#you should perform mutual aid

[slutty-cthulhu]

no actually theres no difference between the democrat and republican party and voting at all ever is anti-leftist, actually um you should go tweet about firebombing a walmart and make a rael difference for once like i do

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Jealousy

Next fic with same reader -> Theatrics

[buddierecs]

demisexual!eddie diaz buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

the aftermath of liberation and love confessions by: elvensorceress "in which eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and december is the most dramatic time of year." word count: 17k important tags: idiots in love, coming out, love confessions, buckley-diaz family, getting together on the road with you, where everything makes sense (series) by: goforeddie "the demisexual eddie díaz series" word count: 17k important tags: getting together, soft!buddie, bisexual!evan buckley, gay!eddie diaz, asexual!eddie diaz eddie vs romance (series) by: allyasavedtheday "eddie diaz vs the great romance paradigm." word count: 27k important tags: character study, therapy, emotional hurt/comfort, falling in love, feelings realisation running out of reasons by: bptlmevyentc "buck ponders all the reasons why he and eddie should never, ever, ever be together." word count: 19k important tags: idiots in love, slow burn, mutual pining 'till our fingers decompose keep my hands in yours by: heartbeatdiaz "five crucial moments in life where buck and eddie hold hands." word count: 6.1k important tags: fluff, light angst, slow dancing, getting together, soft!buddie, mutual pining, coming out i think i've been having revelations (and really weird dreams) by: the11thtardis "buck is no longer with tommy... also he just realized his feelings for eddie might be more than platonic. oh, and eddie is having weird dreams and questioning his life choices, especially when it comes to the women in his life..." word count: 70k important tags: pre-relationship, getting together, jealous!eddie diaz, feelings realisation, gay!eddie diaz forever by: all-or-nothing-baby "buck tries to help eddie with the clasp on his st. christopher chain and eddie promptly loses his mind." word count: 1.5k important tags: soft!buddie, fluff, possessive!eddie diaz, coming out, friends to lovers it's not in the color of my eyes, but in the depths that they hold by: reallysmartladymariecurie "five times that eddie hears of firefighter buckley from the 118 performing dangerous stunts, and the one time that eddie aids him in the process. (with the added bonus of eddie having a full-blown sexuality crisis throughout)" word count: 12k important tags: different first meeting au, 5+1 things, humour, sexuality crisis, angst with a happy ending if i should fall by: elvensorceress "a accident leaves the love of buck's life dying in a hospital, leading him to evaluate the life he has, the life he wants, and where his heart belongs." word count: 23k important tags: angst, near death experiences, minor buck/tommy, getting together, pining, hurt/comfort, injury recovery there's always been a rainbow hangin' over your head by: underhung_aura "eddie comes out to buck, receives a quirky mug, and gets together with the love of his life. in that order." word count: 8.7k important tags: coming out, getting together, love confessions, feeling realisations, soft!buddie, fluff parenthood by: on_mars "eddie comes out to bobby and they have a chat about his feelings for buck" word count: 2k important tags: supportive!bobby nash, idiots in love, mutual pining, love confessions, first kiss 8:53 p.m. on a sunday night by: kingdomclouds "buck acts like christopher's dad and it makes eddie realize a few things." word count: 3.3k important tags: family fluff, angst, soft!buddie, miscommunication, love confession, hurt/comfort, happy ending clear priorities, easy decisions by: eightpackdiaz "bobby's in hospital, eddie's life is a mess, and buck makes his priorities pretty clear to all those around him." word count: 5.3k important tags: boys in love, taking care of each other, hurt!bobby nash, angst, hurt/comfort, love confessions, getting together

[tiny-librarian]

In the early morning hours of October 16th, having been condemned to death by guillotine, Marie Antoinette was led back to her cell in the Conciergerie. She wrote the following letter to her sister in law, Madame Elisabeth, but it would never reach her.

Here is a translation of the letter, images of the original are above.

16th October, 4.30 A.M. It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments.

I am calm, as one is when one’s conscience reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. You who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us, in what a position do I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! poor child; I do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not even know whether this will reach you. Do you receive my blessing for both of them. I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one’s own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father, which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths. I have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wishes, especially when he does not understand it. It will come to pass one day, I hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of them. It remains to confide to you my last thoughts. I should have wished to write them at the beginning of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing, events have passed so rapidly that I really have not had time. I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion (and indeed the place where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I may have committed during my life. I trust that, in His goodness, He will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a long time addressed to Him, to receive my soul into His mercy. I beg pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts and to all my brothers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to my latest moment I thought of them. Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell! farewell! I must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as I am not free in my actions. Perhaps they will bring me a priest; but I here protest that I will not say a word to him, but that I will treat him as a total stranger.

[eeveecraft]

Possession: By a Tulpa for Tulpas

By: Arcanus of the Dragonheart System

Introduction

Possession is an optional skill in Tulpamancy that allows a tulpa to access the physical world; it gives a chance for a tulpa to experience things not curated or managed by their host or other system members. Thus, what is possession? For those uninformed, possession is quite simply the act of a tulpa or other system members taking partial or full control of the physical body while the previous person in control is still connected to said body. For many tulpas, this is our primary manner of accessing and interacting with the same world our hosts do, especially so for systems where the host is incapable of fully disconnecting from the body, often considered a highly important step for switching. As such, even possession itself is desired by many tulpas for this opportunity of interacting with the outside, with people who are not of the same mind and body, and to gain experience and develop as individuals.

Numerous possession guides are often created by hosts rather than tulpas or by a neutral viewpoint; there are very few possession guides designed by tulpas themselves who are capable of possession and wish to teach it to others. This guide is crafted by a tulpa who has existed as such for six years, and has been capable of possessing quite well for nearly as long. The aim with this piece is to guide other tulpas with this specific perspective in hopes of sparking a form of eureka moment for other tulpas that can be the flicker necessary to obtain this skill, and for tulpas who use solely nonhuman forms that may be uncomfortable with the idea of using a human body.

Preparation and Mindset

Before attempting possession, there are things to consider and prepare for. These preparations allow future training sessions for possession to be less vexing, and can aid in avoiding potential issues further down the line.

A primary thing a host and tulpa should obtain before practicing possession is the ability to have clear communication between each other, often in the form of vocality. Seizing control of the body is an action that requires both parties to communicate their feelings to each other consistently, especially when speaking about consent. Without clear communication, a situation can go awry or create a schism between the two parties. For example, imagine a tulpa possessing the body without informing the host first, causing bewilderment and fear within the host who had no inkling that the tulpa was going to possess. On the opposing side, picture a tulpa possessing and performing activities when the host snatches back control deliberately and without warning, and thus disrupts what the tulpa was doing. With both parties, this can cause unease and anxiety simply due a lack of communication and respecting boundaries.

To avoid this, both the tulpa and host need to speak with each other and mutually agree to the possession beforehand through means akin to vocality or even tulpish. If one member does not consent, then the other should not ignore the boundaries set by the other person. However, this does not mean a host should unreasonably prevent a tulpa from possessing. There are reasonable times to possess and situations where possession is not ideal where a host may state, "Sorry, now's not a good time because we're in public," and other circumstances that are unreasonable such as, "Sorry, but I don't want you doing this harmless thing." From personal experience, it can be quite thrilling to possess and experience existence in such a physical and lifelike sense, but it is best to show self-restraint and ask before attempting possession.

For further reading to learn about techniques to build communication and vocality, here are a few well-written guides:

Tulpamancy: Guide Into the Strange and Wonderful: Section 13: Vocality & Section 25: Methods of Communication

Tips for Hearing Your Tulpa

Quantum's Nametag Method

Clear communication often also requires the tulpa to be fairly developed, capable of making informed decisions without the host's input while also being mature enough to handle any possible outside world responsibilities. Fledgling tulpas have a tendency to be childish and emotional in nature, even being somewhat unstable in form and personality at times, as they continue to establish their identity with forcing sessions and experience. Therefore, a younger tulpa may not understand the importance of respecting boundaries, maintaining what are usually the host's responsibilities such as school or occupations, or may make emotional decisions in favor of logical ones. Harsh world experiences can also be stressful for the tulpa and negatively impact their development while they are still malleable and easily influenced, thus it is ideal for the tulpa to be developed to the point of their identity being mostly solidified, and where they have learned to manage their emotions in times of stress and hardship.

It must be specified that this advice is targeted towards more extensive possession sessions, sessions that may span hours, days, or longer. Shorter sessions within a controlled environment are more suitable for a less developed tulpa learning possession and do not require as much preparation and development from the tulpa.

How much time it takes for both of these to be met is subjective and has a high degree of variance between Tulpamancers. Both maturity and vocality can come with time, consistent forcing sessions, and patience. What is imperative is to not rush possession; possession is not a fleeting opportunity that is capable of vanishing at a moment's notice. Regardless of the system's age, possession is a skill that will always be available, thus do not feel the need to rush it or obtain it as quickly as physically possible. Nor should a Tulpamancy system feel as though they are obligated to learn possession. Though few in number, there are tulpas who are quite content with never being in control of the body, instead preferring to be imposed on the material plane or live their lives in a mindscape. Neither host or tulpa should be forced into learning a skill they do not wish to learn if they do not desire it within reason, however, it does not harm either to at least attempt possession once.

Finally, another common issue, specifically for hosts, is a sense of fear or anxiety when pondering the idea of the tulpa taking control. This fear is reasonable, especially with how possession and control swapping is often portrayed in many nations and cultures. In tandem with this, the host is often one who has spent their entire existence being the singular entity of the body; switching as a concept is a direct opposite of what the vast majority of humanity believes to be the sole way of existence, that each consciousness belongs to one vessel and is that vessel. There are some hosts who require self-introspection and must accept that they are not the body itself, but a single consciousness of multiple that happens to dwell within it.

Anxiety for switching can stem from pathological anxiety or this mindset of singularity, and thus not all Tulpamancy-specific advice may apply. Trust between both parties is critical when exchanging control, not simply that they will do no harm with the power they are given, but as a general rule. For both the tulpa and the host: trust in the tulpa to be responsible, and trust in the host to allow the tulpa to safely express themself without overstepping boundaries. Any and all concerns should be spoken about between both members and genuinely listened to, this includes doing whatever possible to negate any doubts or fears.

In conjunction with maturity, the ability to communicate properly, and dousing any fears and anxieties, another key factor in possession is the mindset of both the host and tulpa. It can be deceivingly simple to believe that possession is this archaic skill, possibly due to preexisting connotations of possession from various forms of media and how only supernatural beings are capable of performing this feat. Despite this, possession is not impossible to achieve, nor does it take years for most Tulpamancy systems to gain. Remember that both the tulpa and host exist within the same mind and body; both parties have access to the same neural pathways, and thus access to movement. As months become years, a tulpa eventually reaches a point to being on equal footing with the host, being a fully separate person capable of all the same feats the host is capable of and not simply some entity that can be willed away on a whim.

In addition to this, it is a highly prevalent and pervasive myth that the host must manually dissociate from the body to allow the tulpa to possess. Quite frankly, this is false, as many tulpas have proven to be capable of possession while the host is still fully connected to the body and is aware of what the body is doing. Mindset, however not being an absolute factor, can still majorly influence how quickly or slowly a skill in Tulpamancy is gained. Another belief that can stymie possession training is the belief that the tulpa is lesser, weaker, or simply less capable than the host. By doing this, the host is setting unnecessary limitations on the tulpa, which further slows skill development. When speaking about Tulpamancy, one should not think in absolutes, but instead keep an open mind for any possibility instead of denying or wholeheartedly believing a certain outcome will occur.

Thirdly and finally with possession myths, older guides often reference possession being this "alien" feeling when experienced, a sensation easily noticeable. In recent years, many Tulpamancers have started fervently exclaiming that possession will not feel alien and that it was merely an artifact from the past. As previously stated, believing in absolutes is often an unhelpful mindset in Tulpamancy. Despite the claims from either side, there are Tulpamancers who experience this "alien" feeling and others who do not. A possible explanation for this is a tulpa's presence and the sensation it gives when the tulpa possess, or perhaps this "alien" feeling is more common with tulpas with nonhuman forms that clash more with a human body when attempting to control it. Regardless of whether or not a system will experience this "alien" feeling is unimportant, as many believe this sensation alerts the host whether or not the tulpa is actually moving the body. If one is simply unsure if the body's movement was theirs or their tulpa's, they can simply verify it with the tulpa instead of merely guessing.

Once mentally overcoming these hurdles to the best of one's ability, possession is much more likely to be swift with ample progression and lowering the possibility of tribulations in the future.

Step-by-Step Process and Explanation

At last, the process of possession specifically for tulpas in the perspective of another tulpa. For the sake of brevity and simplicity, the possession strategy will be laid out in steps first, then the explanation will be placed after the method itself. Remember that this method is done solely in the perspective of the tulpa, however, the host at minimum should relax in whatever means they wish and simply allow the tulpa to go through the process.

Begin by connecting to the body's senses, look through the body's eyes, feel the gravity of the earth pulling downwards, take in any scents or sounds in the area, and even pay close attention to any flavors the mouth may be experiencing.

Hone in on a singular sense, whichever is desired. With the eyes, absorb every single detail possible, every color, every shape, their distance from the body, and more as an example. Or not simply feel the effect of gravity, but also the textures of objects or even the body itself, the temperature of the air or ground, and potentially even focus on negative sensations such as pain if they are present.

Entrench oneself in that specific sense until feeling completely absorbed by it, entranced to the point of losing awareness of one's form or anything else, even the thoughts of oneself or the host.

Become that sense, become the eyes, become the skin, the nose, the mouth, or ears. Not simply using the sense, but embodying that sense itself.

Once this step is complete, repeat the process with the other senses, slowly becoming them while remaining connected to the ones already focused on.

With every sense focused intensely on, attempt to move the body in some capacity. An example would be moving the eyes if the first step taken was to become sight.

Attempt to do this with the other senses and what they are related to. Move the body's arms, look around, take a deep breath, and listen to one's environment.

If the process was successful, the tulpa will be possessing the body.

Note how this strategy does not ask the host to "give up" the body or instruct the tulpa to flow their essence into the body unlike other possession guides. The mindset behind the method presented is guiding the tulpa to essentially synchronize with the body to the point of becoming one with it instead of a nonphysical person, becoming so lost with the world they are experiencing that they simply forget that they are a passenger in the metaphorical car. When honing in on or focusing highly on a sense, it can be possible for a tulpa to accidentally begin possessing what controls that sense. For example, a tulpa may be interested in what the host is eating, paying such close attention to the food that they begin to experience it physically, possibly even moving the mouth to eat without realizing it.

However, not all tulpas understand the idea of "connecting" to the body's senses, especially tulpas used to living their days in a mindscape. Quite simply, this can be done through intuition and trial and error, or through symbolic means that translate to the act of connecting. It boils down to: what seems logical? For every tulpa, this is highly subjective and there is no flawless method that can be taught.

One must also keep in mind that following these steps may not be successful the first attempt or even after multiple attempts. Rather, a tulpa may take time learning how to focus on a particular sense, or possibly learning how to focus so intently in any sense. One day may be a day filled with progress, but said progress is halted by a singular part, mileage will vary between systems.

