your breath, before frowning and looking at rafe. “i don't see anyone with you either. not even topper. he's not your little servant anymore?”

“me and top are fine.” rafe says. in truth, he's pushed everyone away since wards death, and eventually topper stopped trying, stopped checking in.

“mhm.” you hum, finishing off your beer and flagging down the bartender for another.

“since when did you race anyways?” 

“always have.” you shrug, looking over at rafe, realizing for the first time now that you're up close to him how dazzling his eyes are. “just kept it to myself. not exactly a lady like hobby.”

“a hobby?” rafe scoffs. “you call the way you raced a hobby?”

“i was shit today.” you shake your head. “made mistakes.”

“it was only with your slight mistakes that i was even close.”

“watch yourself, cameron.” you take a sip of your beer. “it sounds like you're starting to be nice to me.”

“sounds like you need someone to be nice to you.” rafe is shocked by the fact that no one seems to care that the enduro race winner is in the bar, like the shock of finding out who won quickly wore off, leaving you alone once again.

“i like being alone.” you state, swallowing harshly to hide your true emotions. “all friends turn out to be fake in the end.”

“family too.” rafe frowns, before finishing the rest of his beer.

“want another?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, your hair flowing over your shoulder, just urging rafe to reach out and touch.

“no.” he shakes his head. “don't wanna be too drunk.”

“too drunk for what?” you hum.

“for when i try to take you home.”

--

“fuck.” you moan, head pressing back into the pillows as rafe continues sucking on your nipple, his hand between your thighs.

“god, right there!” you squeal out as he rubs against your clit, your wetness only growing by the second.

you reach down and push at the waistband of his underwear, trying to tempt him to take them off, but rafe just switches to the other side of your chest, sucking a deep purple hickey on the side of your breasts before taking your nipple back in his mouth.

rafes finger drops to prod at your entrance, feeling how warm you are as his digit slowly sinks in, your moans only growing as you pussy sucks in his finger.

“fuck,” you whine. “need that to be your cock, come on.”

rafe keeps his movement slow as he thrusts his finger in and out, feeling the gummy texture of your walls and the way your cunt grips him, knowing he's going to love having his cock inside you.

rafe adds in a second finger, feeling you stretch and adjust as he moves back to your other nipple, his tongue dragging across your chest, not wanting to lose the taste of your skin for even a second.

the race is in the back of his mind, the last thing he wants to think about. he'd lose a million times more if it gets you in his bed, moaning and pulsing around his fingers.

“rafe-” you tug at his short hair, his head lifting up to look at you, lips pink and glossy. “fuck me.”

rafe smiles, glad that you're just as needy as he is. he regrets not pursuing you earlier, if only he knew what he was missing just down the street.

rafe shoves his underwear down and flings them off the bed. your eyes widen as you take in his length, but you can't stay looking for long as rafes lips smash into yours.

your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him in flush to your body as his cock presses against your entrance, already hard just from kissing and fingering you.

rafes lips mold perfectly to you as he presses in, and this time he doesn't bother going slow, immediately setting a fast pace as his hips move back and forth.

your kiss turns into gasps and moaning into each other's mouth, your hands coming to rafes cheeks, keeping his face close, keeping his blissed out eyes locked with yours.

“your-” rafe grunts as he fucks you. “your pussy is perfect.”

you smile and surge up to press your lips against rafes. “a winners pussy.” you can't help but continue to rub the race in, at least a little bit.

“consider this my congratulations.” rafe smirks as one hand drops to rub at your pussy, thumb stroking your clit in even movements, contrasting the rapid, desperate thrusts.

your eyes slide closed as much as you wish you could keep them open, watching rafe above you, but the pleasure is all too much as he pounds into you.

you pull your knees up, spreading your legs even wider, giving even more space for rafe to fuck into you, his thrusts turning feral as his moans turn to grunts and growls.

“want…” you gasp out. “want your cum in me.”

“you're not gonna get it that easy.” rafe smirks, suddenly flipping so you're on top, his back bouncing against the mattress as you flop forward against him, hips high in the air.

you don't let up for even a second, immediately taking over the movements as you raise and lower your cunt, bouncing on his cock.

rafe doesn't stop either, an arm circling around your waist as he thrusts up off the bed to meet you.

