#no it's not some deep form of oppression that needs to be placed in the for front of focus

[oopsallsyscourse]

Every time someone calls anti endos a hate group, I am reminded that there are places in the US I can not go because the KKK presence is a risk to my life.

[zhelin-thames]

Coffee, Chaos, and the Red Hood

prompt idea for @silverblueglitter

Danny sat hunched over a half-empty coffee cup in the corner of the small Gotham cafe, the flickering overhead lights barely doing anything to lift the oppressive gloom hanging in the air. His textbook lay open in front of him, the numbers and formulas nothing but a blur of nonsense. He'd barely slept the night before, cramming for a test that was in less than 30 minutes. All he wanted was a quiet moment—just a sip of coffee, a few minutes to breathe.

Then, the door slammed open, and a masked man with a gun stormed inside. The entire room went cold with panic.

"Everybody on the ground, NOW!" the man shouted, his voice a raspy echo in the dead silence.

Danny froze, the world going hazy as his mind tried to comprehend what was happening. He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes. Thirty damn minutes. He could feel his pulse quickening, the raw edge of exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

Tears welled in his eyes. "Why?" he whispered. "Why does the universe hate me?"

His voice cracked with the frustration of it all. The test. The sleepless nights. The constant grind, the fear, the never-ending cycle. The guy with the gun was yelling, barking orders, but it felt like his voice was coming from miles away. Nothing mattered. Nothing made sense. The injustice, the senselessness of it all—he just wanted a moment to himself.

But that was it. Something snapped.

Before he could even think, his body moved. He lunged at the gunman, faster than he realized. His hands gripped the guy's wrist, wrenching the weapon from his fingers in a flurry of desperate anger.

"I'm JUST TRYING TO GET COFFEE!" Danny screamed, the words torn from the depths of his soul. "I HAVE A TEST IN 30 MINUTES. SHUT UP. LET ME FUCKING LIVE, MAN!"

In that instant, it was all rage. Raw, untamed, the world around him disappearing as his hands took over. A punch. Another. The sound of bones cracking under his fists filled his ears. He didn't care. He didn't care about the gun, the robber, or even the chaos around him. All that mattered was the pounding of his fists, the overwhelming fury of a world that had pushed him too far.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it stopped. The man crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his broken nose and mouth. Danny's hands were slick with it, his breathing heavy and ragged.

From the doorway, there was the distinct sound of a voice that made his heart freeze.

"Nice form."

Danny turned, eyes blurry from tears and adrenaline, to see a figure standing in the shadows—tall, armored, and unmistakably dangerous.

The Red Hood.

He stood with arms crossed, his helmet giving nothing away, but the nod of approval was clear. "You’ve got some real rage in you. Gotham needs more people like you."

Danny blinked, his heart still pounding, his hands shaking. It didn't feel real. He didn’t even care that the Red Hood was there, didn't care about Gotham's underworld or the crime scene. Maybe it was a good day after all. He had just fought off a robber with nothing but his bare hands, after all.

"Yeah," Danny muttered under his breath. "Maybe."

There was an unspoken understanding between them. Gotham was a place where people broke, bent, and sometimes, the only thing that saved them was a release of rage. Danny felt like he had just tapped into something darker, something deep inside of him that had been bubbling under the surface for so long. He didn’t know if it was strength or just desperation, but it had worked.

Before Danny could say anything else, the door to the cafe creaked open, and a few uniformed officers stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on the scene. Red Hood didn’t flinch; he just gave Danny one last look, a silent nod of approval, then turned toward the back exit.

"Good luck, kid," he said, before vanishing into the shadows.

Then, as sirens wailed in the distance, he let out a long, shaky breath and slumped back into the chair. Gotham had a way of ruining your day. But sometimes, it had a way of giving you something you never expected, too. Even if that something was just a quiet moment of crazy, bizarre, Gotham-style peace.

Minus the burgling, of course.

Danny didn’t even get the chance to respond. The officers started moving toward him, questioning him, but it didn’t matter anymore. He could hear the chaos of Gotham creeping back in—the sirens, the sounds of life—and for once, it didn’t feel like it was drowning him. He was a part of it now, whether he liked it or not.

As they cuffed the robber and started making their report, Danny took a long, shaky breath and muttered under his breath, "Maybe Gotham’s not so bad after all."

And maybe it wasn’t. Not today, anyway.

[primarisly-marooned]

Tee hee have some Guilliman writingsssssss

Inspired by the AMAZBALLS art @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond did here! Also tagging @beckyninja bc they requested it dndndnnd

Wanted to start this by saying THANK YOU everyone who left such nice messages on my first ever wh40k fic!!!! It was super encouraging, and I'm sooooo glad to be here!

Now on to the good stuff!

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x Reader

Warnings: non sexual massages, kissing, fluff, minor sexual themes, general size difference stuff bc Primarchs, World building apparently???

when i see your face

You staggered through the doors to your Lord Guilliman's office, arms laiden with scrolls and data slates from various other officials scattered across the McCragge's Honor and missives from off-ship. Your solemn duty was being a glorified serf for your Primarch, Roboute Guilliman of Ultramar, a duty many had said was beneath someone of your station.

But you were helping.

You could see it in the way your Lord's brow eased when you came trotting up with a cup of tea, or carried a plate of foods for him to browse. It was in the way his lightened and his lips relaxed, the rigid tension in his shoulders loosening enough that he no longer looked built into the ship.

If given a choice, you would chose this every time.

Even on days like this one where everything seemed to happen at once and seemingly needed to be done Right This Instant.

You could just about see your Lord sitting behind his enormous desk (made of real wood from Holy Terra!) his face settled in a harsh expression as he scowled down at his overrun desk space.

"My Lord," you squeaked out, near panting from your long walk carrying all the various forms. You clear your throat and try again, glad that your face is already flush from exertion. "My Lord, I have the data you required, and those new lordlings from the fourth quadrant finally sent their replies."

He grunted, a deep noise in his chest. A gesture had you carefully maneuvering around his surprisingly cluttered office to the stairs leading up to his desk, an added feature Lord Guilliman had installed a few weeks after you started.

Captain Sicarios had apparently taken umbrage at the fact that you couldn't reach the surface of Lord Guilliman's desk and was thus required to hand everything to him. The Captain's reaction to the stairs were well worth the minor humiliation you felt at needing the assist.

"Place them here, little one," his voice tired, and up close you could see the way his face was starting to sink in around his eyes and in his cheeks. "I'll get to them soon."

You both glanced at his overburdened desk. "Eventually."

He sighed heavily, running a massive hand over his face. You wince in sympathy, twisting your lips in a grimace. There truly was just so much. And Lord Guilliman looked so, so tired and worn.

Only ever in this room, you've found. Only ever when it's just you two alone. Did that make you special? You didn't think so, but your loyalty was absolute. You would not speak of your Lord's exhaustion to no one.

You slowly drag your gaze from the desk top to where the massive arm of your Primarch lays almost limp. His hands are almost brutish, and heavily scarred. The hands of a warrior.

Seeing it gives you an idea you almost reject immediately, but then Lord Guilliman exhaled long and slow, bringing your gaze back to the slow slump of the mountain range that were his shoulders. You steel yourself.

"My Lord? May I... try something to aid you?" Your voice is hesitant, but rings loudly in the almost oppressive silence of the room. His burning eyes peer ar you through the gaps in his fingers and you drop your gaze, unable to bear meeting his gaze for long.

He seemed to mull over his answer for a moment, and you feel his eyes on you the whole time. "...very well. Quickly now, I do not have much spare time."

An eager nod is your answer before you're reaching for the hand splayed across the desk on some unrolled scrolls. His smallest finger is longer than your entire hand, and you marvel once again at this demigod before you.

The first touch of your hand against his skin feels like it burns you, like touching a fresh spent bolter casing searing your flesh. It makes you flinch, and his fingers twitch across the dark wood.

You feel his eyes burning into you, and you do your best to ignore it, gently wrapping both hands around the edges of his and pulling slightly. "...could you move your hand for me, My Lord?" His hand weighed more than you expected, and a blush burns across your cheeks.

His near silent chuckle rumbles through you as he lifts his hand and allows you to direct it, flipping it over so the palm was facing upwards, fingers curling naturally towards his palm.

"This is something my mother used to do for me," you explain quietly to him as you started pressing your fingers into the thick meat of his palm. "I wrote constantly as a child and would get horrible cramps, so she would massage the muscles in my arm until I was able to use it again."

The faint memory of your mother had a bittersweet smile crossing your face, an old ache flaring softly in your chest. He doesn't respond, but neither does he pull away, so you continue digging your little fingers into his hand and wrist, slowly working your way up his arm.

You started humming at some point, even once your hands started aching. Your persevere through it, determined to help one more way.

At this point, you're halfway up his arm and kneeling on his desk, leaning forward to reach his bicep. Even relaxed his muscles feel like steel, his arm almost thicker around than your entire body. It's a strain to your thighs and back to be balanced so precariously, but your determined to see it through.

...though you might not be able to get his shoulders. No matter how much you'd love to.

Time passes as you continue in your self-appointed task, face keeping a steady blush at the way his eyes stayed on you the entire time. He never said anything the entire time. You don't even think he blinked. The only way you knew he didn't turn into a statue was the slow, deep breaths and the way his muscles jumped under your fingers.

At this point, you're at the joint of his shoulder, one hand braced against his arm to keep you upright as the other cups the joint tenderly. Your gaze wanders across the expanse of his skin, up his arm to his shoulder, to his neck, before finally resting on his face.

You don't have a name for the expression on his face, but it lights a gentle fire in your heart, igniting an incredibly stupid impulse.

A quick movement had your feet under you on the desk so you were standing, putting you at a height advantage over your Primarch. A thrill raced up your spine at the way it had him looking up at you.

But you cut the distance between yourselves and, before you lose your nerve, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You withdrawl quickly, face feeling like a little torch and peek at Lord Guilliman's expression.

His eyes were blown wide, lips parted, separating the stain of your lipstick pressed into his skin. A violent flush starts at the base of his collarbone and steady climbs up his neck and you suddenly remember what you are and who he is.

In a rush of motion you're down your little flight of stairs, words tumbling over themselves in your mouth as you all but flee the room in a panic. What did you just do?

Roboute could only stare in blank shock as the door swished closed behind you, the hand you were rubbing slowly reaching up to touch where you kissed him.

His arm felt no different save where his skin tingled at the memory of your touch, and a deep inhale had your scent flooding his hindbrain with dopamine.

Licking his lips had the taste of your mouth filling his palate with you, making him want.

A groan left him as he buried his face in his hands, mindful not to smudge the little smear of color splashed across his lips. (He needed to find something to transfer that to, he needed it.)

Fire and damnation, he wanted your touch again.

[conjuredsun]

The Witch Father

In traditional witchcraft, we often come across mentions of the enigmatic Witch Father. His Folklore is scattered, and there is little consensus to who He is. The mythology of Witch Father folklore is spread across centuries, hidden in tales of the Devil and in the transcripts from witch trials. He is a multifaceted being who rules over life, death, initiations, knowledge, and the untamed wilderness lurking at the edges of society.

The Witch Father is an archetypal Divine Masculine Spirit that illuminates life and is a lord of death. Witch Father is a catchall title for the myriad spirits witches have historically contracted with and have since been omitted by the witch trial transcripts across Europe. 

He is most commonly known as the Devil in today’s craft. As we know him, The Witch Father is an initiator and holds the keys to our disinhibition towards pleasure. He opens the way to occult knowledge and gives us the opportunity to explore (legal) pleasures without the need for guild or shame. Walking with the Witch Father allows us to dive into the hidden realms and learn the Occult Arts to change our lives. He also allows us to revel in primal human desires. 

As the Initiator into Witchcraft, the Witch Father takes on the mantle of the Light Betwixt the Horns. He comes into our lives and offers us the choice to go down this path and walk with Him. He grants us an understanding of magick, nature, and pleasure. He empowers us to uncover our Truth and the Truth of the World. As the initiator, some see the Witch Father as Lucifer. He is also the Serpent who revealed to Eve that the fruit from the Tree of Life will not cause her to die but will grant the wisdom of the universe.

The Witch Father allows space for us to free ourselves from the inhibitions placed on us by general society, and especially the church. He encourages us to rebel, sing, dance, and uncover wisdom. He leads the Witch’s Sabbath, which grants us a place to revel in the freedoms offered there. By leading us to this sacred experience, He fills his role as an emanation of the untamed wilderness, the primal subconscious of our most human desires. He gives us the Church of Nature. Taking the liturgical prayers of the Church and the Book of Psalms, mixing that with more ancient pagan animism, we are given access to a hidden power through His teachings.

Now, while I talk as if the Witch Father is a God, he is not. He is an ancient and powerful spirit who has led witches over the centuries and demands reverence. He is not all-powerful and is not a creator. He works his charms through magic and shapes the world. He is not a distant, impersonal being. He is immediate to us and is a mentor for us. 

Disinhibition

At the Witch’s Sabbat, our spirits fly away to commune with Our Devil, other witches and spirits in His retinue. It was a place to mix business and pleasure. At the Sabbat, witches would learn new spells, come together to work rituals, learn new forms of magick from the Witch Father, and of course partake in enjoyment. 

The Sabbath is a place of Initiation for new witches and also a place for learning new aspects of the craft. Once the business concludes, the Sabbat becomes a celebration. We may forget the staunch rules of mundane society and revel in our animalistic and beastial joys. There is singing, dancing, food and drink. We can indulge in these desires and these delicacies. All of which is orchestrated and gifted to us by the Witch Father. 

