#;; but god . . . the way it *stings* to know that HE has not only this symbolic thing that will make others see the conqueror/the king who

[kaerinio]

also, i just know aegon's crown, which was lost in dorne following daeron i's death, is going to be used to crown young griff . . . and that crown is going to further legitimize his identity, much like how the crown was used to legitimize aegon ii's claim when the throne was stolen from rhaenyra.

[godjo]

✮ — altar girl.

hasn’t it been written that wherever the fire of evil blazes, a god will be there to douse it? but who saves the damned if a god kindled the fire?

tags — true form!sukuna x concubine/f!reader. 3k wc. explicit smut. dubcon at first (trust me in this one pls). exhibitionism. thigh riding. doggy style. manhandling. rough sex. womb fucking. humongous cock!sukuna (hello???). multiple orgasms. mindbreak. drool. cunnilingus bordering on tongue-fucking. orgasm denial once. he carries you. creampie. lots of cum. fuckton of religious symbolism. physical violence against the reader but not from sukuna. sukuna calls you brat like one time. minors, ageless, and blank blogs dni.

from hunter — not to be dramatic or whatever but i do feel like this fic took a huge chunk off of my sanity … the things i do for sukuna omg … if this flops i will officially retire from tumblr /j + also it's 3 am for me so i didn't proofread the last bits and i prolly got lazy ... ha ha ... ✮

gods exist. 

the annals of history tell us so.

they exist in a way that no mortal can comprehend, for a god is more than a face. they leave their imprints not with their feet but with the rise and fall of dynasties, the ruination of empires, and the death of kings. they materialize as the birth of a deluge and they rise as the reason for war. it is not the body that proves their existence but the carnage they leave behind. 

they have manifested before human eyes through myriad guises, and once again incarnated in the flesh of ryomen sukuna. 

many have met their untimely demise at his hands; he walks the earth with their tormented souls at his feet. from village to village, their numbers increased until a procession of weeping thickened behind him. hundreds of graves mark the land since his advent, and yet the heavens remain deaf to the hysterical prayers for justice. only he can hear the prayers; only he laughs at them. 

they say he is a devil. you say he is a god. because only a god can saturate the earth with blood and emerge unpunished from such transgression. hasn’t it been written that wherever the fire of evil blazes, a god will be there to douse it? but who saves the damned if a god kindled the fire? 

ryomen sukuna, in a form of some twisted mockery, decides to act the part. and so like every famished god, he demands a sacrifice to satisfy his voracious appetite. you would think that a house of gold would placate his hunger for blood, but riches mean nothing to him. his appetite needs flesh and it is flesh he got. 

“have i been too lenient that you’d dare fight amongst yourselves when i’m not around?” his voice reverberates inside the room. low, guttural, and pregnant with malice. it is enough to scorch everyone’s lungs with tension. 

you want to run away from this nightmare. go back to the peaceful bliss of mundanity when sukuna is only a piece of horrifying tale used to frighten children and not an absolute being seated cross-legged mere inches away. you try transporting your mind back to the days before his pillaging, before your village succumbed to his authority. yet his pervasive presence obstructs all your pathetic attempts at nostalgia. 

“look at what you did to the poor girl.” two of his four hands sweep you from your position to his lap, parading you to the rest of tearful eyes looking at him with entreaty. 

and it stings— their eyes. you’re in the claw of a savage hound from hell, ready to be devoured, with only your hadajuban as protection. even in this pitiful state, they offer no sympathy. their tears are for themselves alone despite their cruelty being the reason for your shared plight.

selfish bitches. 

“was it jealousy that caused this infighting? have i not divided my attention to all of you equally?” sukuna continuously taunts, lacing his voice with poisonous prudence. he fools no one and that’s what urges him forward. everyone knows that his seemingly laidback attitude is plain derision. nonetheless, he tastes the lingering hope in each of your faces before dragging his teeth along such pathetic daydreams.

“y… you have, my lord,” one of the women answers, her voice betraying a noticeable stutter. “if you would permit me to speak, i can offer his lordship an explanation for what transpired in the courtyard.”

sukuna emits a languid sigh as he rests his cheek upon his fist. he runs a rough hand down your arm, triggering vibration in the pit of your stomach. his hand is as huge as your face, his fingers long enough to snap your neck with ease. despite the surge of terror, you fight the urge to retch.

after a moment of battling your dread, it’s repulsion that filled you afterwards. repulsion rising from the woman’s explanation for your wretched state. the rest of the women nod their heads along with her account of how you tripped on a slippery stone multiple times, causing your current injuries, as if you’re a toddler who cannot orient her legs properly. 

they will save themselves with falsehood. 

sukuna yawns after the woman’s narration. his set of eyes seeking you after in the silence. 

“this matter is of your stupidity, then? you’ve wasted my time, brat.” he dips his cadence in amusement and disgust. 

anger flares within you, filling your nose and ears with the bitter scent of hatred, yet its heat descended down your throat, dampening your ability to defend yourself. what is one against many? there are twenty concubines in this room and nineteen of them just sold you to your demise for unintentionally raising this trifle to the lord of the land.

all of this— all of this merely because they have immersed themselves in playing a game in which you’ve been excluded since your arrival. after all, you’re just another competition for sukuna’s attention. 

“have mercy, my lord,” you whisper, on the verge of losing your sentience. “i… i mean no disrespect. it’s… it’s stupid of me—”

sukuna drawls, “speak no more of your nonsense. i have heard enough.” 

distressed apologies race past your mouth, along with entreaties that he spares your life. but you should’ve known that a god won’t turn his back on the sacrifice of blood. 

thus, when his enormous body finally moves to encase your fragility, you close your eyes and with jittering teeth have accepted your fate. you wait for the final release of death, a snap or his fist through your heart, but none came. instead, at your feet lay your torn garments, casting your nakedness before the other concubines in a humiliating display. the crisp air blows against your nipples, causing them to pucker tight. the same air turns your blood gelid, your bones immovable. 

“now, let’s see what all the fuss is about.” from behind, sukuna gropes your breasts, swirling the tips of your nipples with his fingers. “i’ll kill anyone who looks away.” the warning is vehement, ripe with threat, that even mere insects won’t dare defy it. 

is this the ultimate act of worship? to be stripped of all your layers? to be eaten?

his lips latch onto the bareness of your neck, sharp teeth dragging across the skin. the silence is thick, saved for the sound of your uneven breathing and the rustling of fabric as the concubines shift uncomfortably on their seats. sukuna’s wet and unusually long tongue starts licking the base of your shoulder to the back of your ear, before placing his thick and robust thigh between your quivering legs. 

your exposed cunt sticks to his skin, pussy folds flapping open. with practiced ease, as if manipulating the strings of a marionette, he subtly guided your movements. he has your pulsing clit riding the ridges of his thigh as if gushing all over will save you from inevitable demise. 

“m… mhm!” no longer entirely in control of your own form, you turn and sway in a helpless dance to his hands’ command. a gasp tinged with surprise and undeniable pleasure, escapes your lips and echoes softly in the confines of the room. you feel the searing heat of the concubines’ gazes drilling into you, a tangible weight of disapproval and something more primal — a flicker of envious fascination.

“for a condemned woman, aren’t you loving this too much?” sukuna takes the reins to your body. with speed that has your heavy tits bouncing, he secures your waist and drags your slick pussy faster and more recklessly. 

pleasure, sharp and electric at first, surges through your core, blossoming outwards like a firework. your cunt clenches and unclenches involuntarily, a delicious tremor wracking your body. the world narrows, sound and sight fading at the edges as every nerve ending sings with a single, glorious purpose. slowly, the intensity ebbs to leave a pleasant afterglow that paints your limbs with a newfound weight.

you’re but a tiny speck compared to sukuna’s imposing body; a feeble creature under the jurisdiction of a god. 

possessive hands have found you in your fleeting refuge, scooping your lower body up like you weigh nothing. with the tip of his finger he traces the curve of your spine, pressing enough weight to flatten your stomach against the tatami mat. 

“even your back is filled with lacerations,” he points out brusquely.

sukuna’s hefty cock drops to the base of your spine, its puffed up cocktip lazily pulsing to leak his thick liquids of pre-ejaculate. it must’ve been a whole arm laying heavy against your spine, warm with a gluttonous desire to ram itself through the sloppy confines of your pussy. 

and you lay there, waiting for his teeth and his claws and his animalistic hunger to devour. he presses his chest to your back, filling your ears with promises that he’s going to feed on you, eat you down to the marrow of your bones— and you’ll love it. 

“look at them,” sukuna hisses as he tugs at your forehead, “i want you to look at them while i fuck you.”

with your flesh you’ve received him like some kind of communion from root to tip. he hammers your cunt with his cock, until the heat of his savage lust reaches the pit of your belly. you feel his warmth soiling your cervix and uterus with every vigorous thrust. 

“oh! m… mhm!”  completely overtaken by sukuna, your thighs can only twitch as he destroys your insides. 

“you’re soaking wet,” he groans in your ear, deliberately adjusting his pace so he can coat his thick girth all over with your creamy hole, “and so fucking tight.” 

sukuna grunts like a wounded animal each time his cocktip kisses the smooth spot of your womb. a sheen of sweat glazes his body, tattoos aglow in the lanterns, from manically fucking your cunt. he bares his fangs whenever you tighten around his shaft enfolded with prominent and proud veins. 

the once vibrant forms of the concubines, their faces alight with prurient interest, dissolve into a sea of indistinct shapes as fog descends upon your sight. you’ve been reduced to a babbling and drooling mess, unable to grasp the reality that you’re being mounted and fucked to madness before several witnesses.

sukuna extends his hand, searching for your abandoned clit during his primal need to turn your pussy to pulp. 

“there it is,” he breathes against your clammy cheek, satisfied at his discovery. 

“n… no! not there…!” you pant as the last thread of reason frays and snaps. 

a tempestuous force of pleasure sweeps through you, leaving behind a tremor that has shaken you to the core. around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations spins until a guttural moan runs from your lips, delivered by the exquisite torment of rapture. your nails scrape desperately across the tatami mat, clinging at the remnants of spilled sanity. 

sukuna cackles at your desperation to find a moment’s reprieve. the roughened end of his fingers dip into your yielding flesh as he forcefully slams your pussy back to his cock.  

“you’re not going anywhere,” he pronounces frenziedly, his eyes blowing wide. sukuna’s desperation for release intensifies to the point where he’s blatantly manhandling you, brutalizing your cunt and his cock during the process of reaching zenith. flesh meets flesh, fervid thrusts after fervid thrusts, until he feels that familiar coil in his own stomach. 

sukuna plugs your abused cunt with inconceivable amounts of cum. his cock pulses wildly, shooting globules straight to your womb it’s almost physically possible to feel his viscous cum filling every crevice of your uterus. when he’s finally pulled out, ropy cum still links his raw cocktip to your pulsing pussy hole. despite such a mind-numbing culmination, sukuna’s cock refuses to yield. it springs up proudly, aching for another taste.  

“what a sight,” sukuna issues with cavernous and demonic utterance, pertaining to your body lying inert upon the tatami mat. he sweeps the sodden hair from his brow with a lordly air, his pride evident in the contemptuous curve of his lips. 

look at the state he’s reduced you to. his thick ejaculation pools around your lower body because your little pussy can’t hold all of him. with an indifferent shrug, sukuna lowers his formidable body to your level. and only when the malevolent glint in his eyes becomes apparent does the gravity of the situation dawn upon you.

he starts fucking your cunt with his tongue.

you grit your teeth in response as sukuna places your knees upon his shoulders, burying the slimy width of his tongue in your heated pussy. it’s no mere licking— he’s practically shoved his tongue up your gummy walls, toying with the warmth of his cum pooled in your poor cunt while simultaneously licking your puffed up clit. 

“o… oh! c… can’t— please, please!” drool seeps between your gritted cuspids after your hysterical plea.

pearlescent tears warm the corner of your eyes. your sensitivity from his rigorous fucking has not yet abated, but another swell of release approaches at a hand’s reach. down to your heart, the bundles of nerves and veins constrict painfully because it’s too much. you have nowhere else to put the pleasure— the imminent pinnacle will utterly ruin you.

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind—

when ecstasy is but a heartbeat away, sukuna withdraws, denying you the finality your body craves. as if saved from drowning, you suck in and grace your lungs with air only to be propelled back to the brink of delirium when he lifts you up from the floor like a breeze. 

with carnal ferocity, he seizes the meaty flesh of your haunches with two of his limbs, while the others secure your torso. there and there, sukuna slots his insatiable cock in your dribbling cunt; an act that he’s accomplished without effort because you’re so wet, he’s slid right in. 

everyone has witnessed sukuna’s cock abusing your tingling pussy; all can see how he bounces your tingling cunt along his stiff length without strain. 

“yes… squeeze my cock like the obedient girl you are,” he sibilates on your face, followed by a harsh chuckle. “you can’t hear me now, can you?”

the voice is a distant echo, barely perceptible to your waning senses. your body, devoid of strength, limps completely in sukuna’s embrace. he buries his face in the crooks of your damped neck, groaning and babbling as he ruts into your swollen pussy. 

“how come you’re still so fucking tight?”

hasn’t he prepared you for his sheer girth? hasn’t he stimulated your pussy enough to hug his cock smoothly and effortlessly? you’ve already coated his balls shiny with all the slick your cunt has produced, but sukuna’s chest tightens because you’re milking him with a viselike grip. 

yes, it is human that he’s even affected by this carnal desire. what more can he do? he feels faint with exultation merely by fucking you. 

sukuna pumps your pussy to the hilt with slow yet profound thrusts. he bares his teeth down the blade of your shoulder as the maelstrom of release engulfs him completely. battered by waves of ecstasy, he grunts with your flesh between his teeth, the rough sound reverberating deep from his belly.

you must’ve reached the peak with him— you absolutely cannot tell. the only thing that your puddled mind can grasp is the swirl of his potent cum in the pit of your womb and the endless pulse of your cunt as you struggle to accommodate his release. 

petrified and silent, the remaining concubines are as fixed in place as if struck by an immobilizing spell. yet they watch— they watch intently while sukuna’s cock throbs with white strings of cum dripping from your cunt hole down to his balls and thighs. a hefty amount pools beneath him, oozing from where the both of you are connected. 

the envy that consumed them is a silent, suffocating thing, a palpable presence thick enough to choke. this envy deepens as they witness the delicacy with which sukuna has placed your dormant body on his own tatami mat. they grit their teeth secretly, throwing every known curse your way. may your womb not bear the fruits of sukuna’s seed, they vehemently pray. 

for ryomen sukuna, it’s nothing but a moment’s weakness, a foreign string of unknown emotion that you’ve managed to evoke from him. and even though he’s beyond human grace, he’s wasted your body to his own satisfaction, it’s only right to touch you with his claws retracted.

