#human complexity is divine work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

derekhighwaytf · 4 months ago

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Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing. They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.” Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty. George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.” He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath. “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.”

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be? All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear.

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!” Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap? He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on? You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.” George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,

With burps and farts to shake the very air.

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back.

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me. I was wrong, and you were right. There. I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke.

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit. I didn’t think you would actually say that. Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh? Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now. He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly. He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again. If George can do this for him. There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush. “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold. “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby. My love. I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.” He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do. Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke. “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone. Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.” And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift. He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

#male transformation #mental change #tf story #gay tf #muscle tf #broification #iq loss #fart kink #dumber #himbo tf #himbofication

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peachyforthis · 7 months ago

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How genshin men would realise they have a crush on you

Featuring: Neuvillette, Lyney, Wriothesley

Uploading the gifs for some reason took significant time out of my life but here it is ^^

All gifs are by me unless credited at bottom

Neuvillette

Would be so busy in his day to day responsibilities in being the Chief Justice that at first he might not notice you hanging around his office more frequently than others.

But he would appreciate your presence and will to help whenever you saw his loads of work, meanwhile trying to remain professional at first but gradually would warm up to you and tell you his secret and his dragon tales.

It would be at one particular day where he was dejected from a long and emotional trial, and upon arriving in his office noticed your prepared dish of his favourite soup placed carefully on his desk, with a handwritten note stating, “Sorry had to leave a bit earlier. Hope this makes your day better :)”

Neuvillette, at first, wouldn’t understand the warm feeling in his chest… but the weight would hit him shortly as the sky starts to become cloudy, confirming his heart heavy with realization.

“Is this how human feelings are like?”

Lyney

Gradually notices you being a top regular in his shows, attending almost every one of it. Honestly, you caught his eye at first being so pretty and lively.

He doesn’t know how it actually progressed, but he would have this extra air of pride around him whenever your expression shined, or you cheered in the audience at his many magic tricks.

One day, he announces a special performance and asks for volunteers and you happily raise your hand. This, of course, he could never reject and invites you on stage.

Performs a complex but well executed magic trick on you which makes you amused and laugh appreciatively at his talent.

Lyney finally understands now why he needed your approval, as he smiles and bows at you, returning your admiration.

“So this is the magical moment I’ve been waiting for.”

Wriothesley

Would start to enjoy conversing with you, an officer from the Palais Mermonia, sent to help Wriothesley on an exclusive project in the Fortress of Meropide for some months.

Whenever you had to go above ground to submit the progress reports, Wriothesley would silently miss your presence beside him… the two of you drinking tea and bantering at the end of the day. He has admired how you aren’t afraid of him and are brave to always speak your mind and rightfully criticise him occasionally.

Realises how much he really has started to like your company when you return after a few days with a box of special tea leaves just for him, saying how you extended your stay by cleverly convincing the project management above.

Is fully in awe and entertained by your slight cunning tricks and wonders if you also feel the same affection for him after all.

“Well… this just complicates things,” he wonders as he watches you fondly across his table, while you giddily prepare a new tea flavour for him… oblivious to his self confession.

A/N: Also can you tell my undying love for Neuvillette? but Wrio too is just divine lol

Reblogs would be very appeciated ^^ thank you

#genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #lyney x reader #fluff #crush #genshin fanfic

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pastorroye1 · 1 month ago

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The Importance of Choosing a Good Bible Translation Selecting a reliable translation of Scripture is crucial when beginning to read and study the Bible. The Bible is God’s Word to us, divinely inspired and meant to guide our lives. From the time the written Word was first recorded, there have been efforts to translate what God has said. Some translators have approached this work with reverence, carefully rendering God’s holy words as accurately as possible. Others, however, have injected personal interpretations, agendas, or biases into the text. The result? Some translations are excellent and faithful to the original text, while others are misleading—potentially even dangerous. Personally, I want to hear what God has said, not what man has interpreted. Man’s words will never suffice, but God’s Word stands eternal and unchanging. Types of Bible Translations There are two primary translation philosophies: Literal Translations (Word-for-Word): Definition: These aim to stay as close as possible to the exact words and structure of the original Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts. Purpose: They prioritize accuracy over readability, preserving the original wording and phrasing. Examples: King James Version (KJV), New King James Version (NKJV). Note: Literal translations are considered the most faithful to the original texts, making them excellent for study. Dynamic Translations (Thought-for-Thought): Definition: These focus on conveying the ideas or thoughts behind the original text rather than adhering to a word-for-word rendering. Purpose: They prioritize readability and comprehension for modern audiences by adapting expressions and idioms into contemporary language. Examples: New International Version (NIV), New Living Translation (NLT), The Message, The Passion Translation. My Perspective on Bible Translations I primarily use the NKJV (a literal translation) for study and teaching. On a limited basis, I reference the NLT (a dynamic translation) for clarity. My caution with dynamic translations lies in the potential for human bias to overshadow God’s intent. The most dangerous example, in my opinion, is The Passion Translation (TPT). This version often strays far from the original text, adding interpretive language that may mislead readers. For this reason, the Passion Translation is not used or taught in our church or ministry. A Comparison: Psalm 23:1-2 NKJV: 1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. Characteristics: Literal and concise. Retains the structure and tone of the original Hebrew. TPT: 1 The Lord is my best friend and my shepherd. I always have more than enough. 2 He offers a resting place for me in his luxurious love. His tracks take me to an oasis of peace, the quiet brook of bliss. Characteristics: Highly paraphrased and interpretive. Adds relational and emotional language not present in the original text, such as "best friend" and "luxurious love." Key Differences: Literal vs. Interpretive: The NKJV stays close to the original text, while the TPT expands on it with added interpretations. Tone and Imagery: The NKJV is formal and restrained; the TPT is poetic and emotionally charged. Concerning Trends in Translations Some modern translations have even removed gender-specific references to God, reframing "God the Father" in neutral terms to avoid offending cultural sensitivities. Such changes undermine the integrity of Scripture, shifting focus from God’s revealed truth to man’s agenda. To truly know God, we must seek His Word as He intended it—not a watered-down, culturally reimagined version. Overcoming Challenges in Understanding Scripture If you find the Bible difficult to understand, take heart! God has provided pastors, teachers, and study tools to help you navigate its complexities. Let’s rise above the temptation to settle for simplified versions and pursue the richness of what God truly says. Timeless Truths About God’s Word Hebrews 4:12 (NKJV): "For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." Isaiah 40:8 (NKJV): "The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever." Psalm 119:105 (NKJV): "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." Matthew 4:4 (NKJV): "‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.’" Romans 10:17 (NKJV): "So then faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." 2 Timothy 3:16-17 (NKJV): "All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work." Isaiah 55:11 (NKJV): "So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it." Let us approach God’s Word with reverence and diligence, seeking His truth above all else. God’s Word matters most.