The Wild

There is a deep connection between the Witch Father and Nature. They are ‌synonymous with each other. He is an emanation of the land and its spirits. As Christianity became the dominant religion, and as society shifted further away from living in harmony with Nature, the figure of the folkloric Devil grew. He calls to us to return to the untamed lands and to forget the society that weighs us down. He offers liberation instead of our oppression. 

The Witch Father, as Nature, holds a duality over life and death. He is life itself and the bringer of light. But he is also the Lord of Death and of shadows. As the year turns, we see both aspects and the cyclical nature of them. Death giving way to new life and of life giving way to death. He is destruction and creation. Death and resurrection. 

Even His iconography and the existing descriptions that we have of the Devil show the immense connection He has to the Land. He is a shapeshifter comfortable in being a recognizable animal, a humanoid form, or even a hybrid. He reminds us of our baser instincts and that we are not above animals or the land just because we, as humans, have subjugated them for centuries. 

He is the Horned one, the light betwixt the horns, Terra Pater, Primus Magus. And he has revealed himself to us in so many other forms throughout the centuries. It’s hard to pigeonhole the Witch Father as any one being, or to even say “this is what he looks like.” He’s shown us he is comfortable changing his shape on a whim. He takes on the mantles of mentor, guide, and is a safe space for us to let our guard down and find enjoyment outside of our mundane lives. 

Old Scratch

Old Scratch is a more antiquated term for The Devil or Satan primarily found in the Southern United States and the South Midlands. This name has been memorialized in Faustian Folklore such as “The Devil and Tom Walker” and “The Devil and Daniel Webster” where our protagonist sells his soul to the devil for prosperity. 

This reinforces the theme that our Witch Father, the Folkloric Devil, offers us a chance to change our luck and our lives. Now, in these stories, the protagonist is taken away and dragged into the fires of hell, but in the living practice of Traditional Witchcraft, it doesn’t happen that way. We see these stories as what happens when trying to break deals with the Otherworld. Contracts and Pacts made with Spirits should be kept up with. It’s imperative. 

Black Shuck

In East Anglian folklore, Black Shuck is an omen of death. If you see him, it is said that you will die before the year is up, and if you meet his eye you’ll be dragged away. 

The first mention of the Black Shuck is in “The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle” in 1127 where He is affiliated with a Wild Hunt that was in Petersborough from Lent through Easter. Later on, in the 1500s, he is said to have broken into a church and killed two paritioners while kneeling in prayer. 

Here we see the Chthonic side of the Devil. He is a psychopomp taking souls to the Other Side. He is a shepherd of the dead, warns us of impending doom, and teaches us about life, death, and ways to travel between the Worlds.

[corendisguise]

Superman Unmasked & Unveiled

Chapter 3

Tom’s heart pounded as he stepped into the fluorescent-lit expanse of the shopping mall. The place was bustling with people, a sea of strangers moving in and out of stores, some faces buried in their phones. He usually avoided malls like this, but today, loneliness had driven him out of his quiet house and into the chaos. Steven had been gone for nearly two weeks, working on set as a stand-in for some actor, and the silence of their home had begun to feel oppressive. Tom missed the way Steven moved around the kitchen, humming softly as he made coffee, the sound of his laughter echoing through the halls.

But as much as he missed Steven, there was another feeling gnawing at him—a prickling unease, a jealous itch that he couldn’t scratch. Steven’s job brought him into contact with so many beautiful people, actors and models and crew members who seemed impossibly glamorous compared to Tom’s mundane existence. He knew it was irrational, but sometimes he wondered if Steven noticed them too, if he felt even a fraction of the attraction to them that Tom did. It was stupid, he told himself, but the thought lingered, unshakable.

Lost in his thoughts, Tom wandered aimlessly through the mall, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he found himself standing inside a sleek electronics store, the glassshowcase glittering with displays of the latest gadgets. His eyes lingered on a particularly flashy smartphone, its screen glowing hypnotically. For a moment, he considered buying a new phone, but then he went out again and caught sight of the security guard standing just outside the store.

The man was massive, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his uniform, his skin a deep, rich brown that seemed to glow under the harsh light. His long braids were tied back neatly, and a name tag pinned to his chest read “James.” Tom froze, his pulse quickening as James glanced in his direction, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. Tom looked away quickly, turning to go, but it was too late.

“Sir,” James called out, his voice low and authoritative. “Could you come here for a moment?”

Tom’s stomach dropped. He hesitated, his feet rooted to the spot, but when James took a step closer, he felt a surge of panic. There was no point in resisting, he told himself. Just go along with it. He walked over to James, his movements stiff and awkward, his face burning with embarrassment.

“Is there a problem?” Tom asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

James didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied Tom carefully, his gaze traveling from head to toe and back again. It felt invasive, almost predatory, and Tom shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Finally, James spoke, his tone cold and accusing.

“I saw you lingering in the store earlier,” he said. “Did you take something?”

Tom blinked, his mind scrambling for an explanation. “What? No, I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” James interrupted, his voice cutting through Tom’s flimsy protest. “I don’t have time for games. If you stole something, you need to hand it over now.”

Tom shook his head frantically, his hands coming out of his pockets to gesture helplessly. “I swear, I didn’t take anything! You’ve got the wrong person!”

James’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his jaw tightened, his lips forming a thin, angry line. “We’ll see about that,” he said, stepping closer. “Let’s go.”

Tom tried to back away, but James grabbed his arm firmly, his grip strong enough to make Tom wince. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“To my office,” James replied, steering him toward a narrow corridor at the far end of the mall. “We’ll sort this out there.”

Tom’s legs felt like jelly as they walked down the dimly lit hallway, the walls closing in around him. He could feel James’s presence looming over him, his sheer size making Tom feel small and vulnerable. The security guard opened a door at the end of the corridor, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a single table and two chairs.

“Sit,” James ordered, pointing to one of the chairs.

Tom obeyed, sinking into the hard plastic seat and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. James stood in front of him, his arms crossed as well, his expression unreadable. Tom waited for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretched on, each second dragging painfully.

Finally, James spoke, his voice laced with irritation. “You know the drill. Empty your pockets.”

Tom hesitated, his cheeks flushing. “I already told you, I didn’t steal anything.”

James’s eyes narrowed. “Do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

The threat was clear, and Tom swallowed hard. With shaking hands, he began pulling items out of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, a crumpled receipt. He placed them on the table one by one, avoiding eye contact with James. When he was done, he sat back, folding his hands in his lap.

James leaned forward, picking up each item and examining it closely. He paused when he reached the receipt, his brow furrowing. “This doesn’t prove anything,” he said, tossing it back onto the table. “You could still be hiding something.”

Tom’s breath hitched. “I’m not—”

“Shut up,” James snapped, cutting him off. “I think you need a more thorough search.”

Before Tom could react, James grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked it open, buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. Tom let out a startled cry, clutching at his now-exposed chest. His mind reeled, his body frozen in shock.

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”

James ignored him, reaching out to run his big hands roughly over Tom’s torso. Tom flinched at the touch, his skin tingling uncomfortably. The sensation was unfamiliar, strangely intimate, and a jolt of arousal shot through him, confusing and unwelcome.

James’s fingers moved lower, dipping into Tom’s waistband. Tom gasped, his body tensing as James’s hands brushed against the sensitive skin of his hips. “There’s nothing here,” James said, his voice cool and dismissive. “But I’m not done yet.”

Tom’s heart raced as James stepped back, his eyes scanning Tom’s body hungrily. “Stand up,” he ordered.

Tom hesitated, his legs wobbling as he pushed himself to his feet. James wasted no time, grabbing the remnants of Tom’s shirt and lifting it over his head in one swift motion. Tom’s arms went up instinctively, shielding himself from James’s gaze, but the security guard wasn’t deterred. He grabbed Tom by the wrists and held them firmly above his head, pinning him against the wall next to the table.

“Stay still,” James commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tom whimpered, his body trembling as James’s free hand slid down his abdomen, brushing against the waistband of his pants once more. This time, when James’s fingers dipped beneath the fabric, Tom couldn’t suppress a groan, his hips bucking slightly. The sound seemed to surprise him as much as it did James, who raised an eyebrow in interest.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying this,” James said, his tone dripping with mockery.

Tom’s face burned with shame, but before he could respond, James’s fingers plunged deeper, exploring the crevice between his buttocks. Tom cried out, his legs giving way as his knees hit the floor. James released his wrists, allowing him to collapse forward onto the table, his upper body pressed flat against the cold surface.

“Spread your legs,” James ordered, his voice commanding.

Tom hesitated, his mind screaming in protest, but his body betrayed him, obeying without question. He spread his legs wide, exposing himself completely to James’s hungry gaze. The security guard stepped closer, his crotch pressing against Tom’s bare back as he reached around to undo the button on his pants.

“You’re going to regret lying to me,” James whispered, his breath hot against Tom’s ear.

Tom’s mind spun, his thoughts a chaotic mess of fear and desire. He wanted to resist, to push James away, but his body refused to cooperate. Instead, he moaned softly as James’s fingers slipped inside his mouth, probing and teasing until Tom’s tongue darted out to meet them.

“Good boy,” James murmured, his voice thick with pleasure.

Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, his resistance crumbling under the weight of his overwhelming arousal. He had no idea how this had happened, no idea why he was letting this stranger take control of him, but the truth was undeniable—he was completely at James’s mercy. If Tom hadn't been so excited, he might have noticed the strange artificial taste of James fingers.

“Now,” James said, his voice low and urgent. “Tell me where it is.”

Tom shuddered, his entire body trembling as James’s fingers withdrew from his mouth and moved lower, slipping between his cheeks to press against his entrance.

“Please,” Tom whimpered, his voice breaking.

James didn’t answer. Instead, he thrust his wet finger inside, breaching Tom’s tight hole with steady pressure. Tom’s head fell forward, his face pressed against the table as he cried out, his body arching involuntarily. The sensation was overwhelming, terrifying and thrilling all at once, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder what else James had planned for him.

James’s fingers lingered inside Tom, stretching him gently but firmly, preparing him for what was to come. Tom’s breath hitched as James pulled his finger out, only to replace it with something cold and smooth. He looked down, his vision swimming with a mix of fear and arousal, to see a sleek, black toy resting against his entrance. It was thick like 3 fingers at least.

“You’re going to like this,” James murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small room. His dark eyes locked on Tom’s face, watching intently as he slid the toy in slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

Tom bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left him trembling. He couldn’t help but moan softly as the toy breached him, filling him in a way that made his entire body shudder.

James leaned over him, his broad chest brushing against Tom’s back. “That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against Tom’s ear. “Take it. Take it all.”

The command sent a shiver down Tom’s spine. He felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet there was an undeniable thrill in submitting to James’s control. The toy moved deeper, forcing him to stretch further, and Tom couldn’t stop the choked cry that escaped his lips.

James grinned, clearly enjoying Tom’s reaction. “You’re tight,” he said, almost admiringly. “But you’re handling it well.”

Tom didn’t respond, too consumed by the sensations coursing through his body. The toy moved in and out, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum onto the table beneath him, and he hated himself for how much he was enjoying this.

“You like that, don’t you?” James asked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He reached around and wrapped a hand around Tom’s throbbing erection, stroking him in time with the movements of the toy.

Tom gasped, his hips bucking instinctively. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please…”

James chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Good boy,” he said, giving Tom’s cock a firm squeeze. “Now, let’s see how you handle the real thing.”

With that, James pulled the toy out, leaving Tom feeling empty and exposed. He turned Tom over, positioning him on his back on the table. Tom’s legs were spread wide, his body completely at James’s mercy. He couldn’t bring himself to look away as James unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, revealing a thick, impressive erection that made Tom’s breath catch in his throat.

“You ready for this?” James asked, his voice low and teasing. He grabbed Tom’s legs, lifting them up and placing them on his broad shoulders.

Tom nodded quickly, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe he was about to be penetrated by someone other than Steven. But the thought of stopping was impossible. He was too far gone, too consumed by the desire to feel James inside him.

James positioned himself at Tom’s entrance, his tip pressing against the sensitive skin. “Relax,” he said, his voice demanding. „ You will now get to know me properly.“

Tom took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He focused on James’s words, willing his body to comply. Slowly, carefully, James began to push in, his thick length sliding into Tom with deliberate precision.

Tom groaned, his head falling back against the table. The sensation was overwhelming, painful at first but quickly giving way to pleasure. James was so big, filling him in a way that no one ever had before, and Tom couldn’t help but arch his hips, desperate for more.

“There you go,” James said approvingly. “Take it. You’re doing so good.”

Tom whimpered, his hands gripping the edge of the table for support. James continued to push in, his pace slow and controlled, allowing Tom to adjust to his size. Each inch that entered him sent waves of pleasure through his body, and Tom found himself moaning uncontrollably.

“So tight,” James muttered, his breathing becoming heavier. “You’re perfect.”

Finally, James bottomed out, his full length buried inside Tom. Tom cried out, his body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. He felt so full, so utterly dominated, and the realization made his cock throb even harder.

James remained still for a moment, allowing Tom to get used to the feeling. Then, slowly, he began to move, pulling out until only the head of his cock remained inside before pushing back in. The motion was slow and deliberate, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through Tom’s body.

“Oh god,” Tom gasped, his voice breaking. “Please… faster…”

James smirked, clearly enjoying Tom’s desperation. “As you wish,” he said, increasing his pace. He fucked Tom with long, deep strokes, each one hitting his prostate with pinpoint accuracy.

