#to stop reducing his own accomplishments

[grimmweepers]

— ★ contents: dottore x gn!reader. DARK CONTENT AHEAD. DUBCON. degradation. humiliation. masturbation (dottore). boot licking. his shoe on your head. dom/sub dynamics. yandere themes. light choking. no sex. reader has no dialogue. just mean mean dottore. 0.8k. | MDNI. 18+ ONLY | masterlist

( inspired by this art )

Your mother always told you to be careful of the choices you made in life.

“The world is not as kind as you are,” she’d say, thumbing your cheek as though the action itself could shield you from everything cruel.

She would've never approved of leaving home to work for someone like Dottore. Stories of the Harbingers were infamous enough to bleed across their nation's borders and there was no doubt that beneath the surface lay tales far worse than what meets the eye. 

Yet there was no stopping you. Not when he dangled promises in front of you like a forbidden fruit too sweet to resist. “Imagine what you could accomplish under me,” he’d said as if he wasn’t going to trample all your rights in the future.

And you, foolish and full of ambition, had leaped at the chance.

If your mother could see you now…

The thought lingered like a bitter aftertaste as you knelt on the cold, sterile floor of his laboratory. Your cheek pressed against the smooth leather of Dottore’s boot and the weight of it on your head sent a sliver of shame down your spine. 

“You left everything behind to be here,” he mused as he adjusted the angle of his foot. “Tell me, was it worth it?”

You wanted to say no. To scream it, actually. But you felt like you were choking on the consequences of your own choices and worse yet, the humiliation didn’t feel as humiliating as it should’ve been. That part was worrying. 

He tilted his head at you, “Not so talkative now, are we?” His gloved hand reached down, tracing along your jaw before sliding back to clutch his own arousal.

“Pathetic,” he sneered. The toe of his boot nudged your chin, forcing your head upward. “Look at me when I speak to you.”

The intensity of his crimson eyes burned into you, setting fire to whatever shreds of dignity you had left. You wondered what your mother would think if she saw you reduced to this. 

“You’ve been testing my patience lately,” he continued, almost conversationally, as if he weren’t holding you down with his foot. “But I think you like being punished. Isn’t that right?”

“I—” you stammered, but his boot pressed down, silencing you. But even as shame curled in your stomach, you hated the spark of heat that flickered beneath it. 

“Don’t speak,” he ordered. “I’m not interested in excuses.”

“You’ll write to your mother eventually, won’t you?” he mocked you with a grin. “What will you tell her? That you’ve found your purpose? That you’ve devoted yourself to something... meaningful?” A deep hum of pleasure escaped his lips as he palmed his growing bulge, relishing in the poor sight of you.

Within a second, he answered for you first. “Ah, no. That’s not quite right. You haven’t accomplished anything yet...” Dottore chuckled. “But you could. All it takes is for you to follow my lead which, frankly, you’ve been failing at.” 

“W—” He cut off your protest before it could even form.

The pressure increased. “I said don’t speak,” he snapped. “If you want to prove yourself, use that tongue for something worthwhile.”

He lifted his boot slightly, the toe brushing against your lips. Hesitant, you let your tongue dart out, licking at the leather. A small string of saliva ran down your chin, but you didn’t stop. You lapped at the boot like your life depended on it, the bitterness of the polish staining your tongue.

Above you, Dottore hummed again as his hand slid to his belt, the sound of his unbuckling loud in the silence of the room. He began to stroke himself through the confines, where it was twitching terribly as if your tongue was on the real thing. “See…” He groaned softly, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock through the fabric. “Obediency suits you.”

A heavy knot coiled deep inside you, warring with something far more sinister that made the area between your legs clench and ache.

The boot slowly withdrew, leaving your lips tingling. As Dottore suddenly crouched down, his gloved hand gripped your chin to examine your flushed face. His touch was deceptively warm, a stark difference from the icy daggers in his glare. 

“You’ll do more for me, won’t you?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. It felt familiar to your mother's touch, only this time the hand that held you came from everything she tried to protect you from.

Since the memory of his prior reprimands kept you silent, you remembered to nod your answer this time.

“Good,” he gave you a type of smile that made your gut churn. Your breath quickened as his hand slid lower, his fingers wrapping lightly around your throat. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Good,” he repeated. His grin widened as he saw the conflict in your eyes—the shame, the desire, the submission.

“Now strip,” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. “And get on the examination table.” 

If your mother could see you now, she’d weep for the person you’d become. But for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could weep with her.

You had chosen this.

And now, you were his to be studied under his ever watchful eye, molded into something you shouldn’t admit you craved.

© 2025 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

divider: @/adornedwithlight

I HOPE ITS OK TO TAG YOU IK IVE BEEN TEASING YOU ABOUT IT FOR SOME TIME @unriding >:)

[narutocharacterpolls]

FINAL ROUND

HATAKE KAKASHI vs SENJU TSUNADE

Reasons for submission under the cut

Kakashi

relatable as an adult

he is just an overworked guy who was told to watch some kids w LOTS of issues

needs therapy

good presence and guidance in Narutos life

interesting

cares about and is dedicated to his students very much

he is just cool

he is trying his best despite what he has been through in the past

is up for having fun but still knows when to be serious

was a narcissistic shit but grew out of it

has good intentions

sexy

wonderfully complex and well developed character

incredibly resilient and supportive

a sad and deeply broken man

always willing to give his life to protect them and his other precious people

just wanted everything to be ok for once in his life

hated Danzo

his friendship with Gai is adorable

the way he teases Tenzo is fun

he’s known as cool and aloof but in reality he’s a huge dork

Gai would want him to win

Tsunade

milf….

was the best hokage

the regulation she created to include medics on every team saved so many lives

she's funny and a complex and interesting character

is a bad bitch

probably THE most competently written female character in the entire series

she has a very rich history that plays into her character's actions and motivations

wanting to be the best medic-nin possible in order to save more lives because she lost her love Dan, and also change the way ninja squads operated to always have a medic to save more lives did so much for the better during the war to reduce casualties

after being broken down by so many people she cares about dying, she dips and leaves behind ninja society, which has taken everything from her (including wiping out her clan)

because Tsunade is also one of the most legendary/strongest ninja alive, no one could really stop her or chain her down. It takes the conviction of a child who wants her to save the village and heal his friends to get her back to Konoha, despite the all the trauma she's endured

she's a medic with a fear of blood that overcomes that to fight her own teammate and beat his ass so Orochimaru stops killing and maiming people

she steps up to be a leader because it's what the new generation need and someone has to fix all the stuff broken by her selfish teammates and old teacher

the strongest female character both in physical strength and the strength of her writing. It's like she was written first as a character versus most of the other female characters being written first as Girl and Love Interest

Tsunade is vain and a chronic gambler and drunk, she is really brash and abrasive, she is traumatized. But she's also deeply caring, an incredibly accomplished woman, one of the smartest people/medics in the world, and a great leader

she's multi-layered. She is a woman, but her entire character isn't just Woman

finally finished the job on Jiraiya on previous poll

strong arms

she is strong and smart and quick as a whip but still soft and caring when it comes to her loved ones. Characters with rough exteriors who are mushy inside are very good

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you Make it | Part 21

Eddie wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. Yes. He lived in a trailer park. But he wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. He had money, he made bank on being weird for the women of Hawkins, he’d made an easy quick buck dealing back in his high school years, and he had many marketable skills that could get him some kind of menial labour kind of job.

Barback, auto repair, retail, manual labour, and of course, music among the few.

So he was never really poor enough to see moths fly from his wallet in place of cash, never poor enough to miss meals on purpose to save money, or to worry about where his next meal was going to come from while hunger gnawed at his gut.

But being able to just. Walk through a supermarket, without having to look at the price of things before putting them into the cart?

That was a level of financial security that he’d not yet attained, and yet there he was. After being given a second cart for himself, and being assured that he could get anything he thought he and Steve might want while John would grab things for himself and Lynda in his own cart, he was set loose with the simple instruction to meet at the checkouts, John would wait for him if he ended up there first and vice versa.

Eddie didn’t think he’d be finishing first though. There were options. He had options. He didn’t have to look at prices, he didn’t have to grab the cheapest things on the shelf, or look for things reduced in price cause they were about to expire.

He didn’t even have to do mental mathematics for taxes because it didn’t matter!

The only thing he had to worry about, the only thing that made Eddie completely certain in the fact that he’d be making John wait for him at the checkouts, was figuring out what Steve might want to eat without making it way too obvious that he didn’t actually know Steve all that well at all.

He was really starting to wish that he’d just sided with Steve about the pizza.

Okay so, contrary to popular belief given his whole. Keg King persona back in high school. Steve Harrington… couldn’t hold his drink.

At least not anymore. He couldn’t even do a hand stand anymore.

Before, he’d been a killer at it, he could drink and drink and drink, he was like a fish with it, king of the drinking games, lording it over the popular crowd as if it were something to actually be proud of, as if it were a genuine accomplishment to be able to out drink your peers.

But he didn’t drink anymore. At least not nearly as often as he used to.

Alcohol was expensive, and he worked minimum wage.

The most he could do was a six pack from the gas station that he and Robin would split out on a picnic blanket in his back yard, staring up at the sky with nothing but the glow of the pool lights to dim the stars above, laughing about their failed conquests and making plans neither of them could really afford to see through.

Back to the point, Steve, and Lynda Harrington, had found ol Mags’ stash of cheaper reds.

Not quite the big bucks bottles lining the shelves of the wine cellar which Steve, despite them being his now thank you very much grandparents and their ridiculously generous will, wouldn’t touch, but definitely heavy hitting enough to lighten any terrible lows that may have lingered after their earlier spat.

Which led them to their current predicament. Laying on the rug in the living room in front of a crackling fireplace, two glasses of wine between them, and two half empty bottles.

One each of course, they weren’t going to share just one, what were they? Poor?

Steve, feeling curious about a thing that’d come up once as a small, throwaway thought, now the only thing he could think about as he stared at the wooden beams that made up the ceiling and having zero inhibitions stopping him from asking it, so he asked, “How come you never brought up Robin?”

“Hm?” His mother turned to him, cheeks flushed a warm pink, she never could hold her alcohol, he’d gotten that skill from his dad, however fleeting his use of it had been. “Your friend?”

“Yeah, Robbie’s great, why’d you never… why’d you never try’n set me up with Robbie, wh’ts wrong with Robbie?” He didn’t think she meant to laugh quite as condescendingly as she had, but it definitely sounded like that as she burst out laughing. “Tried every girl but Robbie—s’not funny!”

“Oh, sweetheart, my little baby boy, Eddie… Eddie is lovely. You’re not… not thinking of leaving him for Robin are you?” That slight infliction on her name, what was wrong with Robin?! And then— “B’cause, cause… Jesus—baby, sweetie, you’re not— she’s not—it’s not… hm.” She looked at her almost empty glass as if it’d offended her, then placed it down to look at him again “It’s s’not my place… if you don’t know, s’not my place to tell you!”

“What do you know?” He pushed himself up onto his rear, shaking his head for a moment to clear up the spinny feeling that followed him moving “I—I know everything, Robbie tells me everythin but you… you don’t—what do you know about Robbie?”

