#to stop reducing his own accomplishments

[blackkewpie]

not to expound upon the political implications of fandom every chance i get but noel gruber is revolutionary gay representation because he wants to be fucked up and evil and it is so disheartening to see transformative works where they act like his wants and personality are character flaws. roadblocks in the way of the most conventional and milquetoast gay romance story ever put to word document. which isn’t terrible but the fact of the matter is noel gruber exists to say not every gay person wants to be normal or wants to have a normal easy heteroimitative life. marlene dietrich was a bisexual woman who endured mountains of hardship on every level and did important things and made important art. jean genet was a writer and activist who lived on the fringes of society doing survival sex work for most of his youth. liberace was never *out* out and was torn apart relentlessly by tabloids about his life. these are the people he canonically admires, he wants to be a starving artist and live a fantastic, queer, risky life that offends and challenges the mainstream. not because he is too naive to want a normal quiet life, but because he was raised in the bosom of the most banal, sterile, conservative small town existence he could have possibly been in and knows for a fact he wants the complete opposite. queer assimilation to the heteronormative standards of life has been a powerful tool in our survival, yes, but the point of that is to survive to make a world where that isn’t necessary anymore. the ease straight white cis abled society offers is one that exists at the expense of those who do not fit it. that is why the girl is fucked up. in a perfect world she shouldn’t have to be any other way.

[zhenne]

boss’ daughter — mini series masterlist !

dr.zayne + f.reader

syn. ZAYNE WITH THE DAUGHTER OF THE HOSPITAL’S CHAIRMAN

wc. 1.2k (updated after each part)

warnings. fem reader, reader is not mc, slow burn, eventual smut, mentions of smoking (reader), mentions of alcohol, use of y/n, colleagues to friends to lovers, probably ooc, slight age gap (reader is 20-23, Zayne is 28-30: pick your poison)

[ pt. 1 ] [ pt. 2 ] [ pt. 3 ]

[ intro ] — wc. 1.1k

Shit. You can’t help the frustration welling up in your chest. It was dark, rainy, and above all else, you were exhausted. As if matters couldn’t get worse, your chauffeur had been called in to assist the chairman, your father, with other business partners – effectively leaving you stranded outside the hospital’s back entrance. Calm down, Y/N, you tell yourself, taking a deep breath to quiet your tired irritation. 

You had been called to the hospital to monitor a board meeting while your father was attending a private convention hosted by a sister hospital. Usually, your duties were more prevalent by title than actual business ministrants, but there was little room for arguing when you knew you had the credentials to be deemed an appropriate substitute. 

While you appreciated the medical field and all the professionals within their respective departments, medicine was not your passion. Despite this, your family deemed it vital that you attend a prestigious university and earn highest marks towards degrees in Public Health, Biochemistry, and —eventually—Doctor of Medicine. You do well enough in your studies, ranking within the top 10 of your class, but it felt listless, a secondhand dedication. 

You clutch the handle of your umbrella tighter as a cold gust tunnels through the channel of highrise buildings. Fuck, if you knew you’d be stranded you would have just called a cab, but you knew your chances of getting one as the evening rush loomed into fullswing were next to none. Grumbling under your breath, you smooth the front of your dress’ skirt down, ignoring the chill seeping into your skin. 

Just as you were about to count your losses and spend the next hour futilely waiting for an open taxi, you hear soft, measured steps coming from behind you. 

“Are you waiting for someone, Miss L/N?” 

Dr. Zayne. You immediately recognize him – how could you not? He’s one of the hospital’s most accomplished, not to mention most attractive, doctors. You’ve had a handful of professional conversations with him, though they seldom lasted more than three turns of pleasant respects. You usually sought to avoid the doctor, despite his calm and, albeit standoffish, demeanor. You told yourself it was simply because you had no desire to exchange faux pleasantries, but a small truth lay in the fact you were bashful around him, embarrassingly so. 

The independent, educated, prodigal daughter of the Asko chairman, reduced to a blushing mess because of the mere presence of a handsome doctor? The thought had you chewing on the inside of your cheek as you quietly mutter, “Good evening, Dr. Zayne.” You want to cringe with how nervous your voice sounds, you hope he blames it on the chilling rain. “And no, I’m afraid my driver is busy attending to another assignment.” 

You finally risk a gauging glance at him under his own black umbrella, noting the hint of dark circles under his lashes. Something small pangs in your chest. Pushing it aside, you give him a small bow, a polite smile on your face. “I should go to the main entrance, please excuse me.”