“gonna make me put in work even though i won?” you hum out, breasts pushing against rafes bare torso, his hard muscles stimulating your already sensitive nipples.

“damn right.” rafe smirks. “can't let you get off too easily for that maybank move.”

you tsks. “never liked that fucking pogue anyways.”

“i think i might have to marry you.” rafe chuckles, heart fluttering when he sees you smile, swearing you're glowing as he pumps his hips up into you.

“don't… stop.” you move one hand to over rafes, pushing it tight against your pussy, keeping his thumb in place as it thrumbs against you.

“im close too.” rafe states, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead as he puts all his effort into thrusting up into you, into spearing his cock as deep into your pussy as he can.

you let out a moan, and with one more swipe of rafes thumb, you're gone, entire body shaking before going slack, leaving rafe to quickly flip you over, hands coming to your hips as he pushes inside of you, cumming in spurts, filling you up with his warmth.

rafe collapses next to you the moment he finishes, arms completely giving out from the exhaustion of your activities and the earlier race.

you both breathe deeply, trying to regain some sort of mental clarity as your high wears off.

“shit.” you whine out, breaking the silence. “we gotta do that more often.”

“and…” rafe turns over, propping his head up on his elbow. “maybe get dinner together too?”

“rafe cameron, are you asking me out on a date?” you laugh.

“i just came inside of you, i don't think it should be that surprising.” rafe rolls his eyes. “besides, seems like you could use some company.”

you turn to face rafe as well, his blue eyes looking into yours. “i don't usually date losers, but i guess second place isn't too bad.”

rafe shakes his head before pressing your lips back together.

[lesbianherald]

I’m going to phrase this delicately because I’m so deeply grateful and awed by the support I’ve received.

But I will say it is a little anxiety inducing how many people feel they can talk about coming home whatever way they want openly and publicly because it has “numbers” or whatever (referring to my own work like this makes me want to claw my eyes out because they baffle me and I don’t necessarily feel I deserve them but it’s important for context).

This is Especially true for the way people speak under things I very much see. Art of the fic. My Twitter mutuals posts. Things I will very obviously interact with. It feels like someone is walking into my back yard and talking shit as if I'm literally not standing in said yard like this 🧍

You make something for a community for free as an act of passion and then the community in turn becomes something that isn’t quite accessible to you anymore. I’ve seen this happen to a lot of fic writers in my previous fandoms and idk man it’s just kind of a bummer.

Like. Fanfic and fanart is made by people in the fandom for the fandom. It’s not work being produced by some distant people in Hollywood who shouldn’t be in the fandom space in the first place.

Idk, it’s actually pretty rare that this happens to me but I wanted to mention I am a human who can very much read the things you say guys 😭 like if you reblog art related to my work and call it a bunch of petty names and say you had to dnf I can see that. It’s totally ok to feel whatever way you want. But maybe don't feel that way in my back yard.

Again. I’m so grateful for everything I really am. You absolutely do not have to fuck with my work. Fuck I don't fuck with my work sometimes DKLFJSDHF. This is probably the last time I’ll talk about this because the last thing I want to do is come off like I can’t take criticism and I’m ungrateful. But sometimes I really am chewing at my enclosure like IM RIGHT HERE MAN IM LITERALLY BEHIND YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT.

[partfae]

Sauron, Galadriel, & Tolkien's Theology of Repentance - Part One

Summary: Character meta analysis on Sauron (and Galadriel, through the lens of Sauron). Based on both Silmarillion & RoP canon. 3.5k words. Discussion of Catholic theology involved. Blanket TW for discussion of violence, manipulation, etc., because Sauron. Spoilers for S1 & S2 and the Silmarillion, of course. The tragedy of Sauron is that he gets offered so many legitimate chances at redemption and forgiveness, and he denies them every single time. But we know he wants absolution, because that’s what he sees Galadriel as: his chance to bind himself back to the light, to be Mairon again, to heal the pain that he caused and that was caused to him under Morgoth. But because he has such a warped view of himself and his actions, he dismisses genuine extensions of compassion, forgiveness, and care as simultaneously beneath him and too good for him. And yet, he still pursues redemption, but through none of the channels offered to him.

