#the unifying equalizer is the ass

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (8)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n get caught up in their newfound bliss. wc: 3,3k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content (this part includes chocking, slight cockwarming, unprotected sex, creampie, and sub Spence), graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

a/n: another smut update, enjoy it while it lasts because the plot will unravel soon

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

THE MOMENT HIS LIPS MET HERS WITH URGENCY, she knew there was no turning back. She could feel the taste of desperation and desire in his kiss, a bittersweet cocktail that ignited her senses. His lips moved with a raw intensity, as if desperate to imprint his very essence upon her, to leave an indelible mark upon her being.

Their breaths mingled; fevered and erratic as if trying to merge into one unified rhythm. And her hands, driven by instinct, clung to him with an intensity borne of the same desperation. Fingertips traced the contours of his jawline, mapping the strong curves of his face before they brushed the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her while her hips swayed along his groin.

While her hands threaded into his hair, his hands began roaming toward her waist as they slipped under her shirt. She gasped as his calloused fingers tugged at her nipples, twisting the buds between his thumb and forefinger over the sheer cloth of her bra. Underneath her, she could feel the length of him growing each time she moved. She could feel the sensation building in her body too as she continued to roll her hips, hiding her face in his neck.

The textured gabardine of his slacks rubbed against her in the sweetest way as a shudder rolled up her body. Spencer slid his hands down her waist before placing them on her backside, gently squeezing her ass while pushing and pulling her over him faster.

A breathless whine left her lips as his hardness caught her clit, her inner walls clenching around nothing as she began to grind herself frantically against him. "Shit, I'm close," she whispered against his skin, hands sliding down his body until she could feel his broad chest over his shirt.

Spencer's body tensed in surprise. "Just by this?"

She nodded. Experimentally, he thrust his hips a little harder into her, eliciting a breathless moan out of her. He couldn't stop the amused laughter falling from his lips, marveling at her reaction.

"And here I thought I wasn't good in bed," he commented.

She slightly leaned back to catch the amused glint in his eyes, and when she decided she didn't like his teasing, a newfound desire surged through her veins.

The smirk playing on his lips sent ripples of electricity coursing through her body, igniting a fire within her that demanded to be unleashed. Suddenly, she was no longer content to be the passive recipient of pleasure; she hungered for the taste of control.

So she grabbed onto the back of his head and tugged his hair, a surprised gasp falling from his lips as he saw a new intensity in her eyes.

"Stop gloating," she demanded, and then she devoured him, tasting his mouth all over again. Her kisses became bold and commanding, exploring every inch of his willing body with an intensity that left him breathless. He could sense a shift in the dynamics between them, a change that intrigued and aroused him in equal measure. Her sudden desire to take control awakened a thrilling sense of submission within him.

Then she pulled away and quickly took off her jacket before throwing it away somewhere in the room. Her shirt followed to the floor, and Spencer watched in anticipation as she unhooked her bra before she was left half-naked sitting on his lap. He gently reached out as his fingertips danced along her skin, burning wherever it touched.

He softly placed a kiss on the nape of her neck, his arms moving around her body before pulling her closer. "I think we should move to my bedroom."

"Why?"

His brows furrowed at the question as he leaned back. "Because the condoms are there?"

She gazed into the depths of his eyes, searching for the spark of understanding, the glimmer of reciprocation. Her heart beat in synchrony with the rhythm of her breath, both quickened by the anticipation of what was to come. She finally gathered her courage and broke the silence.

"I want to feel you."

His heart beat in tandem with the rhythm of this silent interlude, its pace quickened by the resonance of her words. "...what?"

"I want to feel you. I-I'm on the pill... and I'm clean," she added. "Are you?"

He slowly nodded, trying to catch any glimpse of doubt in her eyes but was met with none. "Well, yes, but are you sure? I can just go back there and get—"

"Do you not want to?"

A disbelief sound emitted from his chest. "Y/n, I'd be a fool to decline such an offer."

"Then let me feel you."

He pondered for a moment, wondering if this was a wise discussion. But as he studied her face, he couldn’t help but giving in, slowly giving her a deep, aching kiss, completely enthralled by the softness of her lips.

"Alright," he murmured against her mouth. "You'll feel every inch of me."

"Good." She gently got off his lap and undid her pants before sliding them down her legs, her underwear following along while her eyes never looked away from his face. "Now take off all your clothes."

It didn't take long for him to obey her command. She watched as he started unbuckling his belt and—how did he manage to make it look so sensual? His shirt came off after, then his loose slacks were thrown away, then his underwear was next to her pile of clothes on the floor. Then he was stark naked and she found herself irresistibly drawn to the allure of his body.

Her eyes traced the lines of his form with a reverence that borders on worship. From the broad expanse of his shoulders to the defined muscles that rippled beneath his skin, muscles that weren't made from working out, but probably made from his constant work on the field. The touch of her gaze caressed the contours of his soft abdomen before lingering between his legs.

His length laid heavily against his stomach and it took a lot of self-control for her not to drool. He was so thick and heavy, it was a sight that evoked a combination of awe, desire, and a profound appreciation for the beauty that lay before her.

"Y/n?" he asked, tilting his head to the side with an amused smirk. Her eyes immediately raised to his face, realizing she had been ogling without care.

There it was again, his infuriating smirk. As her eyes met him, an urge to wipe away the smug look on his face took over her. It was as if an untamed flame had been ignited within her, urging her to take the lead, to embrace her dominance.

She slowly made her way back to him. Once she threw each leg on either side of his thighs, she wasted no time and took his cock in her hand. She raised her hips as she stroked the tip of him between her slick folds, feeling him catch against her tight entrance as she let out an airy gasp.

A strangled moan escaped his lips. "You're so wet."

She smiled and then slowly lowered herself, and finally—finally—felt his girth stretch her. Her gasp was overthrown by the loud groan that left his lips as he entered her, his forehead falling on her shoulder.

"God, I forgot you feel so good," he growled in her ear.

He couldn't express the sensation with better words, it was as if he was stealing her exact thoughts. Their first night together was somehow a blur to her, but now... The burn of him stretching her felt amazing. She had already felt him inside her before, but she wasn't sure she felt as full as she did now. Her body was taking him so eagerly and with nothing else separating them, he felt so deliciously warm and hard she could practically feel his veins pulsing inside her.

She wanted to savor the moment, so she held onto him and silently sat there on his lap. She clenched her thighs on either side of his hips, trying to keep him still while he was buried deep inside of her, her walls twitching around him. Spencer's large calloused palms stroked along her exposed back and down towards her ass as goosebumps began to appear on her skin. Evidentially bored from the lack of movement, he tried to move her body, which she simply smiled in return.

"Stop doing that," she whispered and relaxed into his touch, nuzzling against his collarbone as she pressed chaste kisses along his chest.

"You're... not moving."

"You have to be patient."

A moan was caught up in his throat as her lips sent shivers all around his body. "You're such a tease."

"And you shouldn't have started being so cocky." She leaned into his ear, fingers running up the span of his chest. "Do you want me to move?" He desperately nodded as a wicked grin formed on her lips. "Then beg for it."

She felt him throbbing inside her, a heavy breath escaping from his chest. His hands hesitantly gripped onto her hips, unsure of himself. "Pl–please."

"Please what?"

"Please, move your hips," he pleaded, his voice taut in his throat, his muscles involuntarily contracting beneath her.

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

She then planted her knees on the cushions on either side of him and started to ride him in earnest, watching in awe as his mouth fell open and he truly wailed out his pleasure. He had never been quiet during their intimate moments, but this was loud, even for him. She was immersed in the symphony of his voice, an intoxicating melody that stirred her own desires and ignited a fire within.

And so she moved at a more rapid pace and another moan escaped his lips, followed by a soft whimper. His voice, unapologetically loud, became a source of empowerment and validation. Every passionate utterance reminded her that she was the catalyst of his pleasure. She found herself intoxicated by the knowledge that she had the power to elicit such a fervent response from him, to bring him to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

Spencer's mind was numb, the tiredness he felt earlier seeped away from his body, replaced by a desperate need. It felt so good to be buried so deep inside her as he watched her bounce up and down so effortlessly. She was so warm, so soft... it was too much for him to bear. His eyes drew heavy as he watched, slack-jawed, hypnotized by her hips, helplessly lost in her rhythm as his hips rutted upward gently to meet hers at every fall.

"I can't—" Spencer growled as she suddenly reached up her body to squeeze her breasts while moving on top of him, the sight making him tremble. He watched as she pinched and tugged at her nipples while her hips jolted at a steady rhythm. Her name fell from his lips softly, barely above a whisper.

A coy smile stretched along her mouth. "What's wrong, Spencer?"

"S-stop." He stammered, trying to collect himself as he tried to ignore the throb between his legs. "I won't be able to last long if y-you—"

She grabbed onto his shoulders at his words and quickened her pace. "I'm not slowing down. You're close, aren't you?"

He nodded helplessly.

"Then come for me."

He leaned back and looked into her eyes. "B-But you haven't—"

"I said," she demanded, bouncing along his cock. "Come for me."

He was barely holding on. It wasn't that he didn't want to reach his high, just not like this nor this quick, but it seemed she had other plans for him and she was relishing in the power it gave her. She gently wrapped her fingers around his throat, watching his reaction.

His eyes widened with a mix of surprise and desire as the rhythm of their bodies heightened. She watched as he surrendered willingly to her every whim, his own desire mirrored in his eyes. Then her grip tightened and her touch was no longer gentle and yielding. He marveled at her newfound confidence, her eyes ablaze with a commanding presence that left him both awestruck and surrendered.

Her voice, once soft and submissive, now dripped with confidence and dominance. "I know you want to," she whispered, her lips grazing along his mouth. "Be a good boy and come for me."

He whimpered at her words but she could still feel him hanging onto the last thread of self-control that he had. She gripped his throat tighter and leaned into his ear.

"If you won't come, then I'll make you," she whispered, rolling his earlobe between her teeth gently before she intentionally squeezed her inner walls around him, strangling his cock in a vice grip as she rode him with renewed vigor.

It was enough for him to let go, his teeth latching onto the curve of her neck as he let out a crude hiss, a pleasurable moan coursing through him as he frantically jutted his narrow hips up to meet her brutal thrusts. She finally let go of her grip and cradled his head against her chest while she continued to bounce on his lap. Her legs were starting to ache with the strain, but she hardly felt it over the rush.