“Pfft, sweetheart if you want a chance with Robin then, I’m sorry you’re definitely not aware of everything and that’s surprising, does she know you’re… you know… safe? To talk to I mean? You seemed so close I thought she’d have told you!” Granted, half of the words she was saying were slurred, but not slurred enough that he couldn’t make them out, and they were ringing all the alarm bells his brain could possibly conjure.

What did his mother know, and how had she found it out? “I don’t, I just—I was just wondering why you never—I thought maybe you didn’t think she cut it or something stupid, she’s told me everythin but that doesn’t explain why you know… or what you know, what do you know?”

And now his mother was up, sitting up straight doing the exact same thing as him, shaking off that little spinny spin the world decided to do as she sat up too fast. “Robin is perfect, Steven. Truly a one of a kind, kind of young woman.” The slurring had reduced the more serious she’d become, as if the alcohol couldn’t quite touch the severity of what they were now talking about “she also doodles quite obscene things on her shoes. I saw them in the rack not the last time we were home, the time before it? When she stayed the night? Those ratty old canvas things she wore covered in marker scribbles… most young ladies don't doodle breasts on their shoes, and they certainly don’t write about going 'down' on someone’s sister… I… figured it out. I also know that this isn’t something we should be talking about without her being aware of it.” Or at all, really.

She was right. As usual, his mother was right, he even knew she was right about the pizza, he always broke out a little after Tony’s, a few spots would always appear around his mouth that’d drive him insane, so he knew she was right about the groceries too, but yet…

It was so hard to admit that she was right.

“She uh… she was talking about what you guys were doin before we came out here y’know?” But if his mother knew about Robin then… maybe it wasn’t bad to talk about it. His mom regarded him with a curious expression but didn’t ask him to elaborate, didn’t stop him from elaborating either though “the matchmaking thing? I was complaining about it, cause… y’know… I had someone already” no he didn’t, but the excuse of ‘they all sucked’ probably wouldn’t go down very well. “And she said she wished you’d try setting her up with someone…” it was probably a joke but then…

Robin had been struggling.

The uncertainty in approaching queer dating in a small town like Hawkins was… scary. It was terrifying. They were only getting older, there’d only be so many more chances to experience things and trying to experience things later in life while being a big ol bundle of inexperienced anxiety?

Not fun, Steve didn’t want that for Robin. He wanted her to experience things. To be confident in herself because he loved her. He wanted nice things for her. And nice things involved kissing pretty ladies.

“Really?” Oh that little lightbulb, the devious little twinkle in her eyes, her passion reignited, aimed at a much more deserving and probably receptive target “Oh! Sweetie she should have said, second we get home, give her my personal number, okay? It’s up to her to call me but I would— I have a rolodex of names, an it’ll only the best for—for Robin.” Lynda would find that girl a hot sugar mama even if it killed her.

“You’d do that for her?” Steve put a hand to his chest, touched in a way he couldn’t really describe.

“Oh sweetheart, of course I’d do that for her, she makes you so happy, you just… you light up whenever you’re around her an I know it’s not cause you’re dating her because, unless there’s another conversation we need to be having, you’re really not her type. I know she makes you happy. And I know—I know I don’t say it very often—” her voice was wibbling, and oh boy if she was going to cry, then he’d start crying and they’d be a mess “but I’d—" her voice cracked, oh no “I’d move mountains for—for anything—anyone that makes you happy, sweetheart.”

And that was how Eddie and John found them ten minutes later after shaking the snow from their bodies, grocery bags in hand. The mother and son duo bawling together on the carpet, two bottles into the reds, wondering a very simple “what the fuck...?” voiced by a very confused Eddie.

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 3

Propaganda Under Cut

Kairi

kairi is the third protagonist of the kingdom hearts series and the third member of the destiny trio, alongside fan favorites sora and riku. sora/riku shippers HATE kairi, and will go out of their way to discount her at every turn. the hate for her ranges from typical "she's a boring bitch" to fans of soriku making five-hour long video essays reassuring their fellow shippers that the big bad kairi won't show up in the next installment – to quote one video, "she's in a box. she's on the shelf. four walls, no door." kairi is the greatest bogeyman the soriku fandom has ever known, to the point where most of said video essays and fanon meta posts focus not on why sora and riku should get together, but rather on why they don't like kairi.

Literally has a 100+ page Google doc fan theory writing her out of the narrative and putting all of her (few) canonical accomplishments onto half of the popular m/m ship (soriku). Don't even get me started on how her memory was completely written out of the canon plot of re:coded. KH is a nightmare to explain so dude trust me she is THE victim of yaoi

She is so fundamental to the plot and themes and narratives of game and yet it is near impossible to find anything about her thats not ship bashing pre-mlm with the other two characters. I dont even care if she ends up with one of the main characters i just want fans to see her as a cool character to love or like, anything other than “annoying comphet girl.” You can write your mlm but pleaae stop inventing comphet where it doesnt exist. She does not even get to spend time with sora ever?? Why does everyone see her as a threat and a thing to destroy?? Let her have friends so help me

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Sursum Corda

Lt. "Lift your hearts/souls", a call to worship before prayer

18+ | 4k. words | Alexander Anderson x f! Reader | explicit | angst | hurt/comfort | mentions of disfigurement | slight bondage, choking and tentacle stuff | not proofread

A/N: Glad to hear there's more people wanting to fuck the biblically accurate rosebush! Also you know me, no smut without eons of buildup.

If that's not your cup of tea don't read it, I'm not responsible for your media consumption. English is not my first language.

Anderson has been haunted by god all his life, way before he had become this...thing.

It was all he ever wanted, wasn't it? To become a vessel, an unfeeling tool to implement God's will on earth, the personification of his wrath against all evil that defies him.

Only briefly his wish was granted and his consciousness fell silent in the bliss of this all-consuming holy duty. Finally, the personal hell that was his own mind came to a halt and was replaced by something far beyond his wildest imagination.

All the worse was his fall from grace when that very same God had forsaken him after he failed to accomplish his mission. At least on the outside Millenium's scheme successfully erased Alucard from existence, so the Judas Priest was granted control over himself once again as well.

Only now he was changed, evermore.

What returned from the battlefield was merely a shadow of his former self, the remnants of his possession leaving him more forlorn than ever before.

A 'Monster of God' is still a monster nonetheless, especially after it's Lord has abandoned his creation.

And beings like he called one himself now were akin to animals in their instincts, if not worse. Their nature driven not by necessity, but a selfish urge to consume in order to ease their yearning for death, to regain a fraction of the humanity they once lost.

This past, this reality felt an eternity away now, even though not a whole day had gone by.

Before he knew it, in his exasperation Anderson had taken what he had rightfully denied himself all those years.

But he simply cannot stay away no longer. Not if you're the only thing in his life that still made sense.

The 'old' Anderson was by far not an innocent man either, but while that version of him may have been strong enough to resist, the broken abomination he had reduced himself to was driven by a completely different obsession.

It could only be described as a horror scenario how the former protector of the orphanage invaded these holy grounds himself. Yet though he could never bring harm upon any of them, at that moment he also held no regards for the mental scars he would leave them with after bearing witness to the consequences of his actions:

Thorned vines were sprouting everywhere from his body, to the point that it was hauntingly indistinct where they ended and he began. Half of his face was missing, now replaced by a barely recognizeable, inhumane mockery of the man you once knew.

All you remember was the panicked screams of church members in face of an unidentified threat, all of you trying to guide the children to safety when suddenly your eyes locked with all too familiar ones - but they held a gleam to them as if something in him was set ablaze.

Initially thinking he was turned and lost himself in a bloodrage, you screamed his name, tried to reason with the children's sake for him to stop this madness, but he was so insanely fast that you couldn't even react before you were enveloped in what appeared to be vines and dragged away.

Next thing you knew was that you woke up in his arms instead, safe and sound at least for now.

You had a vague idea where you were, he once told you about this small hut in the Scottish outskirts. Nothing fancy really, just a tiny log cabin far away from any civilization. An inheritance after his parents early passing, the only thing he got that connects him to the people he never really got to know. Their untimely deaths marked the beginning of his sheer neverending ordeal.

Anderson hasn't spoken a single word ever since he snatched you away, in fact the only sounds leaving his throat are what one could only describe as the wailing of a rogue beast. His massive shoulders were whacking with every sob as he desperately clung to your much smaller form, like a child would hold a stuffed toy for comfort.

All of this felt like a neverending nightmare and yet he fears if he ever wakes up, you'd disappear as well.

Because there's no surviving you. Losing you too would end what's left of him.

He's lying on the mattress besides you, pressing your back flush against his chest with frightening vigor yet also the utmost gentleness as if afraid to hurt you with this frightening strenght. Nothing goes past his heightened senses, from your breathing pattern over your erratic heartbeat and up to the way your muscles contract with every small movement.

You were calm, too calm for someone in your predicament and even if he wasn't currently breaking down right next to you, he wouldn't be able to make sense of why that is.

Especially because he perceived other sensations along with that, appealingly silencing his voice of reason. Like the feel of your tender flesh, pliant under his palm or that intoxicating scent of yours hanging in the air, pheromones so intense as if your body was calling out for him.

It made him sick with want.

How utterly unworthy he is of your presence, and yet he had grown addicted to it without any of your intervention.

He is no better than the demons he had sworn to cleanse the world of, and now feeling their allconsuming hunger as his own is frightening even to himself.

Since it wasn't a hunger that could be satiated by feeding, no. It was something far more possessive and depraved.

A man like him wasn't allowed to love in any way else than pure, and yet here he was, his judgement threatened to be overthrown by desire.

He hates what you do to him, and he especially hates what he wants to do to you.

You started to shift with the intent to face him, but were once again met with dark green tendrils, meandering their way around your body and effectively keeping you in place. They surprisingly didn't hurt, were freed of any thorns as they wrapped themselves securely to your skin.

"Don't-" His booming, distorted voice was laced with undeniable agony and shame. "Don't look at me...please..."

"Anderson..." It felt like this name wasn't his own anymore, and yet hearing it again shook a violent tremor through his body. "You're alive...I thought you were-" You let out a strangled yet relieved whimmer, having tormented yourself ever since he left for the war in London. "I was worried sick...I'm so glad...I- please, I need to see you."

Out of everything he was bracing himself for, it was those particular words that rendered him speechless. He had expected fear, revulsion, anger. For you to scream and shout and cry, lash out or resist. To admonish him for what he's done, beg him to let you go or at least not to hurt you. Anything but this.

There was not an ounce of hatred in your tone - the opposite was the case.

Your soul truly is a mystery he'll never unfold.

If anything, your deeds only elevate your further in his mind, envisions you to what comes closest to an angel for a wretch like him.

Anderson gazes away as he allows you to turn around, unable to look at you as if the brightness of your being was like staring directly into the sun.

"Dear God...what happened?!" He weakly shook his head in defeat, a silent plea to not inquire any further for now. He was not ready to tell you this long, painful story just yet and he knew you'd be understanding. You always were for this reckless fool that he was before. "It's insignificant. All that matters is that you're alright." He was far from that, honestly.

You cupped his cheeks, fingers entangling in the vines stemming from his left side. Anderson was astonished with how boldly you touched them, not a sign of hesistance or disgust in the way you cradled his head in your hands. He seemed visibly torn to just dwell in this balmy feel, fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness, or telling you to run for it and never look back.

