A collection of things I like- feelings, poetry, art, beauty, truth, laughs, anything I want. I'm over 18 fyi Also LOTR and Star Trek. None of the memes are mine.
So I and my dear spouse were watching LOTR for the 4,783rd time, and when we get to Lorien and Galadriel and Celeborn, he abruptly turns to me and with zero prompting, very seriously, says.
"You know why she's never shown sitting in a throne? It's because her throne is Celeborn's face."
I damn near had to marry that man again on the spot.
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
a/n: i stopped birth control & have never ovulated so hard in my life……and in completely unrelated news, i made caleb a barbarian
part two | part three
part one — trapped
His traps have never caught anything like this.
Caleb stares down at the creature tangled in his hunting net, confusion warring with instinct. It’s small—smaller than any adult of his kind—and the wrong color entirely. Smooth skin, no horns, no tail. Soft everywhere he is hard.
Fragile.
It’s also unconscious, which is probably for the best. The fall into his net must have knocked it senseless.
It. No, not it. He can see the gentle curves even through the strange coverings on its—her—body. Female, definitely. But female what?
He’s crouching down to get a better look when it happens.
The resonance.
It strikes him like lightning, a thrumming vibration that starts in his chest and spreads through his entire body. His breath catches. His hands shake.
No. Impossible.
This creature isn’t one of his people. The khui should only resonate for the one fate has chosen for him. But it’s singing. Crying out. Demanding.
Savi. Mate. Mine.
Caleb’s hand hovers over her chest, and even without touching, he can feel it—the echo of a resonance that should be there, reaching blindly for his. An answering call with no anchor. No khui. Nothing to protect her from what the world would do to something so delicate, so unclaimed.
The certainty that crashes through him is primal and absolute.
This strange, fragile, alien creature is his mate.
His to protect. His to claim. His to keep.
A low growl rumbles from his chest as he carefully cuts away the net. She doesn’t stir, even when he gathers her into his arms. She weighs almost nothing, and the feel of her soft body against his chest makes the resonance soar.
Mine, his khui insists. Esha. Keep safe.
He looks around the frozen wasteland, taking in the darkening sky. A storm is coming. He can taste it in the air. His settlement is too far, and he won’t risk this fragile creature in the brutal cold. She is clearly not built to withstand such conditions—hairless, save for the crown of her head, with hardly any muscle or fat to protect her organs. The coverings she wears are thin and soaked with snow, her tiny, five-fingered hands cold and discolored and far too still.
There’s a cave nearby. One of his hunting shelters, stocked with supplies.
Decision made, he cradles her closer and runs.
—
The cave is small but warm, the thermal vents keeping it comfortable. Caleb lays his strange mate on the pile of furs, arranging them beneath her, around her, blocking the cold that seeps in from the ground. She’s still unconscious, her breathing shallow. And she’s shivering.
His khui pulses with alarm. Cold. Savi is cold. Must warm. Must protect.
He moves quickly, efficiently. Her coverings are wet—he’d felt the dampness when he carried her, likely from snow that melted against her body heat during the fall. Wet means cold. Cold means death.
The coverings must come off.
His hands find strange fastenings of her coverings—nothing like the simple wraps his people use. He works carefully, not wanting to damage them even though his instinct is to simply tear them away.
Beneath the outer layer, she wears something else. Something that covers her hips and between her legs, white and flush against her skin.
Caleb touches it carefully.
Soft. Very soft. Softer than any hide he has ever felt, with some sort of decorative bow on the front. Caleb’s fingers hover over it, fascinated. Why would clothing have decoration? What purpose does this serve?
He strokes the fabric gently. It is nothing like the leather and furs his people use. This is—this is amazing. Beautiful.
His khui pulses harder.
Carefully, he removes the small bottom piece. Savi doesn’t need it right now, anyway. Too cold. Needs furs for warmth. Caleb will make her new clothes. Better clothes. Warm clothes made from the softest hides.
He holds the white fabric in his hand, studying it. So small. So delicate. He brings it to his face, inhaling deeply.
The scent hits him like a physical blow.
Savi.
Her scent is sweet and musky and undeniably female. The fabric was pressed against her most intimate place, and now it carries her essence. Caleb’s entire body responds—his khui singing so loud it drowns out thought, his tail lashing behind him, his cock hardening instantly.
He breathes in again, deeper, letting her scent fill his lungs. It’s intoxicating. Addictive. He wants to bury his face in it. Wants to taste where this fabric touched. Wants to make savi smell like this for him, because of him.