Moments after his body seized, his body lurched and shook with every spurt, a hoarse cry forced from his throat with each spasm. She willed her hips to slow to a lazy grind, ignoring the way her body screamed at her for it. But the sensation to reach her own pleasure was consuming her and she began to roll her hips, trying to focus on the sensation of his cock hitting the same spot each time.

Then she gasped, catching her off guard when she felt him thrusting his hips up into her, he was flinching from his release but seemed so desperate to please. "Let me do it, I want to feel you come."

She melted instantly, peppering grateful kisses all over his face. Then he slid in and out of her with ease, his release making it wet and slippery, in the best way.

"Spence," she gasped in surprise as each thrust had his cock dragging against her inner walls perfectly, her mouth open in a constant moan as she bounced on his lap. "Oh, my god. Yes, yes, yes."

Maybe this was why he liked having her on top of him so much. He marveled at the intricate dance of limbs and the exquisite weight of her form against his own. Her presence, so close yet so tenderly apart, sent a rush of sensations cascading through him. From his vantage point, he could admire the grace of her profile, the gentle sweep of her hair cascading over her shoulder, the delicate curve of her neck inviting the soft brush of his lips.

And as his eyes traveled down her body, he could see their bodies intertwining into one. He watched as he moved into her, leaving rings of her slickness and the evidence of his own release around the base of his cock. The crude sound of her slick walls squelching around him rang in his ears, and he continued thrusting his hips against the same spot inside her, focusing his movements as he worked her toward her release.

She could feel the familiar sensation in her stomach and she found herself clutching onto him tighter, her nose scrunching as she felt herself on the cusp of her climax. "Faster, Spence."

His movements became unrelenting, each thrust had him hitting that sweet spot and soon there was nothing she could do but let out a loud cry, her chest heaving as she tried to focus on the pleasure that was slowly taking over her rational thoughts, the coil inside her desperately close to breaking.

"Fuck," She gasped, her hands reaching over to hold his shoulders, nails leaving red lines in their wake as she felt herself teetering on the edge of her bliss. "I-I'm gonna—"

Then a loud moan ripped from her lungs as she felt her climax surge through her, her body trembling as he continued his harsh pace, hips clapping loud and furious into her. Then he pressed his lips onto hers, swallowing all her pleasant screams as he held onto her. His forceful thrust and sudden control over her had her sob against his mouth, thighs trembling on either side of his thighs. Her eyes rolled behind her closed lids, making a mess over his hips with how much liquid surged from her body.

She squirmed with a whimper when his hand swept over her back with a pleased, low rumble, his nose and parted lips nuzzling over her neck as she eased down her high. Rhythmic, vibrating purrs ran through him and lured her into relaxation as she panted and threw all of her weight on top of him.

Spencer felt her body relaxing and pulled her close as his thoughts suddenly swirled in a whirlwind of emotions. It was not long ago since the day he met her, yet he found himself inexplicably drawn to her, his heart entangled in a web of enchantment.

He questioned the depth of his emotions. How could such intensity blossom from a single night, into another intense night? It was as if the universe conspired to bring them together again, even if only for a fleeting moment. 

And now he couldn't deny the surge of longing that coursed through his veins, the ache to delve deeper into her world. Thus, he found himself asking, "Stay here for the night."

Her breathing seemed to hitch at his words, her mind going into bewilderment. But then her heart softened as she melted further into his arms. 

Was it foolish to yearn for something more, to desire a continuation of the connection they had forged? It probably was, considering the circumstances they had met. But she couldn't help it. It was just one night, right? She could let herself linger on this bliss for one night. Nothing less, nothing more. So she nodded, giving him her answer. 

"Okay." Then she shifted across his lap and winced at the mess sticking between her legs. "I think I need a shower."

"Yeah," he noted. "We should probably wash ourselves."

She pulled away and gazed into his eyes with a small smile. "Was that an invitation?"

He thought for a while, examining every detail of her face. "Maybe."

Y/n wasn't sure how it happened but he somehow managed to stand himself up with her in his embrace. She wrapped her arms clumsily around his neck for support, gasping at his impulse gesture, her feet dangling on either side of him as she squealed.

"At least give me a warning!"

He grinned as he walked over to the bathroom with her clinging to him as if she weighed nothing.

And at that moment, she felt conflicted, not because he was inviting her to wash off their bodies together, but because truthfully, she wanted it as much as he did. It was the way how laughing with him after something so intense seemed surprisingly natural. It was also the way her mind kept on reminding her of what they did, what they were about to do, and what she was currently feeling, and the latter she had no clue of answering.

Whatever. She would think of it later, she was going to have this moment for one night. For now, she was going to scrub away the smell of sex in the proximity of the man she couldn't keep her hands off, pulling him closer as he finally steadied her back to her feet—kissing him once again underneath the warm spray of water.

She would think of the consequences tomorrow.

>> NEXT PART

.

taglist

@tereresrock @casthings @vader-is-hot @maevethelesbian @whereintheworldisspencerreid @reidverseq @niyahwhoreworld @l4venderia @theintrovertedthespian @lovelyxtom @tayzerr-72 @mulbsstuff @dorothleah @stevenknightmarc @prettyboyspenceee @gracesmusings @kalulakunundrum @fearlessmoony @r5court @simp4f1 @thecrazytealady @nyeddleblog @ghostheartbeat @comfortzonequeen @iiheartbowie @louderfortheback @busy-buzzing @alexis-exe2008 @imtherealslimmoony @baeofevery @elamultistan @lyxennz @avid-fic-reader-05

@cowstealer427 @thollandsdarling @ghxst-heart @cashtons-wife @kyuupidwrites @you-sunshine @comboboo @sebastiansstanswhore @panic-monster @marimorena06 @alice-ace299 @uncle-eggy @bollzinurmouth @julezs-bl0g @ruhrohragu @eternally-passionate @kazuumii @spencerr3idd @withered-rxse @broken-pieces @siredtomsgilbert @kaiya3333 @furiousbanditnickelknight @pinkangelavenue @slay-and-gay @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @zeysartzone

PLEASE READ: If any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I could see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

And don’t forget to interact with the story!

[foursaints]

i love the dynamic you give to rosekiller. its like, theyre such individuals..but theyre so unified. barty is so average and normal on the outside. he flirts and talks all casual and doesnt have a single worry..and then theres evan. little freak is digging holes in the backyard and planting animal bones he found in the woods. he kinda just stares at you and nobody really knows what his voice sounds like (he would be mistaken as a girl if he spoke, thats how feminine his voice is. and he uses such feminine speech patterns).

i love them because barty brings out the normal in evan, and evan brings out the weird in barty. barty is teaching evan how to socialize in the daytime while evan is teaching barty (mumbling incoherently) how to while poking at his teeth in the night.

oh i feel like standing up and cheering.. YES!! you get it!!! you've touched on something i really enjoy, which is the difference in perceived normal-ness (😭) between them? to me, they're both equally freakish INSIDE, but they socialize differently...

my barty is still a transgressive deviant bastard, but i think it's a crucial part of canon that the wizengamot is so shocked at the accusation against him. he breaks more rules than anyone, but he also knows how to Play Ball when it matters. + i think there's also a lot of social stratification within Slytherin... regulus is the de-facto Heir of House Black, and even though he's kind of cold and unsociable he would still have a decent amount of slytherin clout. barty is top of their class, he's reggie's best friend, he's charming, he probably sleeps around... they're both basically doing fine

meanwhile the rosier twins are these haunted tubercular oddities who were homeschooled up until 3rd year, barely speak to anyone else, playing with bones (sidenote: androgynous effete evan my beloved). ESSENTIALLY: evan 1000% gets the "loony lovegood" treatment from the other slytherins!!!! evan is, of course, too busy dissecting flobberworm carcasses to even Notice or Care

i'm just saying that I think it would be entertaining for the rest of the school to watch Barty Crouch Jr™️, handsome and generally well-liked slytherin, just fall ASS OVER TEAKETTLE for the weirdest fucking creature on hogwarts grounds 😭... barty is tagging at evan's heels, carrying his books, obediently doting after him, all while evan barely registers his presence. it's just MESMERIZING to watch that dynamic play out super publicly in class.

[canmom]

Exordia - advance review

So. I finished the book!

This is not everything I will write about Exordia. That will come when the book is like, officially out, and I feel comfy spelling out the ending and quoting passages at length.

This 'advance review' is split into two parts. The first part is quite abstract, so I'll copy it here.

If Baru took an elliptical path towards its subject matter, by defamiliarising and rearranging the material of history… Exordia just gets straight in there.

How to describe Exordia? Maybe you could call it philosophy-driven science fiction, a thought experiment about ethics. Maybe you could compare it to Arrival, but shot up with black humour (it’s a book that could make me laugh and cry, sometimes at the same time) and real tragedy (at the core is the genocide of the Kurds in the late 80s, and the many betrayals and failures of American imperialism). It’s got a lot of action and military details, with a good few spies and soldiers as central characters, but broadly it’s one of the sharpest eviscerations of the US military and its role in the world I’ve encountered in Western science fiction.

The first two thirds or so lay out the driving, fascinating ‘what the hell is this thing’ mystery lined with all manner of juicy body horror and drama—yet the core high-concept premise is laid out almost immediately, you know what's at stake. The last third… escalates.

It’s full of the usual meaty Seth themes, iterating on the ideas first laid out in Baru. But it’s a distinct flavour of its own. That escalation is… well, I can’t describe in detail, not while the book isn’t even out, but it’s nuts. Not just for the scale, but for how convincingly it sells concepts that if I described them straightforwardly would sound completely ridiculous.

Equally, it’s a study of a markedly diverse group of characters thrown together from all over the world, each constructed with very evident care and nuance. It goes places that so many writers would probably feel ‘damn, that’s probably way too thorny for someone like me to write about’—and yet somehow, it manages to handle it gracefully each time. Certainly, you can perhaps inevitably tell when Seth is writing from direct experience and when they are (as they used to say back in the ’10s) Writing The Other, if only through what they assume you know and what they need to explain as much as everything—and yet there are always all these telling details (the scientist cursing out R) that make these characters come alive with convincing presence and humour.

