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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 2 days ago

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Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Allow me to explore this idea: what clues can 2x08 epilogue give us on what to expect for Season 3, taking 1x08 epilogue as an example? In TV shows, the epilogues of season finales are meant to set up the events and the tone for the next season.

Let’s start with Season 1 finale, and how it translated in Season 2:

1) Setting up the feud between Elrond and Galadriel in Season 2:

2) Setting up Celebrimbor’s pride as the reason for him to fall prey of Sauron’s deception:

3) Setting up Eregion (mainly the forge) as the one of the major locations of Season 2:

4) Setting up Sauron’s connection to the Three rings of power:

5) Setting up the forging of the rings of power plot in Season 2:

6) The red herring:

Now, let's take a look at Season 2 finale epilogue, and what clues it might give us for Season 3:

Sauron and Fëanor Hammer:

To me, this scene is quite straightforward: it’s foreshadowing for Sauron forging the One ring in Season 3. Because the show can’t postpone that to Season 4 (Fall of Númenor), really. We know this from Tolkien lore.

"A sanctuary. Protected... by the Elven Rings":

This location will definitely be Imladris (more known as Rivendell), and, if Season 1 finale is anything to do by, it will be one of the major locations in Season 3. With Elrond building it, and becoming an Elf-lord of his own right.

Gil-galad: Sauron's armies are roving across Eriador. All Middle-earth is within his reach now. Even Lindon. We must decide whether to attack and bring the fight to him... or to fall back, to prepare our defenses. Galadriel: The sword or the shield. Elrond: Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee. Arondir: What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel? Galadriel: I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people... that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines.

From Tolkien legendarium we know several things: Sauron will attack Lindon, and lay siege to Rivendell (“First Siege of Imladris”). The Elves will also fight back, and this will culminate in the Battle of the Gwanthló (probably Season 3 finale), where Sauron allows himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn and brought to Númenor as prisoner, kicking off Season 4.

Will there be consequences to Morgoth’s crown wound?

What consequences will this wound have on Galadriel?

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite, of being healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. On the anniversary of receiving the wound, Frodo becomes seriously ill, and he's unable to lead a normal life (like Sam, for instance). This leads him to go to Valinor, at the end of the story.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. "I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” The Return of the King

Frodo: It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed. The Return of the King (2003)

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel? And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful elf-witch, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as to Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, too.

The Three Elven rings of power:

Season 2 finale epilogue also focused on the Three Elven rings of power, and this is not random, because Sauron will try to get them during the “War of the Elves and Sauron”. If blood binding is correct, Sauron might take advantage of this to have Galadriel handing the rings to him.

This scene is meant to symbolize the end of Galadriel and Elrond feud over the rings, but also to showcase that Elrond trusts these rings, now.

I’m not sure if this is also foreshadowing for Elrond getting Vilya next season because it seems a bit premature, so in on the fence with that one.

Gil-galad worried expression:

This expression recalled me of Elrond’s on Season 1 finale, which makes me wonder what it can mean. Is this look connected to the rings of power or with these characters?

Gil-galad is the current ring-bearer of Vilya, and, from that perspective, it doesn’t seem to make sense for him to worry about the rings. Especially since he used its power (+ Nenya) to heal Galadriel, earlier. So, it can be related to the characters, yes. And from his angle, it can point to one in particular: Galadriel.

Where is Gandalf headed next?

Woman: Goodbye, Grand-Elf. Gandalf: Grandelf? Nori: They've never seen an Elf before. Never even left home before. [...] And what to leave. If I had my druthers, we... We'd walk the wastes of this world. Eatin' snails and beetles till the sun run out of days, but it's high time. I walked my path, and you walked yours. Gandalf: We are very different creatures, Nori. When all is said and done. Nori: Not so different at all, if you ask me. Nori and Gandalf part ways, 2x08

Can this dialogue be foreshadowing or set up for Gandalf meeting the Elves in Season 3?

Is there a red herring like in Season 1 finale?

Yes, I believe so. And it’s Galadriel appearing all victorious and light after her fight with Sauron. This can parallel Sauron Season 1 finale red herring; where he arrives at Mordor, also looking victorious and ready to take over the place (we all know how that turned out).

If this is, indeed, a red herring what can it mean? That Galadriel will find herself struggling harder than ever with the darkness in Season 3, as a consequence of Morgoth’s crown wound.

#rings of power season 3 speculation #Galadriel #rings of power Galadriel #Sauron #saudon trop #Galadriel trop #Gandalf trop #Elrond trop #Gil galad trop #Saurondriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron

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bisnes-socks · 2 days ago

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i love kot kot. i've always loved kot kot. and i'm gonna tell you why.

i think it's a beautiful song, i think it's a banger, i think it's a nostalgic sound, and i think it's an incredibly sad song.

musically, i think kot kot sounds like a summer night in finland. the contrast between the melodic, soaring chorus and the darker, harder verses sounds like walking back and forth between the bright light midnight and the dark clubs or bars or restaurants or something. going from the first verse into the chorus again feels like stepping out from a dark venue and it's 2 am but the light outside is the same as it was when you went in hours ago. it's actually super eerie the way time doesn't seem to move at all during the height of summer in finland. it's a sort of a liminal space that can feel either like never ending horror or an addictive state of true living, depening on how you deal with endless light.

this is a summer song to me.

i love love love the free flying chorus.

i love love love the old school sound of the verses.

the chorus is beautiful with it's long soaring vowels and lines. the verses are mega bangers that remind of early 2000's music. the echoes of like old school drum and bass, breakbeat etc. are super nostalgic to me and have sent me down the rabbit hole of music from my childhood multiple times since the song came out. and i personally love the contrasts and different sections in the song. i think they go together well, i don't think they clash.

i think jurek and allu have composed a clever song. and honestly allu deserves more recognition across the board i am sorry i've been slipping in that department.

now. to the sad part.

i always felt like the chorus was sort of... wistful and melancholic. but the album puts all of that in a different context. he's not just mr. lonely. he's fucking terrified of being alone.

"pelottaa, ettei jatkopläänit ehkä osukkaa, kuumottaa tosissaan, osote ois saatava, poket tos jo hoputta siis vastatkaa nyt saatana" meaning "i'm scared that after party plans will fall through, seriously getting jittery about it, i need an address, bouncers are on my case, somebody pick up the phone" like with the context of the full album now, it's really painting a picture of someone who does not want to go home and face being alone with his thoughts.

i remember when the song came out and people had all sorts of headcanons and ideas as to why the second time round the voice on the phone is in english - things like maybe he's making an international call or something. well, the truth is that in finland, that message is always played in three languages: finnish, swedish and english. so why is it in english the second time? honestly in all seriousness i think it's just a little nod to his international fans or something, like i don't think there is a real story reason for it. but if there was.. well, if anything, to me it suggests that he must have stayed on the phone, listening through the whole litany: valitsemaanne numeroon ei juuri nyt saada yhteyttä, kontakt med numret ni har valt fås ej, the number you have dialed cannot be reached. to get to the english part he has already been told twice in two languages that there is no one there, nobody is picking up, but he's still there.

honestly this song more than anything feels like the true pair of autiomaa, because to me, this song is someone trying to avoid feeling exactly the way autiomaa describes. feeling empty, feeling nothing, feeling alone. he says as much: "tää klubi on yht tyhjä ku sen katsoja" meaning this club is as empty as he who is looking at it. he's empty and finding other people to party and hang out with is the only way out of feeling empty, the only way to distract himself from the fact that he is lost.

and so for skit and autiomaa to come right after this? he has reached a breaking point and realised he has to face the nothingness inside.

and again, like with takavoltti, i think this song represents that long standing finnish tradition of writing funny lyrics about difficult subjects. it's also very very typical in finnish culture to make songs that seem to be about drinking on the surface level but are actually not about that. this song builds a lot of very comedic images: him vibing to celine dion alone in a club and refusing to leave, fighting with bouncers etc. and then of course there is the whole chicken thing with kot kot kot. it's funny - except it's not funny at all.

but the thing is, it's okay to find things funny in the song. they both are and are not funny at the same time, because isn't that what life is. i don't think the intention of these songs is to make you feel one specific way, it's just a matter of perspective. and that can change from day to day. so i think it's okay if one day the song breaks your heart on behalf of the käärijä in the story of the song, and on another day you just want to belt out the chorus and dance through the verses. it's all okay, it's all good.

and that's pretty skilled song writing.

#käärijä

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getoslamb · 4 hours ago

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a/n: slow intro with a fair bit of dialogue & little plot twist at the end? + if you don't like gunplay, i promise this is not the one for you, don't read it wc: 5.7k

the rest of kinktober here + (toji art credit) + special tag @risararelywrites <3

As the night crept on, the thrill of the scare park hung thick in the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and muffled shrieks from other visitors. You walked arm-in-arm with Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru, revelling in the pulse of adrenaline that shot through you whenever an actor lunged from the darkness. Together, you’d gone through nearly every haunted house in the park, each one more elaborate than the last.

But now, as you drifted toward the edge of the grounds, the lively sounds began to fade, swallowed up by the sight of a lone haunted house standing apart from the others—a grim silhouette shrouded in eerie, rolling fog.

This house looked different. It was darker, older, with an unsettling aura that seemed to thicken the air around it. Unlike the other exhibits, there were no bright lights, no cheering guides or costumed actors welcoming you in, just an open doorway that hinted at cracked wood, grimy windows, and shadows that seemed to hang around and watch.

"Why isn’t anyone going in?" you murmured, stopping to stare at the building. "Did they close it for the night?"

Shoko glanced at Suguru, exchanging a look that sent a tiny ripple of unease through you. “No, it’s open. Just not exactly popular,” she replied, her voice low.

