#if ever there was a time it was appropriate its this

[gatheringbones]

[“Times may change, but the mechanics of a great fisting party stay the same. There’s something about the extreme sports element of fisting, the physical technique combined with athletic spectacle, that makes it perfect for showing off.

I can remember house parties in Oakland where I would walk past a bedroom only to be beckoned in by a casual acquaintance: Hey, she’s really open, do you wanna hold hands with me inside of her? And I would, of course, wrapping my fingers around a stranger’s fingers inside another stranger on a mattress on the floor, electroclash blaring tinnily from a burned CD, churning like the splattered cream in the 1977 Robert Mapplethorpe piece appropriately titled Double Fist Fuck.

Come with me as we venture into another room at this house party. I crouch over you, on my knees, my left hand holding me up. My right hand is a queer icon, a position on a hundred screenprinted T-shirts. The pads of my fingers pressed together, my nails short and filed. My elbow is hydraulic, my wrist dexterous, my knuckles flexing. You love being just a hole. You love for me to stake my claim in you.

I’m searching for something specific, something a breath orgasm teacher of mine named Barbara Carrellas calls the “Resilient Edge of Resistance,” a term she got from her teaching partner, Chester Mainard. She defines it as the sensation of being “awake and aware, but completely peaceful and relaxed. You want it to go on forever.”

I press you, searching for the place where you press back onto me, and I tenderize you like meat as I go. You are impaled on me, and every movement I make feels a thousand times larger than reality. I twist my knuckles. I pulse. I tug. I undulate. I open my hand and press my fingers together. I play you like music. You yank on me, and I let you take me with you. Bear down on me and melt away.

I’ve been fucked in my holes ever since I started having sex with other people. And realizing my potential to fist others is the thing I now know was missing where that kind of default sex was concerned. I love to top, to be in the driver’s seat, to be the emcee of the show. I crave giving people what I love to get. You don’t have to be at a fisting party to fist, but somehow, the act feels inherently exhibitionist even at its most intimate. It’s not just about me and you, or about the people voyeuring around us. In moments like these, I feel connected to the players at the Catacombs, their party technology and what my activist friend Blunt calls the technology of community. Queer pleasure makes space for everyone to fuck underground and outside the box.”]

tina horn, from why are people into that? a cultural investigation of kink, 2024

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; gn!reader (no gendered language. they have boobs), reader is not mc, stripper!reader, normal doctor zayne, takes place in a different country to where the game is set, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.4k

✮ a/n ; dont think too deeply about this one. its just horny. based on this

✮ synopsis ; zayne is not the type of man to fall for a stripper. supposedly.

He's here on business.

Research, specifically. It's common for Zayne to be invited to speak in different conferences regarding his tremendous research - but the prefers the predictable chaos of working in the Linkon City Hospital.

He only ever catches a flight for good reason. And rumor has it that one of the people who have dragged him into such... a salacious establishment have information related to Aether Cores and the like.

This is not the type of place he would ever go on his own, to be quite clear.

It's loud. Packed with people of all kinds, the saccharine scent of perfume and liquor clinging to the air, and completely dim with exception of the stage.

There's a popular performer tonight, Zayne hears from the crowd. He glances over at the people besides him. A strange mix of professionals and business men all shitface drunk.

He wonders if this kind of environment would be more tolerable if he, too, drank.

His head hurts regardless. He scans the room quietly, trying to map out an easy exit. He'll make up a lie about having a meeting in the morning and excuse himself politely. They seem just out of it enough not to hold it against him. Now would be the perfect time.

He really, really wants to leave. But the optimal time to do so passes him. Before he can unlatch from his seat, the already dim lights go dimmer and the stage lights go bright. An MC on the stage speaks to the crowd and Zayne goes in and out from listening. He only catches the latter half of a sentence.

"Let's give them a warm welcome, ladies and gentleman!"

Music begins to play with a slow intro. Zayne doesn't know the song, but he thinks he's heard it before on TV or somewhere else. Maybe somewhere online. He isn't sure.

It doesn't take any time for Zayne to understand why you're such a popular performer.

From the minute you step out, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Like stealing the air from his lungs, you walk in with confidence. Undeniably gorgeous and keen about it too, you approach the pole center stage with a playful coyness.

You spin around the pole as the song works it's way to the chorus, limbs loose as you mouth the lyrics to the intro. Zayne can barely make out the lyrics—appropriately sexual, from what he can tell.

Your expression is light as you pull off a routine of tricks. He can't help but admire the skill in it - well aware of what kind of core strength and control is required to hold yourself upright.

Even your landing is graceful as you drop back onto your heels and bend forward on your knees.

You let loose when the chorus begins. You've practiced for this. The moment you hear the verse you choreographed the whole dance around - you own the attention of the crowd completely. Gesturing like you're grinding against the pole, face pulled into a grin, hair flipping back as you enjoy the music. People throw tips onto the stage and you work them into your routine.

Offering winks and blowing kisses, even Zayne finds his face cracked in a smile that feels amused. He isn't sure what it is exactly, that seems to make you different.

You look like you love the attention. That everyone's eyes are on you, fully entranced.

Himself included.

When the next part of the song plays, you playfully drop down onto the floor to do crowdwork. He thinks the cheering is going to blow out his ear drums, the spotlight working hard to follow you as a path clears.

This is the part where you seduce the audience, Zayne recognizes. To crowd and get to close without ever touching, taking sips of drinks and giving a guiding hand when someone wants to stick bills into your waistband.

There's a strict rule in place to not touch the dancers unless they touch you first. Most everyone abides by it, though Zayne's sure that can get tricky on other nights.

You go through different sections as the song plays.

And you make eyes at Zayne just one section before his.

It happens too fast. You climb up a few steps and weave your way through every member of his section before you finally stop at him. With the music still playing, and in the middle of your performing - you get this look in your eye that makes Zayne hold his breath.

The bridge is more sensual then sexy. It's slower and more rhythmic. You stand in front of him and sway to it, seemingly trying to decide on what to do. Zayne can't tell if it's apart of your act or not.

Before he can make any sense of it, you use your heel to drive his knees apart and turn around - hovering over his lap. Zayne's eyes go wide. He can feel the warmth crawl it's way up his chest, ears growing hot as he clears his throat.

You turn your head over your shoulder as if to taunt him. Zayne doesn't find the strength to push you away.

This emboldens you. Just enough to drop the rest of your weight onto his lap and sit there like it's nothing. Zayne is suddenly conscious of the extent of your exposure. Almost naked and sitting directly on his—

He hears you giggle. Over the music, and this close to him - he can hear it in your voice as you sit. You lean back until your back hits his chest, kicking one of your legs up and putting more pressure between you. Your hand reaches around to the back of his neck.

He can't see the face your making in the moment. He gets the impression he doesn't need to.

You roll your hips with increasing interest as each verse of the bridge plays, at one point leaning forward again.

It's something about that specific angle. The small of your back, the slope of your shoulders and the curve of your arch. Something about that angle that Zayne understands for the first time in his life why someone would ever want to touch someone they don't know so intimately.