In The Rings of Power, he’s given the explicit instruction to change for the good in the village after he’s reborn. He’s given the chance leave his past behind and work meaningfully in Númenor. He’s given the chance to redeem himself by Galadriel's offer of friendship (or love, depending on your interpretation). In the Silmarillion, he's even given the chance by Eönwë himself, and comes close to leaving Morgoth behind completely!

Let's look at this passage from Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age (emphasis mine):

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not in the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

This passage is clear that Eönwë is willing to pardon Sauron--he simply did not posses the power to do so. But when Sauron was told he must appeal directly Manwë, he gave up entirely and skulked back to Middle-earth. There are a few ways to read this:

1. He was not wholly repentant

Sauron simply wanted the protection of a new master in the absence of Melkor. i.e., he was rather fickle and simply wanted to be on whatever the "winning" side was. This is supported by the text literally saying that at least some of his obeisance was completely false, and that he only made a point of feeling bad about anything once his master had been chucked into the Void and his armies and strongholds were being destroyed (Thangorodrim). In this reading, perhaps Eönwë saw Sauron's treachery and referred him to Manwë knowing that it would be a test of his true intent. However, while a valid interpretation, I believe this to be the less holistic of the two.

2. He was truly repentant

Sauron did truly feel badly and "abjured all his evil deeds," but he was unwilling/unable to humble himself after being so fundamentally broken by Melkor and developing an insatiable power lust (hey, he isn't defined in the narrative by lust and pride for nothing).

Earlier in this same chapter, Tolkien wrote that Sauron could "...deceive all but the most wary." This is in the specific context of his physical shapeshifting. But, I would argue that this can also be tied to his lies. Tolkien has a specific ethic of beauty, where physical perfection is equated with moral goodness. Sauron completely inverts what is otherwise a hard and fast rule within Tolkien's writings by being the character most frequently described as "fair"--seven times to Lúthien's six, and she was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived!

(Side note: I have another post on Tolkien & beauty in the works where I'll get more into this idea)

Why does this matter? Even though this interaction with Eönwë takes place in the First Age, Sauron could at this point be in the demonic form Mirdania describes in the forge. And, I am inclined to believe that Eönwë, as the head Maiar and herald of Manwë, would be a pretty wary guy, and thus able to sense any of Sauron's trickery. I read this to mean that Eönwë looked at Sauron and saw his potential to be Mairon again, either in absence of his evil form or in spite of it.

Because Sauron is incredibly beautiful. And even if it is a disguise of the true, depreciated form of his spiritual essence, he presented himself to Eönwë at his most beautiful. He wanted, even in his act of repentance, to make himself more favorable in Eönwë's eyes. To show up as Mairon (who was likely close friends with Eönwë before everything went down, since they are considered to be two of the most powerful Maia and would have worked closely together).

But I don't think this was all manipulation on Sauron's end. I agree with the scholars mentioned in the text who believed that Sauron was truly repentant--which is why Eönwë even bothered referring him to Manwë instead of kicking him into the Void with Melkor.

And this is the tragedy: Sauron is told exactly how to repent, and believes fundamentally that it is an impossible path for him. And yet, he still longs so intrinsically for it! He was, under Aulë, a Maia of precision, perfection, and order. Under Morgoth, he feels disordered, dis-regulated. He needs to correct the fundamental imbalance within him, so why does he flee Eönwë?

It comes back to Sauron's pride.

If he follows through with this path of reconciliation, there is no way he can hide or pretend his actions away. If he cannot trick his fellow Maiar, he certainly cannot trick the Valar. And he cannot stand the idea of submitting himself back under their rule, especially now that he has tasted power. This is a pride wound; it is why the idea of confessing to Manwë would be humiliating to him as opposed to just upsetting/uncomfortable.

Again, the pivotal moment: he is told how to make amends for crimes and determines that he cannot do it. So he returns to Middle-earth and stews in his own self-hated and self-pity for a few years. In that time, he consciously or subconsciously latches onto Eönwë's offer--forgiveness from penance. It is the way forward. And if he cannot earn penance at Manwë's hand, he will do it on his own.