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silkscream · 1 year ago

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HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable.

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning.

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him.

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt.

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again.

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself.

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only.

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back.

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks.

“More,” you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you.

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher.

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all.

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to.

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel.

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking.

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it.

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you.

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him.

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you.

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you.

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers.

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut.

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it.

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls.

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image.

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs.

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back.

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse.

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun.

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk #ree.writing

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 4 months ago

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Of Lust and Sex on Tolkien lore: Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Many fellow fans have complaint there’s a trend among the Tolkien fandom to de-sexualize Galadriel, but folks, this is not exclusive to her character. This is, actually, an on-going theme on how many see Tolkien’s world and work, in general, and it runs deeps.

There’s this weird headcanon that, just because Tolkien was catholic and a “gentleman”, the world he built is somehow devoid of sexuality or sexual matters, and asexual in itself. Nothing wrong with that, except we have countless examples of “sexual stuff” happening in the legendarium, from characters lusting after each other, to actual sexual assault. Just because Tolkien didn’t write explicit sex scenes (let’s say like George R.R. Martin, who devoted himself to try subvert Tolkien) doesn’t mean is not there. Not everything needs to be “in your face” meaning explicit.

Firstly, Tolkien cared enough about sexuality to write several essays on the matter, namely about the Eldar sex culture and customs. It’s clear that the Elves try to be the “perfect Catholics” on his lore, and this reflects on their views of sex = marriage, premarital sex is frowned upon, repression of sexual desire, adultery is unthinkable, and divorce is forbidden. The Eldar sex culture is purity culture in a nutshell. And it reflects Tolkien’s own views on the subject:

Later in life when sex cools down, it may be possible. It may happen between saints. To ordinary folk it can only rarely occur [...] Faithfulness in Christian marriage entails that: great mortification. For a Christian man there is no escape. Marriage may help to sanctify & direct to its proper object his sexual desires; its grace may help him in the struggle; but the struggle remains. It will not satisfy him – as hunger may be kept off by regular meals [...] No man, however truly he loved his betrothed and bride as a young man, has lived faithful to her as a wife in mind and body without deliberate conscious exercise of the will, without self-denial. [...] Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament [Marriage].... There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man's heart desires. Tolkien Letter 43

In Tolkien lore, there’s a strong connection between sex and morality. This is clear on the most iconic romances on his legendarium: Beren and Lúthien, Aragorn and Arwen, etc., which follow the medieval tradition of Chivalric romance: adventures of knights, courtly love, codes of honor and chivalry, trials and tribulations in the pursuit of love and glory.

“Courly love”, in the European tradition, is a highly idealized portrayal of human romantic relationships, that emerged in the medieval courts of the continent. Is a form of ritualized love between a knight (Beren/Aragorn) and his lady (Lúthien/Arwen), characterized by restrain, discretion and devotion. Tolkien himself talks about this, as well:

It idealizes ‘love’ - and as far as it goes can be very good, since it takes in far more than physical pleasure, and enjoins if not purity, at least fidelity, and so self-denial, 'service’, courtesy, honor, and courage. Its weakness is, of course, that it began as an artificial courtly game, a way of enjoying love for its own sake without reference to (and indeed contrary to) matrimony.

It’s clear Tolkien sees the lustful side of relationships as something sinful, but does this equal “evil”? No, because his characters (including the Elves) and the legendarium are complex, and this is not a pure Good vs. Pure Evil world, as Tolkien says himself:

Some reviewers have called the whole thing simple-minded, just a plain fight between Good and Evil, with all the good just good, and the bad just bad. Pardonable, perhaps (though at least Boromir has been overlooked) in people in a hurry, and with only a fragment to read, and, of course, without the earlier written but unpublished Elvish histories. But the Elves are not wholly good or in the right. Tolkien Letter 154

For Tolkien, is more about being on the “right side of History” (let’s put it this way) than being an immaculate hero. His characters are complexed and nuanced:

There are also conflicts about important things or ideas. In such cases I am more impressed by the extreme importance of being on the right side, than I am disturbed by the revelation of the jungle of confused motives, private purposes, and individual actions (noble or base) in which the right and the wrong in actual human conflicts are commonly involved. If the conflict really is about things properly called right and wrong, or good and evil, then the rightness or goodness of one side is not proved or established by the claims of either side; it must depend on values and beliefs above and independent of the particular conflict. A judge must assign right and wrong according to principles which he holds valid in all cases. That being so, the right will remain an inalienable possession of the right side and Justify its cause throughout. (I speak of causes, not of individuals. Of course to a judge whose moral ideas have a religious or philosophical basis, or indeed to anyone not blinded by partisan fanaticism, the rightness of the cause will not justify the actions of its supporters, as individuals, that are morally wicked. But though 'propaganda' may seize on them as proofs that their cause was not in fact 'right', that is not valid. The aggressors are themselves primarily to blame for the evil deeds that proceed from their original violation of justice and the passions that their own wickedness must naturally (by their standards) have been expected to arouse. They at any rate have no right to demand that their victims when assaulted should not demand an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth.) Similarly, good actions by those on the wrong side will not justify their cause. There may be deeds on the wrong side of heroic courage, or some of a higher moral level: deeds of mercy and forbearance. A judge may accord them honour and rejoice to see how some men can rise above the hate and anger of a conflict; even as he may deplore the evil deeds on the right side and be grieved to see how hatred once provoked can drag them down. But this will not alter his judgement as to which side was in the right, nor his assignment of the primary blame for all the evil that followed to the other side. In my story I do not deal in Absolute Evil. Letter 183

This is why, in "Rings of Power", Sauron can be in love with Galadriel and still be the villain he is. Tolkien doesn’t deal in absolutes, and Sauron is not pure evil, either.

And if people can’t wrap their head around nuanced and complex ideas, it’s not Tolkien's fault, really. This concept that “evil can love” (and it doesn’t make it any less evil) is absolutely fascinating to me, because I wholesome agree with this. Folks have this idealized notion of love (even Tolkien himself talks about this), like it’s only valid if it’s Beren and Lúthien. When it’s not. “Lord of the Rings” is meant to reflect our “fallen” world; and, in our world, tyrants and dictators can love, and have families, and still be genocidal monsters. Their ability to feel romantic love has no direct connection in how they treat their subjects. This is why Tolkien says that “good actions” on the wrong side don’t excuse it nor make it any less evil.

This is not “Harry Potter”, and Sauron is not “Voldemort” that can’t never “know love”. Tolkien was a college professor at Oxford, a renounced linguistic, the father of the modern fantasy genre, and a classic of World literature, he would never write just a basic concept.