“Not popular?” You smirked, letting the hint of a challenge seep in. “Is it really that bad?”

“Depends who you ask,” Satoru replied, his usual playful tone missing as he stared at the house. “People don’t go in alone.”

“It’s a scare park.” You scoffed, waving off his warning. “How scary could it actually be?”

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, a rare seriousness in his eyes. “This one’s different. People say there’s something… wrong with it. Nobody wants to find out for sure.”

“Wrong?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “How, exactly?”

“Some say there’s a man who hides in there,” Shoko murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They don’t know if he’s some rogue actor or just… some crazy man. But he’s armed. Supposedly, he sneaks around pretending to be part of the act.”

You looked at the house again, half-amused, half-spooked. “So you’re telling me there’s a real psycho in there hiding out? Right.”

Your friends exchanged wary glances, their usual bravado notably absent, which only deepened your curiosity. “You’re serious? This is over some urban legend?”

“It’s not a legend,” Shoko muttered, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone creeping out of the fog. “People say they’ve seen him covered in blood. They say he blends right in until it’s too late.”

“Staff avoid it too,” Satoru added, his tone unusually flat. “So if you’re thinking about going in, maybe reconsider.”

A thrill shot through you, half defiance, half intrigue. The house loomed ahead, daring you. “So you all think he’s in there tonight?”

Suguru’s hand tightened on your shoulder. “It’s not worth finding out. There are plenty of other places we can check out.”

But the challenge tugged at you, almost tauntingly. You took a step forward, drawing exasperated sighs from your friends.

"Are you actually going in there?"

"This is a hard no for me," Shoko insisted.

“Come on, we’re not kidding around,” Suguru said, his expression sombre.

You gave them a shrug and a smile. “I’ll just peek in, five minutes, that’s all.”

Shoko crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “Right, nothing bad ever happens in ‘just five minutes.’”

“Remember, if he’s in there, we’re not coming to save you.” Satoru jokes as he rolls his eyes.

"Noted," you replied, dancing around him with a grin. "If anything happens, at least I'll have a story."

But as you moved toward the darkened doorway, the memories of the warnings hounded you, and crossing the threshold, a small voice whispered, maybe they're right.

Inside, the shadows clung to the walls, warping and shifting with every flicker of the dim yellowing light bulbs. The air was heavy, still, as though the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. With each cautious step, the floor remained eerily silent-no familiar creaks, no whispers from other thrill-seekers echoing from somewhere in the darkness. The quiet was suffocating.

"It's just another haunted house," you whispered, trying to break the silence. But even your voice seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows.

You reached the edge of a dusty, darkened room when a soft dragging sound cut through the quiet. You whirled around, your heart hammering, but the hallway behind you was empty. The moment you began to steady your breath, a low rumbling chuckle echoed through the room, crawling down your spine.

"Didn't think anyone would wander in alone," a voice drawled from the shadows, smooth and dripping with dark amusement. "You've got guts.”

Your breath caught as a figure began to take form: a tall, wide man whose eyes glinted in the poor light. He moved like a shadow off the wall, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he took another step forward, the faint glow illuminating a pistol in his hand, his finger lazily resting near the trigger.

You swallowed hard and forced a grin, hoping to mask your unease. "Are… are you part of the show?"

He chuckled, his eyes raking over you with dangerous curiosity. "I'm part of an experience," he told you, that taunting smile twisting. "But not the kind you paid for.”

Your heart was racing as he closed in; his eyes were razor-sharp and predatory. He didn't hurry-if anything, he drew out the fear across your features. The pistol glinted in his hand, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, like he was reading every flicker of emotion.

He moved forward with a nearly lazy step; his head fell to the side as his smile grew, watching you inch backward. "So, you thought this was just another haunted house?" he asked, the tiniest thread of dark thrill weaved in. "Guess it's too late to warn you some rumours are worth listening to.

Your back hit the wall, and his eyes lit up with a spark of satisfaction. He leaned in closer, pressing the gun against his temple as he did so, an intense gaze and a chilling gleam in his eye. "You've got that look-the one which says you're curious. Brave, maybe a little too much so." He paused, smirk deepening. "So, how brave are you feeling now?”

You clenched your jaw and wouldn't flinch. "Maybe I am not as easy to scare as you think," you muttered, though your own voice quivered ever so slightly. "Oh?" His smirk whittled just a little sharper, a flash of mirth dancing in his eyes. "Then let us see.”

He let go of your wrist, only to trail the gun’s barrel along your jawline, his eyes drinking in every flinch, every shiver. He seemed to delight in drawing out the silence, each second weighted with his slow, deliberate movements. And in that quiet, somehow, the unspoken threat felt far more sinister.

As he studied you, his gaze lingered, savouring the fear that glinted in your eyes. “I have all night to see what it takes to break you,” he murmured, his voice almost playful. “And something tells me, this is going to be fun.”

The glint in his eyes held a dark promise, and you knew, too late, that you’d wandered into a trap—the kind that left you wondering just who, exactly, was meant to be scared.

You swallowed, struggling to hold his gaze, fighting the instinct to look away. But he had you cornered, and he knew it—knew you were trapped in his snare, just like he’d intended. The glint in his eye sharpened as he watched, a spark of twisted satisfaction lighting up his face as he took in every flicker of fear.

The man’s grin stretched wider, dark and mocking, as he watched you. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered the gun, tracing the cold barrel down your jawline, his eyes studying every inch of your face with a predatory intensity. The silence between you pressed in, suffocating and tense, somehow worse than any threat he could have made.

“You’re trembling now,” he whispered, voice dipped in dark humour. “But it makes me wonder…” He tilted his head, a false look of innocence softening his gaze even as his smirk stayed razor-sharp. “Is it fear making you shake? Or is it something… else?”

Your breath caught, a barely perceptible hitch that he didn’t miss. His smirk grew, as though he’d stumbled on a private joke, something only he was in on. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets a thrill out of all this?” he mocked, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “The type who’d never admit it, but… can’t help the way their heart races anyway.”

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you off so easily. With a nudge from the gun, he forced your chin up, his gaze locking with yours. “I see you,” he continued, inching closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. “People like you walk in here alone, pretending it’s just for the thrill.” He leaned in, his voice lowering to a near murmur against your ear. “But maybe you wanted more.”

His words sent a shiver through you, mingling fear with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned back, watching your reaction, fingers brushing the side of your face in a touch that was disturbingly gentle. “Maybe that’s why you’re here,” he said, a rough laugh slipping from his lips. “I doubt someone like you would admit it, though.”

Your mind raced, and your voice caught in your throat, a knot of indignation and fear keeping you silent. He noticed, smirking like he’d already won. “Right on the mark, aren’t I?” he murmured, his hand resting on your cheek. “It’s always the innocent ones—scare the easiest, break the fastest.”

Your heart pounded, and though you willed yourself to pull away, your body seemed frozen under his touch. He held your gaze, thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Just say it,” he teased, leaning close again. His thumb pressed lightly against your throat, tracing the beat of your pulse. “You didn’t come in here just for the scare, did you?”

The mocking smile he wore softened slightly, his voice lowering to a nearly intimate whisper. “I can feel it—the way you’re responding. The thrill, the nerves, the part of you that’s not sure if you want to run… or stay.”

You hated the way he seemed to read you, hated that he saw through the mask you wore to the part of you he’d awakened, a part tinged with something reckless and dangerous. He bent down further, enjoying how he had you at his mercy. "That's it, isn't it?" he mumbled, "It's a game-this line between predator and prey." His voice dropped to a purr. “Between fear… and whatever this is.”

You tried to steady your breath as he studied every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the touch feather-light but charged, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“How much would you actually enjoy being pushed?” he wondered aloud, eyes glinting. “Maybe you’d even beg for it. Maybe you’d even like not having control.”

A thrill of panic mingled with something darker, something that made your heart beat faster. He could see it, knew the effect he was having, and the satisfaction on his face only grew. “Just admit it,” he murmured, his tone insistent, his thumb grazing your jawline. “Admit how much you’re enjoying this.”

His fingertips lingered on your hip, a reassuring touch that was highly unsettling, as if he were daring you to let those words pass your lips out loud. "Come on," he seduced, the devilish glint dancing in his eyes. "I promise I won't bite… unless you're asking.

His hand slid around to the small of your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body reminded you just how close he was, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted. His voice dropped to a near-growl. “Last chance to back out.” His lips ghosted over your earlobe. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

His grip tightened, teeth grazing your ear, and then he pulled back, his gaze sharp as he slipped the gun into his waistband. His eyes were fixed upon yours with such intensity and something so akin to hunger; it sent the shiver down your spine. "So," he breathed, his voice low, with just a hint of challenge. "Ready to play?

Your heartbeat pounded against your rib cage, each thud a resonating drum in the silence between you. His words, his touch, the heat radiating off his body, it threatened to overwhelm you, drowning out every rational thought. You knew you should tell him to stop, should put space between you, but something kept you frozen there, curiosity mixing with the thrill of the unknown.

"I… I don't.", you stuttered, all but a whisper, while shallow breaths betrayed you, even in protest.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk edging toward a full grin. “You don’t what?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Don’t want me to stop… or don’t know if you should?”

Closer still, he leaned in until his nose brushed against yours, his gaze burrowing into yours with an intensity that made your knees feel weak. “I think you want this more than you’ll admit,” he murmured. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head, exposing your neck. “Just say the word,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours. “I’ll give you everything you’ve been too afraid to ask for.”

He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, a playful nip that he soothed with his tongue, his voice softening to a near-coax. “Come on, sweetheart,” he breathed, every word a slow, dangerous promise. “Let yourself stop fighting it.”

