#i can't believe i got to write this

[xandrikart]

[swirly-potato]

Dear Tumblr,

Today I finished my novel. I don't mean that I got the first draft done. I mean that I, recently sixteen, finished the novel that I've been working on for as long as I can remember. I did it.

I am very happy and I just wanted to share it with all the weird little freaks that inspired me to put my blorbos down on paper. I don't care if nobody sees this. I did it. I am a writer. I finished my book.

Love,

Avi

[maddpool]

At first Logan is convinced Wade is a morning person. It's both annoying and endearing, but that's how most things are with Wade. He's way too cheerful and talkative whenever they have to be somewhere before 9 in the morning but also will almost always have coffee ready for Logan when he finally emerges from his beauty sleep. Sometimes there's even not half-bad breakfast waiting for him.

With time, though, Logan realises that Wade doesn't really sleep. At all.

He will go to bed in the evening, but it seems like it's mostly so they can cuddle or to humour Logan. He barely gets any sleep at night, most days he just lies there staring at Logan or his phone or he, very quietly, so not to disturb Logan, gets up and goes to do his own things.

Unlike Logan, who, despite always being grumpy when Wade calls him that, actually is an old man who loves his sleep, Wade doesn't have any routine. He will catch an hour or two at night sometimes, but mostly he just crashes down whenever his body has had enough, and if he's lucky he'll get a solid 4 or 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

When Logan realises he tries to talk to Wade about it, but it's one of these things that he just brushes aside like it's not a problem at all.

But it is.

Especially when Logan is hit with the fact that he definitely woke up Wade from his slumber more times than he cares to admit, thinking Wade was just being lazy or didn't want to do whatever he was supposed to or what they agreed on.

Sometimes when these moments happen after a mission and they're both tired he will offer Wade "a nap" together to actually get him in bed, even if it's not Logan's bedtime yet.

He already knows that talking about it won't do shit, so instead he tries to pay more attention to these moments. When he can sense Wade is more tired than usual he will cancel any plans they might have had, making up an excuse so Wade doesn't feel like it's on him. When Wade is asleep, Logan will do everything not to wake him up, also making sure others won't bother him. Silencing Wade's phone, offering to go shopping with Al or taking both her and Mary for a walk.

More times than not Logan will also do anything that Wade mentioned having to do that day, because he notices that whenever Wade crashes, he later feels bad about not keeping his word, either to Logan or Al, or to himself.

It takes Wade an embarrassingly long to notice the change, only when he starts to feel like he actually rested whenever he wakes up. He hasn't felt this good in ages, healing factor or not.

When he finally realises it's all Logan's doing he actually cries. He immediately goes to hug Logan harder than ever and just says "I love you, too".

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 24

Paulie x Reader

"[Y/N]! THAT DRESS IS WAY TOO SHORT! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!"

"Calm down, Paulie." You roll your eyes and adjust your hold on your clipboard. "It's right at my knees, no big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal! This is a work zone and you're distracting the men here!" Paulie scolded with flustered red colouring his face.

Ah, such is the life of a lady working in Dock 1. You were part of the inventory keepers, noting when supplies arrived and where they'd go. Paulie the shipwright gambler, kept getting flustered over every little thing about your appearance when you two ran into each other during the same shift. At first, it bothered you, and if it weren't for Paulie seeming to be one of Iceburg's favourites, you would've tried drowning him. Then, someway, somehow, he grew on you.

"Oh pleasure, I won't be distracting anyone." You wave your pen around dismissively. "Besides I even got bending down covered, I'm wearing shorts underneath, see."

You tease him and lift the hem of your dress to show him your black shorts. Paulie's nose exploded blood out, steam flying from his face. Giggling, you drop your dress' hem back down.

"I think you broke him, [Y/n]," Kaku commented, walking up to you.

"He'll be fine. Whatcha need?" You turn to your other co-worker.

"New shipment came from the West Blue," Kaku informed you, leaning closer to add, "Devil Water Pose."