This leads me to the idea that “Elves are not wholly good”, and that, they too, can be sinful, and that doesn’t make them “evil” (= on the wrong side). We see this with Galadriel in Tolkien legendarium; not only she commits the sin of pride, and greed, but also lust.

In "Unfinished Tales", Tolkien tells us: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. In Letter 43, Tolkien defines what he means by “a lover” (in general): “engaging and blending all his affections and powers of mind and body in a complex emotion powerfully coloured and energized by sex”.

So, it’s safe to assume that Galadriel was having sex with Celeborn before they were even married (premarital sex). Probably that’s why he had no quarrels with the wild John Boorman script of her and Frodo f*cking in the middle of the woods.

Galadriel doesn’t care about the Eldar sex customs, because, of course, she doesn’t, she's above that, being Noldor royalty and her own authority. Which makes sense with her “repentant sinner” character arc in the legendarium, actually.

Because, as Tolkien, told us: “in The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom', though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour” (Letter 183). And “sin” is considered a transgression against divine law (aka God); an offense against religious and moral laws.

Tolkien was religious, but he wasn’t a Catholic priest, and he was well aware that women have sexual desire, and some are, indeed, promiscuous and have no problems acting on it: “You may meet in life (as in literature) women who are flighty, or even plain wanton — I don't refer to mere flirtatiousness, the sparring practice for the real combat, but to women who are too silly to take even love seriously, or are actually so depraved as to enjoy 'conquests', or even enjoy the giving of pain – but these are abnormalities, even though false teaching, bad upbringing, and corrupt fashions may encourage them” (Letter 43). Pardon the language, but Tolkien was, after all, a man of his time.

The “Higher Beings” Nonsense

This is one of the occasions I completely disagree with Charlie Vickers when he calls Sauron a “higher being”. He probably means it in sense he’s a Maia, a demigod or an angel in Tolkien lore, but his use of words can cause some confusion. Sauron is, in no way, shape of form, an “higher being” (in the Christain sense): he’s a literal demon, a satanist, a follower and a servant of Satan himself, in Tolkien legendarium. Demons exist in the lowest frequencies of existence in Christian theology.

Tolkien makes this very clear on his letters: Melkor/Morgoth is Lucifer/Satan on his myth, he straight-up calls him “diabolus” (Letter 153). It should be obvious enough on his entire character: he’s the one who corrupts God’s creation and is the symbolic archangel/Valar (like Lucifer was). Him being dragged in chains and imprisoned until the end of time also parallels a biblical event.

Sauron is the chief satanist demon in the lore, the #1 servant and follower of Morgoth/Satan: Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron; in which Evil is largely incarnate, and in which physical resistance to it is a major act of loyalty to God (Letter 156).

And here, too, there’s a weird attempt of de-sexualizing these characters (mostly Sauron) in the Tolkien fandom. Despite the fact almost everyone recognizes the Christian inspiration here, and the Devil being seen as the creator of all kinds of sexual depravity, deviation and promiscuity in the world (according to Christain faith); the same way Morgoth was responsible for "corrupting" Arda. Apparently, sex had nothing to do with this corruption, according to some. Odd, to say the least, when Tolkien gives us descriptions of “indominable lust” on both characters (Morgoth and Sauron).

Them being magical and demonic creatures might indicate they have the ability to control whenever they want to reproduce or not. We know from the lore that Morgoth bound himself to his physical form because of his non-stop corruption of Arda.

On Note 5 (“Vinyar Tengwar”) of “Osanwe-kenta", Tolkien writes:

The things that are most binding [to Valar and Maiar] are those that in the Incarnates have to do with the life of the hroa itself, its sustenance, and its propagation. Thus eating and drinking are binding, but not the delight in beauty of sound and form. Most binding is begetting or conceiving. We do not know the axani (laws, rules, as primarily proceeding from Eru) that were laid down upon the Valar with particular reference to their state, but it seems clear that there was no axan against these things. Nonetheless it appears to be an axan, or maybe necessary consequence, that if they are done, then the spirit must dwell in the body that is used, and be under the same necessities as the Incarnate. The only case that is known in the histories of the Eldar is that of Melian (...) 'The great Valar do not do these things: they beget not, neither do they eat and drink, save at the high asari, in token of their lordship and indwelling of Arda, and for the blessing and sustenance of the Children. Melkor alone became at last bound to a bodily form...'

This might suggest that Morgoth became bound a physical form because of his “great lust”. "Begetting and conceiving” might, indeed, mean more than just standard reproduction, because Morgoth did “begot” with creation and mastery of several races and creatures. However, the only other example of a Ainur (in this case a Maia) getting bound to a physical form in the lore is Melian, when she became pregnant with Lúthien (after reproducing with her Elf love, Thingol).

* Trigger warning: Mentions of Sexual Assault *

Then we have the fact that Morgoth might have been a serial r*pist. In “Myths Transformed” section of “Morgoth’s ring”, Tolkien has Morgoth r*ping Arien, the Maia who ruled the sun, and was “the most ardent and beautiful of all the spirits that had entered into Eä with [Varda]":

. . . afire at once with desire and anger, [Melkor] went to Asa [The Sun] and he spoke to Arie, saying: 'I have chosen thee, and thou shalt be my spouse, even as Varda is to Manwe, and together we shall wield all splendour and majesty. Then the kingship of Arda shall be mine in deed as in right, and thou shalt be the partner of my glory.' But Arie rejected Melkor and rebuked him, saying: 'Speak not of right, which thou hast long forgotten. Neither for thee nor by thee alone was Ea made; and thou shalt not be King of Arda. Beware therefore; for there is in the heart of [Asa] a light in which thou hast no part, and a fire which will not serve thee. Put not out thy hand to it. For though thy potency may destroy it, it will burn thee and thy brightness will be made dark.' Melkor did not heed her warning, but cried in his wrath: 'The gift which was withheld I take!' and he ravished Arie, desiring both to abase her and to take into himself her powers. Then the spirit of Arie went up like a flame of anguish and wrath, and departed for ever from Arda; and the Sun was bereft of the Light of Varda, and was stained by the assault of Melkor. And [the Sun] being for a long while without rule . . . grievous hurt was done to Arda . . . until with long toil the Valar made a new order. But even as Arie foretold, Melkor was burned and his brightness darkened, and he gave no more light, but light pained him exceedingly and he hated it. Nonetheless Melkor would not leave Arda in peace . . .

So, yes, Tolkien really had the Devil r*ping the Sun... Can this be a parallel Sauron and Galadriel’s scene in “Rings of Power” Season 2 finale? When Sauron ravishes Galadriel's soul using Morgoth's crown? Since Sauron said he would make Galadriel a “queen as fair as the sea and the sun”, in 1x08? No quite. But more on that later.