Zayne doesn't know you. Not outside of this. But in that split second where you're all skin and sweet smelling perfume and sweat—he so desperately wants to touch you.

So much so that he's thankful when you stand up. When the chorus begins again and the song begins to close - you turn around and face him.

With a knee between his legs resting on the couch, you cage Zayne into being face first with your chest. Your smile feels especially bright, and so terribly beautiful as you laugh again at his reaction.

He feels your fingertip trace his jaw and finds himself completely helpless as you tilt his face to get a good look at you. As if you want him to remember who exactly makes him feel like this.

He finds it almost silly. There's no way he'd be able to forget you. Not after this.

When your nails trail lightly under his chin, you lean into whisper something.

"Come find me after the show,"

And then you pull back, hand on his chest before holding it out. Somehow Zayne knows what you're asking and pulls a random amount of bills from his to place in your hand.

You grab them instantly, bending down to kiss him on the cheek just before the last few verses play. It takes until then for you to finally move on from him and entertain the last two sections in the wind down. Just a few more verses before the song comes to a close.

Zayne can hear all the blood rushing in his ears as he leans back, unsure of what exactly to do.

When it's over, the crowd erupts into cheers. A very large man comes to escort you away from them and back into the dressing room. Zayne watches you leave. He feels completely out of his depth and the pure engima of you seems to be the only anchor he has.

He feels something intense in his chest when your eyes meet and you smile again, blowing him a kiss before getting further dragged away. He can nearly hear your giggle all the way from where he sits.

After a while, the lights come on again. Different girls take up the stage. Zayne's colleagues and co-workers all pat him on the back but he finds himself more perturbed then anything.

What just happened?

He reminds himself that this is work. Your work is to bring men to their knees. And it's not that Zayne doesn't respect it, but he isn't the sort of man to be caught so easily by something as the prospect of sex.

Would it be ridiculous? For him to say there's more to it than that?

He isn't sure. He isn't sure if the semantics matters when ultimately, he finds himself wanting to do exactly as you say.

Maybe, he'll have answers when he does come find you.

[lesbianherald]

so i know you're trying to process Coming Home being the top fic now but bestie are you aware that you hit 30k kudos?

ok. ok ok okok.

As a warning, I'm going to get really weird and personal here.

I got these this morning. Just like with the last one I have no idea what to do with this or how to appropriately deal with it lmao but to everyone who has been so nice - thank you. so much? this is a number so unfathomable to me that I've been trying to sit with it all day and simply cannot process it as real.

I don't want to care about numbers. I want to be super cool and chill and above that. but this is a really big one. and I think it also is really reflective of how big this community has grown. I've decided it would be odd not to acknowledge it.

This is one of the craziest, kindest, most lovely things that has ever happened to me. It feels so incredible and validating to know my work reached some people. That is quite literally all I want to do with my life. And now it feels like I might be able to with my own stuff. But its a lil deeper than that too. All the comments and support have genuinely been such an amazing balm during a really dark time in my life.

At the start, this fic was always a method of escapism for me. I've been under so much pressure in my real life. I'm in a really weird, really competitive transitional point. everything I write irl may make or break the rest of my career. It is a type of pressure I'm incredibly grateful and privileged to have, but still stressful nonetheless.

But then, as i was writing this fic, it became way more of a lifeline. Not to get too personal, and idk if people paid attention to my end notes, but if you did you'll note I fell victim to the ao3 curse last October in a really big way. I lost a dear friend of mine very suddenly.

Starting coming home was a way for me to write something just to write it, knowing that I could be myself and do whatever I want and just throw shit at the wall without worrying about anything. after my friend passed away, the escapism of it became that much more valuable. (btw I would not post about it were I not in a much better place with it so don't worry about me <3)

I feel like maybe it's important at this point to explain the meaning of all the support because I've genuinely been unable to express it in a way I find appropriate. every piece of art every sweet comment etc. etc. helped get me through this really weird, sad, shocking time. As "cringe" as it might seem... fandom and fanfic can be really meaningful, powerful, and connective.

All this being said. coming home was definitely released in the right time for this to happen. A multichapter released right before and during season 2 as well as in the months after? Like. It was primed for this a bit (not intentionally but still) So many fics that get posted now deserve the same amount of love and support.

I really hesitate with numbers. sharing them, abiding by them, gaining value from them. I also get nervous about how people will feel entitled to treat me because of them. But this is so insane it feels weird not to say a bigger thank you.

[damned-punk]

Happy Birthday Killer (Killer x Reader)

@gratefulcheeses Kidd Pirate’s Month 2025 🏴‍☠️

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Content Warning: self esteem issues

Content Description: Killer is going through a difficult time following the SMILE incident but you have hope for the future ♡

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Following Killer’s selfless consumption of the failed SMILE fruit, your relationship had changed. You weren’t sure if it was for better or worse, but a metamorphosis had taken place where you were closer but farther apart than ever before. He was still Killer, undeniably the man that you loved, but things were different. It was as though he cared even less about himself than usual, constantly throwing himself into the most dire situations for the most minuscule gain. He worried you and no matter how you articulated this to him, he just wasn’t getting it.

It wasn’t that he’d grown cold or distant, but rather that he was preventing himself from feeling anything toward you. He despised his laugh and that it was the only way he could display his affections for you, he didn’t want to lose you but he didn’t want you to have to live with him like this. He’d said many times that this wasn’t what you signed up for and that he would not fault you for leaving him, it was all too much to bear. Turning to the only other person on earth who might be able to get through to him, you brought the issue to the Captain.

His usual reprieve of being a loud, sarcastic asshole was lost as soon as Killer was brought up. This was just as dire and near to Kidd as it was to you, he’d nearly lost his best friend too. It took days for Killer to even speak to Kidd, the image of him bandaged head to toe and laughing maniacally through tears would never leave you. Kidd of course agreed to help, never shying away from anything that concerned his partner, and instructed you to give them space for the time being.

This was somewhat of a problem as Killer’s birthday was only a short time away and you wanted so deeply for him to relax, even if just for a few hours. You considered coordinating with the crew for a nice dinner and time spent together but it just didn’t seem appropriate. They were rowdy as hell and while letting loose did seem appealing, it wasn’t right for the occasion. Killer had been sleeping in his own cabin since the incident which had been hard in its own right, but it allowed you to prepare in privacy. You lightly decorated and prepared a quiet celebration only to be enjoyed by the two of you, three if Killer wanted Kidd at his side.

It was strange going about things in this manner, Killer was far from delicate but this felt necessary. You’d already had an idea for his gift and wrapped it in a small black box with a blue bow, simplistic and perhaps a bit silly but hopefully something that would bring him even the smallest amount of joy. You’d had it made on an island during one of your last supply runs, ensuring that you saved it for his birthday.

Once things were settled in your cabin, you let Kidd know your plans and he agreed that approaching the celebration in this manner was the best course of action. The crew still showered him with congratulations and gifts, but you wanted to preserve some level of intimacy for time with him that you hadn’t had in a while. You waited until that evening, approaching him after cake had been passed.