Tom moaned loudly, his body writhing on the table. He couldn’t hold back any longer, the pleasure building inside him with every thrust. His cock was rock hard, throbbing with need, and he could feel the pressure in his balls growing stronger with every passing second.

“James,” Tom cried out, his voice pleading. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

James growled, his grip on Tom’s legs tightening. “Not yet,” he said, his voice commanding. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Tom whimpered, desperate to release but unable to disobey James’s orders. He clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to climax, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming, and he was losing control.

James seemed to sense Tom’s struggle. “That’s it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”

Tom nodded, though his vision was blurring with tears of pleasure. He clung to James’s words, using them to steady himself as the security guard continued to fuck him with relentless intensity. Each thrust pushed him closer to the edge, and Tom knew it wouldn’t be long before he surrendered. James was now breathing heavily, moaning in between the deep breaths. - He was just not showing any sweat on his body or face what Tom should have surprised Tom normally. - „James… please…” Tom begged, his voice broken and desperate.

James leaned down, capturing Tom’s lips in a rough, bruising kiss. The contact sent a shockwave through Tom’s body, and he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to hold back anymore. He wanted to give in, to let go completely and lose himself in the ecstasy that James was offering him.

With a loud cry, Tom came, his seed shooting across the table and James chest as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. His body convulsed, his muscles spasming as he rode out his orgasm, completely spent.

James pulled out of Tom abruptly, letting him fall back against the table, panting and exhausted. Tom couldn’t bring himself to care; he was too overwhelmed by the experience, too lost in the haze of his own arousal.

“Damn,” James said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re a natural.”

Tom closed his eyes, still catching his breath. He felt ashamed for enjoying it so much, for letting James take control like that. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny the thrill of submitting to someone so dominant, so confident in his power.

James leaned down, kissing Tom again, this time more tenderly. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said, his voice laced with promise.

Tom’s eyes fluttered open, meeting James’s dark gaze. “I… I don’t know…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

James smiled, his expression knowing. “Sure you do,” he said, leaning in closer.

Tom’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The ecstasy had faded, leaving behind a deep pit of guilt and sadness. He couldn’t believe what he had just done, how easily he had submitted to James. His heart ached for Steven, who was out there, working, meeting beautiful people, while Tom had been indulging in this intense, forbidden encounter.

James, breathing heavily, seemed to sense Tom’s turmoil. He didn’t say anything, but his massive arms wrapped around Tom with surprising gentleness. The warmth of James’s body pressed against him, and for a moment, Tom felt safe, cocooned in strength. But the guilt continued to gnaw at him.

“Shh,” James murmured, his deep voice soothing yet commanding. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad. This was… mutual. You wanted this as much as I did.”

Tom shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Not without Steven.”

James’s grip tightened, but not in a way that hurt. Instead, it was firm, grounding. “You’re here now,” he said softly. “And I’m here. Let me take care of you, even if just for a little while.”

Tom hesitated, his body still buzzing from the intensity of their encounter. James leaned in, pressing his lips to Tom’s once more. This time, the kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement of James’s tongue sending waves of desire through Tom’s body. He could feel himself hardening again, his muscles responding despite the turmoil in his mind.

James pulled back slightly, his dark eyes glinting with something that made Tom’s breath hitch. “You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

Tom nodded reluctantly, unable to deny the truth. “Yes… but—”

“But nothing,” James interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. To let someone else take control for once.”

James’s hand moved down, tracing the length of Tom’s cock as he spoke. The gentle pressure made Tom gasp, his hips instinctively arching into the touch. James smirked, clearly pleased by the reaction. “See? You want this. Admit it.”

Tom bit his lip, trying to resist as his cock was still very sensitive, but James’s skilled fingers were relentless. They moved with precision, stroking him slowly, building the tension until Tom was panting, his body on fire. “Please…” he whispered, unable to hold back any longer.

James chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”

“More… I need more,” Tom admitted, his voice breaking.

James’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, his hot breath brushing against Tom’s ear. “That’s what I thought.” His fingers shifted, moving with bolder strokes, targeting every sensitive spot with expert precision. Tom moaned loudly, his body trembling with anticipation.

As James continued to tease and torment him, Tom’s thoughts began to blur. He tried to focus on the guilt, on the fact that Steven might be hurt by what he was doing, but James’s touch was too overwhelming. It consumed him completely, dragging him deeper into pleasure.

James’s other hand reached up, fingers tangling in the long braids that fell over his shoulders. He tugged gently, pulling them across Tom’s chest and neck, the sensation tickling and thrilling at the same time. Tom squirmed under the dual sensations, his arousal peaking higher and higher.

“Almost there, aren’t you?” James murmured, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’re going to come again for me.”

Tom nodded frantically, his hands clutching at James’s arms for support. He could feel the build-up inside him, the pressure mounting until he was sure he would explode. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, James stopped, pulling his hand away.

Tom gasped, confused and desperate for more. “What… why did you stop?”

James smirked, his expression mischievous. “Patience,” he said simply. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before Tom could protest, James leaned forward, positioning himself over Tom’s groin. He took the tip of Tom’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him whole with one swift motion. Tom cried out, his entire body jerking in response. James’s mouth was warm and wet, his tongue swirling and flicking with practiced ease. Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through Tom, making it impossible to think about anything else. His first orgasm was only moment ago and he was on the edge again, never felt this intensity before.

James worked his magic, sucking and licking with an intensity that left Tom breathless. He could feel the familiar rush approaching, his climax threatening to overtake him. He clutched at James’s head, gripping the braids tightly as his body tensed.

Just as Tom was on the verge of release, James released him, pulling back with a slight pop. Tom groaned in frustration, his body aching for completion. “Please… don’t stop…”

James grinned, his expression filled with wicked satisfaction. “Not yet,” he said, his voice teasing. “There’s something else I want to try first.”

Tom blinked, his mind foggy with desire. “What… what are you talking about?”

James didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached up, his fingers finding a seam along his neck. Tom frowned, confusion setting in as James’s fingers worked the edges of the fabric. He drilled his fingers on both sides of his chin under the edge and moved them slowly upwards. Sweat was running down on both hands. His maskulin features distorted and Tom saw the fingers draw contours under the skin. With a sudden slurping sound, James peeled the mask upwards, revealing the sweaty exhausted face beneath.

Tom’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock. The face staring back at him was not James’s—it was Steven’s. Sweat clung to his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin, and his eyes were full of a mix of exhaustion and desire. His eyes were dark brown. For a moment, Tom couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“Steven…?” Tom whispered, his voice barely audible.

Steven—or James, or whoever he was—smiled, his expression soft yet intense. “Surprise,” he said, his voice a perfect blend of Steven’s smooth tones and James’s deep timbre.

The realization crashed over Tom like a wave, sending him spiraling into a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. Steven was holding up the lifeless face of James at the braids, dangling and dripping sweat everywhere. Toms body reacted before his mind could fully grasp the situation, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He came hard, his release coating Steven’s face with thick bursts of cum.

Steven stayed still, allowing Tom to finish, his own breathing heavy and labored. Steven was licking away every drop of cum on his lips and smiled broadly. When Tom finally collapsed back onto the table, spent and exhausted, Steven leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, a smile playing on his lips. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice weak but sincere.

Steven held him close, his strong arms providing comfort and security. Tom knew this wasn’t the end—there would be questions, discussions, and perhaps even consequences—but for now, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of Steven’s embrace. „It will never become boring with you….“. Steven nodded in silence.

to be continued…

[dumbslvtforethan]

✁ THE DINER. #3 ethan landry

inspired by "THE DINER" by billie eilish.

warnings mentions of rape, no smut 712 words

taglist ! masterlist

AS YOU SAT DOWN ON THE COLD FLOOR of your dorm room, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you, your mind raced through a list of people you could call. Each name brought a new set of doubts. chad was out of town for the weekend visiting his family, and quinn had a big exam the next morning and wouldn't appreciate the interruption. tara was notoriously unreliable, often turning her phone off at night, and you couldn't risk waiting for a callback. and on top of that you didn't want to bother mindy once again.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, the screen blurring through your tears. Scrolling through your contacts, you saw Ethan's name and paused. He wasn't your closest friend, but he was dependable. Ethan had a calming presence and was always willing to lend a hand, even if you hadn't formed the strongest bond. In the chaos of your emotions, you craved the steady reassurance that he could provide.

Ethan had always been the quiet one in the group, the one who listened more than he spoke, which made him seem trustworthy. His seemingly gentle nature and his reputation for being a good listener made him the best option in your moment of crisis. He was the kind of person who noticed when you were having a bad day and offered help without prying too much.

You dialed his number, each ring amplifying your anxiety until he picked up. His voice was a comforting anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

"Hey, Ethan. It's me," you managed to say, your voice weak and broken.

"Hey! What's up? You okay?" His immediate concern wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

"I... I need to talk to someone. Can you come over?" The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself.

There was a brief silence, and you feared he might refuse. But then he said, "Of course. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Hanging up, you waited in a daze, and put some clothes on, each minute feeling like an eternity. When Ethan arrived, his eyes scanned your tear-streaked face with genuine worry. He stepped inside, his presence instantly making the room feel less oppressive.

"Hey, what happened?" he asked softly, guiding you to sit on the couch.

You took a deep, shaky breath. "I... I don't know how to say this, but I was attacked. Someone broke in and... raped me." The words came out in a rush, and you choked back a sob.

Ethan's eyes widened, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry. You're safe now, okay? I'm here."

You clung to him, the warmth of his body providing a stark contrast to the cold terror that still lingered in your veins. Ethan's soothing words and gentle touch were exactly what you needed, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be alright.

As he held you, Ethan's thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He felt a sick rush knowing you had called him for comfort. But he pushed it aside, focusing on maintaining his innocent demeanor.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head. "I just... I don't want to be alone right now."

"You won't be," Ethan promised. "I'll stay as long as you need."

There was a moment of silence, then Ethan spoke again, his voice softer, almost tender. "You know, before you called me i dreamt of this yesterday night. i guess you're starring in my dreams."

You blinked, a strange sense of familiarity washing over you. "I've heard that phrase somewhere before," you thought , but in your exhausted state, you couldn't place it.

The thought drifted away as quickly as it came.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of quiet conversation and moments of silence. Ethan stayed true to his word, never leaving your side. As the first light of dawn crept through the window, you finally felt a semblance of peace. With Ethan there, you allowed yourself to drift into a restless sleep, unaware of the true nature of the monster who comforted you.

- @dumbslvtforethan on tumblr

a/n: this is shit, im sorry

TAGLIST @snkling @chqrryw4ves @esnypetal @pincheputaaa @violentology @a1exxq

[aurora-darling]

Lost to you - part 2

Halsin x F!Tav

more confession story time cause this man is romantic in my mind :>

NSFW warning: adult themes, gender oppression, and some lustful moments.

The city was a place Halsin could never get used to.

He was the archdruid of the Old Oak Grove and spent his entire life in servitude. He would keep close to nature, his spirit tied to the wild. He would venture out into the forest, shedding his mortal form and taking the shape of a bear. Halsin could recall countless times when he wouldn’t see a single soul for days, almost weeks at a time. He would lose himself in the tranquility of nature, his primal instinct taking charge. He felt wild and free, a true Ursidae. He would never give that up.

Until you.

And now he was in love.

Halsin carried on his travels with you, his heart breaking over the thought of leaving you. He felt the need to protect you, to take away your burden, and give you the relief you gifted him. You continued to astound him, his heart growing fonder of you each day. You were a saint in his eyes and he wanted to worship you. His mind was occupied daily with thoughts over you, your hair being his favorite. He would sit at his tent, his small dagger in one hand, his wood carving in the other and observe you. His body would remain still, his eyes looking under his brows. He would watch you laugh and speak with your companions, his eyes coated with desire and admiration. Your head would lean back and he would watch the curls bounce along your back as you giggle. He would groan and continue with his woodwork. What he would do to get you to laugh like that with him. With you alone with him.

Your hair enveloping your head like a fiery halo as he lays you down.

Your gray eyes yearning for his touch, his body leaning over you.

That sweet little whimper you let out when he-

Halsin snaps back to reality as he narrowly avoids a cart, his heart beating fast as he huffs to contain himself. His distraction had caused him to walk blindly along the street. Halsin smoothes his hair over his head and apologizes to the merchant, his head bowing slightly. His chest fills with anxiety as a troupe of travelers pushes past him and a few of them shout in elvish over his abnormal height. He sighs as he realizes he's lost your group and scours the crowd for you. His heart beats faster as he pushes his way through others, his eyes searching for you. He couldn't lose you now, not after he gained your trust. He had so much more to tell you, to share with you. He couldn't lose you now.

And then,

There you are.

His savior, the one to bring him back to life. He had spent the last few weeks following you like a puppy, soaking any attention you could give him. His heart ached at the number of times he turned you away, his focus entirely on the curse. He had played the role of a servant, his dedication to Silvanus unwavering. He could smell your desire, the scent of your sex enveloping him as you continued to flirt with him daily. He would shake his head and apologize, he couldn't distract himself. What if Thaniel perished because he became selfish? What if the curse spread? The number of lives it took already? His soul was in anguish.