Then we have the infamous Lúthien episode. There is an on-going debate on Morgoth’s intentions in this scene, but, in my opinion, and taking in consideration the incident with Arien, the “since he fled from Valinor” bit might indicate his intention was, indeed, to r*pe Lúthien.

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this “evil lust” Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ‘Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

“Nay,” saith Melkor, “such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see,” and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil. Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Almost every servant of Morgoth either came to resent him or were absolutely terrified of him. The most notorious case being Sauron himself, as he went into the hiding after his spectacular defeat in Tol-in-Gauhoth (at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, the Hound of Valinor), probably to escape being punished by Morgoth.

“Rings of Power” already had Sauron talking about the unbelievable tortures he endured at Morgoth’s hands, and taking into consideration all of this… well, those “r*pe of Mairon” dead dove fanfictions might be on to something here.

Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?

Sauron’s entire dialogue in this scene can be interpreted as that of a r*pe survivor, actually: we have the dissociation element of “sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game"; and the self-guilt of “no, you chose it” (which is something many victims of sexual assault go through).

And then, we have the fact that the “feminization of hyper-masculine Mairon” was a consequence of his corruption by Morgoth, as I’ve already talked about in this post.

Tolkien himself talks about the Christian devil in terms of sex and lust, so it’s odd why the Tolkien fandom plays mental gymnastics trying to equalize Tolkien’s use of the sin “lust” with “greed” (these are two different sins in Christian theology, even though they are connected).

The devil is endlessly ingenious, and sex is his favorite subject. He is as good every bit at catching you through generous romantic or tender motives, as through baser or more animal ones. Letter 43

Greed vs. Lust in Tolkien Lore

Indeed, Tolkien uses the sin “Lust” in connection with "Power" and "Jewels" (Silmarils/One ring/gold), but this might be a metaphor for sexual temptation, as well. Mainly because of his Christian inspiration behind the whole story.

Some examples of Tolkien’s usage of the word “lust”, that might be interpreted as “greed”:

The oath of the sons of Fëanor becomes operative, and lust for the Silmarils brings all the kingdoms of the Elves to ruin." "But also they [rings of power] enhanced the natural powers of a possessor – thus approaching 'magic', a motive easily corruptible into evil, a lust for domination." "Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, 'neglected by the gods', he [Sauron] becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves)." Now Sauron’s lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor

"Also so great was the [One] Ring's power of lust, that anyone who used it became mastered by it..." The Númenóreans attempted to take the Undying Land by force of a great armada in their lust for corporal immortality.

“Greed” is the disordered desire to consume (wealth, power); while “Lust” is the disordered desire to possess (something or someone). Lust is “consumption” and “action”, while greed is “hoarding” and “possessing”. Someone who is greedy wants more and more of something (not necessarily do anything with it); while someone who is lustful wants to do something with the thing it desires.

But “desire” that is not acted upon in Tolkien lore is not sinful, nor it’s a transgression of God’s (Eru) laws.

“The Original sin” (or “The Fall") is central to Tolkien world-building: “The dislocation of sex-instinct is one of the chief symptoms of the Fall [of Adam and Eve]”. And this means is that Lust is the “original sin”, and the gateway to sin, and from where all other sins originate.

St. Paul writes "cupiditas radix malorum": “the root of all evil is cupidity". This is motivated by the fact that Eve ate the forbidden fruit because "she saw it, was beautiful". This explains why Christians have such a bad view of sex, especially when it’s not restrained by marriage.

There is lust for the forbidden fruit (the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil that Adam and Eve were instructed not to eat in the Garden of Eden). This is when “sin” is first introduced into the world, leading to their banishment from paradise. The themes here are: disobedience to God, and succumbing to temptation (Devil).

And it’s the serpent that inflames Eve's lust, and "Rings of Power" wasn't even being subtle here (even the OST for this scene is called "The Fall of Galadriel"):

“Lust”, in his biblical/catholic sense, is the misuse of the body, sexually. The opposite of “lust” is “temperance” and “chastity”. “Lust” is disorderly sexual desire, and the subordinated enjoyment of sexual pleasure (against God’s law). It’s not just promiscuity, but extra-marital sex, as well.

In the Bible, “lust” is thematized by adultery (because marriage is a sacred sacrament, and acting against it, it’s breaking God’s laws, hence being a “deadly sin”). We also see this sin in connection with “idolatry” (one of Sauron’s crimes in Tolkien lore), when characters (such as Solomon) take foreign wives, symbolizing the forsaking of one’s partner for another.

But the catch here is: Eve wanted to eat the forbidden fruit. She wanted to bite into it, it was consensual. She was tempted, and she succumbed to temptation, to lust.

This pretty much goes hand with hand what I wrote on my “Of sin and sinners” post, that made the purity police gone wild. Galadriel and Sauron’s dynamic is not only hyper sexual, but it’s being consummated as well, and that’s why Galadriel gets banish from Valinor.

Sauron ravishing Galadriel using a sharp object parallels another Christian event (demonic version): the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

Beside me, on the left, appeared an angel in bodily form…. He was […] very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest rank of angels, who seem to be all on fire…. In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he pulled it out I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul content with anything but God. This is not a physical but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it—even a considerable share.

This is, essentially, a description of a Catholic saint having an orgasm. The “lorebros” wanted the Virgin Mary that never was, and “Rings of Power” delivered. Iconic. And that probably provides the subtext to this unhinged expression over here:

Happy with ourselves, are we?

So, yes, in the end, Sauron did take Celeborn’s woman as foreshadowed by Season 1 with the “clams” scene in Númenor (1x03). And now that his blood is inside of her, stuff is about to get wild.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron

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high-priestess-house · 7 months ago

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𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗, 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓 & 𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊

First, we have a crescent moon that is in a growing stage. In the center, there is a circle representing the full moon. Last but not least, the crescent denotes the diminishing moon.

Triple Moon is considered to be symbolic of all things divine feminine power – from intuition to creative energy, and wisdom. It indicates the three life stages of a woman.

The waning moon symbolizes the Maiden through innocence, youth, new life, starts, rebirth, excitement, witchcraft, and growth.

The full moon represents the Mother: fulfillment, fertility, ripeness, potency, understanding, caring, security, and authority.

The waxing moon symbolizes the Crone: serenity, maturity, knowledge, experience, knowledge, wisdom, fulfillment, death and rebirth. In its whole, the symbol is associated with the eternal cycle of birth, life, and rebirth.

Sometimes called the Triple Goddess symbol, the triple moon is frequently seen on the crowns or headpieces worn by the High Priestesses.

