#wtf is this 😂

[peachesnbees]

I can’t believe any of this is real…

[itsallaboutbl]

Wanna be my boyfriend?

[kingkatsuki]

Do your blorbos ever look at each other inside your blorbo mansion and wonder “what the fuck is that guy doing here?”

[orbch]

“but her new chosen family was just as complicated as the old one was”

[polin-ista]

I'm sorry but I think it needs to be stated once again this series is so 90s rom-com 😂😭 like this poor girl has gone from about to get engaged, scandaled by Colin on the dancefloor, rejected, runs from the ball, gets run down by Colin, fingerbanged in the back of a carriage and then two seconds later proposed to, dragged inside to tell his entire family, at night, without a chaperone, and we expect her to remember to reveal herself as Lady Whistledown somewhere here? When bro? WhEN?

Daphne was serious guys 😂😭

[luciuscodedswedeboy]

this y’all’s hard dom??

[cuubism]

you know how we've talked about how the New Inn is a real place and all well I need you guys to know two additional things:

in less than an hour's walk from the (real life) New Inn you can get to the (real life) White Horse

it's owned by the same people who own the New Inn

[kwyw]

I can totally see Taylor asking Ice Spice to do some shit like this. Especially with how loud she’s been this month, especially with the surprise songs. 😂

[onifanss]

Congee •

[dinsbeskar]

To Have and To Hold; To Corrupt and Defile (Sauron/F!Reader)

After you discover his identity, Sauron's master throws a wrench into your happily ever after; or:

You're living in Gondolin before it falls; Sauron currently has you fooled, but his plans are falling apart, and the end of the First Age draws closer.

Sequel to The Number of the Beast // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine, Don't Let Me Go by RAIGN, Say You’ll Haunt Me by Stone Sour

Warnings: Angst! Plot heavy, no smut this time!! I know, who am I??

A/N: so we've messed around with the timelines a little, I've alluded to some of the major events of the War of the Jewels, especially Lúthien's victory over Morgoth, and Eärendil's subsequent taking of the recovered Silmaril to the Valar. There is so much to cover, frankly too much, so I'm keeping the references to my favourite stories; a lot of it frankly isn't relevant to our Reader. If Amazon can mess with the timeline, so can I 😂

Word Count: 3.4k!

When you'd returned to your tiny village, eons ago, hand in hand with your new husband, the resulting impromptu celebrations had gone on all day and night. No-one thought to question the sudden appearance of this beautiful stranger, as your kin were so overjoyed for your new love, and still as yet so innocent to the evils of the world.

The subsequent years of being without him so often were only eased by their rallying around you, keeping you occupied to stave off your loneliness. It didn't ease the yearning late at night when all were abed and you were left alone to crave him, but you were used to it by now; which only made his visits all the sweeter.

You woke up today to find your husband stretched out next to you, a pleasant surprise that he must have instantly regretted as you threw yourself on him with a squeak.

"I didn't know you were coming! I'd have prepared for you," you say, your tone faltering as you survey the mess in your cosy rooms with a crease in your brow.

He shakes his head fondly; sometimes the lack of order would set his teeth on edge, but today he was just content to be by your side once more.

He murmurs sweet nothings into your hair as he nestles you closer, wrapping you up and refusing to allow to leave your bed this morning.

The city was growing prosperous, becoming the heart of Elvendom in Middle Earth, and your small abode was so different to the humble beginnings of your kin. Your people were finding strength in numbers, building great cities to fortify against the Enemy.

He cannot visit as often as either of you would like, busy with the war in the north, and now you understand why. His confessions about Morgoth threw you, made you doubt everything you knew, but your soul sang for him regardless, so you pressed it to the back of your mind, your heart and your mind fighting a losing battle. He promised you it was simply too late for him to change sides, that his master's wrath was better fought within his service than without. How could you refuse him?

You had asked him long ago if you could visit him instead, perhaps even pack up your life and move to be with him. His face grew dark, and he refused to even consider it. Now that you knew in whose service he toiled, you understood, and didn't press the issue again.

So you had become increasingly interested in the martial affairs of Gondolin, always hoping to hear nothing of Sauron, for no news was good news.

Your kin ask after him often; you tell them the truth where you can. That he is fighting the war in the north, that his brief respites are spent with you in private. Sometimes, you wish you could show him off to the world; it gets lonely surrounded by your family and friends, happily coupled and deeply in love, whilst you await your beloved for what feels like a lifetime.