“performance is over, my dearests,” sukuna announces while a smirk tugs at his lips. facing his concubines, he dons his fundoshi haphazardly that it barely covers what it means to hide. 

“w… what will become of her, my lord?” one dares to ask. 

a fleeting, imperious gaze from sukuna sweeps over you before ushering the women from the opulent chamber. “you shouldn’t worry yourselves about such trivial matters. she will meet her own reckoning by my hands.”

a wave of malicious satisfaction ripples through the group as they exchange covert nods. you’re already a dead woman. with poisonous glee, they bow before ryomen sukuna with their faces shaped in unbridled mirth. 

“make sure that my wives are accompanied home safely,” sukuna orders the nearest guards. he tastes their fear hanging heavy in the air just by being in his presence. oh, humans. 

as the group began to retreat, they cast over their shoulders a flurry of flirtatious farewells to the imposing sukuna. however, before they could vanish entirely from sight, his deep voice cut through their progress.

“guards, before i forgot…” sukuna displays a grotesque smile filled with malice. “kill them all. i want nineteen heads on my feet tomorrow.”

they say he is a devil. 

you say he is a god. 

and despite all the names, sukuna has found himself a place of worship, with you as his altar. 

[likearhinestonecowgirl]

Deadpool Headcanons

cw:: mentions of sex and violence. it's wade lol

description:: goddess reader, wade is your boyfriend >:)

a/n:: wade and i are married irl so this is straight from the source

Wade likely meets you first. which is a nice way of saying he's been stalking you after having a legitimate romcom, slow motion, wind only in HIS (metaphorical) hair moment

once he finally introduces himself, your aggravation only leads (turns) him on

your way of cooing condescending, violent things as you accost this clown(?) sets it in stone - your the love of his fucking life

You shove Wade against the nearest wall. "I'm sure you're a.. special kid, but let's put on our listening caps." Your eyes practically pierce his soul, unblinking, pupils narrow and frustrated. "Go ahead." You release him and pat his head like an order. "On." You wait a beat, make sure he's listening- at least to the best of his ability. "Get in my way again and I will turn you into a fucking vegetable." You whisper yell, hardly realizing your nails are biting his jaw through his mask. "Thank you." With a curt grin and pat to his cheek, you saunter past him.

He grunts as he’s slammed against the wall, staring down at you with furrowed brows and a slowly growing grin. “This is not how my first dates usually go but I’m game.” He blurts out before you start speaking. He tilts his head at the mention of a listening cap, looking down at his hands as if one will materialize before you let him go. He blinks slowly and mimes putting a hat on before his head is shoved back against the wall at the force of your sudden grasp. He grins quickly at the fleeting feeling of nails sinking into flesh, chest heaving a touch before he mourns the loss of the sting almost instantly. As his skin stitches itself back together, he rouses himself from his starry eyed haze and starts after you. “How do you feel about Tahiti—maybe Turks and Caicos, I can’t exactly tan, but I feel like I can just sit out and burn.” He rambles, hot on your heels as he takes a selfish look of you before returning to the task at hand. What was it again? Right—planning your honeymoon. “How do you feel about hydrangeas, they smell like shit but, we could always settle for tulips.” He stops for a beat before continuing. “Fuck, you’re a great negotiator. Fine, we can do orchids.”

Wade is nothing if not good at wearing people down. that's how he eventually gets you to start laughing at his jokes, to smile cheekily instead of burning him with your stare or the venom in your tone

his personality is infectious and soon enough you two are attached at the hip

Despite his CVS receipt of red flags, Wade is a really good boyfriend

Wade is surprisingly attentive, but you truly are the most interesting, beautiful, sexy, delicious, thing that has ever graced his sorry fucking existence so how could he not spend his life fixating on you

he picks up on all the little things you like and goes out of his way to keep you smiling - only happy, fucked out tears are allowed for his girl

you can conjure up whatever you like, being a god, so his money is reserved for surprises - ringpops whenever the last is finished, food because you likely don't know how to cook (why learn when you can will a three course meal into life with a snap of your fingers) and Wade is banned from every kitchen for obvious reasons, and merch of himself with his moniker, name, and/or his symbol on it

Wade can be possessive and jealous to a degree, so showing you off is one of his greatest pleasures

if you wear his hoodie or a little pair of sleep shorts or panties with his name on it, the poor fuck will actually combust. should've worn his white pants

any time you go literally anywhere and meet someone new (ie dragging him along and making him pay for stuff) Wade takes the opportunity to make it known you are his

"Oh, have you met my WIFE?"

He beams to the cashier at the luxury store who truly thought they were about to robbed.

"Yea, she's my WIFE. We're MARRIED. It was a crisp afternoon and she threw me against the wall-"

All while his arm is secured around you, holding you to his side as he thumbs over your hip bone.

he'll likely say you're married before you even start enjoying his company. the moment you accept that unwrapped ring pop definitely covered in blood and lint, those metaphorical documents are signed. it's set in stone like the 11th fucking commandment. you'll be together forever

and you just go along with it. why not? being immortal gets boring after a few millenniums and this strange, poor mentally challenged man in spandex is pretty fun having around

the whole married bit goes on for so long you're not even sure if it's still a bit anymore

Wade uses the sanctity of your marriage in any situation - another guy with a gun on some mission copping a feel? "I'M MARRIED". someone brushes past him on the street? "I'M MARRIED". sees anyone look a little too long at you? "SHE'S MARRIED"

he'd kill and die for you over and over again. say the word and it's a done deal. that hypothetical guy who checked you out a little too long got a face full of gloved knuckles

want to keep his dick in a jar because Wade Jr. obviously brings you so much joy? say less. he knows a guy who can get him formaldehyde cheap

if Wade isn't busy showing you off in public, he's arguing with strangers on reddit about how you very much are his real life WIFE

ilovechappelroan: That's photoshop.

mercwithamouth1: it's not we took that picture together and her tits r real

webhead123: i think it's AI generated. see the blurry line where his cheek is apparently pressed against her head?

ilovechappelroan: Yea, mods should take this down.

mercwithamouth1: i have ur ip and im omw over she'll tell u herself WE ARE MARRIED and she will dox u bc she LOVES ME

webhead123: okay???? i already know where i live lol

"Hold this." Wade orders with a pouty huff and camera at the ready as he hands you a paper that reads i'm not a hostage don't ask me to blink twice

you two bicker and argue over random things (usually because you enjoy a reason to complain as it passes the time in your literally endless existence), but it's never anything of substance and usually under a veil of something condescending any sly

these stupid, teasing spats 9 times out of 10 end up with Wade soothing your brattiness by cooing little phrases and pulling you onto him in any way he can

"Don't pout, you're so sexy- fuck, I can't stay mad at you- what if I let you peg me?"

Wade doesn't mind this routine at all. it's just another reason for him to get his hands on you

he loves holding you, feeling the weight of your body against his - throwing you over his shoulder when you're being a brat, carrying you all day because his girl is "just too pretty walk", sat on his lap, chest, face (when he's been *really* good)

he'll do virtually anything to have you praise him, call yourself mommy and go on about how much of a good boy he is

he in turn responds to that comfort with a few pet names of his own - sweetheart, cupcake, the wind beneath my wings, my will to live or his favorite my future baby mama

nothing in the universe, not even the shittiest of writers he's handed, could take him away from you

he's content just having you, knowing you're his - BUT he does have a little fantasy he's shared a few hundred time of really having you. a pretty thing, a trophy who sits at home and waits for him to walk through the door covered in blood and guts. you can't go outside, it's just not safe out there for his baby, so he'll always be with you. dress you in nice things, show you off, shower you in affection, heed your every whim. you'd be slaves to each other

and why would you protest? sounds fun

[thebluemallet]

Eros/Psyche Parallels in Bridgerton Season 3

The show was not subtle with the Eros/Psyche parallels this season. So I attempted to go through episode by episode and find the connections. If I miss any obvious ones, let me know and I'll edit the post.

3x01- Out of the Shadows

Starting off strong with the opening credits! You briefly see a butterfly. Not only do the Featheringtons use butterflies as often as the Bridgertons use bees, but the butterfly is a symbol of Psyche.

When Penelope opens her wardrobe to that sea of YELLOW, her butterfly dress from the first ball of season 1 is visible.

Penelope talks with Genevieve about needing to find a husband this season and then we cut directly to Gregory with a bow (sans arrow) and he's pointing it directly at Colin. The bow and arrow is a symbol of Eros/Cupid.

Penelope sheds her cloak at that ball like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

The original Eros/Psyche myth has some jealous sisters and Prudence and Philippa, while maybe not jealous per se, are not happy to see their baby sister shining so brightly when she arrives.

And for more connection to the sisters--Psyche is the youngest of three daughters and her two older sisters are married before she is.

This one is, admittedly, a bit of a stretch but in the original myth there's some ire from Aphrodite because of all the attention Psyche is getting. And Cressida rips Penelope's dress once she is getting all the attention at the ball, specifically from Lord Debling.

Eros is sent by Aphrodite in the original story to marry Psyche off to marry someone/thing horrible (or just making sure no man wants to marry her) but Eros ends up falling for Psyche himself. Colin offers to help Penelope find a husband as a way to make up for what he said about her last year and, well, we all know where this is going!

3x02- How Bright The Moon

Edited to add (credit to @bridgertonblue)- Colin cuts his hand on the glass in the study. They flashback to this scene a few episodes later when Colin finally decides to take action with Penelope and his feelings for her. This can be a parallel to Eros getting struck with his own arrows and falling for Psyche.

Eros only visits Psyche at night. Colin comes to see Penelope at night in the garden after their scheme is exposed.

Eros accidentally struck himself with his own arrows and that's how he came to fall in love with Psyche. Colin kissed Penelope because he thought he was doing it for a friend, and he ended up awakening feelings he didn't even realize he had for her.

3x03- Forces of Nature

In the Architectural Digest Bridgerton Set Tour video, you'll see butterflies on the staircase in the entrance hall of Featherington House. It's not exclusive to this episode, I just thought I'd highlight it here since it's when we have the Eloise apology scene.

THIS ONE IS A HUGE STRETCH BUT I'LL PUT IT IN HERE ANYWAY--remember how windy it was with the balloon and Colin's arms that Penelope couldn't stop drooling over? Psyche was carried by Zephyrus-the West Wind-to her fancy new home and the godly husband she never sees.

3x04- Old Friends

Eros is tasked with marrying Psyche off, falls in love with her, and marries her instead. Colin offers to help Penelope find a husband earlier in the season, realizes he's been in love with her this whole time, and we get the iconic line, "For God's sake, Penelope Featherington! Are you going to marry me or not?"

3x05- Tick Tock

This one is another stretch, but Psyche has some jealous sisters who are not permitted to visit her at her new home (until Psyche convinces her husband to let them visit many months later). Prudence and Phillipa are being mean to Penelope over her engagement and Portia doesn't allow them to attend the engagement party. A Bridgerton engagement party, so you know that stings.

And another stretch! Psyche gets pressured by her sisters to find out her husband's true identity. Penelope gets pressured by Eloise to reveal her secret identity to Colin.

3x06- Romancing Mr. Bridgerton

Eros tells Psyche that she can never know what she looks like, which is why he only visits at night. If Psyche knows who her husband is, then eventually Aphrodite will find out and she'll be pissed. But Psyche, filled with doubt thanks to her jealous sisters, lights a candle while Eros is asleep, revealing his identity and betraying Eros.

Penelope writes/delivers her Whistledown column at night. Colin follows after her, discovers her secret identity, and feels betrayed.

3x07- The Joining of Hands

Eros leaves Psyche, feeling betrayed even though he still loves her deeply. Colin is cold and distant to Penelope in the fresh sting of his betrayal. But he still loves her and goes through with the wedding.

3x08- "Into the Light"

Eros refuses to see Psyche because he's been so hurt by her betrayal. Colin sleeps ten feet away from his wife's bedroom door (they must have had other bedrooms!) and leaves soon after she wakes up in episode 8.

Psyche has to go through some trials put forth by Aphrodite to get a chance to see her husband again. Penelope is confronted and blackmailed by Cressida when the latter learns that she is Lady Whistledown.

Psyche approaches two different goddesses to help her find Eros. Sometimes they refuse to help. Sometimes one of them points her in the direction of Aphrodite's place. Those two goddesses are Hera and Demeter. Two members of the most unlikely dream team in this episode are Portia and Eloise.

Hera is the goddess of marriage, women, and family, and she doesn't have the reputation of being an upstanding mother in mythology. She parallels Portia, mother to three ladies who she wants to see in secure marriages.

Demeter is the goddess of the harvest and agriculture. This is more of a reach, but she can parallel Eloise. In her book, her love interest Sir Phillip is experimenting in his greenhouse with peas(?) (I should probably read that book again) to increase their yield. Eloise also initially refused to get in between Penelope and Colin in the previous episode.

When Psyche goes through these trials, she's pregnant with Eros's baby. The showrunners confirmed that Colin knocked up Penelope in that mirror scene so she's in the very early stages of pregnancy here.

Psyche is indirectly helped by Eros (Zeus's eagle helps her out when they remember they owe Eros a favor). This angers Aphrodite and makes things worse for Psyche. Colin tries to save his wife by appealing to Cressida and ends up making things worse for Penelope.