But now that the curse was lifted, Halsin found himself absolutely enamored with you. He wore his desire on his sleeve now, his confession the other night broke down his walls. He loved that you trusted him, he could feel you wanted him. You did, didn't you? Halsin shook his head as he rubbed his temples. He had refused you so many times leading up to now that he was sure you had moved on. Halsin’s eyes roam your deep emerald robes, your hair cascading down your back. His face flushed at the curve of your back, the beautiful shape of your hips. He chuckles while he watches you stroll through the shops, your eyes lighting up over and over. You were amazed at the jewels, your angelic expression melting the merchant's heart. He breathes in deeply, the sight of you bringing him peace. Halsin shakes his head lovingly and feels his face aching from the strain of smiling. He watches as you bargain with the merchant, your hand holding out the small coin purse as you haggle a price. He chuckles proudly, watching his little firebird get what she wants.

Halsin crosses his arms over his chest, his height towering over people as they walk past him. Normally his ears would pick up when people whispered about his abnormal appearance but this time his attention was focused on you. His sweet little enchanter with fiery red hair. He watched as you gasped over the selection of oils, your eyes wide as you begged Wyll to agree to another purchase. He watches as you touch Wyll's arm and jump excitedly. Halsin would give anything to have you look at him like that. To look at him with such reverence would make him want to swear his life-long loyalty to you then and there. He laughs to himself, he feels like a love-sick fool. 

“See something you like?” Halsin tensed as he heard the vampire talking beside him. He didn’t sense him approaching. His eyes looked at Astarion, the slender elf smirking in your direction. Halsin closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, he wouldn’t play Astarion’s game. “What do you want?” Halsin asked, his brows lowering as he continued to observe you. He believed you when you insisted the vampire was trustworthy but still found the vampire to be annoying. “My, my touchy are we?” Astarion pretends to be hurt, his hand waving at Halsin. “I was just curious my dear. You’ve been smiling in that direction for a while now.” Astarion smirks as he continues to amuse himself, his fangs slowly presenting themselves. “I sense you see something you want, maybe even to taste.” Astarion smiles at his sly remark, his scarlet eyes looking toward Halsin. “City life is new to me. I am simply taking it all in.” Halsin responds and clears his throat. "City? This place? No, no." Astarion shakes his head and points to the shore. "There are places larger than all this, this place is nothing compared to actual cities." The vampire smirks and notices Halsin's eyes still observing you. "Question, druid." Astarion steps forward and skips a stone across the road. "Do you officiate weddings? I wonder if you do-" He pauses to stare at Halsin's expression. "Would you officiate theirs?" Astarion says and points in your direction as you browse the shops with Wyll. Halsin looks to Astarion, his face twisted in confusion. "A what?" He asks, his arms crossed over his chest in frustration. Any more of this and he might exorcise this vampire right here. "You see how they're acting. They're fucking, that's obvious. But Wyll is a gentleman and feels like he has to marry anything he cums in." Astarion shrugs, his face in a twisted grin.

You look up and see their eyes on you, your body standing still. “Any trouble?” Wyll’s attention is on you as he brings supplies over, his expression a look of concern. You shake your head and sigh, knowing Wyll would sense if you lied. “Same ol’ thing.” You look back at Halsin, who was now holding his hand up to Astarion. You could see Halsin’s nostrils flare as he rolls eyes, his attention on quieting the relentless pale elf.  “That’s what I worry about, Lena.” Wyll sighs and stands next to you, his gaze watching as Halsin shakes his head, stepping away from Astarion. You nod, your thumb rubbing your temples as you feel Wyll nudge your shoulder. You look up and see him nod in Halsin’s direction. “Maybe you should check on him,” Wyll suggests as you watch Halsin through the crowd. You close your eyes and ask for a blessing from the Great Mother. “Keep Astarion out of trouble.” You ask and rush to your archdruid.

You maneuvered your way through the mob, your voice calling out to Halsin. He kept moving, his pace never slowing. You try to keep up with him, your voice pleading as you try to avoid the flocks of refugees.“Halsin, please. Slow down.” You ask and squeeze your way through to try to stop him. You can sense his disdain for the city the way he ignores others, their insults and comments not affecting him. You roll your eyes as you huff and walk faster catching up to him. You reach out and grasp his hand, pulling him around to look at you. 

“Halsin, stop. You have to stop.” You speak softly, pleading with him. You frown at the sight of him, you can sense his grief. His shoulders are low, his eyes glazed as he looks through you. He kept his chin lowered, his lips turning down at the corners. His hands held his quarterstaff loosely, almost like carrying it was a burden. “Ursidae.” You call out to him, his lips almost forming a smile at your voice. He sighs and finally speaks, “I can’t continue like this.” He admits staring at his knuckles, his grip tightening. Your heart pains at the thought of his spirit in such turmoil. Stepping forward, you reach out to touch his chest but stop as several citizens walk between you. Halsin moves his attention to several merchants arguing loudly with customers, his annoyance returning. He shakes his head in frustration, his small braids falling across his shoulders. "Lena, do you want-" He tries to speak again and is interrupted by a group of refugees as their packs bump and push you forward. Halsin groans in frustration and grabs your hand, his touch warm and gentle. He held your fingers delicately, his body walking in front of you. He protected you from others and guided you up a path, under a tree.

Halsin dropped your hand and propped his weapon against the stem, his expression solemn. He turns to look at you, the usual hopeful glow of his eyes is gone. He sighs before continuing, privacy allowing him to speak confidently. “I have been a follower of Silvanus all my life and it has been a long one. I have dedicated my whole life and-” He says as he leans forward, pounding his fists into his chest. “I have saved many and even sacrificed some in his name. I have followed blindly for many years. I gave so much.” He cries out, his eyes looking at the tree above you. “And for nothing! I wasted years for nothing!” He shouts and kicks the trunk, his leather boots making a thud. “I denied love and it was for nothing. Nothing has changed. Mankind is still the same and nothing changed at all. I missed out on so many things, I missed out on you and now you're with-" He stops as he looks down at his feet.

You step forward and Halsin turns his attention to you, his heart swelling at the sight of you, a vision of Sune herself. Your red hair is decorated in honeysuckle. His eyes observed you lovingly as he knew you wore those flowers for him. Your robe was a deep emerald green, with gold embroidery lining the hem. Your wrists were adorned with several bangles, all gold and in different textures. You tilt your head and his heart skips a beat. “How can I contain myself when you look so lovely?” Halsin mumbled to himself and sighed deeply, letting his breath out slowly as he found the courage to continue. You wait patiently for him to speak, your hands clasping the sides of your robe. “What I am trying to say is that I was naive in thinking nature and mortals could come together as one.” He says, his eyes pleading with you. “The closer I get to the city I see how ignorant I was. All the orphans, the refugees. Mankind turning away the oppressed, it’s mad-” He keeps his hands at his sides, the wind slowly blowing the tiny shells in his hair. His nostrils flare as he keeps his brows low, his stare intimidating. You can feel the soft breeze blowing as well, small strands of your curls brush your cheeks. “Like that poor girl. Yes, we can offer her refugee but what about the others? There are so many others Lena. And they’re all suffering. Not just one.” Halsin continues and rubs his face in frustration, his eyes looking for your other companions. Halsin would have no patience for any other company than yours right then. 

You can feel his pain, the heavy burden of trying to save Toril taking a toll on your protector. He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, looking down the hill at the rural town below. “The measure of a civilization is how it treats its weakest members.” He says plainly, his eyes observing the guards. You smile at him, this colossus of a man carrying the world on his shoulders. You smile and raise your eyebrows lovingly, you know how to relax your giant. “I agree.” You say and pull a piece of dried foliage to run through your fingers. “However.” You look past Halsin and to the coast, the sunlight causing your grey eyes to shine almost silver. “I think there’s hope.” You say, your gaze looking back at his. “It’ll take time but there’s hope.” You can see his eyes holding back tears as his head leans back in a sigh. “Yes. Hope for another day I suppose.” He replies, his boots tracing a shape in the dirt. You watch as he draws a similar shape to the one he decorates his cheek with. 

You both stand in silence and hear the wind blow through the tree, its leaves falling around you. Halsin leans against the trunk, his focus on the branches above. “It went on for so long I almost-” He hesitates before he continues, his hands picking up his staff as he swings it slowly in his hands. “I almost forgot the purpose it gave me.” He pauses again, his eyes avoiding your gaze. He fought back the need to be strong in front of you, the need to avoid being seen as weak. “I must find a new one.” He huffs at the guards pushing a citizen from the gate, his nose scrunching in disgust at their behavior. “See Lena?” He points toward them, his expression now of disappointment. You stand still, your heart now swelling with guilt. You had agreed to help Halsin with his task, but you never truly asked Halsin to join you on yours. He had followed you to Rivington after lifting the curse, but you both had yet to discuss the future. Halsin could feel the fear of departing from you building in his heart, and so could you. 

“I’m sorry.” You spit out, your face leaning toward the ground. “This doesn’t have to be your fight, you know?” Your close your eyes, and feel your throat swell at the pain from holding back tears. “I know city life isn’t meant for you and you don’t want to be here I know-” You continue speaking, unaware of your gentle giant walking toward you. You breathe in sharply and scratch your brows the pain of holding back tears feels overwhelming. You finally let go and feel tears pour down your rosy cheeks. Halsin shakes his head and leans his face down to yours. “Lena.” His voice is soft and gentle again, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles. “I would not be here if I didn’t want to be. You know this. I owe everything to you sweetheart, don't cry.” His hands touch your shoulder, his scent of pine and musk flooding your nostrils. He kisses your forehead and you laugh back a sob, your diaphragm betraying you as you hiccup.

"Don't cry my dove, I would follow you anywhere." Halsin chuckles, his tone cheerful and warm. “There is nothing you need to apologize for. I am disappointed in mankind, not you.” His fingers lift to stroke your cheek, your face blushing from his touch. Halsin smiles, his heart beating slowly from the sweet look in your eyes. His mind went over thoughts of you staring at him with admiration, your face lighting up when he entered your presence. He recalls the bashful look you had when Astarion teased you about the ‘big hairy wild man’ and his heart would skip when you spoke. Your beautiful face was hidden in your hands as you denied the vampire and pleaded to change the subject. Halsin would do anything to keep you like that forever, to see him as a champion, a true guardian of nature, someone you adored.

“How do you do that?” He asks, his fingers tracing your cheek. “How do you-” He smiles down at you and places his other hand on your hip. His fingers can feel the silk of your robe, the beautiful emerald aglow in the sunlight. “How are you able to stir my heart so easily?” He glides his thumb under your eye, his hand holding your face. His pointed ears wiggle as he feels nervous. “No one, not in years has been able to make me feel this way.” Halsin chuckles, his eyes watching your robe flowing in the wind. His heart beats faster, his intent on confessing his love to you. “I’ve lived a long time. I haven’t had anyone, not a single soul make me feel so alive.” His voice lowers as he moves his hand up your side, his fingers tracing the embroidery of your garment. “And no one has enchanted me the way you do.” He adds, his green eyes shining brightly. You close your eyes and feel Halsin lift your chin to face him. “Look at me, little duck. I need to see you hear me.” He tells you gently, his voice never demanding. Halsin would never command you, never force you into submission. You felt powerful with him, you felt safe. “I’ll bet you don’t know how truly extraordinary you are.” His voice is tender. Halsin notices your body shiver from the sound of him, his eyes blinking slowly. You open your eyes and lean against him, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “Color of Blingdenstone Blush.” Halsin mumbles, comparing the color of your lips to wine. You push your tongue to his thumb, your senses overwhelmed by the salty taste of his skin. 

“I can’t take it much longer. I want you.” Halsin whispers, unaware of the group of travelers passing you by and whispering to each other. They stopped to observe you both as images of the Dryad and her Woad. You ignored them as well, your gray eyes focused on him, his thumb caressing your chin. “What do you want?” You whisper back, your eyelids blinking slowly as you lean against his chest, your hands resting at his shoulders. Halsin breathes in sharp, your robe slipping just enough to show your cleavage. His nose is flooded with the scent of you, the mixture of your sex and honeysuckle setting his desire aflame. His eyes glow a bright green, his head leaning to the side as he lends in to sniff your hair. “I want to lie naked with you under the stars and be one with you. Completely. Your body against mine. Lena, I want to taste and touch every part of your naked body. I want to worship you, submit to you, give myself entirely to you.” He looks down at you, his glowing eyes taking in every curve of your body. "I need to have you but I will not force you. I want to hear you say it. To give me permission to have you." He sighs from his abdomen, his primal lust almost overwhelming. You feel your teeth rake over your lip, and your muscles tighten as your undergarments become coated in clear fluid at the sound of his voice and his words. 

“Halsin.” You moan, your body responding to his touch. The perfect image of Silvanus and Chantea. Of Oak Father and Mother of all Flowers. Halsin smiled and continued to comb his fingers through your hair, his large hand cupping the back of your head. He couldn't help but hold you tighter, you were so beautiful in the sunlight. He would give anything to hear you speak his name with such passion, such desire. He looks behind you, Wyll and Astarion still have yet to find the two of you.

Halsin smiles and slowly looks down at you, his goddess melting at his touch. “Little dove, this is where you tell me you feel the same.” Halsin’s focus is on your mouth, your lips curving into a flirtatious grin. He has calmed since his confession, the weight lifted off his chest almost euphoric. Halsin rocks you gently against him, his gaze looking up for anyone spying on you two. “Oh?” You tease, your eyes lowering to his chest playfully. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” You jest and look up at him slowly while moving your hands across his brawny chest. You can feel the intricate leatherwork on his druid armor, the symbol of Silvanus proudly displayed on his collar. 