Each aspect within the Triple Goddess is associated with particular seasons and other natural phenomena, as well as human characteristics and elements of life on Earth. These associations can be used to call on the appropriate aspect of the Goddess during magical work, ritual worship, and prayer.

The Maiden is represented by the waxing moon and associated with the start of the growing cycle of late winter and springtime. The Wheel of the Year sabbats Imbolc, Ostara and Beltane are associated with the Maiden phase of the Triple Goddess. The Maiden represents beauty, fresh potential and new life. In human beings, she is associated with the qualities of innocence, youth, self-confidence, intelligence and independence, and with activities relating to exploration, discovery, self-expression, and creativity. Goddesses who represent the Maiden include the Greek goddesses Persephone and Artemis, the Celtic Rhiannon, and/or the Nordic Freya, among others.

The Mother phase of life is represented by the full moon- the fullest part of your life. In the Wheel of the Year it is associated with the harvests of Lughnasadh and Mabon. In the human realm, she is associated with nurturing, responsibility, adulthood and the fullness of life. As the giver of life, she is the aspect most associated with manifestation. Goddesses who represent the Mother include the Greek Demeter and Selene, the Roman Ceres, and the Celtic Danu and Badb.

The Crone phase of life is represented by the waning moon- when the cycle comes to an end and a new beginning starts. The Crone is full of wisdom and life experience. In the Wheel of the Year she is associated with Samhain and Yule, when the days shorten and the growing season officially ends. The Crone is the wise elder aspect of the Goddess, and governs aging and endings, death and rebirth, and past lives, as well as transformations, visions, prophecy, and guidance. Although feared as an archetype for millennia, she is the one who reminds us that death is part of the life cycle, just as the Moon's dark phase precedes the New Moon. The Crone is often represented by goddesses associated with death and the underworld, such as the Greek Hecate, the Russian Baba Yaga, and the Celtic Morrigan and Cailleach Bear.

The Triple Goddess is indeed a diverse and complex expression of the divine feminine. For those who worship her, she provides constant opportunities to learn and grow through connecting to her three aspects. Whether you recognize ancient goddesses as aspects of the Triple Goddess, or simply honor the Maiden, Mother, and Crone archetypes, you can make a conscious effort to align your worship with the cycles of the Moon for an even deeper, more rewarding spiritual connection.

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sugar-grigri · 8 months ago

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Recipe for creating God! In just 9 steps by Barem Bridge

Let's turn things upside down this time. I'll start directly with the conclusion and we'll work our way back.

My conclusion: Barem wants to create a god.

Step 1: create commitment, it's important to go about it the opposite way round, get followers (focus on the young if you want to make a mark on a generation), set up a real infrastructure with even prophets who look like followers but are superior, the great chosen ones!

Step 2: Sow chaos. This is important to make people understand the need for a great savior. Make the icon a sin, and pretending to be a savior a sin too. Don't hesitate to contact the fire demon for help.

Step 3: make sure that whoever is to be your deity is alone, has no one close to him and is very lonely. Worse, becoming himself is his only answer. Don't hesitate to do it in front of a big sacrificial fire. For best results, break what little sane spirit remains in your deity. What god can be sane? That's not what we ask of them!

Step 4: You can take inspiration from other bases you know, take inspiration from the Christian area. Not all men believed in Jesus, and Jesus was tortured. That's a good thing, because it has a double benefit. Firstly, if your deity doesn't close himself off to humans, it'll show his great wisdom, but above all, if he can be resurrected, it makes it easier to create his myth.

Step 5: Next, trust the elements that are simmering in your heart: a little loneliness, betrayal, grief, physical pain. Trust the torment of the story so that your hero's only hope is dashed. Did he believe in sex? Let him be further tormented so he understands that it won't make him happy, but also unhappy. And then you get something interesting, a martyr.

Step 6: You have your martyr, and your preparation allows his suffering to be properly directed. His sexual assault? His grief? It's important that it doesn't make him want to live. A god doesn't live, humans do. But God is simply there. He exists in himself. Never dies, but never lives either. Above all, make sure that the gap between him and mankind widens a little. Let the misunderstanding between him and mortals deepen.

Step 6: You need an antagonist, an opposing force. Focus on one of his loved ones, like Lucifer, the angel who once carried the light, who also symbolizes hope. But make him a traitor, a source of violence, a monster who doesn't feel sadness. Careful, we're talking about a pebble here, a betrayal, but it takes much more to create Le Diable.

Step 7: Keep your god under control, as his torments could destabilize him. You're the one in charge, so you've got the situation under control. Be confident in your abilities. Trust your ingredients.

As fish and sushi symbolize hope, your divinity no longer looks at them. The hand is an enigma for your divinity, a symbol of prayer, of the link with others, of its humanity, but a hand that is also cruel, violent, devastating yet gentle, yet playing on buried desires. Human complexity lies in this hand. It is the barrier that separates your divinity from the rest of the world. This symbol of rapprochement. And distance. Let him still believe in this hand. This possibility of being normal. Still keep your divinity under wraps.

Step 8: But don't forget to feed it. Put the fish aside and take back what the bird brings you. You know, that light bird that's also a weight, symbolizing your relationship with others, especially what they think. Worrying too much about this enchanting bird can lead to tragedy, just as hoping to hear all the songs will make you look like a heretic - you can't be a god. There is only one. Chainsaw Man.

No… All you can do is beg. Pray. Like a mere mortal.

It's vital that your divinity feeds on these unborn thoughts, they're not even birds. They're just eggs. Only God can eat them, as an omniscient being.

And there you have your divinity, a beautiful dish, but what exactly is it for? Several things.

Tasting: You created light, so you created shadow. Or rather, the absence of light. To create this being of darkness, this being must be completely hermetic to this being of light, opposed, closed, above all: it must feel betrayed and abandoned by it. The absence of light is none other than Lucifer, the former bearer of light and God's right-hand man.

And there you have it: for your divinity to have access to Lucifer and oppose him, it has to accept its role as a divinity. Adapt to it. And so, finally, accept your role as savior.

Savior from what? From the apocalypse!

By doing so, you protect humanity and contribute to your ideal.

ET VOILÀÀÀ you have your champion!!!!! God? Chainsaw Man? Noooo, God himself is an ingredient.

Step 10: Wish the God Devil bon appétit

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 169 #barem #barem bridge #denji #nayuta #makima #asa mitaka #pochita #asa #yoru #my thoughts

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dia-oro · 2 months ago

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Another plot twist would be that Hylia created Reader specifically and solely to be the darling of First Link and his future reincarnations, but to give them a reason to fight and be the hero that Hylia wants them to be. Like an artificial intelligence programs to do or say, darling doesn't have a soul, would be like a robot.