Psyche's final trial involves going to the underworld. She deems this an impossible task and intends to sacrifice herself before she finds another way. Penelope decides to reveal her identity to the Queen and the ton, effectively sacrificing her reputation and potentially her marriage.

Zeus listens to Eros's pleas and grants Psyche immortality. The Queen is merciful to Penelope and doesn't punish her for Whistledown, allowing her to keep writing.

Psyche is often depicted either with butterfly wings or with a butterfly near/around her in art. Mrs. Varley releases the bugs (butterflies) directly after the Whistledown reveal.

Eros and Psyche are reunited and live a rare Happily Ever After in mythology. Penelope and Colin reconcile and go on to their own Happily Ever After.

[cardinalcanis]

Pig

Genre: Smut with fluff and FEELINGS,

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x M!OC

Warnings: Explicit, degradation and humiliation kink, shoe kink, fisting, scent kink, porn with feelings, watersports.

Summary: Vulnerability will get you eaten alive in the 41st millenium, no one knows it better than Roboute Guilliman. The cold wraps around his exposed body, tendrils of fate, binding him to the moment, to the man who stood above him. There was no escape in this darkness, only surrender.

Words: 3074

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Macragge has always gotten chilly nights this time of the year, Roboute Guilliman felt as the cold wraps around his exposed body, tendrils of fate, binding him to the moment, to the man who stood above him. There was no escape in this darkness, only surrender. Tanned naked skin kissing the decadent marble floors, many of the natural veins on it resemble the scars adorning the Primarch’s muscular physique. 

“Aren’t you paying attention pig?” Said the fully dressed man standing up in front of him, a fine leather dress shoe pressing Guilliman’s face against the tiles “Clean. It. Well.” 

“Apologies sir, I’m just a stupid pig.” Answered the giant of a man in a meek tone before running his large tongue over the shoe’s sole then all the intricate golden details on the top, an imposing Aquila, the kiss on the symbol of Ultramar. A soldier must never forget what he fights for, what pulls his chain, what demands his blood. 

He let out a purr when going up the man’s foot his lips touched the thin socks covering the ankles and legs, digging his nose in to take into Ovidius’ scent that always made his whole being open up and surrender. That’s what he was made for, not to have a will but to be a tool for someone else’s. 

“The renowned diplomat, nothing more than a bootlicker” half of Ovid’s shoe was inside Guilliman’s mouth, thick strings of saliva dripping down his chin and neck. “Is this your secret? Getting on your knees, face down and spreading up your worthless hole to everyone?” 

That’s a lie, he IS the head of the imperium, a broken dystopian world compared to the one he closed his eyes to ten thousand years ago. There was a wet suction sound going off as the shoe was taken out of Roboute’s face hole, dragging his thought process back into the moment at hand, where there was no Roboute. 

“No one wants my used asshole sir, you do me a favor every time you violate it.” he answered, looking at the floor, the bullet doesn’t have the right of choosing how it is loaded into the barrel, just cry out when it is time for it to be spent. 

“Is that so?” a calm rage was packed in that question, polite yet waiting to pounce for the throat.

A long silence cut by the sound of a cigarette being lit and a long exhale full of smoke, the uncertainty weighted heavy on his chest, he could hear his heart beating like those of a cornered animal. How did he end up like this? He is humanity’s finest, second only to The Emperor, every second in this exchange should earn that man a death sentence, but still he cannot but obey. It is just the logical progression, he was a tool, tools follow what they are ordered. They are utilized and discarded when they are no longer of use. 

He felt a strong kick on his stomach, followed by others, making him roll over his back. There was a part that was Roboute giving into the hit and pretending the tiny man was actually doing true damage to him. Isn’t it more humiliating than just being defeated by someone stronger? Either way the hidden ceramite layers reinforcing the inner point and soles of the shoe helped to add a nice sting to the hits. 

Ovidius Sulla stepped on top of the Primarchs girthy erect dick and rested his full weight on it, no matter how much of a demigod one was, it hurt. 

“Look at you, some trash that is already fully hard and leaking precum at a human stepping on you. Shameful failure of a god, best you can do is doormat.” He gave his cock another kick, sending that wave of pain right to his core “Tell me, if your hole is for me to rape, why don’t you have it ready? You have but one single purpose and you managed to fuck it up.” 

“Because I am a failed pig with no control, you should dispose of me into a pit Sir.” 

“Yes I should”

Ovid leaned onto Guilliman, digging his mechanical fingers on the man’s face then forcing the thumb into his mouth, prying it open tongue fully out. He took a final use of his cigarette, exhaling all the fumes on his pig’s face painfully slow seeing him gasp uncomfortably. Ovidius pushed his thumb deep into his tongue, cold golden eyes ordered not to move a muscle as he extinguished the cigarette butt into it, the metallic taste mixed with that of pain, burnt flesh, ash and chemicals. In his mind, the calculations never ceased. Strategies, outcomes, survival. But here, under Ovid’s hands, there were no calculations, only raw pain and degradation, command into submission.

His grip, once forceful, now softened, thumb tracing the edge of Guilliman's lips as if to erase the brutality of the moment. Cradle the Primarch’s aged by stress not nature face in hands that by all means should be frigid metal made of the Mechanicus, not a reinforced warm safe haven keeping the vulnerable from the frontlines.  

“All good so far?” Ovid asked in a whisper breaking character for a second. The cruel edge in Ovidius' voice melted away, replaced by something slower, calmer.

Guilliman nodded with a smile, the burn already healed in his mouth. “I’ve gotten thrown out of an airlock and died twice, don’t be afraid of hurting me, I want you to.” He pulled the man closer to kneel on top of him so they could lean into a soft kiss followed by pressing both foreheads together  “So many have fought to bring me into submission, to inflict pain and wound onto me. But you are the only one with a claim to it, the one I will give what he asks for willingly.” a deep blue gaze mixed with honey kissed eyes. “I’m an overflowing cup made only for your lips, drink me dry so no one else can.” 

His beloved presses another kiss into his mouth with increased hunger, grabbing at what he could of the short hair on the back of his head. Then in a vigorous movement stood up and dragged him by hair as Guilliman moved himself, driven in any direction Ovidous fancied him. For example being knocked into the nearby wall and having himself being kicked into a wheezing pile. 

“Face down ass up pig.”

His body moved not by will, but by a command issued deep within his marrow, a soldier once again obeying the silent call of a force greater than himself. Lowering his upper body into the ground as much as he could, letting the spine form a graceful curve leading his bountiful muscular rear and thighs spread wide to allow full access, just as he knew Ovid loved to see him. His mouth watering thinking of how hard his beloved was now, the smell of his sweaty reddish pubes and cock under those pants after kicking him for so long. Throne, he wanted that man to force his scent all over him so everyone knew, without even asking, who he truly belonged to. 

“I know that stupid drooling face,” Sulla ridiculed  him. “The pig is thinking about my cock, a cock he doesn’t deserve. But he might get still”. 

“My sir is so merciful, this pig is honored to be your fuckhole … “ Every word Ovidius uttered and every answer he uttered chipped away at the once towering fortress of Guilliman’s will, leaving behind only the ruins of what was once considered unbreakable. But within those ruins, he found peace.

“Enough, you need to get yourself ready.” Ovid ordered, then aimed a thick warm load of spit right on top of his butthole “That’s all you get, make it last”.

Guilliman didn’t answer, just guided his hand towards his ring of flesh making sure not to let Sulla’s precious spit to slip down, coating his fingers the best he could then pushing one in a hooked motion until he spotted that tender spot around to the second knuckle deep. It takes its time to build up, more time for Ovidius’ stare to eat him alive as he gets himself nice and stretched. A second finger and he starts to groan and huff, rocking his hips around the thick digits, aiming his beloved desperate glances pleading for it to be the throbbing flesh in his silken blue pants, the one getting in him. 

“Another one” the man circling him like a bird of prey ordered. 

Who is he to deny him? The legend of Guilliman was nothing but ash in the wind now, scattered and forgotten beneath Ovid’s gaze. All that remained was the soft, pliable clay waiting to be molded. Another finger in for the stretch, another desperate moan out. He can feel the beads of sweat coming down his frow, strings of precum leak onto the floor as he milked himself for Ovidious’ entertainment. Talking about him, the man gives Guilliman a sudden kick, stepping on the hand he is fucking himself with and pushing it with his whole weight; getting it inside a bit deeper than his fists knuckles in. 

“You do not deserve to be stretched with such gentleness.” he growled unceremoniously jacking Roboute’s hand away, leaving him frustratingly empty. 

The wanton emptiness didn’t last long, it was replaced by an incredibly cold and uncaring mechanical prosthetic that pounded into him without mercy. Four fingers from the start, soon it’ll be his hand, the stretch was painful on purpose; mechanical limbs had so many straight and jagged edges that got caught in the flesh if not well lubricated, just as he wasn't. Panting and begging alongside the fleshy damp damp sound of his body breaking down from the inside. Any possible scratch would immediately clot and close just to be opened again. Pain radiated through every nerve, each jagged edge of the mechanical hand carving its way inside. But it was a necessary kind of pain, the kind that rewrote every nerve and rendered him nothing more than a vessel, hollowed out and waiting to be filled.

“Look at all the drool you are leaving on my floor, you must be feeling thirsty, pig.” Teased Ovid while keeping the rhythm that was making his legs fail. “Don’t worry, my broken thing, I’ll take care of you.” The statement died in a deeper breathy tone and the rip of a zipper being pulled down. Ovidius Sulla positioned himself in a way he could keep fisting Guilliman’s pulsing asshole but get proper handle of his own cock with the other. “Been holding it in as I knew you would need something to drink, this is the part when you say ‘thank you Sir’”.

Did he answer? Not even the Emperor knew (or wanted to), Guilliman knew something came out of his throat that sounded like half assed word salad as the immense wave of pleasure kept building up into his groin. At that point in time a stream of salty bitter watery liquid hit his face, and that’s all it took. Bent down on his failing knees, humiliated by a puny human alongside being torn open, finally urinated upon… the denigration released his climax as wave after wave of pleasure smashed over the rest of his body. His skin felt super receptive, he felt every hair follicle on his scalp and it didn’t end, it started building up again. He ended up groaning repeatedly, quite loudly, and shot multiple volleys of cum all over the floor under him. When it was over and his hole was now released from the abuse leaving him empty, overstimulated, quivering and gasping for air. 

“What a messy pig I have!” Said Ovid as he unapologetically whips his cock inside Roboute’s mouth, making his poor body spasms and gasp for air. 

There he was, in a pool of urine, cum and blood. He needed a moment to put the pieces of himself together, but it would  not be a Roboute Guilliman story if rest came easy for him. He recoiled when the sensation of a familiar cock grazed his entrance. 

“Sir please…” he gasped almost in tears “I can’t take it anymore…” 

He was forced to flip around onto his back, legs flexed towards his body the most Ovid could push with his own strength. The Primarch was pretty sure his overstimulated body had a legit seizure when the cock was rammed in his puffy abused ass, he was ugly crying, just a bare graze on his nipples took him into a full body shudder. 

He was +400 pounds of folded over trembling flesh being pounded in such a humiliating position. Guilliman had stopped containing himself quite long ago, one could only wish no one was in need of the thirteenth at this time of night for some official matters. Theoretical: they would hear the most desperate, wanton and overall pathetic sounds any demigod could make. Practical: they will turn around and never talk about it because of the mere impression it left on them. But that was not on his mind, theoretical/practicals were the last notion occupying the thought process and it was… freeing. 

“What a beautiful pig I have” 

The words took a moment to process, yes he was a pig laying in his and Ovid’s fluids, he was worthless, dull and stupid. No one would expect anything from a pig, nothing is put on an stupid pig’s hands, a pig is not expected to come up with correct decisions, not a soul would put a pig in charge of getting millions upon millions of pieces of a struggling empire together, pigs’ mistakes cost no lives. 

“Sir… “ Finally an intelligible moan that was slowly getting drowned by the increasingly lascivious thumb of flesh coming together and apart. His spasming form had already discharged itself so many times, he can’t take it anymore, too much stimulation, no more stimulation, no more empire, no more problems that will only give birth to seven others, no more tyranids, no more guilt of 18 lost brothers he’ll never see again… he just cries “...Sir I can’t do this anymore.” 

“It’s okay my pig, I am here.” Ovidious Sulla’ hands found their way to his face, lifting his chin so their eyes could meet. 

Guilliman instinctively tensed, a phantom echo of the sharp commands still lingering in his mind. But the touch that followed was different—softer, slower. He didn’t know if he could trust it yet, but there was no cruelty in it now, only care. 

“I am here and…  everything is under control” he said low and tender just about to reach his final release inside him, slowing the pace into a couple of very deep thrusts. 

Guilliman’s gaze faltered, lingering on the floor as though weighed down by something heavier than just exhaustion. His jaw clenched, resisting the tenderness he didn’t yet believe he deserved. Ovidius’ fingers, patient and sure, found his chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes. 

“I’ll take care of you, nothing bad will ever happen. You just need to be mine, that’s all you need to do”. Ovidius’ hand hovered, just for a second, as the echo of his own words hung in the air between them. Could he really make it right, after all he’d said? His fingers twitched with hesitation, but then they fell gently against Guilliman’s skin, as if he, too, needed to believe the tenderness was enough.

Yes, tenderness. As his hands soothed Guilliman, Ovidius found himself craving the touch just as much. It wasn’t just about healing what he had broken; it was about the way they fit together, two parts of the same moment, needing each other in ways words couldn’t quite capture. He lets Rouboute’s legs go and lets himself down on top of the huge man, face nested between voluminous pectoral muscles. A soft purr came out of him when the Primarch wrapped arms thicker than his leg around him, right right, he was the small one. It took them around ten minutes of whimpering and huffing until someone could make a single movement. 

“I love you Sir.” 

The words made the Administratum accountant blush with such pure glee, who dragged himself up his body, giving Guilliman his turn to get his face squeezed in Ovid’s chest. 

“I love you too.” he said, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You did so well, you are very strong and beautiful. And you will keep doing well.” he hugged the man as strong as he could, as strong as it would take to convince him no one would be able to pry him off his embrace. “You know,” Ovidius said, his voice barely more than a murmur, “this isn’t about what you can take. It’s about you, who you are.” He paused, his thumb brushing lightly over Guilliman’s cheek. “And you’re more than enough.”