Halsin huffs playfully, his fingers lifting your chin up as he lowers his face to yours. You could see the metallic red of his war paint glitter in the sunlight, the wind blowing loose strands around his face. You giggle as he hovers his mouth over yours, his lips smiling as you stare into his eyes. “I think you do, why else would you care if I had a lover before?” He whispers but hesitates from kissing you, his eyes searching for your approval. You feel him lean back from you, his hands now at your shoulders. "Tavlena. Please tell me if I'm wrong." His forehead crinkles at the thought of rejection, the thought of you saying no, thoughts of you with another. Halsin sighs and hears Astarion's words again, his heart breaking at the thought of your union with Wyll.

"Tell me you want this life. To live in the wild, to be free. That you would never live as a slave to a man. As a wife in some far-off city? His little heir producer? Give him children after children until you have a son. Girls are nothing to them, your daughters will grow to do the same as you. Generations of women kept as breeding stock. Chantea's blood runs through your veins, Lena. You are a priestess, her daughter. You are so much more than a housewife." He protests, his hands clasping together, and continues to plead with you. "Please tell me what you want. I'll respect it, and leave it be. I will not ruin my friendship with you, just tell me."

Halsin's eyes look into yours for an answer. You can see a small shadow of doubt behind his piercing eyes. “Just tell me, please Tavlena. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll stop. I just need to know if I have a chance.” His body leans away from you as he takes your hand in his and kneels before you, his face looking up at you with reverence. You smile down at your gentle giant and lean down to kiss his cheek. “You’re crazy if you think I wouldn’t want you.” You confess and lean your forehead against his. You hear him sigh in relief, his arms warping around your waist. “I wanted you for so long. Ever since the tiefling party I've felt like a love-sick fool." He laughs and looks up at you, his expression finally a happy one. You smile back, his large hands arms holding you close. You run your fingers over the length of his elvish ear, the tip a rosy pink. “Lena.” He whispers, his smile big and bright. “Mhm?" You mumble in bliss, your fingers playing with his braids. You shiver as he speaks.

“I need to see you tonight.”

[enviedear]

you're in the wind, i'm in the water ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ having to flee your home to be under the watch of the jedi knight anakin skywalker, you attempt to form some semblance of happiness, despite his cold demeanor. pairing ⌙ anakin x female princess!reader warnings ⌙ mentions of food and eating, but i think that's all. lmk if i missed anything. word count ⌙ 2.5k

canon means little to me lmao, so read as you wish, but i'm in my anakin renaissance so pls feel free to flood my inbox with any and all things him <3

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he was strange. that was the word you decided upon. this jedi knight sent from coruscant to protect you.

he watched you, so intently, and you tried to chalk it up to the protection order— but no guard under you before had been so keen on your every breath. so you sat, silent in the study of the safehouse, watching the small fire begin to ember out from its setting and trying to ignore his blue eyes cast down at you.

anakin, that's what jedi obi-wan had referred to him as. when you first heard it, you told him it was pretty. his simple thank you reply seemed fitting at the time, but now, you're almost sure that you must have offended him.

the room settled into a stillness that felt almost oppressive as anakin's eyes bore into you. you left your thoughts of him to refocus on the burning wood, only to stare down at a now lifeless fire. it was as if the flames had mirrored your own sense of isolation, flickering out, leaving you in the dark.

reaching out for more firewood, your hand is abruptly halted in mid-air. you look up to find anakin standing right in front of you, his eyes darkened by the dim light. his voice was low and laced with a hint of frustration. "it's nighttime, princess."

he releases his hold over you, fueled by the force, and you let out a sigh. "i'm sorry. time just slipped my mind. you must be tired."

he responds with a curt huff, his emotions hidden beneath the veneer of his jedi training. you gather your belongings from the study and follow him in silence to your room. this had become a ritual ever since the protection order had been enforced.

for months you have been walking on what seemed to be a very thin glass when around this strange man.

back on your home planet, you were surrounded by loving handmaidens who attended to your every need, engaging in heartfelt conversations, and showering you with affection. but on this mostly deserted planet in the far reaches of the outer rim, anakin was your sole companion. he didn't dote on you, he rarely engaged in conversation, and there was an undeniable absence of warmth in his demeanor.

you missed home desperately—your land, your people, your family. you harbored a deep resentment for the enemies who had invaded and devastated your world. they had stolen everything from you, and in this unfamiliar place, you felt anything but safe.

as the two of you approached your door, you hung back, allowing anakin to check the surroundings before you entered. "it's safe," he announced, still avoiding eye contact. "princess."

you settle onto your bed, now surrounded by your books from the study. anakin's gaze fixed on your collection. you ventured, your voice barely above a whisper, "would you like to borrow some?"

his eyebrows knit together slightly, prompting you to continue. "some of my books? i've noticed you looking at them often."

finally, his eyes met yours. "i'm okay," he replies, and then turns to leave. just as his hand found the doorknob, he adds, "i'll come to fetch you in the morning."

you didn't respond, simply watching him exit and swiftly locking the door behind him. anakin was a puzzle you couldn't decipher. none of your parents' guards had ever acted this way. formality, you were accustom, but this level of rigid apprehension was an entirely new experience.

when you'd first arrived, you had tried to establish some sort of friendship. you were adept at navigating social interactions, having been by your parents' side for political matters since the age of fifteen. you had dealt with all kinds of people—brash, rude, insincere, and kind. but this jedi, anakin, he was unlike anyone you'd ever encountered.

he never strayed far from your side, except for when he slept, yet he managed to disappear into the shadows of any room. even outside, during the few hours he allowed you to venture out, you could feel his presence, his watchful eyes bearing down on you. it was as though you were a gilded prisoner, trapped with a hungry beast waiting for you to falter.

as you drifted into sleep, uneasy thoughts flooded your mind, pushing you into a restless slumber.

the next morning, anakin knocks at your door. he has a signature four knock, with the last being far louder than the others. you assume it's for safety but he's never let you in on the security protocol.

you've been awake for a few minutes and have already dressed, but you take your time before opening your door for him. it was the small things, small rebellions, that you enacted in a diminutive display of mutiny.

"princess." his greeting feels icy cold, despite the adherence to common decorum.

"jedi," you reply, your voice unexpectedly fiery. you had yet to openly express your displeasure with him, but the way his lips twitch for a fraction of a second made you want to challenge him further.

you'd endure anything if it meant he'd stop being so inscrutable.

anakin motions for you to lead the way, and you do, heading toward the small dining room. the table is set with two bowls of porridge placed on opposite sides. it was the same every morning. initially, you had attempted to convince him to let you prepare the food, but he'd stubbornly resisted. perhaps he thought this was the way you were used to, or maybe it was a method of control in his mind. whatever it be, his enforcement of such behavior had grown tiresome.

you found your seat and tried to ignore the weight of his gaze as you ate. the food was plain, but you wouldn't dare complain. perhaps out of fear, maybe a lingering threat that he might lash out, although he never had. but you could feel it—your fear.

anakin was an enigma, unlike any jedi or man you had ever met. despite being only a year apart in age—you, freshly twenty, and he, a young man of twenty-one—he seemed worlds apart from anyone you'd encountered before.

you were nearly finished with your meal when he interrupted your thoughts. "we're running low on food and supplies. you'll accompany me to the market today."

his voice was soft, in stark contrast to his nature. "the market?" your question feels foolish as it escapes your lips, but you don't care. you have no knowledge of any nearby market, and the prospect of venturing out into a new environment excited you.

"have you never heard of it?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

breaking eye contact, you reply, "i have. i was simply unaware there was one here. how far is the walk?"

he inhaled deeply before responding, "about an hour. wear comfortable footwear."

nodding, you decide not to push the conversation further, though curiosity gnawed at you. the prospect of escaping the confines of the safehouse, even for a short while, held a certain allure, and perhaps it was an opportunity to uncover more about your mysterious protector.

anakin leads the way to the bustling market, with a palpable silence the entire walk. the vibrant activity at the market is a stark contrast to the quiet routine of the safehouse. alien vendors peddle their wares, hawking exotic spices and colorful fabrics, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you take in the vibrant scene.

as you navigate through the crowded market, anakin's eyes remain vigilant, scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. it's clear that he takes his role as your protector seriously. you, however, are drawn to the colorful array of stalls and the alien dialects that fill the air. the market feels alive, and for a brief moment, you forget about the weight of your circumstances.

approaching a stall adorned with an assortment of intricate jewelry, you spot a vendor, an older twi'lek woman, tending to her display. her vibrant head-tails sway gracefully as she arranges her wares.

without hesitation, you engage her in conversation, switching to her native language. "kassurra," you say, your voice laced with warmth.

the twi'lek woman looks up, her eyes widening in surprise as she meets your gaze. "kassurra, may ril help vashna," she responds, a smile tugging at her lips.

anakin, standing a few paces away, seems taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor and language. his eyes dart between you and the vendor, a mixture of confusion and curiosity in his expression.

you and the vendor continue to converse, discussing the intricacies of her jewelry and the stories behind each piece. anakin remains on alert, his protective instincts never wavering, but there's a shift in the way he watches you. for the first time, you think he may see a different side of the princess he's been tasked with safeguarding, one that isn't confined by the walls of the safehouse.

anakin watches you, silently observing this unexpected connection that has sparked between you and a stranger in a distant corner of the galaxy.

as your conversation ends, the woman offers you a small pendant with a colorful gemstone, its significance tied to a story of resilience. you're touched by her gesture and purchase the pendant, a tangible reminder of this unexpected encounter.

as you and anakin bid farewell to her and make your way through the market once more, the atmosphere feels different. the air is charged with a newfound sense of connection, and anakin's once rigid demeanor seems to have softened, if only slightly.

you continue to explore the market, and encounter a group of children playing a lively game in a nearby alley. their laughter infectious, and you couldn't resist joining in. anakin watched as you played a simple game of catch with them, your laughter echoing through the alleyways. it was a rare moment, being able to let your guard down and enjoy a moment of pure joy.

as the sun began to dip below the horizon, signaling the approaching end of your visit to the market, you and anakin head back to the safehouse. the journey back was less tense than the trip there, but there was a subtle change in the air. anakin's demeanor, though still guarded, had softened ever so slightly.

back at the safehouse, you settled in the dining room, some fruits you had purchased now adorning the table. anakin, still wearing his jedi stoicism, finally speaks, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

"you seemed… different at the market," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

you glance at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. "it's easy to forget the weight of my title when i'm surrounded by such vibrant life. i felt like a person, not just a princess."

anakin nods slowly, as if processing your words. "you should be cautious, though. we can't afford to let our guard down."

you understand his concern, but the brief respite had given you a glimpse of the world outside the safehouse, and you yearned for more. "i know, anakin. but there's more to life than just surviving. sometimes, we have to remember what we're fighting for, and whom."

anakin's gaze holds your own for a moment, and then he nods, a hint of understanding in his eyes. it was a small, almost imperceptible step, but it was a step toward bridging the gap.

the days that followed your visit to the market saw a small transformation in your interactions with anakin. the connection that had sparked between you and the vendor, and the brief moment of joy shared with the children, had left an indelible mark on you. you couldn't help but yearn for more moments like those, moments that reminded you of the vibrant world beyond the safehouse's walls.

anakin, too, seemed affected by the outing. while he remained vigilant in his duty to protect you, there was a new delicacy in his gaze, a flicker of warmth that occasionally surfaced. it was as though the walls he had built around himself were starting to crumble, revealing a person beneath the jedi facade.

one evening, as you both sit in the study, he suprises you by reaching for one of the books on the shelf, a collection of poems from your homeworld. he flips through its pages, his fingers tracing the elegant script.

"these are from your planet, aren't they?" he asks, voice gentle.

you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "yes, they're poems from my people. would you like me to read one for you?"

anakin hesitates for a moment before nodding. "i'd like that."

as you begin to read one of the poems, the words flow from your lips with ease, carrying the essence of something you miss so dearly. anakin listens intently, his eyes fixed on you, and when you finish, he speaks softly, "it's beautiful, the way your people express themselves."

"thank you anakin, i... miss them very much." and encouraged by his interest, you continue to share more.

he listens, and for that you thank him silently. being able to share a part of you feels freeing, and you wonder at how easily the dynamic had shifted.

but after hours of reading, sharing stories, and talking, openly for once, you can't help but to yawn. anakin notices, "you're tired, we should head to bed, princess."

you want to oppose but the sleep settling into you prohibits the response, "i guess so, but i enjoyed this. i," you try to search for the right words, "i like being able to talk to you like this. i was scared you had grown a resentment for me."

he gives you a curious look, so you continue, "i thought that you may not like me, or rather, this arrangement."

he sighs, "no, it's not that. i just, was scared to say or do the wrong thing. i'm not often left alone with beautiful princesses."

your heart skips a beat at his words. anakin's admission catches you off guard, and you can't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you.

with a shy smile, you respond, "i appreciate your honesty, anakin. and for the record, you've never said anything that made me resent this arrangement. in fact, i find our conversations… quite refreshing."

anakin's blue eyes meet yours, and you see a softness in them that you hadn't witnessed before. as though the walls that had separated you were crumbling further.

as you both walk to your rooms to retire for the night, there's a newfound sense of closeness between you. he escorts and checks your room, as he always does, but this time, there's a different energy in the air. his protectiveness is still there, but it's accompanied by a tenderness that wasn't evident before.

entering your room, you face him. "thank you, anakin, for today. for everything."

he nods, a small smile gracing his lips. "you're welcome, princess. sleep well."