The Prodigal Son

This is where we have to talk about the Catholic roots of Tolkien's work for a moment. The scene where Sauron approaches Eönwë mirrors the biblical parable of the prodigal son. In this story, a man abandons his family, spends all his money, and falls into ruin. But when he recognizes his failings and returns to his father to get help, he is welcomed back into the family without question--in other words, he is forgiven and restored to his former position.

17 But when he [the prodigal son] came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. - Luke 15:11-32, NRSV CE (emphasis mine)

The parallel is clear; Mairon, the repentant Maia, returns home with hopes of reconciliation. He is prescribed the same task that the prodigal son offered to his father: he must be bound in servitude to his father/creator in order to pay off his debts. This is a deliberate allusion from Tolkien. The story of the prodigal son models the path of reconciliation that Eönwë describes. Tolkien seems to be drawing a line in the sand with this: Sauron is unwilling to do the work required by the Valar for repentance, so he is unable to receive the grace of a warm welcome back into the fold of the Ainur. Since he did not humble himself, he has to be told to do it. And he does not want to! He wants to be loved, but he also wants his power--evidence, in a way, of how his character was fundamentally altered in his time with Morgoth.

His pride--and his fear--cut him off from the potential of grace. He does not know for certain that Manwë would subject him to servitude (though I would argue that it's textually evident that it is a custom), but this assumption leads him to flee, which allows him to slip back into his old ways.

He wants to be Mairon (admirable) again, not Sauron (abhorrent). He wants to be accepted and loved, but not punished. He wants the benefits of reconciliation without the work he would have to do to earn it or the shame he would feel as he did. It's pride, but it's also deep shame--the flip side of his extreme ego is an implicit self-hatred, one that we can see in the subtext of how he speaks about himself and about his time with Morgoth.

Even the language Tolkien uses is heavily shame-coded, especially in a Catholic context; Mairon did not go willingly, he was "seduced." He admits to Celebrimbor that he was "tortured by a god". It becomes exceedingly clear through both text and on-screen canon that Sauron was routinely broken and abused for centuries. This has fundamentally damaged his self-perception, which is ultimately what leads him to "[fall] back into evil"--whether due to pride or shame, he hides, perhaps because he consciously or subconsciously does not believe that he deserves forgiveness, no matter how much he craves it.

Naked in the Garden

His flight back to Middle-earth after meeting Eönwë is reminiscent of another biblical scene, where Adam and Eve, after committing the first sin, hide from God in shame and fear (emphasis mine):

7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked...9 But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?” 10 He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” -Genesis 7-10, NRSV CE

The image of nakedness is, here, one of vulnerability, and Tolkien establishes that Sauron fears that which he cannot control. He needs the Rings under his power. He needs his armies and his enemies under his watchful eye. He is petrified of letting his power slip away (possibly due to never wanting to feel powerless in the hands of a Vala, fallen or not, again).

The biblical allusion here hearkens back to the fear Tolkien describes Sauron as feeling regarding his return to the Ainur. In the religious system Tolkien has established, which is likely inspired by his own religious beliefs, Sauron has sinned, and must make penance. But he is afraid of God/Manwë, and does not want to "let go" of his sin. In other words, he is not truly repentant. This reflects the Catholic sacrament of confession, which requires self-reflection and resolve to never commit the sin again.

Instead of shame driving him to contrition, it drives him to isolation.

But he still wants forgiveness. So, in his years of hiding in Middle-earth, he decides to earn it himself. His own way.

Enter the Rings.

Sauron wants to perfect the wrong he wreaked so that he can both earn his way back into the Ainur and keep his power. But what he does not realize is that this does not work. Eönwë is clear that he must forsake his true temptation--absolute power--through penance by submission. Yet Sauron in his pride thinks he can have it all. Sauron is a very carefully controlled villain, and the only times he snaps or makes significant mistakes are when his inflated self-perception is challenged, revealing the self-loathing and/or self-pity underneath. The best example of this is when he kills Celebrimbor prematurely, and cries afterwards. Why? Because Celebrimbor was right about him, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he is nothing more than the Morgoth's shadow, because Morgoth was his master as much as he was his tormentor. As Sauron puts it, his relationship with Morgoth was often defined by pain as a test to see "whose will was the mightier":

This image carries more shame, both in its implicit sexual connotations and in the simple power dynamic of it. Sauron, even though misguided, is rallying against Morgoth. He wants to break what Morgoth has created and build something new, something better, something apart from his old master entirely. But Celebrimbor confronts him with reality: he has not created something new, and perfect, and special, as he so wanted to--he can only act in imitation, not in generation. And when he got close with the Rings, it cost him everything. It's almost like he wants the power of a Vala, and loathes that he cannot attain it.