Devil Water Pose... Devil Wanted Poster...

Looks like another assignment has been added, which means your time at Water 7 is closing. Who knew Nico Robin would come here...

"Got it." You nod, keeping your smile. Kaku tips his hat and leaves to help other workers.

"What was that about?" Paulie asked, lighting up a cigar and raising a brow at you.

"Oh, Kaku just let me know about some supplies that just came in. I should go mark that." You spin away, finding it hard to face Paulie.

Paulie stares at your back, mildly puzzled. Something felt off, you don't leave in a hurry like that, especially in high heels. Maybe he's just overthinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh, sitting at the bridge near Galley-La, clipboard in hand. Clicking the pen several times, trying to brush away writer's block, you stare at the paper underneath all the pages you stuff into the clip. If only you had more time to write this.

"What got you all bummed out?"

"Ah!" You flipped the papers down to hide the final page. Looking up, you see him. "Paulie, you scared me."

"Sorry," he apologized and leaned back against the railing of the bridge. "You gonna tell me what you were writing?"

"A love letter for you," you tease.

"Don't joke about that!"

You giggled, amused by his flustered state, until you looked back at the clipboard. Your mood goes back down. "I... I am writing a letter, I'm just not sure how to write it."

"Who's it for?" Paulie inquired, puffing out some smoke.

"...Someone I care about, I won't be able to see them for much longer."

"How come?"

"Work reasons," you answered, keeping it vague.

"Shame."

"Yup..." You stare at the water canal, biting back your tongue.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow to spend time with them?" Paulie asks.

"He'll be busy."

Paulie grumbles beside you. "What a chump, leaving soon and not bothering to spend time with you."

You giggle at the irony. "I don't blame him, Paulie. It's just how things are." You hear the man huff beside you before you continue. "Besides, he probably doesn't realize I care about him... I... I've been a little distant, you know."

"Shouldn't matter if you've been distant, it matters if he cares about you. Otherwise, you're just wasting your time." Paulie put out his cigar. You hum, acknowledging his words, even if your dilemma is different. A hand rests on your shoulder, you glance at Paulie. "If means anything, all of us at Galley-La care about you, [Y/n]."

"Thank you, Paulie." You wrap your arms around him, catching Paulie off guard. If things were different, maybe you would've given more than a hug. "Thank you for caring about me."

Paulie halts his emotions, sensing there's more to your story than you're telling him. He returns the hug, not understanding why it feels like you're saying goodbye.

And he won't know, until he reads your letter after you're gone.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // may 22 // prompt: control // words: 1169

“We should eat soon. Do you have any preference?” James asks as he glances into his rearview mirror.

“No, I'm easy,” Regulus replies. He swipes at his phone again, mindlessly opening the calculator before closing it again. He's been alternating between the calculator and the weather app for the better part of an hour now, nothing else to do on his phone and a deep reluctance to have an actual conversation with James.

He looks up at James when there’s no response. It takes a second for his own words to register and with a sigh he adds, “I meant easy to please.”

Again, the double meaning snatches James’ attention. “I'm just not picky,” Regulus grounds out.

“Yeah,” James scoffs. “I can tell.”

Regulus drops his phone on his lap, turning his head to give James his full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” But evidently it is not nothing, because James waits barely a second before continuing with, “It’s just that you barely waited for the bed to get cold.”

“Excuse me?” Incredulity bleeds into his voice.

“I heard that you went out a lot.”

“With my friends.” Late nights wallowing on the couch were only accepted for so long until they started tugging at him with impatient hands, dragging him out of the house and into this club, then that one.

They told him that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, but Regulus never did take anyone home. Any pair of hands that didn't belong to James made his skin crawl.

“And we all know how your friends feel about you,” James says harshly.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your damage, James?” Regulus twists in his seat, staring holes into James’ side profile. His messy hair and wire-frame glasses. His cheeks are flushed with anger, but Regulus doesn’t think James has anything to be angry about.