Caleb’s hand trembles as he holds the scrap of fabric. He should put it down. Should focus on caring for savi, on checking her injuries, on being the strong, controlled hunter he’s supposed to be.
Instead, he inhales again, his eyes rolling back slightly at the overwhelming sweetness of her. His free hand moves to his aching length without conscious thought, and he has to physically stop himself from wrapping his hand around his cock. He grips the furs beneath him until his claws dig into the hide.
No. Not now. Not like this. Savi is sleeping. Hurt. Vulnerable. Caleb will not—cannot—
But the scent. Her scent. Evidence that she’s real, that she exists, that she’s his.
He brings the fabric to his face one more time, committing the smell to memory. Then, with visible effort, he tucks it carefully into his belongings—somewhere safe, somewhere secret, somewhere he can return to it.
Caleb takes a shuddering breath and forces himself to return to his savi’s unconscious form. But he knows—knows with absolute certainty—that he’ll be taking that fabric out again later. Will be breathing her in until the scent is burned into his memory. Will be imagining what it would be like to remove it himself while she’s awake and willing. What it would be like to replace her scent on that fabric with his own. To mark her so thoroughly that she smells like him. Like them.
Soon, he promises himself. Soon savi will wake. Will choose him. Will let him—
His cock throbs, and he has to shake himself to clear his head.
Later, he tells the khui firmly. First, care for savi. Make sure savi is safe. Then—then everything else.
Now, she is bare before him.
Caleb sits back on his heels, his breath catching. She’s…she’s nothing like his people. Nothing like any female he’s ever seen.
Her skin is cold and smooth, unmarked by the firm ridges that pattern his own body. Instead, she's soft-looking. Pretty. He reaches out hesitantly, touching her shoulder, and the texture makes his fingers tingle. Like the finest cured leather, but warm. Alive.
His khui thrums harder. Touch. Learn. Know our mate.
He tells himself he’s checking for injuries. Making sure she’s unharmed. His hands map her shoulders, her arms—so slender, he could probably wrap one hand around her upper arm completely. Down to her hands, smaller than his, with no claws tipping her delicate fingers.
Fragile. So fragile.
His gaze travels lower. Her chest rises and falls with breath, and the shape of her is…different. His people’s females have subtle curves, but this creature—his savi—she has breasts that are fuller, softer, with nipples that seem to grow firm in the cold air. He swallows hard, forcing his eyes to continue their examination.
Looking for injuries. Just looking for injuries.
Her waist dips in, then flares at her hips. The muscles of her stomach are subtle, not pronounced like his people. Everything about her is soft where he is hard, curved where he is angular. She has some tender spots of deep purple marking her skin, a few scratches marking her otherwise smooth skin.
He will make medicine for her. He will tend every mark with care. He will see to it that nothing ever harms her again.
His hand hovers over her skin, and he can feel the heat radiating from her despite her shivering. His khui is singing now, a constant resonance that makes his blood run hot. He should cover her. Should wrap her in furs and let her rest. But his gaze has traveled lower, to the apex of her thighs, and his breath stops completely when her legs shift apart in her sleep.
Her scent hits him then. Hard. And before he can think better of it, he’s leaning closer.
His people don’t have this. This specific scent, this evidence of her sex. It’s intoxicating, calling to something primal in him.
Taste. Need to taste. Need to know.
His hands settle on her thighs—so soft, so warm—and gently press them further apart.
She’s different here, too. A small tuft of curls covers her sensitive skin. It's adorable. Useless and adorable. He runs his thumb gently through that soft hair, revealing delicate folds of pink flesh. He can see moisture there, and the scent intensifies.
His mouth waters.
This is wrong. She’s unconscious. Caleb knows little of mating, but he is fairly certain that she is meant to be awake, at the very least. He should wait, should—
But his khui is screaming, and his body is moving on pure instinct. He lowers his head, breath ghosting over her most intimate flesh, and takes his first taste.
The flavor explodes across his tongue.
Sweet. Musky. Perfect.
A low growl rumbles from his chest as he licks again, learning her body. His tongue is longer than hers would be, rough and textured, and he uses it to explore every fold, every secret place. The moisture increases under his attention, and he groans against her flesh.
Mine. This is mine. Esha savi. My mate.
He finds a strange, tiny nipple at the top of her folds and flicks his tongue over it experimentally. Even unconscious, her body responds—her hips twitch slightly, her breathing changes. Encouraged, he focuses there, licking and sucking gently. His hands grip her thighs, holding her open for his mouth, and the sounds he’s making are desperate and primal and hungry.