“Meet me in my cabin when you’re ready.”, you leant up to speak near his ear, giving his arm a light squeeze for reassurance.

You waited for him on the bed, gift in hand, hoping that he wouldn’t be against spending time alone together. The minutes felt like hours but just as you began reaching the threshold patience, heavy footsteps echoed through the empty corridor just outside your cabin door. They stopped outside for a few moments, likely in an attempt for him to brace himself for whatever you had planned. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried, you’d been so patient with him for so long that he wouldn’t be surprised if you were fed up. He reluctantly grasped the door handle and pushed the door open, awkwardly standing in the doorway after closing the two of you off from the others.

“Come sit.”, you held a small smile on your face as you patted the spot on the bed next to you.

He wordlessly obeyed, making his way over to occupy the space at your side.

“Happy Birthday, I hope you like it.”, you stated softly while placing the gift in his hands.

He laughed for a moment, his expression caged by his mask. You studied the way the mask contoured around his skull, your eyes combed over the grooves in the metal from Kidd’s handy work. You hated the mask for what it represented, but it was a part of Killer no less. He seemed to be unsure about opening the box, he felt like he didn’t deserve to receive something from you after so many terrible things transpired on Wano.

After several long and grueling moments, he finally opened the box and lifted the silly present to hang between his fingers. It was a small golden bracelet with the teeniest, tiniest pasta charm. On the back of the charm were your’s and his initials, a small gesture that he could wear and know that you were with him always. Suddenly, his laugher surmounted and his head flew backwards. He did what he could to stifle the sound, his shoulders shaking violently. You wrapped your arms about him, his hands lifting to meet your skin.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m sorry I-“, he began to apologize but you stopped him immediately.

“None of that… not tonight. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”, you reassured him, “I love you and I know that we can get through this… Always have and always will.”

“Always have and always will.”, he repeated, tucking your promise into the back of his mind for safe keeping.

There was undoubtedly a lot of uncertainly on these seas but a small part of you was sure that things would work out in the end, no matter what that would look like.

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[thegildedbee]

{S1/S2} & {S3/S4} Fics: [Questions] .......................................................................

[well, instead of a few thoughts about the "whys" for the Parentlock fic recs that were the point of starting this post, and then a list of and comments about the recs, this turned into a longer meta -- which, we don't really do meta any more, do we, except in passing? fwiw, then, a throwback post, I guess?]

........................................................................................................... I've been thinking some about differences in Sherlockian fic treatments, when comparing the S1/S2 period to the S3/S4 period - in general, this means 2014 as a dividing line, although that's not a hard-and-fast cut-off point: for example, there were fics that were conceptualized or well-along-the-wip-road prior to S3 that carried on from within the earlier canon-space even if they were completed a year or so later; and there were fic authors who were publishing circa 2015 who had shrugged off S3 when it was being aired, and couldn't have cared less about post-S3 [often disputatious] meta discussions/ speculations.* So, by my figuring, 2014-2015 is a transitional phase, with my guess being that it would be late in 2015 when fics written by authors engaging with S3 canon began merging into a critical mass, creating a second, S1/2/3-transformed foundational reference point for many fics going forward -- and, the later in time one ventures, the reference point for most fics.

It's not that I've been wondering/pondering about the differences because I think pre- or post-S3 fics are better or worse -- to say the least :-) I feel positively about fic from both time periods! It's partly curiosity about the writing of fic in the two different creative contexts: in the "before time" or the "after time" of BBCS' post-Reichenbach canon decisions. And it's also partly curiosity about the differences in length that now exist for the two periods: about 4 years for pre-S3 fic -- which will always remain so, along with the amount of fic it contains [minus deletions and disappearances of specific fic] -- and going on 11 years now (and always stretching further, with increasing content) for post-S3 fic.

I think that one impulse prompting my curiosity is the fact that, realistically, at this point in time [the start of 2025] new canon is unlikely to appear. When BBCS was still in motion as an evolving source for its own canon (in actuality and in potentia), fics were brought to life within a contingent canonical landscape (whether authors were adapting to it or subverting it or anticipating it or transforming it or appropriating it or moving at tangents to it). Of course, the canonical landscape was rendered static when BBCS pulled over to the side of the motorway and killed the engine.

What I'm not saying is that fic is in stasis -- it can't ever be, for lots of reasons! One reason is that, as time passes, the world changes, and we change, and what we see when we look at traditional canon changes . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A second reason is that new people come along to write fic and to comment on fic, and to meta about fic, and their contributions augment and reshape the cumulative corpus . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A third reason is that, through our encounters with other imaginative realms, old and new (novels and films and series and other enthusiasms) and then with each other, there's a continuous glamouring that shimmers the atmosphere . . . and so (say it again :-) the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) Even so, I've been a bit wistful these days about experiencing Sherlockian canon-in-the-making . . . which is maybe what's prompted me (?) to return to the ur-source, which, because it's been so long since I've visited there, can conjure up that kind of magic :-) And so I've been doing some weekly mini-wanderings through ACD canon, and reading between the lines in a kind of what's-old-is-new-again-familiar-unfamiliarity that's been rewarding :-) But more on point for this post (ha! if you've read this far you've been wondering, is there a point? . . . ) is a sense I have that re-visiting S1/S2 fic is another way of accessing a bit of a present-day sense of canon-in-the-making, because it is far enough in the past now, and because of the post-S3's-interpolated-foundation-for-fic has itself extended outward so far, that pre-S3 fic can be visited in a what's-old-is-new-again kind of way (S1/S2 has familiar beats to it, but when visiting I somehow feel whisperings of a mrs. hudson-like smile of "but we see things somewhat differently here, dear" :-)

Okay, enough with all the preliminaries! All that being said: So, what's an example? Here's one I've come back to many times: One major shift is in fics where Sherlock is a parent, or is interacting with a child of John's, because pre-S3 means pre-Mary [at least the "Mary the (former?) assassin" of BBC Sherlock] and pre-"Rosie." [It is the case that some pre-S3 authors have a "Mary," but it's a version that's drawn from ACD canon, and, as such, is usually a much more understated presence; re kids from ACD canon, that's a null consideration.]

There are an overwhelming number of post-S3 fics where Sherlock-with-a-child means Sherlock&John-and-Mary's-Rosie under various scenarios. And while there are lots of different Rosie personalities, Rosie plots, and Sherlockian encounters with Rosie, a majority (or very nearly all?) post-S3 Parentlock fics share in this background rationale (more or less, to be sure) even as they play out from there in a gazillion different inventive ways. Pre-S3 Parentlock fics don't have that raison d'etre, of course, and the child characters and plottings that feature in the S1/S2 period have a generally wilder set of imaginings, and their S1/S2 fic Sherlocks have a balance of characteristics that have some subtle differences that I've always found intriguing, and keep coming back to (this can hold for Johns as well, although the emphasis is more pronounced with Sherlocks). Being pulled back into pre-S3 fic and re-visiting it through categories like Parentlock has been another way that I've re-experienced a kind of anticipatory canon-in-the-making . . . ambience? aesthetic? aura? which I've found to be intriguing. I'm not sure that looking backwards has much appeal for others -- maybe (?) In any case, I guess I thought I'd try and puzzle it out for myself by writing it down and not just having it float about in wisps in my mind palace :-)

Well, hey now, as this is an epic amount of wandering about, I think it's time to come to a rather inelegant galumphing of an endpoint! Writing up the fic recs will have to maybe happen somewhere down the road...

