#then landed lying down

[the-real-gmail]

I have fallen flat on my face twice in the same place over the last month

Maybe I should stop doing that

[justaz]

merlin being forced to confront the fact that he’s failing his people bc he’s sitting idly by while uther slaughters them all and coming to the decision that he has to act to save them but that’ll make him camelot enemy no. 1 but technically he already was they just didn’t know it. merlin spending a week all morose but unwilling to talk about it and spending as much time with his friends as possible. on his last night in camelot, he goes to arthur’s chambers and the prince is confused on why he’s there. merlin drops a sealed letter on his desk before pulling arthur into a gentle and emotional kiss. they barely separate, their lips hardly a breath apart, and merlin asks for forgiveness. arthur, thinking he’s apologizing for the kiss, tells him there’s nothing to forgive and goes in for a second kiss but merlin pulls away, knowing that that one brief kiss was all he could handle. if he lets arthur kiss him the way he’s dreamt of being kissed, he won’t be able to do what he needs to do, he won’t be able to leave. merlin tells him good night and leaves before arthur can react. he’s gone by dawn.

[randomnameless]

What was Big B talking about ?

His fighting style based on the teaching of the goddess? He learnt to brawl from an official "sponsorised by Sothis!" manual, or Rhea once held a brawling seminar and she wrecked him?

Or maybe Chevalier - the apostle - passed down his brawling techniques to the people living in Kupala ?

Not nice for Pat to have vaporised that mention, but I guess Religion BaD?

Pat : "we will write this huge and burly guy as a comic relief, stupid, greedy and wanting to seize glory. He can't express other un-manly feelings like wanting to help people, or having remorses, or wanting to offer some tribute to a guy he previously respected."

Pat's Constance wants to scold and rekt Aelfric because he got what he deserved for "meddling" with a tool Sothis apparently "commissioned", but FE16!Constance wants to bring him peace and know that the Chalice wasn't "commissioned" by Sothis, but it she crafted it herself!

The "commissioned" thing is sort of relevant, because earlier Aelfie tells Billy that, from what he could research about the Chalice from the few records left, it was supposed to have been created by Seiros...

We know that's bull, and Constance has more "closer to the truth" intel about the Chalice than a Cardinal - again it highlights how House Nuvelle, being direct descendants of Noa, have more insight about Nabatean and Nabatean tools than even "trusted by Nabatean" humans - at least for the Chalice.

For something new :

"Openly work" for the Empire? What does he mean by "openly"? Is he doing merc work but cannot openly claim to be an Adrestian agent?

Is he suggesting that he already knows who will be his next employer? Given how Supreme Leader has been planning her invasion months before the events of the Holy Tomb, and his surprise, I wonder if Arun-Thales already made contact with Metodey saying that he'll be hired by someone who has even a higher rank than he has (higher than regent? it can only mean one or two persons) later on.

Yeah... not even want to chase him uh? Was she aware this clown was the one Uncle hired to assist her for the invasion of the monastery? Or realised it?

Bar Pat adding some "Religion BaD" for shit'n'giggles, JP!Metodey makes it clearer that he has already been hired - or knows he will be hired - for a grand mission : with all of his lines in this chapter, imo it's made clear that Metodey is participating in Aelfie's lil'scheme for now, but has already a contract with Arun-Thales where he will be incorporated/or at least recognised, as an Imperial agent.

Supreme Leader somehow knows it, and will not pursue him as he will later be of use during her own invasion of Garreg Mach.

"Thief Leader" in JP mentions some "oh so great noble's secret mission", imo it refers to Arun-Thales' mission (or even Supreme Leader? It's not the first time she has to fight someone she hired to kill a group of people including herself lol) and not to Aelfie's - Pat's mention of "infidels" might instead refer to Aelfie's mission (the one who organised this mess), Thief Leader wants to complete Aelfie's mission and he calls Aelfie's a noble, since the guy is a cardinal, obviously his enemies or the ones he wants dead are "infidels" after all!

Tl;Dr : more mumbo jumbo nonsensical stuff regarding Pat's Metodey, even if the script isn't that clear, JP!script highlights more how Metodey is actually biding his time until Supreme Leader becomes Emperor and marches on Garreg Mach.

[ichthyorelationships]

an idea i invite anyone else to write about / run with lol....

the premise that The Change gets all messed up for alberto, say it's something that can happen from stress, &/or happens rarely and you just have to wait for it to resolve itself....used as some parallel to struggling through some emotional turbulence / upheaval / questioning / Realizing Things, etc etc

[venusiancarbondioxide]

delighted to announce that you can apply a solid 75% of songs about the alpha couple to late season three ranefall. this includes no children. i promise that i will not be normal about this information.