"Okay," you whispered, just barely audible, the last shred of resistance dissolving as his lips claimed yours-hard and demanding. The kiss bruised with its possessiveness-he took your mouth with such hunger that robbed your breath, his tongue delving deep inside to consume you. His hand tangles in the strands of your hair, keeping you firmly in place, the other roaming along your body, mapping out every curve.

But the next instant, he pushed you away, and you tumbled backward, falling against a stack of old props that tumbled with you, a flicker of fear crossing your features. He saw it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he mocked, stalking toward you on lean legs with a predator's ease. "Scared off so soon?"

His eyes shone with a feral light, a cruel smirk playing about his lips. "I thought you wanted to play."

He leaned over you, grasping at your chin roughly to force you to look up at him. "Maybe you're not as brave as you thought," he sneered. "Or maybe", the tone darker, "you just need a little more incentive."

His hand had gone to his waistband, drawing out his gun. He pressed the cold metal against your lips, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that chilled you to the bone.

"Open up, sweetheart," he ordered in his voice, a thick coating of mockery. "Let's see if you're as good with that mouth as I think you are." A hand twisted in your hair yanking your head back to bare the line of your neck. "Or maybe," he mused, "I should just shut you up completely."

He traced the gun along your jaw, down your throat, stopping at the hollow at the bottom of your neck. His eyes never once strayed from yours as he watched for the effects, feeding off your growing fear. "What's it gonna be, baby? Want to play nice, or should I get rough with you?"

He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he savoured the tension. "Tick tock," he murmured, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Time's running out, and my patience is wearing thin. Choose wisely, baby—it might just save your life."

A wicked grin spread across his face as he saw you open your mouth, lips parting just enough for the barrel of the gun to slide between them, the cold metal pressing against your tongue. "That’s it," he purred. "Good girl."

He pushed the gun deeper, savouring the sight of you as the taste of metal filled your mouth. "Suck," he commanded, his voice thick with lust as he watched you obey, your lips stretched around the barrel, tongue swirling over the smooth surface. His hand in your hair tightened, and he let out a low, satisfied groan.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he breathed, his hips pressing forward as he ground against you. "You’re a natural at this, aren’t you? I bet you'd look even better with your lips wrapped around something else."

He watched with rapt attention as you continued, cheeks hollowing, mouth working the gun with an obedient rhythm. His gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, debasing yourself at his command.

Finally, he withdrew the gun, a string of saliva briefly connecting it to your lips. "Kiss it," he growled, voice low and commanding. "Show me how much you want it."

You pressed your lips against the barrel, kissing it softly, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze, exactly as he demanded. Seeing you so submissive, so compliant, sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

"Atta girl," he murmured approvingly, his voice a soft purr of pleasure.

He pulled the gun away, resting it on the side as he freed his cock from his pants, stroking it slowly, teasingly, as you knelt before him. He smirked down at you, his eyes glinting with dark promise. "Put that pretty mouth to work, baby. Show me what you can do."

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding your head towards his cock, the musky scent of him filling your nostrils. His other hand gripped the base of his shaft, slapping the head against your lips, leaving a smear of pre-cum.

He pushed forward, forcing the head of his cock past your lips, groaning as your warm mouth enveloped him. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his hips rocking gently, pushing deeper.

He groaned as your lips stretched around his thick, veiny shaft, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. His cock was long and hard, the skin smooth and hot against your tongue. The musky, masculine taste of him filled your mouth as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked.

Saliva dripped down your chin as you bobbed your head, your hand coming up to grip the base, stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth. He tasted of sweat and arousal, the flavour heady and intoxicating on your tongue.

Lewd, wet sounds filled the air as you slurped and sucked, your nose buried in his pubic hair, breathing in his scent. His balls were heavy and full, bouncing against your chin as you worked him over.

"Fuck, just like that," he grunted, his grip on your hair tightening, his hips snapping forward, fucking your face with shallow thrusts. "Take it all, baby.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he hit the back of your throat, your gag reflex working overtime, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you relaxed your throat, letting him slide deeper, taking him to the hilt.

He threw his head back with a groan, his abs clenching, his thighs trembling as you swallowed around him, your throat fluttering around his sensitive flesh.

"Goddamn, you're a natural," he panted, his voice strained with pleasure.

The click of the safety being disengaged sent a jolt of fear through you, even as you continued to suck him off. The cold metal of the gun brushed against your cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of his cock in your mouth.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through his shaft. "You like that, don't you, baby? The danger, the thrill. It gets you hot, doesn't it?" He pressed the gun to your temple, the barrel cold against your skin as he fucked your face harder, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper down your throat.

"Bet you're soaking wet right now," He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he neared his peak. "Fuck, I'm close," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing in your mouth.

He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slick with your saliva. "Not yet, baby," he growled, his voice low and guttural. "I'm not done with you."

He grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet, spinning you around and shoving you so you were bent over the wooden table. The rough wood scraped against your skin, the edge digging into your hips as he kicked your legs apart, exposing you to his gaze.

He flipped up your skirt, tearing your panties away with a sharp rip. His fingers dipped between your folds, teasing your entrance, circling your clit.

"Fuck, look at you," he purred, his hand coming down hard on your ass, making you yelp. "Already so wet for me. Yeah, you’re not innocent at all, are you?” He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he spat directly onto your pussy, the warm liquid trickling between your folds before he licked a stripe along your slit.

He dove in, his tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your juices. He teased your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, flicking the sensitive bud with rapid strokes. The hand holding the gun rested against your ass as the other held one of your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry mouth.

He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, darting flicks, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He growled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. His nose rubbed your clit as he buried his face deeper, his tongue probing your entrance.

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your G-spot as he continued to eat you out. He added a third finger, stretching you, filling you, as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned, his words muffled against your pussy. "So sweet and wet for me. I could eat this cunt all day."

He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the wet squelching sounds obscene in the quiet room.

His cock throbbed, rock hard and leaking pre-cum as he feasted on your pussy. The taste of you, the feel of your wetness coating his tongue, the sounds of your moans and whimpers—it all drove him wild with lust.

He fucked his fingers harder into you, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. His tongue flicked rapidly over your clit as he sucked, nibbled, licked every inch of your sopping folds.

He pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. His eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you, spread out and desperate for him.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "I could eat this pretty pussy all night long."

He trailed the gun along your inner thigh, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. "But first, I think I need to prep you a little. Get you nice and ready for me."

He teasingly ran the barrel of the gun along your folds, the cold metal sending a jolt of sensation through you. "What do you think, baby? Think you can handle this?"

You looked over your shoulder at him, stealing a glance as his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a faint nod of your head as you wanted it.

"I don't know," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you?"

He circled your clit with the tip of the gun, the metal cool against your heated flesh. Your hips twitched, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"Look at you, so desperate for it," he purred, his free hand coming down on your ass in a sharp slap. "Even with a gun to your cunt, you're still begging for it."

“Tell me-” he says as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, “Use those words.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to spill from your lips. His touch, his words, they were driving you crazy with need. You wanted him, all of him, and you didn't care how twisted it was.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, I need it. I need you."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's more like it”

He trailed the cold metal of the gun along your slit, teasing your entrance, circling it slowly. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze on your body as he watched you squirm

He pressed the tip of the gun against your entrance, the metal cool and unyielding. Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as he applied just the slightest bit of pressure.

He pressed the tip of the gun inside you, the cold metal sliding in teasingly slow. You gasped, your body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. He went deeper, inch by torturous inch, stretching you, filling you in a way you'd never experienced before.

"Fuck, look at you taking it," he groaned, his voice low and approving. "Such a good girl, so eager for me."

He worked the gun in and out, fucking you with it, the metal gliding along your walls, hitting spots you didn't know existed. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

He pushed the gun deeper, the metal sliding in with a slick sound, your wetness easing the way. You whimpered, your body trembling as he filled you, stretched you, claimed you in the most primal way possible.

He pulled it out slowly, the metal dragging along your folds, teasing your entrance, before pushing it back in.

He twisted the gun, the barrel rubbing against your sensitive walls, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

The wet, obscene sounds of the gun pumping in and out of your pussy filled the air, mixing with your moans and whimpers. He angled it just right, hitting that spot deep inside that made your toes curl, your eyes roll back in your head.

He pulled the gun out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered at the loss, your body craving more.

"Patience, baby," he purred as he tossed the gun to the side. "We're just getting started."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

He pushed inside you slowly, inch by throbbing inch, stretching you, filling you. Your pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust to his size, his heat. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he sank deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Feels so good wrapped around my cock."

He bottomed out as his massive frame engulfed you as he leaned over your back, his balls heavy and full against you as he remained deep inside you. He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every inch.

Then he started to move, his hips rocking, his cock sliding in and out of your slick heat. He set a slow, deep rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your pussy fluttered around him, your walls clinging to his shaft, trying to keep him inside. He grunted with each thrust, his fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that you know will leave marks.

He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper. His other hand slid up your body, coming to rest at your throat. Not squeezing yet, just a gentle reminder of his control, his dominance.

"That's it, baby," he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Take it. Take my cock like the good girl you are."

He fucked you harder, faster, his grip on your throat tightening just a fraction. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, sent waves of heat coursing through your body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips pistoning, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Gonna fill you up with my cum. Pump you full until it's leaking out of you."

His fingers tightened around your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your heart race, your pussy clench around him. He was so close, his cock throbbing inside you, his body tensing.

His grip tightened on your throat, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make your pulse flutter beneath them. His other arm cinched around your waist, pulling you back harder, his hips slamming into you with bruising force.

"Fuck, gonna come," he grunted, his voice strained and guttural.