(For anyone who has wandered along this far as well: if you have any thoughts you'd like to share about S1/S2 and S3/S4 fic partitioning, or [the futility of?] attempts to re-surface a canon-in-the-making-vibe -- feel free to add them in! If so, borrowing these would allow this post a much more inspiriting way to finish :-)

........................................................................................

*(. . . and of course there were a significant number of authors who left the fandom after S3 -- but that's a fic trend reflection for another day :-)

.......................................................................................

@calaisreno  @totallysilvergirl  @friday411  @peanitbear  @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels  @a-victorian-girl  @keirgreeneyes  @starrla89  @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely  @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @jobooksncoffee  @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat  @bluebellofbakerstreet  @dragonnan  @safedistancefrombeingsmart  @jolieblack

@msladysmith  @ninasnakie  @riversong912  @dapetty .............................................................................................

[riverofjazzsims]

Winter Holiday 20 years old 4'11 Orientation: Heterosexual-ish Occupation: Creator of smiles Location: Where the snow first falls

Winter Holiday is an unique individual who over the last few months has started to show, shall we say some interesting characteristics. For the moment though she is mostly human. She knows that she will have an interesting road a head of her and as her parents have made her aware, a partner during this journey will be essential. Mainly because no-one knows what to expect. Her parents defied the rules and loved each other and if that wasn't bad enough did what was thought impossible, create new life. See Winter has some magical lineage, her fathers, yes fathers, are a touch legendary and her mother seemingly just human was found to be a bit more than anyone could guess.

But we are not here today to talk about them. Winter is very much a mystery and as such, details about her will become known as we progress.

Here are some fun Winter facts: ❄️she absolutely LOVES the cold and snow ❄️oddly almost anywhere Winter goes there's either a drop in temp / starts to snow ❄️The birthmarks on her cheeks slowly appeared over the years and are cool to the touch ❄️She loves the color blue ❄️Dancing is her religion

More info will be forthcoming as we lead up to the submission deadline

Contestant Entry Rules:

❄️YA males only, any ethnicity or size welcome ❄️No Occults - caveat- winner will become immortal/long lifespan as Winter will be walking this rock of a planet for a very long time. ❄️Bio/brief backstory ❄️1 negative trait/ no custom traits ❄️No in game jobs assigned please ( totally fine for them to have one listed in their bio) ❄️3 skills of your choosing, max level 5 ❄️Likes/Dislikes please - 10 max ❄️Turn-on/off optional ❄️light /med CC or Vanilla is OK ❄️NO ALPHA hair ❄️No body presets ❄️Attire: 2 everyday/ 1 cold weather. If you don't have seasons please add your sims cold weather outfit as their 3rd everyday and I will change it over to the appropriate slot in CAS. All other you can leave in underwear and I will supply outfit if/when needed. Please keep in mind we will be almost always in cold weather when outside.

Side note: I use default skin (Bare by Lamatisse) and eyes (jack eyes remastered - but i had to "fix" them to work after some patch so your simmies will be using those in game Sliders are ok as I have the most popular ones. Note I will not add any new ones in my game so small tweaks may be made to compensate

❄️ I own ALL packs ❄️

Quick Questions for the potential hopefuls What is your favorite color Tell us what makes you naughty and what makes you nice ( yes answer both) Sims height

Contestant Submissions

Submissions deadline: Saturday Feb 15th @10pm CST. If I end up with more than 7 candidates , 7 will be chosen from the submissions. More to come if this ends up being the case

Remember to tag me or use #HTDF or #KillerBC So I can see your entry and reblog

Friendly reminder this is an 18+ blog, there will be mature themes involved. So the watcher needs to be at least 18 to enter 🫡

Not everyone will make it out alive.👀☠️ Some may even disappear. There will be chaos and drama and what ever else these damn sims throw my way.

Gameplay: There will be various gameplay mods being used throughout this BC including and not limited to Wicked Whims, and several Sacrificial Mods including extreme violence There will be some storytelling component to this, As with most BC there will be some challenges, group activities/dates and solo opportunities. Interactions will predominately be autonomous and I will use that to help build the story and game play. Some scenes/interactions may be replayed out using poses/animations Winter is looking for love but keep in mind there is a story playing out along side this and its a little on the dark side and yes not everyone will make it out alive. The only ones immune to the Grimms kiss will be Winter and her parents.

[mc-cookies]

LONG MOSTLY UNEDITED POST AHEAD! tl;dr Eureka’s devs made the unconventional choice to create an imbalanced, volatile, and deadly tabletop combat system, and it helps make the game really good at telling detective stories. If you’re ever making a game that’s inspired by genre fiction, you shouldn’t be afraid to copy tropes that other games don’t normally use. Also, check out Eureka! It’s incredibly fun to read and play, and a master class in thoughtful game design. Full write up below.

One underrated aspect of @anim-ttrpgs’s Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy that I think tabletop designers should look to for inspiration is the fact that it doesn’t shy away from the conventions of its genre, even if they conflict with the conventional wisdom of how TTRPGs usually work. Eureka wants to be a toolkit for mystery stories in the vein of Agatha Christie-style mystery novels, film noir, or detective TV shows like Columbo and Kolchak, and it’s willing to bend tabletop gaming tradition to do that in a way that seems limiting, but actually increases the potential for compelling and appropriate stories.

The example that made this observation come up for me is the choice to create a crunchy, tactical combat system where guns and explosives absolutely break the power curve. Usually, in games that are heavily opinionated about combat and dangerous situations, the goal is for the player characters to fight with finesse and skill, often growing in power over time, and to that end there are many viable strategies that all scale massively as the players upgrade them. This is a great way to allow for fights that feel balanced, larger than life, and satisfyingly heroic. It’s also not remotely what Eureka does.

Eureka’s combat isn’t meant to emulate a modern action film, a high fantasy adventure, or a shonen anime. It aims to emulate the deadly, fast paced, environmentally driven heightened realism of action scenes in classic film noir, and to do that, it’s brave enough to ask its players to change their expectations about what a crunchy combat system looks like. Combat moves quickly, it’s physically and mentally taxing on the people involved, it’s character driven, and it is supremely dangerous. That’s abstract, but it’s pretty clear from the rules about weaponry: any bullet can incapacitate an average person in one shot, and explosives instantly kill people within their blast radius.

That’s of course not the only thing driving the danger of Eureka’s combat — another fun figure is that it only takes ten good punches or kicks to incapacitate or kill someone — but I think it’s a good way to get at the core of what Eureka tries to do: it forces you to consider what options actually make sense and create opportunities for interesting stories.