“What's my damage?” James asks, eyes flitting over to Regulus. “What are you, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Regulus laughs, short and joyless, before dropping back into his seat. His eyes fall shut as he lets his head thud against the headrest. “And I remember, suddenly, why this didn’t work.”

“Yeah? Was it your incessant need to be in control?”

“No, actually. It was your complete and utter inability to listen.”

“Oh, I think I hear you loud and clear,” James scoffs, and Regulus resists the urge to just crawl out the car window. He’s slight enough, he thinks he could fit. As a matter of fact —

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“You heard me, stop the fucking car.”

“Regulus, you're not walking all the way to Sirius' house. We still have three hours to go.”

“I don't care. Stop. The. Car.”

“What's your damage?”

“My damage is that I'm stuck in a car with you with nowhere else to go!”

It's silent for a beat. Then two.

“Well, I'm sorry you feel that way,” James says eventually, before harshly twisting the dial to turn up the volume.

They drive to the roadside restaurant in silence. Or well, as silent as can be with the music playing loud enough that Regulus can’t hear himself think. Just as well. He wasn’t thinking anything nice.

James makes the executive decision to pass by a drive-through, probably to prevent having to spend more time in each other’s company than strictly necessary. Regulus can’t say that he minds.

No words are exchanged as they eat, but when Regulus reaches for his drink in the cupholder, James speaks again.

“Do you still like vanilla milkshakes?” He inclines his head toward the cup in Regulus’ hand. James always teased him about choosing the most boring flavor, but vanilla is a classic and Regulus stands by it.

Regulus has the urge to make a snide comment, but he swallows it down. Glances over at James, tense in his seat, both hands on the steering wheel. It unnerves Regulus a little, seeing James like this. He is supposed to be loose limbs and easy smiles. Not… this.

“Yeah, do— do you still like those cherries?” Regulus asks, holding out his cup for James in case he wants the maraschino cherry that sits on top of the whipped cream. James plucks it out of the swirl with ease, like they never stopped doing this.

“Do you still go to the diner down the street?”

They used to go often. The 24/7 diner, red and white tiles on the walls, cracked leather in the booths. They spent late nights there, when studying took priority over cooking and everything else was closed. Appearing again on a Saturday morning, soaking up the alcohol that still lingered in their systems. Salty and sweet kisses shared next to the jukebox.

“No, it—” Regulus catches himself before he says something embarrassing like it hasn’t been the same without you. “It’s been a while,” he says instead.

“I see.”

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, black spots swimming in his vision. Then, before he can chicken out, he asks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Does your mom still collect those novelty plates?”

James laughs at that, the sound of it comforting and familiar, and he seems to relax in his seat. Even if just a little.

“She’s actually moved on to novelty shot glasses. My dad had to get rid of five plates he’d bought in advance. I still have them, though. I just know she’ll return to the plate thing soon enough.”

They pass the time like that, dragging up memories and habits, questions flowing between them. Regulus finds that he likes it. He’d missed James’ easy nature, his way of telling stories. He also finds that he is secretly relieved that James hasn’t changed a lot in the time they spent away from each other.

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

Do you still forget to clean your glasses? Do you still keep a picture of you dad in your wallet? Do you still like your coffee the same way? Do you still—

Say yes, say yes.

“I got the internship, by the way,” Regulus says at some point. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but stretching fields of green are slowly giving way to houses again. “The—”

“—one at the publishing house?” James cuts in excitedly. His head whips to the side to look at Regulus, joy evident in the little crinkles around his eyes. “No way!”

Regulus’ heart stalls and stutters. A heavy beat in his chest. Say yes, say yes.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he breathes.

Silence stretches between them and for a moment, Regulus thinks the conversation has died down again. It was nice while it lasted.

But then, so soft like he hoped Regulus might not hear, “I remember everything about you.”

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

“James. Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

Say yes, say yes.

Thankfully, James doesn’t need to be told a third time.