"Is it really you?" you ask meekly and without forethought, the stubble of his beard prickling your palm. His skin was greyish-pale, eyes glowing unnaturally, and the half of his mouth that was missing was equipped with razor sharp canines. He looks more like a reanimated corpse than anything, but you wouldn't say this aloud.

And yet you couldn't feel happier, couldn't feel more safe than in his embrace.

"...God has accursed me."

"No, he hasn't." You say firmly, pulling him down to lean his forehead against yours and he'd close his eyes in a pathetic attempt not to cry. "God has sent you back to me in his infinite wisdom and benevolence, and I will forever be grateful for this."

That's not right he thinks quietly, God doesn't reward sinners.

After all, he has failed you and everyone he's vowed to protect due to his own shortcomings. Hell, he abducted you, trapped you here with no way of escaping, and he knew even if you tried he wouldn't- couldn't let you leave.

Because in his religious fervor he became the very thing he seeked to destroy.

"I love you." It's the first time he's confessed this to anyone besides God. "You don't have to love me back. You don't have to be mine. Just...let me be yours.”

Anderson is aware that this is terribly wrong. He was fighting against his inner demons, against this torturous desire for so long already - but now that everything and everyone he ever believed in has literally turned into ashes, you were all that he had left.

You could faintly hear the violent drum of his heart, this behemoth behaving more like a child that's about to be chided. Upset, his tendrils coil even tighter around your middle, making it quite uncomfortable to breathe. He didn't want to scare you, hell, let alone force you - he was just genuinely terrified of your answer.

Whatever comes next was up to you, and he'd gladly accept it. You could either absolve him or throw him into the deepest pits of hell.

In the end, you decided to let your actions convey words you weren't able to form.

Your lips brushed against his, soft and featherlight, like the wings of a butterfly that had just settled on a venus flytrap. He gasped at the sensation, your breaths mingling as you refused to let go.

It took everything inside of him to not pounce on you right this instant, to not ruin this moment and give in to the dark desire that only kept growing at the display of your mutual affection.

Your love is both salvation and damnation, and he wasn't sure yet whether he could trust himself handling such an incredible gift.

Upon feeling you deepening the kiss, your tongue demanding entrance, Anderson manages to tear himself away from you - and it felt like removing a bandaid from a wound that hasn't nearly healed. You let out a protesting noise, your hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer again, but he wouldn't cave and instead softly grabbed your shoulders.

"Stop." His demand was stern, but you could see the tempest brewing beneath. You glance up at him, confused but ever so trusting, and he can't help but place a chaste kiss into your hair. "You shouldn't- you don't have to do this."

You furrow your brows, an adorable little pout curling your lips that almost cracks a smile out of him despite the circumstance. "I know. But I want to."

"Really, dear, just having you here with me is more than I could ever ask for" he insisted, secretly apprehensive that you might only play along to appease the monstrous lunatic that held you hostage. He was obviously instable and could tear you apart with ease, so of course you would be scared and willing to do or say anything to save yourself.

...that was until he set eyes upon that radiating smile of yours.

He had seen it so many times before, and he could never get enough: When you were at a particulary intriguing part of a book you were reading, when you were admiring the flowers blossoming in the courtyard, when you were playing with the orphans or tended to animals you'd occasionally bring in to nurse them back to health.

Not to mention how often you gifted him that smile in the past, and it never failed to make him long to be the only one to receive it, the only one to be able to make you happy like that.

This one was so bright, so sincere, it made him temporarily forget about his pitiful existence and all doubts that came along with it.

"That's by far not the first grave mistake you made" you chuckle softly, intertwining your fingers with his. "We'll figure it out like we always do. And even if we don't I'll be there for you. I promise."

Indeed, over the years you were one of, if not the only constant in his life, aiding him through all kinds of hardships as best as you could.

Back then he never bothered himself whether you reciprocated his feelings or not, since he never intended to act upon them either way. If anything he loathed himself for these thoughts, for mentally degrading you to anything less than the precious, graceful creature you are.

Yes, he needs to pull himself together. He should never defile you like this....not before, and certainly not as he is now.

"Alex..." you chant the endearing nickname with such an alluring voice, his vines started to act subconsciously. Against his self-restraint, they slither under your shirt and up your neck, and you giggle at the tickling as one played with the shell of your ear. You peck a loving kiss on one of the tendrils, your acceptance of his state only causing him to involuntarily pull you even closer this time.

The beast inside of him is gnawing and clawing, demands to take what you offer to fill this all-consuming emptiness.

"I love you too, Alexander Anderson. For a long, long time already...I belong to you, body and soul. Whatever you need, whatever you want, let me help you with it like I always have."

Your confession was the last drop that caused his heart and mind to overflow.

If this is what it takes to feel human again, then so be it.

In an instant Anderson's vines wrap around your wrists and ankles, effectively pinning you down on your back. They eagerly tether under your clothes, around the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist before tearing the fabric apart with one swift movement.

He kneels in front of your body, his large elongated shadow falling on your bare form. You shiver as the cold air hits your skin, moreso after seeing Anderson's intense gaze raking up and down your body. His chest is having with every breath, as if to desperately trying to hold back whatever urges his twisted mind cojured.

"It's alright...I would never hurt you...you're fine...I mustn't hurt you...I won't hurt you..." He repeats those words like a mantra, as if to reassure himself rather than you. Still, several tendrils trace the path of your jugular vein, up to the pulse point on your neck, lingering there tentatively before feebly wrapping around it.

You let out a sensual sigh as his vines keep caressing every inch of your body, lust-filled eyes invitingly blinking up to him. "I know...I-ah! I trust you, Anderson...with every fibre of my being..."

He almost whines at that, at the fact that your words all too effortlessly mend his scattered parts back together.

The long, warm appendages wrap around your calves, dividing your legs apart and presenting your dripping core to his sight. You whimper as one thicker trunk flicked up and down your folds, another one tightening around your mid to keep you in place.

"Heavens, you're divine..." Anderson is shaking in a mixture of anticipation and curiosity, the newfound usage of his powers both blessing and curse. It's monstrous, abnormal, and yet the only way to bring enough distance between you and him to not lose himself in the heat of the moment.

"If you get scared...if you don't like it...you will tell me" he rasps as several vines align with your entrance, his voice betraying his near obsession with the abstract of your body. "Immediately. Promise me."

You look at him through half-lidded eyes, still ever so trusting, the gravity of your voice matching his. "I promise."

As soon as those words left your lips one, two and then more of his vines work themselves inside of you. Others busy themselves encircling and kneading your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh of your nipples into harness.

Your head falls back in ecstasy, unable to move to adjust the foreign sensation as you faintly hear Anderson growling about worshipping you the way you deserve.

His mouth is slightly agape, mesmerized as he observed you squirm around the restrictions, seeing how you still eagerly try moving your hips towards the cause of your pleasure.

The appendages, now slick with your ambrosia, move in and out as they fill the room with lewd noise, makes your mind and body submit to the overwhelming arousal. One of them curls inside you just right, grazing over a web of tissue that sends weakness trailing up your spine, across your hips and down your legs, making your toes curl.

The vines being an extension of himself makes the sensation of them touching you blend into a mosaic of pain and pleasure, sweet torture being so close to you and yet too far away.

Feeling your walls clench around them makes him throb helplessly, the damp spot at the front of his cassock proof of his desparation.

He alomost comes undone at the sheer sight of you, tits bouncing and a bulge poking below your tummy with every thrust.

"Look at you...so malleable, taking it all so well..." he emphasizes every word with a thrust of his, "This must be what Adam had felt when he first set eyes upon Eve - having a part of his heart besides him, each one half of a united whole."

Having mercy with you his gloved hand finds your clit, tending to the bundle of nerves and sending you over the edge in mere moments. You feel a tide of ecstasy wash over you, hips jolting with every wet, lewd thrust up into your core.

You whine as he jolts out of you all too sudden, still sensitive and nearly raw from the force of it, just for the vines to bully themselves into your mouth instead, letting you taste your own lust on your lips.

Anderson watches almost hypnotized as you lick them clean, the slight gloss of your eyes making him doubt his actions briefly, clearing the lust-induzed haze on his mind.

"Are you okay, love?" he murmurs darkly, yet no less mindful or concerned. You nod mutely, a content smile playing on your lips as you were still caught in the aftermath of your orgasm. "Good. Good. I'm not done yet. I still need you."

Finally, he leans over, his cheek faintly stroking yours as he closes the gap between you and even with all the preparation, it takes you a while to adjust to his size and girth. He went in slow, letting you feel the stretch of every inch, bit by bit till he reaches the hilt, and you let out a muffled whine at the fullness.

"Shh...I got you..." he whispers, stilling inside of you until you signalize him you're ready for him to start moving. He rolls his hips slowly, carefully, his hands finding purchase with your own as he keeps up the sensual pace. "I love you" he repeats solemny, leading one hand of yours to rest at the spot where the Helena's Nail was still deeply buried in his chest. "I spent too much of my life guarding my heart...and now I can't even tell you if there's still one inside of me anymore, but if there is...it's yours."

Tears spill over the rim of your eyes and down your cheeks, only to be wiped away by thorned vines. Almost poetic.

"I love you too!" you exclaim, throwing the words right back at him, unable to form any more coherent sentences as your mind went blank for a second time.

Both of you entangle with the other, unwilling to ever let go, and even after your second climax Anderson seems to be determined to pull out more from you.

His vines pull you onto his lap now, lifting and bouncing you onto his cock while your name drops from his lips like a profession of faith. Its too much, the feeling of being filled and enveloped at once until all you can feel is him.

"A-Anderson, I can't-" your voice is rising and cracking sharply as another peak builds up inside of you. "I'm right behind you, love. Let yourself fall, I'll catch you."

His lips crush over yours again, drinking in your moans as if he needs you more than the blood in his veins.

For a moment your vision went blank and you almost grew limp from exhaustion, but even after the vines retreated you were caught in Anderson's embrace. Leaving kisses in his wake, he notices all the small cuts and bruises his vines nearly seared on you as they explored you earlier.

Anderson clings to you like you're his lifeline, his voice gravely concerned as he massages the marking loveletter he unintentionally wrote on your skin in his possessive fenzy. "I'm sorry...im so sorry...I should've controlled myself better..."

Wanting to give you space he rolls to lie on his back, but you snuggle onto him, pillowing your head on his shoulder and draping an arm over his stomach like he was a massive teddy bear.

"Ive never been better, really. That was...I don't even know how to begin describing it...I would've never dared dreaming of ever being this close to you." you gently, dreamily affirm him, absentmindedly letting a hand run over the vines on his chest. "Thank you for coming back to me, Alex."

A slow hum of bliss vibrates in his chest as he lets your words seep into his soul, his arm securely tucking around your waist. "I’m scared to death that I’ll let you down again, but I won’t run from myself this time."

"I believe in you. You are a good person and you deserve to be happy, Anderson. You just need to allow yourself to be." There is a dash of hopefulness in the way his face relaxes as he listens. "Say, I had a bag on me when you...you know, took me. Where is it?"

Anderson's brow furrowed but he wouldn't question your demand, his vines stretching across the room to bring you the small bagpack you always carried everywhere. He watches intently as you rummage inside of it, laughing internally as you happily pluck out a small case. "You still carry this with you?"

"Always!" you cheer, opening it to reveal an exact replica of his glasses. "No wonder with how often you break them."