(Of course the autistic-ass lesbians are my faves. It’s not as overtly a Lesbian Book as Baru was, but there’s a strong current of gay shit.)

A few other reviewers mention Crichton, but I haven’t read Crichton, so… I’ll have to make other comparisons. But then the thing is it’s very self-aware about existing in the fabric of science fiction. This book is set in our world, not in the near future but the recent past, in the late Obama administration. A lot of the things you might compare it to (including a couple I’ve mentioned, Arrival, Crichton) will be invoked as explicit, in-character allusions as these very sharp, funny, modern people try to make sense of their crazy situation. Sometimes it feels like Tamsyn’s use of memes as texture, but it never gets overbearing. The rhythms of Seth’s prose have been refined by Baru into a powerful suite of devices to make you cackle and go, noooo, Seetttthhhhh…

It’s a fascinating blend of hard-ish scifi, with the big ideas carried by surprisingly accurate higher-mathematical technobabble, and what you could probably best call occultism: narrative and ethics and gods and mythology. Seth always tends to deflect when praised for their ability to hop between a dozen different disciplines and pull them together into one unifying story, saying that they’re just good at looking up summaries, or that they had help from the right people. Maybe so, but it works, it passes the smell test, and Seth’s real genius is their remarkable ability to tie all these big grand ideas back into the world of character and emotion.

Since this is an advance review… I gotta be careful how much I say! Usually I assume you’ve read it if you’re going to and dive straight into the spoilers and long quotes, but here I feel like I should take a little care to avoid describing too precisely the exact beats of the story. (Rest assured I will give it the thorough treatment when it comes out in full).

But, I feel like I want to say something a little more substantial. So here’s a description of the mechanism. If all you want to know is whether you should read this book, hopefully I’ve given you plenty of reasons that the answer is god, yes, do it. If you want to know more, read on.

[cinamun]

Heavily (100%) inspired by my anonymous friend, The Drake Family is proud to learn you something during this, the Blackest month of the year.

Today, the Drakes are teaching us all about liberation and freedom.  They would like to start with the flag:

The Pan-African flag was created in 1920 to represent people of the African Diaspora and to symbolize Black liberation in the United States. As flags symbolize the union of governance, people, and territory, this flag was created to give Black people in America and the world over a symbol that unifies the Diaspora. This tri-color flag consists of three equal horizontal bands colored Red, Black, and Green:

Red: the blood that unites all people of Black African ancestry, and shed for liberation

Black: for the people whose existence as a nation, though not a nation-state, is affirmed by the existence of the flag

Green: the abundant land and vibrant natural wealth of Africa, the Motherland. *Gold or yellow is used in addition to green as a symbol of the great wealth found beneath and above the soil of the great continent of Africa.

Since its existence, a number of African nations have adopted the colors as a symbol of sovereignty and unity. It has also been adopted by several Black organizations that carry on the fight towards justice and liberation for Black people.

Bloop

You may be asking yourself “Self, I thought the Emancipation Proclamation ended slavery and Black folks are free now?” Well, you’re wrong. 

Dead wrong. But the Drakes believe that each one should teach one, so take some time to read why we say their names, why the fight for freedom is still very real and very present (read this too, and this, also this) and enjoy the rest of this Black ass month.

[a-midnight-rest]

In this part 3 of How to fix the T'au, I've came up with a way to integrate this faction a bit better in the 40k universe.

Previously, I've said how the T'au being more positive helped the setting in being dark. When everything is horrible, you lose perspective. I also said that they needed to be more mythological, and by that I meant using supernatural or faction specific means to fight the horrors, such as legions born in Tyranid-like cloning pools, or Demon-viruses sent to infect vehicles.

But still, there is one thing they lack and that would *really* put them on a similar footing as the others.

They need to suffer an Apocalypse and become an Apocalyspe for someone else.

The only true strife they have is, comically, one relegated to their backstory and from which their society arose. By comparison, the Imperium had had several apocalyptic events and is scarred for it (the Horus Heresy, the War of the Beast, the Age of Strife, etc...).

The T'au need to suffer something. Something big and society changing, something destructive which would make them lose something irreplacable. But, as they adapt, they would grow from it new ways. I see several possible:

-A devastating civil war between the Purists of the Empire, a group fighting for an empire of T'au without any aliens, and the Solar Congregation, a partially religious group devoted to unity between species of the Empire.

The first group would be raging racists, but their fear of things like the birth of the Greater Good God would be justified. The second group would be corruptible, but the unheard of collaboration between species would be a net good for all involved. It's important that both be right and wrong at the same time.

The result would be the end of the Expansions with the loss of the Hegemony of the Ethereal cast. They would still hold the Empire together, barely, but they would be unable to quell the flames of war.

-The destruction of T'au and core systems. One major faction finally pay them some attention and decide to not half ass it, they storm the gate and absolutely destroy the First Sphere, before leaving them to rot. The Empire wpuld now only be its colonies, surrounding a number of dead system that was their home, and possibly with some horrors emerging outward from the ashes (demons, tyrannids, a new Ork settlement, idk).

Now at the mercy of the system they conquered, the T'au would reap what they sowed and be welcomed and supported by the populations who truly felt part of the Empire. The Empire would rise again, but bruised and bitter. Still clinging to the Greater Good, they would go on to do greater sacrifices and change to a total war economy.

-Maybe something else.

Equally important is that they become an Apolcalypse for others, a true existential threat to everyone else. The usual for the others is genocide, with Corruption for some, but that's not really a thing for the T'au. They are not genocidal. They are colonialists, but that only works for factions with a society.

I would vote for them becoming a White Noise, à threat that cancels others rather thab overwhelm them. They do not conquer the Imperium, they inexorably extend their influence leading to worlds joining them. They do not eradicate genestealler cults, they cure them and isolate tyrannids from the Hive Mind. They do not triumph over the Orks, they sterelize them, leading their violent nature to quell their number without respleinishing.

Make the New T'au an apocalypse that strikes the strength of their enemies, that "normalize" them. Make the arrival of the T'au make all ready their arms, because they know that if they don't they will be struck in a way they can't handle. Make them the White Noise of the universe, a unifying blank chorus that neuteurs everyone who is caught in it.

Give the T'au both those apocalypses, and they will be more integrated to the 40k universe.

[razzle-zazzle]

1922 Words; @brain-bumbler's Dormmates AU

AO3 ver

“Move it, pompadork.” Dion growled, trying to get back to his dorm.

“Oh, am I in your way?” Morris moved right in front of Dion. “Guess you’ll just have to sit there and wait then.” He looked up at Dion, radiating as much challenge as was physically possible.

“Do you get paid to be an ass?” Dion snarled. “Do you wake up every morning and decide ‘Oh, I need to be as big of a jerk as possible’?” His voice rose with his frustration, even through his Morris Impression.

“I don’t know,” Morris countered, “Do you make it your mission to be a blight on everyone’s day?” This only drew forth more high-pitched curses from Dion, to which Morris began to respond in kind.

“It’s way too early for this.” Adam grumbled, in the doorway of his and Morris’ dorm. A telekinesis hand appeared in between Morris and Dion, putting a pause on their argument.

“STAY OUT OF IT!” They both voiced their disagreement as one, only for that to spark a fresh wave of confrontation as they simultaneously accused the other of copying them.

Adam brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and groaned. “I’m not dealing with this.” He decided. “Not at this hour.”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty funny.” Gisu commented from her spot on the couch. She still had her pajamas on, the hood of her rex onesie casting a toothed shadow over her eyes.

“Only for the first twenty minutes.” Adam responded, moving over to the kitchen. “Then you just wait for them to stop, and they never do.”

“Huh.” Gisu said, in a tone that said that she didn’t particularly care what Adam had been putting up with in the boys’ half of the dorm. She shrugged, still working through the bowl of cereal held on a telekinesis hand in front of her. “They’ve gotta run out of steam eventually.” She declared, between bites.

“They better.” Norma mumbled from the breakfast bar. “Or I’m throwing both of them out of the window.” As Morris could levitate and Dion was an acrobat, neither would be in very much danger from being defenestrated. But it would be satisfying, and Norma looked like she was seriously considering it as Dion and Morris got progressively louder.

“Dion must really care about Morris.” Raz decided through a yawn. “‘Cause Dee and Frazie argue with each other all the time, and they care about each other.” He watched the two for a moment, then added, “And they don’t even argue in a mean way.”

Norma snorted. “Maybe tell them that.” She suggested. “That’ll probably get them to stop.”

“Huh, that might work.” Raz nodded. He hopped off of the stool, his toast forgotten as he skipped over to Dion and Morris. “Hey, guys—”

“WHAT?” Dion and Morris both turned to Raz in tandem, once again unified by the threat of their argument being stopped.

“You argue like siblings.” Raz pointed out. “Dion must really care about you, Morris!” He grinned, showing off all of his teeth, not a shred of anything but mischief in his eyes.

The reaction was immediate. Dion’s face flushed, protestations falling from his lips as he sputtered. Morris looked equally as put-out, frantically trying to assert how much he hated Dion’s guts.

“With the way you too are so obsessed with each other, some might think you’re lovers!” Norma called out from the breakfast bar. Morris and Dion’s equally red faces turned to her, too stunned to speak.

Morris recovered his aplomb first. “I am not obsessed with this clown.” He asserted, moving over to the side.

“I barely think about you at all.” Dion agreed, face still red as he flipped over to his dorm.

Silence reigned in the common room for a moment.

“Huh.” Adam commented. “Wonder how long until it starts up again?”

Morris huffed. “Hey!”

Gisu cackled.

+=+=+=+=+

“Pretty please? With sprinkles on top?” Hand clasped together, Gisu gave Dion her best puppy dog eyes. “Just once?” She even batted her eyelashes, too, to really sell it.

Dion’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting away from Gisu. “No.” He reaffirmed, even though his voice wasn’t as firm as it had been before.

“Aww, c’mon!” Gisu urged. She turned back to the couch in the common area. “Guys, help me out here!”

Norma continued knitting, ignoring the proceedings. Sam narrowed her eyes at Dion, but otherwise said nothing—possibly still upset at being banned from the kitchen. Adam rather pointedly looked away from the breakfast bar. Morris and Lizzie, however, both added their voices to the cause, the video game in front of them paused as they looked over the back of the couch. Their voices intermingled as they tried to cajole Dion into conceding. Gisu watched as Dion’s resolve dissolved.