[wispscribbles]

Hello I just wanted to put an ask in and let u know that I really love your works! Ur one of my favorite fic writers and u inspire me a lot :D

thank you so much friend :''D Your support and comments are so so appreciated, can't believe you stand by me even after the Toast... incident. The inspiration absolutely goes both ways, because idk if I'd still be writing if I hadn't been met with so much support from folks like u <3 also- small ghoap for u

[sinofwriting]

Little Wolf - Daemon Targaryen

Words: 1,200 Summary: Daemon may have married to help ease the burden on his brother’s shoulders and he’d come to like his wife, the little wolf of the North. He hadn’t realized however how much she was suffering at court.

Note(s): I’ll be honest I was a little nervous accepting this request, but I’ve been reading a lot of GOT fics lately, and got the courage to write this. It might not be the best as I’m trying to get used to writing a more oldy kind of English, but I hope you enjoy it! (Also, yes, Daemon most definitely managed to get her that as a gift, no spoilers!)

Masterlist | Support Me!

She kept her shoulders low, smile small but not tight, feet solid on the ground, hands gently clasped in front of her. She would not give these southern ladies, if they could be really called that, her distaste or tears.

“You should really try one.” The Tyrell girl insists, pushing the plate that holds a tart closer. “I know such things aren’t available in the North.” She looks to the other woman at the table, thinking that she doesn’t see the giggle that she barely suppresses. “I’m sorry, my lady. Sweet things just aren’t for me. Must be my northern upbringing.” She smiles, forcing the words out. It wouldn't be good for her true words to come out. She wouldn’t not bring shame to her family, wolf or dragon. The girl sniffs, but doesn’t insist, instead turning her head to speak to the Hightower queen and she wanted to sigh at how poor of a match and queen she was.

She’d never say it out loud, but her good brother was not a smart ruler or man. It made her ache for her father, for her brother Cregan. For the family crypt that held her mother, that she could no longer go to for just the feeling of advice. Ache grew more and more as she was forced to be around southerners and their odd ideas and gods. She had scoffed when being told that she’d have to marry in front of the seven, in a sept.

Her only savior in this place, in king's landing, was her husband, though many would never think of him as such a thing. But Daemon Targaryen held the same views that the North did, that she did. He too scoffed at the seven, at the sept, and had agreed to her brother’s demands that they also be married in godswood, as tradition for Starks since long before.

She ached to be around the man that she could still be herself with and not this stiff thing she had to be around others. But, she knew she could not. They had never been close in the while they had been married, but for the past two moons, she had barely seen him, truly seen him. She may see him at dinners, but she had seen him maybe thrice in their shared chambers, only knew that he was sleeping due to the messed up furs on his side of the bed.

She nearly startles at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, but they were familiar even through the light fabric of her dress. “Wife, I’m afraid I have to steal you away.” She nods, giving a goodbye to the other ladies, who wrinkle their noses at her before she stands. Surprise nearly takes over features when her husband grabs her hand to place on his arm as he leads her away.

“You’re miserable.” He says as soon as they are out of sight and hearing and she stops walking. “Excuse me?” “I’ve been watching you, little wolf.” He moves to stand in front of her, eyes peering into hers and not for the first time she’s reminded that Daemon is a dangerous man, a man to be fearful of. “Been watching as you sit with the ladies of the court and listen to them talk, but never speak. Why is that little wolf?” He steps closer and her breath quickens. “You aren’t a shy thing, no one could ever think that of you. But you don’t speak. You smile, nod, and laugh.” She raises her head, ignoring the twitch in her jaw, aware that despite no one being around, they are still in public. “I’m afraid, Prince Daemon, I don’t know what you mean.” His eyes tighten as she uses his title. “I enjoy sitting with the ladies and talking. We just had the most interesting conversation about Casterly Rock and its new lady. She’s apparently having the roses ripped out and replaced. They don’t agree with her, you see.” “You don’t care about those cunts, any of them.” He begins to speak again, but she cuts him off, stepping closer and lifting her skirts just a bit as her voice comes out in a hiss. “I have a duty, Prince. One to my house and yours. I will not and can not forget myself. I don’t have the pleasure of forgetting such things.” She gives him a pointed look before turning on her heel.