And this is why he becomes so singularly obsessed with Galadriel.

She’s his foil. They both crave power and adoration, but in the end of things, she does not fold under his temptation. She turns down everything she has ever wanted for the greater good and for the sake of her own soul. Sauron looks at Galadriel and perceives that she would have succeeded at Eönwë's test because she is willing and able to humble herself. This maddens him to the point of both desiring her and desiring to break her.

She learns that she is easily tempted and becomes strong enough to handle it (through a lot of tough love from Elrond & co.). She has to learn how to do it, but she is able to.

She grows from someone who resisted and rejected authority to someone who is trusted as an authority because of her ability to wield it wisely (see: Gil-galad allowing her to answer for him in 2x08).

In other words, she earns the trust, love, and support of her community. Sauron has to force his to comply—it is an illusion of love.

His possessive obsession with her also stems from her fairness. She was the object of her uncle Fëanor's obsessive desire for creation as well. Her hair was the inspiration of the Silmarils (see: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn; The Shibboleth of Fëanor - source with page #s here), which Morgoth desired more than anything to possess.

Sauron, wanting to spite his master, wants one better--to own that which inspired the Silmarils, to own the image of fairness (and thus of moral good) completely. This is why he wants to bind himself to her. This is why he needs her. He sees Galadriel as his mechanism of repentance, and his last triumph over Morgoth. Winning her is his salvation as much as it is proving that his will is the mightier. It is his way of dominating Morgoth. This starts, I think, as a genuine effort at proving himself to the Valar, but quickly consumes him entirely. He is overcome with the desire for revenge, just as Galadriel was at the beginning of the First Age.

And he sees this in her. Sees their similarities. Sees that she, too, is angry and lonely and so afraid of losing her power. And he leverages that to befriend her. This is where it gets ambiguous and you can read RoP as either painting the image of Sauron being earnest but completely misguided in his proposal, or you can see it as him being entirely manipulative.

I think the truth of that scene probably falls somewhere in the middle; just like when he presents himself to Eönwë, he is sincere in his desire, but only knows how to present it in an inherently contriving way. He does want to bind her to him, so he tries to only reveal to her the good aspect of that desire (and also of his desire for power, which he allows her to see because he believes that it is good and also because she understands it), and not the ugly underside of his internal struggle against Morgoth, the Valar, and himself.

And I do think, in his own way, he cared about her. Galadriel consistently shows kindness and compassion to him. In S1, they grow to know each other's minds and souls, and she considers him a close friend. He finds comfort in this, that someone could see the blackness of his heart and care for him anyway. He thought, in his isolation, that he lost that chance when he fled back to Middle-earth. And here is the very picture of the light itself telling him that she supports him, that she sees the good in him, that she wants to help him set the world to rights! Of course he is infatuated by this. Of course he also wants to use it. He is Sauron.

But Galadriel succeeds where he fails, so he stops playing nice and tries to forcibly drag her down with him. First, by baiting her with the image of the man she cared deeply for:

Then, by reminding her of all she is losing by rejecting him:

And she is still strong enough to say no. And not just to say no, but to shut the door completely. To look in the face of everything she has desired for centuries and turn it down, understanding that it will ruin her. Yes, she hesitates. Yes, she still wants it (wants him). But she wins the day by holding fast to the light that Sauron wishes so badly to bind himself to.

Because she has lost everything--her brother, her husband, the station as commander, the trust of her high king and best friend--and earns it back only through her resistance of her greatest temptation. It is a struggle, it is painful, it nearly kills her--but she does it. She wins the test that Sauron could not even bear to face.

In their headlong, self-sacrificial tendencies, they are the same. Both view themselves as fundamentally stronger/better than their peers while also being deeply lonely due to their self-imposed isolation (Galadriel's laser-focused hunt for revenge, Sauron's exile in Middle-earth). But to Galadriel, the light is more important than her pride.