His smooth voice stops you from bolting to the door. “Are you planning to take a cab home, then?”

You blink up at him, head tilting ever so slightly, brows gently pinched together, “Well, yes, that appears to be my only option..” And you swear you see the corners of his mouth twitch, just the ghost of a shift. 

“I’ll give you a ride, don’t worry.”

You hate it, the way heat immediately creeps to your face. You shouldn’t be blushing like some high school girl in front of her crush, you’re an adult, dammit. And besides, it’s just a friendly offer, right? Just a colleague helping out a coworker. Right? So why was your face so red?

“Hm?” you try to catch your faltering expression, mustering an air of professional courtesy. “Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to-”

“It’d be rude to leave a young woman by herself in a time of need.” You swear you feel every ounce of feminism leaving your body as he steps off the curb of the sidewalk, offering you his hand. “Besides, you’ll catch a cold if you stay out in this weather for much longer.”

With that, you wordlessly accept his hand, carefully stepping down to make sure your heels don’t trip you. He releases your hand once you’re on steady feet, and you follow behind him as he leads you to the hospital’s underground garage. The rain that was drizzling atop your umbrellas quiets as you stare at his back. Broad shoulders are visible even under his suit jacket, and it has you wondering what other secrets are hiding under the surface of the private doctor. 

Your wandering thoughts are cut off when you make it to his car. You offer a quiet murmur of thanks as he holds the passenger door open for you. You take the five seconds it takes for him to round the car to quell your rapid heartbeat, praying he doesn’t notice the tension in your hands. 

“You live near the park in District 19, right?” 

You nod, marginally surprised he remembers that small detail. “Yes, on the eastern side of the city.”

Zayne lets out a small hum of acknowledgment before adjusting the dials on the console, a soft waft of heat alleviating the cold from your skin. 

The drive is mostly silent aside from the subdued sounds of the radio. Luckily, your apartment isn’t too far of a drive, but being confined to a shared space with Zayne for 20 minutes made your nerves alight with restlessness. 

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, the fluorescents of passing buildings reflected off the wet streets, casting an incandescent smear of color on the windshield. Your hands absentmindedly fidget in your lap, your teeth gently chewing on your lower lip.

“Thank you again, Dr. Zayne,” you finally manage to speak. “I truly appreciate your kindness.”

The surgeon gives a small dip of his chin, his hands skimming over the steering wheel as he pulls into a parking spot in front of your building. “It was no trouble at all, I’m happy to have been of help.”

And that was that. Just a cordial, professional favor between two associates. You just couldn’t figure out why, as you stood in the vacant elevator to your apartment, your heart felt like it was going to ricochet off your ribs and out of your chest.

[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.

[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...

[eorzeashan]

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.

[fearfulachilles]

8. gossip & uncertainty.

chapter eight to buop (nanami kento x reader jjk medical au.) .

full contents here.

summary: you finish the week learning you'll be scribing for the mysterious dr. geto and hearing new gossip regarding kento. meanwhile, kento finished the week with being handed an offer he never thought he'd hear.

The clinic portion of the hospital is only open on weekdays, but Satoru had mentioned he’d like to open it for seven days a week in the future. You hope you’re off in med school when the time comes.

You work with Dr. Gojo again before the week ends. You’re fascinated by neurosurgery and he notices it. He tells you about his favorite surgical case during his fellowship here at Jujutsu Hospital and how he developed his own technique that helps reduce risk during brain surgery by 85%.

“That’s amazing.” You say, starstruck.

Satoru doesn't feel like a boss at times, he's easy to talk to. You ask when was the last time he had to use his technique and he says a year ago, around the time he last performed surgery.

There’s gossip of Satoru’s lack of surgery hours that you’ve heard…well, Nobara heard and told you. Some rumors say it’s because of malpractice and others say it’s because he’s been banned from the operating room by the chief of surgery. Satoru doesn’t hide the fact that he hasn’t been in the operating room in sometime, but he usually brushes it off it with a joke and never explains further.

You bite your lip and take a chance. “Can I ask why it's been so long?”

“You’re kidding, right? I have my hands full with this clinic. Surgery will be there when I’m done.” He answers, then changes the topic quickly after.

That's when Satoru shares information regarding your schedule next week. You’ll be scribing for Dr. Geto. 

