#the thread easier to write for us both !!

[scarlettgauthor]

I first posted this in a thread over on BlueSky, but I decided to port (a slightly edited version of) it over here, too.

Entirely aside from the absurd and deeply incorrect idea [NaNoWriMo has posited] that machine-generated text and images are somehow "leveling the playing field" for marginalized groups, I think we need to interrogate the base assumption that acknowledging how people have different abilities is ableist/discriminatory. Everyone SHOULD have access to an equal playing field when it comes to housing, healthcare, the ability to exist in public spaces, participating in general public life, employment, etc.

That doesn't mean every person gets to achieve every dream no matter what.

I am 39 years old and I have scoliosis and genetically tight hamstrings, both of which deeply impact my mobility. I will never be a professional contortionist. If I found a robot made out of tentacles and made it do contortion and then demanded everyone call me a contortionist, I would be rightly laughed out of any contortion community. Also, to make it equivalent, the tentacle robot would be provided for "free" by a huge corporation based on stolen unpaid routines from actual contortionists, and using it would boil drinking water in the Southwest into nothingness every time I asked it to do anything, and the whole point would be to avoid paying actual contortionists.

If you cannot - fully CAN NOT - do something, even with accommodations, that does not make you worth less as a person, and it doesn't mean the accommodations shouldn't exist, but it does mean that maybe that thing is not for you.

But who CAN NOT do things are not who uses "AI." It's people who WILL NOT do things.

"AI art means disabled people can be artists who wouldn't be able to otherwise!" There are armless artists drawing with their feet. There are paralyzed artists drawing with their mouths, or with special tracking software that translates their eye movements into lines. There are deeply dyslexic authors writing via text-to-speech. There are deaf musicians. If you actually want to do a thing and care about doing the thing, you can almost always find a way to do the thing.

Telling a machine to do it for you isn't equalizing access for the marginalized. It's cheating. It's anti-labor. It makes it easier for corporations not to pay creative workers, AND THAT'S IS WHY THEY'RE PUSHING IT EVERYWHERE.

I can't wait for the bubble to burst on machine-generated everything, just like it did for NFTs. When it does some people are going to discover they didn't actually learn anything or develop any transferable skills or make anything they can be proud of.

I hope a few of those people pick up a pencil.

It's never too late to start creating. It's never too late to actually learn something. It's never too late to realize that the work is the point.

[tusk-rumours]

sweet girl ⁀➷ — sam winchester x fem!reader

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word count: 3.9k

summary: sam and his girl get filthy and lovey late in the motel room.

warnings: nsfw, 18+!! explicit, a lot of smut, soft!dom sam, fingering, p in v, finger sucking, swearing, sams very very sweet. ridiculously detailed.

a/n: this is just a service to myself honestly. it’s incredibly filthy. i’m terrified to post this i’m not even sure if i like it. i also wrote this like over two months ago so this has been finished in my drafts for a while lmao

i dedicate all of my works to my super sexy writing judge @mxilkyways.

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Papers and lore books scattered the table, covering the surface in so many layers that the aged wood was barely visible underneath. You stood with your thighs pressed against the side, leaning over to gather the mess, packing up for an earlyish night. 1am wasn't so bad, not compared to many other nights spent working anyway. Besides, you had something you wanted to stay up for, something you'd had on your mind. Something which you know had also been on your boyfriend Sam's, too.

It hadn't been spoken, but you knew, you could just tell by the air between you, and the way you could feel his eyes on you packing up even with your back turned. As you predicted, he eventually crossed over to the table, standing near you as he helped you sort the papers. The heat you already felt radiating off of him was intense, and your breath caught in your throat just thinking about how wonderfully overwhelming it would be to feel that heat pressed right up against your skin.

You composed yourself with a breath, trying hard not to watch his large and slender hands gather the papers, his fingers working and crooking to pick them up. Sam knew damn well how much of an effect his hands had on you, and tonight he wanted to use it to his advantage.

He purposefully let his fingers brush over your own atop the pages, his eyes flicking to your face, watching your reaction. Your skin tingles at the touch, and you smile at his attempt to tease you. You stay silent, not wanting to break first, and you continue piling your stack, keeping your eyes on the task. It doesn't take long for his fingers to dance across the pages again, this time grabbing your fingers firmly, pulling you in close to him.

You laugh, and his arms snake around your waist, an amused breath escaping his smile and fanning across your face.

"Knew you'd break first." You say, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his mess of brown hair.

"Mm, you know I just can't resist you for long, baby," he mumbles, his head dipping so his lips meet your jaw, pressing a soft path of kisses along it. You let out a breath of laughter into his ear, basking in the warmth of his arms and chest.

He squeezes your waist, his lips moving down to your neck, smiling as you squirm in his hold from the ticklishness of his warm breath.

"I should finish cleaning up, you know. Easier for tomorrow."

"That's not what you want right now and we both know it." He says immediately into your neck, breathing in the smell of your perfume. "You think I couldn't tell what you've been thinking of all day? I know you, baby. I bet you're soaking already."

Your breath hitches at his words, your fingers gripping his hair just a bit tighter, eliciting a small groan from him.

"Well you haven't been too subtle either, honey," You breathe into his ear, your breathing starting to get a little laboured from his touches.

This makes him smile into your neck, and his hands roam across your lower back and hips. His lips make a quick path of kisses up to your chin, and his eyes meet yours.

"Maybe I wanted you to know just how weak you make me." He says, his breath tickling against your lips. His soft lips graze your own, and his quirk up when you try to chase them. His fingertips dance along your back, one hand climbing up your spine into your hair as he leans in again, kissing you agonisingly light.

His lips are warm and sweet, but the gentle press of them just isn't enough, and you know it's not for him either. His kisses quickly turn more hungry and passionate, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip as he holds you close, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of your head. You instantly let him in, and his tongue makes quick work of intertwining with yours, the taste sweet and hot inside your mouth. You let out breathy noises from your open mouth, and he swallows them in his own as he starts to guide you towards the bed.

"Been on my mind all day. ‘m gonna make a mess out of you tonight, baby" He mumbles against your lips, his voice low and sultry. "My pretty girl."

The mess on the table is long left discarded, your work left half tidied as his warm hands are slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, pressing up against your bare sides. His tongue is still invading your mouth and licking against the roof of it, causing soft breaths and whines to fall from your lips. His hands simultaneously work to bring your shirt up to expose your torso. Your hands untwine from his neck, nimble fingers helping him to pull your shirt up and over your head.

He pushes you gently to step back until your knees hit the bed, and he guides you onto your back gently, silently instructing you with a nod of his head to crawl back up to the pillows. As you do, he immediately crawls over you, the mattress dipping as his palms press into the pillow on either side of your head.

Before you can get a word in he's attacking your neck, his lips nipping and sucking at your skin feverishly and you gasp at the feeling, your hands quickly finding his hair again. When he hits your sweet spot, that sensitive patch of skin beneath your ear and starts biting and kissing, you let out a whimper, instinctively pulling on his hair. He groans, his hand moving to your cheek, cupping it in his large hand firmly. When you pull again he moans, his tongue pressing flat against your skin to soothe his bites.

"God, honey—" He chokes out, his words slightly muffled through his relentless work on your neck.

You start to squirm under him, the sensation of his hot mouth on the side of your neck and his hair tickling against your face becoming too much to bear. Your hands slide down his back to the hem of his shirt, tugging desperately. He lifts his head at your silent request, and he smiles, relishing in the way you ask without saying a word.

"You want this off, huh honey?" He says a little breathlessly, his lips red and swollen from his consistent attack on your neck.

You nod, your chest heaving, breathing out a whispered 'please'. He sits back, his hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off quickly, discarding it somewhere on the floor, and you're in a daze, drinking in his broad shoulders and perfect skin.

He crawls over you again, his bare chest now hovering above you, and you somehow feel even hotter from the almost tangible pull you feel from his body and the sight in front of you.

You can't help but press your palms flat to his chest, just exploring his warm skin and sturdy chest with your hands, and his fingers are moving through your hair, his fingertips brushing down your neck so lightly it's ticklish, and all you want is just to feel even more of him.

You plant your lips against his jaw, leaving messy, hot kisses to his skin, your palms pressing firmly up the slope of his neck. He lets out a shaky breath into your ear, his large hands caressing your chest and torso, his fingers feeling against the lace of your bra. You arch your back as his fingers travel across your sides, giving him access to the clasp on your back. He makes quick work of it, gently pulling the garment down your arms and away from your chest, handling you so delicately, because he just wants to worship you.

Once your bra is discarded on the floor, he sits back for a minute, his large hands resting against your ribs, his eyes widening with pure admiration and lust as he stares down at your bare upper body.

"Jesus, honey. You're so beautiful." He breathes. "Can't get enough of the way you look, all pretty."

He reaches a hand up, a finger lightly tracing your collarbone, until it moves along to trace along the necklace sitting against your chest. His fingertips lightly play with the pendant, a small smile on his lips as he admires the necklace he got you so long ago sitting pretty on your neck.

His fingers travel up your neck, and suddenly he's caging you again, his chest and pretty face returning to view above you. His hands are placed on either side of your head again, and when he leans down to capture your lips with his, you try to meet him halfway, only to be yanked back by his palm accidentally planted firmly on your hair that's strewn across the pillow.

You wince, letting out a soft noise of pain followed by a laugh, and Sam's instantly in panic mode, lifting his hand and smoothing out your hair, thumbing your cheek.

"Shit— i'm so sorry, hon, jesus— are you okay?" He rambles, and you laugh, taking one of his hands in your own to stop his fretting. Now that your hair's freed from his accidental hold, you lean up, capturing his lips with yours, the kiss is messy from your amused smile and giggles against his lips.

"'m sorry" He mumbles against your lips in between kisses.

You hum when he eventually smiles back, and you pull him down so you're head's back against the pillow, deepening the kiss.

His lips leave yours, to press an abundance of quick and sweet kisses all across your face in an attempt to soothe the accidental pain he caused. Starting at your chin, he works his way across your cheeks, nose and forehead. He lets out a breathy chuckle against your skin when your giggles become louder, your cheeks reddening, which only causes him to kiss them more, loving how hot your skin is underneath his lips.

His hands are still smoothing out your hair, his hands now cautious and somehow even more gentle as he caresses your cheekbone, his thumb and forefinger dipping down to your chin to lift your head slightly, capturing your lips again in a kiss somehow deeper than the last.

His hands cascade down your shoulders and collarbone, before settling on your breasts, his large palms covering the entirety of each of them. Slowly, he begins to knead them, squeezing and pressing his fingertips into the soft flesh. You moan softly into his mouth, your back arching into his palms.

His thumbs move across your breasts to gently circle your nipples, and you whine, the slight pressure making you shiver. He presses the pads of his thumbs a little harder, before his palms caress the entirety of your chest again, his lips leaving yours to nip a path down your neck, his tongue flattening against your pulse point, just feeling the rapid pace of it. He kisses down your collarbone, the sound of both of your laboured breathing filling the air.

"Sam..." You breathe his name out desperately, his hair now tickling against your chin.

Finally, his mouth dips down to your chest, his lips dragging across your skin until he takes your nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking as his tongue licks across it slowly, fully enveloping you. You moan at the feeling, grabbing onto him tighter as his hand works on your other breast simultaneously. You cry out when his teeth nip at your nipple, and he smoothes the sting with his tongue.

"You're unreal, honey," He breathes against your chest, his warm breath tickling against your sensitive skin. He continues sucking with an intensity, until you're squirming, your legs shifting against his, in a silent, physical plea for more.

Sam would give you anything you want in a heartbeat, especially when you're like this, all soft and needy underneath him. His hands and mouth dip down, his palms and fingertips running down your ribs and stomach, his eyes locking with your own as he reaches the waistband of your jeans, silently asking for permission. You nod immediately, your chest heaving in anticipation. His lips quirk at your desperation, and his nimble fingers work at the button and zipper.

"Lift your hips up for me, baby," He says softly, and you oblige, lifting them so he can carefully pull down your jeans, slowly pulling them down your legs until they're off, and lying in a heap on the floor. He kneels in between your legs, a hand grazing against your lower belly, and your skin shivers underneath the touch, the cold air against your clothed core making you hiss lightly.

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, his thumb rubbing against the lace. His eyes flick up to you.

"This okay, sweetheart?" He questions. His constant checks for consent and permission despite how many times you've done this never fail to make you just turn into a puddle right there on the sheets.

"Mhm" You nod, a gentle smile on your lips, as he smiles too, hooking his fingers on his other hand underneath now too, and you lift your hips to help him slowly pull your panties off your legs, discarding them along with your jeans.

His hands make a path from your ankles up to your knees, his palms covering the entirety of your knee caps as he gently spreads your legs apart, his eyes glued in awe at the glistening sight between them.

"Fuck, baby, I knew it. You're soaked." He lifts a hand, running his index finger through your folds, and you let out a breathy hiss at the sensation.

"So wet for me honey, god—" He breathes, and suddenly he's hovering over you again, his large palm cupping your core, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your hips bucking up into him.

When he starts to rub your clit you mewl, and his soft voice is in your ear, his fingers gently caressing the hair on the top of your head as his forearm rests beside it.

"Shh, honey, doing so good f'me, shh..."

He presses his forehead against yours, his soft breath fanning against your face as the pads of his fingers gently circle your clit, the pressure firm yet soft.

Only once you're squirming and knocking your knee against his leg do his fingers slide lower through your folds, his fingers prodding at your entrance. His index finger circles it as he looks into your eyes, making sure he has your full attention on his as he slowly pushes a finger into you.

"Sam...hah—” You whisper out his name, a sharp gasp following as his finger gently plunges in deep, until it disappears almost entirely to the knuckle. You let out a shaky moan when his long finger slowly slides out again, and you whine at the loss of it, which is cut short by a small cry as he plunges in again, a little faster this time.

"Good girl, mm...look at you, so wrecked just from one finger....I wonder if...?" As he trails off, he adds a second finger into you, watching as your eyes squeeze shut tighter, groaning softly. He lets out an approving hum, his fingers slowly crooking and curling deep inside of you.

You cry out even louder than the last when his fingers brush against your sweet spot, and your moans get even more whiny as he repeatedly nudges it more firmly. You feel yourself getting close, as you flutter around his long fingers.

"Look at me, baby." He breathes out, and when you open your eyes, they immediately lock on his above you, blown out with adoration and lust.

"There's my girl. I wanna see you come for me, sweet girl." He says softly, his voice rough with arousal.

You nod, your foreheads still pressed together, your expression contorted in sweet pleasure as you whine and gasp under him.

When he crooks his fingers in that perfect way again you tense up, your whole body washing over with pure pleasure, down to your extremities. You cry out his name in desperate whimpers, his smile watching you come only making you flutter around his fingers harder.

He gently slows his movements as you relax against the mattress, carefully extracting his fingers from you, watching your expression closely, taking in the way you whine at the loss of him.

Once his fingers are exposed again do you both take in the way his fingers are soaked with your slick, practically glistening. He smirks, his eyes flicking up from his fingers to yours. Once he's sure he's got your attention, he sensually brings his fingers up to his mouth, letting the underside of them slide along his tongue before he wraps his lips around them. He closes his eyes and hums and moans in pleasure, as he licks and savours the taste of you on his fingers.

Your jaw falls slack in a silent moan at the sight, what he's doing in front of you just so incredibly hot you're sure you can probably come again just by watching him. He doesn't stop, wanting to savour and taste every last morsel of you on his fingers. You sit up, taking his wrist in your hand, pulling his fingers out of his mouth before you're guiding them into your own, your eyes looking up, locked on his.