[jrueships]

Alpey, in the hospital: my ankle hurts, it's like there's acid accumulated underneath my skin, in my bones, circulating through my body. Pain pain pain. Now I'm stuck in this scary hospital and it's night time and it's so dark, i can hear the generator buzzing in my ear, this pillow is so flat, this blanket is paper, this bed is too small and thin. I can hear my own heart beat. I was supposed to have fun in LA after this, gup could show me all the cool Cali places. I could throw rocks at Mark wahlberg if i ever had the displeasure of a chance encounter, i had all my rocks ready with his name on them, i-

.. why do i feel like someone's wa-

Jabari:

[yixiangs]

tco's fashion senses... god bless their souls

[enigma-absolute]

…

[neo-zone]

Since Bleach Cour 3 will air this Saturday, I just wanna say that :

Please don't associate or compare any similarity between the Wandenreich and or Quincy with Israel

They don't have the slightest similarity. Trying to point out any similarity between those two will only unintentionally feed to the western "making Israel sympathetic" propaganda (when the soldiers and citizens are very much conscious of their government's genocidal plans and all of them take glee in killing and torturing and watching Palestinians suffered; even if they got trauma or mental health issue, it doesn't change the fact that they consciously choose to be racist and homicidal and keep continuing to do so regardless of what they mentally and psychologically get from the atrocities they commit and they don't and will never really really feel guilty like really really regret it for the thousands and billions of innocent blood on their hands) and further stigmatize the already badly written oppressed race Quincy (because we know Kubo not only sucks in writing female characters and POC characters)

[jackass-jones]

Night shift or short attention span for the wip thing?

I’ll choose night shift basically Akihiko has this nightmare based on a real memory where he and Shinji got into a very heated fight that dissolved into like, chaos and angry beatings on Akihiko’s part and his nightmare is a warped version where he just keeps punching Shinji in a blind rage until there’s nothing left of him. He wakes up terrified and unsure of what’s happening and Shinji isn’t there BUT ITS OKAY HES FINE he’s just at work I think sadly unfortunately my man has to work a shitty convenience store job to make some money while trying to figure life out and he’s temporarily working night shifts so that’s why he’s gone and Aki does call him at work in the middle of the night for reassurance and asks if that incident really went down the way he remembers it (it didn’t). It’s kinda dark but has a nice ending at least

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

i dont think the teachers left blaine alone after all that happened

weaponhead: keep yourself safe! blaine: Thanks

[atomskdluffy]

I finished Baldur's Gate 3 tonight, and I am almost completely satisfied. It was a spectacular game! A lot of thought and patience goes into it, especially when you play like I do with mods that expand the party and my insatiable need for loot. The story and the characters are all beautifully written, and I can see how there might be thousands of different ways to play it! I think the only addition I could possibly ask for is for something at the very end, one of those sequences where the narrator tells us what each character in the party goes on to do after the credits roll. Other than that, I am quite satisfied with how it turned out! I got the endings I wanted, the mods I used upped the quality of life to the max, and I had so much fun playing! If you have the time for a game as involved as this one, I absolutely 100% recommend it!

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

fucking damn it.

[allthatdivides2]

my brain telling me to go back to reading reddie fic 24/7 by making me dream about them last night

[infamousbrad]

I warned you.

About 15 years ago, I had a minor moment of Internet fame when I wrote a lengthy essay series on LiveJournal called "Christians in the Hand of an Angry God." In it, I argued that right-wing evangelical "Christianity" was literally Satanic by scriptural standards, was literally the cult of anti-Christ that Jesus prophesied in Matthew 25:31-46, that they were literally worshiping a made-up guy with the same name to justify cruelty, just like Jesus predicted they would the week before the crucifixion.

And at least half of the people who read it and praised it called it excellent satire. They saw my point, thought I was onto something, but couldn't take seriously that I literally meant what I literally said.

"Do not commit the sin of empathy."

Jesus' prophesy that these people were coming was not especially miraculous, in hindsight. No philosophy or theological movement becomes a large organized church, let alone a majority faith of a nation, without needing rich people's money, and/or government funding, to pay for it all.