Possession for Nonhuman Tulpas

Not every tulpa takes on a human appearance, or even an appearance that matches a human's general shape. Though a tulpa is not quite literally their form, there are some tulpas who are quite connected to their form in a sense either through means of identity or simply out of fondness for their appearance. For tulpas in this category, possession or fronting at all can be uncomfortable or possibly unpleasant due to the contrast between the body and the tulpa's form; this connection with the tulpa's form can also impact how they act whilst in control such as mannerisms, walking style, or even voice to a notable degree.

Common advice to counteract this is for the tulpa to temporarily take a human form when fronting to ease the bodily dysphoria, yet, there are tulpas who are uncomfortable with that idea and would prefer to avoid it. This section is intended for tulpas who are uncomfortable with changing their form just to front.

A simple way to ease the discomfort of body dysphoria is to accept any "quirky" fronting mannerisms, opting to embrace them instead of fully attempting to act like a human. Walking on toes, using hands in a way that is considered odd, even imposing one's own form over the body to whatever capacity within reason (typically known as "phantom limbs" if this includes adding otherwise nonexistent limbs). Unless it is necessary not to out the system as plural to others the system is not out to yet, allow oneself to be nonhuman in nature regardless of if they are currently using a human body.

Another method is to have the mindset of, "I am not actually a human, just a nonhuman taking control of a human body," much like the more fantastical definition of possession many are familiar with. This mindset can create a disconnect that may ease the dysphoria, especially for tulpas who solely identify as a singular or set form.

Choose articles of clothing or accessories that match the form or at minimum, mask the human shape such as hoodies or sweatpants. One can also avoid staring at the body in the mirror or undressing, but this can have the negative consequences of becoming more and more avoidant of the body, which is not ideal if one wishes to become at least somewhat accustomed with it.

Conclusion

Being able to control a physical body can be a wonderful opportunity to grow as a person, form relationships and bond with new people, and to have meaningful impact on the world. Possession in of itself may not be a tedious challenge, but it also may not be a breeze a tulpa and host can accomplish within a day. Remember that this guide and strategy are one of many; do not feel shackled to a particular method if it is simply not working out. Every host and tulpa's experiences with possession will vary to some degree, and that is the beauty of such a thing, as it allows for many to share their experiences and knowledge that can reach out to benefit others.

I do hope this guide aids my fellow tulpas.

Please consider supporting us on Ko-Fi if you found this guide useful.

This is a slightly improved iteration of my guide, as I was unaware that we had never posted it on this blog. However, the body of the content remains identical to the Tulpa.info and Tulpanomicon iterations of the guide.

7-21-2024

[mrsfatu]

Final Part: Duel Desires

part 1 HERE

Paring: Jey Uso x Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing, fingering, oral fem receiving, swearing, p in v, smutty smutty smut, 18+

--

Taglist: @empressdede @geekinstilettos @strxwberry-milku @southerngirl41 @mzv11 @femdisa

--

You found yourself positioned in the middle of Roman's room, flanked by Jimmy on one side and Jey on the other. The intense feeling of anxiety caused your skin to feel as though it was crawling with discomfort, each moment passing by like a slow, unsettling creep. 

Roman let out a light chuckle, his tone teasing as he remarked, "You look like you seen a ghost or somethin." Feeling the weight of his gaze, you nervously shifted your grip on the notebook in your hand before answering, "Just a bit nervous, that's all." Sitting up in his chair, Roman reassured you, "Don't be. We really need to discuss this upcoming interview you have with me." 

Your gaze traveled from Jimmy to Jey, your mind consumed with thoughts of whether they were aware of your sexual encounters with each other. The presence of both men had a magnetic pull on you, causing a delicious sense of weakness to seep through your body. Their eyes held a seductive allure as they watched you, sparking a tantalizing tension that left you yearning for more.

As you refocused your attention, you found yourself responding tentatively, "Um, yeah, sure. Where should we begin, Roman?" The air filled with nervous anticipation as the two of you delved into a thorough discussion, meticulously planning every aspect of how tomorrow's interview on "Tonight's Show" would be orchestrated and structured. Each detail was carefully analyzed, ensuring that nothing was left to chance in creating a captivating and flawless on-air performance.

-

During the interview, Roman abruptly receives a phone call, prompting him to dash out fiercely to attend to the urgent matter, leaving you in an unexpected situation with Jimmy and Jey. Anxiety grips you once again as you feel their intense gazes fixated on your body. In the midst of this tension, your grasp slips, causing your notebook to tumble to the floor. Reacting swiftly, both men rush to assist you, but a silent, charged moment ensues as they realize their mutual desire to be the one to aid you. Locked in a stare-off, a palpable sense of suspense hangs in the air between them, their eyes revealing unspoken words and uncharted territories of desire.

Realization crept over you that the situation was veering into dangerous territory. Their gaze locked onto each other, a silent battle of dominance unfolding as if they were unwittingly partaking in a competition over your affections. The intensity of their stares betrayed a hidden tension and unspoken rivalry, as if each twin was unaware of the sexual encounter you had with the other. 

In a tense exchange, Jey focused his gaze on Jimmy as he said, "aye, bruh, I got her." Jimmy's eyebrow raised in defiance, countered with, "Nah, uce, it's all me." Approaching you, Jey's hands found their way to your waist as he asked, "you ight? Is yo anxiety fuckin’ with you?" Before you could respond, Jimmy swiftly intervened, pulling Jey back by the arm, "I told you it's all me, fuck you doing, uce?" 

Jey withdrew from Jimmy's grip, his voice laced with irritation as he questioned, "the fuck you grabbing me like that for uce? yo ass over here acting like you did something with her." Your eyes widened with guilt, your stomach somersaulting as you struggled to process the situation. The two men fixated their gaze on you, your heart pounding frantically while your mind raced. Unable to withstand the tension any longer, you finally spoke up, confessing, "Fuck! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry if I gave you both the wrong idea, but I'm sorry. Jimmy fingered me, and Jey ate me out.” The room was filled with the weight of unspoken truths.

Jimmy's fist, connected with Jey's left eye. The room echoed with the sharp sound of the impact. Jey stumbled backward, clutching his face in pain, while Jimmy stood there.

You gasped sharply, "JIMMY!" Your voice pierces the air with disbelief. Roman burst into the room, his expression one of disgust as he reprimanded, "I leave for two minutes, and yall in here fighting? In my room?" Feeling overwhelmed by the tension and guilt, you stormed out without a backward glance, your fear palpable as you stomped down the halls. The weight of remorse coursed through your veins as you reached your room, seeking solace in your journal to release the flood of emotions that threatened to consume you.

You tore through the lavish hotel room, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. your hands rifled through drawers, under the bed, and inside the closet in a desperate search for your journal. The room, adorned with expensive furnishings, felt claustrophobic as your sobs filled the air. Each moment without your journal felt like a piece of you being stripped away. 

A knock echoed at the door, and through the veil of tears, Jimmy's face appeared. You opened the door with fury, demanding, "What do you want?" as you stormed through the room. Jimmy followed, apologizing, "I'm sorry, ight? I ain’t mean to trip like that." Your anger flared, "Nigga please. Yall act like CHILDREN. Get out." You yelled, backing up until you reached the end of your bed. Jimmy remained resolute, standing in front of you, "Not til you forgive me," he insisted. 

With a roll of your eyes, you met his challenging gaze, filled with a hint of mischief. "Bet," he murmured, then forcefully pushed you onto the plush bed. You began to protest, "Jimmy-" but he silenced you with a commanding tone, "Lay yo ass down." You did as you were told.

your eyes locked with his. He slowly began to undress you, starting with the unbuttoning of your jeans. As each button gave way, the tension between you intensified. Once your pants were removed, he then slid them off your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his presence.

He then knelt beside the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, as he prepared to explore the intimate depths of your pussy. With a soft whisper, he assured you of his intentions, "forgive me." your breaths shallow and rapid, as you surrendered.

His skilled fingers traced the contours of your body, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. As he gently parted your legs, he leaned in, his mouth teasing your most sensitive spots, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. The room was now filled with the sounds of your passion, as he continued to explore you with his tongue, sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you. You could feel his beard gliding along the wetness of your pussy, “so fuckin’ wet for me huh?” he mumbled.

His skilled tongue danced over your most sensitive spot, sending shivers through your body and causing your back to arch in pleasure. Each touch ignited a fire within you, and your moans grew more intense with each passing moment. "Fuck, Jimmy… Jimmy," you cried out, your voice echoing in the room as your body trembled under his expert attention.

He hummed in response, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through your core, further fueling your arousal. "Mhm, feel that shit, mama," he murmured, his words dripping with sensuality. His voice alone was enough to push you closer to the edge, as you clung to the pleasure he was providing, your body writhing beneath his skilled touch.

He positioned your legs on his shoulders, creating a deeper access to your core. He asked, "Did he eat you like this, hmm? This what you like?" His words were a mix of tease and dominance, sending a thrill through you as you nodded, your voice barely audible, "Yes."

He let out a low chuckle, watching you squirm beneath his gaze, your body responding to his every touch. The sight of your vulnerability and desire only fueled his own arousal, as he continued to explore you with his tongue, burying himself deeper into your pussy.

Your passion built, gasping, "I'm gonna-," you whispered, "mhm, cum in my mouth," he groaned as he intensified his kiss on your most sensitive spot. Your climax washed over you, causing shivers to ripple through your being, and he gently laid your legs back down, savoring the aftermath.

-

After you had been intimate, you and Jimmy laid in each other's arms, enjoying the rush of emotions that came with being so close.  As you laid there, you couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it felt to be with him, but you also felt the desire to cool off and relax. The idea of going to the pool popped into your mind, and you decided to act on it. 

"I'm gonna go hit the pool, you coming?" you asked Jimmy as you rummaged through your bag to find your swimsuit. He shook his head, feeling comfortable where he was. "Nah, I got too comfortable, you go ahead. I'll probably hit the gym later." 

You nodded in understanding, slipping into your swimsuit as you prepared to head out. The thought of feeling the cool water against your skin was enticing, and you were eager to take a refreshing swim. With a quick goodbye to Jimmy, you made your way to the pool, ready to soak in the peacefulness and beauty of the water.

-

As you made your way towards the pool, you couldn't help but admire the beauty of the surroundings. The lush greenery, the vibrant flowers, and the soothing sound of flowing water created a peaceful atmosphere. Your eyes were drawn to the pool, the sparkling blue water glistening in the sunlight, inviting you to take a dip and relax.

But as you approached closer, your attention shifted to a figure sitting in the pool with his back facing you. He had a distinct appearance - his wet, perfectly styled mullet, the intricate tribal tattoos that covered his muscular back, and a shiny Cuban link necklace around his neck. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized who it was - Jey.

With a mix of curiosity and apprehension, you took slow steps towards Jey, finally sitting down in the pool beside him. The sight of the black and blue bruise covering his eye filled you with a sense of guilt and concern. You reached out and gently grasped his face, your voice filled with sincerity as you apologized.

"I'm so sorry," you said, your eyes welling up with emotion. Jey, however, tried to reassure you, his tone calm and understanding. "It's okay, ma. I ain't trippin'." He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours, attempting to convey that there was no need for you to worry.

"Look, let's have fun or sum, you can swim?" he asked, gauging your swimming abilities. You shook your head, admitting that you couldn't swim. “Lemme teach you then”, his offering evident in his voice. "Fine, but don't drop me or I'll beat your ass," you said, trying to maintain a lighthearted atmosphere.

"Yeeet!" he exclaimed. Your eyes grew wide as You let out a small giggle. “Why you laughing?" he asked, curious about your reaction. You couldn't help but mock him in return, “ yeeet!”.

He rolled his eyes, "Man, come here so I can help yo ass swim." His words were filled with good-natured mockery, and you couldn't help but smile as you prepared to take his help and learn how to swim together.

Jey stood in the pool in front of you, grabbing your arms to pull you in deeper. Eventually the water came up to your neck. You began to look around you at the water, feeling as if you’re being choked and might possibly drown, “j-jey this is too deep” you said nervously. He grabs you by the waist, “cmere I got u,” he said. He swiftly pulled you up by your thighs, wrapping them around his waist, “better?” He asked. “Yeah” you answered softly.

God he looked so sexy. The tats, the hair, the chain, HIS GRILL. And you couldn’t even help the fact that you could see Jimmy in his eyes as well.The quietness felt heavy. "I'm still sorry for your eye," you mention. "I know baby," he replies. His eyes gleamed as his dick pulsed. You desperately moved your hips into his. With one of his hands, he moved it in between the two of you. Going further towards your aching pussy. “Jey-“ “shh ma.” He made little circles on your clit, “god” you moaned. 

As he continued to explore you, his touch became more arousing, and with a gentle ease, he inserted his middle finger within you. It was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan softly as you adjusted to his finger.

Once you were comfortable, he began to move with a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. Your moans grew louder, filling the indoor pool with the sound of your desperate moans. "Oh my god, Jey," you cried out, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

He responded to your cries by increasing the pace of his movements, his touch becoming more assertive as he guided you towards the peak of ecstasy. he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a wave of pleasure through you. "Mhh. Did he finger you like this? hm?" he teased, his voice low and seductive. You couldn't help but nod in response, your eyes locked onto his, filled with gratitude for this incredible connection.

"Yes. Yes," you said, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own moans. As the climax approached, you felt yourself losing control, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. "Come for me, ma," he demanded, his voice filled with desire and lust. "Cum on my hand ma, you can do it."

And with those words, you did just that. Your body convulsed as waves of ecstasy washed over you, your moans filling the room as you reached the pinnacle of pleasure. Jey held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring, as you rode the waves of your orgasm.

"Lemme walk you to yo room," he whispered, his voice low. Having experienced two orgasms in one day, you felt a sense of euphoria wash over you, leaving you both breathless and a little dazed. As you stood there, leaning against Jey's strong embrace, he walked you two to the steps of the pool. He gently puts you down.

He supported you, guiding you towards your room. When you finally reached your room, Jey helped you inside, and Jimmy was standing in the center, waiting for you.

Tensions rose as Jimmy's anger flared once more, and Jey found himself becoming agitated as well. You tried to intervene, your voice calm and steady as you asked, "I thought you went to the gym."

Jimmy's gaze shifted to Jey, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and confusion. "I ain't wanna go no more," he replied, his voice tinged with resentment. Jey decided to intervene. "Why you here?" he inquired, his own temper simmering just beneath the surface. Undeterred, Jimmy stepped closer, his voice echoing Jey's question. "Why you here?" you attempted to diffuse the situation. "Don't start this," you pleaded, your hand slapping against your head in frustration. "I'm tired of it."

Despite your efforts, it seemed as though neither Jimmy nor Jey were willing to back down, their anger and frustration fueling the growing tension between them. You couldn't help but worry that the situation would spiral out of control if they didn't find a way to resolve their differences.

"What you do, uce?" Jimmy inquired, his tone tinged with suspicion. Jey responded by wrapping his hand around your neck, asserting, "I'll show you what I did." With a swift movement, Jey spun you around and leaned in to kiss you passionately. As his lips met yours, a wave of desire and intensity passed between you, leaving Jimmy visibly frustrated and agitated. In a moment of jealousy and defiance, Jimmy took hold of your hand and spun you around to face him. He pressed his lips forcefully against yours, his tongue entering your mouth in a possessive, almost aggressive manner.