"you as well." and you do truly mean it.

as you lay in bed, you can't help but reflect on how much has changed between you and the knight. what started as so tense, transformed into something more genuine.

as sleep gradually overtakes you, you can't help but wonder where this journey will lead. the future is uncertain and frightening, but one thing is clear— you're no longer alone in the safehouse, no longer silently watched. you have something sweet to hold onto, and that, for now, is more than enough.

[feministdragon]

This is a summary of Liberalism and the Death of Feminism, by Catharine A. MacKinnon, from the anthology The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism 1990 edited by Dorchen Leidholdt and Janice G. Raymond:

The women’s movement of the 70s criticized rape, war, as acts of male terrorism and criticized marriage and the family as acts of male control.  It criticized ‘sacred’ concepts from a standpoint of material existence.   

The women’s movement knew that if 99% of your options are not available, the last 1% is not real choice.

The women’s movement knew that ‘equality’ was defined according to a male standard.   It unmasked ‘sexual freedom’ as a cover for the freedom to abuse. 

This movement always wanted to know where the women were.  Where was women’s choice? Women’s consent?  Where was equality as women define it?  What did freedom for women mean?

The movement produced a systematic, relentless, materially based and rigorous critique of the male dominated reality of women’s lives.   The movement uncovered deep connections between race, class, and sexual oppression, and pursued them as essential to the movement.   It said every issue was a women’s issue, and every place was a woman’s place. 

The movement understood that sexual use and abuse is the same thing, turning a woman into a toy, or a corpse. 

Why did the movement do this?  Because women mattered.   When women were hurt, the movement defended them.  Because what was done to one woman was done to all women. 

It was a deeply collectivist movement. We said, ‘women’, ‘we’.  Commonality didn’t mean sameness.  We didn’t have to be all the same, in fact, the diversity was the strength.   

The movement understood the need to act with courage.  It understood that feminism was not a better deal or a riskless guarantee, but a discipline of hostile reality.   To say ‘the personal was political’ was to say that what we did every day matters, that you become what you do not resist. 

We felt and understood a responsibility to all women.  We insisted on women’s dignity.  Most of all, the movement believed in change.   It intended to transform language, community, the life of the spirit and body and mind, and the shape and nature of power. 

Then something happened. 

During the fight for the Equal Rights Amendment, we were told that we could have this constitutional amendment because sex equality under the law wasn’t really going to do very much, and wouldn’t change anything.  Feminists ardently denied that sex equality would make much difference while urgently seeking it. 

During the fight for Roe Vs. Wade, abortion got framed as a privacy right.  A movement that knew that ‘private’ was a cover for the abuse of our selves and rights was suddenly told that abortion was our right to that same privacy.  But since it was private, the government could not pay for it, so then if you couldn’t pay that was a you problem. 

During the fight of Sears v. EEOC, a sex discrimination case where men were paid more than women, one feminist testified that it was discrimination because women want to be paid for their work the same as a man. Another feminist testified that it wasn’t necessarily discrimination because women want different things from work than men. 

Then some feminist groups told us that guaranteeing maternity leave is a form of sex discrimination.   Fortunately the Supreme Court, in a decision written by a black man, understood that granting maternity leave by law is not sex discrimination.  

Then the debate over BDSM made it really clear that the movement had broken down. When feminists said that BDSM is the sexuality that women would choose first over all others, they didn’t question why women would choose the one sexuality that has been pushed on us all our lives, a sexuality of violence and control.   

The ‘we’ in the women’s movement had completely broken down. Women stopped saying ‘we’, instead saying, “speaking only for myself, I…”.

Then came the discussion on pornography.

Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon designed a law that said that the sexual subordination of women through pictures and words violates women’s civil rights.   This was done as if women mattered, because we value women.  

To no one’s surprise, it was opposed by many people.  It was opposed by conservatives who discovered they disliked sex equality more than they disliked pornography.  It was opposed by liberals who discovered that they liked using women for sex more than they liked sex equality.  It was opposed by feminists who came together as the Feminist Anti-Censorship Task Force, or FACT. 

These FACT feminists said that pornography is sex equality, as long as women had better access to it.   They argued that women had not yet explored their sexuality and needed pornography to explore it, that even pornography that was problematic for women could still get them off, so it was okay.    For FACT, equality meant equal access to pornography.     

FACT implied that in a society of sex inequality—where sex is what women have to sell, sex is what we are, sex is what we are valued for—if we don’t choose sex then WE are the ones oppressing women. 

FACT was in fact fronting for male supremacy, getting women to do their dirty work (again). 

What is the difference between the women’s movement we had and the one we have now (if it even is a movement?)  The difference is liberalism.  

Where feminism was collective, liberalism is individualistic.  Where feminism is socially based and critical, liberalism is naturalistic, saying that women’s oppression is a natural facet of our sexuality.   Where feminism is based on material reality, liberalism is based in some ideal world in the head.   And where feminism is political, and deals with power and powerlessness, liberalism merely talks about ‘this is good’ ‘this is bad’. 

In liberal feminism, women are forced into being unique individuals, instead of sharing a social class in common.  Social characteristics are turned into natural characteristics.  Restriction of choices becomes an expression of free will.  Material reality is turned into ideas about reality.  And concrete positions of power and powerlessness are turned into ‘different but equally valid points of view’.   Women’s lived experience becomes a ‘point of view’. 

Law becomes about gender neutrality, consent, privacy, and speech.  If you can’t take gender into account, you can’t recognize the status quo of male supremacy and women’s subordination.   The concept of Consent means that whatever you were forced to do was actually your free will.  The concept of Privacy protects male abuse of women.  And the concept of Speech protects sexual violence against women when it is framed as male expression. 

The ERA has been lost.  Abortion has been lost.  And pornography is flourishing.   

Liberal feminism makes this necessary because it cannot look at sexuality as it is socially organized and see that it is based on sex inequality.  Liberal feminism will not recognize the continuing fact of male dominance. 

But we can get the women’s movement back.  We can discover the ways to change women’s fear, to mobilize ourselves, and against all odds, create a sex-based hope. 

[isa-beenme]

Hey could you pls do the nightmare trope with azriel where the reader has a very bad nightmare in which she sees azriel nearly dead and when she wakes up and finds him she can't believe it's him and he manages to help her ? ☺️🤔

I certainly can! 😉😉

Oh my, thank you very much for directing me on this one, my biggest fear is writing something people wouldn't like since I usually get carried away in the story and write whatever comes to mind first

Hope you enjoy this!!

I know I said I wouldn't do more than one fic for each trope right now but whatever I like this one better 😡

Until It Happens To You

The night was restless as if the shadows themselves whispered secrets that their master shouldn't hear. You felt burdened by a foreboding unease, your mind shifted between the deep slumber and the real world. You didn't feel Azriel's body beside yours in the bed, his side turning cold at each passing moment he was away. You were sure he slept at your side this night, just as the many others he said your presence made it easier for him to finish his work and finally get some rest.

This strange arrangement between the two of you started a few months ago, you with your throat dry and in need of water and him with a pile of work, he didn't finish during the day. You were so deep into your sleep that somehow you managed to invite him to your room and tell him he could do it in your bed since "two work better than one". You were obviously asleep when he found himself at your side, but he remained there anyway and assured you the next morning that it worked, in a strange way. After some days, some times you actually helped him, he distracted himself by your calm aura and slept in your bed.

That's how everything started and, on his restless nights, he found comfort at your side, both of you holding your peace together as the dream world caught you both at night.

Anyway, you imagined he went back to his room, as he did so many nights before, it wasn't weird at all. Yet, you couldn't get back to sleep as the silence filled the house, almost as if it was mourning something. Your eyes started to close again only to open by a haunting scream that seemed to transcend the walls of the whole house, filling every corner with terror.

In this nightmarish scenario, you found yourself standing in the middle of the room, what before was a bright and colorful place became a desolate chamber shrouded in darkness. The air was heavy with a cold, forming an oppressive atmosphere. Dimly lit torches flickered around you, torches you didn't remember you lighted. They kept casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, mocking you with their macabre movements, almost as if they were laughing at your lack of knowledge.

As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, you noticed the open door, more torches lighting your way to the corridor, and the stones covering the walls, dirty with a thin layer of blood that started on your door and kept going downstairs. You checked your own body to make sure, finding nothing but heartache, a feeling that your heart was being ripped out of you.

You followed the path that led you to the living room, the blood forming a thicker layer with each step you took closer. The sight you found wasn't any better, close to the balcony doors, in a position that looked like the person was trying to run away, you spotted a figure lying motionless on the cold stone floor. The wings were shredded to pieces, and blood covered their clothes, forming a pool on the sides.

Your heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned upon you, making your knees tremble as you took in the image forming in front of your eyes. It was Azriel, the one whose love and presence had become the foundation of your existence. Panic surged through your veins, and your voice choked with fear when you screamed for help, but it seemed like no one was in the house besides the both of you.

-Azriel! No, please, wake up! - You uselessly screamed as you ran close to his body, feeling that your heart could explode at any moment with the pain you felt.

With trembling hands, you rushed towards him, your footsteps echoing ominously through the chamber. Kneeling by his side, you desperately shook him, but he remained unresponsive. His usually tanned and alluring features were now pale and lifeless, and his eyes closed in an eternal slumber. Suddenly you understood the pain you were feeling. The mating bond. The realization kills you even more.

Tears streamed down your face as you cradled his motionless form, hugging his cold body the way you could, hoping for any form of life to come out of him. Your voice became a desperate plea as you kept talking to him, even if you knew he wouldn't answer.

-No, this can't be happening! Azriel, please! Wake up! - Your anguished cries reverberated off the walls, fading into the oppressive darkness.

Yet, despite your desperate attempts, your touch suddenly met no resistance. It seemed to pass through his form as if he were nothing but a specter. His body started to disappear in thin air, the despair seemed to taunt you, amplifying your pain and the sense of loss.

As this nightmare tightened its grip on you, the chamber distorted and morphed, becoming a labyrinth of pain and suffering. The walls closed in, constricting your movements, suffocating you with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. You fought against the suffocating atmosphere, gasping for air, your voice a mere whimper as you tried to grasp Azriel's disappearing form.

- Please...don't leave me… I love you. I've been in love for a long time now and you can't leave me here… my mate - Your last words were whispered against the nothing.

When Feyre told you about the day she almost lost Rhysand she told you about the painful sensation of getting her heart broken. And you were there when she need it most while she remembered the situation, but you weren't the one falling off that deep end of silence and cold of a once cheerful and bright string that connected their souls. You understood her now.

You once had a friend that lost somebody close, and you were also there when they needed it most, but you would never be the one having trouble sleeping once the night came and you felt like you didn't do enough. But you understood them now.

You can say you're sorry a million times to Azriel's body laying on the floor. But even if you try hard, he won't come back. The same way you tried to sympathize with your friends, it was helpless, you wouldn't be the one picking up the pieces left of your heart. Now you were. And you felt helpless anyway.

Somebody loses somebody every day, but you'll never really know what it's like till you wake up to some really bad news and the worst scenario you could ever find. You'll never really know how it feels until it happens to you.

You looked around the room, the blood covering everything only made the pain worse. You looked outside, trying to find a starry night, instead, you only found a creature looking back at you, its teeth covered in your mate's blood when the thing seemed to smile at your figure. You only waited for the creature to break the windows and devour you completely, but as it came closer you only felt the wind meeting your skin as the thing breathed against your hair. It was inside the house the whole time, only waiting for you to mourn Azriel's body and relish its work before doing the same to you.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you entirely, your body jolted awake, every piece of skin drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmare had released its grip on you, but your heart still raced with lingering dread. Trembling, you looked around the room, desperately seeking solace in the comforting embrace of reality. The colors and brightness of your bedroom make itself known as you take in the world around you. The small sounds of night filled you in, the solitude leaving your body.

And then you saw him - Azriel - sitting at the edge of the bed, concern etched across his face. His presence felt surreal as if the boundaries between the nightmare and reality had blurred. Tears of relief welled up in your eyes as you reached out to touch him, fear covering your movements as uncertainty filled you.

- Azriel...is it really you? - Your voice was trembling with disbelief as your hand finally made its way toward his face. Azriel's eyes softened with compassion as he gently took your trembling hand in his, his scars making everything fall into place. The reality and the mating bond.

- Yes, it's me. You had a terrible nightmare, but you're safe now - His voice was raw, he was probably trying to wake you up for some time now. Overwhelmed by emotions, you throw yourself into his waiting arms, holding onto him as if he was your lifeline.

- I thought...I thought I lost you - You whispered, voice quivering with a mixture of fear and relief. Azriel held you tightly, his touch a soothing balm to your shattered emotions.

- I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. Do you want me to stay here a little longer? - At that moment, the nightmare's grip loosened completely, replaced by a newfound strength and resilience.

- I need to tell you something - His eyes widened a bit, and his breathing became uneasy. You realized he felt the tug you gave into that bond between you two - It was horrible to feel this being shredded to pieces as you died in my arms, I couldn't do anything while you disappeared right in front of my eyes.

- I'm here now, I'm fine - He kissed your head and pulled you closer - I woke up when I heard your scream. You were calling my name - He smothered his hand on your arms, warming you with his presence - When I got here you weren't screaming, but I could still hear your voice. I probably heard from…

- The mating bond - You finished the phrase for him, just seeing him nodding - Why didn't you sleep here tonight?

- If I spent one more night at your side without having you being mine completely I would go crazy - He put you to lay down on the bed, quickly getting under the covers with you - I thought I should put some space between us or I would hold you in my arms and never let you go.