And rich people in general, and right-wing governments in general, get to be the way they are by believing that the poor and the down-trodden can never be shown anything but cruelty, should never be rewarded, or else they'll lose all motivation to obey, to work hard, to be good. (By contrast, they believe that the same thing would happen to rich, powerful, popular people if they were ever punished in any way, if they were ever anything but rewarded.)

And rich people and governments are not going to subsidize your church foundation funds, your church repair funds, et cetera if you tell them that they're evil. But someone definitely will come along and offer to take that money. The people who take that money and conform won't even all be lying psychopaths; if you truly believe that your organization matters, is doing irreplaceable good in the world, you'll sacrifice any principle of your faith to keep the bills paid, you'll look away from or excuse any sin. It's that or see it all shrink and crumble into irrelevance.

I've come to the conclusion that it may not actually be possible to be a good person while practicing the majority faith of the land you live in. Or, if it is possible, well, like the man said, "straight is the gate and narrow is the way, and few there be that find it."

The Episcopal Church has its own legacy of sin, they've long overlooked a laundry list of crimes to pay their own bills, so don't rush to congratulate a mainline bishop for preaching mainline Christianity or take too much pleasure from Trump and his fascist followers being surprised that that happened. But do remember this:

From the mid-1970s to the present, right-wing billionaires have poured a LOT of money into church expansion and maintenance conditional on them distorting the Bible's teachings to make it appear that Jesus was pro-fascist. "To deceive, if it were possible, the very elect." So when honest theologians tell you that this is literally anti-Christ, literally checks every box in the Bible's description of the future cult of anti-Christ, you need to hear us.

The modern book and movie image of "the Antichrist" was a well-funded propaganda campaign to distract you from the plain language of the scriptures. The biblical anti-Christ is not some socialist liberal peacenik. The biblical anti-Christ is everyone who tells you that Jesus wants you to be cruel to "the least of these, my brethren" so that they'll straighten up and fly right.

[theorist-fox]

Some more insecure Simon Riley talk, because he's precious.

18+

Word count: 1.4k

CW: nothing, just smut. Simon finds you in lingerie and has a stroke. I love him your honor.

Masterlist 🦊

Simon, who is not sure what to do with himself the first time you welcome him home in nothing but lingerie.

He’s so unbelievably tired, dropping his clothes on the floor of the bedroom without even lifting his head. Mumbling apologies to you—how he’ll clean tomorrow, how he just wants to go to bed and sleep fourteen hours straight, right now. Bonus points if you hold him through the night, too.

Yet you’re not replying, but he’s seen your silhouette in the darkness; he knows you’re awake because you whispered a soft “Welcome back” when he walked in the room. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms get clammy—he thinks he’s overstepping lines by not giving you the attention he thinks you deserve.

So, as he unzips his pants, he lifts his eyes to look at you, and fuck—

You’re lying on your side, propped on your elbow, chin tucked in your palm. Perfect tits covered in sheer fabric, burgundy and black, your nipples peeking through. The soft line of your waist is bare—he follows it with his eyes until they land on your hips. Ornated lace curves around your hipbone and thins into see-through, dark fabric over your mound. Two strips of silk clasp your knickers to a pair of thin stockings that cinch the fat of your thighs, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Welcome back,” you say once again, this time with soft amusement.

He looks like a proper idiot. Hand still on his crotch, practically feeling how his cock comes to a stand at the mere sight of you.

He gulps. Feels a little lightheaded. “F’ me?”

You smile, chuckling softly but not derisively. Simon follows your hand as you guide it over your belly, up to the valley of your breast, as if you’re there, showing the goods he can pick and taste.

“For you.”

Simon is stunned into silence again.

Fuck is he supposed to do, uh? He’d be content just looking at you lying there and looking like you came out of a magazine, instead of touching you and potentially ruining what you did just for—for him?

He must not have noticed how his whole body (aside from his cock) has gone into standby—entered sniper mode. He's quiet, breaths reduced and silent, eyes attentive and narrowed.

It's a handful of seconds that leave you uncomfortable, as your plastic pose softens, your smile faltering at the corners.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, trying to sound steady, but he picks up the nervousness in your tone right away.

He won’t let you have it, obviously. He snaps out of it and takes you in for what you are: a fucking present, on his bed, wrapped in strings and bows and lace like gift wrap.

“Shoulda guessed it was too much, maybe. Should’ve gone for somethin’ soft—"

Simon is on you in seconds. Grabs your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours something fierce, nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. No hesitation. Simple, tangible desire. Scorching lust. Want. Need—fuck, he’s never kissed you like this.