Finally, he found himself able to mirror your smile. It's more of a snarl than anything, however it doesn't fail to convey the depht of his affection and gratitude.

Anderson closes his eyes, tilting his head downwards in reverence as you set the glasses on his nose - a symbol that no matter how he had changed, deep down he was still the same man, no matter what.

"Welcome back, Alexander."

[windvexer]

Hi my fav chicken! I have some hard time researching transmutation magick.

On YouTube I’ve watched videos but they do not explain that very well, they just post their own weird spells:/

On tumblr it’s also hard.

I’ve saw ppl saying that 1. When someone random is talking bad about them they r transmuting that energy into free energy for their spells/manifestations etc 2. When they r depressed they r transmuting energy into manifestations etc. 3. They have as well transmuting wards.

And I’d really want to have all of these 3 points though I cannot find good resources. That’s why I’m asking u, would u mind maybe explaining all of those 3 points and maybe giving a lil tutorials and perhaps spells? Thank u for all of u are doing, u are my #1 profile on tumblr and witchystuff xx

Hi!

I'm afraid I will not be your #1 profile on this one.

These beliefs do not fit into my practice of sorcery. This is more or less the opposite of how sorcery works for me.

I don't mean to say that I am practicing the ultimate best form of sorcery and other people are doing it wrong. It's just that the idea does not fit into the school of sorcery I practice.

The idea that all energies can be reduced down to a "free energy" that can be used for any purpose might be true. I don't know if it is.

Here are my thoughts on it:

If you have to transmute energy before you can use it, that means it is not suitable for what you want to use it for.

Finding energies suitable for the task you need, and learning how to gather and store them, is beginner-level witchcraft.

The world is freeflowing with abundant magical energies. If a person has sorcerous abilities, they do not need random people to say bad things about them in order to power their spells.

They could just more or less permanently attach their spells to beneficial energies that power them perpetually.

And then they could cast a spell to get random people to stop saying bad things about them, which to me seems like the preferable option.

Mental illness may or may not be generating its own energies in any particular situation. An exercise that attempts to drain away these energies may be a helpful (if temporary) treatment for symptoms.

But that energy does not need to be used to power spells. It can just be sent away.

I have heard arguments that witches have a responsibility to transmute energies they don't like, which I disagree with. I may not like a cold wetland, but I don't have to reduce it to Formless Biome. I can send it to an alligator, who will like it just fine.

Transmuting wards I have more direct experience with. I understand the point; transform the energy encroaching upon you into something else, and it can't accumulate and come back to haunt you.

This is a decent idea. I wrote up a banishing thing which functionally does this. Take a look at the banishing portion; the invocation seeks to transform the nature of unwanted energies so that they fade back into the universe like droplets of water fading into a biome.

But transforming energy isn't the same thing as keeping it around to work over it so it is possible to use it in a helpful way.

All this being said: I imagine those things you mention are possible. I bet they could be done. It's just that I don't have anything useful to say about accomplishing them, because I don't personally see it as a useful thing to do.

I was just chatting with some friends about this topic. Perhaps @rosecoloredtarot and @elminx might have different thoughts about this?

[mercysought]

drabble of the priestess fighting a champion of elgar'nan during the war after the rebellion started

The fight was to be a short one.

Him a Champion of Elgar'nan, trained in the ways of the All-Father himself in ways that no one outside of the hallowed halls were to know. Ga'rajelan had known that it would be a matter of luck, dumb sheer luck that would see her exist this battle whole; breathing.

But he stood in the sea of corpses that had once been her soldiers. And behind her, her Reflection worked in the temple to do what they had been ordered to accomplish. If she were to die, and they were to succeed in the work. Then her death would have been worth it.

The fight against a dreamer, born and taugh, was always a frought one when one didn't hold such gifts. However, as the Ga'rajelan found out, it was not - in itself - without flaws. Each temple had their own set of instructions, of wants, the shape of the hands which moulded such soldiers were often the same. The weaving was different but with enough of a similarity where if observed for long enough, cut down often enough, patterns emerged.

When snow starts clawing at the bottom of her darkened foot the thought to the Duel of a Hundred Years. It was a tale as old as time now, that to defeat one of Falon'din's own that one need only choke the weeds which fed them.

It does not surprise her; to feel the cold suddenly wrap and attempt to choke the air from her very lungs. The bright light reflected from his armour, from within, and blinding her against the white of the snow that materialised around them. It did surprise her, however, when his hand was felt against the side of her helmet, long armoured fingers digging into the darkened metal. It dents the metal, sinking into her forehead, cutting through the hairline into eyebrow.

She feels the warm blood drip, but the helmet stays in place.

Second: Elgar'nan's soldiers, or as they were called "the enlightened army", would always attempt to unmask an enemy of particular interest.

She relases her glave immediately, hearing it drop on the floor as both of her hands dive into the armour and flesh of the other. From her wound, the flood drips from, down her face to her chin, called upon to perform its duty. Wrapping around her wrists and fingers it sharpens her fingers into glistening claws. Sinking, sinking deeper until a crack could be heard.

The pressure on her face reduces. With a flicker of her wrists two large, building roots erupt from the ground. Jumping atop them she runs as they lift in the air, allowing her to leap over the figure, both claws raised. The Champion snaps back to focus, the roots stop and twist, crack and creak pulling at their own nature and crashing into her.

Her body hits a tree, collapsing onto the ground, an involuntary moan escapes her lips as her head crashes against the ground. Beneath her the ground rumbles and she rises to her feet, starting to move along the tree lines in the deepest recesses as to avoid being seen. Around her ankle a root sinks into her flesh, picking her up from the ground, slamming her against the nearest trunk. Once more, slamming her against the ground.

The earth itself slowly starts pulling her down. The steps are staggered, but he approached her.

   "It's always the same with you all." he spits. Dragging himself slowly, holding onto his large sword where she stood.

   "Scurrying around like mice, in the shadows." the priestess cannot see him, but she can hear the curl of disgust on his lips "One could almost confuse you for the betrayer's wolves." she could see him, hovering, looming over her with a blade as a bright as daylight, its edge pointed to her as she felt herself sinking "Die. Should you reach your Shepherd, tell him nothing but ash awaits his kingdom."

Something makes him stop. The dirt around her doesn't pull her down, but it remains liquid. A light shade of red simmering just beneath the surface. Around her body, small, almost invisible links of bark and red weave themselves together all around her body. Preventing her from taking the whole impact of the fall. Preventing her from sinking.

Holding onto his ankle, she pulls him, his heavy body thuds against her. Her legs link around the back of his body, hands around his neck, fingers covering his mouth and sinking until they felt flesh. Beneath her the earth shook, she could feel flames and thick lava threaten to shake and pour from beneath, however, the dirt was wet. Wet with her blood and how she was thirsty.

She would drink her blood long before it would allow itself to crack beneath the searing heat.

He screams until he cannot. Bones crush under heavy claws. Muscle bends and breaks. Beneath her fingers she feels life itself twist in a way that few dreamers could ever imagine. Would ever imagine. She turns once more on the dirt, still holding onto him. The thirsty land beneath beckons to him.

   "Call to your Father, child of the Sun."

She says, seeing where her glave had been dropped, dragging herself slowly towards it.

The gurgling is sickening, like the crunching of bones against gnawing teeth. Her hand steadies the bleeding, thinning it out like a needle and keeping the skin shut. It weaves around begging fingers at his throat, desperate fingers to keep whatever breath still remained, keep a dying heart steady. She pushes him off her, seeing his body land with a thud. Shifting and shaking onto their stomach, both hands now at the throat.

Ga'rajelan's hands, dripping blood, reached one more to her fell glave. The other hand, thumb and indicator closed together, held the thinnest bright red blade. The gold and red helmet half broken, exposing a single green eye. It looked up at her with unmasked panic. The bottom metal that covered his mouth had been completely ripped off. There now hang their jaw: A open mouth that cannot scream. Only red, thick blood, coughed up as he drags himself across the wet grass. Ga'rajelan looks to him, face hidden behind her bloody, dirty helmet.

   "Beg Him," the bottom of her glave touches the ground, helping her get to her feet. She coughs, the copper is heavy on her tongue. In the air "Beg Him for forgiveness."

With a grunt, the bloody roots beneath her feet hooking around her body, weaving into her legs and providing the support to allow her to continue walking. Sliding over the dew, pushing past the corpses of her own comrades or the minions of the All Father. He hummed, muffled screaming as she could see his eyes fall on the sword that had fallen. He was slow; and his heartbeat was slowly unravelling.

It would not take long. Just long enough for her to perform the final rites.

Pushing with the top of her boot on his chest, he relents, stopping on his tracks. Forehead to the ground. Ga'rajelan holds onto her weapon, her full body weight pressing down on her beneath her armour, shoulders slumping, lungs screaming. Breathing deeply, she straightens her back.

   "I want Him to know that one of his champions was defeated by me."

Leaning down, she lifts him so that he is kneeling. Softly, carefully, with bloody fingers sharpened still into claws she pulls the helmet away from his head. Long weaving hair of pure copper are glued to his head with blood and sweat. His eyes stare at her; fear, desperation, horror, disgust, self-hatred. They pour from him like a dying but well oiled machine. These were the lifeblood of those that toiled under the endless sun.

No, not the endless sun, no eternal sun.

She smiled and felt for the first time in a very long time the sharpened teeth pulling at her lips in a way that the disruption of her youth could. They pull her lips back unti she feels her face twist into something she hadn't felt in a very long time. Her parents had named her after Him, was it not almost part of prophecy? Or pride that she should be the one to kill His champions here they stood against her?

The woman pushes the hair away from their forehead, tracking the beginning of their vallas'lin until the brow.

   "Not a champion of the Shepherd of the Dead, not even a hand selected soldier amongst dreamers. Not a handcrafted soul to serve with single purpose..." and yet where she was moved she followed through. She succeeded.

Crawling from muck and nothing, she had torn through every single challenge that had been placed before her and stood bloody and bruise at the end.

   "No one." from behind the helmet, the champion would have been able to hear her lips curl, the laughter in her voice. Amusement drips from each second that it stretches between the last sentence and what follows. Her own blood feels warm on her face as it drips down from her gashed forehead "But able to tear out one of the Sun Tamer's own rays all the same."

The enlightened army. The one green eye looked at her, the shimmer of the light as a direct blessing of the all father looked at her like a second irises. The woman wanted to remove her own helmet. She did. To have him look upon her and know: I shall tear down your crown, drag your children through the darkest forests and sink my teeth into their deepest fears. And, because he would never know who she was, she would keep doing it until she was dead.

And after the Shepherd took her into the beyond, another, just as capable would take her place.

   "Tell Him I will consume his lands: no light or darkness shall remain: only oblivion."

[furious-haste-of-malice]

AN: I promised to write a little something for @sortumavaara a while ago, so here it is! Based on and inspired by this artwork.

dark romance prompts

♡ prompt: taboo & overstimulation | Glorfindel x Erestor ♡ synopsis: Glorfindel wants - needs - Erestor and hatches a new plan to make it happen, even if it means breaking a few teeny tiny rules and taboos ♡ warnings: highly dub-con/non-con, aphrodisiacs, obsession, unhinged horny & delusional Glorfy ♡ short oneshot (~800 words)

The thought that he shouldn't do this had crossed Glorfindel's mind. 