Without a word, Ovidius reached for Guilliman’s long abandoned tunic at the edge of a chair, draping it over the giant’s shoulders. The gesture, small as it was, felt like a promise, a quiet vow of protection after the storm they had weathered together and how dark the galaxy they would have to weather was. He wasn’t strong enough to face his beloved’s enemies, but at least he could shelter him from those that lurk inside that overactive mind. A flicker of guilt crossed Ovidius’ face as he wiped away the remnants of sweat and tears. He didn’t say anything, but Guilliman could feel it in the way his hands lingered; gentle, almost reverent.

The room seemed to shift, its sharp edges softening under Ovidius’ care. In the low light, the grim world outside melted away, leaving only the quiet sanctuary they’d created in the aftermath. He was no longer just a weapon to be wielded; he was Roboute now, with every breath Ovidius shared in the quiet, their connection more than just power and submission. It was trust. Long minutes followed until Ovidious moved up, or at least tried to. 

“Come Roboute, we need a long bath… and a mop.” 

“Theoretical: I am still a little shaky.” 

“Practical number one: crawl your ass into the bath. Practical number two: you’ll bring me the paperwork to bed tomorrow as shakiness will be the least of my body pains.” 

They both chuckled, Macragge’s night wasn’t feeling as chilly anymore. 

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Pray for our poor Ovidious' wellbeing, topping your Primarch takes a big toll on the body.

[daydream-cement]

Organs in the Wash Ch. 8

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Authors Note: Thank u sweet bby @bri-sonat for making sure this didnt suck. Less intense than the last coupla chapters.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence

With each dig of a letter into your flesh, you let out a groan of pain and wondered to yourself if the agony would begin to dull at all. Your captor glanced up from his work, a scowl on his face and his tone scolding, “Please stop with those depressing whimpering noises. They are becoming quite distracting.”

There was no stopping the way you whimpered and cried from the ache of the scalpel and the sting of the hydrogen peroxide. Rather than physically harm you for your disobedience, he just began to taunt you instead, “I’m sure your knight in shining armor will come for you again and I will make sure to let her know that you alone are the reason she will die a slow and painful death.”

At the mention of her name, you pull against the restraints with the little bit of strength you had, but your torturer only laughs and continues carving the following symbols into your arm: 𐑄𐐮𐑅 𐐮𐑆 𐑀𐐳𐐼𐐺𐐴

Miranda descended down the ladder first, focusing carefully on any sounds coming from beneath her. She could have sworn she had heard a crashing noise when she first pried up the floorboards, but now the shaft was only filled with the sounds of Miranda and Robin’s shoes hitting the bars of the ladder.

The ladder led to a crawl space that was hardly big enough for the two women to stand side by side comfortably. Robin pulled her phone from her pocket and shined the flashlight around the small room and spotted a door handle behind Miranda. She reached out, twisting at the handle and pushing at the door to reveal a darkened hallway.

Miranda continued to lead the way with Robin having to hold up her phone light over Miranda’s shoulder. Robin could tell the blonde had found something big when she heard Miranda suck in a breath.

With three strides, Miranda crouched down to the floor and pulled up on a handle without any hesitation which made Robin clench a fist. The smaller woman would have preferred to formulate a plan first before jumping down into a basement where the both of them could have been killed.

Your eyes widened at the distant sound of the hatch opening at the end of the hallway. Immediately he stopped his work, dropping the scalpel to the surgical tray and wiped his hands on his towel. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned back to you, an evil glimmer in his eyes, “It looks like our guests have arrived.”

You struggle once more and attempt to make some type of noise to warn, hopefully Miranda, of the imminent danger. All of the noises came out as muffled and not nearly loud enough to warn anyone from the other side of the basement of the psychotic killer who was waiting for them. You pushed at the gag with your tongue, the foul taste of the wood stain long since subsided.

Rage was welling within you as the need to escape became overpowering. You rolled your head back and forth, wishing you could be free of the restraints that held your body and the duct tape that secured the gag in your mouth.

“Oh god…” Miranda’s voice came from afar as soon as she saw your form strapped to the surgical table. Her concern for your current condition and joy at seeing you alive was overwhelming for her, and made her blind to the current dangers lurking in the shadows of the basement.

“Look at you. Oh god, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” In a flash, she was at your side, fingers working quickly to undo the straps at your side.

Your first reaction when you regained freedom of your dominant arm was to bring your hand to your face to remove the duct tape on your face. You were met with the searing pain from flexing the muscle under your fresh wound.

Miranda took your wrist in her hand, pushing your arm back down to the metal tabletop, “What has he done to you?”

“Now this might hurt, but I’m going to take it off slowly so it doesn’t tear at your skin, okay?” Miranda gently began pulling up the edges of the duct tape. This pain was intense, but nothing compared to your head wounds and carvings in your arm.

She was about halfway across your mouth when a commotion came from across the basement.

“DON’T MOVE ANOTHER FUCKING INCH!” Your kidnapper shouted as he stood next to the fallen bookshelf, a lit lighter in hand, threatening to light the spilled ethanol aflame.

“Put the lighter down. If you put it down, I won’t have to shoot.” Standing meters from him was Robin with her gun trained at his head. They were in a full standoff.

Miranda turned her attention away from you, pausing as she wondered if she should continue helping you or intervene to help her partner. With your nondominant arm, you finish pulling the tape from your face and yanking the rag from your mouth in the process. You lean upwards, catching yourself by grasping at Miranda’s arm.

The blood loss left you woozy, but you needed to sit up to spit out the foul taste of whatever that rag had been soaking in.

Miranda turned her attention back to you at first contact. Her eyes immediately spotted the way the back of your shirt was soaked with your own blood. Gripping your bicep, Miranda held you steady, her hand moving to touch your head until she hesitated, not wanting to do any further damage to your skull, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t intend for this to happen. You should be safe in my apartment right now…”

Your eyes were focused forward on the scene in front of you. Robin slowly inched forward, repeatedly telling the killer to put away the lighter, knowing full well by the smell that a flammable substance coated the floor. He held the fire away from himself, intending to drop the lighter if Robin took another step forward.

Miranda was trying to ask about your current state but you were too focused on the stand off to listen to her. The blonde had lost all concern for herself and the training she had once held so dear.

Her hands unbuckled her vest and she stripped the buttons from her jacket, ripping the light blue fabric away from her shoulders. Now left in her tank top, Miranda gingerly pressed the fabric to the back of your head, causing your eyes to squeeze shut from the painful pressure at the back of your head.

A gunshot rang out and you felt Miranda jolt in surprise, adding more pressure to your head wound than intended. When you opened your eyes, Miranda’s face hovered in front of yours, blocking your view of the happenings across the room.

The killer had dropped the flame, and the lighter hadn’t hit the floor when Robin fired off a round at the killer. She had shot him in the left shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards and trip over the fallen shelf. His body fell against the amalgamation of metal, organs, and renovation supplies as the fire made contact with the ethanol. A ring of fire quickly engulfed the killer and he began screaming and writhing in response.

Miranda was intentional with the way she turned her back to Robin. A second shot rang out and the screaming stopped. Neither of you witnessed what exactly happened at the other side of the room.

Robin was level headed and quick on her feet in the presence of imminent danger of a spreading fire. On a nearby shelf lay an old fire extinguisher and with her now putting out the chemical fire. When Robin pulled the pin and aimed the extinguisher at the flames, she hoped it was the correct type to truly put out the spreading fire.

“We need to get you out of here. There has to be another entrance than the one we came in from…” Miranda glanced around the room, her hands unwilling to leave your head.

She remembered the doors on the other side of the fire… Perhaps there were more somewhere else in this big basement.

Guiding you backwards, Miranda kept the shirt in place until you were lying back down. She raised your hand to her lips with great urgency, pressing her lips to the back of your hand and then leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, “Lay back down… Yes… Good job… I’m going to see if I can find a way to get you out of here.”

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on staying conscious. Your gut told you your kidnapper wouldn’t be able to harm you any longer. Everything in your body seemed to ache and your breathing labored. Perhaps if you let yourself sleep for just a little bit, you could wake up when Miranda came back to your side.

The last thoughts running through your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness was the knowledge that the Deseret carvings in your arm would remain with you for life.

What you weren’t conscious of was Miranda tearing the basement apart. She shifted entire shelves, searching for exits that may have been hidden.

When Robin had the fire put out, Miranda jumped over the smoking corpse, beginning to search the hallway for an exit. When she realized the doors were locked, she kicked each down with ease, coming to find the third room had a second door that could lead to the outside.

Robin and Miranda’s teamwork was impeccable. Miranda made her way back into the main room, gathering you into her arms and lifting you from the table. Robin cleared a path to the exit, retrieving her phone from her pocket to call an ambulance.

Miranda whispered softly to you the entire way, seeking to reassure herself, “You are going to be okay. You are going to be okay. No one is going to hurt you. I’m going to take care of you. I won’t be letting you out of my sight again.”

The memories from the next few hours came and went: the sounds of an ambulance, Miranda’s face lingering over yours as you were rushed into the hospital, and the sterile scent of a hospital room. True consciousness returned to you with the sounds of hushed whispering and the consistent sound of your heart monitor.

“She is really going to be okay, Constable Hilmarson. Blood loss and head trauma. She was lucky it wasn’t worse. There is a good chance the scarring will be permanent. We will run more tests when she is conscious to see if there might be any permanent damage to the brain.���

“Like a concussion or what?” Robin asked, eyes zeroed in on the doctor, asking the questions Miranda most likely wanted the answers to. The blonde had been fairly silent, her eyes glued to your sleeping form.

The doctor's voice rang out, beginning to list the many symptoms of a traumatic brain injury, “The symptoms can be a plethora of things. That’s why this can be challenging. Her moods could change, more anger, anxiety, or apathy… More noticeable symptoms like blurred vision, slurred speech, amnesia, confusion… The list goes on. From where the primary external injury was located, the occipital lobe is the area that could be most affected.”

“So possible vision problems?” Robin asked, her eyes watching Miranda circle the bed and take her spot at your side once again.

The doctor gave a small shrug, “It’s a possibility.”

At the mention of you losing your vision, you open your eyes, wanting to check for brain damage yourself. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Robin and the doctor stood at the edge of the bed and Miranda sat in your periphery. When your eyes fluttered open, Miranda’s hand reached out and snagged your own, relief washing over her.

The doctor had a pleasant bedside manner, her voice gentle as she ran a simple preliminary neurological exam. She asked you if you knew who Miranda was, where you were, and if you knew what day of the week it was.

Running a tuning fork against the side of your leg, she asked you to describe the sensation to her. A series of questions tested your cranial nerves, but it was the motor function portions that seemed to be a particular challenge.

You were then informed by your doctor that you would be scheduled for further testing to examine the potential harm that may have occurred to your cerebellum. She was quick to reassure you of the many successes in patients regaining motor function with increasing neuroplasticity through picking up a new and challenging hobby.

After all of your testing, the doctor took her leave and Robin excused herself as well, hoping to give you and Miranda a moment alone together.

“I-I’m so sorry… This is all my fault.” Miranda hung her head, both of her hands gripping your hand. She was desperate for your forgiveness as she couldn’t be the protector she always promised you she would be.

Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, but you fought through it, “W-where were you? Adrian… said you were watching… I thought- I was so scared…”

Miranda murmured through gritted teeth, but you weren’t able to make out her frustrated commentary. She took two deep breaths and turned her attention back to you, “…I should have known better. I would have torn that building apart, brick by brick, to find you.”

“It’s not your fault… Thank you for saving me…”

“Anything… I would do anything for you…” Miranda raised your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. Silence fell between the two of you, Miranda’s eyes traced over the healing scars, chewing at the inside of her lip as she wondered what the symbols meant.

𐐔𐐨𐑉 𐐣𐐮𐑉𐐰𐑌𐐼𐐲, 𐑄𐐮𐑅 𐐮𐑆 𐑀𐐳𐐼𐐺𐐴.

When you eventually fell asleep once again, Miranda pulled out her phone and translated the symbols, tears welling in her eyes when she realized what it meant. The guilt was overwhelming for her. Miranda was so in love with you and she allowed herself to get close, hurting you in the process. Perhaps if she would have kept you more at arms length, she wouldn’t have been the cause of so much pain and trauma for you.

She rested at your bedside, not allowing your hand to slip from her grip. The translation rang about her skull-

‘Dear Miranda, this is goodbye.”

[dipplinduo]

I don't know if this would be a headcanon or a direct plot. In my head, Kieran defeats Juliana in the Indigo Disk battle, however, it's not how he would have wanted because Juliana decides to give up as soon as she sees her last Pokemon about to fall. Kieran goes crazy when he feels that she is giving up his victory and decides to send his Pokemon to continue attacking. Juliana, desperate to see her Pokemon in danger, does something stupid. She gets into the middle of the fight and takes the hit instead of her beloved partner. Kieran just watches in shock as Juliana's body flies through the air until it crashes against the wall.

Koraidon roars, holding Juliana, Kieran can only watch, his legs unresponsive. He hears his sister questioning him about what he has done. Kieran's legs are still frozen, even though his brain orders him to go to Juliana, his body does not respond. His eyes sting as he doesn't look away from Juliana.

Finally, Juliana is taken by the medical team to the hospital, Kieran barely takes a step towards the stretcher when Koraidon roars in his face, preventing him from getting close to her.

Kieran watches the ambulance drive away… he feels his stomach sink, his limbs shake to the point where he feels like he won't be able to support his own weight. Tears finally come out of his eyes, his head is a mess. Thousands of voices screaming. Hate, guilt, resentment, pain…

Kieran only feels like he has been broken inside once again, this time by his own hand.