It was like they were competing on who could kiss you better, eat you better, finger you better, and get you wetter. Jey spun you around and demanded, "Get on the bed, ma." You complied, taking a seat on the bed with your knees bent, your eyes darting between the two men.

The tension between Jimmy and Jey hung heavy in the air, as they stood facing each other in a tense, unspoken confrontation. After a moment of intense scrutiny, they exchanged a subtle nod, signaling an unspoken understanding between them.

With the air now charged with anticipation, Jey made his way to the edge of the bed, while Jimmy positioned himself behind you. The room seemed to grow smaller as the two men prepared to make their moves, and you couldn't help but feel caught in the middle of their unspoken agreement.

Although unsure of where this was headed at the moment. Jey gently lifted your chin with a tender touch, while Jimmy deftly removed your bikini, guiding you into a position on all fours.

As Jimmy tenderly caressed your backside, Jey's hand softly grazed your cheek, his eyes searching yours for a sign of trust. "Do you trust us?" Jey questioned, his voice filled with a mix of concern and desire. With a silent nod, you conveyed your willingness to surrender.

But Jimmy, wanting a more explicit confirmation, encouraged you to vocalize your trust. "Use your words, mama," he urged. For a moment, hesitation hung in the air before you finally mustered the courage to respond, "Y-yes," your voice tinged with anticipation.

Jey and Jimmy, both undressing with an air of confidence and desire, revealed their arousal to you. As their clothing fell to the floor, you couldn't help but notice the impressive size of both men. Your eyes widened in a mix of surprise and anticipation.

You found yourself drawn to Jey, his erection standing proud before you. Simultaneously, Jimmy positioned himself at the entrance of your dripping pussy, the anticipation of the moment heightening your senses. Your gaze shifted back and forth between the two men, your focus returning to Jey as he gently guided his member to your lips. With a shared look of understanding, they exchanged a single nod, signaling their readiness to proceed. 

Jey's dick slowly filled your mouth, while Jimmy's slid deep within your core. Your tightness surprised them both, but the pleasure it brought was undeniable, and you couldn't help but moan in response.

"So fucking tight, mama," Jimmy groaned, his voice filled with a mix of lust and desire. Jey, too, couldn't resist voicing his pleasure, "mm-fuck, your mouth feels so good, ma," he murmured between fucking your face. The rhythm of their movements intensified, their bodies rocking in harmony with yours.

As they drove deeper into you, Jimmy's hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a stinging imprint on the plump flesh. "This ass so damn fat," he growled, his voice a mix of dominance. Your moans echoed through the room, a blend of pleasure and pain that only heightened your arousal.

Jey, with a firm grip on your face, thrust deeper into your mouth, his movements forcefully fucking your face, reaching the back of your throat. Meanwhile, Jimmy expertly stroked your G-spot, causing your legs to weaken and your pussy to leak uncontrollably.

Jimmy then pulled himself out of you as jey did the same. Jimmy rose off the bed and jey held you by your throat as he laid you on your back. As Jimmy moved to the hem of the bed, jey then laid beside you and positioned you on top of him. You settled down onto Jey's eager dick, feeling the warmth and fullness as his arousal filled you. At the same time, Jimmy positioned himself at your mouth, eager to explore your sensuality.

Jey's grip on your throat tightened, his eyes locked with yours as he said, "Ride this dick, ma." His words were filled with raw desire, urging you to take control of the situation.

You rode him up and down, hard as you took jimmy in your mouth. You wanted to make him plead to cum, both of them. With every downward motion, your wetness coated Jey's balls, a testament to your arousal. Meanwhile, your throat welcomed Jimmy's length, accepting every inch he had to offer. "Oh fuck!" Jey moaned, his facial expression revealing his desperateness as he displayed his grillz. Jimmy couldn't help but add, "Mama, you're doing so good!" His head threw back in response to your skills. 

You bounced harder on jeys thick dick as you fully took jimmy's dick balls deep into your throat. “Why you fuckin’ me like dis, ma?” jey whimpered in agony. Jimmy said, “lemme cum in that mouth mama, p-please.” as jey agreed, “yea, lemme cum in this wet ass pussy. Fuuuck, please.” With that being said, you sped up your rhythm. Jimmy's thighs trembled as he released his climax into your mouth, his moans mingling with a stuttering "mmh, i- shit." Meanwhile, Jey's pulsating dick filled you, his dick expelling cum as his legs twitched in response to the heightened sensations, “fuuuuck,” he moaned. Far from finished, you began to grind against Jey's now sensitive length, your voice rising in a wail, "I'm gonna cum!" Jey nodded, urging, "Cum on my dick." And so, you did, your orgasm building from your sensitive g-spot and rapidly expanding, eventually overwhelming your entire body.

Gently lowering yourself onto Jey, you found yourself in a tender embrace alongside Jimmy, who sat up beside you. A moment of confidence passed between Jey and Jimmy as they shook hands. As Jimmy tenderly stroked your thick curls, Jey's hand provided a comforting caress to your back, enveloping you in warmth and support.

After thoughtful consideration, you realized that choosing between the two of them would be impossible. You found yourself in need of both the assertive presence of Jimmy and the reassuring comfort of Jey. Together, they complemented each other perfectly in every aspect imaginable.

[ambulancevsambulance]

This is my Essay from the MCR Swarm Zine. I kept hesitating to put it up here, as I feel pretty tender about it. But after everything that happened yesterday, today. I feel like I have to put it out here. It's necessary. Needed. For myself, at the very least.

--

"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make”

It’s June 2022, and I’m watching My Chemical Romance perform songs of anger, community, and defiance in one of my favorite cities- Prague. 

The city of my father’s family. A city that has repeatedly stared tyranny in the face and decided to rise up despite the odds.  

It’s 1945 and the citizens have rebelled to take back the city from the Nazis, street by street.

It’s the spring of 1968, and citizens fight against another oppressive regime. They are supposed to be crushed in four days. 

They last eight. Months. 

It’s 1989, another uprising, one that comes to be known as the Velvet Revolution. The city is finally free, a culmination of every revolution and rebellion that has come before. 

In each instance citizens clawed towards freedom by any means necessary, fighting in the open to stop jackbooted goons from holding onto power. To save friends, family, and complete strangers from suffering for one more moment. Each time they lost, they made sure to make it hurt, and to make the oppressor remember how hard the fight had been. 

They didn’t always win the battle,

–The good guys die and the bad guys win–

but they won the war. 

These people keenly knew that institutions will not save you. Only your fellow comrades will.

It’s June 2022. My friends and I are facing calls of discrimination, for extermination. It can be a miserable time, but I find strength in watching one of my favorite bands. I join the hundreds on livestream, watching the thousands in the stadium. Our eyes fixed on the five on stage. 

As Gerard starts crooning out the notes of Heaven Help Us for the first time in fourteen years, again I’m reminded:

They will not save you.

What is this song but a scream to be saved by outside forces? That in the midst of a cruel martyrdom, the Heavens will be silent to pleas for help. It’s the punchline to the joke, right? No higher power is coming to save you, no matter how much you cry. 

Best they can offer is to watch you burn. 

Heaven Help Us has never been a hopeful song–and it’s a struggle to feel hopeful, some days. 

But the world is an echo of the past as much as it is a march towards an uncertain future. I feel those ghosts whispering to remember this city’s history while watching MCR on stage. To remember that the only solidarity that can be found is in mutual aid–in the community of our fellow freaks and queers and fags. That without intersectionality between it all we will fucking fail. It’s hard work, and we won’t always win.

That doesn’t mean we– I – should give up. And MCR agrees. In contrast to the despair of Heaven Help Us, there is Danger Days– which speaks more to me now than any other MCR album. Songs of radical love and resistance against fascist conglomerates and an uncaring apocalyptic world…that doesn’t feel as fictional as it did before. 

In Prague, MCR plays six songs from that album (Boy Division counts, damn it). Seeing Gerard, Frank, and Ray all screaming into their microphones about an apocalypse that is crashing down around our ears lights a fire inside of me. Reminding me that changing the world might mean dying, but hell yeah lets try anyways. Your sacrifice might light the path of victory for others. You get to be the fucking detonator–and isn’t that a privlege? To have your acts of resistance inspire the next in line. 

It’s in direct contrast to the lament of Heaven. Stop asking who, what will save us, and realize we have to save ourselves. By any means possible. 

The concert ends with Kids from Yesterday, and I finish the night listening to Gerard sing that the only people we can truly count on are each other. That fighting for your friends is the purest form of love alive. 

So in the face of extermination, say fuck you.

And make damn sure your friends want to leave graffiti on your grave. 

[tootoomanycats]

PERFORMANCES: Chapter 1 -The Storm of The Century

Summary: In the wake of a historic hurricane raging across the treacherous waters of the East Blue and Grand Line, islands and their resilient inhabitants must either adapt or flee to ensure survival. Sleep Haven, a once-tranquil oasis, now finds itself shattered by the merciless storm. What took years to build and nurture with your own hands lies in ruins, demolished in mere hours. What should have been a fleeting tempest stretched into endless months of devastation. With little left but dwindling supplies and scant funds, you and your fellow islanders embarked on a desperate flight for survival. In your hour of dire need, you reached out to a mysterious benefactor whose aid came at a staggering price. The cost: to divert the attention of the clownish "Leader" of the Cross Guild. As events unfold on BariBari Island, amidst schemes and dangers, you find yourself grappling with emotions long suppressed. Is your interaction with the clown merely a facade, or is it awakening something you've denied yourself for years? Will the repercussions of this precarious pact only affect the flamboyant clown, or will it unravel the last vestiges of your guarded heart as well? The storm may have ravaged Sleep Haven, but the true tempest now brews within your soul and the choices you are forced to make.

Warnings for THIS chapter: None

Performances Master List

Pairings: Buggy/Reader

Word Count: 4,417 Words

AO3 Link

Warning for this Story:

Reader is a retired sex worker

Both Buggy/Reader are in their early to late 30's

There will be smut scenes

There will also be cute fluff scenes

Please note that betrayal does happen to Buggy in this and as of right now I still dont know if Buggy will forgive Reader or not.

Switch/Switch sexual dynamics so its really anyones game.

Author Notes: Hello everyone! Please note that this story already has some spicy teasers that can be found on the MASTER LIST. This story was origionally only supposed to be a few smut peices, but its become what will probably be one of the most intense and intricate stories I've ever tried to take a crack at. A few things to note before you should dig into this story. Reader is a fem presenting person and there will be pronouns of She/Her for this story. I am working on stories for nongender presenting works, but for this one it is a designated identiy. Anyway if you like it, please remeber that fanfic writers live off of Likes, Kudos and Comments of encouragment and conversation. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Storm of the Century

"Get to the bunker!"

Amidst the cataclysmic wail of the hurricane, screams became echoes lost in the torrent. The quaint island town, once a portrait of tranquility, was now an arsenal of airborne debris, propelled by winds that shrieked at a hundred miles per hour. Mari, a slender blond woman, sprinted through the chaos, clutching a young child to her chest like a precious gem. Her eyes were set on the concrete sanctuary that had morphed into a last haven for the island's residents.

Once safely ensconced inside, her eyes scanned the room in a frenzied dance, landing on face after face, each one not the one she was looking for.

"Where's the Mistress?!"

Silence strangled the air. The group of women inside exchanged worried glances; their faces etched with a mutual dread. Finally, the child's voice broke through the din, its pitch climbing to be heard over the relentless battering of the storm against the shelter's walls.

"She said she was heading to the Ustesse family's place! Their mom is 'bout to have the baby!" A wave of collective gasps swept the room, whispers and murmurs swirling like mini vortexes. "They're gonna be okay, right Mari?" The child clung to her leg, his small face etched with terror, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Bending down to his level, Mari swiped away his tears with the corner of her apron and tenderly swept his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Don't you worry. I have faith she's hunkered down with our friends. I'll go check on them, okay?"

The child clung to Mari's skirt, his small fingers knotting the fabric tightly until another woman tenderly pried him away and cradled him in her arms. With a resolute nod to the remaining occupants of the makeshift sanctuary, Mari clenched the rustic wood handle of the door, leveraging her entire body weight to wrench it open against the ferocious wind.

Outside, the storm raged on.

Ominous, dark green clouds churned in a frenetic dance, intermittently pierced by jagged bolts of lightning that shot from sky to ground and an encroaching sea line. Amid the apocalyptic landscape, she nearly missed her turn; the familiar road marker had been uprooted, now likely a part of the storm's airborne arsenal. Navigating just ten feet felt like an insurmountable quest as she lunged from one gnarled tree trunk to another, grasping their deeply anchored roots to avoid being swept away, her fingers ached, and the muscle of her palms cramped at the strength needed to hold on. What should have been a brief traverse felt like an agonizing odyssey.

Finally, a welcome sight emerged: the door of the Ustesse residence, peeking timidly from the slope of a small hill. Its unique architecture had rendered it a fortress amid the devastation. With the final sturdy tree and fence line a daunting hundred feet away, Mari resorted to crawling on all fours, her body encrusted with a sludge of mud and saltwater, her hair a tangled net of debris.

Summoning her remaining strength, she rapped on the massive wooden door before leaning into it, a low groan escaping her lips as she exerted herself to budge the door just an inch. Once safely enveloped by the fortress of solid oak, she gave one final heave, sealing the door—and with it, the cacophony of the storm and the haunting screams of the world outside. Silence filled the space, air stale with its humidity from the storm.

Catching her breath and hastily combing her wind-tangled hair from her face, Mari delved deeper into the short corridors of the dwelling. Just as she was about to call out, a gut-wrenching scream echoed from the far reaches of a back bedroom. Without a second thought, Mari charged down the hall, heart pounding.

"Hello? Is everyone alright?!"

A bedroom door burst open, revealing the cherubic faces of two children—twins. The boy’s eyes brimmed with tears, while his sister, a portrait of grave concern, gestured urgently toward the bed. As Mari neared the warm glow of a flickering lamp, her eyes widened at the spectacle before her.

A woman in the throes of labor crouched on all fours, her fingers clenched around the headboard with such force that the wood itself seemed to wail in sympathy. A statuesque figure—her mistress—kneaded the laboring woman’s back, offering rhythmic chants of encouragement between her cries.

"Mistress?" Mari’s voice quivered as her eyes met those of, you, her friend.

"Mari! Oh, bless the gods, you have perfect timing. We need hot water and clean cloth—fast. The twins are too petrified to leave their mother’s side." With graceful, efficient movements, your arms supported the laboring woman, guiding her to sit at the edge of the mattress. "Listen, Hannah," you spoke, tone laced with gentle humor to try and lighten the moment, "I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, but with the baby being breech, we need to proceed with the utmost caution. Are you with me?" You watched the mothers body language with worry, the feelings tel-tail signs hidden behind a well practiced smile. The last thing needed was for the poor woman to panic because the person she was depending on couldn't keep it together.

Hannah's face was flushed, a vivid crimson, her hair clinging like wet tendrils to her sweat-drenched forehead. Cheeks puffed rhythmically as she exhaled forcefully, desperate for enough oxygen to ward off fainting. Gripping the mattress's edge with white-knuckled hands, she heeded your guiding words. Meanwhile, Mari stationed herself behind her, soothing her flushed skin with icy rags and murmuring words of encouragement.