“He's filling in for me, just for a day. I’ve got some bullshit meeting to go to.” The young doctor explains, rolling his eyes. 

When Satoru stopped performing surgery, Dr. Geto took over all his surgical cases, causing his surgery schedule to double. Because of that, Dr. Geto doesn’t have time to be in clinic, other than when Satoru absolutely needs him to be there.

It’ll be an exciting start to your week.

_________

You decided to Google Dr. Geto once you got home. You don’t know much of the physician, not even what he looks like. When pictures of him show up, you were taken back by how pretty Suguru Geto was. Was every doctor in that hospital good looking?

Then something catches your eye.

“Have you guys ever read this article? 'Dr. Satoru Gojo renounces titleship to famous Gojo technique.'” You read aloud to your roommates. “He gave credit to... Suguru Geto? It’s called the Geto technique now.”

“Weird. I wonder why he'd do that.” Yuji commented. 

“Maybe he stole it from Dr. Geto and finally got caught.” Nobara speculated. She always loved a scandal or drama that didn't involve her personally. You couldn't blame her, you did too. 

“I heard they're close friends, I doubt that happened.” Megumi chimed in. 

From your reading you learn that Suguru is also a gift to medicine, similar to Satoru. He was a couple years older and accomplished many things in med school, alongside Satoru, and during his fellowship in a Kyoto hospital.

Nobara decides to bring up some more gossip she's heard, her voice filled with juicy intention of trapping you into the topic. “I heard that Dr. Nanami was left on his wedding day.”

You take the bait.

“He what?” You whip your head around from your phone screen to look at her. 

Nobara nods. “Yup. He was getting married to some pharmaceutical rep, but she never showed.”

“That's probably why he looks so grumpy all the time.” Yuji says.

“Where did you hear that from?” You ask intrigued. 

“Maki told me. She's the cute nurse I told you about. She used to work there, then she quit, but Dr. Gojo hired her again.” Nobara explains. She met Maki Zenin when she got lost on her way to the cafeteria in the hospital on the very first day. Since then, the two had been texting. 

You've never bothered to learn the dating history of your past flings, but this was different. Being engagement and left at the alter are serious. You think, is he using me as a rebound?

You shake off the thought because you're not supposed to care, but you still feel something tugging deep within you. You ignore it.

_________

It had been the slowest week of Kento’s career, mentally. He had back to back surgeries scheduled and he stayed at the hospital until the early morning hours, busy with operative notes, but it had felt long and nearly tedious because you were on his mind.

The week is over and he arrives home tired. He drags himself to his kitchen and looks through his fridge. Kento feels the motivation to cook real food for the first time in a long, long time. He used to cook all the time, having a passion for it and always experimenting with new recipes.

He lost that side of him long ago, the side of him that looked forward to the things in his life and enjoyed them, as if he outgrew happiness. He thought he would never find it again. It had strained his relationship deep enough to be left stranded at an alter he never wanted to be at.

Then he met you, he talked to you, kissed you, and touched you. He saw the vibrant color of your hair, eyes, and body. He tasted your lips and felt your skin on his. It felt like he had been holding his breath for years, waiting for something to come along. Then, you came along. He made you laugh in that bar and thought this is how it feels to breathe again.

His microwavable dinners from the frozen aisle and instant coffee weren't enough to get him by anymore. He missed the spices of his home cooked meals and the richness of his favorite coffee beans. His days weren't dull anymore. He appreciated the rising sun in the sky on his way to work and the sound of chirping birds outside his bedroom window a little more. Your touch brought his senses back.

In the midst of his thoughts of you, he thinks back to when you mention your mother had Cordis Aneurisma, a slow killing disease of the heart and a medical mystery. The only fact known was that it is genetic, primarily in women, with a 50/50 chance of a mother passing it to her daughter.

Kento never really enjoyed taking chances like that. Though, he took one with you.

He had told you he didn't want anything serious, something he'd never done before. He was raised to be a traditional man, primarily by his grandfather. So, he worked towards a good and stable career with a great salary, and he was going to get married and settle down. After being with you, he knows he doesn't want to go return to that, even if it meant breaking his traditional values he was raised with, all for a chance you'll let him stay around for a little longer. He hopes you do.

He cooks something quick and easy for him before he digs up his old med school textbooks and begins searching for anything on Cordis Aneurisma. Two textbooks turn into five, and when his sixth one doesn't have anymore information than the others, he moves his research on to his laptop.