Eureka doesn’t want investigators valiantly charging across a battlefield to push up against their assailants or anything, because the stories it tries to produce are very grounded in depicting how unlikely that is to work. (If a character in a vintage noir film gets shot anywhere in their torso or head, they aren’t likely to survive without intensive medical attention, and Eureka is faithful to that!) Eureka wants people to scope out the location to improve their strategy, make smart use of ambushes and weaponry to get an advantage on people who threaten them, and run away or avoid combat if they come across someone they can’t handle.

This extreme volatility massively limits the reliability of characters’ abilities and ensures that far fewer options are available in combat, which seems like it would be less fun, but it’s quite the opposite. The action sequences that Eureka produces are incredibly engaging and fun to play out, because it makes smart use of tried and true tropes to make fights in mystery stories feel compelling and relevant. Heightened realism, danger, and desperation are important to mystery genre fiction, and Eureka seeks to put the players in that headspace. Fights are swift, violent, and often primarily decided by who had better plans and supplies. That’s by design.

There are a lot of great interactions that are enabled by this design philosophy — if a mafia goon pulls aside his jacket to reveal a handgun in his waistband, Eureka encourages the players and characters to take it seriously, because using a gun is seriously raising the stakes! That’s a trope that’s commonly used in all sorts of media, but if guns were easy to deal with, it would make no sense to worry about it. Creating a system that reflects how threatening guns can be in mystery stories and real life is a great way to avoid ludonarrative dissonance and encourage genuine character interactions, and Eureka is oozing with other design tidbits that accomplish similar things. (Hell, half the trait list is basically just there to allow investigators to embody classic genre tropes, and it’s awesome.)

(Deadly weapons in Eureka are balanced by the fact that they and the training needed to use them effectively are often challenging and expensive to get, especially by legal means — which also allows for some interesting social commentary on how violence is exceedingly easily enacted by the wealthy and powerful, while the self defense of marginalized people is criminalized and villainized — but there’s enough there for a whole other post, and this one is long enough as is.)

All that to say, if Eureka had blindly gone with the prevailing approaches taken by popular RPGs in this area (and many others), it would not be half as good at what it does — it would just feel like a reskin of some other game, but marketed as investigative urban fantasy. Instead, it’s a wholly original toolkit that lets writers, GMs, and players create their own spins on a classic plot structure in a fun and engaging way. Taking risks, thinking about incentive structures, and comparing the stories you want to tell with other media that creates a similar vibe is what takes an RPG from being just good to being great. If you’re designing a game, you can accomplish a lot by knowing what stories you want to create and honing in on why you enjoy them. And don’t be afraid to adapt ideas wholesale, either. Eureka cites multiple full pages of inspirations for the vibes, stories, and mechanics that make up its identities, and it’s a better game for it.

And, I must add, if you’re looking for a game that’s fun, good at telling stories about people investigating mysteries, has a friendly and active community, and doesn’t funnel money to Wizards of the Coast, a subsidiary of Hasbro, then absolutely consider taking Eureka out for a spin! It’s a brilliant take on the mystery genre that gives players and GMs the tools to explore deep, realistic, and sometimes supernatural situations in an easy and character driven package.

[morganas-pendragons]

Where Are You? Pt II | Celebrimbor

There's a reason I chose this GIF. Otherwise, enjoy part II of my three-part fic covering the end of S2! I don't have very many Celebrimbor fics left I desire to post here. Much of my work now will go into starting the OC fic for him.

This got away from me. There might be a fourth part. We'll see!

Also, for reference, the name you see later in the fic is not character specific, but the name translate as protector/defender

- Part One

tag: @astralarchives @mathildahilda2

***

For someone who has been well practiced in the art of peace since your arrival to Eregion, the simmering desire for fury and vengeance is all too consuming.

Your scream cannot be heard over the roar of the siege as you lunge at Annatar.

He has taken too much from Eregion.

And you will not let him take Celebrimbor.

Sauron's taunts and continued jeering about your devotion to Celebrimbor only further add fuel to your fire. He is infuriated that you are the only Elf in Eregion who has not fallen victim to his machinations. He is infuriated that you have only grown in power since he arrived, snippets of your memories and magic gradually coming back as the need for Celebrimbor's protection becomes more dire.

"You really have led yourself to believe that you are Celebrimbor's salvation," Annatar remarks cooly, wiping at his cheek to watch as black drips between his fingers. It is impressive that you have managed to craft a blade powerful enough to wound a Maiar. "And I am here to remind you that you as his weakness will be the Great Smith's destruction."

"And I'm here to tell you, Mairon-" You barely see it, but he flinches almost imperceptibly at the use of his real name. It is another indication that you are not who you say you are. Who are you? "That you will get nothing!"

It is merely unfortunate that Annatar happens to have a stronger depth of understanding of his magic as well as more experience - given that you have gaps in your memory and time missing - because before you can truly realize what he's doing, the blonde Elf has you thrown through the air just as a nearby explosion sends debris flying toward you.

You collapse against the double doors of the Forge tower, coughing as ash enters your lungs and blood drips from your nose.

"I believe it is time for you to reunite with your lost love."

His fingers, unrelenting and cruel, wind through your hair and begin to drag you up the stairs.

***

You have been distant. Distant and cold, only allowing Celebrimbor to come to you when he has made progress on the Nine Rings. There have been suspicions over the last several weeks whether or not it was truly you, the one his soul loves, especially as you have not built your relationship this far based on transaction.

Celebrimbor begins to become truly lost when you will no longer love him the way you have. When your kisses no longer bring comfort, when your touch makes his skin crawl, when everything he has ever come to love begins to crumble between his fingers.

That doesn't account for the mouse that continues to reappear, or the gem missing in Fëanor's hammer. Everything feels wrong. He feels wrong.

It only serves to worsen the ache in his heart when Annatar reappears.

"Have you fallen? Come. The floor is hardly the place for the greatest of Elven smiths."

Celebrimbor cannot see you, not the real you, because Annatar has determined you are not to be seen until he is ready for it.

"No, I-uh.... Fëanor's hammer is missing a-" He pauses, brow furrowing in confusion as the gem he thought to have fallen out of the hammer reappears in its appropriate spot. The act serves to make Celebrimbor feel only more out of place, the haze that has clouded his brain for weeks thickening. He only feels as if he continues to grow more mad in this place.

"You know how forgetful you can be. I trust you are not feeling overwhelmed again."

You are forced to watch the endeavor, hidden from sight with Annatar's grasp on you like that of a viper suffocating its prey. He's restrained you with some magical inhibiting cuffs that cut you off from what power grows within you, and now he only serves to use you as a tool against the Elf you love.

"No... quite the opposite in fact," Celebrimbor said. "These past weeks I have felt such clarity. A focus that I have not known in years. I have you to thank for that. When the world is still then the ideas can flow freely."

Your eyes fall on the holly pin he still has tucked into his robes. Good. At least that can keep him safe.

"How fares your progress?" Annatar asks.

"The Rings of Power are nearly complete."