You relish in the way he lets out a choked breath, a soft moan falling from his pretty mouth as he watches your lips wrap around his fingers, dragging them fully into your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you suck on them.

"Jesus, honey," He breathes, his eyes widened as you let your tongue slide along his fingers, tasting the last remnants of your arousal on them.

His thumb brushes against your jaw, mesmerized by you. Eventually, you give his fingers one last long lick, before pulling your mouth away from them. He's in a daze, fully captivated by just how unbelievably hot you are, until he's pushing you down onto your back again, quickly shedding himself of his jeans till he’s bare. He sighs at the relief of freeing himself from the tightness of his jeans, the sight of how hard he is making your mouth go dry. His skin is hot and flush against yours as he settles and murmurs above you, his voice heavy.

"So fucking sexy, baby, jesus," He caresses your soft hair with one hand, while his other his trailing down your body, from your collarbone down to your hips, before he's reaching for himself in between the two of you.

He slides the head along your folds, and you hiss, feeling as he glides so easily from just how insanely wet you are.

"Ready, honey?" He asks, watching closely for your response. You nod quickly and desperately, whispering back.

"Please, Sammy."

"Okay, I got you, honey. I got you." He murmurs back, lining himself up as he slowly pushes into you. You gasp at the feeling of how he stretches you out perfectly, and just how good he feels inside of you. You whimper softly as he continues to slide in slowly, listening to his groans above you.

"Fuck, Sam— you're so deep." You breathe out as he pushes the entire way in.

"Yeah, baby? You feel me all the way up here?" He moves his hand, his fingertips lightly pressing against your stomach.

You gasp at the added pressure, your fingers clawing into his broad back. He lets out a breathy chuckle, leaning down to press gentle kisses to your face, waiting for you to adjust to the stretch of him.

"You okay, honey?"

"Mhm," You nod, your forehead brushing against his, your fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck. His lips make their way to yours, capturing them in a soft and loving kiss.

"I love you," He murmurs in between kisses. You melt, lifting a hand to his cheek.

"I love you too. So much." You mumble against his lips, and he kisses you again, all sweet and loving.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," You breathe, nodding. Slowly, he starts to pull out, until only the tip is still inside of you, before sliding back in at a taunting speed, and you can feel everything.

You moan loudly into his ear, your arms wrapping even tighter around him. His hips move against you at the perfect pace, lewd sounds filling the room.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good. You like how I fill you up, hm? Like how I stretch you out so good, honey?"

You moan at his words, somehow getting even wetter at how filthy he can speak to you when you're together like this. You curse, your brows furrowed in ecstasy, nodding pathetically against him. He speeds up his movements, gripping your hips to angle them in a way that lets him bury into you even deeper.

When he presses against that sweet spot, you cry out, loudly, your head thrown back in pleasure against the pillows. He hits it again and again, and you feel your release creep up on you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him even more intensely, which makes him moan into your ear, hissing in pleasure.

"Oh, Sam— Sam" You breathe out, your fingers tapping at his shoulder.

"I know, baby, I know. Come for me, wanna feel you." His voice is gravelly and breathless in your ear, and when he slows right down, you mewl, and you look like you're about to burst into tears. You cry out and press your head to his when he plunges back into you, deeper and more forceful than his previous ministrations. When he hits that spongy spot inside of you again, that does it.

You cry out loudly, your body tensing up once again, your walls fluttering violently around him, your body shaking as you ride out your release.

"Fuck— wanna fill you up, honey," He mumbles as his hips stutter against yours.

"Mm— please" You manage to breathe out as you're wrapped up in your high.

Feeling you orgasm around him is what pushes him over the edge, and you feel his release, the warmth of his cum coating your walls. He fucks into you a few more times, riding out his own high and pushing his release further into you.

His warm body collapses against yours, and you let out a breath, a euphoric smile on your face. He buries his head into your neck, and your hands rub against his back, feeling as it heaves and shudders.

"So good, honey, god, just perfect." He manages to rasp out through his laboured breaths. He lifts his head, locking eyes with you, his expression full of love. He brushes the hair that's stuck to your forehead away from your face, resting his hand against your cheek, leaning down to capture your lips with his once more. The kiss is long and sweet, and you can tell he's pouring all of his love for you into the gesture.

"Can I pull out, pretty girl?" He mumbles against your soft lips, and when you hum in approval, he slowly pulls out of you, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. He looks down in between your legs, his lips kicking up into a smile.

"God, sweetheart, I did make a mess of you." He huffs out a laugh, his hand caressing your thigh gently. His head dips down to press a tender kiss to your knee, and his hands continue to rub at your thighs and hips.

"Let me clean you up, baby," He murmurs. But before he disappears to the bathroom, he's leaning over you again, his hand moving to press against your cheek, his thumb rubbing underneath your eye and along the slope of your nose lovingly.

"My sweet girl," he murmurs, almost under his breath. "I love you, honey."

[malusokay]

Our Brains Are Rotting and Cicero Knew

On distraction, decline, and the intellectual rot Cicero saw coming. (from my substack)

O tempora, o mores—Cicero’s lament still echoes, like a parent sighing at their kid for putting the milk back in the fridge empty. He hurled those words into a world that thought it was collapsing, but honestly, Rome didn’t even know what real rot was yet. Cicero stood in the Senate, cloaked in self-righteous fury (as only Cicero could), accusing the guilty and clutching at virtues that were slipping through his fingers. “Iniquissima haec bellorum condicio est: prospera omnes sibi vindicant, adversa uni imputantur,” he said—history is cruel, always ready to share the credit for triumphs but quick to pin failure on a scapegoat. And oh, how disappointed he’d be to know his words, once etched in fire, are now buried in scrollable trivia, nestled between TikTok trends and threads about the dying sourdough starters.

Our rot is quieter and more subtle, almost polite, like water slowly ruining the foundation of a house no one even lives in anymore. It doesn’t come with swords or collapsing senates, but with screens. Flickering, endless screens. A thousand voices all talking at once until it’s just static, white noise buzzing in your brain. The kicker? We hold the wisdom of entire empires in our sweaty little hands, every speech, every scroll, every fragment of brilliance painstakingly saved by people who didn’t even have plumbing—and we just let it rot beneath algorithmic garbage. We traded Lucretius for lip-syncs, ars est celare artem for captions written by bots.

And Cicero? Poor Cicero, who believed so fiercely in the res publica, in the duty to preserve both morality and intellect—he’d probably choke on his wine to see us not just distracted but actively sabotaging ourselves. “Nescire autem quid ante quam natus sis acciderit, id est semper esse puerum,” he warned, because ignorance of history is the fastest way to stay a child forever. And, well, here we are: eternal toddlers in the nursery of civilization, sucking on the pacifier of whatever mindless content the algorithm spits out next. We’re not just lost; we’re willingly staying lost. It’s almost impressive.

Yet we think we’re clever. That’s the worst part. We think we’ve outsmarted the ancients, with our steady diet of soundbites and videos, each one shorter and dumber than the last. Meanwhile, Cicero would be rolling his eyes so hard they’d get stuck. “Legum servi sumus, ut liberi esse possimus,” he’d remind us—slaves to the rules we create, but these aren’t the rules of a republic. They’re the rules of a distraction economy. We call it freedom, but it’s more like gilded captivity. Every thought reduced to a trend, every story a fifteen-second flicker. What freedom is that? It’s like decorating your prison cell with fairy lights and pretending it’s cosy.

The rot isn’t just in the content. It’s in the way we approach it, like tourists in a museum, glancing at the masterpieces but never stopping long enough to feel their weight. We skim the Iliad, marvelling at its age but missing its fire, its warnings, its unbearable humanity. We quote the poets but only because it sounds sharp on a tote bag, not because we understand the exhaustion behind it. The ancients fought for words like these, polished them with the desperation of people who knew empires could crumble at any moment. And what do we do? We scroll right past, looking for something quicker, easier, something that sparkles.

We are exactly the people Cicero feared: writing tweets no one will read, building monuments to vanity instead of virtue, shrugging off the weight of history for the cheap thrill of now. The ancients taught us better. They polished their words like marble, made them heavy and sharp, meant to outlast empires. But we’re just tossing them aside to chase the next shiny thing. It’s not that we don’t know better—it’s that we don’t care.

And so, our brains rot. Not from hunger, but from excess. From too much noise, too much fluff, too much everything. The cry of O tempora, o mores isn’t dead, but it’s definitely hoarse. And the worst part? We’ve stopped listening. We don’t even notice the silence.

thank you for joining me on my little 4 AM Cicero brain-rot spiral. Usually, things like this stay buried in my notes, but where’s the fun in that, right? Lots of love, Malu <3

[charmac]

I wrote about Charlie and Dennis' paralleled childhood sexual abuse, and how their opposing trauma responses keep them from seeing themselves while they stay stuck in their own cycles of abuse.

// The content under the read more is an in-depth script analysis highlighting and discussing childhood sexual abuse and trauma response. Please read with caution or scroll past this post if these topics are known to affect and/or trigger you. //

Because Sunny walks an extremely fine line between sensitive, if not traumatic, character work and dark comedy, I've found that, in reading the scripts, the trauma being written is always much more blatant. You have to work a little harder to pick up on the underlying intent when watching the episodes (though the more and more we learn about the characters, the more the intent becomes clear), but the scripted versions of these scenes are solid evidence that the clear intent of these storylines is to reveal that these characters have extremely repressed childhood trauma, in-turn explaining to the audience why they have such fucked-up ideas of (and relationships with) love and sex. To put it more blatantly: the purpose of giving and revealing the childhood trauma these characters have is purposeful (if not needed), explaining why they are the predators that they are, and allows us to at least understand where their often psychopathic actions and rationales come from.

The fact that Charlie and Dennis were both sexually abused as children is all but obvious to the audience (and every other member of the Gang), but the extent to which these plots are intended to act as character work as opposed cheap-shot rape jokes is often lost on the casual viewer. In my opinion, the disconnect is not for lack of clear intention in the writing, but by the nature of the show being what it is.

It’s very clearly still there, easy enough to catch if you’re standing more than ankle-deep in the waters, but because Sunny is a dark comedy, it’s unfortunately easy to uncomfortably laugh past a rape joke if you don’t care to look deeper than the surface. Taking a look at the scripts helps paint a clearer picture, making it easier to point out, walk through and explore the CSA lore developed for both Charlie and Dennis, how they parallel and oppose each other, and how this trauma relates to their own predatory behaviours. 

An obvious starting point is Charlie Got Molested, which is, on the surface, an episode in which we learn that Charlie wasn't molested. What is changed from the script to the episode is this first line from Charlie, right at the very end of the episode, on his family’s response to his alleged molestation:

(Charlie's aired line is instead "Now everybody thinks that I've been molested. So, in a way, my life is ruined.")

Whether written with a specific intent at the time or not, this episode sets the stage (literally, lol) for a later building 'reveal' that (1) Charlie was molested as a child, and (2) his Uncle Jack is very much a pedophile, not just a perv (which is hinted at in the actual episode, both in dialogue and visuals), because the next time the show features a plot with Charlie and molestation (Sweet Dee's Dating notwithstanding, though important to mention, as it’s further evidence of the idea that there was clearly a thread being woven early on), it’s via the form of a play.

Charlie wrote The Nightman Cometh as a play about love, which was turned into a 'legible' play by Artemis, in which the Gang all "misinterpreted" his original intent and believed it to be about a child being raped. Charlie gets mad, because he doesn't see it, doesn't believe it, and instead believes everyone is destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let this idea go.

The script for The Nightman Cometh (which, I’d like to point out, RCG chose to make publicly available to everyone) has an alternate ending to the rehearsal of the bed scene between The Boy and The Nightman:

(The aired version shows Charlie more-comedically angry at Mac and Dennis by raising his level of frustration, physically with his hands. The mention of the Nightman taking The Boy face-to-face is never addressed in the aired episode, yet it does take place that way in the actual play scene following the rehearsal featuring doggy-style humping.)

What's heavily implied in the episode (and basically explicitly stated in the script), is that the Gang are not misinterpreting Charlie's art; the play is quite literally built around the idea that a child is attempting to communicate his rape, and Dennis is telling him that’s what it is. Charlie can't accept that, because this is a play about his life, he believes he’s created a play about love, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.

(And, following this, the audience can put the two and two together: Charlie’s clearly repressed CSA and the fact that his Uncle is a pedophile. In every.single.physical.interaction Charlie and Uncle Jack have, in every appearance he makes following Season 4, the fact that Uncle Jack is the Nightman is clear.)

Rolling back a little, it’s interesting that Dennis is the one to be audibly confused by (and frustrated with) the fact that Charlie can't understand his play is a rape play, because it's so very obvious to Dennis. Yet, 7 years later, he's in Charlie's exact shoes.

Because in Dee Makes a Smut Film, Dennis' plot almost directly parallels Charlie’s from The Nightman Cometh:

Dennis wrote his Erotic Memoirs as a tale of his sexual conquests, the first of his encounters turned into a 'film' by Dee, in which Dee "misinterpreted" what happened between Dennis and the Librarian as him being raped as a teen. Dennis gets mad, because he doesn't see how it could possibly be rape, doesn't believe a guy can be raped, and instead believes Dee and Grieco are destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let the idea go.

(In the aired episode, Dennis does not avoid using the word rape, and instead insists you cannot rape a guy, and that he was willing.)

Just like Charlie, Dennis refuses to accept that the people who are acting out his writing at face-value are telling him straight up that it looks like, and most-likey is, rape. Dennis can't accept that, because this is a film about his life, it's about his first sexual conquest, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.

This goes one-step further when Dee airs the 'film' for the rest of the Gang:

(The aired version of the video does not show anything from filming, and only shows a slideshow of photos from when Dennis was a teen, overlay text claiming he was raped, and a photo of Klinsky repeating 'hoser' over and over.)

Dennis goes on a spiel and reiterates that he was not raped. The rest of the Gang are not convinced.

And at this point, Charlie and Dennis probably should relate to each other, or at the very least intentionally give each other a pass/miss whenever the topic of childhood sexual abuse emerges, but instead they continue to have no issue believing and pointing out that the other was raped while continuing to deny their own trauma. 

In PTSDee, this paralleled-refusal is made clear. Very clear. In the script, it's even clearer:

(In the aired scene, Dennis' line is clearly cut after he mentions Charlie's mom, and it picks up with Charlie's line at "the father thing")

They see it so clearly in each other, but don't see themselves mirrored—and there's no doubt that's intentional. Because while they were both sexually abused as children, their current relationships with love and sex (as portrayed from basically episode one) are opposing, and the circumstances of their individual rape and immediate repression are extremely illustrative as to why they behave the way they do:

Charlie's trauma response is typical of pre-pubescent, forced rape. Not mature enough to even recognise what happened to him (as Uncle Jack's abuse was likely his first exposure to sexual acts), he regresses and represses, subsequently developing a repulsion toward sex into his adult life (in Season 5, Mac and Charlie Write a Movie, there's a deleted scene that makes it evident that he's disgusted by and avoidant of sex decades later), and, clearly by the depictions in The Nightman Cometh play and the lyrics of Nightman in Sweet Dee’s Dating, believing that the harassment he faced was love. 

For the run of the show, Charlie’s interest in love and sex is almost exclusively highlighted by his relentless pursuit of the Waitress. In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Charlie is depicted as a sexual harasser, unable to recognize that disinterest, avoidance, the word "no," and stalking that leads to legal action to restrain him from the person he's pursuing is inappropriate and predatory.