*laugh in soulless series fan* that a great concept but think of something even better, totally no inspired in the series made by Gail carriger no totally no a fan of the saga totally happy to use this concept for this question, I'm so so normal yup.

But what about if they act as any other normal creature? Minus, magic, they can't use magic, they can't be healed by magic (maybe if you literally triforce them or even a great fairy put to work for fucking days and even still my money is in the triforce-) what is this why the concept of the human reader that cannot be either damaged or healed by magic? There's no core for the magic to interact, there's no a soul to attach to.

Taking the debate aside and going inspiring in a series I read called 'soulless' that the protagonist is that, didn't have a soul, that didn't make her a freak or a creature with no will or emotions (she have some temper holy shiiit-) and while there's things that are warned to don't cross path with her or even try to prey on her, that didn't stop alexia to fall in love for a werewolf, be friend with a duke vampire and have a best girl friend with love for horribles hats that have the purest soul. The think is that she didn't have soul and that make her a human debuff for any magical or supernatural creature, their antithesis, only a touch of her hand and her werewolf is a normal human till she let go, a vampire can see the sun again while she didn't let got and there.

So imagine this concept in the reader, any curse ring in her finger didn't work, mages after the first try to take they don't to hit the chain where is hurt... Just learned they are nothing, can't do a thing to the darling, maybe even the fierce mask didn't work? Or maybe is the only mask that they could use because there's a divinity there but that it. Reader cannot feel or be damage by magic or any magical means, this didn't mean the usual physical violence can't do because is something of impact, you're not using thunder or fireball spell, you fuckimg deck them with a falcon punch.

Imagine Hylia maybe taking in some random human (reader) and while she cannot take them for her realm because the gods they believe (be Christian or any similar or even geeks and God know how more) or even because the region believe in say God and he say 'you shall no pass' so all she can do is copy them, try to make something no hylian, something defences, what could possibly go wrong?.

They are now for worse or good immune to the magic of this world minus of some God or connect to them(the triforce), full of many but incomplete memories, they think they where kidnapped by a portal but the reality is just Hylia putting his new creation at where the chain is, maybe in danger but no as letal danger to start with the motivation ?. There's will be the knowledge that will help for sure but still, she couldn't recreate the soul protected in the other realm, these gods there are all dobermans for the souls and even the unclaimed are protected maybe for the God the rest of family did believe or even joke about. So she created a creature of will even if there's no soul attached to it, a imperfect copy but perfectly functional for the logics of Her world so.

All these immunity all of us think of a human reader, could be the fact that they didn't have a soul but they can still live, love and despair, they are as complex as any life, Hylia unknowing did her opus Magnus in them. A creature hard to kill in a world that where magic is the most use method to kill, at least by the enemy hands.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #yandere link #link x reader #yanderes #yandere #yandere link x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere loz #yandere lu #yandere legend of zelda

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cyb3rtarot · 4 months ago

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Pick a Pile: Facing “Failure”

Disclaimer: readings are not replacements for professional advice. You create your fate, not the reading. Take what confirms and not what confuses. In this reading, I’ll look at your current perception or relationship to perceived failure & things to keep in mind. It’s great if we can find beauty in the inevitability of lessons instead of fear!

Help a Palestinian family: 1 2 3 4 5

pile 1 ✃ pile 2 pile 3 ✃ pile 4

Pile 1

[Mannaz, King of Wands rx, 8 of wands rx, 2 of swords, Follow Your Own Good Advice rx, Changed in the Night]

Hello pile one! This pile struggles with understanding how fate & time interacts with effort. There’s a complicated relationship with destiny or divine timing. On one hand, when things don’t work, you may try to reflect and understand if that has a deeper meaning. You may wonder, for example, about whether failure & rejection is divine protection, if the timing wasn’t right—if it’s not meant for you. But then the energy switches to pointing the finger at yourself and wondering if what you haven’t accomplished is a personal failure. There’s flip-flopping between where to place the blame. Even if you’re not thinking of intentionally blaming anyone or anything, there may be self-blaming tendencies or a fixation on trying to find a reason for pain. You may comb through your actions looking for an answer and are sometimes only able to see everything that went wrong. This can begin even before the outcome is achieved; you may stagnate yourself through perfectionism or through not applying yourself because every approach seems not good enough. There’s a struggle in merging what you think you could improve with the knowledge that some things are out of your control.

Of course, we wish we could understand why exactly things went wrong because we’d feel better armed. But one of the things failure shows is no matter how much we arm ourselves, there can be a wrench in our plans. Instead we must move with self-trust even when we don't know what's going to happen. This is one of the struggles of being human! Even highly intuitive people are in constant reflection to understand what’s going on. Going around in a mental loop can function as self punishment sometimes, as if we’re forcing ourselves to sit in the corner and find an answer to things beyond our understanding. You should always reflect and strive for self improvement, but this best comes from self love rather than a fixation on failure or criticism. You already have this King of Wands energy which leads you to success despite stumbles. You don't need to perfectly understand everything or perform perfectly.

Fate, success, failure, outcomes, these are complex webs. Trying to boil fate—and related concepts like divine timing, fated chance, predestiny, free will, etc—down to a few simple factors can lead to extremes or bias, where we convince ourselves we’re totally in control or on the opposite end we convince ourselves life is out of our hands. Neither side of this polarity acknowledges the power of free will. Fate is something formed by ALL people who have lived, are living, and will live, by forces unseen, but also our own hands. It’s complex because one single person is an infinite pool of complexity within themselves, much more so a whole world. Add time and it can be confusing to understand why xyz happened the way it did. Don’t go to extremes ignoring the concept of timing nor dooming yourself to feeling controlled. The human experience is somewhere in the middle. When things don’t work out, take an honest look at what you had control over and how you feel about the way you handled it. Not to judge or criticize, just make objective notes. If we focus on these parts of reality, we can detach from unhealthy mental traps about what could’ve been or might be.

On some level, you already know this. From your oracle cards and this King of Wands (rx), I feel you’ve already done a lot of self reflection on things you want to improve or that haven’t gone the way you wanted, but there’s hesitancy to relax and move forward. It’s like you keep re-evaluating or planning because it can’t be as simple as trusting yourself—what if it goes wrong again? Yes, it’s true, things may go wrong. But what if everything went better than expected? This is the unknowable which will eat away at our mental health if we let it. But, even if we knew what would happen, it still could not replace our effort, confidence, self love & trust. We would still need those things to make the most of our future and enjoy it. Trust that you know yourself. You’re not who you once were, because those lessons you learned prepared future-you for new things. Be honest with yourself, not because I think you aren’t, but because when you can say with evidence you’re realistically evaluating the situation, you can navigate the unknown to the best of your ability. Your relationship with failure is also your relationship with fear of the unknown. But I see someone who should trust that their honest effort does mean something, is worth something, and then your energy and talents can come out more easily. Don’t be your own bully before anything had a chance to get off the ground!