For Sauron, the light is his source of pride. He desires it more than anything, but condemns himself to never being able to touch it due to his rejection of Eönwë's offer. Paradoxically, he tries to grasp at it through Galadriel, the living silmaril, and succeeds only in darkening her. We learn from Gil-galad in 2x08 that his crown piercing her flesh in an act of brutal domination nearly strips her soul from her and pitches it into the unseen world. In this, Sauron is saying: If I cannot have you, I will force you to need me. I will break you into loving me.

He says this to Celebrimbor as well. He no longer knows how to love properly. He only knows how to inflict pain until this object of his obessive desire needs him--just like how his immortal spirit was broken into submission by Morgoth. And isn't this revealing of his own sense of self? He refuses to suffer the path of light, but willingly suffers the maddening path of darkness because it is a comfortable, familiar suffering. One, he tells Celebrimbor, he even grew to enjoy (2x08). As the path of the Rings drive him madder and madder, his desire for the light (Galadriel) and the return of his power (Celebrimbor) become further disordered and corrupted until they culminate in him destroying them--and his chance at earning/owning them--entirely.

And this is Sauron's ultimate point of no return (which we will hopefully see in S3 🤞). The razing of Eregion and slaying of Celebrimbor were acts of petty rage he committed when his pride was injured. This was the final nail in the coffin. Galadriel, in her rejection of him, ruins what he sees as his true chance for redemption.

Galadriel, now stepping into the role of Eönwë, re-opens the invitation: "Heal yourself!" (2x08). But in rage and shame and stubborn pride, he turns it down again. I believe this is where his desire to heal Middle-earth shifts fundamentally into desire to dominate Middle-earth. He always wanted to rule, but now he wants to own.

[sallymew4]

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOURE DOING RIGHT FUCKING NOW

EVERYBODY SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 13

PREVIOUS

“I can’t believe you would go out on Black Friday to grocery shop but I guess thanks for going out on Black Friday to grocery shop.” Aaron greets him with as FF moves over to the table.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently went out shopping.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently come back and have been in Andrew’s room for the past couple hours.

“Josten probably wanted to go to Excites for some gear. I don’t know what my brother sees in that Exy-obsessed jerk.” Aaron says as he eats his own smiley eggs and bacon. FF hears the sound of a hammer and a drill from Andrew’s room.

Heart in his throat he forces himself not to think about what Andrew and Captain Neil COULD be building.

(A guillotine, an iron maiden, that weird wedge thing that splits people in half at the groin, He should NOT have taken that Spanish history class. Oh god it’s probably a fence so he can’t escape whatever hunting ground Andrew is going to drag him to if he can’t buy his continued existence via baked good.)

“Shut up, they’re actually really sweet to one another.” Nicky chastises before turning to FF, “Because of that your final serving goes to Smithy. He deserves it more than you.” Nicky says and slides the final plate of eggs and bacon.

“He’s just as bothered by it as I am!” Aaron scowls.

“By what?” FF asks because there are a lot of things that bother him so Aaron is going to have to be more specific.

“By those two being all close. I’ve seen the way you turn and walk away.” Aaron reaches across the table for his bacon but FF just pushes the plate closer to him. The two plates he had already eaten were more than enough, especially after the full dinner that they’d had the night before. “You’re grossed out by it too right?” He asks as he goes to stab the bacon.

FF slides the plate away and Aaron stabs the table.

FF is NOT HOMOPHOBIC.

His gran raised him better than that.

“I don’t agree with you.” He says because he doesn’t but can’t bring himself to say anymore. He’s in Aaron’s house, he stole Aaron’s keys that morning to lock up the house.

(it was so rude but what if someone broke in because he left the house unlocked? What if someone got hurt just because he wanted to ensure his own survival? Isn’t it better that he just borrowed Aaron’s keys to make sure that no one in the house got hurt? Does FF still believe with every fiber of his being that Andrew Minyard is trying to murder him in this exact house? Yes. Can these concerns coexist peacefully? Also yes.)

If anything he finds Captain Neil and Andrew to be an incredibly nice couple. They talk about things together, they make plans about their future, their PDA was actually pretty minimal (especially in comparison to Aaron), and he had figured out the weird code Andrew talked in so he was pretty sure that Andrew and Neil loved one another.