“I’m feeling unwell, I think I’ll rest for a bit.” She tells him, before moving towards their chambers.

He watches after his wife, his little wolf, with a clenched jaw and fists, her words of duty reeking of cunttower. And then a feral smile forms on his lips, she was right in a way that she didn’t have the pleasure of forgetting that she had a duty, but she seemed to be forgetting that she was a Targaryen now, not a Stark, and that her duty was different then what it was previously. A smirk curls onto his lips, he’d just have to remind her of that.

—

He bides his time, spending another week watching as she puts on a facade at court, before he makes his first move.

He breaks fast with her and not just in their chambers. And then he begins his next step, he starts to walk with her, arm in arm. Not uncommon for a married pair, but uncommon for him. He never walked arm in arm with a lady unless you could count when his niece was younger and she would demand for him to carry her around. People take notice and whispers start but they’re easily curbed as a new bastard is born from the house of hightower. No one knows or can tell if it’s from the hand or his eldest son, but the people talk as the queen is near tears at the shame to her family when not praying in the sept.

And as he increases his affections for his wife in the court's eye, as well as in private, he waits. He waits and waits and then one morning as they break fast, he gets the message he’s been waiting for and he quickly excuses himself.

He offers a nod to the Snow boy that his good brother had sent, pleased to not hear him stammer, just a quiet your grace being said. “You had a safe journey?” “Yes. Traded horses just as often as you suggested and I have it.” He quickly presses forward a bundle of what seems to be fabric forward, but the weight and heat that touches his hands tells him that it is indeed what he asked for. “Good.” He adjusts the wriggling package to rest between his sword arm and side as he reaches for a pouch of coins, tossing it to the bastard. “Try not to spend it all in flea bottom, Snow.” He gives a quick bob of his head, eyes wide. “Thank you, your grace.” Daemon doesn’t bother responding, already turning around and heading back to his chambers where his wife is, a smirk on his face as he imagines her reaction to the wriggling gift he has for her.

[14dayswithyou]

I can imagine Ren taking down notes, ready to change his whole appearance again just to realize

“Mf are you talking about Teo? 😧” “Geehee 😋”

✦゜ANSWERED: Hahahaha yeah omggg that would be sooo weirdddd!! Who would be dumb enough to dress up like someone's exact type *I say this while wearing a [REDACTED] cosplay and standing in front of Eddie's house*

"Don't 'geehee' me." Teo's mocking tone comes from above you, though the look of disdain on his face didn't seem to be aimed at you specifically. "This is fuckin' weird."

"Y'think?" [REDACTED]'s voice soon joins in, only this time, it comes from somewhere behind you. All too quickly, his tall frame presses up against your back — and before you know it — you're suddenly being caged in by two warm chests. "What makes you think I wanna be dressed like a clown?"

"A clown? Please." With an eye-roll, Teo steps even closer, casually pressing himself up against you and giving you no room to squirm. "Just admit that this is the first time someone actually laid eyes on your pathetic self."

"Yeah, f'dressing like a fucking clown." Large, tattooed (and scarred) hands land on your shoulders as [REDACTED] pulls you even closer into his chest with a protective hold. "...I don't need anyone t'look at me though. Not unless it's—"

"It's starshine over here, right?" Finally acknowledging your presence, Teo sends you a sly wink before he rests his own hand on your hip. But unlike [REDACTED], his intention was more goading rather than protective. "You're predictable, buttercup."

"'Least I'm not some pretentious asshole."

"At least I've got an ass in the first place." Teo's tone practically oozes self-confidence as he leans even closer; allowing himself to tower above your head and face his "copycat" in a heated staring contest. "Couldn't care less if it was pretentious or not."

If Teo leaned any further, they'd be close enough to—

"—How much did it cost?" You unconsciously get pushed into Teo's body as [REDACTED] stands his ground. Your hands get a good feel of the hard chest before you, though you knew better than to let them linger for too long. "As much as it did to buy all your friends?"