- I wouldn't be opposed to this, you know - You said in a whisper, seeing the smile that planted his face as he went closer and closer to you, holding you impossibly near his naked torso, enough heat irradiated from him to warm both of you. His presence became your anchor, his love a guiding light through the darkest of nights - What do we do now?

- Now we sleep, I don't go to train tomorrow so we can talk and figure out how we gonna work this out - His hand traveled to your face, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes - I want you to have in mind that I won't rush you in any way, but I love you and I want this between us. I want you to love me too.

- I already do. I always did - You whispered as you went closer and closer, slowly ending the gap between both of you as you kissed his lips lightly, just a taste of the near future you both could have - I want everything with you, and I don't want to wait. Just to remember the sensation of losing you without getting to live anything makes me anxious.

- It's okay now. I promise I won't leave your side - He wrapped one wing around you, providing a safe space for you both - Get some sleep now, when the sun rises we can talk - He granted one last kiss on the lips before you closed your eyes and hugged him tight.

You stayed entwined in each other's arms, finding solace in the warmth of your embrace. The nightmare may have left scars, but also a sensation of longing for the bond that you would have to fulfill for the rest of your life. The scars would heal with time and you would both find solace in the unbreakable bond you shared.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Wednesday

Hiii, i'm actually posting this on a Wednesday! Thanks to @saltymaplesyrup for tagging me. Tagging @skyrim-forever @naturalbornlosers @archangelsunited @snowy-weather @vivifriend @viss-and-pinegar @orfeoarte @kookaburra1701 @thequeenofthewinter @firefly-factory

No pressure, as usual but I find seeing what everyone's working on to be fun. Also hoping that all the tags work. I've tried to get it to work but every time I try to fix the tags Tumblr just takes away more. So if you are tagged here and it doesn't notify you I do apologise but i'm awful at computers. Anyway I've been working on the JoshxErra pic and Sleepers Awake chapter 13 so you're getting both today.

The bois! Worked on Joshi's scars today and have started on both Erra and Teldryn's tattoos. And some writing

The heat hit him like a wall. Dry and all-encompassing— wicking away the moisture from his lungs as he breathed in. He found himself coughing at the dryness and quickly reached for his waterskin. He took a long drink, relishing the coolness on his throat. Teldryn placed the waterskin back into his pack, hoping that it would remain cool for when he would need it next but judging by the ambient heat of this place, he’d likely be guzzling down boiling water before long.

Teldryn glanced around the room, noting the four large pillars at the centre and an eery red glow shone through both connecting hallways. He decided to move forward, heading for the hall just ahead. He had no real plan here, just explore until he found the poor sod. He had tried to get some more information out of Pania last night, but he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying with his cock in her mouth. He smirked to himself at the thought as he made it to the next room and what he assumed was the source of the oppressive heat. It had to be, what else burned hotter than Mehrunes Dagon’s ass crack than a river of fucking magma!

He glanced about the long, rectangular chamber, wondering what the purpose of keeping an open magma pit was. Did it have something to do with the steam in the pipes? Maybe a source of energy? Could he turn it off before he shrivelled from the amount of sweat he was losing?

He wasn’t particularly interested in resembling a dried comberry.

It was hard for him to make out much in the chamber outside it being a dead end, the ambient light from the magma below cast the room in deep shadows. The sound of the earth groaning under his feet made him miss the sounds of metal scuttling along the stone floor. It was as he was turning to leave that a flicker of bronze caught his eye, and then the sound of lightning crashed through the air. He had barely registered what was approaching him as he rolled out of the way of the bolt of lightning, bringing up his flame shield as he did so. He hadn’t had much experience with Alteration spells but in this case, the addition of his natural element made it easy to get the hang of. It was a similar story to that of his guardian atronach… come to think of it.

Teldryn summoned his magicka once again, he still couldn’t see his attacker but if he called upon ‘Tear he knew she’d be able to weed the bastard out quicker than he ever could.

He flicked his wrist, aiming his magicka at the far wall and the sound of crackling and crunching filled his ears as he tore open a portal to Oblivion. The sounds of flames grew ever louder as he watched his guardian step through the portal, her presence lighting the floor below her on fire.

He smiled as Molag’tear flipped in the air, Teldryn had a theory that it was some form of greeting, she seemed happy if he smiled and nodded in her direction. Shining brighter once he had made his reply, as she did now, the flames that engulfed her form bathing the chamber in warm light. That’s when he finally identified his attacker, a mass of tarnished metal and whirring gears perched on six legs. He noticed a dome atop the thing, moving up and down like a strange, disembodied lung. It emitted what seemed to be gas from its top just as he saw a bright, almost blue light escape from what he assumed was the Animunculi’s front.

There was a flash as the Centurion Spider shot a bolt of lightning in Teldryn’s direction, only to have the automaton’s attack countered by a jet of flame from the opposite side of the chamber. He watched as his guardian shot another fireball at the creature, sending it hurtling towards the wall. There was a deafening clang as the mechanical spider hit the hard stone, clattering as it fell to the floor. Still as flames licked at the metal, feeding on whatever was powering it. He let out a breath as he stood, dismissing his shield and met the gaze of his atronach.

He wondered if she could see in the same way he could, sometimes when she moved, he got hints of what he thought might be a skeleton made of carved brimstone. She didn’t quite have a face, more the flickering and moving of flame creating the illusion of one, still see seemed almost worried.

[sethshead]

Another disconcerting element of “Queers for Palestine” is that it popped up in prominent left-wing anti-Israel/pro-Palestine rallies in the immediate aftermath of Hamas’s terrorist attacks, before Israel had the chance to respond. As such, there is no way to interpret this slogan and the surrounding leftist fervor except as a signal of support not merely for Palestine, but specifically for Hamas, the jihadist movement with the explicit aim of eradicating the state of Israel. It's imperative to understand that Hamas, as detailed in its 1988 Covenant, is propelled by a fundamentalist Islamist ideology with the goal not only of eliminating all Jews but also conquering the world — just like ISIS. Senior Hamas official Mahmoud al-Zahar was recorded saying, “The entire planet will be under our law, there will be no more Jews or Christian traitors.” Western support for Hamas, under the guise of Palestinian liberation, overlooks the deep-seated radical Islamist ethos driving the organization, which, if unbridled, would jeopardize the very freedoms cherished by LGBT people across the developed world. Anyone who doubts this should try being gay, bi, or trans in most of the Middle East and North Africa’s (MENA) Muslim-majority countries. Virtually all of these nations have laws that criminalize homosexuality and being trans, some of which carry the death penalty​​. Human Rights Watch’s "Everyone Wants Me Dead" report succinctly encapsulates in its title alone the perilous environment faced by LGBT individuals in these regions​. [...] The aftermath of the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran is a harrowing tale of leftists being tortured and executed en masse by the very Islamic regime they supported for the sake of their anti-imperialist goals. Many Iranians who aligned with leftist organizations supported the revolution only to find themselves persecuted by Islamists they helped put in power. Immediately following the revolution, the new regime led by Ayatollah Khomeini began systematically oppressing LGBT people and publicly executing them by the thousands. These atrocities were justified as a means to "eliminate corruption" and prevent the "contamination" of society. Between 4,000 to 6,000 gay, lesbian, and bi people have been executed since the 1979 Islamic Revolution​​. Iran’s legal system, rooted in Islamic law, criminalizes consensual sexual relations between same-sex individuals, with penalties ranging from lashes to death. Iranian law does not distinguish between consensual and non-consensual same-sex intercourse, allowing authorities to prosecute both perpetrators and victims of sexual assault​.

But I've been told by queer activists that criminalized, illicit sex is hot, and that gay men in the Muslim world therefore have the best and most sex of anywhere. Given that frequent, anonymous, and risky sex is to those activists the high point of LGBTQ liberation, gay men in Gaza and Iran are thus freer than they are in the US. It is truly Michel Foucault's world, and we are all just living in it.

Back in reality, however, Navabi places his finger on a core part of the "Queers for Hamas" problem: the flattening of all conflicts into a single perceived intersectional struggle between power and the lack thereof. Motives, histories, local considerations, ideological incompatibility - all of these can be replaced by the imposition of provincial Western issues on very different peoples, ideas, needs, and lives. None of the individual conflicts and movements embraced by intersectionality discourse are allowed to breathe on their own, to have their own particulars respected. Instead it all becomes one vast, undifferentiated, vague liberation kitsch using the same prefabricated slogans and jargon. "How is that not its own form of small-minded, white-man's-burden, Western colonialism", you may ask. And you would be right.

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request platonic yandere Megatron from Earthspark with a teen reader who tries to escape them at every twist and turn but Megatron just wants to keep them safe because he feels immense guilt about all the harm he's done in the past.

Sure! I'm still very new to Earthspark so I hope I manage to do this correctly. However, for future reference;

My darlings are always at least 18, I do not do teen or child darlings.

I still wanted to do this request though since I find Earthspark cool- Concept as not specified.

Yandere! Platonic! ES! Megatron Concept

Darling that keeps trying to escape him

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Megatron is trying to better himself, Platonic yandere, Parental/Friend yandere, Manipulation, Selfish behavior, Overprotective behavior, Kidnapping/Isolation, Forced companionship.

This version of Megatron has more experience with humans than other iterations.

In Earthspark, Megatron helped end the war with Optimus Prime and worked alongside humans.

I feel he understands humans a bit more yet would still struggle occasionally.

War is still in his mindset even if he is getting used to peaceful life.

As a result, sometimes when it comes to you he's a bit rough.

Megatron doesn't realize it but his form of "protecting" you can be viewed as very oppressive.

Megatron is aware of his past and feels extremely guilty for it.

When he met you helping out with the war effort to end the original Autobot/Decepticon war, he had become a friend to you.

Part of him feels if he takes care of you then it will make him feel right.

Taking care of you will help him be a better person, a better Autobot.

As a result, Megatron has gained an obsessive need to stick by you.

Even after the war and you've settled back into civilian life, Megatron takes time out from defending Earth to see you.

His friendship is founded on some selfish means... but that doesn't change the fact he cares for you.

In terms of trying to escape him, as of currently I can't see any reason why you would.

He's just an... overprotective Autobot, that's all.

Although maybe something goes wrong, like a new threat, and Megatron feels a need to protect you via isolation.

You'll be placed somewhere only he knows....

That, or, somehow something upsets Megatron and he shows that old ruthless side momentarily.

Maybe while protecting you from a new threat?

This scares you and makes you avoid the Decepticon turned Autobot that you once saw as a friend.

These two scenarios would work with what I was given, maintaining a reason Megatron is yandere yet also why you would want to escape compared to normal overprotective behavior.

One way or another, your friend gives into being an oppressive force once again, leaving you in a situation that makes you want to run.

The fact you want to ignore Megatron feeds his guilt even more.

He feels horrible that he's done the complete opposite of protecting you.

He's hurt you, he's scared you, you may even hate him...

So he tries to make things right once again.

Which feeds into a constant loop.

Megatron feels horrible that he can't make your friendship work between you.

He's ruined it.

Yet he also refuses to let you go, he cares for you too much to abandon his human companion.

If you kept trying to run away and avoid him, Megatron would step in to attempt to apologize or make things right.

Hell, he may even kidnap you if he hasn't already to keep you to himself.

You can cry and scream at him, yet Megatron will still try to justify himself.

This is... just his way or protecting you!

Keeping you in your home and caring for you this way is the right way to defend you...

That's what his delusions tell him.

He knows this isn't the right way to protect you or keep you happy or even maintain your friendship...

Megatron feels deep down he still hasn't changed much from before... even with your help...

Still, he pleads for you to stay.

He still believes you can make him a better Autobot...

Just don't leave him... maybe you can still change him! ... maybe....

[lullabycurses]

E-Gothic Conformity: The Horror of the Algorithm (Part ??/??)

(x)

Hey Ghouls! Been a While!

Today I'm going to talk about something I've been telling my friends about (though with no nuance, so they always look at my like I've got three heads! Arguably not a bad thing...) for probably the last year. That is... This new, almost obsessive behavior... with conformity. I've mostly seen this on "The Tiktoks" and "The Reels", so this is totally connected with structurally oppressive preferences of the Algorithm.

This may need to be in two parts; Here I know I want to write a big regretfulesc love letter to my community, which even though I adore... I cannot help but feel afraid for the future. I also don't feel like finding sources this time

TW for mentions of ED and Racism

It's no secret that the algorithm pushes videos with thin white people who (seemingly!) overconsume off of websites like Dolls Kill and Shein, or even sites like Depop. There's obviously nothing to feel guilty about with buying things that you need (I've covered this in a past post).

But, I worry about the future of the community. I've seen baby bats ask if they are still goth if they don't wear a white face, I've seen creators tight-lace their corsets so tightly that they could receive bodily damage. I worry about those who develop eating disorders to fit this standard. I also worry about those who believe they have to hide their skin color to be apart of our extremely diverse community. I worry about people who feel that they need to buy into this mass amount of overconsumption to feel "goth enough".

The truth is, this is an arts-based subculture- you can do anything you want with it. It is necessary that we keep our fondness of Life as a cycle, all aspects of death are within that. Within life there is death and within that, there is death, in an endless cycle. But IMO it's more of a prompt than anything, Goth is The People.

But enough of that talk, I mean, I have a whole post (which I should probably update as new information comes to light) about it!