He pounded into you relentlessly, his cock stretching you, claiming you, branding you from the inside out. His balls slapped against your clit with each brutal thrust, the wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

His hand on your throat squeezed again, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your head swim, your vision blur. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, pushed you closer to the edge.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles as he fucked you harder, deeper, his cock pounding into your pussy like a jackhammer. The added stimulation was too much, sending you careening over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and clenching, milking his cock for all it was worth. Your body shook and trembled, your moans echoing off the walls as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He groaned, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering as your pussy worked him over. "Fuck, yes, come for me," he growled, his fingers pinching your clit, prolonging your climax.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself inside you. His thick cum filled you, painting your walls white, marking you as his.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you to the table, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. For a moment, you both just lay there, basking in the afterglow, your bodies still joined, your hearts beating in sync.

He rolled his hips, his semi-hard cock still buried inside you, drawing out your pleasure. He pulled out slowly, a groan escaping him as your walls clung to him, trying to keep him inside.

He watched, transfixed, as his cum leaked out of your pussy, dripping down your thighs. The sight of you, so thoroughly used, so marked by him, sent a fresh wave of arousal through him.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "So fucking beautiful, covered in my cum."

He leaned down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your spine as you lay there, trying to catch your breath. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves and dips, the marks he'd left on your skin.

"You did so well, baby," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear.

He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing. “Come on, up, lemme get a look at you.”

He helped you up, his hands steady on your hips as you wobbled on shaky legs. He turned you around to face him, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your body, taking in the marks he'd left, the cum still dripping down your thighs.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he growled, his hands cupping your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "I could look at you like this all day."

He kissed you then, hard and deep, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, tasting himself on your lips. He pulled back, his eyes searching yours, a question in them.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks as he helps you redress, along with himself.

"No," you breathe, your voice hoarse and trembling. "It was... intense, but not painful."

You lean into his touch, savouring the warmth of his hands on your face, the solidness of his body against yours. Despite the darkness of what just transpired, there's a strange comfort in his presence, a sense of belonging.

“The gun-” you begin before he chuckles and interrupts you as he approaches the gun and picks it up, “Looks pretty real, huh? Feels it too.”

You laugh a little at that, “Yeah, it definitely felt it.”

“I’ll have to thank your friends for getting me such a good prop” He says, “And for arranging this whole place…You think they’re waiting outside?”

“God no, Shoko made it very clear yesterday that she wouldn’t wait around whilst I came in here to get fucked by my boyfriend. They’ll be long gone, we can call a cab.”

“Cab it is.” He smirks as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

taglist:

@l0v3m3-p13as3 @hishearttohave @williamafton26 @kentochronicles

@jays-adventure3 @nctislifue @eeveedvck @needtoloveoutloud @yowumi

@sweetpo1son @betelgeuse420 @yuhig-blog @psychedellyc @char-35

@kaeyeahsworld @sukunadckrider @ladyackermanisdead @szired

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fullmetal-scar-simping · 2 days ago

Note

Remember that scene where Heinkel implores Alphonse to use the Philosopher’s Stone against Pride, arguing the souls within it would want him to fight?

That should’ve been Scar and his mentor. Those are Ishvalan lives, and while Heinkel at least wasn’t involved in the genocide and has also been dehumanized and experimented on by the system, he’s still a white man and a former soldier, imploring a white boy to use these resources to save Amestris.

Idk I think it’d be soooo much more compelling if Scar’s mentor went from being skeptical of his violence to recognizing the need. To see him remind Scar that he’s ultimately committing an alchemical taboo anyway for the sake of his fellow Ishvalans. Something about Ishvalan souls reclaiming actual agency via the mentor being a fellow Ishvalan himself, acknowledging they would likely want Scar to use them.

And not to protect Amestris, but to protect the Ishvalan refugees within the circle. That isn’t talked about enough, if at all; Scar says he’ll save this country so he can change it (so he can save his people) but what about the fact that we’ve already seen two communities within the border of the circle?

What about him doing this to prevent the remaining Ishvalans from being sacrificed into a Philosopher’s Stone, and how the lives of a prior stone would feel the same way? What about Scar recognizing that the Promised Day transmutation circle was what his people were slaughtered for, and so he won’t let anymore die in direct fulfillment of it?

And then when Scar is mortally stabbed by Wrath, whose mindless violence is contrasted with Scar’s meaningful, justified violence, he actually gets to use the stone to save his own life and live and heal. Because these Ishvalans would give up their lives to save their kinsmen. That’s exactly what Scar is doing. It would give them peace to reclaim their objectification as energy that is instead used to prevent further harm to their community. All while giving their souls peace by freeing them.

At least it’s not a white doctor who created this specific stone from their lives speaking on their behalf to a war criminal who’s killed more Ishvalans than anyone else, saying that Mustang needs to heal his eyes and ultimately use these souls for the good of the remaining Ishvalans so if you think about it this is what these Ishvalan souls would REALLY want. Because there’s no way Mustang could possibly give reparations to the Ishvalan community as a blind man who is still wealthy and with connections to the new Fuhrer (reminder that state alchemist payrolls are huge and there’s multiple jokes about this too).

Man I wish instead of Father talking hot shit about how life is unfair in a neutered take on Dante’s Equivalent Exchange is Bullshit speech, with Ed rebuking him, Father did the opposite; Contrasting Dante’s speech by suggesting this ‘injustice’ of Roy losing his sight IS the rightful toll for his genocide. Maybe even insinuating that Hughes’ murder was also justice, too, ever think about that human? Both villains in either version of the story having different takes on whether equivalent exchange is real, yet ultimately using it to deliver the same brutal wake-up call to our MC.

If this had been what Brotherhood served instead of the hot garbage that is its actual canon I'd have been over the moon. (Would still dislike a lot of other things, but at least I'd be able to say I enjoyed it enough to not want to launch it into the sun.) Seriously, I love this take on the last chunk of mangahood.

We were absolutely robbed of any opportunity for a dialogue between Scar, his Master, living Ishvalans, and the souls that comprise that particular stone. How that could have eventually led his Master to rigorously challenge both Scar's and his own clashing spiritual, culture-honouring, and political philosophies. Perhaps have some other monks of Ishvala (is there a specific way to refer to practitioners of the Ishvalan faith?) bring up their own shift in perspectives, some agreeing with the methods of rebel fighters and Scar's tactics. And contrast these opinions with those who are resistant to adapting their beliefs and goals (because of course some will not budge). The dissonance between passivity feigning as tradition, leaving Ishvalans at the mercy of Amestris and other powerful nations for the foreseeable future; versus an active stance of principled violence and land reclamation, that seeks to give Ishvalans a fighting chance against full annihilation/unending displacement/amalgamation. Coming to a head with the Master imploring Scar to use it as needed, in a form of restitution and ceremony that finally grants the dead to peace.

And man, how that would enhance Scar's battle against Bradley. (What you wrote about how this could change that showdown, and what that would mean for the transmuted Ishvalans, Scar, and his people-!!!! 🥹) That he has to allow his own people to heal him, while reminded that Ishvalans are actually in his corner. That he isn't doing this for Amestris, that countering Father's nation-wide circle is to protect surviving Ishvalans. Having the knowledge that if he is forgiven and cared for by his own people, then salvation need not come from prostrating himself to Amestris whatsoever.

All of this would of course require Scar to have never fully reneged on his own actions against the State, even after being cornered into agreeing to aid the military insurrectionists. Some part of him cannot swallow their chauvinistic idealism that still centers the protection of the existing imperial nation. Slowly returning to a rejection of this rickety compliance with the military writ large. And you wouldn't necessarily have to retcon the fuck-awful Briggs recuperation of Scar either. It just can't go from the canon bs "Woah yeah, being an Ishvalan ~changing minds~ in the military is so based, unlike me, who is shitbad," to a sudden "We need violence to upend Amestrian domination of our people". Some part of him, even with his coerced comradery, would have to be internally rejecting that premise, and increasingly so. Without that, the change wouldn't scan imo.

Scar and his Master actually tearing into the meat of Scar's and his brother's blasphemy; what Scar has seen in his path of vengeance, as well as what he's seen/overheads regarding the attitudes of the military members who wish to overthrow Bradley, with their obvious bid for self-serving power rather than seeing Ishvalans and other occupied peoples as anything more than bartering chips; the will of the transmuted Ishvalans pushing through the stone just enough to rally their wishes for liberation of their living kinsmen; Scar and his Master having to reevaluate some of their long held beliefs and their distaste for all forms of alchemy. Hell, getting to see Scar admit to his Master what his brother had been studying and what he discovered in the process when he was recruiting Ishvalan refugees for the coup effort would have been a huge character moment for them both!

We could have had it all.

Rip to what could have been, but bless those few fans with taste and the wide range of changes/ideas you all have shared so far! You guys make talking about mangahood far more enjoyable than it has any right to be.

With the Ishvalan stone, I wouldn't be surprised if Scar would have to reclaim it out of Amestrian possession secretly. Maybe, without yet fully tapping into the unheard voices of their souls, he could feel them resonate and rejoice being in Ishvalan hands. The weeping of the damned who cannot bare to be used by Amestris for one second longer stirring his (re)growing suspicion and anger against the people who forced him to ally with their cause at the cost of his degradation and threat of imprisonment (and let's be real here, the threat of execution by the State was guaranteed if he rebuked Miles and therefore got arrested). He could feel their storm of memories and regrets, their hopes and their sorrows. If the stone could have called for action against the homunculi, they would just as much call for action against the human monsters as well.

But no, instead of all of that we focused on the will and humanity of the Xerxian philosopher's stone exclusively.

(Super love the military getting to exploit Scar's deep-seated self-hatred and suicidality for their own gain. Cool moment all around. Awesome. Really good stuff there. Very reformed. Checkmate, Scar.)