Dread settles heavily in your stomach as you grit your teeth, desperately trying to fight against Sauron's hold on you. Celebrimbor has fallen victim to the pride that brought him here. To Sauron's manipulations. Can he even perceive that his city is going to fall? Why does the sunlight cast such warmth through the windows when Eregion is bound by shadow?

"It will be a sad occasion. I have so enjoyed our time together."

Time you stole from me.

You dare not listen to the rest of their conversation. It is the first time you have properly glimpsed Celebrimbor in days and your heart swells at the sight of him. The curls that have fallen in his face, the earnestness and pride in his eyes at having been able to make something so... beautiful.

I love you. Please do not forget me. I still fight for you yet.

Before he can fully leave to return to the outdoors, Annatar presses you against the wall just out of Celebrimbor's sight and bends his head to whisper low in your ear, "Watch as he breaks, for your helplessness to save him will be your punishment."

You fold against the wall by the base of the stairs as he departs, leaving you and Celebimrbor alone. He cannot see you. He cannot hear you.

"Hello, my love."

You slowly turn around at the familiar voice and find that it is you -your face, your voice, your being - sauntering across the Forge to meet Celebrimbor at his desk. You watch your own fingers graze the curve of his jaw as you tip your head down to kiss him. He is ever willing, desperate for a semblance of comfort in such a cold and isolating environment.

That is what has kept him complacent. Sauron has used you against Celebrimbor.

Hatred flashes behind your eyes.

You have to get out of these cuffs.

***

You watch as he chews his thumb bloody, eyes cast on the same spot where the mouse has been running back and forth in a cycle all morning. Your breathing stutters when Annatar reenters the forge and strides up the stairs to meet him.

You, the other you, left some minutes ago when Celebrimbor refused your offer of pleasure in exchange for completing the Rings faster. You could see the way it broke his heart when you walked away. That you, one who was so willing to give him the world, would not even give him your love without getting something in return.

Oh, my love.... I'm sorry.

"The Rings, are they finished?"

"Sh... wait for it."

Celebrimbor shushed the Elf as he motioned to the mouse skittering across the floor. Your eyes widened as you stood to your feet, shaky legs slowly attempting to move up the stairs.

"Captivating," Sauron replied sarcastically.

"Do you not see?" Celebrimbor questioned. "It is a pattern. A cycle. Even my star, one who has been by my side for so long and yet has barely graced me with her presence, only comes in here at the same time every few hours to rush my progress. And look, here. The embers-"

"Celebrimbor, whatever has inspired this epiphany, I assure you we have not the time for it-"

Annatar twists his fingers at the last second, causing you to gasp out as you sink to your knees. More blood drips from your nose and onto the stone between your legs. Your outfit is torn, your skin bruised, and yet the fury that lingers within will be enough to vanquish him from both of your lives forever. Even if it kills you.

"On the contrary!" Celebrimbor exclaims. "We would appear to have all of the time that we need. The candles have not burned an inch all day. My beloved's holly skin marking is not there, and she was born with it."

Your heart stops. Sauron would not have known that detail.

"You sought peace." Sauron remarks. "I gave it to you."

"No. Whatever this is... this is hardly a gift." His voice falls to a whisper, questioning and desperate for the truth. "What have you done to me? What have you done to her?"

There is a flicker there just then, barely within your grasp. It is a memory you cannot truly forget. Your entire purpose in coming to Middle Earth is to be the architect of healing and protection for those would cannot do it for themselves.

Realization dawns on you.

It's not just for all of them. It's for him.

"Done to you?" Annatar asks incredulously. "You welcomed my instruction. You practically begged for it!"

Isn't that what he does? Warps the reality of those around him, drips poison in each sharp word that falls from his tongue with the intent to fell those who dare not give into him?

"No!" Celebrimbor yells. You flinch as he slams his hands against his desk. "What have you done to me?! What have you done to her?! Where is she!"

You feel the magic begin to wane and panic. He's about to reveal you.

"No emissary of the Valar would do this. Who are you? Truly?"

"Would you like to see the true emissary of the Valar?" Celebrimbor freezes as Annatar throws you at his feet, chains wrapped around your wrists as you writhe on the floor. You are not sure what he's doing. All you can focus on is the searing pain that is growing more intense inside of your head. "Go on then. Tell him who you really are."

Despite the pain, you force yourself to your feet. For that moment it is only you and Celebrimbor in the room. A room you have spent a night in, whether or not it was with him to keep him company or to help him with his projects. A room that once brought you both such peace.

"My-My star.. Is that really you?" You move toward him slowly, guilt flooding your face when he scrambles backward and further away. "Prove it. Prove you are not part of the illusion!"

You immediately move your fingers to the hem of your shirt. There, just where Celebrimbor knows it to be, is your holly leaf skin marking.

"I don't know what you saw, but that was not me." You begin. "That was not the flesh and blood person whose bed you so often occupy. That is not the flesh and blood person you kissed in front of the library, who you held during the beginning of our courtship at the pool... What you saw and touched in here was not me." A whimper echoes in the back of Celebrimbor's throat as you draw close enough to press his hands to your face. The other you, the one he'd thought was real, had not felt this warm. He could not feel the familiarity of warm skin or the way your heart often beat hard beneath his fingers. "You named me. You taught me how to live again. Please, Celebrimbor-"

You scream in anger as Annatar wrenches you backward, arm wound tightly around your throat. Celebrimbor whips around to face his perpetrator with dark eyes and a darker heart. Gone is the kindness that he is so often acknowledged for.

Now there is only you. Protecting you, ensuring you leave this tower alive.

"I am the one who has kept the storm at bay. I am the one who has prevented her from distracting you. Al to give you this one chance to prove your worth! Now, I want the nine!"

"NO!"

Reality shatters around you both as Fëanor's hammer collides with the window. Cries break through the haze that clouds your mind as Eregion's destruction is heard just outside the broken glass. Explosions sound alongside it, the smell of smoke permeating the air as it drifts inside.

Grey eyes, gentle hands, whispered words of Quenya and Sindarin. The sound of laughter on the wind. A staff crafted to channel your power. The holly leaf imprinted into your skin upon your creation.

You screw your eyes tightly shut. Celebrimbor's trembling breaths can be heard from the balcony as he takes in the destruction around him and what remains of his forge.

"Open your eyes," Sauron whispers in your ear. "Face the ruin of the city you nearly had within your grasp."

You force your eyes open to gaze at the one you love in front of you, nearly driven to his knees by the force of his grief. Despite feeling like your mind is being ripped open from the inside out - and likely to access memories you have only just begun to remember - you struggle against Annatar, who allows you out of his hold.

You pull Celebrimbor to you by the sleeve of his robes. Tears track down his cheeks as he meets your eyes. You do not care that Sauron is standing right beside you. You do not care that you are both in ruin. All you care about is him.

"I love you," You whisper in your native tongue, low and soft enough for only the two of you to hear as Celebrimbor clutches you to his chest and buries his face in your neck so his cries can be stifled. "I am here. I'm real. It is me, Celebrimbor."