"You're doing beautifully. Keep breathing, just like that."

While the intimate tableau of new life being ushered into existence unfolded within the sheltered chamber, the hurricane outside continued its relentless havoc. Hours slipped by like minutes, until finally, the culmination of Hannah's strenuous labor bore fruit—a tiny, newborn life. Arms carefully swaddling the freshly cleaned infant, lips curving into a tender smile as you approached the exhausted mother while whispering.

"Ten fingers and toes—a classic choice."

Exhausted but elated, Hannah chuckled as she cradled her newborn daughter, feeling the infant's minuscule fingers wrapped around her pinky. She looked up at you, her Mistress while reaching for your hand, and planted a reverent kiss on the back of it, before pressing it to her flushed cheek. "Thank you, Mistress Your presence—and Mari’s—made this infinitely more bearable, I think we would have been in big trouble without both of you."

Warmth spread from the hand on the mothers damp cheek, up into your chest and heart before being expressed through a smile that radiated love. Bending down, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon Hannah’s forehead.

"I’ll always do whatever I can to support our little village of misfits."

A sudden cough diverted everyone's attention to Mari, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes were a mix of exhaustion and sorrow, burdened with news she wished she didn't have to relay. "Mistress, there are urgent matters requiring your immediate attention."

The exhaustion from the last few hours gripped your shoulders, sagging them for a brief second at the added weight of remembering the growing storm outside, and the towns precarious condition. You had been called to the home so early, that everyone in town had still been a sleep, even the baker. Something told you that todays dawn of ominous black clouds that had filled the horizon, had turned into a much more worrisome outcome than just the usual tropical depression.

You needed a drink, a stiff one at that.

Something strong enough to not only burn your tongue but also this day away. With what little energy that could be mustered from aching joints and stiff muscles, your spine straightened, with head held high and a stiff upper-lip you nodded before exiting the room, Mari trailing closely behind.

"Thank you, Mari. Any indication of when this storm might subside? I saw some dark clouds on my walk here earlier, but I haven't had a chance to see what its damage is yet." Turning down the hall towards the front of the Ustesse earthen home, the round wooden door and windows stood before you. Windows that faced out to the front of the town came into view, but your brain was having trouble comprehending what it was seeing. Lead filled your feet and forced the once hurried forward momentum you had to stop. The sudden change causing the blond to bump into your lower back, but you didn't budge. Body unable to move at the new and terrifying view in front of where you both stood.

The islands usually calm, crystal clear, blue waters were the backdrop for the small islands only town. It had taken months to bring the supplies for just the first houses foundation, let alone the last three years for the rest of the buildings to be finished at the beginning of this year. Untold hours of sweat, blood and so many tears from your own two hands had been put into creating this safe haven from nothing.

Saliva built in your mouth, a normally wet tongue felt like blooming cotton in its dry texture. The sensation forced the already cord tight muscles in your neck to swallow. A new view showed through the windows glass, one that could only be what clothes perceived of the outside world trapped during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Wind howled by so fast that you were sure you could see bits of earthen chunks being thrown at breakneck speeds. The storms dramatic change of atmospheric pressure caused both window frames to bow and groan, threatening in anguish to break. Thank god you had splurged for the hurricane rated windows this time around.

This home and the bunker had been built as a test, trying to put less financial investment into the usual and expensive construction supplies and more into a sturdier outcome with what was already on hand from the land around them. Building them both into the side of the hill had been the hardest part, but it seemed that the gamble had paid off. You blinked as dust fell from the ceilings boards, realizing that the chunks of earth you had seen were from the homes moss roof.

The home still held up, so far.

How had that storm turned into this so fast? Normally the island had plenty of warning from the weather monitor to prepare. A den-den mushi connected to the stations from the main island, it had guaranteed constant updates and warnings. In the years you had lived here, not once did even a small ‘just in case’ not get sent out. A gut sinking question pushed its way to the front of your mind.

Had the main island been caught off guard by this storm as well?

Mari had stood silent next to you, the top of her head barely reaching your shoulders, her emerald green eyes observed calmly, as a blank expression took the place of a once truly happy smile of her friends face. Years of friendship taught her patience, especially when it came to the time that you needed when processing information. She stood in worry at the events outside, but also in confidence knowing that plans for multiple outcomes were already swirling in the back of your mind while taking in what was before you.

Finally moving, you walked to the front door and grasped the copper handle to pull it open when a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, pulling you against the unyielding wood with a loud thud. "What the—?"

Mari intervened, gently brushing your hand aside. Taking a few long strides back you watched as the short blond braced a foot against the doors frame for leverage, she clenched the handle with a firm grip and mustered all her strength to yank the door open.

With a gritty shove, the door finally yielded, breaking the vacuum seal between the tempestuous storm and the home's still air. Both of you stood silhouetted in the doorway, squinting into the blinding onslaught of the storm—visibility reduced to a mere five-foot radius. Mari shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, her nerves starting to win against her patience.

“Whats the damage so far Mari?”

"The storm appears to be getting closer, Mistress. As it stands, only Hannah's home and our newly erected shelter have withstood the havoc.”

With wide eyes and mouth gaped in shock, you turn to look down at your friend before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Another ball of saliva forced its way down as panic set in, had the people who had come to depend on you made it to safety? The words had to be forced out with what little air it felt your lungs could grasp, voice scratchy and hoarse as the question was asked.

“Is everyone…are they okay?”

Mari gave a small smile and nodded her head in reassurance. She understood intimately the fear you had; she had been a first-hand witness to this islands ceaseless endeavors, helping lost souls and vulnerable women find not just shelter, but a home and small community to depend on. It might have been humble, but it was one of safety, filled with love and warm meals. More than most had experienced before in their lifetime.

"Everyone is safe," Mari whispered, her voice tinged with solemn relief as her smaller hand lay gently across your own. “So far it is just the buildings that have been destroyed. This storm came on so quickly the others didn't even have time to grab any personal belongings.”

Both of you looked back out the door as the hurricane seemed to stay in place on the tiny island.

“I guess we will have to wait and see what we can salvage, hopefully we can make enough to repair everything”.

Now where was that drink?

Two Months Later.

That's the length of time the colossal hurricane had churned off the coast of the Grand Line, its path ever changing, sometimes even veering dangerously close to BariBari Island. The last hurricane of this scale had been the stuff of legend, occurring generations ago. The kind of things elders spun as eerie tales for younger ears at bedtime, recounting a storm that raged for an entire year before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. These stories painted nightmarish scenarios—mighty ships splintered like kindling under the hurricane's wrath, lush islands stripped to barren wastelands, and entire communities swallowed up, leaving nothing but memories and fear in their wake. Its unyielding presence disrupted every facet of maritime travel and daily life for the Cross Guild.

And now, the behemoth storm showed signs of further intensifying, prompting the leaders of the Cross Guild to recall their entire armada back to the island. They aimed to minimize the loss of their assets, salvaging whatever could be spared from nature's fury. But this strategy made from necessity had a double edge to it, while it saved their assets, it also lost them time and money in doing so. The lack of incoming funds creating great irritation in the largest of the three leaders, and terrified the shorter showman. A stop to income meant debts couldn't be paid fully or on time.

The formidable warlords congregated around a large circular worn table. Emptied wine bottles, extinguished cigar stubs, and disheveled piles of coins and playing cards surrounded them like the aftermath of a battlefield. Initially convened for a formal meeting, their gathering had dissolved, as it often did, into late-night poker and calculated wagers. The air was thick with a smoky haze, trapped by the room's tightly shut windows. Scant candles flickered on sparse furnishings, casting ominous shadows that danced in rhythm to the distant roll of thunder. Raindrops pelted the windowpanes, each gust of wind testing the mettle of their rusted latches.

Just as a new round of thunder shook the very foundation of the room, the silence was shattered, with a high-pitched whine. Slumping dramatically in his chair while disembodied hands remained frozen, Buggy sneered at cards that he had yet to reveal—a losing hand, if the theatrics were any indicator. After already losings the last four rounds, his mind was craving After four loses from the last few rounds, and his chips stacks getting smaller and smaller, his brain started to struggle staying focused. Weeks of being kept inside, no sunlight and temperatures fluctuating between sweltering and freezing would make anyone irritable. Even more so for someone who’s brain never seemed to stay quite or still.

"This storm has been raging for weeks. The longer this damn hurricane goes on, the more I’m starting to think its possible to die from boredom."

Buggy stormed from his grandiose chair, boots thudding against the floor as he glowered through the windowpanes. Just two hours ago the rain-droplets had been freezing to the glass, and now it was so warm that the inside edges were dripping in humidity. It was impossible to stay in one layer of clothing for the whole day now, having to now switch between snow and winter ware to summer beach attire constantly. His usual outfit was reduced to more comfortable wear for the late night. Long azure-colored hair held up in a high ponytail to keep anything warm off his neck, classic makeup smudged after hours of wear and humidity. The fur-lined coat draped over the backing of his chair, accompanied by his stripped bandanna.

Pouring another full glass of wine, Mihawk's eyes flicked from Crocodile to Buggy. Setting the crystal glass down, a pale hand tossed a few more coins into the pile as cards were discarded and new ones added. The usually well-poised swordsman felt his patience wearing thin with being cooped inside for so long, finding time alone to read had become near impossible. Add the irritation of never having a moments peace and the shifting weather it was no wonder he had grown more and more quite as the night went on. Even his normally immaculate appearance had loosened to something more casual. Hair tousled, mustache bristling in odd directions from the sweltering dense air. Hat and coat hanging on the wall, sword leaning next to them forgotten and left to try and stay cooler during this hours choice of temperature.

Crocodile delicately ashed his sizable cigar into a nearby used glass. Leaning back into his chair, he relished the sound of the wooden joints creaking under his weight. "I've got some old acquaintances that are going to dock on the island soon. They asked if they could stay until the storm passed, its a smallish group of maybe twenty at most.”

While still looking out the window, Buggy rolled his eyes in boredom. “Oh yeah? What do they do for work?”

The behemoth man paused in his reach for a new card, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he searched for a fitting descriptor. "They're a group of retired performers—some of the best at what they used to do." Plucking the new card, Crocodile grabbed an four of clubs to throw into the discard pile before nodding to the brunet next to him that it was his turn now.

Buggy perked up, spinning to face the table, his eyes alight with eagerness. "Performers?" Then, his excitement deflated. "Oh, wait. You said they're retired, right? So, they're old and boring." With a disheartened sigh, he laid down his cards and folded them, leaving the game to the other two men.

Silence once again fills the room, the clown could feel his skin crawl from under-stimulation and the banal environment, feeling the frenetic energy of his brain becoming louder.

“So when do the geezers get here?”

Crocodile stiffed a chuckle at Buggy's question, now turning to face the sword-smith to continue their card game, deliberately ignoring the clown's feigned indignation. “They should be arriving in the next few days, If the storm allows it.”

Shifting in his seat, Buggy swung one leg over the armrest and gazed out the window again, sulking in his boredom and already reaching for his coat as the temperature started to drop again.

A few hundred leagues away

Ornate tubes of lipstick danced like marionettes across the creaking floorboards, swept away by the hurricane's invisible hands as the storm outside orchestrated an all-out assault on the ship's integrity. Each howling gust and bone-jarring wave turned the vessel into a seesaw, rocking it in erratic patterns that defied gravity, from fore to aft, starboard to port.

When a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's bow the buckets in the room slid across from one corner to the other along with the smaller trunks of storage, their scraping noises adding to the symphony of the ship's already overstimulating orchestra. Falling to your knees with a harsh thump, a hand flew to cover your mouth as a particularly intense wave of nausea made itself known. Moans, groans, and the unmistakable retching of seasick passengers reverberated through the timbers as if the ship itself were in agony.

With a sense of urgency, the that Mari had help to adorned with delicate rings reached out in a desperate ballet, snatching up the errant lipstick tubes before they could escape into the narrow abyss between creaking planks. Then, as if provoked by your defiance, a colossal wave—fit for a sea monster's grand entrance—slammed into the bow. The impact sent buckets, dainty trunks, and sundry personal items skidding and screeching from one end of the room to the other. The shrill scraping of metal against wood joined the discordant orchestra, lending another layer of chaos to an environment already awash in sensory overload.

A knock at the door was heard before it slowly cracked open. A voice gently called out, "Miss? Are you alright?" In walked the familiar petite blond with a white apron cinched around her waist. Her eyes darted to where you stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over a bucket, trying to hold back from heaving up what little food you had been able to keep down so far.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. I knew this voyage would be trouble, especially with your seasickness." Mari helped guide you to sit up on the bed before wiping the sweat that had grown across the heat of your forehead with a rag dunked in a bowl of cool fresh water. "I didn't think it would be so rough when we're gaining distance from the storm's center. Are you sure we can trust this acquaintance of yours?"

Letting out a low, contented hum as the icy touch of the damp rag caressed your feverish forehead, taming wayward strands of hair that clung to moist skin. Head tilted back, eyes blissfully shut, you surrendered to Mari's nurturing touch as if each swipe of the cloth washed away a morsel of discomfort. "No, he is not someone to be trusted. I'm afraid turning back isn't an option, Mari. Since that storms appearance we’ve burned through almost all our emergency supplies. We’ve no money to speak of and nowhere to retreat to. Did the captain give any indication of how much longer this hellish ride will last—oh God!"

Even in so much discomfort and exhaustion your hand shot to a bucket tucked covertly under the bed, just in time for you to dry-have, retching into its emptiness. Mari's face crumpled in empathetic distaste, yet she remained steadfast, gathering your hair to prevent it from falling into the line of fire. "The captain assures us it'll only be a few more hours," she replied.

With a groan that seemed to echo the creaks of the ship, you withdrew your head from the foul-smelling bucket, collapsing onto the bed that swayed like a pendulum in sync with the ship's motion. "By gods, thank you for that news. Please, check on the others. From what I was hearing they might be faring even worse than me."

Mari bit her lower lip, a visible manifestation of her brewing concern. Sensing this, an eye cracked open, lips stretching into a warm, reassuring smile as you gently squeezed Mari’s arm. " You are too good to us, Mari, there is no one else we could hope to depend on. Please, they might need you more than me.”

At the encouraging nod, Mari pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door. Pausing on the threshold, her eyes lingered, bathed in the dim light of the room. "If you need anything, just holler, Miss." With that, she vanished into the dizzying corridor, momentarily losing her balance in the ship's wild sway. Bracing herself against the wall, she pressed on, intent on delivering the same vigilant care to the other ladies enduring this maritime ordeal.

Back in the sanctuary of your private chamber, starring at the ceiling, transfixed by the droplets of water that seeped through the holes in the timeworn deck above. Each droplet felt like a punctuation mark in the million thoughts that seemed to swirl repeatedly—a relentless reminder of your dire circumstances. Letting the right arm go limp, fingers loosely clutching the now lukewarm rag before letting it tumble to the floor. Your thoughts careened like a tempest, mirroring the chaos outside.

"We're in desperate need of help," the words murmured softly, as if verbalizing it might summon the assistance you so urgently required.