Everything you mentioned re: Father, his neutered approximation of Dante's speech, and what you would have preferred his perspective to be is 💯💯💯. ESPECIALLY with how he would mock Roy for having his eyesight taken in order to fulfill his own plans for yet another nation-wide sacrifice. It would serve as a biting counterargument to the nonsense excuse that Roy and friends "had no choice in joining the military and killing Ishvalans". His choices led him to desecrate so many lives for himself, to transmute as much of a (smaller) country as possible for their own goals (thus having already served Father). How would this be any different then? Mustang can argue with Truth and Father that he was forced to perform human transmutation, but why did that ever excuse anything in the past? Did clinging to the nation "betraying" Mustang's naivete ever spare any suffering for anyone? He has part of himself nonconsentually sacrificed now because of his continued pigheadedness, suffering only a fraction of what he's done. And Roy thinks he's going to make reparations for so thoroughly incinerating Ishval by vying for the Fuhrership? The very system Father and scores of humans built? This is the toll for everything foolish people like Roy have done. It's not random or unfair insofar that equivalency can merely be another way of describing consequences. Survivors might interpret Mustang's maiming as justice, so why should he resist that when he still wants to hold the power that decided their fates to begin with?

Father could have been a more cold, conniving fucker who grinds Mustang's remaining fortitude into dust. From there Roy would either have to have the greatest reckoning of his life as the eclipse fast approaches and understand that reforming what Father and his legions have created is not worth it after all, or be a husk who falls crumbles under his desperate need for a seat of power that would never be his anyway. Buuuuuuuut that would ruin the big fun shonen fuck yeah humans rock we're all best pals slapping faux-god wowowowow action scenes and alchemic-jojo punching and our protags were always right and just and super cool finale that 99% of the fanbase has been fellating since 2010. So. 💩

Total aside, but the design for Father's humanoid homunculus form (when he sheds Hohenheim's appearance for the eclipse) sucks so much ass lmao

#yeah that feels like the appropriate note to end off on lol #but again: really love your ideas!#it's so much more satisfying than canon mangahood #ask #scar fma #father #fmab #long post

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gracheeee · 1 day ago

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I love FNaF, ever since practically the first year it came out, I love it, seriously. I remember I was the weird kid in 2014 and after because I loved FNaF so much.

When it came out I was like 7–8 years old, and now I'm 18, and it feels so good to have this wonderful game as something that impacted my life so much, it made me meet new people, that I don't talk to any more, but remembering all the class time we spent making theories and trying to analyse the games are just gold (pun intended).

Being able to see the game go from 0 to 100 was amazing, and I shall present you my interpretation of William and Michael Afton.

William is someone who doesn't look intimidating at all, always has a wide smile, I actually saw a Reddit post comparing three types of Williams (u/r0pp0p) the Babadook, the Tumblr sexy man and some kinda European toymaker, mine would be a mix of those three types, in the exterior he looks and acts like a wanky guy kinda silly, has some fascination with his furry suit (cof cof Springbonnie springlock suit cof cof), actually is a good father, so the turn out of his real personality is kinda more terrifying, he breaks when Dave (CC for me its Dave, well actually David, sorry guys) gets killed in the bite of 83' and that's when chaos unleashes, and well, you all know the story, right? Then Michael, our main character, is someone who actually I haven't actually thought why was he so mean to CC in the events of the fourth game, anyway, he used to be some wannabe rebellious teen, and he actually was, until he killed CC, and he entered a state of grief, he does everything, literally everything, worked in Freddy's (for the free pizza) two times, got fired two times for tampering with the animatronics and having bad odour (but if you believe he got scooped after being a security guard in the second, and first games, and presumably in the third game), got tricked into going into Circus Baby's Pizza World (CBPW) to find his sister, he got scooped, and his body was then used as a shell for a robot within his flesh, then supposedly was the guard of Fazbear frights, and later burned that restaurant down, did I mention the animatronic that tries to kill him in that game is his own dad? Then works in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place and then finally dies burnt after he and his dad ex business partner and old friend, decided to free the souls, what hasn't he done?

#art #fnaf william afton #fnaf au #five nights at freddys #fnaf security breach #fnaf #fnaf fanart #fnaf sb #fnaf art #fivenightsatfreddysfanart #william afton #michael afton #five nights at freddy's #fanart

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stanleypinesgf · 2 days ago

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Falling for Mystery - Chapter Nineteen

Falling for Mystery Masterlist Warnings: mostly fluff, mentions of: gambling, drinking and the trauma with the ex but it's not in depth, enjoy! Please note: this is a slow burn fic with eventual smut and mature themes, 18+ only and please check warnings at the start of chapters! i swear the second i post an apology for not writing, i get inspired to finish a chapter smh, oh well! TYSM for all the support so far!! w/c: 2,487 The last few nights had been a hazy blend of neon lights, full-bodied laughter, and the wild thrill of rolling dice. Vegas left us no better off, but not much worse either. It had been exactly what we’d wanted—a blur of spontaneity and freedom. But our relationship… well, somewhere between the casinos and the sunrises, we’d slipped into a rhythm as natural as breathing, like we’d been moving to this beat all along without realizing it. I was relishing this newfound feeling of security and warmth with Stan, and from what I could tell, he was too.

Now, as the glow of the city faded into the distance, Stan took us back out onto the open road. His grip on the steering wheel was firm and steady, a mix of confidence and pride that made me smile. In the El Diablo, he looked so at ease, like he was exactly where he was meant to be. I must’ve been watching him a beat too long, lost in thought, because he turned and shot me a curious look, one of his large hands giving my thigh a gentle squeeze.

“You okay in there?” he chuckled, a spark of concern flickering across his face, softening his usual bravado.

I grinned, feeling a warm glow in my chest. “Just admiring the view. It’s not half bad.”

A blush crept up from his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears, though he tried to shake it off, rolling his eyes with a bemused smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the faint pink lingered, making him look a bit softer in a way I had come to love.

The engine hummed in time with the miles ticking by, and for those first few hours, the drive was effortless. Stan’s stories flowed as easily as the road ahead, each one more exaggerated than the last. He gestured wildly with one hand as he talked, painting scenes so vivid they felt like memories we were living right then and there.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I almost got kicked out of a bar for winnin’ too many games of darts?” he asked, laughter dancing in his voice.

I shook my head, leaning in closer. “No, but I’m sure it’s a classic.”

“Oh, it was! I was on fire that night. Took down this guy who looked like he could crush a car with his bare hands. I swear, he was ready to throw me out, but I just smiled and said, ‘Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t handle the heat!’” He laughed, and I joined in, the sound filling the car like music.

We traded laughs, filling in gaps in each other’s retelling of the Vegas escapades, our best attempts at piecing together the blurry, half-remembered nights.

Noon slipped by in a flash, and we pulled over at a gas station in the middle of nowhere to grab a quick bite. Even under the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights, that dusty pit stop felt like an adventure. I picked out a bag of chips while Stan eyed the selection of sodas with the seriousness of a connoisseur.

“Caffeine or sugar?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not both?” I grinned, tossing two cans of Pitt Cola into the basket.

Every small thing, from picking out snacks to catching each other’s eye over Styrofoam cups of coffee, had a quiet magic. We had this feeling that there was nowhere else in the world we’d rather be. It was new for us both, this effortless sense of belonging together, and I found myself cherishing it, wanting to hold onto every simple, beautiful moment.

As afternoon faded to late day, the sky stretched wide and open above us, painted with long strokes of orange and gold. The glow spilled into the car, catching in Stan’s hair and casting soft shadows across his face. He was quieter now, his stories trailing off as the caffeine from his coffee wore thin. I watched him try to stifle a yawn, his hand moving to cover it as though I wouldn’t notice.

“Getting tired, huh?” I teased, brushing a hand across his arm.

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Nah, I’m golden, sweetheart,” he said, but another yawn betrayed him as his eyelids drooped at the corners, making me laugh.

“Uh-huh.” I crossed my arms, watching him struggle to focus. “Why don’t you let me take over for a while? You’re gonna pass out if you keep this up.”

His eyes flicked over to me, his expression somewhere between amused and dubious. “This is the Stanmobile we’re talkin’ about here. I don’t just hand her over to anyone.” He chuckled, but it was half-hearted; even he couldn’t muster up his usual teasing grin.

“Stan,” I said softly, giving him an encouraging look, “I spent months practically living out of my car and navigating roads all over the country. I know how to handle a lot of things… including your baby here.”

He gave me a long look, the stubborn glint in his eye flickering as he weighed my words. “You sure about this? She’s got a few quirks,” he warned, clearly struggling between his protectiveness and his exhaustion.

I nodded, reaching over to give his arm a gentle squeeze. “Trust me. Just close your eyes for a while and get some rest. I’ll keep her steady.”

After a few more moments of hesitation, he finally sighed, giving in with a reluctant but affectionate smile. “Fine, but anythin’ crazy happens and I’m takin’ back those keys.”

“Deal,” I replied, grinning as he finally pulled over to the side of the road. With a tired sigh and a stretch, he climbed out and made his way around to my side. Though he looked a bit worn out, he still offered a hand to help me out, that familiar spark in his eyes softened by the weight of a long day.

Once I’d slid over into the driver’s seat, he leaned in, adjusting the seatbelt and giving me an approving nod, his eyelids heavy but still holding that mischievous glint. After he closed my door, he walked slowly back to the passenger side, sinking into the seat with a contented sigh. He gave me a lazy smile, crossing his arms as he settled in. “Alright, let’s see what you got,” he teased, his voice warm and easy as he closed his eyes, leaning back to relax.

As I settled in behind the wheel, a quiet thrill bloomed at the thought of being trusted with something this important to him. Adjusting the seat, I eased the car down the highway, feeling the low rumble of the engine beneath my hands. Beside me, Stan leaned his head back, arms crossed, stubbornly trying to stay alert, though his face already showed signs of fatigue. Not five minutes later, he succumbed, slipping into a deep, even sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was interrupted by soft, unbothered snores, each one a little louder than the last.