Your eyes lose their surprise, and they slowly surrender to him—hands wandering down to help him out of his pants and briefs. And then you wrap your arms around his neck, grazing his scalp with your nails until he shivers.

Simon thought there was nothing comparable to the softness of your skin against the harder patches of scars freckling his abdomen. But he’s proved wrong when he feels the rough texture of your lace scratch his chest and his hips—it has him leaking embarrassingly quick.

He’s all lips and tongue as he races down your chest, sloppy kisses leaving a burning trail between your tits, down your belly, settling on your cunt covered by thin mesh.

Simon looks up at you, holding your thighs between thick fingers, smushing them against his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, dark, different. He tilts his head and bites into the plump flesh within reach—not enough to hurt, but sure enough to taste. Mercifully passes his tongue over the teeth marks before biting into it again, until the sting has you arching your back off the bed.

And he never breaks eye contact, which leaves you dumbfounded and flustered to the bone—because where is this confidence coming from? You’re wide-eyed and biting your own teeth in anticipation—this is all new and all the more exciting.

His kisses travel from the lines of your stretch marks up to your sex, where he doesn’t even bother moving the gusset of your knickers, and he just dives in.

Tongue flat against your cunt, drenching the sheer fabric with his spit and your moisture. Your moans are so soft compared to the sloppy mess he’s making of you down there, his insecurity blessed by a sort of beginner’s luck. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, and that is enough for your cunt flutter around nothing anyway.

You’re speechless when he finally lifts himself up, slotting his hips between your kiss-bitten thighs. His cock lands heavy on your pelvis, painting your lower belly with speckles of sheer precum. Head swollen and red right above your belly button.

You look at him wide-eyed, on your back, stock-still—anticipating his next move with your heart rate spiking.

He takes you completely by surprise (once again? In one night? Who is this man?), when he moves your knickers to the side, and instead of plunging in, he slides his cock between your folds and snaps the lace back above it. And then he starts rutting in shameless abandon, holding you steady by your thighs, letting the sheer fabric of your panties cover his tip and half of his shaft, as he runs himself back and forth over the surface of your pussy.

“M’gonna ruin it, sorry.” He croaks, as one of his hands comes to clumsily grab your tits through the lace. “So fuckin’ pretty—fuck—bloody hell, you—”

You coax him to go on with breathless moans because he’s never looked more breathtaking than he does now. Tiny drops of sweat drip from his forehead onto your belly, cheeks flushed and long lashes fanning his cheekbones. His lips yield a grunt each time the lace scratches his shaft. Your breath hitches each time the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Gonna buy ya a new one, yeah?” He grunts, looking down at the wet patch his cock is making through the lace. “Gonna buy ya fuckin’ ten.”

He’s never been this vocal, and you don’t dare to mouth a whisper in case he catches himself in the act. Not even when you cum, a short and stinging orgasm that makes your clit burn at the friction, do you dare to moan. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, neck corded in the strain to keep it in, flushing with warmth in unbearable silence.

You think you hear his voice crack through the cotton in your ears when you come back down from your high. “Fuck—God, fuck. Wha’ a gift, eh? F’ me. All f’me.”

He pulls back a few moments later, taking his cock out of your panties and into a thick hand. A few pumps, and he cums on your lace, painting your belly and your cunt in glistening white.

He’s panting as his hand languidly comes to a halt. Chest flushed and with a thin layer of sweat over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, clearly dizzy—as if he needs to apologize for this. “I ruined it. I—just—gonna go grab somethin’ to—to clean y'up, wait 'ere—Jesus Christ.”

He slowly comes to stand, knees popping and legs shaking as he stumbles to the bathroom.

You look down at the spurts of cum covering your stomach and staining the lace of your panties, and then you flop your head back onto the mattress, wide eyes locked to the ceiling.

A chuckle of disbelief escapes you, still in shock from the sudden switch in behavior. And you think, when he comes back with a towel to clean the mess he’s made on your skin, that you might have to take another trip to the shop this weekend—buy yourself a new little piece.

But later, then, he falls asleep with his head on your chest, fingers lazily toying with the lace of your bra (because he’s asked you to keep it on, you know—“Like how 't feels”), and so you move up your shopping a little—already on your phone, running your thumb to skim through pinks and blues, laces and silks.

You might just order a new one right now.

It’s at that moment that he shifts in his sleep, slipping his hand under the band of your lacy bra and curling his fingers around your breast.

You change your mind.

You might just order ten.