But the voice of reason had, in time, been drowned out by his desire, no, need to bed Erestor again, a feeling that had taken over his very mind and every waking thought. 

It was perhaps, as Glorfindel had also considered, not entirely right to feel this way, yet such a notion again did little to dissuade him; in fact, he had always found it rather arousing to break rules and taboos. 

And his favourite lover would enjoy it, he was certain. 

Erestor's cheeks were flushed bright red and his breathing was heavy. An empty tea cup sat in front of him, nearly getting knocked over as he sluggishly attempted to prop himself up and rise from his chair. 

"Glorfindel... not this again..."

He was slurring his words and sounded almost petulant, causing Glorfindel to smile, endeared by the display. 

"Yes, beloved. I promised we would try again, didn't I?"

Instead of waiting for a response, he picked up the smaller ellon and carried him over to the bed to begin undoing his robes. Erestor mumbled a few words of weak protest, but Glorfindel opted to stroke the growing bulge between his legs to soothe him. 

"I know it's not easy," he said softly. "After you were so tense last time, I prepared this tea for you. It should make it easier for you to take me. And I'll be careful, I promise." 

All Erestor managed was a groan while his remaining clothes were removed, and Glorfindel quickly discarded his own as well. Despite not having consumed the stimulating beverage himself, his cock was already hard as well, standing between his legs with the pride and poise expected from an accomplished warrior like himself. 

Erestor gulped and tried to rise, but Glorfindel swiftly moved to sit behind him and gathered him in his arms. 

"Let me show you how good it can feel when you're relaxed and ready," he cooed, grasping his lover's thighs to spread his legs wide open. 

Two fingers made their way in-between before Erestor could attempt to close them and gently prodded his entrance. Glorfindel found that he was indeed wet, as was the intended effect of the concoction he had slipped into his tea, yet not quite leaking. The amount of lubrication might still be insufficient to fit his entire length inside that tight little hole, but he was certainly willing to try. 

Placing his hands on the underside of his thighs, he lifted the smaller ellon up to place him on his lap and align his cock with his entrance, and Erestor squirmed in his grasp. 

"No, please," he protested weakly. "Please, my lord. I-I can't. And I promise I won't tell anyone – ah-!" 

Glorfindel attempted to shush him with a kiss, but his lips brushed against his cheek instead as Erestor turned his head to the side. His breath came in heavy gasps upon being breached, taking the warrior's large cock inch by inch. 

"Ssshhhh. You're doing so much better already," Glorfindel praised, holding him in place when he felt resistance. "Look, you managed to take half of me this time!"

"Stop – ngh – please... ah..." Erestor tried once more, but his pleas were soon reduced to small moans and gasps as Glorfindel began to move inside him. 

"We'll up the dosage next time," he reassured him, whispering in his ear. "Then it'll feel even better and you'll be able to take all of me. Doesn't that sound good?" 

He received no reply, but that suited him just fine. With every thrust, his world shrank more and more until it was reduced to the wonderful feeling of hot, wet tightness around his cock, exactly like he had imagined it. Glorfindel barely noticed that Erestor came soon after, and it didn't deter him either; he was simply too sweet when he tried and failed to beg for reprieve and could do nothing except take his cock over and over and over again. 

He loves it, he reminded himself, and one day he'll admit it too. 

Letting out the occasional indulgent moan to inform his lover of his boundless enjoyment, Glorfindel continued to bounce him on his lap and fuck him open until he'd had his fill. 

"You always feel so wonderful, Erestor," he breathed when he released inside him, accentuating his words with a gentle, almost chaste kiss on his cheek. 

Erestor was silent, and his chest was heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Glorfindel placed him on the bed and lay down as well, admiring him. 

"Do you even know how beautiful you are? How cute and precious and delicious?" he continued and leaned down to pepper his face with more kisses. "I can never resist you, beloved..." 

Thanks for reading!

[blueraineshadows]

Secrets of the Night Part 2

Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt

Angst, pining, sexual attraction, slightly non consent touching. NSFW 🔞 Part One

Hogwarts 5th Year

The faint scent of fire and smoke lingered in the air of the Undercroft, and Sebastian felt a smile of satisfaction tug at his lips. It had felt pleasing to teach the new 5th year Confringo. She had picked it up rather well, and Sebastian continued to be impressed by her tenacity and quick mind. She had left him in a good mood, uplifted by her own success at learning the spell, and she had been eager to meet with him and learn more. It gave him a sense of accomplishment and stroked against his ego and pride. It felt good to spend time with a kindred spirit.

At first, he had been reluctant to get too close to her. His mind was taken up with finding ways to help Anne and his twin would always be his top priority, but he had to admit, his new charge was winning him over.

Professor Weasley had nudged him towards assisting the new student, and it had got him out of trouble with Old Scribner, so he had taken her under his wing despite the unwanted distraction of it all. But then Sebastian had found himself intrigued by the secrets this new girl was holding about her sensational arrival and apparent talent for troll slaying. Curiosity had him picking carefully for more information, and she had divulged a little, enough to keep him interested at least.

This girl possessed the ability to wield ancient magic, something he had come across in his many hours reading up on anything that might help with Anne's curse. It was rare, and Sebastian had never imagined that he would ever come across such a thing, and yet here was someone being practically shoved right under his nose. This made the new 5th year even more appealing. If he helped her settle and learn, she could help him save Anne. It was a win-win.

To earn her trust, he had brought her down to the Undercroft. It was a risky thing to do because this was Ominis' place. Sebastian had chewed his lip at betraying the promise he had made to his best friend about keeping the Undercroft a secret. It was all in a good cause, though. Surely, Ominis would understand that. He wanted Anne back at Hogwarts as much as Sebastian did. Maybe he should have spoken to Ominis first about letting her in, like he had done with Anne before. However, Sebastian suspected that Ominis would say no, and he didn't want to risk it. Sebastian needed her, and so he had gone ahead and brought her down into the secret dungeon.

Sebastian pushed his hands through his hair and sighed. Ominis. His best friend. Guilt pulled deep and sharp in his belly. How many times had he averted his curious eyes when Ominis changed his clothes? The temptation to stare and drink in the pale skin, the lean muscle, and teasing glimpses of body hair was strong. It was driving Sebastian mad, and he was reduced to huddling himself in dark privacy to tug himself to a swift release, the image of pale skin and soft pink lips behind his eyes.

It was his guilty secret, his private pleasure that he tried to push down and forget about. His arousing thoughts over his best friend had meant that he wasn't there to protect Anne, and that guilt ate at Sebastian. It gnawed on his conscience like a rabid beast. Yet he still couldn't seem to stop his mind from dwelling on the allure of Ominis. It would always rise up at unexpected moments, and he had started to avoid being around Ominis as much, hiding in the library or, lately, spending more and more time with the intriguing new 5th year.

As the smoke of their fire spell casting dissipated in the cool dungeon of the Undercroft, Sebastian moved towards the chalk boards where scribbled notes were covering every available space. There was something to this ancient magic. He just knew it, but she kept stalling and making excuses. If not this powerful ancient magic, then perhaps something a little less sanctioned would be in order to help Anne. Whatever it took.

The grate of the entrance gate sounded again, and he turned, thinking that perhaps the new 5th year had forgotten something, but it was Ominis who entered, and he looked furious.

"Sebastian!" He called. He lifted his wand, red tip blinking, his features drawn and cold. "I know you are in here. Where are you?"

Sebastian frowned and moved closer, wondering what he had done this time. "I'm here. What is it?"

Ominis swung around in his direction, mouth tightening in rage. Ominis was a composed and impeccably well-spoken boy. Even in his rage, there was a haughty dignity to his aura. His voice was soft, yet it made one shiver with a modicum of fear.

"How dare you bring that girl down here!" He scolded. "This place is our secret. How could you even think of revealing something like this to her? We barely know her!"

Sebastian flinched and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. It had been literally hours since she had stepped foot in here, and Ominis already knew. "How did you know?"

Ominis twisted his lips with exasperation. "I just caught her slinking out of here as I was coming in," he said coldly. "I sent her off with a flea in her ear. What were you thinking?"

Sebastian winced, his earlier satisfaction over his little lesson going well fading, and the guilt swirled back in to torment him. He needed to smooth this over. He needed the new 5th year on his side, which meant getting Ominis on board with her, too.

"She will keep the secret, Ominis. I trust her," he said.

Ominis' face darkened further. "You trust her? She has only been here five minutes, and in that time, she has got herself into all sorts of capers," he seethed. "She lied to my face just now, insisting that she merely stumbled upon this place by accident. She is a liar! You told her about it, didn't you?"

A mix of emotions flooded through Sebastian. He was guilty, of course. He had shown her the Undercroft in an attempt to impress her and win her over to his cause. It was a betrayal of Ominis trust, though, and he did feel bad about that. On the other hand, he was feeling a rush of delight that she had kept her word about trying to keep it a secret. She had remained loyal to Sebastian, and this pleased him a great deal.

"I did show her. I apologise, Ominis," he said carefully. "At least she tried to be loyal and keep the secret. Besides, she is proving to be an excellent witch, I merely wanted to offer her a safe space to practise her magic. I think you will like her, Ominis."

"Do not make such assumptions, Sebastian," Ominis said coldly. "I barely know the girl, and I am uncomfortable about her being in our space. You already spend so much time with her, I can only assume that your betrayal is an attempt to impress her. I have heard she is a pretty thing to look at. Perhaps you are thinking with your pants rather than your head."

Sebastian felt his face flush with heat and he scowled. "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

His eyes travelled over Ominis, the flush of his fury putting a pink stain on his pale cheeks. Sebastian's gaze lingered on those plush lips, and he swallowed hard. He tore his gaze away and pictured the 5th year in his mind. She, too, had a pretty mouth, and she always smelled so nice whenever he was near her. Perhaps she would be a useful distraction from his strange obsession with Ominis, as well as being a helping hand. The suggestion that he had brought her down here for more intimate reasons made his heart pound. Is that what she had thought, too? It hadn't even crossed his mind, but now that it had, he wondered if it would be worth considering it. If not for his own amusement, then to see how Ominis would react to such a thing.

He cleared his throat and looked sideways at Ominis, unable to stop from poking at his already miffed emotions. "So what if she is a pretty thing?" He said quietly. "Is it so bad to want to spend time with her? Have you ever wanted to do that with someone? Anne, perhaps?"

Ominis winced, and his blush deepened. He looked flustered to the point of flapping, and Sebastian turned to face him fully, his eyes narrowing at his obvious discomfort. "I...I...of course not," he stammered.

"So, you do like Anne," Sebastian pushed.

Cold, slippery envy coiled in his guts. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to grab Ominis by his shoulders. His eyes were fixed on those perfect lips as they parted and closed in discomfort, the urge to lean down and bite the lower plump one, making saliva gather in his mouth. He swallowed and stepped closer.

"No, no, not like that," Ominis whimpered. "Anne is dear to me, very dear, but as a sister would be. I don't...I mean..."

Sebastian was right in front of Ominis now, the boy's scent filling him, and Sebastian felt an ache building in his loins. Seeing Ominis so flustered and whimpering was doing things to him, things that made him want to squirm uncomfortably at the hot, tight feel of it. Would Ominis look like that in the throes of his own desire? What would it take to make him shudder and moan? Sebastian tried to stop the tumble of little fantasies rushing through his mind, but they came unbidden to tempt and torture him.