He doesn't hear the knocking on his front door until it's loud enough to bring him out of his thoughts. When he opens it, it's Asami, his ex-fiancée.

She greets him with a smile, but Kento stares blankly at her, blinking his eyes. He didn't expect her to come by today, but she has made it a habit of showing up unannounced, which usually led to them fucking on his couch.

Asami walks past him and makes herself at home, and he doesn't stop her. She places her handbag on his counter and walks further inside.

“Did you just get home from work?” Asami asks.

Kento looks down at his attire to see that he's still wearing his scrubs. He looks over at a clock in his home and realizes it has already been a few hours since he got home. He lost track of time reading up on the genetic illness.

She moves on, not taking notice of Kento’s cooked dinner. Asami was never good at noticing the small things in him. She peeks at all the opened textbooks and then over to what is on his laptop. “Do you have a patient with Cordis Aneurisma? How sad.”

Kento hadn't spoken a word yet. His face had turned back to the one Asami had known very well now, neutral to everything.

“What are you doing here?” Kento finally asks, speaking his first words to her. He dreaded thinking she was going to finally explain herself to him on why she left that day, something they both had been avoiding to acknowledge.

Asami steps her way over to Kento and places her hands on his broad chest. She's smaller than you, he doesn't like it. “I wanted to talk. I miss you.”

I miss you. She said that last time she was here, in the middle of sex. Kento had thought it was just in the moment of bliss, he had hoped it was.

“And I've been thinking about us…getting back together. I-I think we should try again.” Asami continues, sounding eager and unsure all at once. She's fidgeting with her fingers on his chest.

Her words make Kento run cold. He looks down at her face, uncertain of what to say or think. He spots her engagement ring on her finger, she had recently began putting it on again.

“We don't have to talk right now, I just wanted to tell you in person, but I'd like you to think about it.” Asami smiles with her lips closed and with a sense of uncertainty. She can’t read his face, he hardly gives her any sign of what he was thinking.

Asami removes herself from him and grabs her bag from the counter, knocking off the parking ticket Kento had taken from you. She picks it up to place it back, and reminds him, “oh—don't forget to pay that, Kento.”

She comes back to him, slipping her hand into his larger one and pulling him over to his front door once again as she makes her exit. She meant for this to be a quick visit. “You will think about it, right?”

Kento doesn't say anything in return, he just slowly nods at her words. She nods back, taking a chance and tugging him closer, raising herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses back for a moment, but all he could think about were your lips.

He didn't like comparing women to each other, but the feeling of you still lingers on him. He could only think about how much he would rather kiss you again instead of her. He abruptly breaks the kiss, pulling away, and it leaves Asami taken back.

Words don't need to be exchanged for what she felt as Kento pulled away from her, so she leaves him to think about her offer alone.

[its-monster-mash]

Didn’t Your Momma Ever Tell You Not To Talk To Strangers?

Bo Sinclair X Reader: Part Two

Warnings: Fem Reader, Allusions to Past Noncon(Not with The Reader), Bo’s violent thoughts, Smut(Consensual), Reader doesn’t know about the Atrocities yet

Part One Part Three

There’s a nervousness creeping up his spine now that it’s just you and him alone in his truck, headed back up to his place. He hates that you make him feel this way—all you’re doing is sitting there, your nails anxiously picking at the rough hem of your shorts, your jaw still tense from the falling out you just had with your stupid little friends—but all he can think of is how you might react when you get back to his house.

He knows what the tourists think about him—the way they judge the town at first glance—Hell, that Corey punk from your friend’s van was exactly the kind of person who usually has the honor of being his brother’s canvas, but it’s been so long since he actually brought a girl home that the same stupid anxieties he used to have when he was a dumb teenager are flaring to the surface in full force.

What if you take one look at his place and decide he’s not good enough for you?

Sure, he can always drag you down to his shop’s basement and take a different kind of pleasure from you, but he knows damn well that’s not what he wants.

You look at him—he’s looking at the road, but he sees you—you’re smiling at him, an awkward furrow to your brow. You have no idea the danger you’re in, but this isn’t exactly a comfortable situation for you.

Still, you’re not uncomfortable because of him—you’re smiling at him—bright and hopeful, as anxious about making a good impression as he is, with none of the assurances of homicide to fall back on if this doesn’t go well.

He wants to consume you—he wants to chew up all of your brightness and hope in his great slobbering maw until you’re reduced to little bits of mush that he can swallow and incorporate into his being.