Dion rallied, glaring at Morris. “I’m not cooking for you.” He growled. “The answer’s still no.”

Morris smirked. “Wow, you must be really bad at cooking.” He taunted. “Suppose we’ll just have to make do with someone better.”

Raz, from where he was on the stool next to Gisu’s, turned his eyes to Dion. “Don’t you want to show them how good you are?” He asked, his face covered in the sweetest innocence he could manage.

Dion gave Raz a dry look. “You’re just saying that because Gisu bribed you.” He pointed out, knowing full well that Raz was mostly just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Is it working?” Raz asked, face morphing into a mischievous grin.

Dion’s face went through several expressions that essentially boiled down to saying “yes, but I don’t want it to” without him needing to say anything at all. He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists, visibly working his jaw as he searched for a response.

After a moment, Dion threw his head back and groaned, conceding. “Fine!” He turned back to the kitchen. “But if any one of you comes in here while I’m working then the deal’s off!”

Raz and Gisu cheered.

Lizzie pumped a fist in that air. “Free food!”

Norma rubbed at her temples. “Great, that’s settled.” She commented. “Are you going to get back to your game?” She asked, tilting her head towards the screen.

Morris turned around first and grabbed his controller. “Hey, Gisu, do you wanna join?”

Gisu waved him off. “Nah, I wanna watch.” She said.

Lizzie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

+=+=+=+=+

“Right.” Dion set down the last plate. “Bon appétit, or whatever.” He grumbled, going back to the counter to grab his own plate.

Raz dug in immediately, uttering his thanks around his bites.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Dion chided without even turning around.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Morris said, “This is really good.”

“Yeah, this is top-notch.” Adam agreed. “How long have you been cooking?”

Dion preened. “Of course it’s good,” He said, “And that’s none of your business.”

Morris made a rude gesture in Dion’s direction. “No need to be a sourpuss.” He pointed out.

“I’ll be as sour as I like!” Dion had turned to look back at the table, his plate only half filled. After a moment, he turned back to the counter.

“Today’s lesson!” Norma interjected, before Dion and Morris could start to really go at it. “Let’s talk about that!”

Raz perked up immediately. “Yeah!” He agreed. “I had this idea for telekinesis that I wanted to try out later.” He waved his hands as he spoke, his food forgotten in front of him for the moment. “I was wondering how much weight it can handle, and if I could lift myself with it.”

“That’s just worse levitation.” Morris decided, between bites.

“And who made you the expert?” Gisu asked teasingly, leaning over the table. “You’re not Milla.”

Morris gave Gisu a flat look. “I’m an expert.” He argued. “Clearly.”

“Then I guess I am too!” Gisu countered. She turned back to Raz. “We should go out to the Questionable Area and test that tomorrow.”

Raz nodded. “Yeah!” He grinned. He went back to his meal, but the conversation continued on as Lizzie brought up a project Compton had assigned her and Norma started asking questions about it to be polite.

A wave of homesickness passed over the table with no discernible source. The trash can opened, and Adam looked over to see Dion scraping his food into the trash, expression stone.

“You okay?” He started, but Dion just stomped past the table without a word. He crossed the common area and disappeared down the hall, melancholy bleeding into anger radiating from him the whole way there.

“What’s his problem?” Morris asked.

Raz shrugged. “How would I know?” He didn’t dig around in Dion’s head often, both to avoid Dion somehow finding out and getting annoyed by it and because there were better things to do with his time. Half the stuff Dion did anyway barely made sense as it was, so why would Raz have any insight? “It’s not like him to waste food.” He added. Something must have really ticked Dion off then, Raz supposed.

Lizzie shrugged. “Maybe he’s being pissy for the sake of it.” She suggested. She took another bite. “This is really good though.” She complimented, reaching for her glass.

A wave of agreement passed over the table. It was a general sense of that was weird and a big mental shrug at whatever was going on with Dion.

As usual, it didn’t take long for the conversation to move on.

+=+=+=+=+

“Your brother is a housewife.”

Raz looked up from Issue #242 of True Psychic Tales at Sam’s comment. “What?” Sam was a little different at the best of times, and utterly incomprehensible at the worst. But after knowing her for a few weeks, Raz was reasonably confident that he could decipher the method to her madness more often than not.

This, however, was one of those “nots.” Sam stared at him innocently over a bowl of… something, a bird perched upon her head as she stirred. Raz stared at her from the booth he was seated in, wondering if the Lumberstack had a gas leak. Or if it even had gas to leak. He’d heard that gas leaks could make people say funny things.

Or it might just be Sam being Sam.

“Which one?” Raz asked, because while he had an idea he still wanted to be sure. If Sam was talking about Queepie then Raz would have no hope of ever understanding what she was talking about.

“Dion.” Sam chirped, turning her attention back to the bowl on the counter before her. “He knows how to cook and mend, he cleans, and he’s good with kids. Housewife material.” She nodded after listing off her reasons.

“Oookay.” Raz said. If he thought about it, then what Sam was saying did make sense. Dion was good at all those things, though Raz wasn’t sure where Sam got the last point from. Still, the logic was clear and easy to follow, even if it would never have occurred to Raz. Sam was like that, coming at everything sideways. Sometimes it resulted in the most confusing things Raz had ever heard, and sometimes it made sense, like now.

Raz frowned. “But he’s not married?” Didn’t being a wife require marriage? Raz was pretty sure that was the case.

Sam chuckled. “Not yet he isn’t.” How she made it sound both lighthearted and threatening, Raz would never understand.

Raz nodded, turning back to his comic. Better to just nod and agree.

[northwest-cryptid]

Admittedly not everyone seems to agree with me on this and that's perfectly fine but I love how there's a central motif that runs through all the major boss fights in Mabinogi because at first, for the first roughly half the generation quests it seems to always be used hype up the big bads of the bosses, not just the small fry but specifically the "do or die" fights where it's pitting you against a proper threat. For a good while it feels like the boss's theme but by the later half of the game you begin to realize the motifs and arrangement is 100% meant to be a moment of confidence and inspire triumph in you. It's not the boss's theme, it's YOUR theme. I will always say this but The Last Stand [Ultimate] is a perfect mix of imposing boss music where you feel like you're actually facing a proper threat, and your own inspiring theme as a rally cry to remind you that, hey; you're the fucking milletian.

I understand that not everyone seems to hear the same central motifs and such, I often hear "nah man these boss themes are really different there's nothing similar about them at all" and I 100% get that because yes a lot of them are unique, but they are a progression of the motif and I think that's what I see that a lot of people don't. I'm not saying "I'm clearly smarter than others" or some shit, it's just how I view it how others view it. If you see them all as stand alone tracks yea there's nothing unifying them; if you pay attention however to the fact they're mostly final boss themes, or major boss themes; and then you notice how it ramps up from having a central melody that plays, to becoming almost "holy" in it's religious undertones as you ascend into demigod and start fighting the gods; and then you notice that The Last Stand combines the elements at first turning all these themes against you, the choir, and major melody of the song are 100% not in your favor, there is nothing inspiring about it; it's meant to make you feel vulnerable and scared in that moment; right up until the main chorus of the song when it flips 180 with the choir you've come to associate with your more dire fights and your main melody that was there to hype you up during the very first time you fought Glas finally inspiring a triumphant victorious vibe; it finally becomes your theme. Which is super cool because all things considered it's a remix of Glas' theme since now you're finally getting to fight it at full power. The first time you fought Glas it wasn't even completely formed, it was a rushed job, and it was weak for it; just like you fresh out of G1 you were still likely new to the game, with only a few skills in your pocket; but now you're fighting this absolutely terrifying creature at it's peak, and you know who else has become much, MUCH stronger? You. To me, that moment with the choir and organ absolutely popping off it's a way of showing you that this thing is almost godlike in it's power now, but when it swaps to your hype ass theme it's literally telling you "hey so are you, you're still on equal ground with this thing; don't let it intimidate you."

Music is so cool man I have so many feelings about it.

[sourbat]

Kloktober day 1: Your Favorite Character 

Character: (SnB) Pickles 

Summary: Just before the show, Pickles tries to give himself some words of encouragement 

Rating: M for language and drug use 

Read below or on Ao3

Systematic thunder. Animalistic, rebellious, but completely unified with purpose. The thousands of pairs of rubber soles that stamped in unison for what was likely to be Snakes N’ Barrels’ last show in Tokyo. Raucous clapping that, under layers of piping and cement, resulted in a frightening dissonance–made worse by the third line of vodka and shot of cough syrup. Nothing a line or two couldn’t sort out, but in between the horrendous throb that seared the temples and the icy sweat that rolled down his neck each time he heard the supportive, but equally ghoulish echo of the band’s name, Pickles was starting to wonder if he should bother leaving his changing room.  

Pickles stared at his shaken expression. Under a fine layer of eyeshadow and hairspray was a pale and gaunt figure. A decrepit fellow with bags forming under his eyes from lack of nourishment and rest. From running on fumes and then empty for days on end. From taking two lines of coke because Tony and Snizz reminded him not two hours ago that this was it, that they were done with each other and everything after the tour was concluded, and no amount of kind words or financial favors could change that. 

His tongue licked his cracked lips, then he applied another roll of chapstick. He grabbed the edge of the vanity’s worn frame. The center of his gloves were moist with sweat. The wrists underneath: raw and welted from chronic picking. He didn’t care to think of the mess starting to form underneath his bandana.

Behind him, the door cracked open. “Pickles, ten minutes.” 

No surprise, it was a voice Pickles didn’t recognize. Who it was hardly mattered at this point; it wasn’t any of the guys. 

Without tearing from his reflection, Pickles replied, “Yeah.” 

He waited for the door to click shut behind him, then returned his bloodshot eyes back to his repulsed snarl. He fixated on his irises. Two green balls drowning in red lava, stinging from all the mascara and eyeliner that covered the dark lines haunting his screwed visage. 

He raised a frigid hand, contorted it into a crooked finger that pressed against his mirrored self.  

“Alright now.” He started with a rough spat, but with a sudden flip, let out an uneven sight turned into a miserable choke. That horrible noise then melted into a muffled cry. 

He dropped his head. The weight of hair shifted as it stiffly draped over his reddening face. Behind his personal veil, Pickles huffed and hiccuped from the chemical’s thick fumes, spat out another groan, then inhaled a gut wrenching sob before sucking it all away to once again face himself.