Ominis stilled, his wand lifting a little as he sensed Sebastian's closeness. Sebastian watched as Ominis' throat worked, his pale eyes widening. Did he feel it, too? Did he feel this hot, strange pull that stretched between them? Sebastian's heart pounded at the idea. What if it wasn't one-sided? What if Ominis felt the same? What would that mean for them and their friendship?

Ominis' face tightened, and he stepped back. "I suppose it's a little late to do anything about the new 5th year now," he said bitterly. "She knows. Short of Obliviating her, I suppose we have to now live with it. She had better keep her mouth shut, and don't you dare let me walk in here and catch you fornicating with her. I shall personally see to it that she is out of this school before she can even think of the word Undercroft if she steps one toe out of line."

Sebastian stiffened, his body losing its heat immediately at the icy tone in Ominis' voice at those last words. He could not lose such a useful and powerful witch that could aid him in a cure for Anne. That was the priority. He took a step back away from Ominis and rubbed his hand against his face.

"Of course," he said. "I will keep an eye on her. We can trust her, I promise you."

....*....

The fretful whimpers of a nightmare came from Ominis' bed. Sebastian rolled over and looked across at the closed curtains, his eyes dry and tired after hours of reading. His body ached after fighting a nasty rabble of goblins with the new 5th year the previous day. Despite the savage joy he took from punishing the evil little things for their crimes, the drain of the fights on top of the hours of research were starting to take their toll on Sebastian.

Despite his exhaustion, he slid from his bed and crawled through the curtain to find Ominis sweating and twitching in his sleep. His pale eyes were open, but that was not unusual, and Sebastian ignored their blank stare as he settled down beside Ominis.

He lay there, pressing his warmth against his friend until he began to calm, much like he had as a younger child. It had been a while since he had done this, but he felt bad for betraying the trust placed in him with the Undercroft. Ominis had said no more, but he had been extra snippy and distant with Sebastian, despite the new 5th year's efforts to appease him. Sebastian could not abide his distress, and of course, he would help him, no matter how cross Ominis was with him.

Ominis shifted, his head rolling towards Sebastian, and his hand brushed against Sebastian's thigh through his pyjamas. Sebastian stiffened at the touch, awareness flooding through him, and he glanced down. Ominis' pyjamas were twisted up, a slither of midriff was visible, the trail of hair disappearing into his bottoms inviting. Sebastian's fingers twitched, and he licked his lips, eyes flicking up to Ominis' face.

His features were calm with only a slight crease on his brow, his eyes were almost closed, just mere slits of glittering orbs visible, and his mouth was relaxed and slightly parted. Sebastian studied Ominis' face and marvelled at his beauty. The Gaunt's were a dark lot, their deeds dangerous and horrifying, but they were very beautiful to look at, it seemed. His breaths were slower and more even signalling sleep, which meant that Sebastian was free to indulge in his secret admiration.

Sebastian looked back down at that tease of exposed flesh, and his hand slid towards it, the tips of his fingers reaching out for a mere test of how soft it would feel to touch there. He pressed against the skin near Ominis' hip bone, the skin indeed warm and as alluring as silk, and then he dragged his fingers slowly across the flat plane of his belly, through the tempting trail of hair that grazed achingly against Sebastian's finger tips.

Ominis moved, the barest twitch, the muscles of his stomach contracting at the gentle touch. Sebastian pulled his hand back, closing his eyes as he savoured that forbidden caress and drew in a long, slow breath. Ominis remained asleep, and Sebastian wondered if he would get away with doing it again. He looked down at where he had touched, aching with the need for a taste, longing to drag his tongue over the same expanse of flesh. His own pyjama bottoms were tented up, his arousal solid and tight under the stretched cotton.

What was he doing? This was so risky, and another betrayal on his part was caressing his friend while he was asleep. It made what he wanted feel dirty and something to be ashamed of. Sebastian grit his teeth and sat up, getting out of the bed before he did something stupid and destroyed the last thread of trust that hung between him and his best friend.

....*....

Books lay spread out on the table in the depths of the Restricted Section of the library. Sebastian sat with his head in his hands, shoulders and neck tense, and aching from hours spent bending over and reading. It was the Christmas break, but he had nowhere to go. His uncle wouldn't even acknowledge him, and Anne now looked at him with distrust after his attempts to save her from a goblin had resulted in him casting an Unforgivable. He hadn't even got to share his 16th birthday with his twin, and it had torn his heart.

Sebastian felt like he was losing his grip on everything, and desperation was making him feel sick. He could lose everything. He had done some pretty awful things in his pursuit for a cure, and Ominis was losing patience with him. Sebastian couldn't help it. He couldn't stop now, and the only person who seemed to be on his side was sat in a chair opposite him, her head equally bent over a book. She too had nobody to spend the holidays with, and she had elected to stay behind with him and help him with his research.

The new 5th year was growing in power, her knowledge was expanding, and trips across the Highlands were enabling her to locate and absorb little pockets of hidden ancient magic. Sebastian had gone with her on such a trip only yesterday, and he couldn't get the image out of his mind. She had seemingly pulled the pulsing blue and white energy from the very ground, the blazing power absorbed right into her skin. She had glowed with it, her eyes taking on this ethereal shine before she returned to herself.

Sebastian stared at her across the table, awe and determination on his face. She was beginning to look like hope, and if there was one thing Sebastian needed, it was hope.

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face, slapping her book closed and fumbling for another. Sebastian quirked his lips, watching as she opened the new book, flipping through the pages. Despite her own pressing troubles, she still found the time to help him research for Anne. It did something to ease the painful loneliness in his chest. Dare he say it, but he was growing rather fond of her.

She paused, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. "Oh my goodness!" She gasped.

Sebastian immediately sat up with interest. "What is it?"

Her eyes lifted to his, her cheeks flushing bright red and she immediately slammed the book shut. "Nothing!"

Curious, Sebastian eyed the book. "Come on now, don't leave me in suspense," he said. "What did you find?"

She squirmed in her chair and tried to shove the book under some others. Sebastian moved fast, standing up and reaching across to snatch the book from her hands, turning it to see the cover. He raised an eyebrow. Human Anatomy and Matters of the Flesh. He looked at her, and she cringed.

"I don't think we shall find anything about a cure in there," she said sheepishly.

Sebastian opened the book and began to flick through the pages. His eyes widened as he realised some of the subject material, and he was not surprised she had blushed. He kept turning the pages until he came across a double spread of ink drawn images that made his own cheeks colour up and grow hot.

Bodies joined in lewd positions, male and female, male and male, female and female. His eyes lingered on a man with his mouth wrapped around another man's cock and Sebastian almost groaned aloud, images of Ominis crashed across his thoughts, of his plump, pink lips wrapped around Sebastian in such a way. Lost in the fantasy, he stared at the image, transfixed.

"A little shocking, isn't it?"

Sebastian jumped, his gaze flying up to meet with hers. He had forgotten she was even there for a moment. He was so engrossed on the images in the book that he hadn't even realised that she had gotten up and moved around the table to look over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat and nodded. He looked back down at the book, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, staring into her eyes over such intimate imagery. He noticed a drawing of a man thrusting himself into the arse of another man, and his blush darkened even more at the erotic look on their faces.

She giggled and reached a hand over to point at the image of a woman bent over a table, a man entering her from behind. "At it like animals," she chuckled.

Sebastian couldn't help the amused smirk that spread across his lips. "Does none of this offend you?"

"Why should it offend me? It's only natural," she said. She gave a little shrug and sat on the table edge beside him. "Humans have been doing this for centuries, time upon time. I don't think it's anything to be embarrassed about."

Sebastian chewed on his lower lip, his gaze wary. "What about the men pleasuring other men?"

Again she shrugged. "Whatever makes you feel good, I suppose."

He stared at her. The look she gave him was open and honest. She really didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it. All the times he had thought himself disgusting and shameful, maybe he didn't need to. His curiosity over this intriguing girl ramped up another notch.

He looked down at the book again. "Have you ever...."

He swallowed. He couldn't finish the question. The silence of the Restricted Section seemed to stretch around him, his ears almost ringing in the quiet space between them. He opened his mouth to apologise but paused when her hand slid across the pages of the book to point at the image of a woman using her mouth on another woman. Sebastian's eyebrows lifted, and he gazed up at her in shock. She blushed and looked down.

"Only once," she said. "A girl who shared my room at the orphanage. We were lonely and it just happened one night when we were huddled up in a bed."

Sebastian's eyes dropped to her mouth, studying the shape of her lips, trying to imagine her doing such a thing. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips nervously at his intense stare, and he heard her breathing shift in rhythm a little. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, they seemed darker, something hidden in their depths that made his cock twitch in his pants. It was the first time in a while a girl had made that happen. It was almost a relief to know it wasn't just Ominis who had that effect on him, but it also felt strangely like a betrayal too.

"What about you?" She asked. "Have you ever experimented?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No, I... I've never really tried."

But he wanted to. His eyes locked on the image of a man entering a man, and it teased at his thoughts. He had only ever really pictured using his hands and his mouth on Ominis, but this was far more intimate and exciting. His heart began to patter a little faster at the thought of claiming Ominis in such a way. He took a shaky breath and almost closed the book, overcome with the need to possess his best friend. It was all so confusing because the images of the men taking the women were equally as exciting, and there was a strange build of tension between himself and her as they leaned over the book. He desired both, perhaps? Was this normal?

She nodded beside him, her eyes watching him carefully. "It can be rather scary, all these powerful feelings we have. I haven't tried since that one time in the orphanage, and I'm not sure I even like girls in that way. I find myself more drawn to boys, but I don't think it really makes a difference. It's still enough to make one nervous and unsure about themselves, isn't it?"

Sebastian could relate all too well. It was as though she had glimpsed inside of his head, and he looked up at her, a surge of affection warming him from the inside. His body was starved of affection. He was lonely and probably a little lost, and he had no idea where to turn, but she was there. She always seems to know what to say to take the edge off the darkness. Nobody would ever be able to replace his twin, but this girl was becoming close to being another best friend, and he had not expected it. "Why can't all people be as understanding as you?"

She blushed but a grin spread across her face. "We can't all be perfect."

He chuckled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he closed the book, tossing it to one side. "You're right. We won't find a cure in there, at least not for Anne," he said. "Shall we keep looking?"

She stood and nodded, stretching her arms out and flexing her neck, completely unperturbed by their strange conversation. "Maybe just one more hour."

....*....

His heart was racing so hard he thought it might burst from his ribcage and spill all the pain out along with it. He was pacing mindlessly, his hands pulling at his hair, and his eyes were staring blankly around the Undercroft as his chest heaved with every struggled breath.

He had killed him.

His uncle was dead, gone, and Anne had disappeared along with him. The worst had finally arrived, just as he had feared it would. He had lost everything, and it was all his fault.

Behind his eyes, images flashed of the firelit catacombs, the swarms of Inferi and the horror on her face. His beautiful new friend should have run screaming from him, but she hadn't. She had taken up her wand and fought beside him, and she had nearly died for her efforts.

Years of taking the cruel words and hard fists had put a dent in Sebastian, he was sure of it, a dent that would never straighten out. Watching his uncle almost take out his new friend had made something snap inside of him. First, he had taken Anne with his possessive, manipulative words, and now he was trying to take her from him too. He couldn't bear it.