The only issue he has with the couple is that they are out at a store probably buying supplies to torture and then kill FF.

Otherwise they were perfectly fine.

Aaron scowls, “You can’t be serious. You walk away faster than you run on the court when you see the two of them getting all gross.” He points with his fork and tries to grab the bacon again.

FF frowns deeper.

“I walk away even faster from you and your girlfriend.” He returns because Aaron and Katelyn are the couple who have been the MOST guilty of initiating something in front of him when he was in ‘Visible only when the sunlight strikes him at the exact right angle on the summer solstice’ mode.

 He had tried to clear his throat to get them to quit quite a few times but…well…he has heard Katelyn mention that one of her and Aaron’s favorite ‘hang out’ spots might be haunted….so he hadn’t been overly successful.

“PDA makes me uncomfortable in general. Captain Neil and Andrew are a very nice couple who you shouldn’t talk bad about.” He defends as one of the only people who would know exactly how thoughtful the two were to one another.

He hopes his Gran is proud of him for saying something.

Aaron looks at him with a twisted mouth for a while before relenting, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s just a big brother thing.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

FF swallows down some acid in his throat and pushes the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiles back at the breakfast and proceeds to eat it.

A big brother thing.

FF gets up and heads over to the final bag that Andrew had left out on the counter. FF had bought some additional offerings for his mortal soul to tide Andrew over while he made the brownies. It’s also where the incense and his latest two five hour energies should still be.

He finds the incense, wonders if he hallucinated the five hour energies (very possible), and hands Nicky a box of sour patch kids to distract him when he comes over.

“Smithy, why the hell are you lighting incense?” Nicky asks because the sour patch kids were NEVER going to be enough to distract Nicky. That would take something on the level of Swedish Fish but he’d been more focused on avoiding the candy thrown by an irate woman towards a member of Target staff because the grocery department couldn’t get her the redemption coupon for one of the flat screens in the Electronic department so he had FAILED to procure them. He’d even seen a box sail through the air is bullet time because his brain was too hopped up on Five Hour Energy but he’d let it go believing he could just grab a box at check out. THEN HE ZONED OUT IN THE CHECK OUT LINE AS HE STARED AT BOTH THE FUTURE AND THE PAST AND FORGOT HE WAS IN THE PRESENT WHERE HE HADN’T GOTTEN THE DAMN SWEDISH FISH.

“I’m going to make my Great Grandma’s brownies.” He says in response, “I’m hoping to channel her so I don’t mess up.” He says.

“Oh! More grandma baking goodies?! I can be your assistant baker! What do you need?” Nicky says visibly vibrating with excitement at the prospect. “We can listen to Mariah and I can lick the spoon!”

There is a noise of revulsion from the kitchen table.

“Don’t let him lick the spoon Smiths! He gets WEIRD about it.”

“That sounds like what someone who wants to lick the spoon would say.”

“Oh shut up!”

“That’s not a NO!”

The cousins continue to argue about spoon licking rights as FF gets started checking to make sure that the kitchen has all the necessary equipment to even make his brownies. He’d been so tired (last night? This morning?) that he hadn’t thought about even checking that the cousins would have things like a glass bowl, an baking dish, pie tin, etc.

Thankfully FOR ONCE luck is on his side and FF does not have to walk back to the Target.

So he finishes pulling out everything he’ll need, getting the oven pre-heated, and pulling out the ingredients for the brownies from the fridge.

He lights some incense with the stove top burners sends a quick prayer up and wonders if maybe a ouija board would have been better but if the Home Goods section had been a dangerous spot then the toy section would have been like walking into an active war zone. There are no laws as far as parents are concerned when it comes to getting the ‘it’ toy for their kids. FF has watched the highs and lows of humanity in the Barbie aisle more than once.

So he melts chocolate, he sifts flour and sugar, he separates eggs, and he uses every muscle that Kevin’s insane work out regiment had given his arms to whip those egg whites into stiff peaks. He knows his great gran is with him when Nicky and Aaron continue to argue (they are now talking about the ethics of licking the spoon vs. licking the bowl? He doesn’t quite get how they got there but alright) so Nicky doesn’t hear him say “Stiff Peaks Acquired” to himself because he knows Nicky well enough to know that he would have NEVER heard the end of it.