He’s never tasted anything so good. Never felt his khui sing so loudly. It’s overwhelming, consuming, and he can’t stop. Won’t stop.
One hand slides up her inner thigh, and he presses a thick finger to her entrance. She’s tight—so tight—but wet enough that he slides in carefully. The sensation of her inner walls gripping his finger makes him groan against her cunt.
So small. So tight. Will need to prepare her carefully. Need make sure savi can take Caleb pups.
But that’s a thought for later. Right now, he’s lost in learning her body, in the taste of her on his tongue, in the way her wetness coats his finger as he slowly pumps it in and out.
He adds a second finger, stretching her carefully while his tongue continues its worship of that sensitive bundle of nerves. Her body is responding more now—small sounds escaping her throat, her hips shifting restlessly against the furs.
She’s close to waking, some distant part of his mind registers. But he can’t stop. The khui won’t let him. The need to taste her, to learn every response, to—
Her thighs suddenly tense around his shoulders. A sharp gasp fills the cave.
She’s awake.
—
You surface from unconsciousness slowly, awareness returning in fragments.
You’re not on the ship anymore. You’re warm, despite your apparent nakedness. There’s a softness beneath you. And a sensation between your legs that’s wet and hot and unbearably pleasurable.
Your eyes fly open.
The cave ceiling above you is unfamiliar, lit by a soft blue glow. You try to orient yourself, to understand where you are, but there’s weight on your hips, holding you down, and that sensation—
You look down and scream.
There’s a creature between your thighs. A massive, alien creature with horns and violet-blue skin and its mouth on you, tongue doing things that make your mind go blank with shock and unwanted desire. You try to scramble back, but his hand, large and warm, tightens on your hips. He doesn’t hurt you, but he doesn’t let go either. Doesn’t even lift his head.
He makes a sound against your flesh—soothing, almost crooning—and continues working his tongue and fingers between your legs.
“Stop!” You try to push at his head, his shoulders, his horns, anything you can reach. “Get off—what are you—”
He lifts his head just enough to look at you, and you see his face for the first time. He's strikingly handsome in a sharp, inhuman way. Eyes the color of violet twilight, now glazed with something that might be hunger or wonder or both. His mouth glistens with—
Oh god.
“Esha Savi,” he rumbles, the word vibrating through your core. “Mine.”
“Let go of me!” You try to close your legs, but he’s impossibly strong. “I don’t—stop—”
His response is to lower his head again, and his tongue—textured and warm and far too skilled—finds that spot that makes your back arch involuntarily. His chest seems to vibrate with something like satisfaction.
“No! I don’t want—oh—”
The pleasure is involuntary, your body responding even as your mind reels in horror. His tongue is everywhere, learning you, tasting you with desperate thoroughness. And his fingers—you can feel them inside you, stretching you, fucking you languidly in rhythm with his mouth.
“Please,” you whimper, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or continue. “Please, I can’t—this is—”
He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your oversensitized flesh. “Savi taste…perfect,” he says, his words heavily accented. “Caleb need. Caleb…cannot stop.”
His name. He’s telling you his name, you think, while his face is buried between your legs.
“Caleb, please—” Your protest is cut off by a moan as he finds that perfect pressure, that perfect rhythm.
He makes an approving sound and redoubles his efforts. One hand releases your hip to splay across your lower stomach, holding you in place while he works. His tongue is relentless, and those fingers inside you curl just right, and—
“No, no, no—” You cry, but your body is betraying you, climbing toward something inevitable.
He seems to sense it. His eyes lock with yours over the plane of your body, and there’s such intensity in that gaze, such possessive hunger, that it sends you over the edge.
You shatter with a cry that echoes off the cave walls. The orgasm crashes through you in waves, and he works you through every aftershock, tongue gentling but never stopping until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
Only then does he lift his head.
He crawls up your body with predatory grace, and you get your first full look at him. He's huge—easily twice your size, all lean muscle and blueish skin with a distinctive suede-like texture. Dark horns curve from his temples, catching the dim light. And he has a tail, you realize, seeing it move behind him with clear intent.
His face is sharp and angular, undeniably alien but somehow...handsome. His eyes—those violet eyes that haven’t stopped watching you—are dark now, pupils blown wide.
He brings his hand to his mouth.
You watch, transfixed, as he licks his fingers clean—the same fingers that were just inside you. He has four fingers, you notice distantly. Four fingers instead of five, tipped with short, dark claws.