C’mon. Just a few minutes till showtime. 

He flipped his head back and, through a snort and spit, fell back to his miserable reflection and said, “Alright. Alright, ya’ fucker. Yer gonna go out there. Yer gonna go out there and yer gonna perform so damn good.” 

He raised the blasted finger once more and, without daring to touch the cold mirror, pointed at his self-maintained, twitching grin. “Yer gonna show everyone, ‘specially those bastards, what ya’ got.” 

He sniffed. A dry flame raged within his nostrils. Too much coke, but the emotional desire for another hit outweighed the concern of a potential bloody nose. Especially now. 

Fuck, maybe another shot of vodka would do the trick. 

No, back to business. 

“Cause you still got it,” Pickles spoke through a crackling voice box. He watched his throat bob, fighting against yet another growing want for dopamine and to let it all out all over the walls and furniture. “Ya still got it, right?” 

Did he? When he looked into the mirror, all he saw was his sad sack shitty self. White and chapped and dry as all hell. He didn’t see any answers. Didn't see any prayers or hail Marys behind the glitter and red pleather belt. Just a sorry-ass excuse of a man in an empty changing room that once hosted an entire band some three years ago. When they were still playing together. Still riding the same limo. 

Somehow, despite the earthquaking noise rumbling through the walls, Pickles made out the distinct threats of his arguing bandmates. 

He blinked and saw his frightening expression betray him. 

“Aww fuck.” He stepped away from the mirror, away from the morose shadow of a man and the insistent stomping that only served to count down to the inevitable event horizon. No escape.  The band was done for. His time spent investing in its success was effectively spiraling to its untimely end. 

Pickles’ bottom lip gave into a tremble. “Goddamnit.” He whispered to himself, “this is it, ain’t it?” 

His fist slammed into the wooden counter. A half-empty bottle of makeup remover fell on its side, and gold glitter spilled and stained the top. 

“Fuck, what am I gonna do?” Tears threatened his eyes, along with the colorful mask he had spent so much time tempering. In response, Pickles held his breath. No way he was going to break down, not when he had less than five minutes till curtain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Eyes shut, Pickles began pacing. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to let the guys see him like this. He had to be strong. Not just for him and Sammy, but Tony and Snizzy who needed it most of all, and the fans and everything else that was on the line tonight. Had to be the strong one. The bigger man, even though he was everything but. 

Pickles sniffled. The muscles in his jaw ached, and the skin around his chin was going numb from how tight he was clenching his teeth. 

Above, the thousands of fans began to chant the band’s name in unison. 

Listen, Pickles began inwardly before feeling the sharp sting of tears start to burn his dried, spaced-out eyes. 

Snakes N’ Barrels. Snakes N’ Barrels. Snakes N’ Barrels.

Not going to cry. Not after spending so much time perfecting his makeup. 

Pickles ceased his pointless wandering and faced the mirror. “Listen, you god damn, miserable faggot,” he started, painfully dragging his frown upwards into a frustrated scowl. His nails bore into the chipped wood. Heels dug into the firm concrete. “Yer gonna play yer heart out. Yer gonna sing so damn good we’re gonna sell out on merchandise. We’re gonna make news. We’re gonna cause a damn riot and the boys will see. They’ll fuckin’ see.” 

Sing your heart out. Get all the pretty girls upfront to cry. That’ll get to Tony. And Snizzy? Get him the good shit. During the party. He’ll want to go, ‘specially if it’s after a good show. He’ll be so impressed. 

“They’ll fuckin listen to you,” he insisted to himself.  “Yer a damn music god, ya’ hear? I–they need you.” 

He jabbed his reflection. The cheap, beaded necklaces swayed around his white, wet neck. He needed another hit, but if tonight meant anything at all, it meant going on stage relatively sober. He couldn't get away with slurring any lyrics tonight. He had to be good. He had to fix this. 

How much time did he have left? 

“You can fix this.” The words rushed out through his lips. Anxious, and stricken with desperation. The sound made Pickles take a bit of his inner cheek before ultimately deciding to correct himself. “You gotta fix this. Snakes N’ Barrels is…this band if everything we got. We got nothin’ lined up. Fuck, man, we need to get this right.” 

Pickles honed on his twitching eyelids, then the dazzling green eyes trapped in a red stinging web of veins, and the collecting water daring to ruin his perfected mask. 

Then, his sights turned, away from his lies and to the small, tightly wound  baggie resting on the table behind him. 

“Don’t you fucking dare. Not tonight. We gotta do this. We gotta. We gotta. We–” 

---

Chaos. Hands reaching out. Claws and talons and screeches and cries. Raw emotion that rendered the human form a dangerous and passionately unpredictable weapon. Fans, adoring fans. Was there anything better? 

“Happy Halloween, Toh-key-oooooohhhh!” 

Pickles awed at the unbelievable wave of fans crashing forward. Hundreds of bodies closed to the stage attack the metal gate and line of security. The sound of his fans screaming his name, metal screeching and howling completely drowned the crack that started to break through his throat. 

Fantastical strobes affected his vision, his senses and mind, but Pickles could see the light at the end of his long, dark tunnel through tens of thousands of fans that came tonight. 

Through a genuine grin, he continued: “We’re Snakes N’ Barrels, and we’re happy to be here!”

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Next bit in Unified Kano theory, follows immediately on the previous snippet where Maedhros agrees to show Maglor what Angband was like.

Rated Explicit. Warnings for rape roleplay and very undernegotiated kink. 2.4 k

That next afternoon, Maglor was naked in his brother's bed. Maedhros directed him to grasp the headboard behind him and tied Kano’s hands in place, having Kano hold the end of the rope whenever Maedhros needed to step around him. “After all, it’s your fault I can’t hold both ends myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be when I’m done. Check the tightness, I want you to still be able to play your harp when we’re done.”

Maglor obediently flexed his fingers. “It seems good, but I’ll tell you later if it starts to fell odd.”

“If you do, you might not like the results. You want to experience Angband tonight, and there’s no pity there.”

“But there is respect for usefulness.”

“Sometimes, though your useful function is rarely what you wish it to be. You don’t need hands to scream in that pretty voice, after all.”

Maglor gulped, and nodded. “I understand. My hands feel fine.”

“Perhaps you are starting to, though you’ll be able to go back safely to our brothers in the morning no matter what I do tonight.” Maedhros tied one of Maglor’s ankles to the bedpost, then crouched to look Maglor in the eye. “This is your last chance to back out. After all, none in Angband cared if I screamed, or begged them to let me go, or truly thought myself on the brink of death if they gave me but one more wound.”

“I won’t go back on what I said. I want to understand you, whatever it takes.”

Maedhros nodded, and reached into the bedside table. He pulled out a scrap of fabric, and unceremoniously gagged Maglor.

“Your voice is pretty, but I’d rather you not sing the place down.” Maedhros circled the bed as he talked, voice smoother than normal, the vowels stretched long. “I’d survive of course, but my master would be so upset to lose you. With Feanor dead and his eldest stolen from me, you’re sadly the best I’m going to get.”

Maedhros ran his hands over Maglor’ body, checking his muscles like a newly acquired horse. The touch was clinical rather than passionate, arousing neither of them.

“I suppose it’s not too poor a prize. After all, the other two had such indomitable wills. But a sweet little songbird like you, I bet you change your tune quite easily. What do you think, will you sing prettily for me?”

Maglor shook his head to protest, but let out a surprised yelp when Maedhros’s hand abruptly found his ass.

“Oh, does the little prince have objections? Does he think himself too great to yield for a Maia? We can fix that, if you like.”

Maedhros said the next words in Maglor’s ear, his voice once more his own with no pretense. “There is one you’ve always let use you.”

“Your brother was so strong, so smart, so handsome. Everyone admired him; of course that included you And when he asked to touch you, how could you deny him? He was finally treating you as a peer, not just a child tagging along behind him and his friends.”

“Not that he ever really saw you as an equal. You were just a warm body to him; he fucked you so often only due to convenience. I suppose your form is more pleasant than many, and your lips practiced from the flute. A fuck toy that can hold its breath for minutes is more fun as well. But that’s all you were to him, a pretty toy. If you had asked him to marry you, he would have laughed, and left you by the wayside. By the next day he’d have someone just as pretty in his bed, and never wonder about you again.”

Maglor protested.

“What, do you think my assessment of him unfair? That I can’t possibly know? He was in my power for years. I learned everyone of his deepest desires – and he never mentioned you as anything but a desperate little slut.”

“Or perhaps you’re saying you would complain if he cast you aside. You would shout in the streets, that Maedhros was unfaithful to his brother-lover. Write a song to get every ear on Tirion on your side- or at least against him.”

Maedhros had opened up Maglor’s ass while he spoke. His caresses were mocking though, giving the sort of deep sensual touch that Maedhros usually lavished on Maglor’s cock to his wrist instead, treating his brother’s hole with all the intimacy of plopping a hat on his head.

Maedhros fucked Maglor then, not hard and fast, but reveling in his own pleasure. He didn’t avoid Maglor prostate but neither did he seek it, rutting after his own high as if the body beneath him was nothing but so much meat.

Maedhros came, and wiped his cock off on Maglor’s thighs to clean it.

Maedhros began speaking in that smooth silky voice again, as ‘Sauron’ dropped the act. “You do look pretty, with my seed in you and your cock hard as you wish for release. But not particularly unique. I think you ought to have some way to mark as you different than the other slaves, don’t you? After all, a Prince of the Noldor shouldn’t be mistaken for common rabble.” Maedhros adjusted Maglor’s appearance as he spoke, tucking a bit of hair back behind one ear, moving his arms to a more pleasing angle.

Maedhros reached the foot of the bed again, and massaged Maglor foot. He moved his hand up, caressing Maglor’s calf and groping his thigh. Then he said, “yes, here will do nicely.”

Maedhros took out another length of rope and put it around Maglor’s left arm, right against the shoulder and armpit. Then he grabbed Maglor’s knee, and raised it towards his chest. With a few deft motions, Maglor’s left leg was tied up out of the way, exposing one ass-cheek to his tormentor.

“There. Everyone’s going to be seeing you from this angle, so it’s really the best spot for a mark of authenticity.”