I love the shipp but I also think that the unfinished business should be with each other and not just on Kieran's side, so for me, this headcanon gives rise to both having something to blame the other and from there they can both heal and resolve their differences

My GOD this screams angst in every way possible and I want you to write a one shot or something because the way this didn't end with Kieran running to the hospital and holding Juliana tight and dear as they make up was CRUEL

MY ACHY BREAKY HEART 💔

(Seriously, you should write about this!! I especially love the idea of Juliana choosing to forfeit the battle - it and Kieran's reaction is incredibly symbolic. Kieran's guilt/getting snapped out of his funk is also very realistic in this situation)

[gardeniashellfire]

Moodboard #2: Minho (AGoLc:LMH)

Lee Minho— God of Love.

•He is in charge of love, fraternal, platonic, romantic, you name it, it's all him! He is one of the most old gods, have always been there even without a name. He used to be a sweet and caring figure in the Heavenly Court but as humans started to make a mock of what he was an represented, he started to isolate himself, growing cold and bitter, cynical of his own domain as time went by, soon snapping and blowing up that he was no longer doing his job, that he was retired of been the god of love and that they need to look for a replacement. Ever since then, he has layed low.

—Posses the ability to see fate, but not in the same way the God of Fate can, he can see the possibilities of what will happen if two or more people enter a relationship, the multiple outcomes and their future together, before he tried to keep those bad for eachother away, but now, he doesn't really care, they never listened before, why should they listen now? Can see someone's heart based off their intentions and desires, how much love lives inside of them, how much are they willing to do for those they claim to love. It still stings him when he sees those black holes inside people's chest.

–He can speak a multitud of lenguajes, understand all the alphabets, been his favorite to curse in is latin and spanish, due to his high stress level when he was active he gain the habit of fighting with his nechles and never wearing rings, he knows it's hard to use a arrow with such so he doesn't use many.

–When he retired the world seemed a little bit more dull, the gods noticed it, the humans didn't, and maybe he had been proven right, nobody has seen the god of love in a long while, no trace of him to be found, they only know he is still around based on his monthly reports.

•Sacred animals: Swans, cats, doves.

•Sacred Symbols: Hearts, roses, the queen of heart card.

Other titles: Welder of the Stirngs of Fate, Holder of the sands of Aphros.

—Strings of Fate: He can see, touch and manipulate them at ti his bidding, he never really does it, even retired, had a special pair of scissors that are capable of doing do, only ever used it once, he cried for months because of it.

—Sands of Aphros: Little jars of sand that can influence the type of love you feel for someone (or the first person you lay your eyes one.), handed to him by his dying father, it his most priced possession.

[wandafiction]

In Every Universe - Part 3

Warnings: Small mentions, and slight descriptions of torture.

You startle awake at the feeling of ice water being chucked over you, gasping for air as you feel it drip down the back of your throat, rolling off of the bed onto the hard floor. You cough and splutter trying to clear your airways while always trying to get air into your lungs from it all being pushed out from the fall. You feel your arm twisted at a slightly weird angle, due to your hands still being cuffed, and try to roll about to get it to feel somewhat normal. 

“Wakey, wakey.” You choke slightly when you’re lifted off the ground by the back of your shirt and forced down onto a metal chair, your eyes opening to see some blonde chick and a man you know to be the winter soldier, who you think they mentioned yesterday is now bucky. 

“Xa-xa , имний солдат. Как спокойная жизнь относится к вам?Скучно, я вижу, так как вы решили привязать меня к стулу для удовольствия.Несмотря на то, что я могу признать, что у вас есть некоторые взгляды, вы.” You smirk as he pulls your arms over the back of the chair, the angle causing a small sting but nothing you can’t handle, and tying them to it. (haha, the winter soldier. How is the quiet life treating you? Boring I see since you've decided to tie me to a chair for fun. Even though I can admit you got some looks going for you, you've got the wrong equipment to satisfy my needs.)

“No you don’t get to talk.” The blonde chick puts a knife to your throat, her eyes filled with a small amount of emotion and you can only chuckle when you recognise the symbol on her knife.

“Oh, she knows how to play, itty bitty baby widow.” You laugh as a hand comes into contact with your face.

“Did you really just quote Harry Potter while we are tying you to a chair? Crazy bitch.” You shrug laughing as the blond removes the knife from your throat now you are tied up to the chair properly.

“What can I say? I love a bit of movie magic, sue me?” You shrug, or do your best to, as the two of them give each other a look. “So did I know you two too, or are you doing this harsh interrogation technique because I have no link to you?” 

“What?” The winter soldier grabs another chair facing the back towards you and sits down, crossing his arms over and resting them on the top of the chair.

“I just mean that you know before the whole you disappeared act, which by the way I still don’t believe but I’m playing along because I like games, this is the best sort of game. Wait no, maybe monopoly or scrabble because everyone gets real mad real quick and it always ends up in a fight. Wait no Russian roulette. Yes, that is my favourite game, you should play it some time. It is very fun, very very fun. Should be an olympic sport.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” You turn to the blonde chick who has taken a seat next to the winter shoulder, sitting on her chair properly with her knife twirling against her knee.

“Do you ever ask questions because all you’ve done is get me wet and tie me to a chair. Just a normal Friday night if you ask me, although normally I’m the one who is tying the woman to the chair. You know a lot of men think it's some kind of kinky game you want to play, again I’m a big ole lesbian and never would, but when you put the knife to their throat and just. swish.” You laugh bouncing in your seat. “God it gets the blood pumping, literally all over the fucking place. Work of art. Should take a picture and send it to a gallery I could earn millions.”

“Earn millions from other people's deaths? You’re sick.” You laugh looking between the two in disbelief.

“So are you two. I mean come on the winter soldier and a black widow, I’m assuming you’re a part of the group that is helping free them all. You know you’ve gone all free all widows, which I mean is pretty cool if you ask me because what is up with mind control? Now that's something sick and perverted.” Again they both look at each other, but you’re too busy rambling about if there are black widows there must be super secret ninja organisations to notice. 

“How do you know who we are?” 

“Well first of all Mr I always look grumpy it's not hard to determine who you are. I mean the arm is a dead give away, and the eyes, just something about the eyes being so dead inside most of the time. As for you Miss I’m another blonde Russian, possibly Ukrainian, hard to tell the accent, you literally have the black widow sign on your knife. Pretty dumb to use it if you don’t want people knowing.”

“I mean she is not wrong, you are very dead behind the eyes.” 

“Yeah and you are stupid for using a knife from your old work place.” The blonde assassin gasps with her hand on her heart. 

“Excuse me old man, but I’m sorry that I hold a memento for destroying, as you said, my old workplace.” Bucky mimics Yelena with his hand as he puts on a squeaky voice.

“My name's Yelena and I destroyed a super secret organisation with mommy and daddys help, oh and my big sister because we are all one big happy family.” You bite your lip smirking to yourself, not missing the name of the blonde assassin.

“Oh I'm such a grumpy old man I refuse to listen to any music made after 1950. Oh and the fact you still haven’t admitted to Stevie wonder that you want to be me more than friends.”

“Ay! Another gay! Welcome to the alphabet mafia my friend, it is a wonderful place to be!” Now they both turn to look at you, seeming to remember what they were here for.

“I’m not gay.” You and Yelena both raise a brow.

“Okay fine so you're a raging bisexual.” The man sputters for words but doesn’t find anything, and you wink at Yelena who is holding in a laugh. “Man, do you like dick or not?” 

“What?” He spits out bulging eyes as you ask the question so nonchalantly. “I don…Pfft me...I mean…why, why would you think that….I…fine yes I like….”

“Dick, just one simple word. Who thought the English language was so hard?” He glares at you  and Yelena chuckles pointing at him.

“Ha, she has you there!”

“Shut it Yel.” Yelena gently hits him on the shoulder gasping.

“Rude.”

“Come on man, it's just 1 small word. 4 little letters. You just gotta say it. Dick.” You lean forward as much as your binds allow you to. Smiling, actually smiling cheekily, tilting your head slightly.

“What does saying the word make it official or something?” You nod your head quickly, Yelena following suit.

“Well duh, if you can’t say dick how are you gonna you know? Eat it would be the wrong word, you eat pussy but you don’t eat dick.”

“Wow you really have no filter do you?” Yelena scrunches her face in slight disgust at your ease of talking about it and you simply shrug your shoulders. 

“Do I look like I care about having a filter? I’m tied to a chair having the time of my life watching a nearly 100 year old man stutter over the word dick. And he has one. I’m sure back in his day he was comparing sizes like Bro my dick so fucking big.”

“Okay stop right there, ew ew ew.” Yelena covers her ears, shaking her head as you laugh sitting back in your chair. 

“I’m just saying how is it meant to be okay with himself internally if he can’t accept the fact he wants a dick in his mouth?” Yelena fake gags as Bucky rests his head on the top of the chair, hitting it gently a few times.

“Fine, I like dick. Can we move on please?”

“Oh yeah no problem. So what sort of torture techniques you are going to use on me?. Car battery? Waterboarding? Maybe breaking my arms, knocking a few teeth out, breaking a cheekbone or both. Up to you I have two, both sides are my good side so it doesn’t really matter which one gets hit, and if you do both then it's still even and I still have two good sides. Win win for me. Or maybe you’re going to dope me up with some kind of truth serum? Highly possible, made it and used it before. Rather funny to watch people have no control over what they say. So what’s it going to be?”

“How about you just tell us what we need to know and we will be on our way?” You groan, throwing your head back at the man's words.

“Booooring. Come on, I wanna see some action or something. It's been so long. Come on just one little punch you know you want to. Just one itty bitty punch right to the side of my face. I promise you it won’t hurt me, I’m a tough cookie.” You smile smugly as both of the people look at each other, having some sort of silent conversation before turning back to you.

“You know you are pretty much as they described you.” Now your brows furrow as Yelena dismissively shrugs. “Right Buck. I mean she is so annoying and talks too much, a little too crazy and out there, bit of a gloater if you ask me.”

“Wha..”

“See that's what I was thinking. Oh and weak because who can’t break out of some simple rope ties and handcuffs. Get this they say she has pyrokinetic powers too, whatever that big fancy word means.”

“It means I make fire you dumb bitch.” You spit, hating how they are talking about you like you’re not even there; not actually caring what they say about you too much.

“Oh, have we angered her? Oh dear look at that, wiggling around in her chair trying to get to us. Pathetic. I mean, for some top secret Hydra goon you think she would pack a little more … punch.” 

“I’m not just some Hydra goon.” They continue to ignore your presence and you can feel the frustration building. 

“I mean I’ve managed to gather more information from a dead body before which is pretty freaking difficult because they’re dead.” Yelena laughs at herself shaking her head. “I mean if we aren’t going to get anything from them we might as well just leave them here.”

“Yeah I don’t think we are going to get anything useful out of them. I mean they were dumb enough to try and break into the avengers compound and think they could get away with it. So dumb.”

“They really are. I’m surprised that that sort of mission didn’t require their top agent. You know someone who can sneak in and out without getting caught, doesn’t make as much noise as this elephant did, can hack better than Tony himself. I know they have those sorts of people, but this chick ain’t it. For someone who looks like a cyborg she’s useless.” Now that got to you, talking about your few prosthetic limbs like it made you less of a person. 

“I was sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff and I would have done it had that stupid man who hides in the vents hadn’t spotted me. I mean who the fuck hides in vents, a fucking coward thats who.” You spit trying to push yourself from the chair, but instead falling with it and landing harshly on your side. 

“So you were sent here to kill my friend. Why?” You lock your jaw realising what you’ve said looking up at the two of them with a steel gaze. 

“She asked you a question.” You grind your teeth together breathing harshly through your nose ignoring the pain pulsing your side from falling to the floor.

“I wouldn’t leave me waiting if I were you.” Yelena places her boot on the side of your face pushing it against the floor more. “I asked you, why were you sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Why were you sent to kill her?” Bucky shouts, slamming his metal fist on the ground as he crouches down to look you in the eyes, your steel gaze not wavering. 

“Answer the fucking question.” Yelena applies more pressure and you fight the urge to give in, even with the pain causing tears to build in your eyes. 

“Do you have a death wish? Answer the fucking question!”

“Enough!” The two of them are thrown off of you with some force and you squirm on the floor a little, relaxing your jaw and shaking your head ever so slightly, trying to soothe the pain. 

“What the fuck wanda!” At the mention of her name you look up to see her holding her two teammates against opposite sides of the room with her magic, a rage in her eyes that scares you a little.

“Could you not see you were hurting her.” Wanda’s voice breaks slightly and as her gaze moves to you it softens and your heart constricts slightly.

“Well how the fuck do you expect us to get answers if she won’t talk.” Bucky argues and you lock your jaw, tearing your gaze away from the woman in front of you.

“You heard what Bruce said. We just have to wait. We can question and try to jog her memory but that doesn’t mean her ending up on the floor with a boot on her face and a gun pointed to her head.

“You had a gun!” You tilt your head back to look at the man who looks … apologetic? No you must be seeing things. “Should have put a bullet in me, Hydra will come after me. And when they do, when they find me. Each and every one of you will be so fucking sorry for keeping me here.” 

“Sure, so where are your Hydra pals now!” You turn your gaze to look at Yelena who has her brow raised in question and when you don’t answer she looks at you smugly. “That's what I thought.”

“Enough both of you.” Wanda gently places her friends on the floor, extending her magic out to you and undoing the ropes keeping you to the chair. “Don’t try anything.”

It’s all the warning you get from the red head as you slowly stand from the ground, throwing the rope to the floor in front of Bucky. Your features harden as you glare at the two of them, softening slightly as you look at Wanda before taking a few steps back until your knees hit the bed. They all watch as you sit on the end of the bed, putting your head in your hands as you take a moment to breathe, all of them deciding they would quietly leave. 

“Miss Maximoff.” You turn your head to see her turning around in the doorway outside of the cell.

“Hmm, yes?” You smile a little at her.

“Thank you for, you know, getting me out of a bind.” She chuckles lightly, giving you a small nod.

“It's no problem, get some rest. I think you are expecting another visitor soon.”

“Good bye Miss Maximoff.” 

“Good bye Miss y/l/n. Oh and one more thing.” She waves her hands and the cuffs around your wrists fall to the floor. “I don’t know why we didn’t take them off yesterday. You have my apologies.”