"That was cute." Aaaaaand... Now you were also getting smothered by [REDACTED]'s chest while Teo does the same in return. "Where's your little insult book?"

"The same place your parents keep their love and affection f'you." You could practically hear the victory fanfare play as [REDACTED]'s hands finally pull you free from Teo.

"Motherf—"

And then you died from gettin crushed by tiddies!! Da end <3

[deservedgrace]

cult jokes are a symptom of and contribute to the simultaneous sensationalizing of cults (cults are all dark cloaks and animal sacrifices and devil worship and group suicide and despicable/unhinged beliefs) and diminishing of cults ("uwu come join my CULT XD we're gonna make cookies and WORSHIP SATAN teehee"), but i'm realizing how they go so hand-in-hand with the mindset of "only ~stupid/evil/crazy/etc.~ people could possibly join a cult. if it were me i would simply not fall for cult propaganda."

the diminishing part means that people don't take you seriously if you say you're an ex cult member or talk about your experiences in a cult or believe you are a current victim of a cult, because cults are just silly little groups that have weird beliefs but are otherwise innocuous. the sensationalizing part means people will also not take you seriously because if it was Actually a cult cult, that does harm and has evil beliefs, you should've known better because any reasonable person would have seen through it. the other side of "only an [xyz] person joins a cult" is "i am not an [xyz] person so i will never join a cult or be victim to propaganda and other cult tactics." the other side of "if it were me i would simply not fall for propaganda" is "someone falling for propaganda is fully a choice and a personal failing on their part." and combined they make: if you were [xyz] enough to join a cult and fall for propaganda, that means you deserved it.

people who would never make jokes about any other kind of abuse but feel perfectly fine making cult jokes used to kind of baffle me, because why is joking about personal abuse a problem but large-scale/group abuse is fine? why is it suddenly funny when you're the one that wants to perpetuate the abuse? but if your belief around cults is: "your experience wasn't that bad [diminishing], and if it was that bad [sensationalizing] it was your own fault and personal failing [i would simply not fall for propaganda], which means you deserved what you went through [only stupid/evil/crazy/etc people join cults]" and you don't understand how cults or cult tactics work, cult survivors/victims probably feel like a fair target for jokes (they are not, to be clear).

[tonycries]

tonyyyyyyyyyy......... i'm begging you.... more tony x reader 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 pretty pleaseeeeeeee?????????????? 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏 pleaseeee sweethearttttttttttt pleaseeeeeeee

FIIIIINE but only because you called me “sweetheart”��🙄😳

“H-here?” you wince at the way your voice cracks ever so slightly at the end. Looking around the empty changing stall as if just waiting to be caught red-handed. Literally anywhere but down, “Someone’s gonna- ngh-”

And, well, it’s not Tony if she isn’t shutting up your pretty whines by shoving her face nose-deep into your drenched panties. 

Giving your ass a tiny smack! that rings so guiltily in the room. “Relaaax” she drawls, hot tongue licking along your sopping, covered slit. “No one’s gonna know.”

“But-”

“Shhh, trust me.”

Nothing more is said before she’s all but ripping off your poor panties, having you fully and perfectly on display. Thumbing along the outside of your puffy folds, pooling your sweet sweet juices on her fingertips before raising them and-

“Mmm.” Tony moans around her index, “Cherry.”

And your face burns, recalling how you’d applied cherry chapstick to your actual lips - not the ones below - and you knew that. Knew that would get you to squirm in embarrassment. Sly bastard. 

Slam!

“Fuck! Um- sorry I seem to be uh- in the wrong room…”

And you don’t know what makes your jaw drop more - the way the intruder just stands there, taking in the sinful scene, or the words that are falling from Tony’s kiss-bitten lips, “Nah.” Giving you a sly wink from between your legs, “I think you’re in exactly the right place.”