Maedhros turned to the table, and to Maglor’s surprises did not turn around with a pen to write insults on his bare skin. Instead, Maedhros was holding a needle.

Maedhros jabbed the needle into Maglor’s ass, making him yelp from behind the gap. Then Maedhros withdrew the needle, and jabbed it again scarcely a hairs-breadth away.

Maglor flinched and whimpered at the first line. When Maedhros started the second, Maglor squirmed in the ropes. He had not expected the pain to be tedious, but it really was.

Maedhros said, “hold still,” and poked the needle into Maglor’s balls. When Maglor shrieked and his free leg shot straight out. Maedhros waited for a moment, then resumed drawing the star of Feanor.

“It’s lucky that your father chose such a simple symbol. Something like the twin snakes of Arafinwe would require a knife, and your whole back.”

Maglor did his best to stay still, as the tedium was obviously something Maedhros had experienced as well.

At the end, Maedhros said, “There. Now you are marked as a proper whore of Feanor, a slut of the house of Finwe.” Maedhros angled a small mirror so that Maglor could see his own ass. There was indeed a star of Feanor, bright red, in some places dripping with blood and in others only inflamed. The star was only a few inches away from Maglor’s hole, still dripping with spend. Maglor was so arrested by the sight – both fascinating and repulsive – that he nearly missed Maedhros’s next words.

“Really, there’s no need for you to see anything else is there? A mark depicting your rank is all anyone who plays with you will see, and you don’t deserve to see more than them.” Maedhros got out a long strip of cloth and tied it around Maglor’s eyes. “You can think on that sight for a while”

The gag fell away, and Maglor started to ask what ‘Sauron’ meant to do next. It was clear quickly enough though, as his lips brushed against Maedhros’s limp cock.

“You’re renowned for you talented tongue, put it to use. Your appearance is hardly enough to arouse, but perhaps you do have some physical skills.”

It was not the first time, or even the hundredth, that Maglor had sucked his elder brother’s cock. The only downside was being unable to see the look on Maedhros's face, or cradle his thighs. Even though Maedhros had come less than an hour before, it did not take long for him to stir at Maglor’s tongue.

Maedhros fucked Maglor’s throat for a few strokes, then pulled out. “You are a useful slut,” Sauron’s voice said as the gag was re-tied around Maglor’s mouth. “I have been remiss in my hospitality though. Feanor’s whore ought to be used by Feanor, but I haven’t given you the opportunity to fulfill your purpose.” Maedhros’s voice changed again. “He made so many beautiful things, and used them all only for his own glory. Is it any surprise that he would use his sons the same?”

Maglor shook his head in denial. This was going too far, and surely Maedhros wouldn’t actually impersonate their father during sex?

But Feanor’s voice continued. “What, did you think I would swoop in and save you, if only I could? Don’t be ridiculous. If you cannot rescue yourself, you are nothing more than baggage that was weighing me down.”

Maglor felt something enter his hole – likely a finger, but he couldn’t see. “You are a millstone around the neck of the entire kingdom.” Feanor’s voice spoke from next to Maglor’s throat, and followed each sentence with a sharp bite.

“You pulled your elder brother into depravity, when he could have had his pick of eligible bachelors in Valinor. Your soothing songs charmed us all into a false sense of peace, rather than preparing for the war we knew was coming.” The finger pulled out, and there was a blunt object at Maglor’s rim.

“If you had been more focused on seeing the truth rather than happy little fairy tales, you would have been a better soldier. You could have saved my life.” Maglor’s hole opened around a cock as his father’s voice spoke in his ear. “And yet you were not constant even in your cowardice. If you had spoken up alongside Maedhros, perhaps Amrod might live.”

Maglor screamed for Maedhros to stop, but it was muffled by the gag. Whatever the torments of Angband had been, Maglor did not need to hear his deepest shame revealed in between Feanor moaning for pleasure.

Maedhros paid no heed, though. He kept fucking Maglor, but slower than before. Instead every thrust was as inevitable as the bow of a hammer, treating Maglor’s prostate like an impurity in the metal to be beaten out.

And Maedhros kept talking as well, still in the tones of Feanor, full of barely contained fury. “You are a failure as a king. Leader of the Noldor, the best craftsmen the world has ever seen, and what do you have to show for it? Two camps of undressed stone, the only decoration where people have written their names on their houses.”

A hand began toying with Maglor’s nipples.

“You were left in command of the grandest army anyone has ever seen, and you did nothing with it. You did not win any great victory, you did not even make any attempt. You hid behind walls while your brother was on the brink of death. You left him to be tortured and penned a polite letter to you half-uncle.”

Maglor reached out his mind to Maedhros, to beg his brother to stop the charade, but Maedhros’s walls were as solid as the earth and as smooth as glass. His cries went unanswered, and Maglor could not even tell if Maehdors heard him.

Still the voice of Feanor continued, as did the thrusts inside Maglor’s body. The hand stop tweaking his nipples, but that was no relief as it instead went lower, until Maglor felt his father’s hand stroke his cock.

“You claimed to have no crown out of honor to the dead, but truly it was because you did not dare ask anyone to craft it for you. You know that you are a weak son of a stronger father, too incompetent to forge your own jewelry, but with no respect form your people. They would not have heeded your commands.”

Maglor was weeping openly, as his father’s cock continued to reshape him, and his father’s hand brought him pleasure.

“This is all you’re good for, you know. A pleasant distraction for those who deal the real work. Your voice can relax and soothe, and that’s not always a bad thing. Nor is such a lovely body. You just need to give in, and stop trying to reach above your station. Admit that you’re useless as anything other than a decoration. Stop trying to fight or lead, and lay back where you can be used.”

Despite the insults filling his ears, Maglor couldn’t help his body’s reactions. His cock was hard under the other’s hand, and more than once he caught himself pushing his ass back for more.

“Your skin is so beautiful and golden, my son, how I love to touch thee, to split you open on my cock. Your are so obedient, every one of my commands makes you moan. Can you be a good boy for your father?”

Maglor shook his head and tried to cry out. But the voice in his ear paid no heed, and the hand on his cock sped up.

“Oh, I think you can. You’ll be a perfect little slut for me. Maglor, come.”

Maglor did with a sob. A moment later, he felt the other release in his ass.

Feanor – no, it was an illusion by Sauron – Maedhros, who Maglor had asked to do this in the first place, pulled out. He spoke in the smooth tone of Sauron now, rather than imitating their father.

“Now, was that so unpleasant? You got to spend time with your family, and you certainly enjoyed it.” A hand reached down around Maglor’s cock, painfully tight but making him well aware it was covered in his own spend.

Maglor whimpered.

“Really, you ought to be thanking me. But if I’m not wanted, I’ll leave you alone. There are plenty of trolls who want a chance at the elf prince.”

[cxyotl]

i think what makes pogtopia v manburg so good is the fact there were actually battles and annexations that made it feel like a real war.

l’manberg’s independence had that, but at a small scale and without annexation. it was an unequal war, where battles were usually just the l’mancrew getting their asses kicked or run off.

pogtopia v manburg was an equal playing field during battles. c!techno and c!dream fighting on pogtopia’s side of the war leveled the playing ground for the underdogs while c!sapnap and c!punz fought on manburg’s side. the inequality comes from the lack of people towards the end who pledged loyalty to manburg and c!schlatt. pogtopia was an army of not just volunteers and revolutionaries like in the first war, now it was people rallying against their common enemy, the nation of manburg. manburg unified the factions of the dream smp.

in new l’manberg, the enemy was really just c!techno. the server was broken up again, as the annexations wore off. new l’manberg was a lonely target with no allies.

[hmslusitania]

I posted 3,534 times in 2022

599 posts created (17%)

2,935 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hmslusitania

@octobertulip

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

@fraddit

@ellelans

I tagged 3,478 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#bond. queue - 1,971 posts

#9-1-1 - 1,107 posts

#buddie - 344 posts

#stranger things - 224 posts

#eddie diaz - 210 posts

#911 spoilers - 188 posts

#the ghost ship answers questions - 174 posts

#our flag means death - 160 posts

#the fluffs - 159 posts

#the ghost ship babbles to herself in the night - 127 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#these tags are a great compilation of how much effort they put into trying to put love into their relationship but not being as intimate

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Unified theory of Indiana Jones and The Mummy? My interest has been piqued 🍿 👀

Okay so I think it goes without saying that these movies clearly take place in the same universe, just off the bat.

That said, we also know that several of the (unseen) previous generation of characters had careers that would've taken them to similar geographic areas -- notably Howard Carnahan and Abner Ravenwood, who were Egyptologists of roughly a similar age.

So, it would make complete sense to me if, at some point, they were contracted to work on the same project. Whether or not they got along, whether or not they worked well together, is immaterial. The important part is that they both brought their daughters. Now, according to the wikis for the respective franchises, Evelyn (Carnahan) O'Connell was born in 1903, and Marion Ravenwood was born in 1909, and young girls, as Marion would've been, tend to heavily imprint on older girls especially when they're stuck together in a camping situation. And I think Evy, a perpetual baby sister, would've jumped at the chance to get to be the cool older sister type friend.

They would've corresponded after that.

In 1925, Marion writes to Evy about her father's dashing new student who she's fallen hopelessly in love with (and an equally passionate disavowal of the man only a few months later).

In 1926, Evy writes back to tell Marion that she's been part of an expedition to help recover the site of Hamunaptra (leaving out the magic, because that would be just a shade too far; adding the fact she may not have found much treasure but she did find a husband in the post script -- prompting many more questions from Marion).

They write each other about Evy's journey to respectability as an archaeologist and Egyptologist, and her impassioned arguments with another young archaeologist out of the University of Chicago, who Evy pointedly refused to name in any of her letters out of disrespect (the nature of their academic disagreements is simple -- Evy's seen magic with her own eyes and brings a layer of credulity to her interpretation of sites that Indy just cannot fathom. Well. Not yet, anyway).

They write when Alex was born, when Marion moves to Nepal.

In 1933, Evy writes her about the Oasis at Ahm Shere, but she leaves out the part where she died and was resurrected, and the part where the entire oasis was sucked into the afterlife afterwards.

(In 1935, Indy sees Magic in India, and he thinks briefly of his continuing journal publication feud with the British-Egyptian Egyptologist E. O'Connell, and then he locks this information away in a part of his brain he does not touch lest he go mad.)