“It's quite alright Miss Maximoff I am a prisoner I do not expect to be seen as any different.” Wanda hums with a sad smile.

“Hopefully you won’t be for too long.” You don’t say anything in return simply laying back down on the bed listening to the distinct click of the door as you close your eyes. 

It feels like it's been 5 minutes since you closed your eyes when you're startled awake by a crashing sound outside of the cell, sitting up straight with your eyes assessing the threat. You relax when you see Peter picking some things up off the floor, tilting your head when you notice his laptop under his arm.

“Are you okay spider boy?” Peter freezes looking up to you with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah I’m okay, did I wake you. Oh my gosh I did wake you, I am so sorry. I will just get going and leave you in peace.” He fumbles with everything in his hand going to turn around.

“Pete, wait a sec.” You stand up moving to the glass door of the cell. “What did you come in to ask?”

“Well I was just thinking that maybe we could have a movie night. You said a movie night would help to relax me and it did, then I thought that maybe it would do the same for you. I know you're like a prisoner blah blah blah political bullshit but I mean you’re still human.” He rambles and you can’t help the smile that grows as you take in the selection of snacks he has. 

“I think a movie sounds good, but I hate to break it to you. I don't think I am going to be having snacks.” You knock gently on the glass separating the two of you. “Since I am in here and you are out there.”

“Uhm, well about that.” He stumbles to put everything on the floor, opening his laptop and connecting a wire from the panel on the door to his laptop and you watch as he clicks away on the keyboard. “And I know you don’t actually remember me, because Wanda did tell me that just in case so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I found out myself.”

“And are you disappointed?” He quickly shakes his head pressing a few more keys and the door slide opens.

“Not at all, I mean you pretended to know who I was because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Which is something that Y/n, well I mean who you used to be or still are but not right at this moment, would do.” The kid picks up his laptop and the snacks once more, keeping the laptop open, making his way into the cell.

“So what have you brought to watch?” You take a few steps away from the door watching as Peter presses a few buttons and the door closes again.

“Star wars. I hope that’s okay. They’re my favourite.” You smile sitting back down on the bed tapping the place next to you. 

“Well I can’t promise comfort or that because, well, we’re in a cell. But I can definitely be a good movie buddy.” Peter puts a small device on the floor, plugging his laptop into it and pressing a few more buttons. 

“It’s cool I brought a blanket in my backpack.” Peter says it with a wide smile as he pulls out a big grey fluffy blanket out of his backpack sitting down next to me and against the wall. 

“Is there a way to turn the lights off?” You shuffle back keeping a small space between you and Peter as he leans down to grab the snacks and put them in the gap, as well as turning the small gadget on the floor on.

“Friday lights off.”

“Yes Master Parker.” You jump slightly at the disembodied voice but settle quickly when you see the projection on the wall of the film. 

“That's so cool.” You smile widely as Peter throws the blanket haphazardly over your legs as you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah I have also wanted a big cinema like screen so I bought a projector, took it apart and made it better so it was 4K HD instead of the shit things you get in school.”

“That's a pretty freaking cool kid. You made it?”

“I did.” He beams as you look with wonder at the gadget. 

“That's amazing. So how many movies is this?”

“Well 6, but technically 9 if you watch the new ones but there's also side movies and series. But for now we will just watch the original trilogy.” 

“Do you have any pillows in that backpack of yours? Just I have a very thin one and I don’t think either of us will be comfortable leaning against the wall for too long.”

“No, but, give me two minutes and I will have a solution.” He jumps from the bed pressing his phone as the door slides open and shut. “Just stay right there.” 

“Not like I can go anywhere.” You chuckle with a crooked smile.

���Right. Anyway, I won't be any more than two minutes.”

“Take your time spidey.” Peter smiles widely walking to the main door. 

“See you later Helios.” He runs out of the room and as the door closes you are sucked into a hazy memory.

/\/\/\/\

“No, we have to come up with some super cool name for you. You can’t just go around calling yourself Y/n! You literally set things on fire, including yourself and everyone looks to the sky and goes woah there goes … Y/n.” He says your name with lack of enthusiasm and you gently hit his shoulder laughing.

“Oh sorry Mr im a teeneger calling myself Spider-man. Boy you ain’t no man.” You laugh as  Peter’s jaw drops with a perplexed chuckle. 

“I didn’t come up with it, the news did. Anyway, back to you. Maybe something like flame, or ignite.”

“Flame or ignite.” You raise your brows and Peter flails his hands around in response.

“Oh whatever, you come up with something then.”

“Me! This is all your idea spidey, all of it is you. I don’t mind my name, it's a good name.”

“It is, but it's not a good superhero name.” 

“Whatever Pete.” You gently shove him away and you burst out laughing as he ends up rolling off the bed. 

“That was rude.” You lean over the edge of the bed looking down at him smiling cheekily. 

“What happened to your Peter tingle?”

“It’s not a peter tingle, it's my spidey sense.” You hum with a chuckle. 

“Sure it is. Now up you get I want to watch this movie.” You roll back onto your space on the bed pulling the blanket over you and grabbing the remote. 

“Have you ever watched this film?” You look at the start menu shaking your head. 

“Nope, I have never watched Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.” You say the name slowly, not sure what you think based on the title.

“You’re going to love it.” He smiles climbing back on the bed next to you pulling the blanket over himself.

“We shall see.” Just as you are about to press play Peter gently hits your arms a few times. 

“I know what your name could be!” You smile widely at the excitement on his face. 

“Yeah and what's that?”

“Helios, the Greek god of the sun. The sun is fire and you are fire. So helios.” You feel your cheeks hurt from smiling so widely as you watch Peter get all excited.

“I like it.” 

“Yes! So helios, when is your next adventure?”

/\/\/\/\

“Hey I’m back.” You smile as Peter walks through the door to the cell that closes behind him, his arms wrapped around a large number of cushions and pillows and by the looks of it an extra blanket. 

“I was just about to start the movie without you.” You joke and Peter drops the things in his hands faking hurt. 

“You would never.” You chuckle, smiling.

“No I wouldn’t, especially since they are your favourite.” He squints his eyes at you slowly crouching down to pick the things back up. 

“Yeah and you probably wouldn’t know how to work that thing anyway since I made it.” He smiles smugly dumping the stuff on the end of the bed starting to organise it so you can both be comfortable.

“I have a request for the next movie night once we’ve watched all of star wars.” Peter settles next to you as you place a few cushions and pillows around you so you can have the utmost comfort.

“Sure what is it?” You smile softly as he looks at you, his brows scrunching at your small silence. “You know you’re going to have to tell me if you want to watch it.”

“Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Steve's arc in Age of Ultron is so important to him, it's so compelling to watch, it's so well done. I tried to explain it with the main quotes from the movie that bring it out because I'm obsessed.

"I don't think I can afford a place in Brooklyn." "Yeah, but home is home, right?" Steve just looks away and clenches his jaw in a very Steve way. He doesn't agree with Sam, he doesn't even nod. Brooklyn, the geographical location, is not home. Not in the way Steve needs a home.

"Captain America. Pretending he can live without a war." The end comes back around to this one. It stings because it's true. He knows it. What else does he do? Nothing. He doesn't have a home to go back to, as established very early on.

"The war's over Steve. We can go home. Imagine it." And then everyone in the room disappears. And then he sees himself dance with Peggy. And then he's alone again. That was him imagining it. All he could see was a flash of them dancing, but God he looked happy in that flash. Everyone else was gone, he couldn't imagine anything else, because he doesn't know life without war. He wants to. All he can reach is a second of Peggy. But he doesn't know what it was like for the soldiers in ww2 who went home. The only part he does relate to, actually, is the ptsd. Which he also sees in the dream. He flinches at a camera flash and sees wine on a shirt as blood. What else is there after the war for him? All he ever hoped for was a dance. He never even got that. And that was all he could see.

"We can go home." He hears her voice again when he looks at Clint's house. It's the perfect image of an American family home with a big yard for 2.5 kids to play in. Completely normal. That wide shot of him standing on the porch but he's still wearing his uniform, it shows everything he wants but all that he's left with right now. He looks so out of place with his uniform and shield on. And he turns around and walks away because he can't even stand to look at the house. That's supposed to be him in there. He was supposed to go home.

"Isn't that the why we fight? So that we get to end the fight? So that we get to go home?" That's what really set him off, but the whole conversation really. Tony says "looks like you walked away alright" and Steve looks at him with so much resentment. Like how do I look fine? You think I'm fine? But all he says is "is that a problem?" because he can't talk about it. Especially not to Tony, but not really to anyone. Tony says "I don't trust a guy without a dark side." Steve says "let's just say you haven't seen it yet." He's obviously saying he has one. He's been in a bad place as much as Thor and Nat since the dreams, Tony just chooses to see him as a symbol. But he's not about to explain himself. And he's leaving the door open for the option that he might lose control and everyone might realize how dark his dark side is. It wasn't a promise no one would ever see it. It was just that Tony hadn't seen it yet. Now, as much as I love Tony, he was really ignorant for pulling the so we get to go home? It's not like it's hard to see. Steve gets genuinely mad, rightfully. He hasn't stopped fighting since he started, he's never gotten to go home, he's finding himself almost looking for fights because that's all he knows. But he wants to go home so bad, and it's not even an option. Tony wants to fight about if Ultron could save the world, and that they should take the opportunity so that Clint can go home to Laura, and Tony can go home to Pepper, and Nat and Bruce can work out their stuff, etc etc. And Steve's on the other side of the conversation, not even agreeing with the concept of Ultron in the first place, but he has nothing to fight for. He's not defending his stance so that he can go home, he's doing it because he believes it's right. And what else is he going to do if he's not defending something? When he ripped the log in half, it was a glimpse of his dark side, but only if you know what he's thinking. He's mad, he's lonely, he's grieving. And he takes it out on the log.

"The simple life." "You'll get there one day." "I don't know. Family, stability... the guy who wanted all that went in the ice 75 years ago. I think someone else came out." This is the first time he's admitted that he wanted that. Even in TFA, he showed interest but not that explicitly. Since he's woken up, he's avoided it completely. He didn't even answer Sam when he said "home is home." He's finally acknowledged it and admitted it. But he puts the responsibility on himself. "I think someone else came out." That's not really true. In TFA, he said he'd "settle for just one" girl, then that he was waiting for "the right partner" to dance with, and then he promised to dance with Peggy. While he was actively crashing the plane into the ice, in fact. The guy who wanted family and stability went into the ice, yes, and he made it very clear who he wanted that family and stability with. He didn't exactly come out as a different person. He came out 70 years later, so his chance at family and stability with her was gone. This whole time he's been distraught that he couldn't go home. He wasn't all of a sudden saying I just dont want to. He was saying there was no family and stability left for him to want. It wasn't him that had changed, it was the circumstances, and he was trying to live with that.

"You alright?" "I'm home." Yes he was. But he didn't look very happy about it, did he? He was at the Avengers compound. Tony wasn't staying to train the new guys because he was going home to Pepper. Clint was already home. But Steve was still in the middle of the fight. He's not really pretending he can live without a war when he just knows he can't. Even as he says "I'm home," you hear soldiers marching in the background. It's eerie. He's trying to get by because what else can he do, who is he if he's not Captain America? He hasn't been able to be just Steve in a long time. He's not even trying to find just Steve, he left just Steve in 1945 with Peggy. "Someone else came out" ? Captain America came out.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Split

08.19.23

Thudding, dull pain is something that reminds me I am alive

The emotions course through my veins in a way some may call sadistic

Trailing along my curved spine, I mentally picture someone there

Their face is blurred to me, their hand one I know not

Words drip from my mouth as though a leaking faucet

Our main difference being that many hear the repetitive tap against the bowl

The words that spill forth convey so much, yet those who read them realize so little

If I showed this to you, would you understand?

Would you know yourself of nights spent in unholy water, trying desperately to make up your mind

One hand grasping a razor

The other your own wrist

The mental debate one you've heard so many, too many times

Would you believe me if I told you how sore my able heart beats against the bones that are used against I and every woman?

Would you listen when I ponder how said bones resemble a grasp around us, the design effective and symbolic?

And while I let these thoughts drip from my red, swollen lips that tremble and bleed from the cracks I bite into them

Could you find Aphrodite in such an unabashed display of humanity?

Would you find beauty in the way the water spirals down my hair?

Would you take care to notice, stranger, how the color sets shame to fire, beautiful even in the artifical light?

Would you see my eyes, which I long to hear described poetically, peak between too long of bangs, tears trapped in blonde lashes that do not sit evenly

And see the rage that fuels me?

Would you find beauty in my nose as one once did

His words unlike any ever spoken to me

Held in a diary I've kept, used to decode myself and others

Would you run your hands along my body?

Not in a way to bring lust into your heart

But to tell me you see me

You feel me

Would you admire me as I admire you, stranger?

A figment created long ago when it became clear to me that when I cried, no one would come

Maybe this is why God the Father has created us

Maybe he too has spent endless nights in this porcelain trap

Tapping his head against a hollow wall

Begging for salvation

Maybe he too knows not what he did

Does God also have a father that damned him?

A mother that begged him?

Is this why he chose to send his child into the gallows?

All say mercy

I say an eye for an eye

Would you look into mine and see redemption?

Would you cup my aging face and tell me I've done nothing to cause this?

Would you press your forehead against mine and whisper the thoughts I whisper to others?

"You are not broken,

You are loved.

This world feels your warmth

And will one day allow you to exist without lessons to remind of how mortal you and I are"

In my mind, this figure takes the razor and places it away

Wrapping their arms around me

Allowing me to feel the air my lungs have refused to breathe

But in reality, my fingers are pruned and the razor taunts me

I am too weak, it knows

And I stare back, begging myself to show strength and allow myself to slip away in a crimson pond

In this pond, I dare the selfish thought of maybe being worth compared to the beauty of Ophilia

Would I be an example worthy of art then?