Shout Out To: @gingernut1314 @oddmawd @fanaticsnail @diabolicemerald @hey-august @lemony-snickers for being such amazing authors. All of you have given me inspiration and strength from reading and experiencing your creations to to able to spread my own wings. Thank you.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Bill Bramhall, New York Daily News

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 7, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 08, 2024

By rights, tonight’s post should be a picture, but Trump’s behavior today merits a marker because it feels like a dramatic escalation of the themes we’ve seen for years. Please feel free to ignore—as I often say, I am trying to leave notes for a graduate student in 150 years, and you can consider this one for her if you want a break from the recent onslaught of news.

Yesterday, Trump ranted at the press, furious that the American legal system had resulted in two jury decisions that he had defamed and sexually abused writer E. Jean Carroll. He was so angry that, with his lawyers standing awkwardly behind him, he told reporters: “I’m disappointed in my legal talent, I’ll be honest with you.”

Today, Trump held a rally in Mosinee, Wisconsin, a small city in the center of the state, where he addressed about 7,000 people. A number of us who have been watching him closely have been saying for a while that when voters actually saw him in this campaign, they would be shocked at how he has deteriorated, and that seems to be true: his meandering and self-indulgent speeches have had attendees leaving early, some of them bewildered. In today’s speech, Trump slurred a number of words, referring to Elon Musk as “Leon,” for example, and forgetting the name of North Dakota governor Doug Burgum, who was on his short list for a vice presidential pick.

But today’s speech struck me as different from his past performances, distinguished for what sounded like desperation. Trump has always invented his stories from whole cloth, but there used to be some way to tie them to reality. Today that seemed to be gone. He was in a fantasy world, and his rhetoric was apocalyptic. It was also bloody in ways that raise huge red flags for scholars of fascism.

Trump told the audience that when he took office in 2017, military officers told him the U.S. had given all the military’s ammunition away to allies. Then he went on a rant against our allies, saying that they’re only our allies when they need something and that they would never come to our aid if we needed them. This echoes the talking points put out by Russian operatives and flies in the face of the fact that the one time the North Atlantic Treaty Organization invoked the mutual defense pact in that agreement was after the attacks of September 11, 2001, in support of the U.S. 

He embraced Project 2025’s promise to eliminate the Department of Education and send education back to the states so that right-wing figures like Wisconsin’s Senator Ron Johnson can run it. He reiterated the MAGA claim that mothers are executing their babies after birth—this is completely bonkers—and again echoed Russian talking points when he said these executions are happening—they are not—but “nobody talks about it.” He went on: “We did a great thing when we got Roe v. Wade out of the federal government.” 

He reiterated the complete fantasy that schools are performing gender-affirming surgery on children. “Can you imagine you're a parent and your son leaves the house and you say, Jimmy, I love you so much, go have a good day at school, and your son comes back with a brutal operation. Can you even imagine this? What the hell is wrong with our country?” Trump’s suggestion that schools are performing surgery on students is bananas. This is simply not a thing that happens. 

And then he went full-blown apocalyptic, attacking immigrants and claiming that crime, which in reality has dropped dramatically since President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris took office after a spike during his own term, has made the U.S. uninhabitable. He said that “If I don’t win Colorado, it will be taken over by migrants and the governor will be sent fleeing.” "Migrants and crime are here in our country at levels never thought possible before…. You're not safe even sitting here, to be honest with you. I'm the only one that's going to get it done. Everybody is saying that." He urged people to protest “because you’re being overrun by criminals.” 

He assured attendees that "If you think you have a nice house, have a migrant enjoy your house, because a migrant will take it over. A migrant will take it over. It will be Venezuela on steroids." He reiterated his plan to get rid of migrants. “And you know,” he said, “getting them out will be a bloody story.” 

He went on to try to rev up supporters in words very similar to those he used on January 6th, 2021, but focused on this election. “Every citizen who’s sick and tired of the parasitic political class in Washington that sucks our country of its blood and treasure, November fifth will be your liberation day. November fifth, this year, will be the most important day in the history of our country because we’re not going to have a country anymore if we don’t win.” 

He promised: “I will prevent World War III, and I am the only one that can do it. I will prevent World War III. And if I don’t win this election,... Israel is doomed…. Israel will be gone…. I’d better win.” 

"I better win or you're gonna have problems like we've never had. We may have no country left. This may be our last election. You want to know the truth? People have said that. This may be our last election…. It’ll all be over, and you gotta remember…. Trump is always right. I hate to be right. I’m always right.” 

Trump's hellscape is only in his mind: crime is sharply down in the U.S. since he left office, migrant crossings have plunged, and the economy is the strongest in the world.

Then, tonight, Trump posted on his social media site a rant asserting that he will win the 2024 election but that he expects Democrats to cheat, and “WHEN I WIN, those people that CHEATED will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the Law, which will include long term prison sentences so that this Depravity of Justice does not happen again. We cannot let our Country further devolve into a Third World Nation, AND WE WON’T! Please beware that this legal exposure extends to Lawyers, Political Operatives, Donors, Illegal Voters, & Corrupt Election Officials. Those involved in unscrupulous behavior will be sought out, caught, and prosecuted at levels, unfortunately, never seen before in our Country.” 

Is it the Justice Department indictments that showed Russia is working to get him reelected? Is it the rising popularity of Democratic nominees Kamala Harris and Tim Walz? Is it fury at the new grand jury’s indicting him for his attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and install himself in power? Is it fear of Tuesday’s debate with Harris? Is it a declining ability to grapple with reality?

Whatever has caused it, Trump seems utterly off his pins, embracing wild conspiracy theories and, as his hopes of winning the election appear to be crumbling, threatening vengeance with a dogged fury that he used to be able to hide. 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[touchd0wn-boy]

Since I keep seeing it in certain corners of the fandom:

Chromosomes = gender is a transphobic statement. Genitalia/secondary sex characteristics = gender is a transphobic statement. I can't believe I have to explain this. It's "real transphobia" not just a fun argument you can co-opt to use against other queer people online. It's the basis for why transphobes want to bring back chromosome testing and sex verification in all sports so only Real Women and Real Men can compete against each other, something that's not only damaging to trans people but pretty much everyone who doesn't fit the very narrow definition of what a "normal" body and "normal" hormones are, even cis people, as the whole controversy around Imane Khelif has shown during the Olympics. It's why bathroom access for trans people has become such a point of hysteria and conspiracy theories. It's why anti-transgender laws are on the rise all over the world.

Last month, the ACLU published a very illuminating research brief on the impacts of anti-transgender laws and policies that I HIGHLY recommend (you can check it out here).

Instead of posting performative bullshit about what an Ally you are, and how we should all focus on "real transphobia" instead, you could reflect on why immediately falling back to transphobic rhetoric 101 as a cheap gotcha argument against the actual queer and trans people in your fandom saying things about your favs you don't like and don't agree with, is not actually??? a good thing? If your first gut-jerk reaction to shut down queer people is to rehash the talking points of every conservative politician and every Elon Musk Verified Alt-Right Twitter Influencer, then maybe do some introspection on WHY that is. When you perpetuate arguments about chromosomes and gender, you’re giving oxygen to the same ideologies that justify anti-trans laws and discriminatory policies. You're contributing to the environment that makes life harder for trans people, even if you don’t realize it.

By all means, donate to trans and queer charities and inform yourself on the issues impacting trans and queer communities.

But performative allyship is not a substitute for genuine support and understanding. Donating without actually challenging your own biases or engaging in meaningful discussions isn't enough. Being an ally means being willing to listen, learn, and grow—even when it makes you uncomfortable. It means understanding that harm can be done through ignorance, and being willing to address that ignorance within yourself and your circles.

Anyway. Translegislation is a wonderful website to track anti-trans bills that are being considered and passed in the US. Contact your representatives. VOTE, not just in the upcoming presidential election but also—and ESPECIALLY—in your local elections.

Besides the Trans Youth Equality Foundation, I also recommend

The Trevor Project

Mermaids (UK-based, God knows they need the support, considering Ms. Joanne R. still has internet access in the year of our lord 2024)

your local Planned Parenthood

your local trans/queer organization

mutual aid requests for gender affirming care

[covid-safer-hotties]

These Are the Drag Artists and Organizers Fighting to Make Queer Spaces More COVID Safe - Published Aug 21, 2024

This article was produced in partnership with The Sick Times.

After becoming disabled by a COVID-19 infection they caught on tour in 2022, Themme Fatale went from being a high-flying trapeze artist to being homebound. Before developing Long COVID, much of the popular circus performer’s career had involved risk — setting themself on fire, flipping through the air, lying on beds of nails — but the danger of these stunts began to shrink in their mind compared to the risk of the airborne virus.

From home in Melbourne, Australia, Fatale began to closely follow Long COVID research, connecting the concerning findings about the disease, which affects every organ system, to their numerous symptoms. What they didn’t understand was why their local queer community — and society at large — continued to put themselves at risk of COVID-19, especially because Long COVID is more prevalent in queer and trans people.

It led Fatale to take action. In February 2024, Fatale launched Clean Air Narm, one of over 30 volunteer-led initiatives around the world modeled after Chicago’s Clean Air Club. These organizations lend out high-quality air purifiers to help mitigate the spread of COVID-19 by reducing virus in the air at indoor venues.

“I started [Clean Air Narm] because I don't want to see all my friends disabled in the same way that I have been,” they say. “If you lead with a solution, people are sometimes more open to hearing about what the problem is in the first place.”

Guided by a strong commitment to community care, a diverse group of queer performers, drag kings, and other event organizers are filling the gaps of global government failure during the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. Through clean air organizations, mask requirements at shows, and other COVID-19 mitigation efforts, they are making public spaces more accessible and safer for everyone, all while selling out shows.

Here’s how many clean air clubs work: Organizers fundraise in their communities for a fleet of air purifiers and/or far-UVC devices, lamps that emit a type of ultraviolet light that can reduce indoor airborne microbes by 98%. Because these technologies are expensive — lights and purifiers can each cost thousands of dollars —, clean air organizers offer them to event organizers in their community through a “lending library.”

Volunteers of the clean air initiatives then distribute the purifiers to event organizers who install them at venues, often coupled with other COVID-19 mitigation tools like masks and rapid tests. Mutual-aid groups called mask blocs, which distribute respirators and other items to their communities for free, sometimes help with events, too.

While these precautions make events safer, they don’t fully eliminate the risk of spreading or catching COVID-19 at an event. Clean air initiatives are often careful to advertise events as “COVID-safer,” not “COVID-safe.” Some advocates have also criticized these clean air clubs for prioritizing entertainment events, arguing that resources like air purifiers and high-quality masks should be used for the most vulnerable communities that can’t afford masks, including hospitals, prisons, or public schools.

Still, with COVID-19 at very high levels multiple times a year and many people still going out to concerts and shows, these multiple layers of precaution do reduce spread of the disease in important venues. The fight for cleaner air in public places is broad: Public health experts and others have also proposed clean air mandates in public buildings, including Harvard University’s Healthy Buildings Program, Long COVID Kids, and Congressman Don Beyer’s Airborne Act 2024.

After founding Clean Air Club in 2023, Chicago resident Emily Dupree was met with an overwhelming demand for her club’s HEPA air purifiers. The success led her to write a guide to creating a clean-air organization. More than 30 autonomous initiatives around the world have been implemented and improved on the guide — and they’re popping up quickly.

“What we all have in common is a deep commitment to free access to life-saving technology in the midst of an ongoing pandemic,” says Dupree.

While Clean Air Club purifiers are for any organizers who request them, Dupree has noticed the resource has been more popular with members of the queer community.

“It is not surprising to me that so many of us creating these clean air clubs and putting in so much work for our community are queer,” Dupree says. “This idea of care as a radical and very powerful foundational value for mutual aid organizations is closely aligned with queer politics.”

The queer community is no stranger to mutual aid. During the peak of the AIDS crisis in the ’80s and ’90s, lesbians and other queer people started food banks, devoted their time to caretaking, donated as “blood sisters”, treated people with the disease, and provided other life-saving volunteer services while mainstream society stigmatized and abandoned people with AIDS.

Today, clean air organizations, mask blocs, and other COVID-19 mutual aid groups exist as a temporary solution for the widespread institutional failures of local, city, state, and federal governments that have an obligation to safeguard public health from COVID-19 and have instead completely failed to live up to that obligation, as Dupree says. “[These initiatives] give us a glimpse of what life could be like if only these principles were adopted at a larger scale.”

Dupree would like to see institutions that have the power to make large-scale, permanent changes in the interest of public health — including schools, public transportation departments, and prisons — improve their indoor air quality through the use of air purification and far-UVC technology. She’d also like to see mask requirements reimplemented in high-risk environments like hospitals, where many people have died after being exposed to COVID-19 while seeking life-saving care.

It's pretty straightforward, Dupree says. “What we need from the government is what they did at the turn of the century to eradicate cholera from our public water. We need them to clean our indoor air.”

In the absence of these measures and few to no mitigation efforts today, the public is at continued risk of COVID-19 infections and Long COVID, which affects more than 23 million Americans of all age groups. More than 400 million have the disease around the globe, according to a recent review in Nature Medicine. The ever-present threat of the virus also makes it unsafe for disabled and other high-risk people to participate in everyday life, seek safe medical care, and do essential errands.

While many mutual aid groups are run by queer people, numerous LGBTQ+ organizations and advocacy groups are failing to make their spaces and events safe and accessible. Education about the risk of Long COVID in the community is sorely lacking.

But there are exceptions: In Los Angeles, two drag king-led shows, Disabled Cable and Them Fatale (not associated with Themme Fatale) have made their shows more COVID-safe thanks to the help of testing, mask requirements, and their local clean air organization, Airgasmic.

Founded in 2024 by popular drag king Dick Swagger, Airgasmic runs a lending library of crowd-sourced purifiers specifically for drag shows and other queer events. And while the volunteer service has been successful, it has also exposed how difficult it can be to get venues and some patrons on board with COVID-19 mitigation methods, particularly masking.

“A lot of people aren't keeping up with the science,” Swagger says, explaining that he spends most of his free time volunteering for Airgasmic and educating his community online about COVID-19 and Long COVID. “More people tend to listen to me when I’m in drag.”

Swagger stopped performing live in 2022 after seeing the toll Long COVID has taken on the drag and queer community in Los Angeles. He knows 14 people in his local drag and queer communities with Long COVID, he says, adding that “it is like watching a slow-motion car crash” as more continue to get infected with COVID-19.

“I had to stop performing. I became increasingly frustrated,” he says. “I was trying to protect [my local drag community] and protect myself because I can't afford to become disabled.”

Leona Love, a drag king and queen who co-created Disabled Cable, says one of the most difficult aspects in organizing their show was finding a venue that would help enforce a mask requirement, a challenge other performers and organizers who spoke with Them and The Sick Times also faced.

As an ambulatory wheelchair user, Love says that a lack of accessible venues has kept them from performing at venues in Los Angeles in the past. The underlying ableism in the drag and queer community led them to co-found the show, which highlights disabled performers.

“The way I like to tell it honestly is that it is a project that was born out of rage and channeled into love,” they say.

But after finding a venue called Cantiq in Echo Park that fully supported their mitigation efforts, Love’s first show drew such a large crowd that they had to set a capacity limit for their sophomore performance so it would be less cramped and therefore safer. Now, the event regularly sells out.