I think that a lot of this prioritizing looking as thin and as pale as possible is really dangerous. I know that it's under this guise of looking "dead, sickly, or ghoulish", but that's honestly such bull. We can look at gothic artist Tim Burton's reasons for his exclusion within his "aesthetic".

Not to mention this criticizing article on Wednesday! (From the Independent)

So, "Get on with it!" I hear you say.

Alright, alright. What does this mean for the future of the goth community? I mean, the culture of each social media garbage app is entirely different. Tiktok is kind of a deep pit that I avoid like the plague for how addictive it is (only for myself to replace it with reels). Instagram reels is honestly the place i have the most beef with.

There's this huge uptick in people minimizing what goth is (some of these people aren't even goths!).

They're the ones who are lowkey hierarchal assholes who think that Trad goth is the only form of gothic expression. (Like these dudes haven't read any gothic literature, written any annoying poetry, contemplated religion, spoken to a goth, or even been to a cemetery!)

So, TLDR, if we are not anti-white supremacist about this whole thing, we could see the next generation fall into consumerist patterns favoring whiteness over the beauty of gothic art.

As always, Thanks for reading!

Let me know if I'm missing anything, or if I should spend more time researching this topic!

Song recommendation; I have been obsessing over this band recently! Genre is like darkwave-alternative rock I suppose.

-Cat (Catofthenine)

[rescuebabiesau]

The Fall of an Ancient

Megatron had never been known to have the best luck when it came to his destiny being played out...

His life had started in the dark, unforgiving world of Cybertron's lower districts. A miner, then a gladiator. He was considered the lowest of the low, trash by the upper castes' standards, but he made a vow to prove them wrong. A vow to improve the lives of every cybertronian oppressed by the system... but somewhere, he lost his way.

He didn't realize he had for a very long time, or perhaps he did and was too stubborn, too deep to feel that it was possible to go back. His plan for peace and prosperity led to ruin, and he'd thrown all of the blame onto his first and possibly only true friend.

War blinded his mind, rage clouded his thinking... and when clarity finally came... It was at the hands of the devil himself.

Megatron looked up and saw that in his efforts to remove the oppression from his world... He himself had become the oppressor. His world was destroyed, their race on the brink of extinction... He couldn't live with that knowledge, he had been disgraced, and only death could remove such a stain.

If only death wasn't so hard to come by for him.

He exiled himself to the stars, hoping to find someone or something that could extinguish his spark. But the blood of Unicron himself flowed through his body; it could revive the dead, but also kept the former tyrant from finding death himself, even when he relished the thought of it.

Over time, he lost track of how many collisions with moons, asteroids and other space debris he had suffered, and yet his life refused to go. He'd run out of energon long ago and yet was still floating along. He'd even tried luring an energon eater he'd encountered to take him, but it seemed less than interested in the Dark Energon he had to offer. Even if he did find some way to end himself, he would not be one with the Allspark. There was no way Primus would let such a tainted, poisoned spirit into its fold again...

Life was pain and suffering, and he deserved it.

But then, after possibly years of this endless torment... Something changed.

His latest crash had not been planned, merely the result of him getting knocked within the gravitational pull of a nearby planetoid.

He was irritated but not surprised when he regained consciousness, or at least... He wasn't surprised by surviving.

He'd grown used to waking in craters of his own making, climbing out of them and moving on; but this time, when his optics came back online, he was in no crater... He was in a room, with clear-cut walls and roof made of stone, and banners decorating the slats that let in light from the sun.

His frame ached, and creaked loudly as he forced himself to sit up. His helm spun from the movement, and he lifted a hand to it with a groan.

Then a trill sound came from his right, and he opened one optic to look. Standing in the doorway to the room was a being, probably not much taller than Megatron's waist. Colorful, woven material draped over their body, but even so, Megatron could see familiar metal arms and legs, shifting plating, and the familiar glow of optics under their hooded cloak; they were cybertronian, or at least a being similar in form.

They said something with excitement, and then scrambled off down the corridor.

Megatron blinked, but groaned as even that hurt. In all of his bad luck, somehow it seemed to be that he'd been rescued and brought back to relative health. Scrud.

He found himself lying on a berth, with a table set at the bottom for his pedes to compensate for his larger form. A light blanket was draped over his body, one that he quickly threw away. He needed to get out of this place, but which way?

He didn't have much time to think, because the native was back, now with an additional two behind them. The first was still chattering and pointing to him, and then one of the others patted them on the head in a gentle manner; they all seemed happy to see him, and that was not something Megatron was used to.

The third then took a step forward, looking intently at the mech. "Do...You...Understand?" He asked, though it sounded like he was trying to speak a language not well known to him, enunciating every word slowly.

Megatron wasn't sure if he should answer, what real business did he have with these tiny robotic organisms? But they did make an effort to save his life, as much as he hated it; it wouldn't hurt anything to respond. "I do..." he spoke.

His optics widened; his voice had sounded so... clear, especially compared to the rough, raspy tone he'd grown used to. It didn't hurt to speak, a pain he'd grown used to since the dusty, dirty world of Cybertron's coliseum ruined his audio emitter in his distant youth.

The little being spoke again, using hand motions along with his words. "We... find you... bring you... heal your wounds."

Megatron huffed, looking away. "You should not have done that. I came here to die."

The three murmured to each other, clearly disturbed by this. Why wouldn't they be? This old, war-worn fugitive shows up and they help him, just for him to tell them he would have refused it had he been able to.

The first came forward, "Die... Who teach us... the old ways?"

That caught his attention. Megatron looked back to them, more closely. "Old ways?"

They nodded, "Telensi... fall from stars... like you. Telensi change... new world. Live like new world. New Telensi not know... old ways."

It took a moment, but the mech began to understand. These tiny beings must somehow be descendants of cybertronians, cybertronians that traveled here long ago and changed to thrive in this planet's environment. They'd forgotten the ways of Cybertron, and wanted him to remind them.

"I am a poor choice..." he informed, "...I have done many evil things."

"You... Start new. Teach us old ways... We help you heal."

Megatron wasn't fully convinced, but he was still wounded. His systems were still giving him alerts of damage, so for now, he was stranded as an honored guest with these little bots. "Very well... For now." ___________________________

It appeared that Megatron had been out for quite some time.

The mech who'd done most of the talking properly introduced himself as Stonereader, and he explained how they'd come upon him. Stonereader was a translator and historian for their race, the Telensi, and had spent much of his life trying to make sense of their ancestors and their culture, left in ancient writings and within nearby tombs.

During one of his times working an area of excavation, he had seen a streak of light bolt across the sky. Having read that their ancestors had come to their planet of Telen during a similar event, he led the way to where it landed, finding Megatron lying in the soil almost lifeless...

...That had been three years ago.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 2 @ailesswhumptober - alt prompt : shock collar.

As part of the assassins training the facility needs to desensitise them them to death, to killing. And hesitation needs to be punished. (Apparently I couldn't resist torturing Ash again and exploring some of who he was earlier in training.)

CW: shock collar, implied death, implied killing, living weapon, dehumanisation, violence, conditioning, torture as training.

AiLessWhumptober List Complex 27

The Desensitisation Room, dubbed the "Death Room" by the assets, often felt more like a morgue than a training room. Its metallic walls glinted dully under harsh lights, casting deep shadows across the space. Every surface was cold steel, from the grated floor - designed to allow blood and fluids to drain away into unseen gutters - to the rows of hooks hanging from the ceiling, reminiscent of a butcher’s shop.

Along one wall stood a large, heavy metal table, its surface scarred from years of use. Thick leather restraints hung from each corner, ready to hold down whatever—or whoever—found itself subjected to the cold dissection blade. Above, an array of tools hung neatly: surgical saws, scalpels, forceps, and clamps, all gleaming under the flickering lights. They were meticulously organized, each one in its place—a grotesque parody of an operating room.

Today, a failure from D Block lay on the table, a living weapon with hollow, dim eyes. But they still lived.

For now.

Asset 77 stood in line, rigid, disciplined, with four other young assets each clad in the black uniform of C Block. Around each of their necks sat a shock collar—heavy and oppressive, a constant threat. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, but it was the anticipation—the electric charge in the room—that made their skin prickle. Eyes downcast but alert, his short brown hair sticking to his forehead in nervous sweat. Next to him, Asset 47 was a statue—his face hard, unreadable. They both knew what was coming. There was no avoiding it. No denying it.

They had seen the films, watched the dispassionate executions and dissections, but today was different.

It was real now.

Ahead of them, the first trainee - Asset 51 - was handed a knife that looked too large in his trembling hand. He stared at the blade as if hoping it would disappear, his wide, terrified eyes darting between the instructors and the restrained figure on the table.

“Do it,” the instructor barked. The voice was sharp and clipped, cutting through the room like a knife.

The instructor towered over them, tall and imposing in a pristine dark blue uniform. Every button was fastened, every crease sharp. Their expression was one of cool disinterest, as though the suffering before them was no different from a routine drill. With hands clasped loosely behind their back, they radiated an unmistakable air of dominance. Shoulders back, chin slightly raised, the instructor seemed to dare any of the trainees to step out of line. Cold, calculating eyes swept over the room, lingering on each asset just long enough to remind them of who held the power.

“Remember, you are here to learn to eliminate, not to hesitate. You should be proud. The Facility sees your potential.” The disdain dripped from their voice, especially as they studied 51’s quivering form. “Do you understand? Failure is a stain that never washes away.”

51 didn’t move. The instructor’s jaw tightened slightly, a muscle flickering beneath their skin. They didn’t need to yell; their authority was not in volume but in control—absolute and unwavering. A single, deliberate step forward echoed on the cold, grated floor, sending a shiver down Asset 77’s spine.

“I said, do it.” The instructor's voice lowered, laced with quiet menace.

The room fell into an oppressive silence. 51’s hand shook violently, his breathing erratic, eyes wide with fear. The tension crackled, amplifying the fear that hung in the air.

Then, without warning, 51's shock collar activated.

A sharp crackle of electricity erupted, followed by a choked cry. 51 convulsed, his body seizing as the shock coursed through him. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering against the grated floor. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, his face a mask of pain and terror.

Asset 77 flinched at the sound, muscles tensing instinctively. His gaze shot to 51’s crumpled form. For just a second, he imagined himself there, on the ground, the electricity still dancing through his body. His fingers twitched at his sides, dread bubbling up in his throat, he felt his body flinch again.

A small sign of fear, of emotion, of weakness.

That was enough.

Everything went black. A jolt. Electricity. Pain. Pure, unrelenting pain. It engulfed him, took him. No air. No thought.

His knees buckled, but the floor didn’t matter anymore; all that existed was the agony. Bright white spots danced across his vision, a dizzying blur of light and pain, as if his skull might crack under the pressure. Breathe. He couldn’t—there was no air. His throat tightened, choking him from within.

He clawed at the floor, but his hands felt distant, useless. His mind shattered into fragments. Stop. Please, stop. Were the words real or just echoes in his head? The burning in his neck stretched and twisted, every muscle locking into place until his body was no longer his own. His heartbeat pounded loud in his ears, a drum beating him into submission. All he could taste was metal—blood, maybe? Was that blood?

Pain.

Blinding.

It clawed at him. Not just his neck. Everywhere.

Fire in his veins.

All there was, all that ever existed, was the collar and the fire it forced into him.

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

He gasped, air flooding back into his lungs, but it burned like acid. His chest heaved, and he collapsed fully onto the floor, coughing and shaking uncontrollably. His limbs twitched, the aftershock of electricity still lingering in his muscles like tiny knives poking from within. Vision blurred, but he could see the dull, cold steel beneath him. His fingers flexed against it. Real. He was still here.

The collar stopped, releasing 77 from its cruel grip. He sucked in a sharp breath, coughing as the air returned to his lungs, the burn still smouldering deep inside him. He tasted copper. Blood.

Somewhere nearby, he could feel 47’s eyes on him, but he said nothing. 47 knew better than to react. Knew better than to flinch. Asset 77 hated him for it. 47 was always so composed.

The instructor’s voice sliced through the haze of pain. "Get up 77."

His fingers curled into fists against the cold steel floor, his body still trembling. But he forced himself to rise, legs shaky beneath him, unwilling to show any more weakness. The instructor’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer, as if daring him to flinch again, to falter, before their attention returned to 51 - still on the ground, gasping for breath, tears streaking his cheeks.

No one moved to help him. The instructor stepped forward, retrieving the fallen knife and shoving it back into the boy’s hand.

“Do. It.”

The trembling in 51’s hands intensified, the knife slipping in his slick, sweaty grip. On his knees now, he stared up at the figure strapped to the table, face pale and drawn. The failure didn’t struggle. Didn’t plead. Barely reacted. As if they had already accepted their fate.

The silence dragged on for what felt like hours, broken only be 51’s ragged breathing.

“Do you want this to be your fate?” The instructors voice was smooth, dangerously calm, dripping with authority. “Make your choice.”

Another flick of the instructor’s finger sent a fresh jolt through 51’s collar.

The scream that followed was louder, raw, and full of agony. His body writhed on the floor, fingers clawing at the air in desperation. When the shock stopped, he lay limp, sobs echoing through the sterile room, a sound of defeat that reverberated off the cold, unforgiving walls.

Asset 77’s throat tightened at the sight. He knew what would come next. If 51 didn’t act, the knife would be passed down the line. Each of them would face this moment sooner or later. The phantom burn of the collar still fresh in his mind, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

But 51 didn’t get up this time.

Instead, the instructor’s gaze shifted to the next trainee in line, then to Asset 77.

“Your turn.”