In my mind, the stranger carefully lifts me and wraps me in cloth that soothes my tender, self admired skin

In reality, my bones feel as though knives carve away the detested excess of my body

A body my mind knows not how to view

Mentally I lay in a soft bed

Sheets and pillows surrounding me as a stranger sings sweet songs to me

Combing through my hair

They trace shapes upon my cheeks, their touch making me smile

Physically I begin to see the water lap at the drains that prevent it from overflowing

The water and stinging tears the only warmth I'll ever deserve

I exist in two worlds

I always have

Since I was a child, I knew how to balance such things as this

But as I grow older I realize there is no point in such niceties

The delusion of love for me makes my back ache more and more

It was promised to me once

It was given to me

Yet this love was not for me

This love was for an idea

Now I live in fear I am but a horrible, intrusive thought

Something my makers conjure and bat away, uncomfortable with my existence

I chant and cry

"I am worth it! I am good!"

But silence is all that echos in this small room

Eyes look but they do not perceive

I am but a paperweight

Occupying space better taken by someone other than I

I wonder who all have died to allow me to continue living

Is there a limit to those who are allowed to be?

If so, why does God continue to let me take space?

"You are worthy," the stranger tells me

"I have done nothing," I respond

"You need not do anything to be worthy" he implores

"But I do; for why should I be given rewards with no work?"

In my dreams they pull me into their embrace and remind me of how much I do

How I burn pieces of myself to keep others warm

How I let others occupy space in my mind

Thinking of ways to make them happier with me

Even those I hate, I still long to see them smile at me

I long for their praise and I long to hear laughter as they feel joy that I have caused

I do not wish to be worshipped

No, I ask for something more selfish

I ask that I bring every person I meet happiness

True, unfiltered happiness

And in return, I ask for just one human to return the warmth to me I cannot help but give

"It is not selfish to be loved."

No, it is simply damning.

Yet this damnation is my favorite sin

I crave it as one would crave water or food

I would willingly sacrifice the latter for the former

And this sacrifice, which is not truly a sacrifice

Is one that brings me joy I cannot describe

Lean on me and I will feel useful

I will go to bed that night feeling worthy of my place in this world for but a moment

For when I wake, I will crave another dose

As is only natural for an addict

But reject me and I will reject myself in a way I do not know if Eve could have comprehended when the snake seduced her as they often do me

I will remind myself that this is not fair to anyone

How I deserve the pain that thuds and thuds against the cage made of Adam where I contain my selfishness

And this stranger looks at me with pity

But this stranger is myself

And I tell him "leave; no one is less worthy of this self indulgence than you."

Once more, the stranger disappears

And I sit here in this tub, finally free to press the blade to my vein

And free myself from this apple I would consume again and again

In a garden given to all but me

If only I wasn't a coward.

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 3/23

What am I feeling today?

I wish I had woken up earlier. I feel like I had been asleep forever and wasted the majority of my day so I’m kinda beating myself up about it. Also, I dreamt about my ex last night and it brought back all those emotions but I think it brought some closure too. Also dreamt about the guy I like, it’s not fair, every single time I think ‘I’m over him! I’m totally over him! It’s never gonna happen!’ then I see him again (I saw him last night) and my heart goes wild all over again and I’m so tired of it. I want to be able to move on from him bc that’s the advice I’ve received, that it’s probably never going to happen and sure it stings and hurts every time I’m told that and I wish it didn’t and the only way it wouldn’t is if I could move on!! sometimes I kinda just wanna scream or cry in frustration bc I’m just so sick of it! Anyways, I’m sorry about that rant, I guess I just needed to get that off my chest.

Bible Plan: Spiritual Wilderness

The Spiritual wilderness is a place of wandering. It’s a time when our feelings can fade, our finances might get dry, our relationships get sour, our experiences with God seem to be shallow, and our doubts get amplified.

Spiritual wilderness is spiritual warfare. There is one key that can help us win this spiritual warfare and move us from a spiritual wilderness to victory. That key is worship!

In the wilderness, we will either whine or worship. Chronic complaining may seem natural and come easy, but it has dangerous consequences. Complaining is to the devil what worship is to God.

Wilderness is a dry place; worship is the water! Naturally, we get water from a lake, river, or well. The children of Israel got their water from the Rock. The Rock symbolizes Jesus Christ. That speaks to us today that our worship must flow from who God is especially in our difficult days. Even if our life is currently not doing well, God is good. Worship is essential to surviving wilderness. It will keep us spiritually hydrated.

Not only does worship help us get through hard times without becoming whiners, it is also our spiritual weapon. We are created to worship but called to warfare. One of our weapons is worship. God wants us to have praises in our mouths and His sword in our hands. Spiritual warfare doesn’t work if our mouth is full of complaining and admitting defeat.

Complaining is to the devil what worship is to God. <- this line stood out to me! I kept in mind what the Bible says about grumbling and I caught myself a couple days ago and it really hit me! And with this line!! It hurts even harder!! My goal is to not complain for the rest of the day, whatever I have to get done, whatever I have to do, I’ll do so with worship on my tongue, not complaining because the Lord desires and deserves worship!!

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭5‬-‭7‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Do not be afraid, for I am with you; I will bring your children from the east and gather you from the west. I will say to the north, ‘Give them up!’ and to the south, ‘Do not hold them back.’ Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth— everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.””

I think this is really sweet🥹 talking about how He’s with us and will gather us from the end of the earth🥹 also keep in mind that God formed and made you, I know some people can get on about how they look and even I can get like that too but remember your creator, remember that He made you and He loves you and creature you for His glory!

‭‭Acts‬ ‭16‬:‭25‬-‭26‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was such a violent earthquake that the foundations of the prison were shaken. At once all the prison doors flew open, and everyone’s chains came loose.”

Tbh this just further shows you the power of praise! Even though they were in prison, they never stopped praying and giving glory to God!

[rainbowcarousels]

2 & 7 for the sting in the way you kiss me and 8 & 14 for shelter (my beloved 🤧💕)

the sting in the way you kiss me

What’s my favorite part of the fic? That it is exactly four thousand words? More seriously, I think it's the part where Lestat finds Nicolas saying he believes in him to be something sweet, something romantic but from Nicki's perspective, it's like admitting something terrible. The fic only explores it from Lestat's more hopeful perspective, but I feel like I captured Nicki's shadow over it pretty well.

From his perspective, in a relatively short time, Nicki has lost his faith in God, his understanding of what he ought to do in life, fallen in love with an impoverished baby aristocrat who alternates between despair at the darkness of the world and finding so much hope in desire, in love, then come to Paris where he can't get hired by any serious orchestra because he started learning too late to be at the same level even though he's talented but Lestat, the person who's barely stepped on a stage before people send their devotion to him, is having a meteoric rise.

Lestat's story is aspirational, he's going to be something amazing and Lestat says oh it's only a matter of time, you'll get hired by somewhere amazing, we'll tour the world and everything will be wonderful and a part of him believes that and it's just drowned out by the reality that such things are really only possible for Lestat with his looks, his charisma, his talent - Nicki's shortfall is in learning, in experience and the way he experiences hope that is drowned out by rational thought is painful for him. Lestat doesn't understand that, he just see's him putting himself down and putting Lestat on some kind of pedestal when Lestat just knows they'll make it if they try hard enough. It's one of the most interesting dynamics for me to write.

Were there any major decisions I made about the fic that could have made it go a whole different direction?

Only the sexual position changed, otherwise it's exactly as it was intended to do. Originally I wanted to use fire, explore burning touch as a 'playing with fire' thing but I realised it's Lestat, let's eroticise the weeping instead!

shelter

Was there anything I only learned about the fic after I had finished it? (themes, motifs, symbolism, etc)

That there is an underlying theme of 'what if I can't give you what you need'/'what if I'm not what you want'. In Armand's case, his need is of an unconditional love and a desire for someone or something that will not willingly leave him. His experience of that was his biological family and the boys. So the difficulty in wanting that and not being sure if everyone else does is really hard. There's also Daniel who's afraid of the idea that he's going to be shit at it, kids were a Normal thing and he very much did not want Norman things but also he can't really give Armand something and he's so used to being able to that not being so makes him a little neurotic. It's been so much of his life to give him anything he wants as an act of love.

There's Lestat who is afraid he can't run away and is afraid of staying. Normally there is a point where he pulls away and this family is an anchor, he can't pull away, he has to engage and deal with it instead. If he can't do that effectively and is found wanting, that is terrifying for him. Then Louis who is of course afraid he won't be able to differentiate family now to his family with Claudia and that it could be a disservice to her or he'll compare them unfavourably. That this is with Armand too and his role in Claudia's death really hammers home that he hasn't dealt with a lot of it yet, nor has Lestat.

Ultimately it might be biological but there is an active choice to choose to be a family and work at it for all for them, to not let insecurity get in the way of feeling happy and loved. They just need a kick up the ass in the form of it involving innocent-if-bitey kiddos so it doesn't seem entirely selfish for those with some guilt complexes (Louis and Armand in different ways) or because compassion is part of their love language (both Lestat and Daniel).

If I were to write a sequel to this fic, what would it be about?

You already know this but probably a fathers day thing. Love is not less complicated just because little brains are underdeveloped so trying to relate to tiny people while also being so outside of the norms is an interesting one. I love the idea of exploring just normal every day things but the vampire twist because they don't eat (like the dolls at the doll cafe), it has to be at night (the playgrounds must be so weird at like 10pm with just them and probably Lestat also having a go on the slide, maybe Armand would like to swing, he does seem to like the height) and trying to figure out how to attend teachers meetings. I think it's just walking this line between humanity and not that is really interesting, with love connecting the two.

Also probably something heavier on the spiciness, the physical connection and scents and desire really plays into the universe so I probably that.

[morsrattus]

The Gods of Pent: The First Herd - East Sting Wind

East Sting Wind, the Wild Hunter, the Most Wild Wind, the Outcast Horse

The Cult of East Sting Wind (AIR DISORDER DEATH)

East Sting Wind is a largely reviled god, the third son of the Destroyer Wind and the untamed and cruelest of the kin of West King Wind. He has few friends even among his kin, for he is a bringer of suffering and pain. However, he is also the last refuge of those with no other place to turn, the god of outcasts who marks the final limit of those who would otherwise be slain. He stands at the edge of society, marking the line beyond which there cannot be forgiveness. He is recognized as one of the Four Winds, the most powerful of the storm-kin, but he is a god split in two.

Mythos and History

East Sting Wind could only be restrained by his father, the Destroyer Wind, and when the Destroyer Wind was torn to pieces and did not return, East Sting Wind was left without master. He raided the other gods many times, fighting with West King Wind and Kargzant over and over. He never won, but he could not stop, for he inherited the wild nature of the Destroyer Wind and took it further than any other.

West King Wind eventually captured East Sting Wind and beat him until he would listen, demonstrating he could command the wild nature. East Sting Wind submitted, though much of his power was taken from him in punishment for his rebellious nature. Now, the East Sting Wind can unleash his full fury only with the permission of his khan. When he acts outside this, he becomes the Bandit Wind, stealing that which he is not permitted to take.

The Bandit Wind and Most Wild Wind exist together within East Sting Wind, and he is feared and hated by many still, even in his permitted existence. However, the Most Wild Wind has proven himself an able warrior against the Dark and one of the canniest advisors in fighting the Cold, for he is brother of the Freezing Wind, the hated traitor that is one of Pent's greatest foes, and he knows the Freezing Wind's ways. When he is the Bandit Wind, he is despised by all, but even bandits stand against the Winter forces.

Nature of the Cult

The cult of East Sting Wind is divided into two - the Bandit Cult and the Wild Cult. The Bandit Cult exists outside of Pentan tribes, the cult of bandit raiders, outlaws and outcast criminals. The Wild Cult is smaller but has position within Pentan society. The Wild Cult accept strictures of obedience and punishment in exchange for being allowed to still be part of the tribe, and they serve as warriors and raiders for their tribe, though often on sufferance. The two cults are connected, however, respecting each others' priests, and may worship at each others' shrines. This has led to the Wild Cult's priests negotiating with bandits on behalf of their tribe…and also sometimes being convinced to betray their tribe in favor of the Bandit Cult.

Depiction

East Sting Wind's Rider self is a wild man, his skin black like a dark storm, and he wears untreated furs but is bare-chested. As the Bandit Wind, his head is a red skull with bloody tears leaking from the eyes, while as the Most Wild Wind, his head is a white skull with blue eyes and a bronze chain necklace, symbolizing his submission to the khan. His Horse self is jade-colored and demonic, with six legs and the head of a falcon. He does not vary in either Bandit or Most Wild Wind aspect.

Runes

East Sting Wind is associated with the runes of Air, Disorder and Death. He is a bringer of storm and trouble, and his powers have been restricted heavily by West King Wind. He remains able to command the winds and to shatter societal rules and physical objects, or to wield the terror of death and battle, but he cannot use the widest abilities of his runes without direct permission from the khan, and pursuit of this mystic powers sometimes leads the outlaws of the Bandit Wind to seek absolution and submit to the chains of the Wild Cult.

:AIR RUNE: East Sting Wind is one of the Four Winds, the strongest of the winds. He retains broad power over the Air, even after his conflicts with his brother. He does not command all of its aspects, but as the Most Wild Wind, he can wield much of its power. Among other things, initiates may use the Air Rune to predict weather, endure weather such as snow, wind or rain, summon or command, fight other elements, enchant silver, fight with swords, hear or speak at great distance, or leap great distances on the wind. When unleashed by the commands of their khan, initiates can call on powers of flight on wind, lightning, worsening the weather, or scattering things widely. Initiates strong in the Air Rune are passionate, unpredictable, and moody.

:DISORDER RUNE: East Sting Wind is a bringer of chaos, though not Chaos. He spreads pain and destruction by his nature, commanding the wild and unrestrained violence of the Destroyer Wind. Few can match him at his ability to spread disorder, even weakened as he is. A very incomplete list of things initiates my use the Disorder Rune to do includes breaking things, commanding outlaws, wrestling, riding horses, performing daring stunts on horseback, commanding wolves, taking things from people, breaking laws, hurting people, detecting vulnerabilities, winning contests of strength, or entering berserk rages. When unleashed by the commands of their khan, initiates can call on powers of humiliating stronger foes, shattering formations, disrupting chains of command, turning people against leaders, or commanding demons. Initiates strong in the Disorder Rune are rebellious, innovative, and violent.