“Getting to see the response to our show has been so affirming that our community still does care about COVID-19,” Love says. “We want to keep each other safe. Sometimes it’s about providing the right spaces and the right information to inform people how they can do that.”

“I do wish, however, that there were spaces outside of what we are building that were taking us into consideration as much as we are taking everyone in the community into consideration.”

[alliluyevas]

If AG gave you full creative control over the Girl of the Year for 2025 what direction would you choose for her? Can be general or specific.

oooh good question. I honestly am not a huge follower of GOTY dolls and wasn't during my first wave of AG interest as a child either. I looked back at the roster on the AG wiki to refresh my memory, though.

First of all, I'd like to ditch the very trendy mini-teenager style of clothing that the last several GOTY dolls have had. GOTY 2025 might be a bit tomboyish, but I'm not wedded to that. Either way, I'd just like to see her wearing clothing that is a bit more childlike. Also, I think in general I'm sick of the bright-pinks and pastels that seem to dominate AG's color palates nowadays. Put her in a red shirt and blue jeans or something.

A lot of the GOTY stories center around the doll's hobbies or activities, as well as sometimes Relatable Struggles the character is going through like parental divorce, moving, sibling rivalry, or some similar theme. I feel like performing arts hobbies and extreme/outdoor sports are overrepresented in GOTY storylines. We have a lot of dolls who are dancers, and we've had skiing dolls, surfing dolls, dolls who are really into animal rescue and conservation etc. These are definitely cool hobbies but especially the latter ones aren't necessarily super accessible to most little girls. (There are lots of girls who do cheer or dance or theater or music, but I think they've been represented and I also think those are very conventionally feminine pursuits and I would like to see something else.) In terms of hobbies, I think it would be nice to see a GOTY who plays a more traditional team sport like soccer or softball, or maybe a runner. On the other hand, I don't think we've seen a visual artist for a while, so maybe painting or drawing. (I also think pottery would be a really cool idea, because I think it would be super cute for her to have a tiny little pottery wheel and maybe 3 little pots of different stages of completion you could switch in and out. But pottery is also maybe not as accessible as drawing would be). Actually, sports and art aren't mutually exclusive and that might be a fun message. Maybe a little girl who is really into both softball and painting?

I'm not expecting one doll to fulfill all these things in terms of representation, but given what I talked about yesterday about different groups or family configurations that haven't been represented in an AG doll yet, I think it would be nice to do a GOTY who is Muslim or who has same-sex parents.

Also, I think 2020 GOTY Joss, who is hard of hearing and comes with little hearing aids, was a really cool step in the right direction for AG with disability representation. (As a side note, I think they dropped the ball with 1950s historical doll Maryellen, who is written in her stories as a polio survivor who walks with a limp but this is not visible at all in her doll and girls might not know about it if they don't read the books. I think they should have made a little leg brace for the doll or something.) 2025 GOTY could highlight a different aspect of disability experience. Maybe her story could talk about ADHD because that is so common but girls with ADHD are still underrepresented, or a chronic illness like Type One Diabetes?

Anyway, just a sort of grab bag of what I would like to see :)

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Further inspiration (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

❕but also Sauron x Celebrimbor + slight Celebrimbor x reader❕

-> in which you discover Annatar aiding Celebrimbor in his work with the same unconventional method he used with you, but that doesn’t mean he has discarded you

Warnings: smut, voyeurism kink, exhibitionism kink, tease and denial, handjob (Annatar x Celebrimbor, Annatar x Reader) oral (R + C receiving from A), mutual masturbation (C x R), p in v (A x R), manipulation cause you still don’t know he’s Sauron, Sauron will have more influence over the Rings if he soft doms their creators or something, I just wanted to write pure filth

Note: sequel to Inspiration. I wasn’t expecting to write something like this but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone so I experimented a little🤭

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You are not proud of the disappointment you feel knowing Celebrimbor has returned to his work. You should be glad that he has recovered enough to carry on with forging the Rings—using the designs with which you provided him, no less—and you are happy. Truly. It’s only that part of you wishes you still had the forge room to yourself and Lord Annatar.

You had not been alone with him since he had... aided you to finish the designs, and you are driving yourself mad with thoughts of what might happen when or if you shall find yourselves in an intimate setting again. Will he be poised as ever, as though you had never known each other most intimately? Or will there be recognition between you? Connection.

Repetition.

The thought sends a pleasant shiver racing down your spine, right as you reach the forge room. You stop to breathe. Even if Annatar is inside, he is there assisting Celebrimbor with his work, and that is your purpose as well. Nothing more.

Before you can push the doors open, just as your fingers nearly reach the wood, one slides ever so slightly ajar, as if moved by the wind. Except there is no wind, and the doors are too heavy to be simply blown open, and so quietly no less. But you cease to ask yourself how such a thing has happened the moment you catch a glimpse of the sight revealed by the small opening.

From your angle, you can see Celebrimbor at his worktable, Annatar sitting beside him. There would be nothing unusual about that, if they were not sitting so much closer than you have seen them do on previous occasions. If Annatar’s arm were not wrapped around Celebrimbor’s shoulders, as if to cradle him close. And if that may yet pass for an exceedingly warm gesture of friendship, there is no mistaking the rhythmic movement of Annatar’s other hand in the area of Celebrimbor’s lap beneath the table, or the nature of the smith’s tortured groans as he struggles through the finishing touches of a Ring.

You cover your mouth to prevent an audible gasp. So, you had been right to assume you were not the only one for whom Lord Annatar performs such unconventional acts of... creative encouragement. Your first, panicked thought is that you need to leave before they sense your presence, pretend as though you never witnessed such a thing. But your legs simply refuse to move. Your eyes will not, cannot turn away from the sight. You watch, heat blooming within your belly, as Annatar’s fingers pinch and fondle the tip of the smith’s pointed ear, and Celebrimbor shudders almost violently.

“Please,” he begs, barely above a whisper, “I can bear it no longer.”

“You are capable of much greater feats than you know, my friend,” Annatar encourages, ever so trusting. But Celebrimbor shakes his head in utter defeat. His hands cease their trembling work and lower the utensils on the table as he turns to Annatar with an anguished gaze.

“I beg you,” he all but whimpers, “grant me release.”

Annatar smiles, a tinge of disappointment in his eyes, and releases Celebrimbor altogether, standing from his seat. The smith cannot help but whine, looking down at what is sure to be a most helpless state of arousal, but makes no attempt to touch himself, either. He must have understood by now, as you did before, that he is not to act without Annatar’s permission.

A trembling breath escapes you. Your hand is on your stomach, having come to rest there you know not when, and you stifle the growing urge to reach lower, between your legs, if only to ease the light throb that has begun there with a quick press of your fingers.

You shake your head, squeeze your eyes shut, and turn away to press your back to the wall by the door. It’s Lord Celebrimbor, you remind yourself. Your mentor. Your friend. If anything, you should be mortified that you have witnessed him in such a state of arousal, or envious that he is receiving the same attentions as you did from Annatar. And, to some extent, you are, but... seeing Annatar’s hands upon him only reminds you how they felt upon you, and Celebrimbor’s pleas for release remind you of the torturous stretch you had endured with Annatar keeping still inside of you, of the ache of helplessly unfulfilled pleasure and the beauty that had come from it.

Celebrimbor must have gathered his will, same as you did back then, and resumed his work, because his moans reach your ears again. You will your legs to carry you away, but all they do is take you back where you can peer through the crack in the door once more. Annatar is now hunched over Celebrimbor, mouth on his neck and hand back to stroking him beneath the table, and when the smith wavers anew in his feeble attempts to work, the cry he gives out at the loss of stimulation sends a bolt of pleasure to your clit. You press your thighs together, in vain. You cannot touch yourself in the hallway, where anyone might see you.

Just as you think you have gathered the resolve to flee to your chambers, where you may indulge in the pleasure of your own fingers without risking your dignity, Annatar says your name. It happens in an instant—a flick of his wrist, and the door slides all the way open, leaving you exposed to their sight.

Every cell in your body freezes.

“I am glad you have joined us,” Annatar greets politely, standing to his full height at Celebrimbor’s side.  “You need not linger at the door.”

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, goes into a wide-eyed panic that matches the one no doubt written on your own face. His jaw drops, trembling, and he fumbles beneath the table to make himself decent again before he shoots to his feet.

“I-I assure you,” he stammers, awfully flushed in the face, “this is not at all what you might imagine—”

“Do not fret, Celebrimbor,” Annatar intercedes, mildly amused. “She is quite familiar with my methods.”

A small gasp leaves you as you avert your eyes, heat flooding your skin. It is one thing to catch Lord Celebrimbor in the act, quite another to admit to your own. His eyes dart between you and Annatar as he blinks, stunned at the revelation.

“Come... come inside,” he urges you. “Shut the door.”

You do so in haste, but remain standing in the doorway. You cannot tell whether Celebrimbor is more angry or ashamed. Though he hardly has the right to judge your behaviour, given that he has engaged in similarly improper acts himself, if he were to banish one of you, it will not be the emissary of the Valar.

“Is it true?” he asks, thankfully seeming more curious than scandalized. You glance at Annatar, unsure, and he gives you a small, encouraging nod of his head. It serves as a balm to your nerves.

“Lord Annatar...” you begin, willing your voice to be steady as you look at Celebrimbor. “He helped me to finish the designs, my lord.”

Celebrimbor’s brows shoot up. His mouth opens, then closes. Then he scrambles to pick up the sketches by which he had been guided as he worked—your sketches—from the table, and holds them up to you.

“You made these, while...?”

“Indeed,” Annatar says, the sole word imbued with such pride and admiration, your knees weaken.

“But they are excellent! Flawless!” Celebrimbor protests, his tone raised in disbelief. “It cannot be that... Under such torment...?”

It is plain to see, from the distress in his eyes, that he truly does not understand how such a thing might be possible. This must be the first time Annatar has tried this with him, catching him as off guard as you had been, and he has yet to learn how to accept the gift as you did. A gift which is too precious, you realize, to be kept only to yourself, especially with the fate of all Middle-Earth at stake. Sympathy for Celebrimbor fills your heart, and you meet his questioning look with a slight nod. Once again, your gaze briefly meets Annatar’s, and something in his eyes along with your own inner realization gives you the boldness to go on and confess, “It helps, Lord Celebrimbor. If you allow it. And... it does not go unrewarded.”

Celebrimbor releases a stunned huff, and puts the paper back on the table with a small thud of his fingers against the wood.

“She is right,” Annatar speaks when Celebrimbor seems at a loss for words. “But then again...” His brow knits, and he ponders something. “No two creative minds are alike,” he muses. “And yours, Celebrimbor, I’m afraid is in a rather fragile state. Perhaps a less... direct approach would suit you better.”

Celebrimbor eyes him warily, but his interest is visibly piqued, your words having eased his reluctance to believe such a method might prove fruitful. Slowly, he returns to his seat.

“And... what might that be?” he asks, cautiously.

Annatar gives him a rather cryptic smile before he turns his gaze to yours, extending a hand towards you in invitation.

“Would you come here?” he beckons.

For a moment, you hesitate, glancing to Celebrimbor to find him as puzzled as you, then looking back at Annatar in silent question. He gives no answer, only waits patiently. Waits for your trust, as you have given it before.

And as before, you give it. Holding his gaze, you go to him, and place your hand in his. Your skin tingles pleasantly as he takes it in his gentle hold, reminding you how you had longed to feel his touch again. He pulls you close to him and wraps his other arm around your waist with elegance, almost as if preparing for a waltz. You are transfixed by his eyes as he speaks in that wise voice of his, close enough that his breath touches your lips.

“There are more ways to open one’s mind to their most natural instincts than touch itself,” he says. “Sometimes, one needs only to be reminded... shown... how fulfilling it is to cease denying oneself.”

The last words are spoken just as he presses his lips to yours, and you sigh into the gentle kiss. His mouth’s caresses are so languid, so patient as you follow their lead. He takes his sweet time tracing your lips with his tongue, then sliding it against your own, allowing them to intertwine and dance together at leisure, savouring each and every sensation. But that is not all he means to do, you realize as a sudden intake of breath reaches your ears, one which belongs to neither you nor Annatar. This sensuous display is meant for Celebrimbor—who is still sitting right at your side, though the haze of desire had all but erased that knowledge from your mind.

When Annatar removes his lips from yours with a softly wet sound, you cannot help but glance a bit self-consciously to the smith. His eyes are clouded with an emotion you have never seen in them in all your years working together—yearning of the purely carnal sort. Though he flushes at being caught eyeing you so, the look he sends Annatar holds a glint of ruefulness.

“You can hardly expect my eyes to not stray from my work,” he warns, “whilst you engage in such... titillating behaviour a mere glance away.”

“And yet,” Annatar says, looking at him but leaning into you, “I expect you to not only finish your work,” you give a soft gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “but to craft your greatest creations yet.”

“I do not think—”

The protest dies in Celebrimbor’s throat as Annatar engulfs you in his arms and swiftly lifts you onto the table, close enough to Celebrimbor that you could reach out with your leg and rest a foot in his lap if you so wished. You make no move to do anything but remain right where Annatar has placed you, your breath quickening as he reaches to your ankles and begins to draw the skirts of your dress slowly up, up, over your knees, until they are gathered gracelessly around your waist and all that covers your modesty is your undergarments.

You can’t help but squirm lightly, adjusting to the most unusual exposure. It’s already more than you had ever imagined Celebrimbor would see of you, and now Annatar is running the palm of his hands gently along your thighs, coaxing you to part them and reveal the damp fabric between your legs. His piercing gaze won’t let you look away. He holds such power over you, willingly given yet ruinous in its might.

And he is no less in control as he lowers himself to his knees before you, in the space between your legs. The realization of what he means to do, and in what circumstances, punches a small mewl from your chest. But perhaps you should know better than to think you can anticipate his actions by now. You must only take what you are given, and at the moment he gives you feather-light caresses of your legs, from your ankles to the sensitive skin at the back of your knees, whilst his lips begin a trail of kisses upon the inside of your thighs. A few on the left, a few on the right. Languorous, attentive, drawing ever upward.

If you were aching before, you now crave him with devastating force. You want to moan, but some deeply rooted instinct within you still tries to clip the sounds in your throat, sharply aware of your audience. Unbidden, your eyes drift to Celebrimbor. His are glued to the spot where Annatar’s lips meet the soft flesh of your thigh, his lips slightly parted in silent desire, and his fingers digging into his own thigh as he no doubt withholds from seeking his own relief. You shudder with a sudden burst of bashfulness... but also the thrill of it. Of behaving yourself in such a scandalous manner, leaving all thoughts of propriety aside and wearing your pleasure on display.

Lifting his head from your leg, barely a few inches from where you need him most, Annatar gives Celebrimbor an encouraging look. “Go on, then,” he instructs, much like he had done when coaxing you into resuming your drawing whilst impaled on his length. Celebrimbor’s throat bobs with what looks to be a painful swallow, but he does as he is asked and picks the object of his labour back up.

Satisfied, Annatar aims a wolfish smile at you, then works to free you of the only fabric covering your wetness. Once he has pulled it down your legs and tucked it safely within his own robes, leaving you quivering in anticipation as the cool air meets your soaked center, he parts your legs once more and looks up at you.