For a long while, it was just me, the steady drone of the road, and the rumbling sounds of his snores as we cut across the vast, open stretch of highway. The warmth of this moment washed over me, surprising me with its ease and simplicity. Memories of the past flickered through my mind, moments I’d long since buried, but somehow the softness and the trust we shared brought them to the surface. It was almost startling to realize how far I’d come from those days when love had felt like something sharp-edged, guarded, conditional. I used to think that was how it was supposed to be; tight control, anxiety like a shadow I could never shake. I’d spent years keeping my guard up, never giving too much, always careful to stay a step back. Back then, I’d told myself it was easier to keep people at a distance, safer that way.

But here I was, not even a year into knowing Stan, and he was trusting me, not just with his prized car but with himself. Every mile we travelled, the gap between what I’d known and what I’d found grew wider. I glanced over at him, his face softened in sleep, a faint smile still lingering on his lips even in slumber. He wasn’t trying to be anything but himself, and somehow, for the first time, I felt like I could do the same.

After a while, Stan stirred beside me, blinking awake with a lopsided, groggy smile. He glanced over, his voice thick with sleep as he asked, “How’s my girl holdin’ up?”

I shot him a quick grin. “The car’s running like a dream. Smooth as ever.”

Stan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Meant you, Sunshine. But glad to hear she’s doin’ alright too,” he said, laughing quietly. He rubbed his eyes and looked me over, the concern in his gaze unmistakable. “You okay to keep goin’ a little longer?”

I nodded, warmth spreading through me at the casual way he asked, as if watching out for me was second nature by now. “Didn’t think you’d be so protective while I’m behind the wheel,” I teased, a playful smile dancing on my lips.

“Protective’s just part of the package, sweetheart,” he replied, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “But wake me if you need a break, alright?” His eyes softened as he settled back into the seat, a hint of mischief still lingering even in his drowsiness.

“Well, if we keep driving straight through, we can skip the motel and get back to the Shack quicker.” The thought of returning to our cozy little space felt like a warm hug, and I cherished how naturally I could think of our shared life as home.

Stan’s expression brightened a bit at my words. “That sounds like a plan. I’d rather be back in our own bed than stuck in some dusty motel any day.” He shifted slightly, nestling into the seat with a contented sigh. “If you need me, just wake me, okay?”

“Will do,” I whispered, a smile tugging at my lips as I watched him drift off. Butterflies fluttered and warmth spread through me as he casually referred to his bed as “ours,” reinforcing the sense of belonging blossoming between us. The quiet trust we shared was quickly becoming my safe space, and I savoured each moment of this deepening bond.

It struck me, almost painfully, how wrong I’d been about what I thought I deserved. I’d spent years bracing myself for the worst, anticipating moments that would make me flinch or retreat. But here, there was only quiet warmth and an unwavering sense of trust. Stan had slipped past all the walls I’d built, and with him, it felt like my journey was coming full circle.

In a way, I’d set out on the road months ago thinking I was searching for a place to belong, somewhere I might finally call home. But as I glanced over at Stan, his relaxed face softly illuminated by the fading afternoon light, I realised I’d finally found it. We weren’t just heading back to a small town; I was on my way to the kind of home I’d never known was possible, one I wanted to hold onto forever.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow through the windshield, I found myself humming softly to the radio. The familiar tunes wrapped around us like a warm blanket, and I felt a sense of peace settle in my chest. I stole another glance at Stan, his lips curled in a contented smile even in sleep.

“Hey, Stan,” I whispered, nudging him gently. “Wake up and watch the sunset with me.”

He stirred, blinking slowly as he adjusted to the light. “What’d I miss?” he mumbled, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

“The best view in the world,” I replied, tilting my head toward the horizon.

His eyes sparkled with recognition, and he leaned closer to the window, taking in the vibrant colours painting the sky. “Now that’s a sight worth wakin’ up for,” he said, turning to me, the soft light catching the warmth in his gaze.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a swell of happiness. “It really is.” Stan's expression shifted as he took in the scene, and he suddenly sat up straighter. “Wanna pull over and watch it properly?”

“Good idea,” I replied, my heart racing with excitement.

Without thinking twice, I pulled over to the side of the road, the engine humming softly as I shifted into park. The sun hung low, casting golden rays that danced across the landscape. As I opened the door, he was already out and walking around to my side, a playful glint in his eye. “C’mere gorgeous,” he said, a hint of sleep lingering in his voice. With a gentle lift, he scooped me up effortlessly, placing me on the hood of the car, crossing to the other side and climbing up next to me. He settled down, our shoulders brushing as we leaned back to take in the view. The sky shifted from orange to deep purple, streaked with hints of pink that seemed to mirror the fluttering in my chest.

“It’s perfect,” I breathed, glancing sideways at him. He was gazing at the horizon, a contented smile on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back, my heart swelling with the moment.

“Not half as perfect as you,” he said, turning to me with a teasing grin. The sincerity in his voice sent a warm shiver down my spine.

Before I could respond, he leaned closer, his hand brushing against mine, fingers intertwining. The world around us faded, and suddenly it felt like it was just the two of us, suspended in time. My breath caught as he tilted his head, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat.

His lips met mine softly, a gentle exploration that deepened as I leaned into him, melting against the warmth of his embrace. It was a kiss filled with the promise of everything we were building together, a testament to the journey we’d embarked on. The sunset bathed us in a golden glow, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath me. “I could get used to this,” I murmured, watching the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “As long as it’s with you.”

We sat there for a while, the cool evening air settling around us as stars began to twinkle in the deepening sky. It felt like home, like we were exactly where we were meant to be—together, facing whatever lay ahead.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#stanley pines #stan pines #stan pines fluff #gravity falls #stan pines x reader #reader insert #eventual romance #eventual smut #slow burn #first fic pls be nice

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soelstress · 2 days ago

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Going For The Gold

Pairing: Lance Tucker x female!reader

Summary: You show the God of Gymnastics what going the distance really means.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , sex/smut, p in v sex , unprotected sex , oral sex (m & f receiving)

A/N 1 - This is my second submission for @mercurial-chuckles Smutber Fest. Thank you for extending the smut fest & apologies this is a few days late!

A/N 2 - Prompts - Once again I asked a friend to pick up to five prompts for me... and of course I was given five yet again so two stories it is 🙈 The prompts this time are mirror sex & marathon sex

A/N 3 - GIF from Hyperfixations Galore via Google Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

“Hey there gorgeous”. You prayed it was a mistake - that the greeting was not aimed at you. Or better yet, the annoyingly familiar voice did not belong to who you suspected. Surely fate was not that cruel. “I thought I recognised those pretty lips”.

Yep, fate was that cruel. A big patriotic mass plopped into the chair beside yours, ordering tequila. Subtly, you gave him a once over. Lance Tucker hadn’t changed in the year since you’d last met. Still proudly flaunting his Team USA coaching gear, his body appeared to be as toned as ever. For a moment, your gaze lingered on his face. For goodness sake couldn’t he have gotten wrinkles or something, anything to make him a little less appealing? Sonofabitch - he had eye crinkles, looking dignified as he flashed a smile at the bartender. Lusciously thick brown hair, twinkly blue eyes and pouty pink lips that were sinful with a sweet smile. Until he either smirked or opened his mouth... then you wanted to smack him. “Fuck me”. Shit, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Gladly. My room or yours?” Lance smirked, popping a toothpick into his mouth. Your hand twitched as his lips curled. “Seriously though. What brings you here?”

Leaning back, you took a sip of your drink and watched as he leaned toward you. “Here on business. I go where I’m needed”. He nodded, remembering that you never stayed in one place too long due to your job. “What about you? Last I’d heard you ditched Amherst and flew to sunny LA with Maggie to keep rolling in those gold medals but then your star pupil became your baby mama”.

Lance's smirk faded and he leaned back into his seat, reaching for one of his tequila shots. “The baby wasn’t mine”. He eyed the golden liquid before knocking it back. “She’d been seeing someone before we flew out to LA. She only screwed me to try and claim the kid was mine. Her guy wasn’t too happy about that and told me everything. I reported that she was pregnant, she got kicked off the team and I had to deal with the fallout”.

Your stomach swooped in sympathy. Lance was a Grade A prick and the cockiest asshole you’d ever met - called himself the God of Gymnastics, poached his rivals gold winning protégé and slept with said rival to sabotage her relationship - all in the name of revenge for her bronze medal overshadowing his silver and gold performances years prior. But no one deserved to be lied to like that, especially about a child he believed was his. “I’m sorry, Lance”.

Lance chuckled mirthlessly, reaching for his second shot. “Bet Greggory will laugh her ass off when you tell her ‘Fucker Tucker’ got fucked himself”.

You shook your head. “I haven’t seen Hope since you two hooked up a year ago. My family were the ones who told me what you were up to these days”.

Lance cocked his head. “A year ago? Wait, that’s when we hooked up as well”. You nodded, not expanding further. Frowning, he turned to face you. “Hey, you’re not mad about that are you? We didn’t have an arrangement-“

Sighing heavily, you took a bigger swig of your drink before fully facing him. “No, I’m not mad that you hooked up with Hope the night after me”. You were telling the truth, you weren’t mad about that. Lance was right - the two of you had no relationship, that last hook up was your first time sleeping together. You had slept with him the first night, but work had prevented you meeting up the next night. You had been on your way to ask Lance if he wanted to hook up again on the third day, but instead you overheard him complaining that Hope had been a bad lay and gone on in vivid detail to describe what had happened between them the night prior which had sounded very similar to your night with him. Though apparently the increased number of positions Hope used hadn’t impressed Lance in the slightest. Shaking your head, you saw Lance had leaned closer and placed his hand over yours. “Seriously Lance, I’m not mad about it”.