While his CSA results in a repulsion toward sex (in most instances), Charlie clearly associates the concept of love with the early harassment he faced, brought on him in his own home by a "loved one," he truly believes that his own relentless pursuit will end up buying him love. Charlie is stuck in an abstinent cycle (at least, until Dennis’ Double Life) of his own abuse.

Dennis' trauma response is typical of coercive rape and grooming. He was old enough to believe that sex is something that should be seen as cool, and therefore obsesses and brags about his experience(s), resulting in his hypersexuality. In Season 5, The D.E.N.N.I.S. System, it's firmly established that Dennis' pursuit of women is something outside of genuine attraction; in fact, it's almost devoid of it. Clearly by the plot of PTSDee, he sees a woman’s sexuality as a weapon he needs to fight against. 

For the run of the show, Dennis' interest in sex is deeply entwined with the fact that he gets off on having power over his "sexual conquests". In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Dennis is depicted as a date rapist, having an aversion to recognising (if not an inability to understand) consent, he pursues sex exclusively for his own physical pleasure, with little care for the other party, getting off on the knowledge that he’s orchestrated the situation he’s in.

While his CSA results in an obsession with sex, Dennis clearly does not associate the concept of love with the act, truly believing that sex is used to overpower someone, most enjoyable when obtained via coercion, exactly as his virginity was taken from him. Dennis is stuck in a loveless cycle of his own abuse.

Charlie and Dennis meet after their own traumas; their clearly disordered relationships with love and sex is how they've always known the other to be. When there are hints of the other's abuse, they're able to easy recognise what it is, for they sense the paralleled familiarity of their own CSA—yet their polar opposite trauma responses result in an inability to reflect:

To Dennis, Charlie was clearly raped, and Charlie fears sex and Dennis loves sex, so he can't have been raped; To Charlie, Dennis was clearly raped, and Dennis doesn't pursue love and Charlie loves the Waitress, so he can't have been raped.

Their reflections being mirrored causes them to harp on the other's trauma and keeps them from being able to truly recognise their own abuse. Call the other out and deny what’s shot back, stuff it down and continue spiralling in their own cycle of abuse.

[pedropascallovebot]

Challenging

Luigi Mangione x reader

✧˖°.

a/n: i do my fanfic writing on ao3 now- including ceo killer smut, but i saw that blindfold video and i knew what i had to do and i knew the tumblr girlies were the crowd for this. i'm so sorry i don't know which depraved part of my brain this came from it just happened

cw: blindfolding, edging, author whipping her head back and forth as luigi and reader go back and forth on who the hell is the dom here

⋆˙⟡

It had started off as a joke, really.

Well, no- not a joke. When you quietly told your boyfriend you'd thought he looked "bite-able" in that blindfold, you had said so with a laugh to give yourself the excuse of being totally joking if he wasn't down to let you try the whole concept out in the privacy of his bedroom.

It normally would've been disappointing to leave your friend group's get-together so early- after all, you had movies and drinks planned, but wouldn't you know; an hour after your innocent comment in his ear, your neighbor coincidentally needed a ride to the hospital. Crazy how these things work out.

No, it was not disappointment you felt this time. An all too familiar sensation built between your thighs when his hand gripped the steering wheel, driving a little too fast back home.

You had almost asked your friend for the blindfold, but then you would of had to hear her ask why you'd need one when you were going to drop your neighbor off at the hospital, and you figured it'd be easier to just make do with something from your closet. Which you would- your brain was already brewing with ideas of different scraps of fabric you could use as a makeshift blindfold.

Back to your current predicament: soaking through your underwear, Luigi's fingers the star of the show you're playing in your mind as he drives you both home, and the bulge in his jeans.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he smirks, and then he's dragging his free hand that's not operating a moving vehicle up your thigh. Your breath hitches as he runs a thumb gently over the fabric covering your skin.

You stay silent, because if you speak you might just break immediately and beg for him to pull over and fuck you stupid on the side of the road.

He hmphs, delivering a firm smack to your thigh, and you let out a whimper at the stinging.

Luigi is normally a very safe driver, but it is nothing short of an absolute miracle that there were no cops out on the road to pull him over for a speeding ticket. It feels like you're parking and pulling out your apartment keys before the stinging sensation stops lingering.

You both say hello to your neighbor and his dog, about to go on a walk, and then shut the door.

"He looks remarkably well for someone needing to go the hospital," you joke, reaching your hands up to thread your fingers through Luigi's curls.

He leans into your touch, pinning you against the wall by the door in the process. This leads to your mouth being absolutely devoured by his own; your boyfriend is kissing you so desperately that when you pull away, a whine releasing from the back of his throat.

That blue checkered shirt, while fitting him exceptionally well, is unbuttoned and abandoned on the floor before you even drag him to the bed, wasting no time turning on any light except the bare minimum to see his shaking hands and achingly hard dick straining in his pants.

Pushing him down on the bed, you climb in on top of him, straddling his hips and shoving his shoulders down so his head meets the pillow. His arms go to find the hem of your own shirt, assisting you in pulling it off and then reaching to get the rest of your clothes off.

When the both of you are left in your underwear, your wetness is more prominent to Luigi, and he takes a breath, going to reach to help you out, but you're off his lap and hurrying to your closet.

"Baby," he mutters, his hand going to rest over his boxers.

Bingo. An old scarf- or, to better describe it, the idea of a scarf, because you had started crocheting it and then just never finished. However, it was perfect for the debauchery you had planned for you and your boyfriend.

"What's wrong?" you asked sweetly, stalking over to him and slowly climbing back on the bed to resume your position. "What can I do to help you out?"

You take his hand off his bulge, resting it on his side, and he shifts, his breath deepening.

"Need you so bad, please," he mutters. You drop the scarf while you place kisses down his jawline, eventually making your way to his ear.

"Lay back for me."

He obeys.

Luigi's eyes drop to the scarf, a smile building in the corners of his mouth makes you blush. There's no way you'll be able to keep your composure and not let him fuck your brains out, but you gotta keep it together long enough that you can get your boyfriend whining and moaning for your touch. You press another kiss to his lips, and tie the blindfold around his head, securing it in the back before ruffling his hair and grabbing his chin with your fingers.

"Not that you would know, but every single girl there was staring at you with that blindfold on," you remarked, your other hand running down his chest.

"Is someone j-" Luigi's voice falters when your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, tracing over them.

"Hmm?"

You continue running your fingers over the skin, not bothering to take the fabric off until he can manage to form some words for you.

"If you were j- fuck- if you were jealous, you hid it very well," he says, hips raising so you can slide off his boxers.

Not jealous. Maybe a little annoyed, sure. But those girls were back there, and you were right here, with Luigi on your bed, your name falling from his lips, begging you to touch him.

"Or maybe that's why you were practically in my lap afterwards, huh?" he continues. "Wanting to show everyone there that I'm yours? Don't wanna share me?"

You're the one on top, you remind yourself so you don't melt in his hand and let him roll over to pin you down on the sheets. You look down at his dick, hard and standing at attention, waiting to be dipped into your warm, wet pussy.

Not yet. Not yet.

You move your mouth back down to his neck, right behind his ear, and bite down lightly.

Luigi gasps, but you quickly shush him and repeat the action on the other side of his face, a little harder this time.

"I told you I wanted to bite you," you admit, smirking when he throws his head back at the soothing kisses you leave over the teeth marks.

He twitches when your thumb finally runs over the tip, hands fidgeting at his sides. You watch his mouth open and close when you gather some of the precum, spreading it all over his length.

Breathtaking. He's truly the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

You feel more wetness gather between your thighs when you look at how hard he is, and how muscular his thighs are, and how you'd love to lower yourself on to him and take what you wanted. Instead, you wrap your fingers around him, pumping the length until his hands go to grab your waist.

You freeze, and Luigi whines again, bucking his hips up into your hand.

"Did I tell you that you could move, baby?" you scold him again, your free hand grabbing the nape of his neck, moving your lips closer to his. When he doesn't answer, you ask again.

"No- no, you didn't, fuck- baby, baby please keep going-"

Luigi's voice grows more desperate, filling you with a high that feels intoxicating. His precum soaks your fingers, his breath shaky- you want him so bad. Patience is becoming an unbelievably challenging attribute.

"Be a good boy and keep your hands to your side," you order.

He does. You watch the way his face contorts as you make him feel good, reveling in his moans. You continue stroking him until his whines get to a higher pitch, until he's involuntarily thrusting up into your hand.

You don't think you've ever been this wet.

When you know he's about to cum, you slowly pull your fingers away, licking all the precum off of them.

"No-" he protested, squirming and gripping the sheets so he doesn't reach and finish the job for you. "I was good- please- I wanna cum so bad, please."

You run your thumb over his cheek, tutting at the desperation in his voice.

"Maybe if you sit still, I'll think about it."

Maybe your newfound confidence is due to your own overwhelming urge to orgasm. Hearing him fall apart under you like this certainly helps as well. You adjust yourself in his lap, gripping his arms to support yourself in your quest to get a bit more comfortable, and then you pull of your own underwear.

However, you don't slide him inside you. Your own fingers go to run up and down your slit, and you sigh at how wet you are. It's incredibly tempting to use them to get yourself off, but knowing that Luigi's are right in front of you makes yours worthless by comparison. So you opt for grinding your pussy against his thigh, coating it in your slick.

You take a breath when you hit just the right spot, and you don't even say anything when your boyfriends hand shoots out to your waist to stabilize you and guide your body.

He whimpers when you grip his shoulders, quickening your pace as you use his thigh. Any other thought that wasn't about cumming like this was out the window, and it didn't help Luigi was coaxing it out of you, cursing and whimpering for him to let him help you out, for you to just take his blindfold off-

You snap back into reality before you finish, and with every single ounce of self-control you can muster, you pull yourself back.

Dipping your fingers into your pussy, you collect the wetness that's dripping out of you and bring it to Luigi's lips.

"Open," you command, and he eagerly takes your digits in his mouth, licking them clean and whimpering at how good you tasted.

It will be a cold day in hell before you forget that vision: him blindfolded, hand gripping your wrist and sucking on your fingers like it was candy.

You tug his hands back down to his side, ordering for him to keep them there, but he speaks up.

"Please, I need to feel you," he cries, squirming underneath.

You find a little bit of sympathy for him, because he asked so nicely.

So you only bring him to the edge one more time, as opposed to your original plan. He's trembling underneath you, whines and whimpers tumbling out of his mouth when you pull away again right before he cums, but you go back down again, this time with your mouth.

Luigi fucking sobs, hands pawing at the sheets and your hair and everywhere he can reach as you take all of him in, licking and bobbing your head up and down.

When he cums, it's everywhere. You think you have most of it in your mouth, swallowing it with the feeling of absolute ecstasy running through your body, but it's on his stomach, on yours, in your hair..

"You should see yourself, Lu," you tease, collecting the white off his chest and licking your fingers clean.

He doesn't respond for a minute, too out of breath. When he finally comes back around, he lets out a relieved sigh.

"Was the blindfold really that arousing?" he half-joked, rubbing his forehead and getting a little bit of cum on the edge of the scarf still tied around his eyes.

You shake your head yes, but then realize he still can't see you. When you go to answer him verbally, he starts again.

"Take it off me," he orders quietly, and you know you're about to get it.

When you finally let him have a look at you, he smirks.

"There you are."

He looks so angelic laying there, that you almost forget you haven't finished yet, and there's an ache between your legs that's begging to be quelled.

"Let's get this thing off you," he continues, taking the bra that you hadn't bothered to remove before and discarding it on the floor.

Luigi scoots you closer up his body, and you realize where he's going with this.

"Baby-" you plead, whimpering when his hands dig a little too hard into your hips. He smiles innocently up at you, the same kind of smile you gave him before blindfolding him and ruining his orgasms.

"M'just gonna make you feel good," he mumbles, and you gasp when he pulls you up onto his face. "Be a good girl for me."

[sylusonychinus]

It's the way it doesn't hurt When I wish it did Pt. 2

Hello! Thank you so much for letting me write something based off of “Its okay if you forget me” :D I’ve only finished this part because I haven’t decided whether I want to give non!MC a happy ending LOL I would love to know what you think! Authorshu: this was so good ill keep it as is thank you @subliminalwish​ for submitting this....who knows maybe there will be a part 3 to this series Part 1 

Looking back, you wonder how this was both the hardest thing you’ve ever done and the easiest decision you ever made.

You searched for a city far removed from Linkon and Onychinus’s reach — somewhere you could start over. Inwardly, you were grateful for keeping your circles small and tight-knit, making it easier to uproot yourself. In retrospect, the only thing anchoring you to your old life was Sylus, and now here you are, severing the threads that connected you with your own hands.

Settling into your new apartment — miles and miles away — you decided to completely redo your life. You put down the guns and daggers in exchange for something simpler, something normal. A life you never thought you could ease into, one you never thought you deserved. And yet, not long after arriving, you found a simple office job. You spent the following weeks getting back on your feet, piecing together a quiet existence.

You never kept the same routine, always shifting your work schedule, sometimes taking odd hours. You never took the same route home more than three times in a row. You hardly left the apartment on weekends.

It was strange — no one would look for you. So why bother making yourself hard to find?

Old habits die hard, you suppose.

Before you knew it, the weeks turned into months, and then the months slipped by until it was almost a year since you left. You missed Linkon and its chaos now and then. You missed the surge of adrenaline in your veins, the thrill that came with your old job. Shadows of the past still swam at the periphery of your mind when you were idle. But this… this was better. It’s for the best, you keep telling yourself.

You kept yourself busy — anything to dull the ache — because the truth was, it never really went away.

You think about them sometimes. You hope they’re happy, remembering the many moments you found them spending time together both in the base and in Linkon. Wondering if they ever noticed your absence.

No, that doesn’t matter now. It never did.

You’re sure they’re happy.

—

It was nearly summer when you caught a virus that had been going around. It was one of those humid summers with the threat of rainshowers as unpredictable as your schedule. You blamed it on one of your coworkers and half-joked about it in the group chat, telling them you were missing work again for the fourth day in a row.

Despite the light-hearted tone of your texts, you actually felt like dying — pathetically sprawled out on your couch, surrounded by discarded tissues and half-drunk mugs of tea. You put your phone down somewhere, the screen’s harsh glow making your head throb painfully. Fever made you shiver despite the warm temperature, so you curled up, pulling your thick blanket around yourself. A nap was inevitable; your body was already giving in.

Then, the doorbell rang.

At first, you thought you imagined it. Surely, it’s a fever-induced hallucination.

Ding.

Strange. You hadn’t ordered anything, and hardly anyone knew where you lived. Probably just a lost postman. You ignored it.

Ding.

You sighed and buried your face in the pillow.

Ding.

“Goddamn it.” You groaned, forcing yourself off the couch. “All right, hold on. I’m coming,” you muttered, voice hoarse, trudging to the door as if carrying sandbags on your limbs. Every step felt heavier than the last, but you reached the door eventually, fumbling with the lock. The knob was freezing under your palm as you inhaled sharply, using the last of your strength to twist it open.

And then —

You must have been hallucinating.

Because standing on the other side of the door was Sylus.

His hair was dishevelled, as if he had removed a helmet in haste. He was clad in his usual leather jacket, his all-black attire sharp even in the dim light of your apartment. And despite your fevered haze, the unmistakable scent of sandalwood, whiskey, and a faint trace of gunpowder drifted in — a scent you had once been surrounded by so intimately that it was practically etched into your memory. It used to bring you so much comfort, but now it only reminds you of what you had to let go of.

You must have looked terrible, judging by the look on his face.

You couldn’t find the words, couldn’t tell if it was the fever and sore throat rendering you speechless or the sheer shock of seeing him standing there. His breathing was uneven.