“Would you be so kind,” he says, caressing your thighs, “as to share with Lord Celebrimbor exactly what transpired between us upon our past encounter? From beginning to end. In as much detail as your sensibility allows.”

He says it with as much ease as he would request that you bring Lord Celebrimbor some tea. You’d scoff at the absurdity, at the word ‘sensibility’, if not for his thumb, which begins to massage your clit with small, slow circles as he awaits your compliance. You are helpless to do anything but whimper as you nod, and will yourself to speak through stifled sounds of pleasure as your swollen bud sings beneath his touch.

“Lord Annatar... he touched me,” you begin, egged on by his approving gaze. You can hardly make the story sound as coherent or vivid as it felt at the time, but you do your best to at least remember the sequence of events. “First, he massaged my shoulders. Then, he traced his fingers along my cheek and... my hair... and then he... touched the tip of my ear. Tugged at it with his fingers. I-I was surprised, but... I let him, because it felt... so good.”

The word melts into a moan, for Annatar has replaced his finger with his lips, pressing them gently to your clit before giving it a firm lick. All inhibitions set aside, you lay your hand on Annatar’s head and hook your fingers into the bow at the back of it, marvelling at the softness of his tresses. He raises his eyes to yours as he continues to kiss you between your legs, and by the Valar, he is the most divine sight you have ever laid eyes upon.

“What then?” Celebrimbor asks, nearly as breathless as you feel. When you glance at him, his eyes are painstakingly glued to his work, obeying Annatar’s command. The Lord of Gifts gives your thigh a soft pinch, silently instructing you to do the same.

“Then, he kissed my neck,” you go on, in between mewls and little gasps of pleasure as Annatar makes a meal of your most intimate flesh. “And touched my breasts. He kneaded them and... pinched my nipples through my dress.” Almost absent-mindedly, your own hand which isn’t in Annatar’s hair does the very same now, overwhelmed by the combined elation his mouth offers at present and the memory you are recounting out loud. “Then... his hand went lower and... touched my— between my legs.” You avoid the word, and immediately find it laughable. Annatar’s face is buried in your cunt right now, so close to Celebrimbor that he can no doubt hear the wet sounds of his tongue lapping at your folds—why on Middle-Earth would you shy away from something as harmless as a mere word now?

As if to further emphasize that point, Annatar’s kisses turn more vigorous, and he slips a long finger past your entrance, adding to the squelch. You gasp and tighten your grip on his hair, writhing on the table.

“Then, he stopped,” you go on, and your voice might as well be one continuous, obscene whine. “Told me to stand, and sat in my chair instead. And then... I sat in his lap... with my back to him... with him inside of me.” You mewl as he slips in a second finger, and begins to curl them into your sweetest spots with ravaging precision. “And it felt so good... and I wanted to move so badly... but he said I was to finish the designs first... and I trusted him... so I obeyed. When I had him in me... I could finally let go and just... create.”

He groans into your cunt, and you quake with the overwhelming sensations. It’s too much, how he sucks your clit into the heat of his mouth, how his fingers put relentless and heavenly pressure to the parts within you where it most wrecks you to feel it. Your already breathy voice grows in pitch, littered with desperate mewls as you pant and writhe your way to your peak.

“Once I finished, he lifted me from the chair... and into his arms... and he took me against a wall... hard and deep... until, finally... finally... My lord!”

You grip his hair mercilessly as you clench around his fingers, lost to an onslaught of pleasure that leaves you gasping and panting without shame. Annatar laps at your folds all the way through it, until your hips begin to twitch with too much sensation to bear.

“Until, finally,” Annatar continues, calm and composed as he rises to his feet, “she found her well-earned release.” He cups your cheek, admiring your pleasure-dazed expression with a blend of pride and hunger as you lean into his touch. “And looked as splendid as her creations whilst she clenched around my cock.”

He kisses you, and you moan as you taste yourself on his tongue. You feel so light and so wonderfully tired, all you want is to fall into his arms, rest your head upon his shoulder and close your eyes. So you do, breaking away from his lips to melt into his embrace, where he welcomes you with utmost tenderness.

“She does,” Celebrimbor agrees. You open your eyes to find his gaze has strayed toward you after all, and is filled with a soft kind of awe. “You do. Together.”

Annatar coaxes you to part from him with care, and a pleased smile graces his lips as he looks down at Celebrimbor’s hand.

“As does the fruit of your labours.”

You notice then, too—Celebrimbor now holds a finished, most exquisite Ring.

“I suppose I have begun to understand what you meant by... surrendering,” he admits, contemplating the precious jewel before he sets it carefully into one of the nine ring holders on the table. He knits his brow, somewhat nervous as he turns to Annatar. “Am I to finish all the rest before...?”

“That would be rather cruel, would it not?” Annatar says indulgently. “To craft none rings is more time-consuming than to draw them, after all. Stand, Celebrimbor.”

Hope sparks in the smith’s eyes as he obeys. Annatar rearranges your dress, allowing it to fall over your legs once more, and leaves a tender caress on your cheek before he turns to Celebrimbor.

You are not sure what you’re meant to do, but you don’t feel strong enough to stand yet either way. It’s almost as though you’re peering through the crack in the door again as, without further teasing, Annatar parts Celebrimbor’s robes and unfastens his trousers, releasing the hard and swollen flesh beneath to the air as well as your sight. It’s strange to think you and the Lord of Eregion have now officially seen each other’s private parts not only bared, but also evident with arousal. Celebrimbor is already weeping at the tip as Annatar wraps his elegant fingers around his cock and gives it a tug.

“Oh, my friend,” he coos, cupping Celebrimbor’s cheek. The smith whines softly, leaning into his touch. “How you must be aching.”

Celebrimbor nods, beyond words as Annatar begins to stroke his cock. The Lord of Gifts claims his mouth, and the smith clings to his shoulders desperately. You remember how it felt, to have gone so long without release and finally have the promise of it within reach. Arousal stirs anew within you, as though it had not been thunderously relieved barely a minute before.

At the same time, however, you are beginning to feel quite out of place as the kiss unfolding before your eyes grows deeper, more intense, Annatar’s tongue dominating Celebrimbor’s. His movements are still teasingly slow, despite the promise that he would finally relieve Celebrimbor’s suffering, and the more self-conscious part of your mind is beginning to wonder whether you are not hindering Annatar’s plans, somehow.

“Should I...?” you say, hesitating to interrupt. “Would you prefer if I left you to...?”

“No, please,” Celebrimbor blurts out, breaking the kiss and flushing as he meets your eyes. Remembering himself and to whom he must submit, he turns to Annatar, and somewhat bashfully asks, “Would it be all right if she stayed?”

Annatar nods, pleased by his deference. “If that is her wish.”

They both look to you then, awaiting your response—Celebrimbor with hope, Annatar with patience, and perhaps a tinge of expectation. You nod, a welcome one for all three of you. Now that you have become a part of this creative process, you wish to see it through to the end, whenever Annatar deems that may be.

“Good,” Annatar smiles. “There are eight more Rings to be crafted, after all.”

The implication thrills you to the core. Only the first of the Nine is finished, and it had mostly been completed by the time you had joined Annatar and Celebrimbor in the forge. How many more sensuous games will the emissary of the Valar invent until all the Rings are finished? In how many ways will he have you unravel, mind and body? The creamy sensation between your legs grows ever more persistent as you realize Annatar is unlikely to let it recede any time soon.

Under your gaze, Annatar returns his attentions to Celebrimbor’s neck, nipping and sucking at his skin in rhythm with his still-languid strokes. Celebrimbor says your name, practically moans it, and he wears a deep frown as he looks at you, half from pleasure and half from guilt.

“I do not wish for you to think that...” he falters when Annatar’s teeth find his ear, “in all our time together, I was harbouring improper thoughts towards you...”

“It’s quite all right, my lord,” you reassure him, watching as Annatar’s thumb gathers the bead of arousal blooming at his tip before you give him a fond smile. “There were many things I did not understand about myself and the act of creation, until Lord Annatar helped me to discover them. There is no shame in sharing in such knowledge. I do not think so,” you add, a bit more quietly. If one of the other smiths were to go against Celebrimbor’s wishes for some reason and come inside the forge now, surely they would scorn the three of you for engaging in such apparent depravity together. But you are equally sure that Annatar would help them understand the importance of your endeavours, just as he had you and Celebrimbor.

Annatar pulls away from Celebrimbor’s neck, caressing his cheek as he wears an adoring smile with which he then graces you as well as he speaks. “It brings me such joy,” he says, “to see the greatest of Elven smiths working in such harmony. Learning from one another.”

“We learned from you, my friend,” Celebrimbor is quick to return the praise. “We have you to thank for everything.”

“Let us say that we should thank one another,” Annatar insists. And as if in his own gratitude, he kneels before Celebrimbor, though he does so in that same manner he did with you before, without losing an ounce of the authority he commands. If anything, having his gaze meet yours from below has a way of making you feel as though you are standing on a precipice, dangerously close to toppling into the abyss, and he is all that keeps you upright still. Celebrimbor certainly seems to share that sentiment, his fingers brushing Annatar’s smooth cheek with deep reverence, as if he barely dares to touch such beauty.

Annatar begins with small kisses peppered to Celebrimbor’s cock, tongue darting out ever so teasingly to flick against the straining length and sensitive tip. The pleading sound that escapes the smith’s throat combined with the sight has you crossing your legs where you are still sitting on the table, to better press your thighs together.

“Oh, by the Valar,” Celebrimbor rasps out as his length is all at once engulfed in Annatar’s mouth, not a trace of discomfort on his face as the smith’s cock sinks deep into his throat.

“Lord Annatar,” you breathe out, unable to contain yourself any longer, “may I touch myself?”

You expect—hope—to be given a hum of approval, the rumble of which in Annatar’s throat will surely prevent Celebrimbor from begrudging you this small interruption. But Annatar releases the smith’s cock abruptly, pulling a strained groan from him.

“You shall take your pleasure when I see fit,” he replies before returning to his task. His voice is soft, yet the command in it is clear. It only serves to highten your arousal. And really, you should not interfere with Celebrimbor’s long-awaited pleasure again, but you fear the wooden table might begin to splinter within your white-knuckled grip unless you do something.

“May I touch you, then?” you entreat.

This time, when Annatar frees his mouth, a mischievous smile is tugging at its corners. “So long as you do not interfere with my task,” he says, looking up at the trembling smith before him. “Our dear Celebrimbor might be quite upset if you do.”

Celebrimbor caresses Annatar’s hair, giving a slight shake of his head. “I shall gladly take whatever I am given.”

You, on the other hand, waste no time to take that which you have asked for and were generously granted. You leave your seat to go and kneel behind Annatar, humming with delight as your fingers caress the soft strands of his beautiful, long hair. You brush it to the side to reveal his neck, and begin to leave your own kisses there, laving the skin between his jaw and shoulder with affection as he bobs his head while sucking Celebrimbor.

How ironic that he should warn you about interfering with his task, for a change. But even now, you seem to be the one in more difficulty as you reach around his waist, seeking to gain access to the part of him you have been missing inside you for every second since your last joining had ended. It’s an awkward position, with him kneeling and you trying to work through the layers of his clothing from behind, and however you try, you cannot seem to figure out how to even part his robe enough to reach the fastening of the trousers beneath.

He groans impatiently, and you soon find out why—when, in a few swift movements and shuffles of fabric, he frees himself from their confines and takes your hand to wrap it around his cock. He is hard and eager, practically pulsing with need within your grip, and you are reminded that to offer you these gifts requires his own sacrifice, his own desire going unfulfilled.

His hands return to Celebrimbor whilst yours remains on his cock, and you marvel at the heat and firmness of him in your grip as you begin to stroke it. He is leaking generously at the tip, and you smear the wetness along his length as you hasten your pace, and you moan as though the ridges of him are catching on your inner walls instead of the palm of your hand as your cunt aches helplessly.

But you focus solely on him. Your lips travel up the curve of his neck, trying to adjust to the movements of his head as you lick a stripe up his ear, and catch the pointed tip between your teeth as you had been longing to for so long. He groans, a low, hoarse sound that must scrape against Celebrimbor’s cock oh so wonderfully. Or torturously, if the smith’s broken whimper is any indication. With Annatar, it tends to be a blend of both.

It isn’t a coincidence, you think, but rather Annatar’s perfectly controlled timing, when they both find their end at once. It’s plain to see, from the way Celebrimbor bucks forward with a sob of relief, that he is spilling inside Annatar’s mouth, who keeps it firmly closed around him, receiving every drop—whilst Annatar’s own hips give a tense jerk and he throbs in your hand, some of his spend landing on Celebrimbor’s pant leg and some dribbling down your fingers.

It’s nearly enough to have you coming yourself. Alas, you clench around the emptiness within you, gently stroking Annatar until he pulls away from both of you. Releasing Celebrimbor’s spent cock and removing your hand from his own length, he rises from the ground, poised as ever, leaving the smith stumbling back into his seat and you panting on your knees. It isn’t long, though, before Annatar’s hand is held out within the line of your sight, and you raise your eyes to find him looking down at you like a blessing sent to be your salvation—which he, in fact, is.

“Come, now,” he urges tenderly. “The floor is hardly the place for an Elf of your talents. And generosity.”

Touched by his compliments as always, you place your hand in his and let him pull you to your unsteady feet. Though he praises your generosity, the result of it hardly shows—his cock still appears to be as furiously rigid as ever, and you frown slightly as it catches your gaze.

“Have I not satisfied you well enough, my lord?” you ask, barely a whisper. He lifts your chin, having your gaze meet his.

“You have satisfied me wonderfully,” he reassures you. “However, I shall not be truly finished until I will it so. And we still have long hours of toil ahead of us. Do we not, Celebrimbor?”

The smith gives a small chuckle. He had tucked himself away, and is now leaning on the table, resting his chin on his fist as he looks at you and Annatar with a hazy gaze.

“I am afraid I do not possess your prowess, my godly friend. It shall be a little while before I am able to endure such wonderful torment again.”

“How fortunate, then,” Annatar says, “that our dear friend is willing to share in your burden.”

You think you would share in any burden he might ask you to, so long as he kisses you all through it the same as he does now. His tongue plunges past your lips, and your eyebrows raise slightly as you realize both that the musky taste you feel is Celebrimbor’s spend, and that he must have felt your taste as well when Annatar had kissed him after feasting on you.

You are tempted to reach for Annatar’s length again as you feel its inviting weight on your belly, but then his arms surround you and you are being swept in his embrace effortlessly. You wrap yourself around him as he carries you back to the chair right beside Celebrimbor’s, sitting down with you astride him. He makes quick work of lifting your dress to expose you to him once more. Nothing would have made you happier. The moment you are able to, you cant your hips so that your moist folds caress his cock, moaning softly as your clit catches on the tip of him.

Annatar murmurs your name, gaze trained on your mouth as he traces your slightly parted lips with his thumb, “So needy,” he muses. “You neglected to mention, when you told our little story, how you came undone with barely a few grazes of my fingers, right before I took you fully.” He leans into your ear, “Should we see if we can achieve that once more?”

He grips your hips, preventing you from seeking friction much like he did the last time you had been seated in his lap. But at least then, you were achingly full instead of empty.

“Please,” you whimper, pulling away so he may see the plea within your eyes as well. “I’ve missed you inside me. So much.”