In 1936, Marion writes her about the search for the Ark, about her father's old student -- a professor now himself -- coming back into her life. She mentions the pit of snakes, being entombed, and the deaths of the Nazi bastards. She doesn't mention the magic, the actual Ark of the Covenant saving their asses. It would sound crazy, after all.

In 1937, they see each other in person for the first time in over a decade by chance at the Cairo Museum. This is before the events of the Last Crusade, so for the moment, Marion and Indy are more-or-less together and more-or-less happy about it. Rick and Evy are there for their standard work reasons, delivering some recently excavated artefacts.

At first, everything goes fine. Evy and Marion recognise each other, and as nearly life-long penpals tend to do, take a moment to remember how to speak to each other in person, but then they're thrilled for the opportunity to do so. The four of them agree to get dinner together and it's at dinner while they're talking about their work that Indy makes the connection between E. O'Connell, academic rival, and Evelyn O'Connell, and Evy makes the connection that Marion's "Indy" is actually that very same Henry Jones Jr who Evy's wanted nothing more than to knock senseless with the Book of Life for over a decade.

In the ensuing loud argument that nearly gets them thrown from the restaurant and during which Rick and Marion decide they're best friends now, both Evy and Indy accidentally reveal their hands as regards magic, archaeology, and the realities therein. They part dinner as wary allies.

The academic detente lasts just until Marion writes Evy about the dissolution of her relationship with Indy and concurrent birth of their son, and then the rivalry's back on.

Frankly, all of them prefer it this way.

(As an additional aside, while he was serving in WWI, Jonathan Carnahan met and befriended {""befriended""} an Australian nurse, who had the mixed fortune to lose all of her father's titled cousins during the war and returned home as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher)

1,486 notes - Posted July 8, 2022

#4

I’m assuming that the only reason Christopher Eccleston hasn’t posted anything on Instagram yet is because he’s currently torn between leading a rousing pub cheer of celebration and also being rightly furious about the impending worsening economic problems

1,849 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

#3

I love when you’re plotting a story and you’re like “hm but how does this work out and why is it like this” and you mentally put it down for a second and then without warning the entire Lore of a whole story and world just drops into your head

2,861 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#2

The contrast between the Byers siblings and the Wheeler siblings will never not be entertaining.

Because like, Jonathan’s all “I would totally give up the girl of my dreams to spend my time looking after my little brother who I love” and Nancy’s like “I would hunt Mike for sport unless someone else was trying to do it, and then I would kill them”

3,266 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

In other news Washington continues to be Washington

18,455 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[novumtimes]

Move Over Juneteenth!Aug. 5 Is #FadeInTheWater Day Of Revolt

by Keka Araújo August 5, 2024 No, but seriously– social media users took to the X app to honor the many brothers and sisters who united to molly-whop the proverbial and literal asses of “the man and his lady” during a massive brawl that occurred last year in Montgomery, Alabama. At the center of the Mason-Dixon line melee was quadragenarian Reggie Ray, who reportedly put hands and a chair upside the head of some racist family who attacked him while he worked as a co-captain of the ferry that docked on the Alabama River. #FadeInTheWater was born from a momentous event, and today is the one-year anniversary. What a time to be alive! Here are the best tweets commemorating the “newest” Black holiday– #FadeInTheWater. August 5th is the one year anniversary of #FadeInTheWater #Montgomery #Riverboat #August5th #BlackAmerica #FadeInTheWater #foldingchair pic.twitter.com/aoB1Ut0tWU — BlackHistoryStudies (@BlkHistStudies) August 5, 2024 Happy 1 year anniversary! IYKYK#FadeInTheWater pic.twitter.com/Z6GC5lfWjM — Jaybefaunt (@Jaybefaunt) August 5, 2024 AUGUST 5 IS A BALCK AMERICAN HOLIDAY.Mark the date & Lock It In. #FadeInTheWater#MontgomeryBrawlHoliday https://t.co/5BAzb7jLlF — UNK#LV24 (@UnkRocc) July 28, 2024 Good morning and Happy August 5th aka #MontgomeryBrawl Day aka #FadeInTheWater Day to all who celebrate pic.twitter.com/aJB7bGCZKf — Estradamus (@215Hugger) August 5, 2024 All rise for our national anthem! “Take a bow sir. You’ve just rewritten our Alma Mater”. (In my Morgan Freeman voice). #AlabamaBoatBrawl #August5th #BlackTwitter #FadeInTheWater #MontgomeryBrawl pic.twitter.com/uirucfQ8kz — Bianca Wilson (@___bjw___) August 5, 2024 Let the 6fs have Juneteenth.. THIS IS THE DAY THAT BLACK GOD has made …Let us rejoice and be Glad in It! Amen! #FadeInTheWater pic.twitter.com/M9Pjk3pPQe — @KekaAraújo (@KekaAraujo313) August 5, 2024 All jokes aside, August 5, its anniversary and the notorious Montgomery riverfront brawl served as a unifier for the Black American delegation.  It also opened the door for the mentions of pertinent slave rebellions like the Stono Rebellion and Denmark Vesey.  Throughout history, Black rebellion has taken many forms, from organized revolts to everyday acts of resistance. These acts have always been driven by a desire for freedom, justice, and equality. While the methods and contexts have evolved over time, the underlying spirit of defiance against oppression remains a constant thread. The #FadeInTheWater was a significant moment in 2023, where community members came together to stand against injustice and protect one another. This act of collective defense resonated deeply, echoing the courage and determination of past generations who fought for their rights and dignity. Power to the people. RELATED CONTENT: An Alabama Brawl Between Black And White Citizens Has The Internet Buzzing Source link via The Novum Times

[boyakishantriage]

So like. The entire story right? Starts with WW3, everything has gone to shit. We're more equal and accepting or whatever, but all that's done is show 70% of humanity just hates one another. So they start fighting. But the second bombs are dropped, a bunch of things happen and everyone collectively paused their bickering. Why? Because god's, the old stories, all them. Are revealed to be real. In their own way. So everyone collectively paused and calls a truce to figure out what the fuck is going on here. Cue 2000 years of peace, humanity has figure out magic mostly, they've united under the logic of "no seriously. Why don't we figure this shit out first." And managed to slowly build up to finding new stuff in their solar system. They're getting the hang of it, then a bunch of aliens show up and try to subjugate everyone. At this point, tensions are rising but everyone agrees to call a truce and kicks them out. Repeat again and at this point everyone has agreed. Fuck these fuckers. And starts fighting the universe's war fighting faction.

Then everyone is handy dandy, shit gets figured out and everyone just agreed. "ok, seriously. Stop fighting, let's just all agree to figure this shit out until we find a genuine scientific reason to fight ok?" Which goes absolutely shit, but it's better than fighting a universal war. Then there's a whole ass debate about hybrids, resulting in mass peace protests and ten years before they could pass the bill unilaterally. Some dumb fuck shoots first and causes London to become a crater. Thankfully most of the city saw the signs before the second leader went kaboom. But this one dude managed to unify everyone by the logic of. "Play nice, or I play with the God." Or, hyper powerful fucker holds reality captive. Along the way, turns out if reality ends we end. So everyone plays nice.

And that's just the general plot line. Goodnight!

[nightswithkookmin]

Hi Goldy!

So what do you make of today's latest: Jikook's gold rings and tings?

A stylist’s choice that JK and JM co-signed?

A full-blown personal and public display of commitment?

Something else?

Thanks and I hope you’re doing well. ❤️

Usually I overlook things like couple rings, couple outfits and what not because- as i say time and again- it's Kpop. Drawing on queer aesthetics, homoerotic graphics and couple vibes is the je ne sais quoi.

They've already addressed the motivations behind their matching looks as wildly instigated by their stylists for obvious reasons most times.

They've equally demonstrated over the years a need to let us know they do share clothing items every now and then by their own volition. Sometimes it's because they are tired of wearing rings so they give it to the other, sometimes they think they have too many on, or that the other has too little on they almost naked.

Sometimes they wanna taunt and tease us.

Sometimes it has deeper meanings only they know.

So given the context and the sociocultural climate we arw in and taking the time frame within which this matching stuff was filmed- I'd vote that this was a deliberate calculated conscious choice with an agenda.

They are letting locals film them on the streets, going about their usual schedules as ot7, reinforcing this idea of Jikook as a couple even though we all know this is a tired ass marketing strategy and is totally uncalled for post the set off of their solo trajectory.

It's a not so subtle attempt to reiterate this whole notion that BTS are still together working as a group and not at all running separate schedules because they went solo.

It's something I've been anticipating. For them to double down on the ot7 agenda to present a unified front to the fans.

So yea, i roll my eyes at these things. It's blatant fanservice if it's their stylist's choice. It's riding on the waves of the bts friendship tattoos- even though it's not an entirely new phenomenon to occur within bts

If it's a personal decision, I'd say the same thing. So sentimental and for what🙄

Giving me butterflies in my shtomach thinking these two Nikas actually went out and bought a friendship ring to symbolize their years long friendship within BTS cos their friendship is/was never truly properly celebrated in the fandom like ever. Their relationship is/was constantly overly sexualized or worse invalidated every turn you took.

They themselves never addressed or acknowledge their genuine feelings of love and friendliness the way they emphasize that friendship in other ships. They push it under the rag or let it sit and marinate in our delusional braincells. Letting their actions speak beyond their words.

It would be nice if they acknowledged that they have a friendship too. A beautiful one at that. Their relationship is beautiful.

Either way, I love it.

Talk of public display of commitment, I don't know what beats the J.M on Jk's ring finger sis- maybe I'm sentimental but that Tattoo and that Rosebowl moment- JUNGKOOK CAN DO NO WRONG IN MY EYES FOREVER. Such a romantic. Whew.

Okay yall got my shipper motors running again. Let's go down that rabbit hole. Grab tissues. LOTS AND LOTS OF TISSUE.

GOLDY

[zoufantastical]

Loki vs Spiderman No Way Home on tackling the Multiverse

This post will contain spoilers for Spiderman NWH!

I’m gonna need Feige to entrust certain writers on themes that are gonna be touched upon in movies later on to be used in their series. Let me explain.