An eternity passed before you swallowed and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. A weak, scratchy “Hi…?” was all you managed to squeeze out.

Of course he’d find you. It was only a matter of time.

But why was he here? Had something happened? Was he angry that you had disappeared, leaving him with all the responsibility you once shouldered?

“May I come in?”

His voice was uncharacteristically soft, quiet. There was something in his tone — a slight tremble you were sure you were imagining. Was he pleading? You must be dreaming things. Your fever was definitely messing with your head. It hurt to look at him, hurt to be around him.

“Sorry, the apartment’s a mess…”

His lips pressed into a thin line at that.

You glanced behind you at your dimly lit apartment, the clutter of tissues, blankets, and unfinished tea mugs making you wince. “Don’t want you to get sick,” you added, your voice weaker this time.

It was the perfect excuse.

You couldn’t stand looking at his eyes. You refused to mistake whatever emotion lingered in them for something it wasn’t. You sway slightly on the spot, lowering your gaze and speaking instead to the floor, your head pounding. “Can I help you? Is there trouble?” you rasped, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m useless at the moment, but I’ll do what I can…”

Pathetic. Even after all this time — even after tearing yourself away from him — you were still offering yourself up, still willing to be at his beck and call despite being on the brink of collapse. Some things never change.

He didn’t respond immediately. You had known Sylus long enough to understand his pauses — he was studying you, assessing. He had never been one to be told “no”.

You shifted on your feet, dizziness increasing with each throb of your headache. Your vision gets cloudy.

“It hurts to know that you think I’ll only seek you out when I have use for you.”

Your head snapped up at that, confusion bleeding through your fever haze.

What?

Wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how it had always been between you?

Why was he saying this now?

But more importantly, why does he look so hurt? The unexpected, pained expression on his face almost made you want to hug him. To pull him in and confirm he was real, to press your forehead against his chest and let his presence ground you. Because right now, everything was tilting, your body betraying you —

Your vision blurred. You gripped the doorframe for support.

Sylus moved as if to catch you, but you managed to sidestep him, stubborn even now. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, words slurring together. “Today’s not a good day…”

But the world tilted further, spiralling out of control.

Your legs gave out.

You barely registered the sound of your name being called out; urgency laced into each syllable. The scent of sandalwood and whiskey engulfed you as something solid caught your weight, warm and steady, just before the darkness pulled you under.

a/n: that’s it for now! Thanks again! ♥

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader

rating: E for Explicit

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ content, fingering/hand job, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, brief talk of injury/treatment (reader gives him stitches), reader has no physical description besides breasts and feminine clothing, Tovar is able to lift reader

a/n: my submission for @iamasaddie's kinky may challenge! i was given the honor of writing Tovar with a praise kink 😤 i haven't written smut in a long time so please be gentle 🥲 extra special shoutouts to @frannyzooey and @joelscruff for hyping me up with the snippets i shared with them. feedback is always welcome, i was equal parts excited and scared to write this so i'd love to hear what y'all think 🙂

Tovar squirms again, making your hand slip and press harder on the wet rag you’re using to clean the sizeable gash along his right collarbone. He hisses slightly through his teeth before glancing down at you. You glare at him and huff once more.

“I told you to stop moving.”

Before he can respond, you hike up your skirt with your free hand and straddle his thighs. Tovar freezes completely upon your sudden movement, gripping the bench now supporting the both of you, his brows raised as you lock eyes.

“Now, hold still.”

You twist to the table next to you and pick up a sewing needle and thread, taking a moment to hold the needle in the flame of a lit candle to sterilize it before threading the eye. You don’t ask if he’s ready before beginning to stitch the wound.

Your stitches are slow but precise in the low candlelight. When you finish, you lean forward slightly to cut the thread with your teeth and secure the ends. It’s only when you pull away to set aside your tools that you notice Tovar’s breathing, or rather the lack of. He’s completely still as a statue, focused on a vague point off in the distance behind you.

“Did it really hurt that much?” You maneuver to try and catch his eyes but he veers away. You teasingly brush your fingertips down his muscular bicep. “I thought a big, tough mercenary like you could handle more than a few stitches without a fuss.”

Tovar clears his throat and his voice comes out lightly strained and breathy. “It is…not my wound that is the trouble.”

He shifts uncomfortably beneath you and you feel it. His full erection is pressed against your bare inner thigh. You can feel his weight and warmth just as he can feel yours. You bite back a smirk when he passes you a guilty glance.

“Forgive me, my dear. It has been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch.”

You pause to consider your next move. You can’t deny your own attraction to the man, and you’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell of your own. It’s a miracle your own arousal hasn’t found its way to the front of his trousers where you’re still perched. Who knows how long he’ll stay here at the Wall? Who knows if he’ll even live to see another moonrise? What’s the harm in a little release?

You smirk and look up at him through your eyelashes. “Allow me to relieve your pain, then.”

You slide back on his thighs far enough to reach between the two of you and unfasten his pants. He grips your wrists with one thick, massive hand to stop you from going further.

“I cannot ask you to do that.” His voice and eyes are stern, intent on not crossing any unwanted boundaries.

You look back at him with sincerity. “You’re not asking me. I want to.”

“Querida-”

“No one ordered me to tend to your wound. I came because I wanted to. I wanted to help you,” you gently pry your hands from his grasp, “and I’m not leaving until I’ve finished helping you.”

Tovar’s expression is difficult to read. You can see the turmoil behind his eyes, so you try to make the decision easier for him. Shifting closer once more, you take his hand and guide it between your own legs. The corner of your mouth twitches up as his pupils dilate upon coming in contact with your soft, damp hairs. You press him further into your wetness, cupped fully in the palm of his hand now, and he breathes in sharply.

“If you truly want me to go-”

“No.” Tovar cuts you off quietly. You smile in satisfaction when you remove your hand but his does not budge. “But I will not indulge in what is not offered.”

Striking your final blow, you undo the strings closing the top of your tunic, shrugging the shoulders off and letting it fall around your waist. Your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking in the cool night air from the window beside you. Tovar’s eyes are ablaze now as he takes you in, using every last bit of his willpower to resist until you give the word.

“Is this offering enough?”

The breath is stolen straight from your lungs as Tovar plunges one thick finger inside you up to the knuckle, his other hand smoothing up your bare thigh to your ass cheek and grasping it. He tugs you close so your tits are pressed to his solid chest as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

Your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself, but you move them away just as quickly when you put pressure on his fresh stitches. Tovar only grunts softly, otherwise not acknowledging the slip. You instead find a handhold along his ribs, gripping him tightly as warmth begins to spread up into your belly. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, breathing deep and focused as he eases a second finger inside and increases his speed. You gasp at the foreign stretch and claw at his sides.

Tovar’s hips buck into you at the pinch, and you’re reminded of your initial mission. One hand slips past his waistband and settles on his hip. You bow your head and spit into the other before reaching down his front to grasp his length. The two of you groan simultaneously at the new sensation. You start pumping him, matching the pace of his fingers.

Your motions soon falter, though, as Tovar curls his fingers to press into your sweet spot. Your head falls to the side and rests on his, unable to stay up on its own as the wave of euphoria builds and threatens to crest. You fight to maintain your own strokes as Tovar chuckles from deep in his chest into your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, querida. So soft and warm, so tight.” He cuts himself off with a stronger groan as your hand on his hip circles back to the top of his ass, while the one wrapped around his cock slides down to cup his balls as well. “I know you’re close. Don’t fight it, bonita. Give it to me.”

 The wave comes crashing over you with his encouragement. You mouth drops open as you make no attempt to smother your cries. Tovar flexes as your hips rut against him.

“Very good. Let it out, let me hear you.”

Tovar continues his movements until you’ve completely come down from your high, though it begins to build again almost as soon as it dissipates. Finally, he removes his fingers, making a soft pop as your walls try to suck him back inside. He raises them to his lips and generously sucks off all your release from them, never once breaking eye contact. You feel a fresh gush of arousal drip down your thigh at the sight. You quickly fumble to pull down his trousers and free his raging cock. Tovar tilts his hips, tugging them down to his mid-thighs, but grasps you by the waist before you can impale yourself on him.

“I need you to say it first, mi amor. I simply cannot take what is not freely given.”

“Then take me,” you huff impatiently.

Tovar loosens his grip enough for you to rise onto your knees, notching the weeping head of his cock at your entrance. You lock eyes with him and take a deep, steadying breath before sinking down. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, the stretch more intense than his fingers especially after so long without. Tovar moans along with you, letting out a pained shout of his own as you take him all the way inside, settling onto his lap once more.

You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his scent of sweat and a hint of gunpowder, your breath hot against his skin. You try rocking your hips to relieve some of the tension, but Tovar abruptly stands, slipping out but clutching you to him tightly. You whine at the loss, then gasp when you feel the coolness of the thin sheets adorning the simple bed in the opposite corner of the room.

Tovar settles above you, supporting most of his weight on his knees and forearms. His pelvis rests lightly between your spread legs, his hardness bobbing against your mound with every breath. The dark trail of hair leading up his abdomen tickles your stomach, and you take the opportunity to truly admire the specimen hovering above you. The rippling muscles in his back, littered with long-healed battle scars breaking up the smooth skin. His dark hair, cut short but curling slightly at the nape of his neck. You rake your fingers through it, pulling him close. Tovar rests his forehead against yours, lips parted, exchanging breath. His gaze is piercing but you feel yourself being pulled in rather than pushed away.

Tovar must feel the same as he leans down just enough that your lips brush, but not seal together. You whimper his name on the verge of desperation and he closes the gap. He immediately takes charge, his tongue invading your mouth, feeling and tasting every crevice. You buck into him once again and he rips away from you, pinning your hips to the bed with one hand splayed across your lower belly.

You want to scream in frustration. “Tovar, please!”

“Shh, I know, mi amor. I know what you need. And you’ve been so good for me, I promise I will give it to you.” He moves his hand away and guides his tip back inside, pressing in slowly until his hips are flush with yours. The two of you groan in sync again and you wrap your legs around him, locking him in. “But we must go slow. I would hate to finish too quickly and bring an end to such pleasure that has only just begun.”

With this, he captures your lips with his own once more. You two stay locked like this for a while, savoring each other’s taste and touch. Tovar’s hands explore your body as you did his, tracing bones and squeezing flesh. Only when you feel totally consumed by him does he retreat from you, leaving only his tip inside. Tilting your chin up to look at him, he sinks back in to the root. And again. And again. Your second high hits you without warning as he sets the perfect rhythm.

Tovar bites back a guttural moan as he feels you tighten around him. “Dios mio, mi amor. You’re taking me so well. I would stay just like this forever if I could, buried in this cunt.”

You feel as if you’re floating, evaporating into the air from his heat and force of his thrusts. Your pleasure reaches new heights as he cups the back of your knee and pushes it up to your chest, welcoming him impossibly deeper. Tovar’s intense gaze remains on your face as he fucks you, committing every sound and expression of bliss to his memory.

You feel the wave cresting again just as his hips begin to stutter but never lose their force. You try to call out his name, a warning of your impending release, but you only manage pleading cries of “please.”

He understands immediately, snaking his other arm underneath you and up to your shoulder, pulling you against him as he slams into you. His voice is just as desperate, strained from holding off his own release to wait for yours.

“That’s it, mi amor. Cum for me. Cum on my cock. I want it. I need it. I crave it.” His snarling in your ear tips the scales in your favors, sending you over the edge. Your legs tighten around him as your back arches off the mattress. Tovar takes one breast into his mouth, biting and sucking his mark onto you. He unlatches in time to smack his hips to yours once, twice, three more times. A roar erupts from him as his cock pulses, forcing out rope after rope of his cum to coat your walls, content to plant there and never escape.

He fills you to the brim, milky white droplets beginning to seep out from where your hole has sealed around him. When he’s finally spent, he lowers himself flush to you, arms curling around your back. The salty, heady scent of your activity surrounds the two of you as you each fight to regain your senses.

You card your fingers through his hair once more as Tovar turns his head to press his lips to your neck. Soft at first, then open and hungry, nipping at the skin to coax out another mark matching the one on your breast, tongue soothing the spot after each bite.

You hear his breath begin to deepen and slow, feel his heartbeat matching it. You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to fall asleep beneath him. But how could you rip yourself from his arms now?

As if sensing your thoughts, Tovar rests his head atop yours, gazing into your eyes once more, lids half-closed.

“Ay, mi amor. I have half a mind to steal you away with us. What kind of man would I be to leave behind such perfection?” He seals your lips together and, at the same time, your mind.

What’s the harm in being his forever?

[celestial-sphere-press]

what kind/style of endbands do you usually do? they look so good 👀

hi!! sorry for taking a while to answer, I wanted to make sure I could give you my best answer.

I usually do what's called a "double core" endband. I use double core endbands over the "bead on front" method because bead on front style is not great for uneven distributions of color, irregular patterns, or using more than three colors. Functionally it works by having your extra threads wrapped up inside the thread that is showing, forming the smaller secondary core. Ultimately you are doing figure 8s around the main core & then your secondary core of thread. This keeps things pretty neat & tidy. The tutorial I first used was this one by DAS Bookbinding, though I don't think his endband tutorials are his best ones. Another binder I've spoken with endbands about a lot is maleeka, who recently did an endband tutorial herself.

maybe I should do one... but it takes a lot for me to get enough motivation to make videos. I'll take this opportunity to write up some tips I've shared when people ask instead:

1. Endband core material is the MOST IMPORTANT component. You need a core that is stiff but flexible - it should NOT be floppy because it wiggles everywhere under the tension of the thread, but still needs to flex with the opening & closing of the book. You want something that doesn't compress, to reduce tension shifts in thread creating a lumpy endband. Have a smooth core is less critical but helps to avoid snagging threads & allows you some leeway on sliding threads around for adjustments. My personal choice is smooth leather jewelers cord (link is just an example, I get mine from a local craft store).

2. Thread size. All your threads need to be the same size; it will be visible if you are using two different sizes, and mess with your front core. Additionally, I know lots of people will use larger twists of multiple strands of embroidery thread, which can work, but is more likely to compress & alter its size in unexpected ways. A single strand is preferable. If you want something thicker you can find some thread weights that are heavier twists intended to be used in a single strand, not pulled apart. I prefer smaller sizes because it works better for the gradient designs I like.

3. Silk thread is your friend (if you can spend the money on it). It reduces fuzz (no fuzz like you get with cotton/DMC embroidery thread), it's usually easier to manage, has a more compact twist, and a higher shine. I use Japanese silk hand sewing thread in size #9 (9号). There's multiple brands (Tire, Daruma, KNK/kanagawa, etc). Here's a wholesale listing (minimum 20,000¥ for international). A non-Japanese brand is Guterman silk (German brand). Both the Japanese & German threads come in a heavier weight (Japanese is #16, Guterman is buttonhole).

4. Thread tension is the most important part of the actual technique. You need to ensure the threads currently wrapped in the secondary core keep tension when you are working the thread around them.

5. Working on a curve. This is only really relevant if you're doing an endband on a rounded book, but the circumference of the curve means there's more real estate on the outside vs inside of the curve. Sometimes this can cause bunching on the secondary core. My own solution to this is that sometimes I wrap the primary core but drop a wrap here or there around the secondary core (only between two wraps of the same color I'm dropping). I uh... don't know of anyone currently recommending this besides myself so I can't point to any pro endorsement for this method, it's just what works for me. Forgive my terrible writing:

6. Pattern management. I... don't really plan much how my patterns sit on the spine, which is not very helpful. HOWEVER you can do some pattern management on the fly, if you really want your pattern to end at a certain place. Thread can be packed more or less densely on the core, resulting in some pattern compression; you could also strategically drop wraps in less noticeable locations. An unintended example: I was replicating the pattern on this endband (left) when I realize I wasn't packing the thread as densely as I had the first time around (right), which resulted in the overall pattern taking up more space. You can do this on purpose, if you need to.

this was way more than you asked but it gave me a chance to put all this in one spot. Best of luck in vanquishing the dreaded EndWyrms.