Annatar regards you tenderly, as though genuinely touched by your sentiment.

“Very well, then,” he says, running his knuckles down your cheek. “When I next bring you to the height of your pleasure, it shall be whilst we are most intimately joined.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in relief, and you turn your head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Whether that is to be now, however…”

You open your eyes to find a now familiar glint of mischief in his.

“Celebrimbor.” He turns his gaze to the smith, who seems quite surprised to be addressed in the midst of your exchange. “If you were to choose,” Annatar begins, voice honeyed with promise, “would you like me to keep you full while you work... or to hear me fill her?”

Your heart all but stills in your chest. It was one thing to put yourself at Annatar’s mercy, but for him to have Celebrimbor decide your fate is a turn you had not expected. Perhaps it is only the illusion of control which he offers, a choice he asks Celebrimbor to make only for him to do the opposite instead. Either way, it’s a new flavour of the same addictive torment you have known at his hands, and your heartbeat practically echoes between your legs as you await Celebrimbor’s answer.

For his part, the smith seems at an utter loss. He meets Annatar’s expectant gaze, then your pleading one. “Both,” he confesses in the end. “Only... might you see to her first? I am quite sated for the moment, and she…” His eyes drop to your glistening folds. “Oh my dearest, look how wet you are.”

He forgets himself for a moment, resting his hand on your thigh. It’s nice and warm upon your already heated skin, but tenses when Celebrimbor notices Annatar eyeing it with a slightly raised eyebrow. Realizing he had failed to ask for permission, the smith bows his head in apology and begins to retreat.

Annatar, however, lays a hand upon his, keeping it pressed to your skin. He must have deemed, in the end, that the touch was tentative enough to count as a plea for more rather than a claim to it. He meets your gaze with a searching look and, finding nothing but the heat of anticipation there, he slides Celebrimbor’s hand further up your thigh, guiding it to the aching flesh between your legs.

A breath escapes Celebrimbor as he feels you intimately. Annatar ensures the tips of the smith’s fingers find your bundle of nerves, and guides them into circling it with torturous slowness before leaving him to carry on with the touch on his own. Your eyes fall shut, relishing the stimulation even as it worsens the emptiness you feel within.

“Wet indeed, is she not?” Annatar murmurs. Celebrimbor nods, unable to look away from the sight of your flesh beneath his fingers. You’ve never had two pairs of eyes trained on your exposed sex, drinking it in at the same time, and the rush brought by that fact alone pulls a whimper from you. Celebrimbor’s pace increases slightly as your hips chase his touch, but Annatar puts a tempering hand to his. “Not too much,” he instructs. “Not yet.”

Looking down, the sight you find is most frustrating. Annatar’s cock is so close, lying rigid and eager right before your core, yet your cunt weeps helplessly under much too tame a touch. You feel like you might cry if you don’t get to come soon, but you remind yourself to breathe and leave yourself to Annatar’s care, knowing his ways will leave you more fulfilled in the end than what you think you need in the heat of passion.

To your partial relief, Annatar takes himself in hand, teasing the tip of his cock at your entrance, below Celebrimbor’s fingers. He leans closer, as though he means to kiss your cheek, but before his lips touch your skin, he gives Celebrimbor a meaningful look, tapping a suggestive finger to the side of your neck closest to him. Here.

Celebrimbor’s eyes brighten with understanding and eagerness. They both lean in, and then there are two sets of lips, two tongues, wet and warm and soft on the sensitive skin between your neck and both shoulders at once. All whilst Celebrimbor caresses your clit, and Annatar soaks his cockhead through your folds, and you moan as you tremble under their combined attentions.

Then, all at once and at long last, Annatar tightens his hold around your waist, and pulls you onto him. You gasp and mewl, your hand flying to grip Celebrimbor’s sleeve as you are finally filled to the brim. Celebrimbor pulls away from your neck to look down, a shuddering breath escaping him at the sight of Annatar’s flesh engulfed by yours. His fingers falter on your clit.

“Tell me,” Annatar murmurs in your ear, “is our friend still ‘quite sated’?”

You lock eyes with Celebrimbor, then lower them to his crotch. He opens his legs slightly as you reach out to return his intimate touch, and groans as you feel the renewed hardness between them.

“He is hard, my lord,” you reply, breathless, as Annatar retreats from you enough to watch you fondle Celebrimbor through his clothes for himself. You would like to relieve him, and you wish to begin riding the cock within you more than anything, but you know better than to do either before Annatar has allowed it. Your brow knits in apology as you remove your hand from Celebrimbor. He catches it in his, though he doesn’t return it to where he aches most.

“Please,” he breathes out, gaze shifting between you and Annatar. “Would you...? Could she...? If only for a while?”

Annatar smiles, wickedly. “We’ll see later if she feels inclined to return your generosity. For now, Celebrimbor,” he gently removes the smith’s hand from where it was still working slowly between your legs, “I believe the skills of your fingers are needed elsewhere.”

Celebrimbor deflates somewhat, releasing your hand. But he is no longer a stranger to this game, nor does he question Annatar’s judgment. “Yes,” he agrees, shifting in his chair to face the table. “Yes, of course.”

“Excellent,” Annatar praises, his voice coated in the sweetest honey. “As for you…” He takes hold of your chin, turning your head so you meet his gaze. “You may take your pleasure. Once. Then, you shall lend your talents to the making of the Rings, along with our friend. Under my instruction,” he adds with the kind of gentle firmness only he can manage. You nod at once.

“Yes, Lord Annatar,” you promise breathlessly, already beginning to fuck yourself onto him. “Oh, thank you.”

He takes on a most humble expression, though you are too busy seeking the right angle at which to ride his cock to notice his carefully crafted façade. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”

It truly is—for your pleasure, as well as Celebrimbor’s, belongs to him. The smith performs his craft with a faint smile as he listens to your pretty moans, his mind no longer muddled by the toils of the past weeks, both of you trusting blindly in your beloved emissary. And your sweet surrender to his will shall bleed into the Rings through the fingertips with which you bring them into being, and bind them to their Lord all the more closely.

He claims your mouth, your moans melting on his tongue as his cock throbs in pleasure with each eager roll of your hips—and creation has never tested sweeter, indeed.

[mihai-florescu]

Hello there tumblr user Mihai-floresuco.

I would like to ask of thee which stories you’d recommend of fine? I do not like the unit but I would like to like them so perhaps a better understanding of the characters shall aid me in this quest, thank you in advance and have a truly lovely day.

Yours truly,

Secret mutual :3

I am going to assume you've read the war era reminis, you are familiar with ex fine, what and why things happened, and your question is regarding current fine. I will also hope you've read Daydream and Blackbird as they explain a lot about the moments right after the war, from Eichi and Wataru's perspectives. Plus Eichi calls Yuzuru sexy, never forget.

Now, let's see, from the beginning. Flower fes is the first story with fine as we know it (minus Eichi as he was in the hospital), it's about Tori and Yuzuru meeting Wataru for the first time (among other things. It's also a good look into the state of things in the beginning of the next year right after the war. There's a good bit with Valkyrie as well)

Then other early ! Era stories would be Circus (fine perform at a circus, the scene that stood out the most to me is that of Eichi and the lion) and Quarrel Fes (Eichi Keito showdown mostly, it's good for understanding Eichi better)

Then Milky Way (fine and valkyrie, personally i'm due a complete reread), Jingle Bells (the one where Tori's illusions of fine as a perfect savior unit that can do no wrong and that hasn't done wrong in the past start dissipating), EP:link......i assume that if you follow me you've read eplink, but if not, i will not spoil it. The last story before the change of eras and it deals partially with fine's future.

Then for other stories i recommend when you have time: Magnolia (the best bridal enstars story imo, focused on Tori working around the school to buy Eichi a brooch for a gift exchange event), Dance Floor (they go to the park and then do karaoke at the end...), Triumph of the Emperor (an old story where Tori takes lead to prepare for a future where Eichi wouldn't be in fine anymore. This is all before we or they knew we'll have !! Era where the units stay together), Summer Live (undead and fine. Very unfortunate a good story is overshadowed by orientalist cards)

From the !! Era... um. I think there are some good one off idol stories, like the one with the parfait i remember seeing a tl for, but i dont know the name of it (i suspect it's somewhere in tori or eichi's idol stories). The best fine story in !! imo is Tempest. I also recommend if you end up enjoying fine Fist of the shangri la idol. And Sanctuary.........i feel like you should only read it after you already like Eichi or you might not have the best time... If you want to read anything else go ahead, but I can't guide you (I was unsatisfied with Primavera, and haven't yet read Ghostic. I enjoyed the livetweets for Atlantis but you can't find a full tl of it anywhere yet afaik and I'm not gonna recommend the !! climax to someone who is just getting started with fine as a whole anyway)

I hope I haven't talked for too long... if you need ex fine recs too, i'd say Element first and foremost, Checkmate for Eichi & Tsumugi's early relationship, and Wonder Game. Oh and Altered Origins. It's still a fever dream of a story to me personally, i haven't fully wrapped my head around the fact that we are getting the remini animes and extra stories yet. I mean I have, but you know, it still feels a bit surreal.

If anyone feels like I forgot any important fine stories please add to the conversation. If you end up interested in Wataru and Eichi in particular I'd also recommend Diner Live, but it is not a fine story. I've heard Toyland is good for Tori (Yuzuru too?) but I haven't personally read it yet. If you want more Wataru and Tori interactions, Amusement Live has some good scenes, but it is not that much about them, the story's about Ra*bits and 2wink. A story i enjoyed of fine members shenanigans sans Wataru is Noble Game. We shall see when White Brim gets translated, I know it has some good bits with Tori&Eichi. Hm hm hm. That's all I can think of at the top of my head rn, but I think I've already said more than enough...

[tiny-librarian]

In the early morning hours of October 16th, having been condemned to death by guillotine, Marie Antoinette was led back to her cell in the Conciergerie. She wrote the following letter to her sister in law, Madame Elisabeth, but it would never reach her.

Here is a translation of the letter, images of the original are above.

16th October, 4.30 A.M. It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments.

I am calm, as one is when one's conscience reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. You who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us, in what a position do I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! poor child; I do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not even know whether this will reach you. Do you receive my blessing for both of them. I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one's own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father, which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths. I have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wishes, especially when he does not understand it. It will come to pass one day, I hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of them. It remains to confide to you my last thoughts. I should have wished to write them at the beginning of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing, events have passed so rapidly that I really have not had time. I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion (and indeed the place where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I may have committed during my life. I trust that, in His goodness, He will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a long time addressed to Him, to receive my soul into His mercy. I beg pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts and to all my brothers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to my latest moment I thought of them. Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell! farewell! I must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as I am not free in my actions. Perhaps they will bring me a priest; but I here protest that I will not say a word to him, but that I will treat him as a total stranger.

[burnwater13]

Grogu standing in front of Boba Fett's rancor, on the streets of Mos Espa, on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor.

Grogu had to say, given everything he’d learned and everything he’d experienced, nothing in his training as a Jedi youngling had prepared him for a career in dentistry. But there he was. Standing in front of an angry rancor and it was absolutely clear to him that no one had taken the dental hygiene of the huge critter seriously. They just hadn’t. 

The rancor’s teeth were stained, chipped, and smelled of whatever or whoever it had consumed in the recent past. Not just that day. Nope. At least six or seven days ago. It had time to ripen into something that smelled like bad spotchka. Grogu was not impressed, but actually fairly sorrowful. This rancor would need to have a lot of work done to make sure those huge sharp teeth were returned to their former glory.  But like he said. He wasn’t a dentist.

After everything had settled down on Tatooine and particularly in Mos Espa, Grogu had brought the issue up to the Daimyo. Officially, Ranky was a possession of the Daimyo’s, so only the Daimyo could authorize an appropriate course of treatment. 

The Daimyo very wisely suggested that they consult with the rancor keeper. If anyone would know why Ranky’s teeth weren’t being given the proper daily care, he would know. Grogu agreed with that assessment and the two of them made their way down to the rancor enclosure while the Majordomo and Fennec continued to run the meeting on mutual aid with the delegates from Mos… Freetown. Grogu was still getting used to the name change. 

When they reached the rancor enclosure the trainer, Machete, came right over to them. 

“How’s he doing?” Daimyo Fett asked after they exchanged greetings.

“Doing? He’s a rancor. He’s doing fine.”

Machete looked confused. Grogu could understand that. The rancor was tearing through a huge chunk of some sort of meat and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. 

“My young friend here is concerned about the creature’s health. In particular the health of its teeth. I don’t need to tell you how critical healthy teeth are to a creature like this one, do I?”

Grogu was interested in how the Daimyo’s voice went from being kind and concerned to down right aggravated from the beginning of that sentence to its end. It was impressive. Grogu was sure it took experience he didn’t have to achieve that in such a small amount of time. 

“Well, my lord, I have been meaning to talk to you about that. Brushing a rancor’s teeth is not quite as easy as say, brushing the teeth of a Krayt dragon. If you choose to do that to a Krayt dragon it’s happy to remove you from the living because you have identified your time to meet your ancestors. No real questions about how or when. Now with a rancor, you must decide which arm you can live with out. Unfortunately that only covers one cleaning and only for as long as it chooses to let you retain that arm.”

Wow, that sounded serious. The Daimyo thought so as well.

“I wouldn’t expect to find many volunteers for that work. Why not use droids or mechs? We have plenty of them scurrying around the place. Surely one or two of them could be trained to perform the necessary work?”

Grogu grinned at his Mandalorian friend. This was exactly why Boba Fett was the Daimyo and not anyone else. He inherently understood problem solving. 

“I have considered that, my lord. I even had some of the small mechs trained to do the work. But Administrator Shand said I was not to waste valuable resources on work that the rancor should be trained to do for itself.”

Ahhh. Grogu immediately understood the caught between a rock and blaster look the trainer wore on his weary, scarred face. If Fennec told you not to do something, you didn’t do it. Easy peasy. 

“Then you have begun to teach the rancor to manage this task for itself?”

The trainer looked at the ground and shuffled his feet and looked more uncomfortable than he did the time he had to the Daimyo that Ranky had escaped his enclosure to take a sand bath. Grogu had helped them both out that day. It had been a good opportunity to test his newest Force skill, ‘attract critter’. That he’ also ended up ‘attracting’ every scorpion, poisonous millipede, biting/flying insect, bird, rodent, lizard, in a 300 meter radius hadn’t been ideal, but you have to learn somehow.

“I have been trying, but I am sorry to say that the rancor likes the flavor of the brushes I’ve been able to fashion for its use. He snatches them up, crunches them down, and then burps. I don’t have access to materials that are more durable.”

“I see.” 

The Daimyo seemed sad. Grogu could understand that. He’d probably realized the only thing a rancor couldn’t just crunch up was beskar and no way was any Mandalorian going to give up their beskar to make a tooth polisher and pick for a rancor. Grogu sighed.

“Well, young one. Do you think the Force could help? You were able to get him to sleep that way. Could you remove all that plaque and tarter?”

And that was how Grogu was forced to seriously consider how to clean a giant critter’s teeth using just the Force and the sweetness of his own personality. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Just a little scraping and mild discomfort and the possibility of being eaten in one tiny bite. Now, he just needed to know if the Daimyo had the proper insurance for the work.