Maybe then he’d be happy too.

“I really appreciate this,” you break the silence, and he hopes you don’t notice the way his knuckles go white against the steering wheel. “Not a lot of people are willing to take a stranger into their home.”

“Not a lot of people are willing to stand up for a stranger when their friends are being dicks.” He doubts you’d have been so quick to speak up on his behalf if you knew even half of what goes on in Ambrose.

Stupid.

He’s stupid for bringing you here.

What does he expect to accomplish? He can’t really think you’ll have any kind of feelings left for him when you find out what really goes on in this town. Even if a week was enough time to get you to fall in love with him, it would all go up in flames the second he shows you his true colors.

You like Bo, The Helpful Mechanic who sweeps you off your feet when he hugs you—Bo, The Serial Killer who keeps women in his basement, is a far cry from the man you think he is.

But God help him; he likes the way you smile at the other Bo—the way you cared enough about a stranger to make his little gas station a permanent stop on your road trip just to give him a little sugar.

He can pretend to be that Bo for a while, if it means getting to feel your skin against his. The animal inside of him aches at the thought of you, splayed out across his bed, wearing nothing but that same smile you’ve got on your face right now.

“Yeah? I don’t know as I’d call Corey a friend.” The sourness of your tone shakes him loose of his own head, and he’s honestly glad to hear it—maybe if he can drive a wedge between you and those friends of yours, a week can turn into more. Maybe if he can keep the wool over your eyes long enough to get you to tell your friends to fuck off and not come back it won’t be so hard to make you stay once you know the truth. As long as you know that no one is coming to save you…

“How’d you meet that prick anyway?” He tries to sound casual—keep the murder out of his tone—but the mean smirk you shoot him tells him that it wasn’t lost on you, and that you liked it.

“College—meet a whole lot of people who don’t mean much to you there.”

College.

Of course you had to be a College Girl—too smart for him, and yet dumb enough to end up in his truck. You probably think he’s exactly the same kind of Hick Yokel Corey does—you’re just too fucking polite not to be offended by the dickwad saying it outloud.

Lester should have gone to college—he’s got the smarts for it—but after Good Ol’ Pa lost his medical license all his Doctor Money went quick. Sure, there was food on the table, but there wasn’t shit left for any of the boys to even think of a higher education.

He can’t help hating you for it—for the opportunity you had that his brother didn’t. His lip curls up at the thought of taking that from you.

“What’re you going for?” It’s a polite question on the surface, but more than that, he’s building the version of you that lives in his head—the one he’ll use to pick you apart and learn exactly how to hurt you—how to beat you down until you’ve got no fight left to try and run away from him.

You laugh. “I’m not anymore,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I was going for Psychology and Forensics, but I had a nervous breakdown when I realized I’d never be able to afford to actually finish my degree—I dropped out about a year ago.”

He swallows thickly—fuck—all the mean shit he’d been thinking dies flat in his chest like wasps drawn into an old glass of soda someone left out on the porch. “Forensics, huh? You into dead bodies or somethin’?”

You crack a grin at that, and he wishes he could digest the butterflies in his stomach. “I’ve always been fascinated with death,” you admit, and the way your fingers almost tremble with excitement unnerves him. “Have you ever held a human heart in your hands?”

He shouldn’t answer that.

He only cracks a grin, letting out an awkward chuckle that comes off as more of a scoff. “Can’t say I have.” It isn’t really a lie—he can’t exactly tell you about it now, can he? ‘Course, maybe it’s a story for later, the way this conversation is going.

“Sorry,” you shrink, and annoyance bobs in his throat. “I’m being weird—That’s not the kind of shit I should be saying to you when you’re taking a chance on letting me crash here.” He hates the thought of anyone making you feel like you need to crush down the sick enthusiasm that makes you so fucking fascinating to him.

“Nah, Girl—that sounds cool as hell.” He offers you a smile, gift wrapped by his twinkling eyes. “When have you held a heart?”

Other than his in this moment, that is.

“My forensics class attended an Autopsy my first year—one of my classmates passed out when the Pathologist offered to let us hold it,” you giggle, trying to stifle the sound. “The corpse suffered from an acute cardiomegaly—if I remember the terms right.” He shrugs—Dad wasn’t a doctor for long after he and Vincent came around, so it’s not like he picked up a whole lot of shop talk from the old man. “The heart was huge—I’ll never forget the way it felt to hold it in my hands.”