Spider-Man No Way Home really displayed how BAD and HORRENDOUS the Loki show actually is. Like, plot and writing wise, the Loki show has really, really aged badly. So I’m sitting here wondering, since technically NWH explores the concept of variants (a lot better than a whole ass show was supposed to), why didn’t the writers of NWH dealt with the series instead of giving it to an inexperienced writer/director? Genuine question.

NWH made the concept of the multiverse a lot more digestible than a series was supposed to in a way where if you didn’t watch What if ? or Loki (especially), you could understand it…because in this case Doctor Strange admitted that it’s a concept that he still doesn’t know a lot about. So it makes the audience not only equally curious but entangles them to learn about it at the same time with them. But as someone who DID watch Loki, I can tell the writer(s) has some really odd ideas on handling the concept of multiverses and variants.

What I loved about NWH concept of multiverse is that there was no “sacred timeline”. Loki’s idea of Kang keeping a sacred timeline is very flawed simply because to keep it in one “line”, there shouldn’t have been any variant drastically different from our Loki to the point they posed a risk of tampering with Kang’s desires of keeping a “sacred timeline” (examples like Boastful Loki, Sylvie, Alligator Loki etc). Branches that come from that sacred timeline should be mostly the same except a few environmental changes/decisions where it causes the flow of time to expand. I reiterate this because the Loki show contradicts itself. TVA would go as far as prune someone for being late on their way to work; we’ve seen them arrest normal civilians who you could tell were scared and confused.

NWH concept of the multiverse is very matter of factly and unified; the Peters were variants of each other [which by the way, this concept of the Peters being variants makes a LOT more sense]that are in a way technically not related by DNA but are in essence still the same person, just not the same individual since they come from DIFFERENT universes and NOT a BRANCH of the SAME UNIVERSE like Loki does. Their universal destinies were meant to be as Spidermen/Peter Parker. And it was done in less than three hours. In which I feel like that’s what the Loki series tried to do; to make the Lokis feel like their own person/treat the name as if a title of some sort but they of course failed in that aspect.

When you compared all that said with a lame, fascist organization, that apparently previously captured Thanos and vampires before but was easily defeated by being bitten by an eight year old Asgardian, made by a (black 😳) dictator pruning branches of the same timeline, but then have said characters contradict the existing ways the multiverse works in your show then…😬 especially when you have a writer and director going back and forth not knowing what to exactly describe Sylvie as…

Oh and speaking of Sylvie, so apparently Marvel CAN do siblings of the same variant relationships but it couldn’t be done with Loki and Sylvie ? I mean they kinda had the same amount of time together. They could have fallen in love (since apparently it can take less than 12 hours). Ah wait ? You say the are MALE? Wait one of them in underage ? No wait pause. Is it because they are loners and never had siblings so they related to each other more easily making the dynamic a lot more wholesome? Huh would you look at that. No self cest. Not even a hint. Interesting….

My expectations on dealing with the multiverse shenanigans are really high now. Especially with the knowledge that it CAN be done well. I don’t know how they’re going to go forward with Multiverse of Madness since Micheal Waldron, yes THE Micheal Waldron from the LOKI show I kept shitting on is the HEADWRITER. I’m also curious on how they are going to handle season two.

What a mess.

[vidavalor]

I can't help but notice that back in the first episode, Walker referred to Sam and Bucky as "Cap's wingmen" to Sam, implying that he doesn't really view the relationship between them as anything but this. He sees the Captain as the show and his backup as sidekicks. As much as Walker did genuinely care for Lemar, he also treated him like this in the group settings the whole show. He does all the talking, doesn't introduce Lemar to Sam and Bucky, who have to ask him who he is. Lemar could temper Walker a bit but Walker still sees himself as the show and Lemar a tool to help with his success more than anything else. Why does this matter in the context of Sam and Bucky?

Because John uses the word 'partner' to Bucky twice in reference to Sam and this implies that he can tell that Sam and Bucky roll differently than he does and treat one another differently. But Walker thinks this is dumb because Sam doesn't have the serum and Bucky is stronger physically. He doesn't get why Bucky doesn't act like Walker himself does-- in the leadership role, with Sam following as his wingman.

Bucky replies that Sam has dealt with worse than Karli (and clearly, ironically, means The Winter Soldier in part here, plus Thanos, etc.) He is making it clear that he doesn't see Sam as lesser than him because he's not a supersoldier-- that it isn't all about brute force. In saying this, he's saying that Sam has strengths to bring to the table that are not super physical strength and Bucky respects them. (By contrast, try to imagine Walker recognizing that Lemar had similar strengths. Imagine him saying it aloud, in front of other soldiers, including ones who were objectively physically stronger than him. Impossible, right?) Just by saying this, Bucky is showing another kind of strength that he possesses that John does not-- he's man enough to be a good, respectful partner. Which brings us to that word...

Bucky adds that Sam isn't his partner. This can be read a lot of different ways and has several overlapping meanings that are all probably a bit correct. On one level, he is saying they aren't working together as partners. (Even if the show has proved they are.) They still haven't really defined what it is they're doing together to one another and like hell is Bucky going to let John Walker be the one to label it, right? On another level, saying Sam isn't his partner is saying he doesn't view it that way because he is actually there to back up Sam. He's following Sam. Sam might see Bucky as a partner (even if they haven't discussed this) but Bucky might see it more as his role to back Sam up, similar to how he backed up Steve during the war. Sam, likely, wants to be more partners and has been allowing Bucky that space-- it is what they have evolved into-- but it isn't as clearly defined between them yet. But there's also the other use of it...

Walker, the physical embodiment of toxic masculinity, is attempting to bully Bucky a little, using words because he can't possibly best him physically at this point. The use of 'partner' from Walker comes off as aggressively sexual so here is a case of Walker being that asshole on the football team that we all know he was, trying to look bigger and tougher and more macho through thinly-veiled harassment of guys around him who dared to be comfortable with backing each other up and showing any caring openly. It is worth noting here that we have seen Sam and Bucky's whole evolution in the works here but Walker was just shown two guys he had no idea were arguing with one another because they put up a completely unified front in front of him. To Walker, this all is a little much for him and he tries to slander it by implying that it is gay, which he sees as not masculine.

Bucky denies being Sam's partner here for the already mentioned reasons regarding how they work together and that kind of partnership but make no mistake, he knew exactly what Walker was saying. So, another way of interpreting it is that Bucky was answering not in terms of the field work (where they do act as partners, really, even if Bucky might still be viewing it as something a little different... and, if he is, I hope Sam sets him straight on this being equal footing)... but I think Bucky was answering it regarding the sexual/romantic partners that Walker was trying to call them. But he did so in a way that is protective of Sam and makes him, ironically, a good partner.

Bucky is the character, remember, whose experience in the modern world included testing out and not minding casually outing himself as interested in men in the first episode, to a woman he was on a date with, no less. This isn't to say he's torn off the closet door from the era he grew up in in which he would have had to have been into men in secret. One thing he does get though is this kind of asshole like Walker that has sadly not evolved since the 30s. He responds in a way that he means to be protective of Sam, which is to say with his tone essentially "no, John, actually we are just like this because we aren't assholes like you and even if we were, we would still be better than you." But even if you think Bucky and Sam are already a thing by this episode or are aware of each other's potential feelings, Bucky isn't denying it to Walker as if it's something that makes then vulnerable or lesser as men. He doesn't have the same definition of it as Walker does.

Bucky is responding in a way where his tone says he gets what Walker was implying, thinks Walker is shit for not having a clue when it comes to what being a man is, and then casually answers the question as if Walker had meant field partners because, of course, that's what he meant, right? He makes Walker look stupid (which he is) by answering with word choice that says he didn't get the insinuation, even if his tone says he totally did. So, why not just be like "and so what if we were fucking, Walker! We still could kick your dumb ass anyday!"? Because Sam.

Because Bucky, who knows what it is like to be a soldier forced to sometimes be around guys like Walker, likely does not yet know how Sam approaches it. He likely doesn't know if Sam is out. The canon plays it as if literally everyone just assumes Bucky is bi or gay or basically anything that isn't straight but Sam is a different story. Bucky is not about to out Sam in front of everybody. He likely doesn't know yet how out Sam even is with others or how he feels about it. Out of respect for Sam, he's not about to let Walker's attempt at deriding them get anywhere. They literally could have been sleeping together for awhile now and Bucky is still not going to do anything about others knowing, least of all John Walker, unless or until that is what Sam wants and based on the canon, I would doubt very much if that had been a conversation they've already had by Ep 4.

But Walker, the terrifying awful dumb fuck, tries it again later-- this time, not in front of Sam. He saw what Bucky was doing, understood it, was embarrassed by Bucky making him look like a fool so what does he do? He bullies again. He goes at the core of Bucky in the way only the worst bullies can. He does it when Sam had to be in there alone, with a supersoldier, and Bucky is confident in Sam and giving him the space to do his thing, and then Walker lashes out at this less macho and violent plan to Bucky, calling Sam Bucky's partner again, trying to twist a knife by saying how could Bucky leave Sam in there and does he want his blood on his hands?

It's unspeakably cruel. But you might me mistaken if you think Bucky gave in here, even if it was a worry he had as he always worries for Sam because he cares and he has lost so many people and hurt so many that thinking about it happening again hurts him deeply. Bucky didn't verbally respond to Walker's taunts-- he did something much stronger than words could convey.

He didn't deny any definition of partner for Sam to Walker and he let Walker see how cruel he was by tearing up a bit, the pain in his eyes. Walker had no idea what to do with this. He had been trying to make Bucky angry. Instead, Bucky is silently strong enough to show how he feels *without* masking it all behind a macho, angry cover like Walker. Bucky's face says it all: yeah, you asshole, I love him. Yeah, I'm worried I could hurt him and have his blood on my hands. But also yeah, I survived being the Winter Soldier-- in general and just recently-- and I go to therapy now and I'm making amends and I'm free. Freer than you will ever be because which one of us will tear up and be a little afraid for another man and show him open care in this episode and which one will respond to pain with violence that begets nothing but more trauma and pain? Which one of us, Walker, is a brainwashed soldier and which one of us is a strong, decent man trying to be a good friend and partner? Which one of us, by the end of the episode, will make his partner feel like he'd take the serum in a heartbeat and which one of us will respond to his partner's fear at being vulnerable with "I'm going with you"?

He didn't speak a word in that scene but man. Whew. When it comes to toxic bullies?

Bucky Barnes can do this all day.