When he visits, he crosses the borders of your kingdom with relative ease. Even entering the Hidden City, after centuries of being married to you, they greet him as one of their own, something which now plagues you with guilt; though not enough to keep you apart.

You are unfortunately not the only one, as many of your friends wait for their husbands too, who are also away fighting. The siege of Angband has taken much out of you all, and the number of half-souls wandering Gondolin grows day by day as more Elves are called away to bolster the beleaguered armies.

It is the knowing he is out there, yearning for you as much as you for him, that makes it a little easier. When the war is over, he says, you will be together, nothing will keep you apart. So you pray for his master's downfall any chance you get.

Unfortunately for you, it's not as if Sauron has to worry about any other's affections stealing you away; perhaps if he did, you might see him more often. Binding yourself to another soul changes the way you are perceived, a glimmer of the unseen world breaking into the everyday, in a way that to any other creature is imperceptible. But Sauron takes great pleasure in the knowledge that you are his, and no-one else's, that no-one would even think of touching you, not that you would let them. That possessive streak is something that you'd have thought would repulse you; instead it is deeply and mutually returned, the pair of you wrapped up in each other, blind to any others who might have tried their luck.

~

He's deep in thought, sketching long black lines on his paper, but every so often his eyes flicker to you watching his every move.

You love to see him hard at work, it lets you see what makes him tick, what gives him his boundless energy. You worry that you annoy him with your incessant questions, but any time you falter, he encourages you to ask, so you figure he must like the attention.

Today he is sat working on something very important, something that cannot be rushed. And you're sat at his side, head in your hand, thinking idly of everything and nothing, as his hand races across the paper.

"You haven't said a word," he looks over at you with a small smile, "something the matter, my love?"

"No, darling," you sigh, stretching your arms above your head and pulling yourself closer into his side. "Don't want to disturb you."

"You could never, I've told you so many times." He reaches out with his left hand and squeezes your knee, strokes the side of your face, then presses on with his task, one-handed as he commits to holding your hand.

You hum in assent, leaning your head on his shoulder. You feel him relax into your touch and you fear that perhaps you've ruined his industrious streak.

He puts down his pencil and pulls you close, chin resting on the crown of your head. You feel his heart flutter in his chest, and yours can't help but mirror it.

You enjoy his embrace a moment before disrupting the peace. "So what are you working on?"

He snorts, a noise you don't hear very often from him, usually so composed, and it makes you giggle, pulling away and looking up at his affectionate gaze.

"Not a moment's peace," he chuckles, rubbing the small of your back whilst reaching for his discarded sketches.

He rolls them out and watches for your reaction; yours is the only opinion he would deign to heed.

The long black strokes, the angular shape of it, it looks nothing like you expect. Twisted and wicked, it doesn't match the man sitting at your side.

"Is that... is it some kind headpiece?" You stutter a little under his intense stare; he wants the truth even if he dislikes what you have to say.

He raises his eyebrows a little and nods at you to continue your line of thought.

"Not a helmet. No, too many holes, frankly it would be useless as a helm, there's a great hole in the centre of it-" he can't help but laugh at your rambling, joking at his expense. If only you knew what happens to anyone else who would dare to.

"-Oh! A crown? Who needs a crown?" You finally get there, and you take the scroll from him, holding it up and scrutinising every detail.

"Who, indeed?" His tone is suddenly solemn; you've reminded him of what awaits him when he leaves you.

Morgoth in his crazed stupor, lusting constantly for the star-bright jewels that he already possesses, jealously guarded with a ferocity he hasn't seen in an age.

Your face drops and you pull him to you.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't think." You know very well his trials and tribulations at his master's hands, but were somehow foolish enough to allude to him. You thought He already had a crown, and you remark as much in your naivety.

He traces your neck and kisses your palm. "It's quite alright, love, I know how... faraway my troubles must seem."

A cold sweat breaks down your spine.

"No, my darling, your troubles are mine, I would carry your burdens if only you were to share them with me." You plead softly; how could you be so naive, spoiling a sweet moment that is not so easily stolen now that he is so busy with the war.

He doesn't speak for a long time, and tears prick your eyes, almost painful in your efforts to hold them back. It is his pain you should focus on, not your own selfish regret.

You lean your head on his shoulder, hoping perhaps that he will open up to you for once, tell you of his torment in the north at the hands of the enemy, the part he plays as an unwilling accomplice to Morgoth's destruction.

As if he can hear your thoughts, he interrupts them softly.

"It is a crown. A conduit, for a power over flesh." He licks his lips nervously, avoiding your gaze.