[hyunebunx]

saw the soft thoughts post and i hope i’m not late >.< please forgive my typos or grammatical errors love i just woke up 🥹

soooo imagine a lazy saturday morning with hyunjin where you both just wanted to sleep in and cuddle on your shared bet until late in the morning. apparently you had to force yourself to get up because you were getting hungry and hyunjin—being a clingy boyfriend—is sticking to you like glue, and be like “noooooo don’t go!!!” because he doesn’t want to get out of bed but you had to drag him up. he became a pouty baby while being clingyyyy maybe a backhug when you were cooking, a stolen kiss when you were about to eat, helping you wash the dishes but he put some soap bubbles on the tip of your nose, asked you to go out and the spend the rest of the day with him outside maybe stroll around the city, an art museum date, go to a café and watch him sketch/paint you~

ughh to be loved by an artist bro i’m still half asleep so i hope i’m making sense... anyway have a good one deni ! 😽🩷

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff and a loooot of kissing, you've been warned lol

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my love <3 this is the cutest idea ever!! thank you so so much for trusting me to write it hehe <3 listen, this got quite steamy in the middle, idk what happened i blacked out fgsdgkj can't help myself when it comes to this man apparently. anywayss, hope you'll enjoy it <333

Mornings spent sleeping in with the love of your life, all cuddle up and intertwined, were truly your absolute favorite, a blessing you didn’t take for granted. You were both busy people, with busy lives that accommodated one another like it was the most natural thing in the world, fitting together like the last two pieces needed to complete the puzzle which revealed your love story.

Hyunjin was a heavy sleeper, clinging to every thread, no matter how thin, that transported him to dreamland to rest a little more. Just five more minutes, that turned into ten, fifteen, which ended up stretching into half an hour on good days. On the bad ones, when he was more tired than usual, nothing could get Hyunjin out of bed before the afternoon rolled around. You understood – he needed his rest – but it didn’t make missing him and his bright smile any easier.

You never knew you could miss someone even while they were dozing off next to you, blissfully unaware of how your heart almost jumped out of your chest to slip under his shirt just to feel his beating, desperately searching for confirmation he felt the same. And he did, of course he did, how could he not when your name and sweet face were constantly spinning around in his mind like some sort of live wallpaper, making him unable to concentrate even on simple tasks?

Though right now, neither of you was sleeping, cuddling to Hyunjin’s chest with one leg over his lap as you caught him up on the latest work gossip. You’ve been awake for almost two hours now and for once, the universe seemed to be on your side as no sunray managed to peek through the small crack left in the curtains, allowing you to continue lying around in peace.

“Anyway, so the printer caught on fire and that was Kim’s last straw. She threw all the papers on the floor and then proceeded to plop down on them and cry. I felt so bad.”

Despite his empathetic nature, Hyunjin lets out a short laugh, voice still husky and laced with sleep as his fingers tangled in your hair. “How did she even manage to do that?”

“It wasn’t her fault.” You yawn, hiding your face in his chest briefly. “Jay used the printer last to scan pictures of his cat’s toe beans and I guess some fur got stuck in there and ruined everything.”

He slowly shakes his head, whistling. “See, that’s why I’m a dog person.”

Prompting your chin on his chest, you look at him with raised eyebrows. “Ok Mr. meows at cats because he wants to get into their good graces.”

“That was one time!”

You giggle and he joins soon after, staring deeply into your eyes until the laughter dies down and every thought leaves your mind like it wasn’t even there to begin with. Dark eyes dart between yours and your lips, subconsciously licking his plush bottom one and telling you exactly where his train of thought has stopped. Patience was not one of Hyunjin’s virtues, so the hand in your hair moves lower to cup the back of your neck, bringing you closer as you quickly adjust, both hands sprawling on his chest to help you lean down and finally connect your lips.

The kiss is slow, lips merging perfectly as neither of you is in any rush, content to take the time to taste each other. However, it quickly gets messy, tongues meeting and complicating the familiar dance, making it hot and breathy but oh so delicious. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you’ve been waiting for this ever since he woke up, constantly thinking about his rosy lips and driving yourself crazy as whatever he was saying faded in and out of hazy memory.

Hyunjin kissed you like no other, like kissing was an art he invented just to practice on you. One he managed to master throughout the years of your relationship but couldn’t get enough of, obsessed with the idea of improving and finding another unexplored corner he could take over and claim as his own.

A cold hand slides easily under your top, gripping at your waist in an effort to bring you closer, almost causing your arms to give out. You break away from the kiss and Hyunjin whines, displeased but still helps you settle on top of him more comfortably, guiding your body as you straddle his hips.

This new position allows for better access to what you’re both desiring, with Hyunjin wasting no more time in bringing you back down again, capturing your lips. With both hands on exposed thighs, the shirt he gave you to sleep in barely covering anything, Hyunjin loses himself in the taste of you, licking into your mouth and lightly biting on your bottom lip as your hands move lower over his stomach, needing to discard him of the annoying clothing.

You make to pull away but his lips follow, causing him to sit up and move one of his hands on the small of your back for support, not allowing you to slip away from him. With a mind of their own, your hands quickly abandon his shirt and move around his shoulders, meeting at his nape to deepen the kiss and lick at his bottom lip which he appreciates by the groan he lets out.

You feel him everywhere, hands groping and squeezing every bit of your body in the exact way he knew you loved, turning you to putty into his hold. By now, his dark hair is a mess from all the pulling – your fingers needed something to anchor onto.

“Hyun.” You inhale deeply, his lips moving down your jaw, restless.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles, barely hearing you.

“Breakfast.” You gasp out as he lightly bites the skin, quick to soothe it with his tongue. “I’m hungry.” Mostly true, you’ve been lying here for hours after all, who wouldn’t be hungry? But also because you knew if you didn’t stop him now, neither of you would get to eat anything before dinner time rolls around.

Hyunjin pauses, hot breath fanning your neck as he slowly tilts his head to look at you, his wet and swollen lips distracting. He’s speechless for a moment, almost like he can’t believe you interrupted him, like a child whose favorite toy is abruptly taken away. When it clicks in his head you are actually serious, Hyunjin barely registers the way you peck his lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Wow, ok connoisseur of romance. What a way to ruin the moment.”

You giggle as he gently lays you down on your back, knowing he could never be truly upset, no matter what kind of stunt you pull. He was most likely thankful you said something, surely hungry himself.

Scooting towards the end of the bed, your feet barely get to touch the hardwood floor before Hyunjin’s arms circle your middle once again, pulling you to his warm chest without a word.

“No, don’t go!” He whines, burring his head in your shoulder in protest.

Your heart squeezes in your chest, pounding from all the love you carried for your other half, the man you couldn’t imagine life without.

“Baby.” You coo, softly running your fingers over his hands on your stomach in a way to coax him. “How am I supposed to cook us breakfast otherwise?”

Hyunjin sighs, squeezing you to his chest for two more heartbeats before releasing his hold and allowing you to stand up. When you turn to face him, one of his big hands has already brought yours to his lips to plant a feather like kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t go without me.” He mumbles, pouting slightly, and you almost explode like a piñata, staining him with your love and adoration that will surely trap him in this apartment for days trying to get it out. Not like he’d ever mind if that were possible, proudly showing off and talking about your feelings for him to anyone who’d listen, right after talking their ear off about the love he holds for you.

So, that morning, you waddle together to the kitchen like two penguins with Hyunjin refusing to stop hugging you from behind even when you started cooking. And after that, spoon feeding you on the counter and forgetting all about his needs until you threatened to take away his cuddles.

He caved in immediately.

[itsabouttimex2]

Not a request, just blabbering about the “not the beloved au” because. God. Poor MK. Obviously, y/n is the one suffering the most from the dynamic, but MK’s development is being stunted by the way the two kings are raising him. Never being told no, having everything and everyone live their life to accommodate around him- sure he’s still a toddler, they’re going to be stupid, but he’s resorting to hurting himself when he doesn’t get what he wants (ie Y/N, a whole person!) that is very troubling behavior.

I’d hate to see how he’d be grown up- he’d definitely still be a hero- he IS a good kid, he’d want to help people- but what happens if he’s not able to beat someone in a fight immediately or he’s outmatched? How much of him fighting would just make things worse because he’s used to the world bending over backwards to make him happy?

Poor kid.

Not The Beloved

Anon, I'm so glad you brought this up, because on surface level, NTB!MK is a little entitled menace. But when you take a moment to scratch past that unfortunate facade, then... well, yeah. He is a victim all in his own right, hard as it may be to see from a certain viewpoint. The only world MK knows is his own family and their home- his two dads, Y/N, the Flower Fruit Mountain monkeys, and the mountain itself.

The end. No school. No friends. Nothing.

And that's just the way his dads like it! Sun Wukong likes that his kiddo is isolated, stunted, socially awkward and somewhat entitled! That just makes him easier to spoil! Easier to love! And Macaque, too! If he helps to custom-cater a world that his beloved baby boy can't survive outside of? Then MK can't leave, and thus can never escape his love and care!

Which is exactly why MK needs the reader.

In spite of being everything that the little kid is not, Y/N's startling normality is the only grounding factor that MK has to let him know that something is wrong. Because Y/N didn't have the upbringing that their little brother had, they have a legitimate claim to being the least mentally-skewed of the family, which is, unsurprisingly, one hell of a boon.

Like, MK has it great... at first. Never Having to do chores or make your own food, and having your overbearing daddies brush your teeth and tie your shoes for you is awesome when you're four, but sucks ass when you're twelve and can barely function outside your role as a spoiled prince-

But! There's still Y/N!

Frustrated, jealous, and angry Y/N. Y/N, who seethes and huffs and kicks their feet and grits their teeth and punches their pillow into pulpy fluff, who curses under their breath and has to burn all the letters they write about how much they despise their family. Y/N who was only spared punishment after the scraps of those letters were found because MK cried and begged for his daddies to forgive his older sibling because-

Because Y/N, in spite of their jealously and anger, will still roll up both sleeves, sit down, and teach their little brother how to tie his shoes, how to roll up a tube of toothpaste to squeeze the last bit out, how to boil water and brown meat.

There's this normalcy to being hated by someone that anchors MK to reality, even though he's a little too young and naive to really put his grateful feelings into words, so instead it all manifests as "Y/N is my favorite person ever and ever!" that Wukong and Macaque don't like (because they are both horribly jealous) but will force Y/N to reciprocate.

And even when his beloved older sibling bullies their parents into coughing up the necessary resources in order to head off to college, MK keeps in touch with the phones he begs both his fathers to buy, and manages to maneuver them both into two strict "buts".

Specifically, "You can go off to college, but you have to keep in touch with us and MK." and "We'll foot the bill, but you have to come back and stay here during the weekends."

Which is... enough. Enough of a thread cut loose that Y/N slips free to experience at least a mildly normal life pursuing their desired field with some actual space to grow and heal and establish normal relationships outside of their toxic family.

(Even though they're definitely becoming the mom/dad friend.)

Then there's the matter of "How good of a hero will MK be without his good-natured upbringing, courtesy of Pigsy and Tang?" that you brought up, and the answer to that question is: "Don't worry about it, because MK doesn't get to be a hero."

After all, why would his dads risk losing their miracle baby?

So it isn't even "Would MK ditch a fight or otherwise give up on it when he struggles?", it's "Can Y/N bare-knuckle Red Son's cute face into pulp with only their long suppressed rage as fuel?" because MK isn't the hero of NTB- Y/N is.

And they don't ever intend on losing the new life they fought to find.

[jiskblr]

Tumblr Rules for Redditors

Hello, fellow redditors! Many people are trying to tell you rules about how to Tumblr properly. Many of them are wrong, or assholes, or both. I am also an asshole but I’m going to not be one for a minute to give you some advice:

“Reblog this or you’re a bad person” and any variation on that is a violation of intergalactic law. Don’t do it. Also, refuse to comply if someone else does it.

Generally, people can see what you reblog, but cannot see what you ‘like’. A like may seem like an upvote, but it is much less significant than one, since it doesn’t affect visibility in the slightest. A like will be visible both to the OP of the thread, and to the person whose reblog you put the like on. Like promiscuously! It feels good to get likes and there’s no downside. (Unless you are a space alien AKA influencer.) There’s a setting for like visibility, but it’s still somewhat hard to find even if it’s turned on.

Tumblr nominally has the ability to browse global tags (e.g. seeing the entire site’s posts and reblogs tagged #superwholock or #reddit exodus) and to search the site for things. No one uses them and they don’t really work.

You are probably less surprised by this than denizens of literally any other website on the internet, but there’s mostly no algorithm here. Chronological order only. This now defaults to being on, but you can and should turn it off. (If you’re using the search or global tags, they might have an algorithm, but if they do, it doesn’t work. We don’t know because we don’t use them, because they mostly don’t work either.)

Anyone can have absolutely any conversation in the notes of your post that they like. This is how the website works. You are allowed to complain about it, but don’t expect anyone to humor you. I think it’s possible to make posts unrebloggable and disable replies, but this is essentially refusing to use Tumblr. If you want to do that... go ahead, I guess?

Many people have ‘DNI’ lists in their blog descriptions. This means ‘do not interact’ and indicates that they don’t want you to message them, reblog from them, reblog any posts they are OP of, or even, sometimes, ‘like’ their posts. It is good manners to respect these, if you know they exist, but in normal use you probably won’t look at blog descriptions very often so it is entirely okay to violate them by accident. (When the lists get very long, it becomes impractical to check whether you violate them. Generally, just skip it. You probably don’t want to interact with those people anyway.)

Notes on posts you start will go to you no matter how many intervening hops there are on the reblog chain. If you get a post with an enormous amount of notes, this can get overwhelming. Whatever the current incarnation of Xkit (basically RES for Tumblr except we’ve switched names and maintainers seven times) is, will have a setting to deal with this. If that’s insufficient, the suggested course of action is to reblog your OP to your own blog so that you have a copy for posterity’s sake, and then delete the OP. This silences the notes.

If you and another user both follow each other, you are ‘mutuals’. This makes it much easier to have conversations with each other, which is ordinarily sort of hard since everything is purely chronological. Frequently your mutuals are your friends; if not yet true, they may become your friends.

When you reblog things, you can write words both in the word part and in the tags, Modern tumblr norms are to write long rambling tags in full sentences rather than put words in the main body. Unlike some other norms, violating this one and putting your response in the body of the reblog is not particularly rude. The worst it does is make a reblog chain long. Probably don’t reblog things and just say “This.”, though.

Tags can be subjected to peer review, by which we mean someone copy-pastes your tags and/or screenshots them and adds them to the main body of their reblog. Generally this is a compliment. The alternative is to say “#prev tags”, and this makes everyone hate you because it’s hard to find which tags were ‘prev’. Please just peer review properly if they’re good.

If you want to search your blog, consider Siikr. Don’t overuse it, it’s one guy’s project.

Be verbose! This ain’t Twitter, no character limit. (Not even the really large character limit of a reddit comment.) Write a 3000-word story in a single reblog if you want, that sounds awesome. Use ‘read more’ if you do, though. Posts can be very long, one of our oldest memes is about this.

Infinite scroll is the default, but you can turn it off. Actually, check all the settings, many of them will improve your experience.