Gently, Lance caught your chin and looked at you. Not knowing what he was looking for, you kept his gaze until the smirk teased his mouth again. “Good. I’m glad”. His thumb brushed your lip, eyes darkening when it popped open. “So… back to my question… your room or mine?”

A big part of you knew this was a mistake. Though it was clear no strings attached was what Lance was offering, no good could come of it. But on the other hand, part of you wanted to see if it would be like your last hook up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was. Exactly the same. Within seconds of entering his room, both of you were naked. You weren’t a gymnast let alone an athlete, barely managing to squeeze a basic fitness routine in your schedule but that didn’t matter to Lance. Just like before he was contorting into various positions, more focused on Olympic gymnastics rather than mattress gymnastics. He’d been at it for a while, changing positions every time you started to settle into a rhythm. Neither of you had cum yet. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck” he groaned, now shifting to press you against the wall. “Fuckin… God of Gymnastics”. His thrusts began to speed up.

Something inside you snapped. There was no way you’d let him use the same routine with you now that he’d used on you AND Hope last year. And there was not a snowball's chance in Hell you were being left high and dry like before. You were going to make this God pray to you. Shifting, you moved so his cock slipped out when he pulled back. Lance moved on instinct, trying to sink back into you. He froze when your hand gripped his cock tightly. Panting heavily, his eyes never left yours as you began to stroke him. “Last time, we agreed on hot marathon sex. You’ve got stamina, Tucker”. His smirk vanished at your next words. “But you and I have very different opinions about marathon sex. You’re more focused on the positions than the pleasure. So now… I’m gonna coach you”.

You led him, literally by the balls, to the bathroom and started up the walk in shower. Once the water was warm you grabbed the body wash and began to work him over, petting and caressing every line, curve and hollow. A pleased sound escaped you when he reciprocated. He was trying to urge you along by focusing specifically on your breasts, but since he’d skipped the foreplay both times you decided a little retribution was in order. Your hands slid down and he grinned lazily as you slowly began to stroke his cock, giving him a soapy slippery handjob. Once the suds had been rinsed and you saw Lance was close to the edge, you gripped the base of him. His blue eyes burned with lust and confusion. You carefully sank to your knees. Licking your lips, you offered a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Lance whined softly, hips jutting for more attention. Smiling, you placed wet kisses and licks up and down his shaft watching as the thick flesh seemed to follow your mouth, almost enchanting him like a snake charmer. Eyes locked with his, you slowly began to suck him into your mouth. “Oh fuck!” Lance threw his head back, one arm splaying on the wall to keep his balance while the other tangled into your hair. You slowly continued to suck him in, almost with your nose to the base when his grip tightened and he tried to tug. Your nails dug into his thick thighs and when his gaze landed on you he could see the warning flash in your eyes. His whines cut off when you resumed the tortuous pace, bringing him to the edge twice before stopping. “Fuck… gorgeous… please…” Lance moaned loudly, the noises echoing off the wall and giving you a high that you were making him react this way. Looking up, you gently pushed him back against the chilled wall at the same time you sucked firmly. “FUCK!” Lance cried out, gripping your hair tightly but not pulling as he came in your mouth. Swallowing his spend, you stood and walked out of the shower, grabbing a towel to briskly rub down. Dazedly, Lance followed your example.

It took him a few seconds but he then moved, caging you against the wall of the shower. The cold was a sharp contrast to your heated body but it felt amazing when Lance pressed his body to yours. His fingers glided over your nipples, down your belly and to the heat between your legs. He teased your entrance before sliding one thick finger in, cursing softly. “So damn snug. God…” He hissed when he slipped in another finger. As he rubbed deep within you he felt your walls begin to tremble. “C’mon gorgeous. Give it to me”. With a moan you tipped into your orgasm, not noticing that Lance dropped to his knees and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He stared at your dripping heat, licking his lips. “S’pretty” he murmured, tongue darting out when you clenched around nothing. “I can’t… I gotta” he mumbled before his tongue made a thick long stripe into your folds. “God… you’re liquid gold, gorgeous”. He dove back in with an enthusiasm that surprised you, sounds of satisfaction spilling from him. His nose nudged your clit as he eagerly lapped away. You whimpered when his tongue speared into you. Grabbing his hair you pulled him closer and cried out at his happy moan, the vibrations almost pushing you over the edge. Lance gave a few soft licks to your clit before suckling gently. A long whine echoed in the bathroom as you peaked again.

Looking down, you saw a tiny smirk grace Lance's glistening lips and the ache to take him down a peg resurfaced. Once he stood, you pressed up against him and kissed fiercely. Both of you moaned at the taste of the other’s juices. Jumping up, you wrapped your legs around his waist, one of his arms underneath to support you while the other pulled you tight against him. “Window” you murmured. His brows shot up to his hairline but he carried you through before carefully setting you down. Turning you pressed away from the glass, arching your back as Lance slowly thrust himself inside you. One hand held you close while the other roamed your body - squeezed your boobs, brushed your clit. A few more circuits had you nearly seeing stars and Lance was also heaven bound before you pulled him tight against you to stop him moving.

”No! Please gorgeous… ” he pleaded, desperately trying to somehow find that delicious friction. “No… beautiful… please baby”.

“Look, Tucker. Look at yourself”. Glancing up, Lance saw himself in the window reflection. His blue eyes glistened with tears at being denied, his face flushed with desire and his lips swollen from being nibbled and kissed. He whined, wanting so desperately to find his release. “You wanna cum?”

”Yes. Please gorgeous… baby. Please” he whispered.

”Show me what you got”.

Bracing his hand against the glass, Lance encouraged you to arch your back more and began to thrust slowly and deeply within you. Feeling his heavy balls start to tighten, he sped up slightly. “No… c’mon gorgeous… need to feel you… please… please baby”. Desperately he sucked at your neck at the same time he tweaked your nipple. Your walls began to quake and his cock jerked within you. Lance whined. “Fuck… feels so good. You feel so good…”

As he continued to thrust, you noticed that his whines were growing higher. Mind whirring, you encouraged him to gently pull out. His movements halted and you glanced down to see his cock was still hard. “Feel good, baby?” Almost shyly, he nodded. “Think you can do one more?” Head cocked, Lance looked adorably innocent for a moment. He nodded again. “Then lay down on the bed”.

Without hesitating Lance laid down, eyes sparkling as you followed. Carefully, you sat on top of him and slowly guided his length into you. You moaned loudly but still heard his whine. “Shit… s’too much baby… I can’t…”

”Yeah you can”. You gently ran your hands all over his body, kissing and sucking his neck, jaw and lips. “C’mon… c’mon Coach”. At your soft coo, Lance began to buck up into you, hands gripping your waist tightly and keeping you attached to him. “Yes… oh God… Lance!” You cried out as stars exploded in front of you.

Lance silently screamed as you milked him again, the pleasure almost painful. Once both your highs had ended, he held you close. Chest heaving, he saw you tracing figures on his skin. “So… how’d I do in marathon sex Coach?” he murmured.

”Silver”. Shocked, his eyes darted to you. “Your initial efforts were half assed at best though your performance did improve”. Lance's lip trembled. “But then again you know practice makes perfect…”. As you smirked, you felt a gentle nudge against your inner thigh. “Ready to go for gold?”

#indulge with chuckles #smutty september fest 2024 #sebastian stan characters #lance tucker

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 2 days ago

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Hello, I've been enjoying your fics, you write so charmingly! A request, if you have the time: reader plays lead guitar in Megadeth - Dave hired her during a post-rehab, clean living phase because she's a kick-ass metal guitarist, but she doesn't drink much, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do hookups. And they tour with Metallica, where hard-drinking, hard-partying, grupies-in-showers James Hetfield falls for her, and of course he has to work to convince her to take him seriously and date him. <3

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like them. I hope you like it❤

Behind the rockstar

Joining Megadeth had always been about the music. I was there to play, not to fall into the notorious lifestyle of rock. I’d seen the wild afterparties, the booze, the drugs, the endless stream of groupies, and I wanted no part of it. I’d disappear after every show, slipping out as Metallica’s backstage turned into a chaotic free-for-all of laughter, drinks, and fans ready to do anything to be close to their idols. It didn’t faze me — I was there to play, and to avoid the chaos that came with it.

But someone had started to notice my vanishing act: James Hetfield. The first time he stopped me, he leaned against an amp, flashing that arrogant smile, and casually asked, “So, are you ever gonna stick around?”

I could tell by his tone he expected some banter or an easy laugh, but I didn’t give him one. I shrugged, zipping up my guitar case. “Not my thing, Hetfield. Enjoy the party.”

The polite brush-off was supposed to be enough. But James was persistent, like a moth drawn to a flame, unwilling to give up so easily. The next night, he caught up with me again, this time with a smirk and a drink in hand. “You know, you’re missing out,” he said, holding out the glass. “One drink won’t kill you.”

I gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’ll survive,” I said, walking away without a second glance.

But that didn’t stop him. Instead, it seemed to challenge him, and over the next few nights, his cocky attempts turned into something else. The joking lines softened, the smooth charm replaced by a genuine curiosity. He started sitting out of the parties more often, just to catch me as I packed up. He’d bring coffee, ask me about the night’s show, or share stories about his own journey in music. I tried to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder each time.

Then, one evening, he found me playing alone after a show, experimenting with a tricky solo. He quietly sat down, watching in silence. When I glanced over, he looked different — more thoughtful, less of the rock star I’d first met.

“You really don’t drink, huh?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

I shrugged. “I just want to keep a clear head. This is too important to mess up.”

He nodded, looking down. “Yeah… I know what that’s like.” There was a shadow in his eyes, and I remembered the stories I’d heard about his battles with addiction. It hit me that the man behind the arrogant persona was struggling too, working to keep himself from slipping.