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I still can't get over how perfect Time In A Bottle was for the E7 credits. How perfectly it fits with Lilia. The whole theme of time -- wanting to save time, to bottle it up, to control it and make sense of it, while knowing all the while that it's impossible. There never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them, because she only realized that she needed her coven and that her life and gift had a meaning beyond running away from death as she was nearing her own end. If I had a box just for wishes and dreams that had never come true, the box would be empty except for the memory of how they were answered by you, because by the end she has no regrets anymore; she has made peace with the death of her first coven, and has found acceptance and community in her new coven. I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with -- she spends the last few hours of her life going through time with and for her coven, in a way the only characters can barely fathom, and I'm 300% sure the clues she gave them are going to save them in the end. How quiet and gentle and wistful the song is, and how quiet and gentle and wistful Lilia's final understanding of her life and her death is. How she falls softly into death's embrace, almost as if she's floating, and she begins again from the first step. If words could make wishes come true, I'd save every day like a treasure, and then again I would spend them with you. I do not have the proper words to convey how all this makes me feel but the more I think about it the harder I sob. Lilia Calderu you will always be in my heart

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

[polutrope]

"Wherefore dost thou of the uncouth race of Men endure to upbraid a king of the Eldalië? Lo! in Palisor my life began years uncounted before the first of Men awoke. Get thee gone, O Úrin..."

'Turambar and the Foalóke' in The Book of Lost Tales Part II. Written c. 1919.

"How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand aught of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by the waters of Cuiviénen years uncounted ere the fathers of the stunted people awoke?"

'Of the Ruin of Doriath', The Silmarillion, ed. Christopher Tolkien. Published 1977.

So I think something that gets left out of the Thingol discourse (note: no Thingol bashing on this post please), is the textual history of the chapter 'Of the Ruin of Doriath'. Most of the published Silmarillion very closely follows drafts written by Tolkien. Not so this chapter, which Tolkien only ever got to in his first draft of the Silmarillion in the historical summary tradition as we know and love it, i.e., the 1930 Qenta Noldorinwa, where he wrote:

Thingol ... scanted his promised reward for their labour; and bitter words grew between them, and there was battle in Thingol's halls.

(Consider that the Thingol of the Narn i hin Hurin, often cited as a gentler and more complex character, was written in the 1950s.)

The only other time he touched it in more expansive prose format was in the late 1910s, when Doriath was Artanor and Thingol was Tinwelint and the Silmarils barely mattered. He again mentions these events in brief annalistic form in the Tales of Years, most lately revised in the 1950s.

502 The Nauglamir is wrought of the treasure of Glaurung, and the Silmaril is hung thereon. Thingol quarrels with the Dwarves who had wrought for him the necklace.

That's it. That's all Christopher Tolkien and Guy Gavriel Kay (hired to help write this gap in the narrative) had to work with. So they took Tolkien's words where they could get them, and here you can see they took a speech Tinwelint (later Thingol, but not the same character as he developed) spoke to Úrin (later Húrin, but also not the same character) and adapted it to another context, i.e., Thingol's conflict with the Dwarves over the Nauglamir.

In The War of the Jewels (HoMe 11), Christopher writes a revealing commentary on how he put together this chapter, and expresses regrets on how it was done. He admits, "How [my father] would have treated Thingol's behaviour towards the Dwarves is impossible to say."

Now, I really dislike the 'Christopher did him dirty' line of thinking. Working through HoMe, it's obvious Christopher did the best, most faithful-to-JRRT job anyone could have done putting his father's drafts into a cohesive narrative. But, in this case, Christopher (and Guy Kay) did tinker with Thingol's character in a way that, I think, he regretted, or at least questioned. And, unfortunately, the way Thingol speaks to the Dwarves here -- a speech Tolkien did not write -- has become a huge sticking point in fandom conversations.

Yes, it's canon that Naugrim means "stunted folk" in Sindarin. There's definitely tension and mutual disdain between Elves and Dwarves, no question about it. Does Thingol call the Dwarves an "uncouth race" and claim superiority as a lord of Elves in the published Silmarillion? Yes, he does. And so yes, it's canon and it's part of Thingol's character. But it's not the only part of Thingol's character, which is the point I always see the (shall we say) appreciators of nuance returning to.