Also, don’t be afraid to ask for help! Some of you isolate or were forced into being self-sufficient. Other people add more unknown factors, but sometimes that’s what helps the most! Working with others or asking for help is often where positive surprises comes in, safety nets that catch us when we’re low, and we also learn more about ourselves through others. If you can grow deeper bonds with your peers or community, these may be a positive influence.

Failure won’t always come with epiphanies to undo it, especially when we already tried our best. Sometimes we can only understand & manage limited things. We must balance and rest in this knowledge ♥️

Extra Details: more college students in this pile or preparing for college (I see a lot of academia and big university buildings), fear of embarrassment or shyness when presenting what you made, worrying about what you’ll make of yourself, past bullying, writing & traditional drawing, letters, journal keeping, thick frame glasses, kpop, being unsure when to reach out or withdraw, drawing on a tablet/with a stylus, studying arts or liberal arts, blueberries, lots of huge creative energy

Thank you for reading!

✃

Pile 2

[Xebo, 7 of pentacles, the Magician, page of cups, Justice]

Your relationship to failure is linked to a fear of disappointment. This pile is grounded in the idea of give and take, putting effort into goals to receive a desired outcome, needing to do the work. And I feel when faced with failure this pile may have a relatively quicker process of getting back up, because you know that’s what it takes to move forward. There’s balanced, methodical, and steady energy, a work ethic or skill of endurance.

However, the symbolism & faces of figures on these cards seem melancholic. I see physical effort to keep it all together, but you may feel hesitant to put hope or emotional attachment into anything. There’s a sense that you let yourself have wishes but only view them as wishes. Even as you work towards them, you may not let yourself get expectations up, because you know even with putting the work in something could go wrong. Or, you might see things you want as a “forbidden fruit,” imaginary, unrealistic, naïve, etc. There’s a deep-seated fear or thorn in your emotions when connecting to desire—because doing so sets up potential for disappointment which feels too crushing. You might feel it’s illogical to set yourself up in that way, yet at the same time, this restriction of yourself can become fear based and less logical.

There’s a need to heal this because it’s casting a dampening energy over what you do. Confronting your relationship with failure is confronting avoidance of the pain of disappointment. Avoiding pain is normal but can restrict desire and ambition that wants to be expressed. Don’t deny desire, emotionally separate yourself from it, nor be too judgmental. The possibility of failure makes you detach from deep emotion and put your guard up. Maybe you feel a very measured approach will yield the best results, and often it can, but more so when coming from a place of healthy curiosity than suppression. This may stop a lot of you from pursuing connections with others. It’s great if you’re rational, grounded, decisive, but to your inner self this may come off as a strict-parent dynamic where you restrict wants through very decisive planning—rather than directly addressing them. And sometimes what you need is to be a friend to yourself, to indulge a bit, let yourself relax and see the fun in dreaming. You already understand putting work in, so using this realistic perspective, what would your life look like if you had some of the larger desires you feel are fantastical dreams? What would a merger between your current life and that desired life look like, or what would the transitional scenes look like getting there if you were reading a story? And, what are reasonable disappointments you may encounter on a journey there? The point of the last question is not to get caught up in disappointment, but rather that facing it as a possibility may make you feel more prepared. Disappointment is not more powerful than you when you accept it as part of life’s cycles.

As I flip through the deck I see strings of cards indicating you already know this but maybe some of you are having trouble integrating intuition with conscious knowing. I feel if you haven’t already come to these conclusions you may be at the edge of an epiphany regarding emotions and desires. Maybe because there’s something new you’re interested in with the page of wands at the bottom of the deck? The work ethic and planning skills you have can carry you far, and through reflection on disappointment as a part of the human experience, remaining fears cannot keep you down. Best of luck in whatever you pursue!

Extra Details: meditation on emotions, desires, & fears could be helpful. Revisiting past disappointments to create new perspectives (there may still be pain or disappointment to process, don’t rush it!), scared/anxious, uncertainty about seeking connection, balancing long term material goals with relationships, connecting with your emotions & wants will bring clarity to your intuition, putting defenses down about feelings, letting go of old ideas, spending time with/ thinking of a grandmother, homemade coffee, new interests/ on a search for something new, measured responses to others, lack of excitement/ feeling rigid (or coming out of this), a need for more union or sync within oneself & dualistic concepts (body/mind, emotions/thoughts, desires/detachment), changing views on connection with others and within yourself, resigning yourself to unhappiness unnecessarily, unhappiness in the home or with traditional lifestyle, prominent Virgo placements in natal/SR chart or in profection yr, or receiving help from a Virgo (take as it already resonates), internalized beliefs from family about success or passions—a lot of you may replicate your family’s criticism in your thoughts towards yourself. Interests you’ve put off because it’s “not productive” like music, some of you may enjoy going out at night to places with live music or clubbing/lounges, The Moon in tarot/deep subconscious emotional pulls, something dripping or the word dripping may be significant?

Thank you for reading!

✃

Pile 3

[Perthro, Ace of cups, King of pentacles, the Hierophant, the Hanged Man rx]

Hello pile 3! Your message is about perspective. On one hand, I see you guys have a lot of hope deep down or a tendency to romanticize. When you see things aren’t working out, it may be hard to accept because you look at potential and what's working rather than what isn’t. Especially in relationships, there are a lot of people here who find it difficult to accept aspects like incompatibility. However, when you finally come to terms with what’s happening, I see a lot of you can turn around to the next thing very quickly. This pile is aware that “failure,” or endings, are just new beginnings. It’s very hard to totally dull your “sparkle,” because there’s always some renewed sense of optimism or ability to see potential. When you realize the stage has been set for something new, you get a lot of excitement. There’s an inner & outer sense of security that allows you to make peace with the fact that living means lessons, and as long as you take these lessons in stride, you can keep going and receive new things.