After that, he changed. Every night, he’d find some reason to join me, away from the wild parties. Sometimes he’d bring new riffs he’d been working on or sit with me in the empty rehearsal room, teaching me solos with an unexpected patience. He’d focus so intently on the music, his usual swagger replaced with an openness that caught me off guard. His arrogance was just armor, I realized, hiding something more complex, someone who’d been through the same struggles and wanted something more.

One night, after a long set, I was surprised to find him still waiting around, his usual crowd nowhere in sight. He handed me a cup of coffee and asked, “Mind if I walk with you?”

It was just a walk back to the hotel, but it turned into a real conversation. We strolled through the quiet streets, and he told me things I hadn’t expected — stories about his family, his childhood, his demons. He spoke of the toll fame had taken, how the partying had turned into a crutch, how he was trying to change. By the time we reached the hotel, I saw him differently. I could see the way he was fighting against the image he’d built, trying to find himself underneath all the fame and excess.

From then on, he kept showing up in small, thoughtful ways. I’d find new guitar strings left on my amp when I ran low, or he’d save a quiet spot for us at a diner after the shows, away from the noise and distractions. He’d even picked up on little things — the kind of coffee I liked, the music I’d listen to as I tuned my guitar. And he gave up the booze and the afterparties, telling me quietly one night, “I want to be around for this. Around for…you.”

But the moment that sealed it was one night when we had a rough show — technical issues, tensions running high. Afterward, I found him alone in the rehearsal room, strumming his guitar softly. He looked up as I entered, his usual confident mask completely gone.

Without a word, he started playing something I’d never heard before. It was a slow, haunting melody, so unlike his usual riffs, layered with the kind of depth and rawness that only came from true vulnerability. I realized he’d written it for me, a piece full of emotion and sincerity that words alone couldn’t capture.

When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes open, honest. “Y/N, I know I’m not exactly a safe bet. My life’s messy, I’m still figuring things out. But you make me want to try, to be better. I don’t want to let you down.”

I could see the sincerity, feel the weight of his words. I reached out, touching his hand, and he held it like it was something fragile and precious. “James, if we’re doing this, I need to know it’s real. No games, no halfway.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I don’t want games. I just want you.”

From that night on, we were a team. He’d still catch me before I left each night, sometimes just to talk, sometimes to play, and we’d share quiet moments on the road — stolen cups of coffee, hushed conversations in the early mornings, little gestures that spoke louder than words. He became a different person, one who listened, who showed up, who put his all into proving that he could be the man he wanted to be. The man I was beginning to care about.

And so, in the midst of the chaos, we found something real. It wasn’t perfect, and neither of us were, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d found something worth staying for. And with him beside me, I didn’t want to walk away.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica fluff #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield one shot #nausicaamusiclover20

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imaginita-est-omnibus · 5 months ago

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LEGEND OF RUBY SUNDAY SPOILERS!

So Sutekh is back? The guy from the Pyramid of Mars? The episode with the funniest five seconds in all of Doctor Who?

#seriously that is ALL I remember from that story #gonna try to rewatch it ahead of next Friday ofc #doctor who #the legend of ruby sunday #DW spoilers #dw #doctor who spoilers

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gingermintpepper · 3 months ago

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hi I love your tags so so much! they were so sweet and so interesting and creative and the whole Aphrodite type of beauty thing sounds really interesting do you have any articles and recommendations to read further into it??

-hogoflight

Hello my fine feathered (I am assuming possession of feathers if you are, indeed, capable of flight) @hogoflight! I'm always always happy to hear that people appreciate my frenzied rambling in the tags :D! I have a lot of articles and recommendations :D!! Ancient Greek notions of beauty and representations of it in their art and sculptures is a pretty well studied topic! There isn't any way for us now to know definitively what the beauty standard was (it varied widely from region to region and culture to culture after all) but here are a couple of my favourite reads about Aphrodite and what her representations tell us about idealised beauty!

Probably the most empirically extensive one I can list is Krönström's thesis which compares statues of Aphrodite and literary text referring to both the goddess and mortal women to determine physical ideals for women in five specific eras of Grecian antiquity. Including measurements of the statues there are many descriptions of Aphrodite as 'curvy' with a 'voluptuous figure' and with 'ample buttocks and bosom'.

"When the beauty traits are described in the texts, they are never extreme or anything that could not be found in normal people just that they are more beautiful in every aspect. Furthermore, the sculptures’ physical forms look healthy, they are tall and have distinct curves. Great examples of this are the Knida sculpture and de Milo (the Melian) sculpture."

Of course, these images are still idealised, and there was still a concept such as 'too fat' or 'too skinny' found in written records (and this thesis even includes analysis of pornographic writings and descriptions of the fashion and stylings of pubic hair of women from different regions!!) but from an interpretational standpoint? There is absolutely no reason why these can't refer to a fuller figure. Height was also a very important factor after all and over the course of many eras, it seems like being well proportioned in addition to the length and appearance of one's hair were the most important factors (and, like Apollo, greater beauty was given to those with curlier hair)

Mireille M. Lee's 'Other Ways of Seeing' essay which talks about the forgotten female viewers of Knidian Aphrodite which is also extremely illuminating on how Aphroditic sexuality and sensuality was perceived totally differently from the well documented male voyeuristic gaze (which was overly preoccupied with the statue's nakedness and therefore over-sensationalised the statue's physical appearance) vs women's perspective on the statue which is more centered on the beauty of simplicity in Aphrodite's garment and decoration and in her power and ability to captivate both in her finery and without it. I think it's especially useful in exploring the importance of finery, jewellry and adornment in representations of Aphroditic beauty.

"Some of the small-scale copies are heavily jeweled, especially those from the eastern Mediterranean, for example the Hellenistic gilded terracotta statuette in the Çanakkale Museum (Fig. 5) in which the goddess wears, in addition to the armband on her (right) arm, the following: a necklace with multiple pendants; cross-bands extending over both shoulders and hips, with a cascading pendant in the center; a coiled snake armband on the left arm and another snake on her left thigh, and a twisted anklet on her right leg. (The left leg has been restored, and might also have featured an anklet.)"

"Jewelry is especially associated with Aphrodite in Greek literature. As seen above, in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the goddess adorns herself with gold jewelry, dress-pins, and earrings in the shape of flowers (162–3)..."

Finally, and to me, the most important one in the argument for an interpretation of Hyacinthus as fat, beautiful and fundamentally Aphroditic comes from Brilmayer's brilliant brilliant thesis done on Aphrodite's work and influence in Archaic Greek Poetry which does away with all of that masculine preoccupation with physical proportion, measurement and bodily ideals for a focus on a Sapphic Aphroditic ideal centered in clothing, ornamentation and, most importantly cunning as symbols of Aphrodite and ultimately a feminine idealised form of beauty. This paper also discusses Pandora and Helen in these terms and it is just kind of a wonderful read tbh.

"Combining Homeric and Hesiodic elements with her own ideas, she [Sappho] alters the way female beauty is viewed. For example, the Homeric war chariot – a symbol of male, military prowess - comes to symbolise the totality of Aphrodite’s power uniting in itself male and female qualities. Having addressed the concept of beauty directly, Sappho then concludes that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. With the help of Helen of Troy and her beloved Anaktoria, Sappho sets out to reinvent the concept of female beauty as a godlike, subjective quality that may be expressed in many ways, yet remains inspired by Aphrodite."

The conclusion to all of this of course is that Aphroditic ideal beauty is much more fluid compared to its stricter Apolline masculine standard. The nuances and understandings of both are of course, constantly being studied, analysed and scrutinised but really, if Dionysus who was both bearded and clean shorn, effeminate, birthed and rebirthed (and twice gestated!) and strongly associated with vegetation can be popularly portrayed as fat and handsome, why can't Hyacinthus?!

#ginger rambles #ginger answers asks #Once again I do not care how it happens or who I have to pay #I don't even care how much research I have to do #All I care about is more unique portrayals of Hyacinthus #Literally that's it #I will go through every academic hoop to make that possible if that's what peeps need TRUST #No because there's a genuine conversation to be had about a Hyacinthus who is split between masculine and feminine qualities #Likewise there's a wonderful conversation to be had wrt Apollo's fluidity in terms of presentation and how it does not reflect on his gende #the way Dionysus' fluidity reflects on his #Apollo is ALWAYS masculine no matter his ornaments garments makeup or action #It doesn't matter that he has the prettiest curls or wears elaborate dresses for his kitharody and dances #or values the deep dyes of the lapis - Apollo is ALWAYS male and that cannot be concealed by any finery or garment #Aphrodite however is an ally in this measure because through her beauty bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine #And we see this constantly in the way mortal beauties are able to attract the eye of many gods and how glory and ultimately immortality #are gained from these things #After all even after their deaths or betrayals or tragedies #We still tell their stories and remember their names #And what is Apollo if not the one who recites all of these beautiful memories - what is Clio if not the one who records these histories #ANYWAY PLEASE DRAW FAT HYACINTHUS #PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE #I AM ON MY KNEES I AM BEGGING (no pressure seriously I'm being very lighthearted) BUT ALSO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEE #TOGETHER WE CAN KILL THE PATROCLES/HYAPOLLO VISUAL PARALLELS WE CAN DO IT I KNOW WE CAN #ANYTHING SO THAT XANTHIAN DEVIL ARISTOS ACHAION DOESN'T GET ANY MORE PARALLELS WITH APOLLO P L E A S E #This is of course entirely because of my own biases and such there's nothing objectively wrong with comparing and paralleling #Hyapollo and Patrocles - however and I cannot stress this enough #P l e a s e #Thank you for the ask <33 Always a pleasure to provide more relatively obscure references mmhm #Hope this helps!#oh almost forgot

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