The sight of him tasting you from his own hand sends a confusing jolt through you. You should be disgusted. Should be horrified.
Instead, heat floods your face.
He makes a low sound of satisfaction, his eyes closing briefly as he savors your taste, tongue lapping up every bit of your pleasure, ensuring none of it is wasted. When they open again and lock on yours, there's raw hunger there that makes your breath hitch.
Then his gaze drops lower.
You follow his line of sight and realize with a start that he's hard. Very hard. The evidence of his arousal is impossible to miss, prominent between his legs behind the fabric of his loincloth. He’s huge. Probably the size of your forearm, although it’s difficult to tell behind the leather covering him. He’s huge and hard and closing in on you like a predator to prey.
Fear spikes through you. You know what’s coming.
He sees it immediately. Sees you tense, sees the fear flood your expression. And something in his face shifts—from hunger to concern in an instant.
"Savi scared?" His voice is gentle despite the obvious strain in it.
You nod, unable to form words. You suppose you're "savi" now. And you sure as hell are terrified.
He makes that soothing sound again, the one from his chest that vibrates in the air between you. He doesn't move closer. Just stays where he is, on his knees between your legs, his hands carefully placed on the furs beside your hips.
"Caleb not hurt savi." He says it firmly, like a vow. Then he taps his chest. "Caleb...not do more. Not now. Just taste. Just learn."
He reaches for you slowly, so slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His hand cups your face with surprising tenderness.
"Savi safe with Caleb," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Always safe. Caleb protect. Not hurt. Never hurt."
You can't bring yourself to believe him. You’re trapped in a cave with an alien who could overpower you without effort, who could eat you alive and still be hungry for more. Whatever he wants from you, it isn’t simple. And yet…something in his eyes gives you pause. In the way his hands hesitate before touching you, careful even when restraint clearly costs him.
"You did that while I was sleeping," you whisper, the words finally breaking free. "I didn't—I couldn't—"
He doesn't understand all the words, but he reads the distress in your voice. His expression shifts to something that might be guilt, or shame, or regret.
"Caleb sorry." His forehead presses to yours, and the gesture feels like an apology. Like a plea. "Khui loud. Caleb not think. Just need. Need taste savi. Need know savi."
His other hand comes up to frame your face, both of those four-fingered hands cradling you like something precious.
"But Caleb not do again," he says fiercely. "Not without savi say yes. Caleb promise. Not touch savi like that without savi want. Promise."
Through his touch, through his presence, you feel the sincerity. He means it. Whatever drove him to taste you while you slept, he's fighting it now. Trying to give you control he instinctively wants to take.
You're still trembling, overwhelmed by everything—the sensation of what he did, the fear of what he could do, the confusing heat his obvious arousal creates in you.
He seems to sense your discomfort, pulling back carefully and reaching for something nearby. A fur. He drapes it over you with gentle hands, covering your nakedness, giving you back some semblance of dignity.
"Savi warm?" he asks softly.
You nod even though temperature isn't the real issue. But he understands comfort, at least.
He wraps you more securely in the fur, tucking it around you with careful hands. Then, surprisingly, he lifts you into his arms. Not roughly. Not claiming. Just...cradling you like you're something that might break.
He carries you to a pile of furs in the corner—clearly his sleeping area—and settles down with his back against the wall, arranging you in his lap. You can still feel his arousal pressed against you through the furs, but he makes no move to act on it. Just holds you, letting his body heat seep into you.
One hand strokes your hair in a soothing rhythm. The other rests on your back, steady and grounding.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "Caleb watch. Keep savi safe. Always safe."
You should fight this. Should demand he release you. Should—
But you're exhausted. Emotionally and physically wrung out. You don’t know where you are, how you got here, where your shipmates could be. Maybe you died. Maybe this is hell, or heaven, or some strange third place where men with horns have to make a conscious effort not to bury their noses against your cunt.
You’ll figure it out in the morning.
And despite everything—despite the fear and confusion and the memory of waking to his mouth on you—his warmth is undeniable. His heartbeat is steady. That strange vibration in his chest is oddly calming.
Your eyes drift closed against your will.
The last thing you feel is his lips pressing softly against your temple, promising something you don't yet understand. His whispered words are barely audible:
“Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found.”
“Lose what you have found, lord?” she answered; but she looked at him gravely and her eyes were kind. “I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose.”
LOTRWEEK - Day Five
↳ it grows perhaps the greater
janainaart
annaxmalina
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
snowghoul