As the flash of green replayed behind his eyes, Sebastian winced, and a strangled sound left his throat as he fell to his knees on the hard stone floor of the Undercroft. Soft hands were immediately on his shoulders, slipping around his neck, and arms held him. Her now familiar scent surrounded him, and the tears leaked from his eyes. She was speaking, soft words of comfort, stroking his hair and telling him that everything would be alright.

Sebastian let her hold him, but stayed rigid, too frightened to accept her unconditional love, his eyes staring over her shoulder at the boy who stood equally as rigid, his face a mask of fear and disappointment.

Sebastian realised he had failed them all. And now they held his life in their hands. Ominis had mentioned turning him in, the words piercing his heart in ways he had never thought possible. He had listened to their argument over it, shock making him feel as though they were talking about somebody else, that this might just be some horrific dream that he would wake up from.

She had touched Ominis, her hands on his arms as they talked, and Sebastian frowned, in the back of his mind he wondered when they had become that close. Ominis wasn't usually one to let someone touch him, and he was not flinching from her hands and so was clearly used to it. Sebastian tried to think back through the smog of his mind, push through the shadows that had been clinging to him these past weeks as he had tried to desperately get his sister back. What had he missed?

Had he not wanted this, though? He needed Ominis to accept her so that she could help them. Realisation dawned that it was more than that now. He didn't just want her help. He needed her to be around. He wanted her to be close. She was all he had left, her and Ominis, and even now, after everything, she was fighting his corner and urging Ominis to think about this.

He stared at Ominis, his heart aching, and he felt so lost as she held him and rocked him in her arms. He felt broken, and the rigidity left him. He sank against her and let his tears fall.

....*....

The cool dark of the library was a welcome relief from the summer sun. Sebastian slid the last book from his pile onto the shelf with a sigh. He had promised to make it up to them, promised to stop searching for hope in dark ways, and as he looked towards her as she put her own pile of books away, he thought maybe they were right.

Her and Ominis were all he had left. He needed to protect that because he could not lose anyone else.

Things had been very strained between him and Ominis, and he missed him. Sebastian spent his time either alone or with her, avoiding the strange coldness that now existed between himself and his dearest friend. He didn't know how to fix it. He was faltering and stumbling, and if she hadn't been there to hold him up, he feared he would have succumbed to darkness by now. Anne was gone. He didn't know where, and he feared he would never see her again. The hole she had left could never be filled, and losing Ominis would kill him.

No more dark magic. No matter how it called. He had promised, and he was going to try and stick to it.

She put her last book away and came to stand beside him, a fresh wound on her cheek almost healed now after yet another fight against dark deeds. She leant her head against his shoulder as they stood in their quiet corner, her hands holding his arm.

"Talk to Ominis," she said softly.

He turned to look down at her head. She was an affectionate little thing, unfailing in her capacity to care despite all that she carried on her own shoulders. He did not deserve her.

She tilted her head to look up at him. "He cares for you, Sebastian," she said. "Talk to him, make things right between you. I know you care for him, too."

Sebastian swallowed against the restriction in his throat. "I'm not sure if he can fully forgive me," he whispered.

She held him tighter. "He will. You just need to show him. Open your heart, Sebastian," she urged. "You two are not meant to be apart. Talk to him. I promise you, it will be alright."

....*....

With their OWLs complete and Ranrok defeated, the summer break loomed before him. Sebastian was dreading the stretch of weeks that lay ahead, alone in that house with nought but his shadowed memories for company. Ominis had not mentioned coming to stay this year, and what with Anne gone, Sebastian wasn't sure if he would want to. He had tried to spend more time with Ominis, and he thought perhaps things were gradually improving, but it wasn't moving fast enough for Sebastian's liking.

He had seen Ominis walking near the lake with their new friend, her arm linked through his as they talked, the peal of her laughter sounding on the soft summer breeze. Sebastian's stomach churned with envy. He feared the soft expression Ominis had now developed when he was around her, but he also didn't feel entirely comfortable with the way Ominis was stealing her from spending time with him.

Restless, Sebastian tossed and turned in his bed before falling into a troubled sleep where memories combined with fears, and he became trapped in a hell of his own making. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, sweat beaded on his face as the tortured images slowly cleared behind his hazy eyes. He flinched at the feel of fingers grasping at him, and he spun violently on the bed with a startled cry to see Ominis leaning over him, worry pinching his pale eyes.

"Ominis," he gasped.

"Are you alright?" Ominis asked softly. "You were dreaming, and I can't imagine it was a pleasant one judging by your distress."

Tears stung Sebastian's eyes. He was supposed to be the strong one. He was the one who comforted Ominis at night. To see him at his bedside, trembling, his expression, one of concern as his hands carefully grasped at Sebastian's pyjama shirt, made Sebastian's heart twist.

He reached up and tugged Ominis forward, craving the feel of him. "I can't..." He gulped, the words sticking in his throat. The tears broke free and spilt onto his cheeks, a shuddering sob leaving him. His voice cracked with the emotion that felt backed up and compressed in his chest. "I'm sorry. Don't leave me."

Ominis made a sound of distress, his hands fluttering up to touch uncertainly at Sebastian's face. "Oh, no, please don't cry," he urged softly. His fingers grazed against the wetness on Sebastian's cheeks, and then he was cupping his face with long, graceful fingers. "It's alright. I'm here, I will always be here. You are not alone."

Sebastian's chest caved, and he shook with his tears, Ominis scrambled up onto the bed beside him, tumbling down to hold Sebastian in a tight embrace. Sebastian felt no shame as he buried his face against the chest of his beloved friend. He clung to him as Ominis soothed him with soft strokes and whispered words.

"I love you," Sebastian whispered. But the words were muffled through his tears and against the soft material of Ominis' shirt. It wasn't really about Ominis hearing them. It was more about admitting them to himself.

He did love him, and a world without Ominis in it was not a world he wanted to live in.

To be continued...

[ebitenpura]

Long time no swtor thinkpiece, but.

Thinking about Eight in the IA class story and then who he is post-Alliance; going from a bold, daring and casually ambitious wildcard to someone who feels as if he's lost most of his zeal to become rather...listless. Empty. Not to say that he isn't fulfilled by his work in the Alliance (who all make exceptions to have him do anything but murder all day) but he starts picking up more mundane activities like, peeling potatoes for the Alliance cantina, or doing minor tasks that don't involve much thought on his own volition-- a stark change from a man who only cared about his blade and who it fell on. It's like he's been soundly defeated by the circumstances surrounding him.

Then there's the issue of his companions, who only knew him as their cunning leader who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals, even using some of them in the process, who now appears to be an entirely different person. One who quietly fades into the background, instead of being in the thick of it. He's changed.

His skills haven't waned, but his voice is flat, his eyes without gleam, his all consuming desire that drove him to accomplish the impossible by the day naught but simmering ashes by the time they reunite with him in KOTXX. He even apologizes to some, without explanation. This distresses Vector, in particular, who witnessed the worst of his sides way back in the day. "It's not me you should apologize to, Agent." Vector can only quietly say, "I have never held you in ill regard for the choices you've made, anathema as they were to my principles." It's a conversation that peters off, but one that Eight never had, never had soon enough --his firm refusal to rectify or acknowledge that Vector could choose him over his own ideals is one that gnaws at him on the inside for years, on his own belief that people cannot change what they truly believe in, and so there is no point in trying to make amends for what bridges he burns in the pursuit of his own wishes. This, and many other denials, compound over the years into a rather hurtful self-made solitude that follows him long into the Alliance. (A mother will never give up her son. There is no other way. I cannot change my nature as a weapon. Their rejection of me is something I must accept.) A punishment, but for who?

Perhaps he still feels he's failed the last mission Keeper entrusted to him. The one that asked him to become a real, living person, and not just a sword dressed in imperial colors.

Eight spirals during the events of the Eternal Empire. He watches his downfall happen in real time. There's little he does about it. His home is gone, as are the people he fought for--Keeper, Watcher 2, Intelligence--and this new age is only filled with allies he cuts down faster than he can imprint their names into his memory. He's alone in this fight at the behest of others who do choose their ideals over him, who, in the end, turn away in fear and disgust when he bloodies his blade in their name. He makes no effort afterwards to right his image in their minds. He plays the villain, if others will not. For the first time, he tires of killing.

This leaves him alone, an outcast even among friends. Eventually, amongst the ruin their failed Alliance leaves in its wake, someone asks why things turned out this way; his lack of a will in the greater fight comes to light and sets several alarm bells off. Lana reduces his duties on the battlefield. Others, out of shared guilt and a fear of the bloodshed he wreaked on their orders, give him a wide berth to live normally for a while. It's not much and does little to his disillusionment and estrangement with his allies, but...it's a start.

Eight the Assassin turns into just Eight. And Eight the former agent, ex-Cipher, killer extraordinaire who never once dreamed of the stars, turns into someone who quietly watches the sun set on a world he barely recognizes,l but still stays up to see it, potato peeler in hand.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Martial vs. Military

Another point where we agree with RF is in not fetishising destruction — not making attack into an affair of professionalised militants, and so effectively another removed political sphere. “We have no interests in being specialists in fighting. Rather, we dream of moments which call on each of us to become everything at once; situations which demand that each of us become fighters and healers, caretakers and firebringers.” (Quoting from ‘We Welcome the Fire, We Welcome the Rain‘).

For, as many anarchists have always maintained, destruction and creativity go hand in hand. “A building can be destroyed without constructing a new one, but a relationship of alienation cannot be ended without the creation of another type of relationship. … Without speaking of the creation of new social relations, we cannot speak honestly about the destruction of the State.” Giving full respect to committed nihilist comrades, as RF point out this means stepping away from the “nihilist proposal” that speaks only of destroying the State (or the whole existing system of domination).

While, at the same time, we cannot create in this world without also attacking. RF put this well by distinguishing “the martial” from “the military”. Militarisation means life impoverished, regimented, made anxious, reduced to service of the war machine. “The martial” means fighting for and as a part of our struggle for life, “not as the science of war, but the art of rebellion”, challenging our passivity and the state’s legitimacy as we break its claimed monopoly of violence. “This is something which has been steadily stripped away from us over the generations; the ability to fight on our own terms, as much as the awareness of the war we inhabit.” We regain it in practice: training, learning new skills, going out alone or forming gangs, and taking action. “This isn’t a call to “armed struggle” but for inclusion of a neglected aspect of a holistic approach to rebellion” (quoting Sea Weed).

In the end, for sure, this essay does not offer a programme for how to advance. Not that we’re looking for one. We know a lot of the paths we need to take — grow our skills and strength as individuals and groups, find comrades, be open to new encounters … these can even start to sound like platitudes, but they’re right. “Avenues for sharing, discussing and sharpening perspectives and methods is one accomplishment of anarchists and other radicals, in our own limited way so far. Our enemies are well aware of this …” “Experience tells us that even a little empowerment and picking-up of skills can have a huge impact in one’s character or desires, and with our unconstrained lives at stake, let’s not be stopped by fear of failure.”