"What could He need of such power?" You ask, before realising that of course, such power would ensure His victory.

He doesn't answer that question, preferring not to lie to you; you don't need to know exactly who it is for.

"I'd prefer something smaller, more elegant-" he begins to explain before you interrupt.

"Like a ring." You muse, meeting his eye. He raises his brow and looks past you, seemingly intrigued, and you can't help the pride that wells within you, happy to have pleased him so.

He looks back to you, smile fading quickly as he is reminded of what he came to tell you today.

"Speaking of my master, I-" he swallows thickly, the words refusing to cooperate with his tongue. "I have news. Concerning you and I."

His eyes are suddenly dark, and his expression sombre, and all at once you feel an all-encompassing dread that makes you press your hands to his mouth.

"No. Don't tell me. Not now. Please, love, I cannot bear any tale of Him while I worry for you." That much is true, you are too concerned about your lover to hear anything of the Enemy right now; but a tiny part of you simply never wants to hear about Morgoth, never wants to think about the evil your husband has been forced to wreak upon Middle Earth, so hard you have worked to forgive and forget, and you have had your fill now for one day.

"It is important, sweetness," he cups your chin and turns your face to look at him, the dread in your soul seemingly shared if his expression is anything to go by.

"Tell me." You nod reluctantly, anxiously awaiting whatever horror you will have to face together.

~

The fortress is always so hot, fiercely dry like a blazing desert heat, scorching his skin. It is nothing like his golden days with you, dappled sunshine on your skin, a cool breeze on his face.

He has been summoned by his master, which can only be an ill omen. Ever since the fiasco involving the lost Silmaril, and his defeat at the hands of Lúthien and her hound, Sauron had suffered nothing but wrath every time he returned to Morgoth; blaming him for the loss of a jewel from His crown, since he had not been there to defend his master from Lúthien's sweet song. The jewel was now set in the sky by the Valar, a constant reminder of his failure.

For you, as much as it pained you to see him suffer, it was a blessing; more precious time spent with your beloved as he avoids the fortress entirely.

Had it been a shock, when your husband appeared to you as a wolf, gravely injured and desperate for you? Of course. Was his betrayal forgiven and forgotten? Absolutely not. But he was so sincere, so sweet, that every time he told you his servitude to Morgoth was in service of a greater purpose, you believed him. Of course, he wanted only to heal Middle Earth; of course, he was working to lead all free peoples to a greater future; of course.

He was not forgiven, but you were so desperately, blindly in love with him, the dark half of your soul, that you might take him any which way he comes. And he had promised you that the greater good was all he worked for, that he was the salvation of Middle Earth, and how could you not believe him?

So when he told you he'd be gone a while, gone to see his master in the North, you were hardly beside yourself with joy.

"How long?" You entwine your fingers with his, studying every contour of his face, in case it is a lifetime, not a day.

"He did not say." There is trepidation in his tone, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

"You are his most valuable servant. All will be well." You cannot say that for certain, but you try to sound convincing.