But I've wanted to make this post about the textual history of what I would consider Thingol's worst moment for a while, since I've not seen it included in the conversation before.

"Canon" in Tolkien's legendarium is hard to define, as we know. (Personally, that's precisely what makes it so creatively inspiring to me.) But I think there are some places where it's harder to define than others, and this episode with Thingol and the Dwarves is one of them.

Take it as you will.

[chalkrub]

haven’t drawn this beast in a while....i love you mendel

[becca-e-barnes]

Sub!bucky is so needy for you after you denied his orgasm a few days (he is so whiny 😩🥵)

And at night he’s having a wet dream of you and he doesn’t know that’s part of you evil plan… while he grinds his clothed dick at your palm you whisper some sexy things in his ears. When he cums he wakes up and you made his look like he was not your good boy 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I've actually been thinking about something similar recently! I just really love subby men eugh 🤤

I like to think you could make it a little more intense though because I prefer to imagine that you've been making him edge for a few days. You don't let him edge inside you, you both know he'd struggle too much. Instead, you lube up your hand and stroke him for hours, letting him fuck your fist until he's dribbled so much precum over you, your hand is unbearably slick and then you kiss his forehead before you tuck his aching cock back into his underwear.

No matter how much he whines and begs and pleads to be allowed to cum, you don't give in. He's not just being denied his orgasm, he's being worked towards it until he's right on the edge and then you give him absolutely nothing. Repeatedly. It's torture but fuck, he gets off on knowing his dick is yours. He doesn't cum without your permission. You completely own him.

He breaks after the sixth night of being relentlessly edged. You'd stroked his cock nice and slowly for hours that day, swirling your tongue over his tip and reminding him that he's the best boy. He was practically shaking by the time you both made it to bed.

His little whine of "Oh fuck, please." was the first thing you remember hearing when you woke up, quickly followed by "O-oh, oh yes."

At first you thought he must be touching himself; giving in to his own slutty thoughts when he thought you wouldn't find out.

As your sleepy brain slowly wakes up, you realise he's grinding against you, rubbing his throbbing cock against your bare ass, gripping your hips like there's no tomorrow. "Gonna cum. F-fuck, gonna cum." He's frantic, his head tucked in against your neck, his breath hot and erratic against your skin.

You can't have that. Absolutely not. You shuffle away from him, determined not to let him have what he needs and the second the contact between your bodies is broken, you hear him whine pathetically.

"Did you really think that would work out for you?" You tease quietly, turning to face him but that's when you realise his eyes are still closed. His brow is furrowed, very clearly still asleep.

You can't help but pity him. He's so desperate to cum, he's grinding against you in his sleep. He's done his very best to do as he's told but his body can't take it. He's been the best boy for you all week. The least you could do is grant him a little relief.

"You're such a good boy, Bucky." You whisper, pressing him gently onto his back, grasping his cock and letting the tip glide between your slick folds. Nothing feels better than this. You've missed it more than you thought you would this week.

"Such a pretty little slut." You line his tip up with your entrance and ever so slowly lower yourself down. "You're a mindless little fuck toy for me when you're like this. So horny, you can hardly even think straight. You've been like a needy fucking puppy for me all week. You just let your dick think for you, isn't that right? You know I could tell when you were zoning out and daydreaming about fucking me? You're so cute."

As you start to really fuck yourself on him, Bucky seems to moan himself awake.

"Please." He begs, and it sounds so pretty when he says it. "Please, I'm so close. I'm gonna cum. I can't cum inside you. There's gonna be so much."

"Oh sweetheart, that's what I want. I want you to fill me. Stuff my cunt full of cum. I thought I told you how badly I want a baby."

[hermit-frog]

people see Daniel sass Armand without immediate consequences, and assume that Armand must be into that old man. but in reality, the reason Daniel is still intact is much simpler — Armand loves Louis.