He does not move far from you even after you part. You are his only truth midst all the deceit, and Celebrimbor will not let that disappear. You will not be ruined at his hands too.

"What-" Your eyes snap over to his desk where the urn of what was mithril has spilled, pitch black staining the paper beneath it. "The mithril!"

"That is not mithril." You say. "For mithril does not carry the rot of death, Celebrimbor."

"I must give you credit. You are far more clever than I thought you'd be." He says to you before turning his attention to Celebrimbor. "I have learned so much from you since coming to Eregion, Celebrimbor. No lesson more lasting than this," You turn to shield him with your own body, fingers tightening against the chains that bind you as Sauron lifts his hand to reveal the cut deep in his palm. "True creation requires sacrifice."

The rest falls past you in a blur. You are rushing outside after Celebrimbor mere moments later, desperate to keep him away from harm from the hands of his own people or the siege just outside his walls.

Both of you are thrown apart from the other just as the doors are thrown open. You scream and attempt to cover your head with your hands, gasping as you collide with the stone. You did not think it possible for your head to hurt worse.

Your back arches as another memory, much clearer and more perceptible, comes back to the front of your mind.

"For I have named you Beriel, as you will be my Hands of Protection for those who cannot protect themselves. This is the task I have assigned you among the Istari."

"Thank you, Lady Nienna."

Your eyes snap open. Istari. That means-

Your staff. You have to find your staff.

***

It takes you nearly an hour to work against the enchantment on the cuffs that bind you. Your staff had luckily not been far from where you'd been thrown, and the wood was crafted from among the strongest of Eregion's trees with the signature white stone that also adorned your circlet fixed into the center.

When the cuffs had fallen into the dirt at your feet, you bound forward toward the tower with a new determination in your step. He wouldn't expect you. Not like this.

"Do you know what it is like to be tortured at the hands of a God? It is agonizing. For what he wished to destroy, I wished to perfect. Sometimes the pain almost became a reward. It became a game. A contest to see whose will was the mightier."

"And after all of that, you'd still choose to inflict the same pain upon me?"

"No. You chose it. Not I."

The more Sauron's poison drips off his tongue, the angrier you get. He is so intent on breaking Celebrimbor's spirit with those manipulative words. Taking what remains of the Elf you love and twisting it in his hands until it's malleable, ready to do whatever it is told.

To touch the darkness.

"All depends on the rings," There's a far off, dreamy look in Sauron's eyes as he stretches out a hand to grasp one of the rings in his fingers. "And since you forced me to torment you to bring them into being, I am but a victim of your obstinance." The two meet eyes, and you hold your breath. "And you are the true author of your own torment."

"You really are the great deceiver. You can even deceive yourself."

Annatar's earnest expression falls into one much colder. "Finish them." He demands. You press your hand against the door and duck just out of sight as he storms out and down the stairs.

When he's gone, you rush back into the room just as Celebrimbor throws the Nine into the fire.

"Be careful!" You exclaim, and the sound of your voice is so sudden that it catches him off guard. "I do not wish you to bring further harm to yourself."

The calm of his touch is a welcome relief when his hands find your cheeks. "I am so glad you are safe, my love." He said softly. Dark green eyes slowly shift to the staff slung across your back. "Though I feel as if there is much to be caught up on."

The rings themselves are cast from the fire onto the desk.

"That hammer will not remove you from magical chains, Celebrimbor," Your fingers wind around the piece that keeps his wrist shackled to the desk. "It is something only I can do-"

"I will not have you sacrifice anything else for me. Not this day."

"It is a sacrifice I am willing to make-"

"No!" He has never shouted at you, not once. Tears burn the back of your eyes. "I have already lost my city to ruin. I will not let that happen to you too. Do you understand me?"

You nod. For all his compassion and kindness, Celebrimbor Curufinwe certainly has the Fëanorian temper.

He attempts every means to pry it off. When his eyes fall on the instrument that is meant to cut through the metals he often molds, dread shifts and settles in your chest.

"Celebrimbor, you can't-"

"I can and I will. There is no choice." You watch as he slides his thumb into the instrument and settles low enough to not fall and hurt himself further. "Whose will is the mightier?"

You rush forward to catch him. With the blood loss, there is no way he will not be vulnerable outside and you will not let anything else happen to him.

"Yours, sweet love." You whisper, sliding your arm around his waist as you begin guiding the two of you through a secondary exit in the forge. "Yours."

Everything is in chaos when you finally emerge outside. Much of the outer courtyard and surrounding buildings is nothing but rubble, submerged by fire that consumes everything it comes in contact with. There are Elves, your people, screaming in the distance. You can hardly breathe with the smell of smoke this thick.

You barely have enough to react before another explosion sounds, this one much closer, and knocks you both off your feet.

Your thoughts are on Celebrimbor as you are enveloped by darkness.

***

Galadriel only has one question when she enters the courtyard. Why are Celebrimbor's men looming over him as if they are the threat, and where are you? Last she'd heard, you were well on your way to marriage and earning the title of Lady of Eregion.

The anger that she feels at the treatment of her cousin is what propels her forward. If you cannot be his defender at this moment, she will do it in your stead.

"Release him!" She exclaims. "That is Lord Celebrimbor, greatest of Elven Smiths."

"But the Lord of Eregion ordered-"

"This is The Lord of Eregion. You should know as well that if this order were given by the Lady of Eregion, you would be equally expected to adhere to it," Calculating eyes shift over to her cousin, and there is such relief in his gaze that it nearly overwhelms her. "Celebrimbor... It is me."

Just over her shoulder, you emerge through the archway and lean heavily against it to catch your breath. Your face is veiled by the blood that trails down your temples and stains your skin. Your eyes burn from the smoke.

Galadriel's gaze falls to his bloodied hand.

"When I saw you, I was certain you were another illusion. Another cruelty devised to torment me with false hope. That is what he did with my Lady. And yet she is not here.. and I fear that which rescued me from my prison was another illusion as well."

Tears fall down your cheeks. What you would give to bring him peace.

"Sauron? More rings?" Galadriel asks. He nods.

"Nine." He holds up the pouch in his hand. "Nine rings to enslave the world of men as he enslaved me. It was my fault. From the beginning.. A part of me saw despite what she told me, and yet I still wanted what he offered! I blinded myself to what he was."

"So did I."

The moment you hear Sauron's screams, you propel yourself forward to stand beside Galadriel. Malendol and his men let you. He would not dare to question either of you. Not now.

Celebrimbor's eyes gleam as he takes you in. You are nearly as bloodied as he, but yet there is such a fire in your eyes that has yet to be put out.

"Hurry. The two of you can take the old Dwarven tunnel out of the city. That is how I entered." Galadriel said. "It will bear you both and the Rings far from here. Go. Now."

You bent down to sit beside Celebrimbor and again envelop him with your arm, the other hovering on your shoulder where your staff lay heavy as you kept your eyes cast above.

"No. It must be you," Celebrimbor argued. "I will ensure it is some time before he comes for the rings. Take them and save anyone in the city you can. Take her with you. You must hurry."