He exhales slowly, pressing his face into your neck, his flaming hair tumbling across your skin as you lie folded into one another, unwilling to be parted a moment earlier than necessary.

~~~

His blood runs cold as his master's words ring in his ears.

Bring her to me, and let's see how worthy of my favourite servant she is.

He paces his forge, cursing and railing, his plans to keep you secret now gone so horribly awry.

He had been so careful, slipping from the fortress seemingly unnoticed by all but the wolves, whom he easily placated with just his word, perhaps a bone thrown in their midst for good measure.

In fact it was not his absence at all that gave you away.

It was your light, seeping into his fëa and glimmering like the northern star in a pitch black night. Morgoth had noticed this straight away, of course; but rather than punish him inmediately, he chose to toy with him, leading him to believe his great deception was successful.

If she does not come to me, I will be forced to name her, Mairon.

He could not have that, could not let his master's power touch you in any way. You were his, and his alone, and the idea of Morgoth even setting eyes on you made him seethe.

And so he began to plot; too little, too late.

~

"What do you mean, my love? You're scaring me, what do you mean, named?" Your voice shakes as he grips your fingers so tightly, you fear he might pull them off.

"He gave you a title I cannot take back, it is beyond my power to do so." Now it is his turn to tremor before you; you have never seen your husband in such terror, the sight brings you to your knees and you lean your forehead against his.

"Whatever has happened, darling, we can fix it. You and I, we are one, are we not?" You try to smile reassuringly, but he shakes his head and puts a finger to your lips.

"You know the importance of names, love." Of course you do; your kind receive many names over the course of your long lives, names from your father and mother, names for your great deeds, or traits your loved ones find admirable. You already had two, you hardly need another, let alone from his master. Never mind the power of words woven into spells and songs, the unbreakable kind your husband seems now to fear.

"When a being such as Melkor uses his power to bestow a name-" his voice breaks and he swallows thickly, buying himself time before the dam breaks.

"He bestows a name, and so a fate with it."

You raise your eyebrows quizzically, but as his words sink in, you gasp and pull away. What fate could the Great Enemy possibly have in store for you? You were nothing and no-one; why would he elect to use even a tiny morsel of power on you?

"I don't want to know." Your words surprise you both.

He draws back, regarding you, brow furrowed.

"You must, my love, you know I cannot break his will-"

"I don't care." You draw yourself up, taking a deep breath. "I forgave you your sins when you came to me with the truth. I have kept your secret from everyone I know and love. You promised me Morgoth would never discover us. This is your doing, and I will have no part in it."

His heart sinks, wrenches in pain, as the gravity of your words hits him, as you refuse to allow him to brush away the tears streaming down your face. Do you not understand? He cannot unsing the will of his master, it might as well have been written in stone, if the fabric of the universe were not hardier.

You jump to your feet, anger bubbling in your stomach, and you pace and curse Morgoth and all he stands for, Sauron wincing every time your lips twist to make the ugly sound of the Enemy's name.

"Amarië-" At hearing your name, you round on him, your eyes blazing with a fire he has only ever seen in himself, and though your anger is directed at him, it thrills him, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end, and he has to fight every instinct to take you and hold you and ravish the wrath from your being.

"Will it help? If I know my fate? I cannot change it even when you tell me, so perhaps I should live in blissful ignorance, as I did before you revealed yourself?" Your tone is so sharp, it cuts him like no sword could; he recoils from the heat of your words, the furnace blast that emanates from your anger, trepidation and admiration combining in a heady mix that makes his heart sing for you.

You feel a pang of guilt; you hate these new emotions, these feelings you'd never experienced before meeting him. Anger, sadness, betrayal; these had all been alien notions before Mairon, no, Sauron, had walked into your forest.

He has worked his expression into something more impassive, but you know he is hurt; sighing softly, you kneel and take his hand, still gripped with rage but mollified a little by your husband’s remorse. He has worked so hard to make it up to you, to show you how he is not the Enemy that your kin believe him to be.

"Will it make you feel better if I know?" You ask, searching his eyes for an answer. Please say no, please say you'll bear this burden alone... Your heart cannot take more sorrow, more betrayal; and to know would be to worry about something you cannot change.

"Eglandis." If your Elf ears were not so sensitive, you might not have heard him, how quietly he admits your doom.

Your blood runs cold, sweat breaks in uncomfortable waves down your back, as you realise the horrible truth, why your husband is so often absent, and why he was so terrified of your reaction.

"Forsaken one." You pause, thinking a moment, your heart beating out of your chest. "No, forsaken bride."

Doomed to live without your husband, this was the fate Morgoth had chosen for you. To punish Sauron for choosing a bride at all, for weakening himself in the pleasures of the flesh, he had also punished you. Had you not suffered enough? Forced to keep your love a secret from your kin, now you feared losing him forever.

"That is a cruel fate." You mutter, nose to nose with him as he seeks to comfort you.

"I am not going anywhere." He takes your hands in his once more, thumbs rubbing small circles in your palms.

"I swear to you, you will never be rid of me, no matter how hard fate pulls us apart, I will always be with you." He presses a kiss to your lips, trying to reassure you that he is here, that nothing will take you from him, but you can't move, can't breathe, as a crushing wave of grief overtakes you.

As you curl into his chest, he sweeps his sketches out of the way; it would be a shame to crumple that which is of the utmost importance to him, your crown to match his.

[master-tonberry]

Woozi in Going Seventeen Ep. 116: We Have to Cross Over in a Day, Are You Being Serious Right Now #1

[dejadoodles-101]

A new Inside Out 2 meme template just dropped 🤪

You can use it without credit! ☺️

[paint-it-red-and-black]

the comments under a trailer of F1 movie are killing me ☠️

[herashifts]

scuttles out onto the stage like an anxious lobster

so uh. what do shiftblr people post 🧍‍♀️

[kingkatsuki]

The thought of Bakugou listening to those terrible Cosmopolitan articles about dating to try and court you.

[brown-spider]

Couple of punks 🤘🏽