“Well you’re officially the coolest damn girl I’ve ever talked to.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as he pulls off in front of the old house. “I like ‘em a little sick.”

He can’t help smiling at the way you laugh so openly—he’s almost excited by the prospect of letting you in on their little family secret. Either it’ll wipe that smile off of your face and show you what true horror really is, or—dare he hope—maybe, just maybe, you’ll fit right in after all.

“You wanna come inside?” He sucks his cheek between his teeth, trying to curb his enthusiasm as he looks you over—you’re looking at the house, and you don’t look comfortable.

Second thoughts, maybe?

What’s the matter, girl? Just now thinking about how stupid it was to come home with a strange man in a strange town?

“Yeah.” You nod. “Sorry, it’s just—I always feel awkward when I go into someone else’s house.”

He lets out a laugh that’s almost more of a snarl when he gets out of the truck, coming around the other side to help you out—he can be a gentleman when he wants to. “Good—nothin’ worse than houseguests who make themselves feel too at home.”

You grin when you take his hand, hopping down from the passenger seat. “Never heard that one before.” You’re a little off-balance when you land, and Bo takes the opportunity to help you steady yourself—pulling you into his chest like he’s not the one who tipped you over in the first place.

“Whoops, falling for me already?” He teases with a charming smile.

Your body against his—that’s what he’s waiting for. Gotta be patient though; he knows you want him too, and he wants to feel your hands run through his hair when he makes you see God.

“Sorry,” you squeak, a cute blush on your face as he allows you to sort yourself out. “Guess I kind of stumbled there.”

“No harm done,” he smiles as his hand finds the small of your back. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

All the confidence he cultivated during the short ride to the house evaporates into thin air when you walk into his home—he hadn’t expected company, so the piles of laundry and dirty dishes are all still heaped up exactly as he’d left them.

Usually, he doesn’t even see the mess—it’s just home to him—but fuck if he isn’t hyper aware of it now. He doesn’t want to look at you; he doesn’t want to see the polite little smile people wear when they’re trying not to look disgusted.

“It’s uh—It’s laundry day tomorrow—I wasn’t really expecting to entertain,” he stammers, but when he finally hazards a peek at you, you’re not even looking at the mess—your eyes are fixed on a couple of wet specimens he’s got laying out on one of the end-tables.

At least a little of the tension leaves him when he sees how hard you’re trying not to make a beeline for them, and he can’t help thinking you’re damn cute.

Little fuckin’ weird—but you’re his kind of weird.

“Go ahead and check ‘em out.” His smile falls when you nearly trip over a pair of old barn boots that he just left right there in the middle of the damn floor. “Goddamn—I’m sorry—I should’a warned you this place is a hell of a mess.”

“No, Bo.” You turn to look at him—looking wide eyed and genuine. “Really—it doesn’t bother me a bit; not like I was expected.”

“Still, can’t be what you’re used to.” He awkwardly kicks the boots under the couch, hoping he remembers they’re under there when he goes looking for them again.

“Shit Bo, I grew up in a little trailer in the woods.” Your wide smile and the humor in your eyes makes him relax a little—you ain’t lyin’ to him. “Long as your back door is more than just some stapled up plastic and a blanket, and I’m not in danger of freezing to death in my sleep, this place may as well be a fuckin’ five star hotel.”

“Well, considerin’ it’s September in Louisiana, I don’t think ya gotta worry about freezin’.” He’s trying so hard not to look too excited—but knowing a little about how you grew up changes so much. He was so worried about you lookin’ at him like Redneck Trash, when the truth is that the shoe’s on the other foot. “But if you’re worried about it you can always cuddle up to me.”

Your fucking smile.

God help him.

Your fingers brush his, and he lets you lace your hands together—anything to keep you leaning into him the way you are right now. “I might have to take you up on that.”

Taking your hands with him, his thumbs come up to brush against your cheeks—he could look at your face like this forever—and he’s doing his damnedest to commit the adoring look in your eyes to memory.

For all he knows, his secrets could be out any second, and you may never look at him like this again.

He can’t remember if anyone ever has.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” There you go again, dragging him out of his thoughts when his mind starts drifting off to darker places.

“Oh, is that what you’re waiting for?” He teases, watching your eyes close as he leans in, but stopping just short of giving you what you want with a petulant grin on his face. “Maybe I will—if you ask me real nice.”