Your attention diverts back to your betrothed. "Absolutely not!" You snap. "I have been here all the while to protect you from him, and I will continue to do so now. I am staying."

"This is not an option."

"It is my choice. My choice and mine alone. My mission, above all else, has been to keep you safe." You draw closer than to kiss him fiercely, and all you can taste is ash and blood on his tongue. Galadriel softens at the way Celebrimbor responds to you. You have her cousin's heart. "This was meant to be our city. I remain."

"I built this city, Galadriel. My place is here."

"And they will not be alone," Malendol remarked. You nod your acknowledgment to the commander. Regardless of what has happened here, he is a good man.

"Neither of us were strong enough. There might not be anyone on Middle Earth who is save those who match his power. Perhaps the Elves need only remember that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. Armies may rise, hearts may fail, but still, light endures and is mightier than strength. For in it's presence, all darkness must flee." He swallows the knot in his throat and takes her in for that final moment. "Namäríe."

And then you are both gone, and Galadriel is left to watch you go with no hope of ever seeing you again.

***

Before you and Celebrimbor enter the Forge again, you quickly ensure he is still wearing the holly pin you enchanted after he initially made them with you. Miraculously, it has made it this far.

Celebrimbor stares at you quizzically as you adjust it against his chest.

"I'm not quite sure that adjusting a pin will help us in here."

You peer up at him. Celebrimbor catches that you seem to know something he doesn't.

"These pins may be among the only help we will get in here." Your fingers hover over the edge of your staff against your shoulder. He will have to ask you about that later.

"They are not here." He announces to Sauron as you both enter the Forge with Malendol and his men. It is heartbreaking how only ruins remain now. Sauron has obviously been tearing what remains apart in search of The Nine. "They will be far beyond your reach now."

Sauron's eyes shift down to the staff on your shoulder and the lack of handcuffs on your wrists. "Then you are going to bring them to me and place them in my hand."

"Your hand will never touch another ring again."

Malendol calls out a command in Sindar, and you are left to watch from your spot beside Celebrimbor as his men encircle Sauron. You know this will not end well.

"By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you Sauron are-"

Celebrimbor's brow furrows as Malendol suddenly stops, seeming to be choking on his own words. You remove your staff from your shoulder and place yourself between Celebrimbor and Sauron. You know that you among the Istari are not powerful compared to him, but you can deal some damage.

And you will, especially if it gets Celebrimbor out alive.

"Did you think you were the only one who put yourself in my power? Of all the people I have ensnared, she is the only one with the strong enough will to resist." Your gaze hardened as you watched each sword turn away from Sauron to each of the elves who held them.

Celebrimbor's grip on your hip tightened as each Elf was felled, their bodies collapsing against the ground.

A white light began to shine from the stone in your circlet. The same one in your staff began to emanate white light as well. You grit your teeth and murmur an incantation in Quenya just as Malendol enters the fight. You are intent on not letting him take another innocent life.

Sauron was not anticipating the direct blast at his chest as he flew across the room.

You rush forward and wrench the Commander backward toward you. "Get out of here and flee. Help Gil-Galad's elves. Get out of the city and take the survivors. Live. Go!"

Malendol exchanges a sympathetic look with you and Celebrimbor before he leaves with a thank you for having narrowly saved him from death.

Humorless, cold laughter echoes across the Forge.

"You will give me the Nine."

"Over my dead body." You remark sharply. "And that will take you quite a while to achieve."

Sauron smiles and wipes the blood from his lips before reaching for the weapon at his side. Unknown to you, it is a dagger that he has carried in secret for all his time in Eregion, able to wound even Maiar.

"So be it."

[rantithesis]

I wish people (women) would treat a romantic relationship like the massive lifestyle choice it is. You’re not being shallow or selfish for rejecting anyone and everyone who isn’t compatible for any reason. Especially if you’re partnering with a man, it’s better to be alone than it is to have an unfit partner. Emotions can only carry you so far when you’re talking about someone you’re going to live with, care for, and possibly legally and financially tie yourself to for the rest of your life

[pocketramblr]

tan yuster wookiepedia page you will always be famous. to me.

[sammygender]

^this but unironically

[hajit0]

halloween mightve been a month ago but the festivities never end (they can never take their costumes off)

first character (and the best one) belonfs to @genocidalsmoothie

[our-inspire-verse]

Embarrassing as fuck for no reason to talk in my real voice. I'm going to go crazy rn.

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

The rescent riots in the UK are despicable (but sadly not surprising).

Yes, what happened to those little girls is a tradgey, but the person who was responsible wasn't an asylum seeker, and even if he was, that would NOT excuse the racism displayed these past few weeks.

The people taking part clearly don't care about the safety of children as they're, scaring other people's & indoctrinationating their own into perpetuating racist acts.

Seven years is a lot, though! Then don't fucking join a hate group.

But the non white people are being violent too! Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you attack people. I'm not going to hate on people for standing up for themselves.

They're taking our jobs! Why do you believe that those jobs are YOURS? Are you actually qualified & able to make a good impression on bosses, or do you think just being white should be enough.

They don't work! Well Asylum seekers litrually aren't allowed to until their case gose through but plenty of other POC have jobs (I know you've seen them though it must be hard to make them out through that fog of hatred) & I've met plenty of white people who don't want to (no hate to those who can't because of disability or mental health issues) or loose jobs because they're just overall terrible employees (some of the shit I've seen middle aged white people do at their jobs is crazy).

They're all criminals! Well, that's just not true now is it plus it's been proven multiple times that the biggest factor in crime is poverty, NOT race & again I've encountered plenty of white people who've broken the law yet most didn't seem to get more than a slap on the wrist (if that). Strange, that isn't it?

Well, "those kinds" of men hate women! Ahh, yes, because there's never been white rapists, woman killers, stalkers or harrasers. Its been proven that hating women is a problem in all races & and sadly, the biggest threat to us is usually our own partners or family, not some random aylsum seeker (who if they do hurt women tend to go after the ones from their own community).

They're not from here! Ok, so I don't know if anyone told you, but you can actually be born here without being white and you can't ban people from a country just because of the colour of their skin. Also, neither was half my family, yet we never get told to go back to our own country. Hmm, I wonder if our white skin could possibly have anything to do with that.

They can't speak English! A lot of them are multilingual, actually (& you make fun of their accents) & for the ones who can't well you seem to hate them getting anything (such as English lessons) for free. Also, how many Brits go abroad despite refusing to learn absolutely anything about other countries (there's a reason we're known as disrespectful, violent, sex obsessed, drunks by most of the world).

Also sooner or later we are going to have to accept that a lot of the issues that make immigrants flee their home countries are caused (or at least made worse) by ours & other Western governments.

This country definitely has problems, but we should be taking them up with politicians & their rich mates. Who are the ones actually hording wealth made from the exploitation of the poor, not random people of colour who are just trying to live their lives.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

getting gnc with it out & about at math meetup (or wherever)

[tearingdread]

havin a normal one 👍