On queues: Go nuts. Some people put everything in the queue, some people almost nothing. Some queue specific aestheticposting (personally I do #too smol) and post other things normally. Most people who queue a lot add a queue-specific tag like #the mighty queue or #this queue shall pass, or at least I notice them more than poasters with untagged queues.

You know how Reddit lets you buy Gold and people go 'thanks for the gold kind stranger'? On tumblr we spend money on Tumblr Blaze, and it is considered the PvP section of Tumblr. Though sometimes people actually use it to spread posts they like, such as people attempting to evangelize Christianity (no, really, that happened a lot) or the, I hope, actually-kind stranger who blazed this OP. You can turn off PvP with one of the many settings.

Everybody be excellent to each other!

[writingsinashes]

Law & Order: Sah Edition

“She looks sad. She looks angry. She looks different from everyone else I know—she cannot put on that happy face others wear when they know they are being watched. She doesn’t put on a face for me, which makes me trust her somehow.”

Updated rules for writing with this RP blog! Please like it when you've read them!

Rule 1: Multi-Fandom, Multi-Verse, Multi-Ship, and OC Friendly.

Please note that I am open to a wide range of fandoms, universes, ships, and original characters (OCs). However, for a smooth and engaging interaction, I need to feel that our muses are compatible. If it seems unlikely that our characters will connect meaningfully, I may not follow back. This isn't personal—sometimes muses just don't align. Additionally, if you are using a side-blog, kindly inform me so I can make sure to follow your RP blog directly. Thank you!

Rule 2: Post Formatting and Reply Ettiquite.

I strive to respond to threads in a timely manner, but please understand that muse can be unpredictable at times. If it's been about a week or so without a reply or update on a particular thread, feel free to reach out to me here or on Discord— I'm more than happy to hear from you! Regarding writing format, I tend to write longer replies, but please don’t feel pressured to match that length. As long as you provide a paragraph or two in return, that’s more than enough. When I post from my laptop or desktop, I might include banners, GIFs, and occasionally style the text, though I keep it simple overall. I don't mind how you choose to format your replies—whether using icons or not, or with or without formatting. I’m here to write with you, and I’m sure you have great aesthetics! Let’s just enjoy the process together.

Rule 3: I do not forget people on purpose.

I understand that it may appear as though I’m consistently replying to certain individuals, but I want to clarify that this is often due to personal connections or close affiliations with those writers. Sometimes, I may simply have more creative energy for one thread at a given time, while others are on pause. Please know that I do not intentionally ignore anyone. If you ever notice me engaging with a specific person and want to check in or ask how I’m doing, feel free to reach out! I’m always happy to chat. Thank you for your understanding. :)

Rule 4: Type of RP blog I run and who are welcome to intereact and how!

This is a mutually exclusive, multimuse, multiverse, multiship and crossover-friendly RP blog. And for the safety and comfort of all involved, I kindly request that all interactions be with individuals who are 21 or older. The mun behind this blog is 25+, so this is a necessary guideline for both the mun and muses. While anonymous asks are welcome for lighthearted scenarios and skits, I do require knowing who I’m writing with before engaging in any threads, whether through asks or posts. Please feel free to introduce yourself in whichever manner you feel most comfortable. Thank you for understanding!

Rule 5: Ask Memes.

Feel free to send as many asks as you'd like—I truly enjoy them! However, please keep in mind that it may take me some time to respond. I appreciate your patience! I do reserve the right to delete any asks that I deem inappropriate or if I simply feel I lack the inspiration to respond to them. For Ask Memes, they will be posted in their own separate threads and considered as thread starters for those specific characters. I view these memes as a great way to break the ice and make it easier to continue interactions! If you’re running a multimuse blog, please be sure to specify which muse you are writing as when sending asks or starter calls. It helps me to respond more accurately! If you're unsure, feel free to provide a couple of options, and I’ll do my best to choose or reply accordingly. If this isn’t specified, I may either disregard the ask or respond with a random muse. Thank you so much for your understanding, and I look forward to interacting with you! <3

Rule 6: Plotting and Thread Content.

I enjoy pre-plotting threads, so don’t be surprised if, when we first start discussing potential interactions, I suggest talking things through in detail. While I’m open to winging things as well, I do want to note that I’m not the best at writing starters, so I tend to ask my partner to initiate the first post! Please be mindful that I prefer not to be pressured about specific ships, plots, or ideas. If I express that I don’t feel something would work well, I kindly ask that you respect my decision and refrain from bringing it up repeatedly. Your understanding and cooperation are greatly appreciated!

Rule 7: Shipping Muses and Thread Content.

I’m a big fan of shipping and exploring different dynamics, but I believe that chemistry between characters is key. Please don’t take it personally if things don’t develop as we initially expected—sometimes, muses just don’t align the way we hope. I truly appreciate your understanding! I'm not just looking for romantic relationships but familial ones as well as friendships and platonic ones. However, I do not very often change a muse's sexual orientation, so if they identify as "Straight," then that's how I'm writing them, and so on and on.

Rule 8: Approaching different verser or crossovers.

I recently came across a plot idea that I thought was really creative and wanted to share. "An AU where our muses discover the ability to jump into any book they choose. They can explore different worlds, until one day, they land in a fandom where they get stuck. Now, they must navigate the story, avoid being noticed, and figure out how to fix things without meeting a grim fate." This concept is how I approach crossovers, so if you're ever interested in exploring something similar, that's the kind of framework I enjoy! It's a fun way to blend fandoms and create unique scenarios where our characters have to adapt to unfamiliar settings.

Rule 9: Sah's State of Mind.

I want to be transparent about my mental health, as it can sometimes affect my interactions here. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, bipolar disorder type 2, severe depression, schizoaffective disorder, and borderline personality disorder. Despite my best efforts, these conditions can influence my actions, and at times, I may need to take a step back or become quieter for a few days. I never anticipated needing to outline this as a rule, but it's important for you to understand that these health challenges are part of who I am. If you're unfamiliar with borderline personality disorder or any of my other conditions, I encourage you to learn more about them to better understand my experience. I tend to become anxious and worried that I may have unknowingly offended someone, particularly if there’s a delay in communication, like not receiving a reply OOC (out of character), or feeling like I’ve been ignored or ghosted. If you’re someone who struggles with directly telling me if you're no longer interested in talking or writing with me, I kindly ask that you reconsider approaching me. I deeply value the OOC relationships I build with the wonderful muns behind the muses, and I invest a lot into those connections. Please know that I won’t apologize for caring about our interactions.

Rule 10: The Trigger Tagging Situation Here on this RP Blog.

If someone specifically requests that I tag something, I will make every effort to ensure it’s properly tagged. However, I do want to be transparent and say that, more often than not, I can be a bit forgetful when it comes to tagging. I apologize in advance for any oversight. I do my best to keep everyone’s rules in mind, but with the number of people I interact with and my own memory limitations, it’s not always feasible to remember every detail. Because of this, I offer flexibility with my own rules and would greatly appreciate it if the same understanding is extended to me. Please know that I never intend to violate anyone’s rules or cause discomfort, and I’m always open to communication if something needs to be addressed. Your understanding and patience mean a lot!

Rule 11: The content and warnings that come with this RP Blog.

I don’t have many specific triggers to list, but I’m generally open to exploring a wide range of themes. I make an effort to tag all darker threads accordingly, so if you’re interested in exploring content of that nature, please feel free to add me on Discord or DM me directly to discuss. However, please be aware that there may be taboo ships featured on this blog, such as those from Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon, and these themes may extend to other fandoms as well. Some content I may engage with includes, but is not limited to: gore, horror, smut, incest, assault, violence, blood, mental and physical disorders, pain, drugs, and alcohol. This list may expand over time as new ideas emerge. If any of these themes make you uncomfortable, I completely understand if you choose not to engage. Your comfort and boundaries are respected, and I won’t take offense if you decide to step away.

Rule 12: When FOLLOWING me or UNFOLLOWING me | When to Soft Block vs Hard Block.

We all know that Tumblr can be glitchy, and things like being unfollowed and refollowed can happen unexpectedly. If you've soft blocked me and I unknowingly re-follow you, I realize that may cause some discomfort for both of us. While I understand that there may be reasons behind this, I’m not entitled to an explanation, but I would prefer it if, in cases where you feel the need to soft block me, you simply hard block my RP blog instead. This way, we can avoid any confusion or awkwardness. Additionally, I regularly clean up my followers list, so if you notice I’ve unfollowed you and it seems random, it could be because I mistakenly thought we were no longer mutuals. If this happens, especially if you’re following me from a side blog (which I have no problem with at all!), please feel free to let me know. I’d really appreciate it, and it will help clear up any misunderstandings. Thank you!

[louloulemons-posts]

Wayne’s Hot Cocoa

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

Summary : Nightmares were the worst, the Munsons made them better.

Word Count : 1.5k

Warnings : not proofread, 1am writing, mainly uncle wayne x reader fluff, angsty, fluffy, happy ending, talks of bad homelife, reader lives with the munsons, bad parents, fem pronouns and phrases used, no use of Y/N

A/N : you are loved 🫶🏻

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Nights with Eddie made it easier, that was true. However, the warm hugs from the curly haired boy weren’t always enough to keep the monsters away. The monsters that came in your sleep, those that you knew weren’t real but made your skin crawl, your heart beat faster and you to become damp with sweat.

They weren’t real, but the feeling they created was.

Jumping away slightly, your eyes flicked around the dark room in panic. The soft snores of Eddie giving you a sense of comfort, along with pulling you back to reality.

Under the rays of the street lamps you could see his long lashes kissing his cheeks, hiding where a beauty mark lay under his eye. His curls were in his face slightly, coming on of the hair tie sat at the back of his neck.

His mouth was slightly open, lips plush in a small pout. His face was soft, beautiful, calm with sleep. You were thankful it wasn’t him having these dreams and it was you.

Eddie knew about them, knew they were a hell of a lot better, but also knew that they snuck up on you every now and again. He knew your past, your struggles, your fears and helped as much as he could. You both needed rest, both needed sleep, he couldn’t care for you all the time - as much as he’d love that.

Your throat was dry and scratchy, and Eddie had drank the last of the water in your glass hours before. Slowly moving his arm from your waist, you got up off the bed as quietly as possible.

You didn’t really need to, once Eddie was asleep he was dead to the world, normally kicking you off the bed in the process. Taking the glass from the side table, you went on your way.

Soft footsteps as you padded through the small trailer, not knowing the time. The sky whispering that it was still late, stars glimmering in the distance.

The tap was loud, but wasn’t everything louder when you were trying to be quiet. Taking slow sips, you tried to steady your heart, make your hands stop shaking. It wasn’t real - not anymore anyway.

“Honey?” The deep voice made you jump, not realising that the older Munson man was now stood next to you. “Holy cow I’m sorry,” he said, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s alright, did I wake you?” you asked, praying you hadn’t. Wayne was a hard worker, he needed all the rest he could get. He smiled, “No, I’ve not long come home. Just eaten some dinner.”

There was an empty plate and cutlery in the sink, you hadn’t even noticed them. “What are you doing up? That boy being a bed hog?” Letting out a slight chuckle, you shook your head.

The man sighed, “Bad dream?” You couldn’t even reply, couldn’t meet his eyes. Just a simple nod. “I’ll make us some cocoa, go sit down. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Oh no Wayne you don’t-“

“Don’t argue. I want to.”

Seeing the uncertainty on your face, he squeezed your shoulder once more, saying in his kind tone, “I promise.” Whispering a soft ‘okay’ you went to the sofa.

It smelt of smoke, most soft things in the trailer did. When you started staying more often Wayne told Eddie they’d have to smoke outside.

You didn’t mind of course, you felt guilty taking a place in Wayne’s home. He was a kind man, and he loved you, or so Eddie told you.

He never batted an eye when you’d show up late at night, in an array of states. Wayne was there. Just like Eddie. The Munsons were your lifeline, your family.

You sat with your legs crisscross on the couch, picking at the loose threads at the bottom of your pyjamas. Planet of the Apes was playing on the TV, old and crackly, it was something to focus on.

A steaming mug was placed in front of you, deep blue with ‘Nevada’ written in a funky font, from Wayne’s trucking days. The hot chocolate was topped with cream and marshmallows causing a soft smile to dance on your lips.

“Knew it’d cheer you up,” Wayne said, taking a sip from his own identical drink, but it was in his prized possession - his Garfield mug.

“Thank you.” Taking the warm drink into your hands, it’s helped them to stop shaking. The heat warming your cold fingers.

“Was it the same one?”

“Yes. It wasn’t as bad, but it’s just been a while,” you took a breath, “I just want it to go away.” Wayne hummed, placing his mug on the coffee table in front of you, “In time it will.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, taking a sip of your own drink, the cream making a mess of your nose. “It’s been what? 2 months since the last one?”

“About that.”

“Honey it was happening every day. I’d call that progress. I know you want it to stop and it will, it just takes time.”

Nodding your head, you met the man’s dark eyes, “I know. You and Eddie have helped so much-“

“You don’t need to thank us. We love having you here.”

“I just feel like I’m in the way. I feel like I should just go back.”

“No,” Wayne said, it was a simple statement, “I’d never let you go back there.”

“Wayne-“

“What happened to you was wrong. You didn’t deserve any of it, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to see the signs. But now you’re here and safe, I will not let you get hurt by those people again.”

“But why?”

“Because your family and family doesn’t do that.” You eyes became glassy. The mug went to the table. You were his family. You never really had a proper one of those.

Similarly to Eddie, you’d lost a parent, your dad. Your mom fell into bad habits, fulled by her various partners. Any negative emotion was taken out on you.

“Don’t cry Kid,” Wayne said softly, brushing away a tear. His hands were tough and worn like the hard worker he was, but they were soft and gentle like a parent should be.

“Thank you. I know you told me not to say it, but thank you for being my family. I- I love you Wayne.” His face dropped slightly, his own dark eyes filling with tears, “Oh Honey come here.”

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest. The smell of his aftershave and cigarettes was a common comfort. A smell you loved.

His stubble brushed your head as his kissed you lightly, “I love you too kid.” You stayed like that for a while, arms wrapped around one another. “You can stay here forever.”

The movie continued to play and you got comfy, both taking drinks of your cocoa. A beautiful silence settled between you. A silence of a father and a daughter, a loving quiet. The enjoyment of one’s company without many words.

That was until a door creaked and heavy steps came towards the pair of you. Looking up you met a pair of sleepy eyes and crazy hair. “Where’d you go?” Eddie asked, his voice rough with sleep, as he plopped himself next to you.

“Just came for a drink,” you spoke, placing the still warm mug in his hand. He hummed, drinking a bit, “Wayne’s famous cocoa.”

You nodded, placing your head on Eddies shoulder, your own hand finding Wayne’s.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asked.

“Just one of those nights.” His eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Sweetheart-“

“Don’t worry Son, she’s okay.”

“Thank you Wayne,” he nodded to his uncle.

“I am okay. I promise, me and Wayne spoke. Think I’m gonna be staying here for a while, if that’s okay with you?” Eddies face broke into a grin, “Of course it’s okay. I love you being here.”

The love you felt was unconditional, it was something that you knew would never leave you. It was beautiful and pure. The kind of love you never expected to find. It was the love you needed. The love you deserved.

Your eyes became heavy, listening to Eddies heart you drifted off.

“Thank you for looking after her,” Eddie spoke. “Of course. Think she needed a parent tonight.”

“You are the best parent you know, we’re lucky to have you.”

“Don’t get all soft on me, now take your girl to bed. She needs some rest.”

Eddie nodded, shifting you gently, arms coming to rest behind your back and under your knees. The journey was a short one, Wayne followed behind him the whole way.