His lips ghost against yours as he speaks, and he relishes the look of amused frustration on your face when it registers that he’s not kissing you yet.

“Please Bo,” you indulge him, batting your eyelashes all pretty. “Please kiss me.”

He can practically feel the beast in his rib cage clawing at him, a soft growl nestled in his throat—spurring him on even as he wants to bask in the moment.

There’s no use denying it any longer—your breath against his lips is too intoxicating to resist—if he had wanted to tease you further, his plans are ruined, but he can’t find it in him to be irritated when the softness of your lips meets his, and the taste of your chapstick floods his senses.

Your fingers slip from his, coming to rest against his chest as his own hands weave into your hair, holding you tight against him as his lips move against yours like a man starved.

When was the last time he felt wanted?

He doesn’t care if it’s all fake. He doesn’t care if tomorrow you look at him like the monster he is.

At least for now, you’re clinging to him, snaking your arms around his neck like there’s any chance of him letting you go.

He’s startled by a harsh tap against the bottom of his boot, and a growl of genuine frustration cuts through his chest when you pull back with concern in your eyes.

“Something wrong?”

“Not a damn thing’s wrong at all.” He knows his voice is a little too loud when you tense—but it’s not you he’s really talking to.

He’d have given Vincent a little warning if he knew you’d be coming up, but fuck, he didn’t have the luxury of advanced notice.

He pulls you close again, his fingertips ghosting your arm in a way that makes you shiver deliciously as he leans into your ear. “Do you wanna go upstairs?”

“Yes,” you hiss, whimpering softly when his teeth catch your earlobe.

Your face falls when he pulls away from you, but the excitement quickly floods you when you see the damn near feral grin on Bo’s face. “Well go on then—” he gives your ass a sneaky pinch, making you yelp. “Git!”

He gives you all of three seconds to start running up the stairs—your manic laughter is music to his ears as he chases you. You’ve got no idea where you’re going, but it doesn’t matter. He’s faster than you, and he’s quick to scoop you into his arms and sling you over his shoulder.

It’s fun when you beat against his back—for once, he can tell it’s not in earnest—you’re laughing and smiling and having every bit as much fun as he is, and that feels good for a change.

He slaps you on the ass—hard—before he kicks open his bedroom door.

“BO!” You shout.

“Bo!” He mimics as he tosses you onto the unmade bed.

For a split second, the worry that it might smell crosses his mind, but that’s quickly dashed when in the same second you’re ripping your shirt off and hurling it at his face.

He’s on you in an instant—burying his face in your tits as you’re left in your shorts and push-up bra.

Like you fuckin’ need the damn thing—save some titty for everyone else, will ya?

He doesn’t care if your lips bruise—he kisses you hard as his hands go up your back to unhook your bra.

God fuckin’ damn it—you’re too good—arching your back all pretty to make it easier for him.

Dirty whore; you know exactly what you want from him.

Your bra goes flying across his room the second he pulls it off of you, and he’s grinning wildly at the sight of your naked tits.

“Like what you see?”

“I’m more of a hands on kind of guy.” His big hands envelope your breasts, and he can’t resist kneading them—god damn his pants are gettin’ tight.

“Me too,” you croon, and he chuckles when he feels you fumbling with his belt.

“Need a little help?” He leans back, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to cup the growing bulge in his pants.

He knows you’re impressed, and he relishes the quick flicker of concern in your eyes before you lick your lips and it gives way to lust.

He growls softly when you sit up on your heels, but he doesn’t stop you from unbuckling his belt and working his pants down his hips while he whips his shirts off to join the heaps of laundry on his bedroom floor.

And he definitely doesn’t stop you when he feels your tongue slide up the shaft of his cock from base to tip before you take him into your warm, wet, mouth.

“Fuck, girl,” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull you back and make you look at him, the head of his cock still bobbing against your lips. “Ain’t you an enthusiastic little thing?”

“It’s been a while,” you whine, kitten-licking his cock without breaking eye contact. “And I’ve been wanting you for a while.”

The quiet laugh he lets out is almost triumphant as he forces you to bob your head up and down on his cock. “Well damn, baby—you could’a just asked.” He growls when he feels you moan around his cock, one of your sneaky little hands moving to caress his balls. “Hurts my feelin’s a little knowin’ we could’a been doin’ this right along.”

You moan again as your response, and he shoves you further down on his cock as punishment, but fuck you take it like a champ. “Quit that, or I’m gonna bust before I get to feel that perfect little pussy quiverin’ around me.”