He uses all of the delicacy his gran had ever tried to teach him to fold those egg whites into the chocolate and then to fold in the flour and sugar. There are more steps, more ingredients, but unless you are family then those are CLASSIFIED.

Great Gran had always been the suspicious sort.

The oven beeps to let him know it’s done pre-heating as he’s carefully transferring his great gran’s life’s work into the baking dish.

He was so focused that he hadn’t even realized that Andrew was back until he turned to do the dishes and found Andrew holding the bowl and running his fingers through the scant remaining mix and shoving it into his mouth.

He is surprise that the scream remains in his head. He’s even more surprised that he stays upright. Maybe the nap did him some good even if it let Andrew and Captain Neil build whatever torture device they were intending to use on him.

He really needs to drink some pepto. He doesn’t think that Andrew will pause their ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ recreation to let FF manage his ulcers. Andrew is staring straight at him.

Andrew offers him the spoon.

FF declines. Raw eggs, sugar, and chocolate? With THIS stomach? He’d almost prefer to be chased through whatever enclosure Andrew is going to drag him to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.” He answers.

“Hm.”

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” he ventures trying to extend his life by another day.

Andrew shoves the spoon into his own mouth after that and walks out into the dining room. FF hears both Aaron and Nicky’s cries of anguish.

FF looks at the brownies in the oven at the incense burning on the counter and wonders if that was Andrew’s way of confirming his stay of execution.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

Per your requests:

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As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something switched around in your  settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[firestorm09890]

"IENZO WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHT ARE YOU DOING" Ansem the Wise cries, bursting into the computer room just after Ienzo (age 8) ordered Tron to broadcast "10 hours of placid forest sounds occasionally interspersed by the call of a cuckoo" across all of Radiant Garden

..

...

actually. hey. shitpost cancelled. do you ever think about how it is Tron finding a buried file within the computer that miraculously caused the entire world to remember Hollow Bastion's true name through pillars of light and sparkles? until then, none of the citizens remembered that it was called anything other than Hollow Bastion. like. the computer is not only a massive city-wide defense system that can be twisted to instead summon Heartless within the city, it can wipe an entire world's memory and replace it with false ones, and it did. all controlled from the castle. easily. what else might they- Xehanort obviously, but also potentially Ansem the Wise- have done with that power? it can get so unbelievably dark so quickly

[gildedtragedies]

of course my first post on this godforsaken site would be a shittily-made we must be killers meme...your honor i am simply obsessed with @lorata's specific brand of mentor-mentee dynamics

[kyouka-supremacy]

I fucked up

[wishingly-mesh]

how we feeling today reiko Rain community

me personally I think about these dialogues every day.

[baahsu]

124ji are so tragic actually and I'm constantly thinking about it

I was gonna say vinsmoke brothers but we already know sanji went through a lot, so I wanted to focus on those three for a bit

Like, they're also judge's victims, they had all of their good emotions stripped from them and were basically turned into killing machines, but the thing is they don't even have the ability to understand the situation they're in!!

They don't know the life they live isn't normal, they don't know how truly fucked up it all is

They missed out on spending time with their mom, they didn't experience the love she felt for them, they didn't get to grasp the sacrifice she made for them

They hurt sanji but they can't comprehend the many layers of it, that they were beating up the one person that was what sora wanted them to be, the one person other than sora that had the capacity to feel anything for them

They just went and severed their fragile relationship even more without even realizing that's what was happening

[lale-txt]

i don't know which writer needs to hear this, but delete that self-depricating paragraph in your author's note. it will alter your reader's view on your fic and you. seriously, even if you wholeheartedly believe it's the worst thing you've ever written and you don't feel proud of it at all, don't tell your audience. let them form their own opinion, and if you want to or not, it will make you feel better about your own work as well in the long run.

[widowshill]

the collinsport sartorial society, social club, and murder consortium.

a present for @devilagent ! based on the original ponyo comic by @millionfish.

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

[thejadecount]

When I woke up this morning the Max Goof/Bradley Uppercrust III tag on ao3 had 19 pages. Now it has 20