However, your other message is about that momentum. The Hierophant with the Hanged Man rx and your rune suggests that slowing down mentally and having a lot of reflective or learning/teaching time may be a benefit, especially because this pile’s message seems specific to right now. You may hear a lot about waiting and working on yourself, and you may feel like, “but I have worked on myself, what’s next??” Sometimes a period of stagnation after something doesn’t work just drags & drags and makes you keep seeing or feeling the things you’re trying to move on from. However, it's this exact period that's a benefit—those moments are beneficial for the new opportunities you seek. Your cards encourage you to analyze those things—particularly in the recent past—that didn’t work, and to do a lot of reflection on what you wish to carry into the future. You may wish to rush forward, but good things come to those who are patient (not necessarily to those who wait, but those who take a steady approach). There may be things from your past that you've quickly dropped from your mind and there’s more learning to be done. For example, there may be relationships or events you look over with rose-tinted glasses, and it’s important to analyze what actions & energies led to the endings you experienced, both what you did and didn't do, and what others did and didn’t do. You may also learn something from analyzing what didn’t work in the lives of those close to you. For example, you could look at similar things friends & family did that seemed to go wrong if you wish to try a different approach. Your ability to pick yourself up and keep going is admirable, but appreciation and taking advantage of still moments is also needed. There may be some kind of lesson wrapping up right now or that’s attempting to be conveyed to you, and there may be more things to learn yet from recent “failures” that you have not analyzed from all angles because you’re ready to go. Especially those things which are emotionally painful, make sure you’ve not only made peace with these but understand how approaches may need to be different going forward if you’re to have different outcomes. Life is unpredictable, and it’s for that reason that still moments are a blessing, because when things get moving we may no longer have the time, experience, and learning to tweak our approach mid-trajectory. Quieter times allow us to set our destination and plan our trip before hopping on the plane, metaphorically. Whether in material efforts or seeking new connections, and I see a lot of you may be bringing children into the world so that's especially important. Looking into the future is not bad at all, but make sure you’re connecting the past and present into your future vision and looking at things from all different sides. There’s no need to rush forward; life constantly moves us in that direction.

It seems there are developments & surprises upcoming for you. Think of the present as us donning our armor and weapon—self-exploration and growth. The more time we put into these, the less we'll be caught unawares. We’ll be prepared to make the most of things we actually do want when we get them, instead of repeating the past from a different standpoint. There’s a particular emphasis on gaining knowledge, whether of yourself or otherwise, while new phases are in the making. Each new moment is born out of this present one, so be mindful of the energies allowed forward. As we get in control of ourselves and our perspective, we less so need to “wait” for good things to come to us, and instead can take confident steps, as you’ll know what you want and what direction those things are in.

Extra Details: pregnancy (use protection if doing risky things) ((messages about proper planning & gaining knowledge are doubly emphasized for anyone giving birth soon or trying for children)), being mindful of energy allowed towards oneself (those with rose-tinted glasses may have had a tendency to allow disrespect in relationships), breaking cycles, others sharing your developments (example, if you break a toxic cycle or start something new you may notice loved ones doing the same), realistic hope, pushing the past out of your mind due to emotional wounds or resentment (healing/shadow work needed if so), “let go or be dragged,” current Saturn transit may be significant or Saturn significant in solar return/profection year, as well as Pluto leaving Capricorn, Wheel of Fortune, never-ending flow of time, heavy natal or solar return Libra placements, midnight, interim period before change, a need to study/learn pertaining to the things you want in your future, midnight gospel, meeting up with others in public spaces like cafes

Thank you for reading!

✃

Pile 4

[Laziness, Compromise, the Outsider, Iceolation, Sowilo]

Hi pile 4! Your message is about redefining what “failure” means to you. Your cards suggest you’ve gotten comfortable with some misery or discontent, possibly because you don’t feel a life that would make you happy is accessible. Maybe you feel you’re not a person who can achieve a different life, so you resigned yourself to how you currently feel. Or, some of you have built an “acceptable” life, and you’re not confronting discontent because you might have to tear this down—or you might “fail” trying to achieve change.

Wanting to start over, being different from others, past difficulties, none of this makes you a failure or is anything to feel shame/embarrassment about. I won’t say not living your truth makes you a failure either; everyone struggles and searches for that throughout their lifetimes. It’s not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with how you do things or how you might do things differently without the pressure of expectations. But, you may be compromising on something that’s fundamental to your wellbeing, and this doesn't have to be the answer. Your relationship to failure is significant in whatever is making you feel like you have to accept misery or “less than." There’s a sense of alienation from others through your life and from your own happiness. Maybe you feel your wellbeing is too difficult? The significant thing is on the “outsider” card, a child looks longingly through a gate they think is locked, but actually the gate is open. This card is comparable to the 5 of pentacles in that help in unhappy times is often far closer than you think. But don’t water yourself down for others or their expectations, that’s like extinguishing your flame before it has a chance to do anything.

Now’s a time where you can approach different aspects of your life in ways you might’ve thought of before but couldn’t. Maybe there’s a desire you couldn’t obtain before and now there’s a more promising opportunity. Especially in regards to your material situation, such as jobs, life goals, physical things or finances. But not only; this is a time of general personal development and spiritual growth. Things in your life that you have kept in darkness, such as feelings of disconnection, misery, resentment—these have an opportunity to be purged. It’s a time where you’re encouraged to see how the effort you put in can pay off, like sowing seeds. Don’t be discouraged by the fact that you may have once tried and failed. Life has ebbs and flows, sometimes what was once out of reach comes into grasp at another time.

Some of you are concerned with what your life will look like to others if you change. Particularly those who are living a socially acceptable life or have something that works practically, or people encourage you into (such as a traditional job), but want to explore something unconventional or harder. This is also a fear to address, keeping yourself caged through others’ ideas. Everyone has their own path to walk and you won’t necessarily find yours by looking at your life through another’s lens, or through the person you wish you were instead of who you actually are. You may have reached goals, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay where you are if you feel misaligned. The feeling's not there to throw you off but to tell you something. It’s your choice how to address it, but don’t repress it. Life can be more than staying afloat. Not even necessarily in a material way, but mentally and emotionally you can find things that give life more meaning. If you address the ways in which you minimize yourself, or kill your hopes before you’ve tried, then your relationship to failure may take a healthy turn and you can feel assured in making changes.

Extra Details: feeling like you’re regressing, spiritual growth or incoming period of inner development, the Hermit/turning inwards to find yourself, contemplating what you want or who you are, setting new goals/ working towards dreams— especially material ones, finding confidence, reflecting on haughtiness vs confidence. Contemplating the universe, feminine energy (reflecting on what this means to you spiritually), eat nutritious foods to combat deficiencies especially iron deficiency, caring for yourself according to your bodily/mental cycles

Channeled image, I see a bush or hedge being pruned. The message is you do this to yourself—how you minimize yourself. We all grow and have to tweak our expectations, selves, goals, etc. But if you try to take care of one plant in the way another needs, you may take away what makes it most beautiful or unique, it may come out looking off. Similarly, it’s true you may have had to adjust your life in unexpected ways, and this may happen again. But, if you do this based on anything except your true self, then the end result—your life, will be more likely to feel “not right.” When you make a mistake growing a plant or pruning, the plant can make a comeback if taken care of. But if you try to care for it as if it were a totally different thing, that’s what actually creates errors.

Thank you for reading!

✃

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