Placed on the bed carefully, you didn’t stir, body clearly exhausted. Eddie brushed the hair away from your face, smiling at you softly, at the peace you were feeling.

Moving round to his side of the bed, Wayne pulled the cover up over you, speaking softly, “Goodnight Honey, night Son.”

“Night Wayne.” The older man pulled the door too, allowing some beams of light to sneak through. It gave you comfort on bad nights, to know you were safe, you weren’t lost in the darkness.

Eddie pulled your back into his chest, holding you close. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he placed a soft kiss behind your ear, “I love you.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : all the love for uncle wayne!!!

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🤍

[amorbidcorvid]

Fibers in Fiction - A Silmarillion Writer’s Guide to Þerindë's Craft

It's the @silmarillionwritersguild's Meta Week, and I wanted to contribute my two special interests -- fiber art and Tolkien -- and my real world degree in Medieval European Women's History. So here's a essay with writing resources for Day 6 - apply real-world disciplines to Middle-earth.

Most of this I had sitting in the back of my head and do not have quality, academic sources for. Links are either to written or video resources, or to picture credits.

Intro

What is fiber art? My personal definition is the manipulation of some sort of fiber into something functional and/or beautiful. There are a few characters in Tolkien’s works that are associated with a fiber craft of some sort – Vairë the Weaver, Míriel Þerindë, and Arwen Undómiel come to mind the easiest. I've seen various fanworks that have Caranthir also be a needle-worker, but that's not canon the way these three women are. There's a lot to be said about the intersection between "women's work" and needlework and feminism, and Tolkien's inclusion of those patriarchal standards, but ... that's not this essay.

There’s a lot of methods and a lot of disciplines that can be put under the umbrella of fiber art. The purpose of this essay is to help fic writers expound on the process of a fiber craft using the correct terminology, gain an understanding of period(ish) appropriate tools/techniques, and the differences between some of the major forms of fiber arts.  

What is a fiber? 

Starting with the basics. A fiber is a material that is longer than it is wide and typically used in textiles or electronics. This is Tolkien’s world, we’re not worrying about electronics, so let’s turn to textile fibers. There are four main types of textile fibers: 

natural fibers - flax, hemp, cotton, jute

animal fibers - silk, wool, catgut (not made from cats), angora rabbit fur, goat hair (mohair, cashmere)

synthetic fibers. - polyester, acrylic, nylon, rayon

Metallic fibers - gold, silver, copper, mithril that have been formed into a very thin wire

Obviously, unless the Valar let Fëanor get into oil extraction, all those synthetic fibers are right out. Leatherwork does not count as a fiber art, since true leather is a processed animal skin. Cords can be cut from leather to act like string, but that’s not a true fiber. And don’t talk to me about pleather or vegan leather. That’s just plastic and it’s bad for the environment. 

Spin a Thread, Draw a Wire

For the three types of fiber that could be used in Arda, there are two methods to turn these materials into thread: drawing and spinning.

Drawing a wire: a small piece of metal is pulled through a device called a draw plate. A draw plate may have many holes through which the wire is pulled, each getting successively smaller and smaller until you reach the gauge (size) you desire. As you pull the wire through each smaller hole, the wire gets thinner and longer. Rinse and repeat until you have a wire of the desired thickness. If you’re combining a wire with some sort of flexible fiber (couching, weaving, etc, see below) it needs to be extremely thin in order to be flexible enough to bend with the fiber it’s attached to. 

You need a lubricant to ensure the wire doesn’t get stuck in the draw plate. Covering the wire in oil is a good way to go (this is called dry drawing. Wet drawing is when the draw plate and the wire are both submerged in oil as you work). Application of heat can make this process easier, but depending on the metal, you might not need very much. 

Gold, silver, and copper are all very soft metals in their purest form -- alloys will make them stronger, less malleable, and harder to draw. Mithril, given that it’s a fictional metal, I can’t confidently comment on, but it’s said to have been very malleable, so I would imagine that the same process for creating very thin wires would also work in the same way as it would for the other metals listed.

A spun thread is an assortment of individual fibers that have been twisted together to make a stronger unit. Natural, animal, and synthetic fibers can all be spun. 

Usually when we describe something as a thread, we’re talking about a spun fiber that is fine/thin and smooth enough for sewing or weaving applications. Spinning a thread involves taking a pile of washed and combed but loose fibers (a bundle of these is called a roving) and literally twisting it until it forms a thread. This can be done with a drop spindle or a spinning wheel. A drop spindle is the more mobile form of spinning, and simple enough that medieval families would often have children spin. With practice you could even do it while walking. Imagine, for a moment, Míriel Þerindë walking through Beleriand during the Great Journey, drop spindle in hand, making the thread she is known for. That’s some good stuff. I’m begging somebody to write this. 

Here’s some video tutorials on how to use a drop spindle and how to use a spinning wheel. I can’t explain it succinctly, and a visual is always a good tool. 

Plyed Threads Make a Yarn

Yarn is several threads counter-twisted around each other. Counter twisting is what holds the yarn’s structure. If the individual thread is twisted clockwise, the yarn must twist all those clockwise threads counterclockwise. The tension holds the shape of the yarn.

Yarns (usually made from an animal fiber like wool, goat, or angora) and twines (usually made from natural fibers like hemp or jute or cotton) are made the same way because they make the threads stronger and more durable than they would be as individual threads, but their material usually dictates how they’re used. Yarns are softer, better for knitting or crochet or weaving. Twines and cords tend to be rougher, better for securing things to other things, for outdoor use, or … you know. The things they do in Angband.

Weaving a fabric

So you’ve got your thread and/or yarn. Now what? Well, you can dye it now (see next section), you can start knitting a garment (you need good socks on the Helcaraxë), or you can start weaving a fabric. Fabric has two components, both made by individual threads in sequence. The warp is generally static, and the vertical thread in most diagrams, including the ones I’m including here. The weft is the thread that passes back and forth horizontally. You can have the weft go over/under/over/under like this diagram (this is called a plain weave) or you can have the weft skip over a number of warp threads to create a pattern or a texture (satin or twill or denim weaves skip warp threads). The pattern depends on which warp threads get lifted or lowered with each pass of the weft, which is typically attached to a shuttle that glides through the shed. 

Weaving requires a loom, but that loom can come in various form-factors. A backstrap loom maintains tension in the warp by the position of the weaver, who has a strap attached to the loom going around her back while she manipulates the weft in front of her. This was, and still is, commonly used in native South American communities.

Early medieval Europe typically used a warp-weighted loom, where the warp threads were tied to a loom weight that dangled off the back of the loom frame. This was replaced later with the horizontal loom, which included the invention of heddles (loops that lifted warp threads in sequence to make a shed (opening) so as to make a pattern) and treadles (foot pedals that control the heddles). 

Later, the horizontal loom gets mechanized, and somehow we got computer programs out of Jacquard looms. Fascinating, but not relevant here. 

One of my favorite types of weaving is tablet weaving, which instead of heddles or treadles to form the shed, uses square cards. Four threads go through the corners of the cards to form alternating sheds that can form complex patterns. Tablet weaving is great for decorative trim and edges. You can use a backstrap method, a warp weighted method, or an inkle loom to create tablet woven articles. This video is a gorgeous introduction, but a bit long. 

What about Vairë’s tapestries, I hear you cry out into the Void? See below :) 

Add a splash of color, become ungovernable 

Color! The world can create rainbows, and we’ve been trying to make thread to match for ages. Luckily you can make most colors with natural dyes. Purple is the hardest color to get with a natural dye, along with blacks; yellows and reds and browns are easiest.

You have to prepare your dye (usually taking some natural material (onion, cochineal insects, gallnuts, walnuts, marigold flowers, woad, madder, whatever you have) and your thread/yarn/fabric separately before combining them with heat. 

Prepping your dye depends on the material you’re using. Sometimes it’s just an overnight soak in a pot, sometimes it’s crushing beetle carcasses into a fine powder, sometimes it’s boiling. I leave it to you, friend, to research the exact color you’re looking to make with a natural dye and how to get that, but this chart might be a good start. 

Most thread/yarn/fabric needs a mordant. Mordant is a dye fixative. After all that work making the fabric, you don’t want that gorgeous Fëanorian red (madder root) to come out in the wash water, right? Mordants are acids that can be found naturally, either by processing some plant materials to create tannic acid (oak trees and oak galls) or oxalic acid (wood sorrels), or by working a chemical process using alum, chrome alum, or sodium chloride, or ammonia (stale urine was commonly used before modern chemical processes). Mordants stink to Angband and back, so historically dyers would be outside town or in their own district as to not offend everyone elses noses. 

You can get a richer, more saturated color by overdyeing – dying twice or even three times. Dyes are hard to color match; each batch is going to have its own variables (weather, temperature, concentration of the dye, concentration of the mordant, quality of the fiber, etc). 

I’ve found this website that goes into a lot more detail. I’m not affiliated with them, but it’s a good starting point.  

Tools

A non-exhaustive list of standard tools a fiber artist may use and material it could be/typically is made of: 

Thread, yarn, or fabric (described above)

Scissors/shears (metal)

Sharp sewing needle in various sizes (bone or metal)

Blunt needle in various sizes (sometimes called a tapestry needle, bone or metal)

Spindle (wood)

Loom in various sizes (wood, wire, thread)

Shuttle (wood)

Knitting needles (bone, wood, or metal)

Nalbinding needle (bone, metal) (nalbinding is a cousin of knitting and crochet, good for hats and socks)

Crochet hook (bone, metal, wood)

Bobbin (wood, bone)

Lace pins (metal)

Lace pillow (fabric)

Embroidery hoop (wood)

Embroidery frame (scroll frame, slate frame, wood)

Embroidery stand (wood, metal)

Thimble (leather, metal)

Fiber Crafts seen in the Legendarium 

Tapestry Weaving

Tapestry weaving is different than standard weaving, because the weft does not go across the entire length of the working area in a shuttle. Tapestry weaving typically uses many, many bobbins or needles of colored thread worked in a plain weave in small areas to make an image. In medieval Europe, tapestries would be used as a form of insulation, to keep the cold out, and as a status symbol. (All I’m saying is, give Himring more tapestries, and maybe the Ever-Cold fortress would be a bit more homey). Here’s this article from the Metropolitan Museum of Art about tapestries, and here’s a video about the making of large scale tapestries, which is the technique I imagine Vairë and Míriel use for the Halls.

Embroidery

Embroidery is the practice of taking individual colored threads (usually cotton, wool, or silk) and sewing them into a ground fabric to decorate that fabric with a design of some sort. There’s SO MANY ways to embroider things. Cross stitch, which is what your author started out doing, uses stitched squares on a grid to effectively make pixel art with thread. You can do blackwork (which doesn’t necessarily need a black thread) which makes a repeating pattern on a grid but doesn’t make squares. Or there’s more freeform embroidery which lots of people use for natural scenes (flowers especially) but can be used for portraits, landscapes, silly sayings – the world is your oyster. The Royal School of Needlework in the UK has a Stitch Bank which documents how to accomplish many, many, many kinds of stitches. 

I’m going to highlight a few stitches that absolutely should be in your writing toolkit if you are working with a character doing embroidery. I’m not going to describe every stitch, but knowing what a stitch is called is half the battle. Okay, maybe a quarter of it, you still have to either do it, or write a good description of doing it, which may be the other 3/4ths of the battle.

Satin Stitch - a good, all purpose filler. Made by stitching parallel lines of thread. Uses a lot of thread, since you should be bringing your needle up through the ground on the same side of the thing you’re trying to fill every time. 

Couching - another good, all purpose filler. Made by laying thread or wire flat on the ground fabric, then taking another thread (close in color or not, depends on the vibe) and stitching it down in place securely. This is the main filling stitch in the Bayeux Tapestry (not a true tapestry, it’s just a really big embroidery) and undoubtedly how Arwen made part of Aragorn’s banner with mithril wire. 

Straight stitch - makes a dashed line

Back stitch - makes a solid straight line

Stem stitch - makes a solid straight line that can easily curve

Chain stitch - good filler, makes interlocking loops

Daisy stitch - a chain stitch that doesn’t interlock the loops, but stitches down the loop so it doesn’t move. Makes good simple flowers

French knots - tiny filler, lots of good texture. Tiny knots made by wrapping the thread around your needle.

Stump work - 3D effects for ages. Want flowers or leaves to literally jump off the ground fabric? Stump work is your friend, and my personal nemesis. 

Conclusion

Knowing the terminology of a craft is integral to learning more about it, and writing it accurately. My hope with this resource is that you might have learned a new term or two, or gotten a few new resources to use in your writing. Even better if this is something you don’t know a lot about, or have never given much thought to, then I hope you’ve learned something valuable here. 

[sindar-princeling]

3.3k word long RoP review because I'm cranky

I have already been sharing my more detailed notes from each episode here, but with this post I wanted to gather all my feelings and frustrations into something more coherent.

PLOTLINES AND PACING

It's been said before, but show has WAY too many plotlines - or rather, it has an amount of plotlines it can't manage. 12 plotlines (the broad plotline of the rings, Celebrimbor and Annatar, Sauron and Galadriel, Adar and orcs, the Stranger's identity, Nori and Poppy and their own struggles, the dwarves plus their rings plus the balrog, the dark wizard, Elrond and Durin, Numenor (which I'd say has two distinct plotlines, too), Isildur's plotline, and Theo's teased plotline with the Southlanders) doesn't have to be too many, but you have to be able to juggle them. Once again, I want to mention Lost, which started with a terrifying amount of 14 MAIN characters (and give or take five million side characters) - and while people grew to have different opinions about the show as it went on, you cannot deny seasons 1 and 2 are incredibly strong and remain some absolutely iconic pieces television. The creators took those legions of characters and RAN with them, and it was incredible.

If you only have 8 episodes to work with, you need fewer plotlines; if you want more plotlines, you need more episodes. From a purely mathematical perspective, even if you divided your time equally, with 8 roughly hour-long episodes and 12 plotlines you'd get 40-45 minutes per plotline. Then, you're left with a question: can I write a satisfying arc for 40 minutes of screen time? Can I write five, ten, TWELVE of those?

(It would have been easier, of course, if the RoP plotlines interacted with one another, but they rarely do. Usually, when you give 5 minutes of your limited time to one subplot, no other subplot gets to take part in it.)

Except, RoP doesn't divide its time equally. Nori was on the screen for what felt like 15 minutes, and in reality couldn't have been much more, because this subplot was completely sidelined; the same can be said for Gandalf, Isildur, Theo, and Arondir. To make a story something engaging, something moving, you need to either give it time to grow, or be an extremely skilled writer who can rewire someone's brain with ten lines of dialogue. And RoP fails at both.

The strongest points of this season were moments when it was focused on two, three plotlines at once, not more. That's when you could see it at least had potential to be engaging; that's when it all felt less chaotic, and like you could finally immerse yourself in the story.

Celebrimbor and Annatar

They were definitely one of the most interesting subplots this season, and the focus on it let Charles Edward shine. His performance easily the best in season 2.

It was a solid 7/10 plot. I still felt that it left a lot to be desired - I wanted Sauron's deceptions, Celebrimbor's realisation, the creation of the rings, and the whole dynamic between the two of them to pack more of a punch - but it managed to be a thread connecting a few plotlines together, something this show desperately needed.

What felt most ridiculous was the torturing scene, with Sauron shooting at Celebrimbor from a bow from a few steps away. It made me want to laugh during a moment when the last thing you want your viewers to do is laugh.

Galadriel and Sauron

I cover them more in the 'Characters' section. In terms of pacing, the conflict between them was somewhere in the background the whole time until their confrontation came, and it was, you know. Perfectly inoffensive, and just- correct.