And then there are lots of questions, things we don’t know or are just starting to explore. One we’re especially interested in at the moment, that this essay highlighted, is one that we’ve tried to explore as we’ve worked on this site, and still only have glimpses of. How to understand ourselves not as isolated atoms but as accomplices and instigators acting in “social” worlds, without falling into the old political trap of “a campaign to win ’society’ over to ’us’ as a unified opposition”. How to think as proto-insurgents whose thoughts and actions can touch many others, including many other rebels and potential rebels, even if we cannot anticipate, far less control, what their effects may be.

[1] The Veil Drops can be downloaded as a pdf here: http://rabble.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/05-23-The-Veil-Drops-HI-RES.pdf It can also be read on The Anarchist Library. The full Return Fire 3 magazine and previous issues, including the articles referenced in [square brackets] in the text below, can be read, downloaded and printed via 325.nostate.net/?tag=return-fire

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jonathan Cohn at HuffPost:

DETROIT ― An energetic, fast-talking President Joe Biden rallied supporters here Friday night with sharp attacks on his rival, Donald Trump, and a vision for the second term he remains intent on pursuing. “There’s a lot of speculation lately, What’s Joe Biden going to do?” Biden said, kicking off a half-hour address to a crowd of more than 2,000 supporters inside a high school gymnasium. “I’m running, and we’re going to win.” Biden’s speech included an accounting of his legislative accomplishments and their effects on Michigan, a key swing state, including green energy investments that are financing new electric vehicle factories and Medicare reforms that are reducing the cost of prescription drugs for seniors and people with disabilities. But the heart of Biden’s speech was a lengthy, detailed attack on what Trump did when he was in the White House before ― and what he could do if he gets back in next year.

Biden singled out the provisions of “Project 2025,” a right-wing agenda published by the conservative Heritage Foundation that envisions a second Trump term dramatically expanding the powers of the presidency, downsizing the welfare state and rolling back reproductive rights. Its authors include prominent former and current Trump advisers, though Trump has recently tried to distance himself from the document. “We’re going to stand up for women in America, we’re going to protect contraception, we’re going to protect IVF, we’re going to restore Roe v. Wade as law of the land,” Biden said Friday. Biden was just as methodical in attacking Trump personally, calling out the former president as a “convicted criminal” who would destroy democracy if he had the chance. “It’s time to stop treating politics like entertainment,” Biden said. “Another four years of Donald Trump is deadly serious.“

[...] “I’m the nominee of the Democratic Party, the only Democrat or Republican who has ever beaten Donald Trump,” Biden said. “And I’m going to beat him again.”

Biden acknowledged his age and occasional rhetorical stumbles, and near the start of his speech he seemed to lose track of his thoughts briefly while introducing members of the Michigan delegations in Congress. But by and large Biden seemed fired up, feeding off the raucous crowd. He even took a little skip in the middle of his characteristically deliberate walk off the stage. Biden also threw shade at party elites and the media, the latter of whom, he said, were ignoring Trump’s own frequently incoherent rants. “Trump is getting a free pass,” Biden said. It’s not clear how much performances like Friday’s rally will satisfy Democrats who are worried that Biden cannot perform as well in high-pressure, unscripted settings, such as last month’s presidential debate, when he failed to make precisely the sort of case he did here on Friday evening.

Last night in Detroit, amid calls for Joe Biden to drop out of the race, the President gave a solid speech warning about the dangers of Project 2025.

See Also:

The Dworkin Report: Biden Slams Trump's Project 2025 in Forceful Speech

The Guardian: ‘I’m not going anywhere’: Biden holds Michigan rally as calls to quit persist

[narutocharacterpolls]

SEMIFINALS

GAARA vs SENJU TSUNADE

Reasons for submission under the cut

Gaara

he overcame his incredible loneliness and childhood trauma with a lot of grace

he acknowledged the people he may have hurt (rock Lee) and did everything in his power to build up from there

he was always very caring (like when he brought the girl he accidentally hurt an apology gift when he was a child)

he was someone who understood Sasuke and shed tears for him

he motivated an entire army of shinobi that were fighting amongst each other, and he did it purely with love for Naruto, showing how powerful his kindness is

serial killer turned babushka. Quite possibly the sweetest and funniest character transformation [submitter]'s ever seen

he enjoys succulent and cactus gardening, based as always

his gardening outfit is the cutest shit ever seen

he has cat eyes which are very cute

nothing but respect for my goth teenaged president 🫡

he's so polite,,

his character development is amazing, he went from being a crazy murderer, to gaining the trust of his whole village and becoming the Kazekage

despite how drastic his character development was, it still feels understandable due to how badly he was treated as a child, and how deep down he always wanted to love but was simply punished for it

eeeing him recover from his trauma thanks to Naruto is really heartwarming

one of the best redeemed villain characters ever imo

very cool character design

storyline that made [submitter] cry like a baby three different times

he's so full of love

has a cool transformation

enjoyable demeanor once he got the help he needs

nice to see a quiet but social introvert succeed in life, overcome his trauma, and learn his self worth

he was an edgy 12 year old who talked like shadow from shadow the hedgehog (2005) how can u not like that

he's funny

he's pretty cool when he's older, a good leader

his arc is [submitters] favorite in the series

lovely to see how far he came and how hard he worked to overcome his demons

Tsunade

milf….

was the best hokage

the regulation she created to include medics on every team saved so many lives

she's funny and a complex and interesting character

is a bad bitch

probably THE most competently written female character in the entire series

she has a very rich history that plays into her character's actions and motivations

wanting to be the best medic-nin possible in order to save more lives because she lost her love Dan, and also change the way ninja squads operated to always have a medic to save more lives did so much for the better during the war to reduce casualties

after being broken down by so many people she cares about dying, she dips and leaves behind ninja society, which has taken everything from her (including wiping out her clan)

because Tsunade is also one of the most legendary/strongest ninja alive, no one could really stop her or chain her down. It takes the conviction of a child who wants her to save the village and heal his friends to get her back to Konoha, despite the all the trauma she's endured

she's a medic with a fear of blood that overcomes that to fight her own teammate and beat his ass so Orochimaru stops killing and maiming people

she steps up to be a leader because it's what the new generation need and someone has to fix all the stuff broken by her selfish teammates and old teacher

the strongest female character both in physical strength and the strength of her writing. It's like she was written first as a character versus most of the other female characters being written first as Girl and Love Interest

Tsunade is vain and a chronic gambler and drunk, she is really brash and abrasive, she is traumatized. But she's also deeply caring, an incredibly accomplished woman, one of the smartest people/medics in the world, and a great leader

she's multi-layered. She is a woman, but her entire character isn't just Woman

finally finished the job on Jiraiya on previous poll

strong arms

she is strong and smart and quick as a whip but still soft and caring when it comes to her loved ones. Characters with rough exteriors who are mushy inside are very good

[the-enzyme]

I first repainted my Ken Looks number 5, a bit longer than two years ago (around April 2022). I have been meaning to repaint him again for a while now, using the acrylics only method, of repainting 1:6 action figures. I am super happy I finally did it!

I already loved this Mattel Ken doll very much, but now I feel I am finally getting closer to what I was hoping, with my first repaint on him. I wanted him to look "scary," as that is my main goal with most of my male dolls. Intimidating, menacing type of scary, for the most part. I feel I have accomplished that this time. I always thought I gave him way massive eyes, on my first repaint on him. However, I feel like I probably did a cleaner job back in 2022, because my hands are growing shakier. I can see his lashes were cleaner, the whole eye area really. Sadly, I can't turn back time. I'm older, and my hands are indeed getting shakier with old age. T__T;;

Not like they weren't shaky already, but still, it stings to know it'll only get worse, because there's nothing, I can do to stop it! Repainting my own toys is a hobby I sincerely enjoy. I am super happy I learned I can use only acrylics, even if a little too late because my hands shake like the dickens now! Of course, I already used acrylics for line work, but it's still huge old pain in the behind, that my hands are even shakier now!!!

Moving on, I am super happy with him (for now!), I still need to seal the work -- that's why it looks so shiny! I could always do a cleaner job here and there, yadda yadda, but I am happy with him and feel he's done for now. I'm including comparisons to my 2022 repaint on him, and also progress of this repaint, because I might need it later as quick refence! I wanted his chin smaller, it's the one part I am not a fan of, and the lips! I forgot about it in the two years I didn't feel like working on him. I did soften the chin a bit further this time, but I feel I can make it a lot less wide and just less "huge" in general. I am also not a fan of the lip shape, but I am not sure how I want to tackle that. I feel once I reduce the chin to my liking (later on), I'll be able to see what I want to do with the lips. I'm particularly not a fan of how they sculpted the lower-lip.... paint does help a little, but I am still not sold on either the chin nor the lips. DX

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Chapter 78 Micro Writing Notes:

“You’re just the Golden Guard.”

Spoilers if you haven’t already read the chapter!

Unfortunately, every time Hunter makes any gains in forging his own identity, someone wants to remind him that his identity has been decided.

The last chapter had another “keystone” scene which is a root for why Hunter is a complete recluse at the beginning of the story.

His feelings of self worth are compounded by the interaction with the publisher as described in the dialogue below :

“Look. Kid?” The witch sighed. “You want them to stop thinking about you like a freak?

“Yes.” Hunter whispered.

“You want notoriety?” The witch pressed.

“No!” Hunter’s eyes shot open. “I want to make a difference!”

“We want to make money.” The witch spread his hands out with a shrug. He pointed to the manuscript on his desk. “But this? Nobody cares about this. Do you understand?”

“I understand perfectly.” The spark in Hunter’s body erupted into an angry fire. He stood up and grabbed his papers from the desk. “ I understand that you would rather reduce me to the worst things that have happened to me. That anything positive I have accomplished on my own isn’t profitable so it doesn't matter. Got it.”

“Exactly.” The publishing witch answered.

[lady-corrine]

I'm sick of Nettles fans. The cup is really full at this point. Let them stay in their fucking tag instead of coming to annoy Daemyra fans who didn't ask for anything. I will always admire their consistency. Daemon is a bad man according to their logic, but they are defending a ship where he is present and with a young girl the age of his own daughters, namely 17 years old. Not at all contradictory or weird.

This character's fans are strangely – but not at all surprisingly – obsessed with Rhaenyra. They talk about her far more than they do about their fav.

They constantly downplay Rhaenyra's accomplishments, constantly use degrading terms to reffer to her — words like, please pardon my language, whore or cow or cunt (so far with the feminism, I guess). They want to see Rhaenyra being abused, beaten or murdered, enduring as much pain and suffering as possible.

It is all reduced to who they ship Daemon with, although as far as I'm concerned I truly don't understand the need to act so vile towards Rhaenyra herself. If you want to ship your couple, do it. No one is stopping you. But the moment you obsess over the character you supposedly hate so much, mentioning her so often and attributing such vile words to her simply to prop your ship up, I don't know how that ship can stand on its own 🤷‍♀️

The thing with Daemon is a tale as old as time, ever since asoiaf was published. The headcanon that Daemon loved everyone but Rhaenyra was and still is extremely popular amongst Rhaenyra antis. It went from saying he could not have loved "such a fat and ugly woman" as her to pitying poor Daemon for "having to put up" with Rhaenyra as his wife for a decade.

So I would say I'm surprised, but truly I'm not. I'm honestly more astonished by how much one can loathe a fictional character to the point where you might think Rhaenyra killed their puppy and stole their house.

As for all those shippers, Daemon is not real, he won't fuck you. 🤷‍♀️