He relishes the way your thighs tense at his words, no doubt hoping to create a little friction. God he loves how responsive you are for him.

He yanks you off of his cock with a wet ‘Pop’, forcing you to look him in the eye when he thrusts a hand into your little denim shorts, his rough fingers finding your clit with startling ease.

“Bo!” You whine.

“Bo!” He whines back, rubbing you almost hard enough to tip the scale from pleasure to pain, but only straddling the edge.

He kisses you again, the hand wound into your hair keeping you right where he wants you as his teeth sink into your bottom lip. He almost wants to know what you’d do if he bit a little harder—hard enough to make you bleed for him—but for now your wanton mewls are enough.

Especially when you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Bo,” you beg, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I want you to fuck me, Bo.”

You whine when he slips his fingers easily into you, and he can’t help but groan at the fact that you’re already so wet for him—a perfect little slut for him, ready to be used.

“Say it nice,” he growls, pushing you back into his pillows. His hand comes up to squeeze your cheeks, watching your lips squish as he mocks you. “Pretty please, Bo.”

“Pretty please,” you beg—so sweet—as his hand slips around your throat. “Pretty Please fuck me.”

Wriggling your hips with his hand around your throat—fuck—but you are a nasty little whore.

His nasty little whore.

You gasp, sucking in a ragged breath when he lets you go—but it’s only for the moment—just long enough for him to hook the waistband of your shorts and panties to yank them both off in one desperate motion.

Desperate?

That’s how you make him feel.

It’s been a long time since he’s wanted to fuck someone so bad that it hurt.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare—he hears you yelp when he impales you on his cock, but your little whimpers only spur him on, and soon his hand is back around your pretty throat as he’s rutting into you like the wild animal snarling and throwing itself against the inside of his body, like it will burst free of its prison if he doesn’t take it all out on you and your all too willing body.

It’s so sweet the way you try to moan without air, and he nearly fucking busts when the corners of your mouth turn up into a sick smile even as your eyes begin to roll back.

It would be so easy—all he’d have to do is choke you just a little longer and you’d be out cold—but he wants you awake—he wants you alive—so he lets go just in time to keep you conscious.

“Hey Sugarbabe,” he rasps, patting your cheek to keep your attention as he watches your world spin. “Stay with me now—wanna feel you cum around my cock.”

Your tits jiggle with his every thrust, and he’s not sure where to fucking look when your hand comes up to rub your clit, a downright devilish look on your face as your walls start squeezing around him.

“Fuck, Girl,” he grunts, burying his face in the crook of your neck to pepper little nips and kisses to the sweet skin there. “Keep fuckin’ doing that.”

You do, and soon enough he feels your pussy squeezing so hard on his cock it feels like it’s trying to suck him in. “Godfuckdamn.”

He fucks you harder, slamming his hips into yours as he grabs your wrists and pushes them violently into the mattress above your head as you scream his name. Your scream turns into a howl of pain when his teeth find your shoulder, and he can’t find it in him to care when he hears the sick pop of your flesh breaking, and he tastes iron on his tongue.

He’s buried deep inside you when he cums, and your greedy little cunt is milking him for all he’s got. The image of a little Him runnin’ ‘round Ambrose with his hand in yours flashes through his mind, and he thinks that’d be one way to keep you here, but he’s too gone to put much thought into anything right now—aside from collapsing overtop of you with his still-semi-hard cock buried within your twitching pussy.

“Fuck Bo.” Your voice is breathy—almost a laugh—and he leans up to follow your gaze to the bleeding impression his teeth left in your shoulder.

Honestly, he doesn’t give a fuck—if anything, he’s thrilled to leave such an obvious mark on you, but the way you have the nerve to grin at him makes his treacherous heart flutter. “That was intense.”

He pets your hair as he grins down at you, giving your throat just a light tease of a squeeze. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I wasn’t.”

Fuck.

Your arms snake around his shoulders—resting tenderly around him as you press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. He can still taste your blood. “You keep fucking me like that, Bo, and I’m not gonna want to go when the week is up.”

It almost hurts, the way you’re smiling so sweetly at him, the way you touch him so soft even after he left you bloody and gasping for air. He doesn’t trust himself to hope, but he’s in too deep to ever consider letting you go.

He can only hope you still look at him like that after the lies all fall down around your feet.

[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

[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

[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

[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. 🤷‍♀️