All I'm going to say here is that the fight scene from episode 8 was written in a very generic way, and made me cringe quite a lot. The choreography felt off - it was kind of slow, and the use of the crown of morgoth made me roll my eyes a few times. It felt like it was meant to be just a showy addition to a fight, making it more "intimate" because they needed to stand closer for Sauron to be able to use it. "You want to heal Middle-Earth? Heal yourself." throws herself off a cliff where he can then easily retrieve the rings when she's unconscious remains one of the top three worst moments of both season two AND season one.

On a personal level, I fucking hate the romantic undertones they keep giving them on so many levels I don't even know where to begin.

Dwarves

Making the balrog be one of the final scenes in their subplot in season one, only to make everyone wait for it until the finale again, was, of course, nothing more than a cheap tactic to keep people engaged. All in all, though, the Dwarves' subplot was one of the top ones in terms of the amount of things I liked. I appreciate that they leaned away from the antisemitic stereotype of them being inherently greedy. The stone listeners/singers are still one of the most original and fitting pieces of lore this show came up with, and their love for the stone and the mountains shines through in a moving way. It still annoys me that the race they gave Scottish accents to is more crass and swears more than the English Elves, though. It's so, SO annoying.

I'm kinda indifferent to Durin III. His subplot was pretty standard, but the final change of heart was terribly abrupt, and the last shot with him was so action movie-y you'd think it came from Fast and Furious 15.

Adar and the orcs

Adar's subplot continues to carry some of the most original and thought-provoking ideas of the show, as well as challenge some of Tolkien's writing in regard to the orcs. It's executed in a kind of messy way, but I appreciate that it's here. I wonder where it will go now that Adar is dead, because I'd love to see more morally complex orcs, who are in many ways victims of Sauron to the same degree as other races.

Nori+Gandalf, Numenor and Isildur

Nori, Poppy and Gandalf got kinda laughably little time, and so, the subplot achieved very little. Gandalf's search for who he is was already annoying to me, but then he and Nori got separated and the subplot got split into two. In Gandalf's subplot, we got Bombadil (more on that later), in Nori's, we got a new hobbit race. The show wants the two to be a non-insignificant part of its emotional core, but devotes no time for it. Make it make sense.

Numenor was… strange. It's a political drama, but all that happened in this season was more or less: Miriel is going to be queen- jk, Pharazon is going to be k- just kidding again, it's gonna be Miri- SIKE AGAIN. It was repetitive, and the manipulations and plots were frustrating instead of intriguing. (And again - that's because there was no time given to this subplot.)

Isildur has got to be the most useless subplot I've seen in a hot second. Net zero events. Net zero emotional involvement. He meets a girl, they kiss after two days even though she's taken, he can't take her back home to Numenor. He talks to Theo once. The end. Waste of everyone's time.

The Dark Wizard

It just made me sad, because for a while there I was hoping we'd see Rhun in a different way than before, but no, it's still a Land Of Shady People. :/

CHARACTERS

Sauron

Sauron felt bizarrely underutilised considering we're in a show called "Sauron: The Things Sauron Helped Make". He's the Deceiver! His plots and manipulations should have reached the levels of Elias from TMA or S2 Ben from Lost - when they succeed, you feel so sorry for the protagonists, but it's so immensely satisfying. You are in awe of the scale of the plans they pulled off, or how often they manage to make protagonists believe them.

(Remember when you see Vader at the end of Rogue One and his entrance is just chilling? THAT'S doing an iconic villain justice. We should have got moments when Sauron is utterly terrifying, but they never really came.)

His infatuation slash interest in Galadriel adds nothing to the show apart from some truly juvenile levels of drama between them, and some terrible, generic dialogue. They would have been one of each other's strongest focuses, anyway - they're one of each other's greatest enemies. The specific kind of romantic tension they got only takes away from their personalities.

Sauron is also one of the best examples of RoP creators flattening meaningful themes and events from Tolkien's works. Mordor is not a land killed slowly and painfully by Sauron's presence, where the evil literally chokes you and drains your will to live - it was just "activated" one day! The Nazgul are not horribly twisted souls of men who have no will of their own because they gave in to the rings - they just got rings that are more evil because they have Sauron's blood in them! Sauron is not an ambiguous figure with many names and forms, many of which are terrifying husks - he's a literal pile of black goo for a while. (??????)

(No, seriously. ??????????)

Charlie Vickers managed to make him kind of okay, I'd say? But the wasted potential never stops being painfully apparent.

Galadriel

Oh, my beloved Galadriel. Oh, what did they do to you.

The complex, mighty Galadriel, who is ambitious, proud and desires power, who wants to rule a land of her own, who finally decides not to be a Queen, but a Lady of Lorien, precisely because she knows what her greatest weakness is. Who is not tempted or touched by Sauron, and no-one would ever suggest she is - her hunger for power is entirely her own.

I know Tolkien had a thousand different versions of Galadriel, but one thing she was not, was absent from her own story. RoP Galadriel's story revolves around Sauron and the rings, and her greatest ambitions were taken from her and put into Sauron's mouth in season one in one of the most infuriating writing decisions I've been unlucky to witness (also sexist as fuck). The show does not allow her to be respected, or powerful, or wise - she is at fault for Sauron's return, and treated like an idiot for it. The romantic undertones of the subplot make it even worse, turning her into a young woman with a crush who now needs to prove to people around her she can still think straight.

I hate what they did to Galadriel, and the caricature they turned her into.

I'm also not a fan of Morfydd Clark's portrayal, I don't think she fits this character, but the script choices are what pisses me off the most anyway.

There is also a lot to say about the fact she looks like one of the youngest elves, when she should be either much older (than for example Gil-galad or Elrond) or roughly the same age (as Celebrimbor). The way she's presented in RoP, Galadriel is young and hot-headed, and constantly told off by older men. NOT the feminist breakthrough in Middle-Earth that Amazon wants to pretend it is.

ALSO making Elrond kiss her… Why does she have to be put in those unserious situations that feel like fan fiction in the worst possible way,

Celebrimbor

The best character this season, mostly because of his portrayal - Charles Edwards didn't stand out to me in season one, but I truly liked him a lot in season two. The script, once more, doesn't pack too much of a punch, and leads him through some non-sensical events ("the perfection of three, thrice perfected" why does this make sense to him?), but his emotional moments hit because of the quality of his acting. Without him, this season would have been truly barely tolerable.

Gandalf and Tom Bombadil

Putting these two together because they both flabbergasted me in a pretty similar way.

I don't think the kind of plots they chose for these characters are right for them. An initiation plot for Gandalf who's already in Middle-Earth is not a choice I like - I'd love to see him learning from Nienna in Valinor much more. Still, I can see trying to portray his beginnings in ME. But amnesia? Having to find a staff because… what exactly? Having to be told everything about himself? Those are such generic choices for such an iconic character!

Show me Gandalf getting to know the land he's supposed to guard. Show me Gandalf meeting the Ents, the Elves, wandering, weaving the web of connections and friends ans allies that he always has, show his skills in bringing people together, like he does for all of LOTR.

Choices regarding Bombadil were bad, in my opinion. I've already said it, but for the sake of making it a separate post without 30984098 links - I think making Bombadil a mentor figure was strange. I don't think it works (again, talk about Nienna!). Bombadil is random help when you need it, almost like a narrative equivalent of- maybe not exactly a deus ex machina, but a small-scale divine intervention nonetheless. He appears when you need him and disappears right after, and you can continue your journey, but he won't join you. He's not a guide or a mentor.

Making him a mentor took away from how original a character he is - but the worst offender in that regard is still the fact that they gave him Gandalf's line from the books (the one about many living people deserving death, and many dead deserving to live). Once again, they were just hammering iconic quotes into the mouths of different characters and it's. First of all lazy (even if you change two words), second of all, very annoyingly on the nose, third of all, there are so many ways to subtly show characters' influence on one another, and straight up copying quotes is not creative, it's not original, it doesn't tell you anything about the character who adopted that quote other than they can repeat stuff. Did they have any feelings about it? Do they agree completely or do they add their own spin on it as they go through life? You'll never know! The only influence you are shown is: character A heard something from character B, then later said it word for word to character C. It makes character A little more than a sieve for a glass of water - they don't have thoughts or feelings, they don't transform the things they hear, they don't filter things through themself. What falls out is exactly what came in. RoP did it with Sauron and Galadriel in season one, and now with Gandalf and Bombadil. WHAT'S the point. Also I'm not sure this quote even fits Bombadil that well. He's a force of life and joy, but he has no problem with commanding things to obey him, like Old Man Willow. He's 100% a benevolent character, but probably not someone who would say "who are you to rule over powerful forces", at least in my opinion, because few rules actually touch him, if that makes sense.

HOWEVER. I did like hearing him sing all the time.

Others

Putting all other characters here, because I don't have as many thoughts about them. I love Miriel and Elendil, they have a great dynamic and along with Pharazon are the strongest parts of the Numenor subplot. Kemen and Earien annoy me so much. Nori and Poppy have painfully little personality. Durin and Disa, when they get good moments, are GOOD, but the script doesn't always let them shine. Gil-galad was good in episodes 7 and 8, forgettable in the rest. Elrond is kind of all over the place - they gave him a few interesting things to do, like brutally killing an orc to show just how ruthless Elves can be - but those things don't fit him, they should have been given to someone else. Adar saddens me because he got the mcu villain treatment where he makes good points, but then does unrelated inexcusable things so that you don't root for him too much.

Also, Celeborn continues to be "dead", and I fear to ask how they will handle his "reveal".

LORE

Oh boy, okay.

All I will say is that to each their own, but some of the lore choices simply piss me off. Why is mithril important to the Elves' survival? Why is everything about Sauron Like That? Why was Mordor created in a day? Why is the order of everything completely backwards?

The constant references to LOTR are a mixed bag. Some of them I liked ("pity will not defeat Sauron" when we know it will, the appearance of an Entwife), some of them were too on-the-nose for me to enjoy - the direct quotes, Old Man Ironwood, every time someone said "the lord of the rings", Sauron being present for the Doors of Durin being made.

I feel like the best thing this show could have done lore-wise, that would have taken care of so many issues, would have been putting most of their focus on making the world feel clearly like the world that will later diminish into the world we know from LOTR. Why make some unnecesary, non-sensical lore when this would connect your show to Tolkien so clearly? Worldbuilding is Tolkien's thing, and his world is one of the most recognisable out there. When the setting feels like Middle-Earth, everything that happens in it automatically feels more Tolkien-like.

You don't need to pay THAT much attention to worldbuilding with every author, but you absolutely do with him.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS

I don't have opinions on all technical aspects, because I always tend to focus on plots, characters and themes and am not very good or familiar with the technical side of filmmaking, so these are just some of my assorted thoughts.

I still enjoy the music in RoP; it may not be one of the most memorable soundtracks I've ever heard, but you can hear the references to Howard Shore's score (something that I learned was fully intentional), especially in the instruments used, and the "sound palettes" certain places and characters get in the process. I have no musical vocabulary so I can go on vibes only, but especially the orcs' themes feel close to Howard Shore's. It's a nice but still subtle way of connecting these two worlds.

I don't fully agree with people saying this show looks good. The costumes are still very simple, often just one layer of clothing with an added belt and some jewellery. Some characters don't change their costumes even once? I don't think Disa ever wore a different dress; at the very least, she spends most of the time in the same one as she did in season one. I'd say the costume designers weren't given enough time to work on them, because you can often see vision, but it always feels unfinished. Most of the time, armour looks better than everyday clothes, so you can't help but wonder if the everyday clothes were done in a rush.

Make-up on elven women is so modern-looking it breaks whatever immersion the show manages to build. I hate it so, so much (whoever decided Mirdania would look like that I am looking RIGHT at you and judging).

Annatar's wig was simply Not Good.

OVERALL

I feel that this show is both infuriatingly bad, and boringly mediocre; both slow, and fast and superficial. There's too few and too many things happening at once. It says so much, but it doesn't have anything actually meaningful to say, any connecting thought or feeling or motto. Emotionally, it feels empty.

It's hard to imagine future seasons being good enough to redeem the first two. And honestly, it just makes me sad.

[olderthannetfic]

"Why I don't write F/F" thread proceeded just as unproductively as I expected. It wasn't about moralizing about the women not writing F/F, it was a question about why personal reasons for avoiding a configuration aren't reflected in opposite directions by other groups. Unlike race, gender has an almost 50/50 split, there's a scale to the proportions not there for other types of identity category. "The femslash police suck" is a factor I can understand. But why wouldn't "personal reasons I just don't feel it towards this configuration" end up an even distribution across the population? The expectation for women to write about women isn't a moral rule, it's that if you allow the logic "men in control of stories write about men (and that's why more mainstream stories center men)", then the flip side is, well, why people clamor for more women behind the camera and in the writers' room. Either accept the logic for both sides or challenge it for both sides. Instead we have the worst of both worlds, we accept it for one side and challenge it for the other. Where's the parallel universe where this imbalance somehow resulted in a different quadrant being the smallest proportion of ships?

--

Why wouldn't "personal reasons" be even? Because the kinds of issues people face based on their demographic aren't.

But I think the larger factor is how socialization affects choice of hobbies and volunteer efforts. Cis men and cis women, on average, go in for different flavors. The dudes tend to be more bothered by the idea of "not getting anything back" for what feels like work. When they do do unpaid labor, it's often the kind that accrues glory and career prospects rather than less showy social ties. Open source coding projects where they can be important, yes. Writing fanfic, no.

Looking up any analysis of volunteering and unpaid work that makes such-and-such a part of society function will get you a lot of discussion of this gendered difference. It's pervasive.

Of course, this is just a broad trend. Plenty of guys do write fanfic, and when they dominate a fanfic space, we see tons of fic focused on the female characters they find attractive, including f/f fic.

And if you're asking about cis gay men specifically... well... again, gendered socialization means that the issues faced by cis lesbians and cis gay men are not equivalent. The reasons and ways that people employ allegory to talk about things "too close to home" will likewise not be exactly the same. Traditional US gay male culture goes in for drag and for an obsession with Hollywood divas and The Golden Girls. Plenty is being mediated through female personas; it's just not translating into fanfic specifically. But most people making "Leave the fujoshi alone" arguments are not thinking about cis gays: they're thinking about people in messier identity categories.

The biggest difference is not behavior but simply that cis men are a small minority on FFN, AO3, and Wattpad, the three big fanfic archives. (Some ancient FFN research found that it was 78% female, and that's the archive known for having more men!) The places with more cis guys are much smaller and don't get talked about as much by most fandom history and fandom meta types from the AO3 side of things.

The reason cis men's taste in favorite characters isn't being "pushed back against" isn't a double standard: it's because:

Cis men simply aren't that relevant to site-wide trends on AO3

and

2. The reverse pattern does happen all the time with vanishingly little m/m and lots of f/f

You sound like you think we'd make this fanfic-specific argument about pro media. In fact, plenty of queer women are open that they produce original f/f but not f/f fanfic or they produce f/f fanworks but not fic. A lot of the "too close to home" arguments are specifically about the kind of id fuel, naked-in-public vibes of AO3-style fanfic. Writing that is less id-driven may not feel that same way. A given woman might have a much easier time writing a mystery novel about a lesbian detective who never gets laid on page than a steamy f/f bodice ripper.

The parallel universe you ask about exists. It's horny imageboards full of fan art of anime girls.

The reason you sound judgmental and are getting "unproductive" responses is that you're phrasing things as though we're refusing to solve a problem. In reality, we're attempting to analyze the situation that exists. It's a descriptive approach.