:DEATH RUNE: East Sting Wind is a terrifying warrior, adept at command of death, and gathers up lost souls to his banner, taking them in when they cannot find the path to the Underworld. His command of the Death Rune is largely focused on direct violence, however. Initiates have been known to use the Death Rune to, among other things, slaughter lesser foes, fight on horseback, fight with swords, enchant iron, bind those they slay into whirlvishes, terrify people, command ghosts, or kill the unaware. When unleashed by the commands of their khan, initiates can call on powers of summoning the ghosts of the lost, imprisoning the souls of the dead, killing foes at a distance, stealing life from enemies, or weakening people against disease. Initiates strong in the Death rune are cruel, ruthless, and possessive.

Opposed Runes

East Sting Wind is opposed to the runes of Chaos, Moon, Life and Harmony.

Particular Likes and Dislikes

East Sting Wind has few friends, for he breaks rules without thought and lashes out violently as a matter of course when angered. However, he loves Erissa the Healer, who can soothe his violent temper, and even the Bandit Cult is loath to harm her worshippers. The Most Wild Wind bowed to West King Wind, and while he strains at his bonds, he serves a loyal warrior. The Bandit Wind defies both West King Wind and Kargzant whenever he can.

East Sting Wind has a special relationship with his brother, the Freezing Wind, known to the hated trolls as Valind. They know each others' ways, and sometimes have been allies, but more often fight each other. It has made the Most Wild Wind a valued ally to the First Herd in fighting winter, but also a terrible foe when the Bandit Wind decides to take advantage of the cold and darkness to steal and kill.

East Sting Wind often vies against Hurfor, who defines and codifies law. Even when he is the Most Wild Wind, he hates being restricted as he is and the two never get along, though the Most Wild Wind is bound to obey Hurfor.

The greatest enemy of East Sting Wind is the enemy god Waha of the Praxian barbarians, who hates him for his raiding and war upon the Praxian horse-haters, and Oria's daughter, Eyritha Herd Woman, who hates him for stealing and killing many herd animals.

Cult Organization

There are two cults of East Sting Wind, albeit interconnected ones. The Bandit Cult worships East Sting Wind as the Bandit Wind, free and unbound. Much of his great power was stripped from him by West King Wind and Kargzant after they defeated him and made him outlaw. Members of the Bandit Cult are all outlaws. Almost all were outlaw before joining, but even if they were not, becoming members of the cult makes them outlaw. The cult exists entirely outside any tribe, and is bound by no law. They are hated by all civilized Pentans, surviving on theft, raiding and crime.

The Wild Cult worships East Sting Wind as the Most Wild Wind, who submitted to West King Wind's rule. (Or, occasionally, to Kargzant's.) He was bound by chains that restrained his power unless he was unleashed by his khan, but he was given a place within the herd, a final chance. The Wild Cult are subservient to the tribe, warriors serving the khan. They are often rebellious, for the Most Wild Wind remains a violent and dangerous god, but they limit themselves and enforce order on those within the tribe who commit crimes. They are both prisoners and sheriffs, and when unleashed by the orders of the khan, they are a terrifying force in battle.

It is possible to transition between these two cults, and they may worship at each others' shrines and temples. However, any transition necessarily starts the worshipper at the bottom ranks of the cult. The Bandit Cult distrusts the Wild Cult's members, for they see the Wild Cult as servile and unworthy, needing to prove they are not bound by the chains of societal law, while the Wild Cult looks down on the Bandit Cult as foolish and requires them to earn trust by serving the tribe. Still, they do tend to maintain lines of communication with each other.

Neither cult has much in the way of greater organization. The Wild Cult of a tribe answers to its khan and the Cult of Hurfor's judges within their tribe, and must always remain subservient and bound by law. Each tribe maintains its own cult and traditions within this. In theory, the Bandit Cult could have a greater organization that unified them, but this has never occurred, and worshippers of the Bandit Wind often end up in conflict with each other as much as they do the tribes.

Priests

Priests of the Wild Cult are known as Demon Stallions. Most tribes have only a handful, but almost no tribes have none. To become a Demon Stallion, one must prove skill in battle in ritual matches and must also be approved by the tribe's khan. Each Demon Stallion ritually submits to the khan when they are given their position, swearing oaths to ensure that they will enforce the basic laws of the tribe on the lay members of the cult and those assigned to judicial service by Hurfor's Judges, will obey the orders of the khan, and will protect the tribe from bandits. Rank among the Demon Stallions is determined in most tribes by annual wrestling competitions, though this is only widespread tradition rather than universal.

Priests of the Bandit Cult are known as Bandit Khans or the Unchained. There are no specific requirements to take the position save power. Any outlaw who belongs to the Bandit Cult may declare themselves a priest of the Bandit Wind, and as long as their bandit group accepts them, that is enough. Most seek to lead their groups, however, and so most bandit groups usually don't have more than one priest. If they have more than one, the group determines rank by whatever means they desire, usually violence.

Center of Power and Holy Places

The holy places of East Sting Wind mark the sites of his great battles in the Godtime. There are a fair number of these spread through the land, but all are in places generally considered dangerous or poor settlement, so they are far more often found in the hands of the Bandit Cult priests than they are any tribes'.

Among these places are: Three Ash Grove of Lentasia, where East Sting Wind burned the Three Ash Brothers and slaughtered their elfin subjects, though no trees have grown there since before the Darkness. The Whirling Stand north of Wind King's Pathway, where East Sting Wind fought his siblings for a week straight until they finally drove him off. Icebreak Gorge in the Star Watch Hills, where East Sting Wind and the Freezing Wind first fought each other, and East Sting Wind defeated Freezing Wind by overwhelming him.

The Wild Cult also holds sacred the Place of Stilling at the base of Thunder Butte, where East Sting Wind was defeated and submitted to West King Wind. The Bandit Cults reject this, however, and consider it a terrible and unlucky place, which makes it a good spot to stay when afraid of banditry.

There are very few temples to East Sting Wind. The Wild Cult will usually carry shrines with the tribe to be set up wherever the tribe settles. Larger temples are formed only when multiple tribes come together, and are typically overseen by the Judges of Hurfor to ensure the brawls don't get out of hand. The Bandit Cult forms impromptu temples when large enough bands gather, and this is most common on East Sting Wind's high holy day.

Initiates

Initiates of East Sting Wind must possess at least one of the Air, Death or Disorder runes at 1W. Criminals who do not have any of these runes are still considered lay members of the cult if they are sentenced to work as part of it, but are not eligible for initiation. Almost all initiates in the Wild Cult are sentenced to membership rather than choosing it directly, though some seek it out. Members of the Bandit Cult are considered to legally become outlaw the moment they initiate into it.

In either case, initiates of East Sting Wind do not become ritually impure through contact with blood.

Holy Days

The most holy day of all the year for East Sting Wind is Wildday in the Disorder Week of Dark Season, for this marks the time when the East Sting Wind is strongest. Most tribes maintain a stronger watch against bandits on this day, for the Bandit Cult tends to gather in numbers for raiding. The cult also holds the Windsday of every Disorder Week to be sacred, for on these nights East Sting Wind gathers his Wild Hunt and races across the wild lands, seeking lost souls and causing destruction with his storms.

Sacrifices

Goods taken in raids are the favored sacrifice to East Sting Wind. He does love ghee and meats, as most gods of Pent do, but he vastly prefers to be given things taken by force, demonstrating one's dominance. Most sacrifices to the Most Wild Wind are propitiatory, seeking to direct his wrath away from the tribe, as there are more reliable war gods for blessings. However, some still seek his blessings of fury and destruction. The Bandit Wind is exclusively sacrificed to by outlaws, and never by civilized tribes.

Subcults

There are relatively few subcults of East Sting Wind, and essentially all of them are part of the Wild Cult rather than the Bandit Cult, as their traditions tend to be kept by individual tribes. That said, as members of the Wild Cult sometimes forsake their tribe to join the Bandit Cult, and members of the Bandit Cult sometimes surrender to a tribe and are spared execution by being bound into the Wild Cult, there is overlap. The majority have only a few adherents and follow specific heroes that emerged over the tribe's history.

Gargath Wolf-Wise (DEATH) Wolves and dogs are the closest creatures to true people, reincarnated from human and horse souls that become tainted by too much impurity or beasts which have not quite achieved a level of purity and transcendence to become men. Gargath Wolf-Wise was one of the warriors of the East Sting Wind whose rider soul was a wolf's mistakenly born into a human body, and thus knew the impure secrets of fang and claw. He taught his people how to fight not as a group of men but as a pack of wolves. They learned the Wolf Secret, which let them drive a soul out of a body as wolves drive the weak beasts out of a herd. Members of the Gargath subcult can use the Death Rune to grow claws and fangs, speak with wolves, fight as a pack, allow horses to eat meat, drive the soul out of a person by chasing them in the night, hunt prey for food, or identify the weakest member of a group.

Wasteland Thunderer (AIR) The Wasteland Thunderer is the aspect of the East Sting Wind that thrives in the worst places, the places to which he was driven after he angered West King Wind and Kargzant by breaking all of their rules but before his confrontation to try to return. He is the lord of the whirlvishes and the master of starvation and bad weather. Followers of the Wasteland Thunderer can use their Air Rune to survive on very little food and water, to command thunder, to summon and command whirlvishes, to attack with cutting wind, to cause hunger, to track things in wastelands or wild places, to eat impure things safely, or to call a protective whirlwind around themselves.

Demon Horse (DISORDER BEAST) The Demon Horse subcult focuses its worship on West Sting Wind's horse aspect, the demonic steed that is the second half of his soul. The Demon Horse is a terrible monster from the deep hells, yet born of air and sunlight. It bears the head of a hawk and many clawed limbs, for it craves flesh and destruction. It is said to have wooed dread Gor Gorma's own horse-soul, and so it is the Consort-King of Hell. Initiates of the Demon Horse subcult can use their Disorder or Beast Runes to strengthen horses or wolves or grant them monstrous abilities, to fight with clubs, to summon or command demons, to keep horses alive despite grievous injury, to heal horses by killing and feeding them beasts, or to turn horses into wolves or vice versa.

Devotees

As normal, a devotee must have a rating of 11W in one of the Air, Disorder or Death runes. They forswear membership in all other cults, and may belong to only a single subcult. They give up all other magic that does not derive from the East Sting Wind.

Common East Sting Wind Feats

Sky Cracker (DISORDER) East Sting Wind, the Sky Cracker, cannot resist any challenge. He is free and unrestrained, looking for any chance to show his might. He cannot be defeated in any sport, and he draws out competition in others. Those who play or brawl with the Sky Cracker are energized and pushed to greater heights of frenzy. They will follow the Sky Cracker in anything while the fury has them. Sky Cracker has superhuman strength, but he and his followers forgo weapons, wielding the bodies of their enemies or other objects found before them. It is said that East Sting Wind earned the name Sky Cracker by hurling Hurfor so high that he cracked the Sky Dome. The Sky Cracker's furious joy ends only when everyone around him is unconscious, either from the savage joy of exhaustion or because he has beaten them senseless. Only then can he rest, but any who gamed with him or joined him in fighting the enemy are refreshed by the experience, remembering well the love of action and battle.

Titan of the Tornado (AIR) The Titan of the Tornado is the truest expression of the Most Wild Wind, uncontrolled and unstoppable, with neither beginning nor end. He can think of nothing beyond the next moment, the next strike. The winds surround him like armor, tossing arrows and stones away before they can touch the Titan. While he is in a state of purity, he flies faster than anything, riding the whirlwind that surrounds him. It is his mount and his body, and no weapon can strike through it. All who come close to the Titan are hurled to the earth, ready for him to tear apart. The wrath of the Titan can be chained by only two things. First, the Khan who commands him can leash him once more, tearing him from the sky. When this happens, he returns to his senses, but will always find some act of rebellion to show that he is not fully under control. Second, he can be defeated by an equal - though this is never easy. The Titan will never refuse a challenge by a hero to fight, and a hero can get close to him without being hurled away. However, all the might of the winds flows into the Titan, and only the mightiest can withstand his onslaught. Even in defeat, the Titan always gives at least as good as he gets, ensuring that any victory over him is at a terrible price.

Master of the Wild Hunt (DEATH) The Master of the Wild Hunt is the grimmest aspect of East Sting Wind, the dark master of the lonely dead. He rides the wild lands, seeking out lost souls. Wolves flock to him, hungering for flesh, and the outlaw and outcast instinctively obey him. He craves conquest, taking what he desires. He can track anyone, and no one can detect his ambush. He strikes when they are far from civilization, surrounding his prey and hounding them until they collapse. While he is in a state of purity, every soul he strikes down rises as a whirlvish in his service. He may command wolves and the dead with a word. The Master of the Wild Hunt never enters a civilized camp, and he can survive on nothing but fear and wind. Those who fear him lose all strength before him. He cannot abide insult or betrayal, and he seeks vengeance above all things. His hunt cannot end until he slaughters prey without mercy, and he can let no herd he encounters live, feeding their flesh to his wolves. Once he has brought low a soul, he may end his hunt - but if he continues, he cannot stop until he has captured another. He makes this choice after every ambush, every raid.

Divine Retribution

It is not easy to earn the divine wrath of East Sting Wind as a member of his cult, but it can be done. Primarily, this is earned through cowardice. Those who demonstrate cowardice before their khan or bandit leader are cursed by the presence of a spirit wolf, who howls endlessly in the night such that only they can hear. This lasts until their cult leader or khan forgives them.

Priests of the cult may lay the curse of East Sting Wind on those they deem traitors to it, and those who abandon the Bandit Cult without being inducted into the Wild Cult are automatically so marked. Those cursed this way will at some point face the wrath of the Wild Hunt.

The Wild Hunt

The Wild Hunt is a pack of vicious spirit wolves and ghostly followers of the Most Wild Wind. They are found throughout the wastelands and abandoned places of the world. They roam the far lands of Pent and Prax for the most part, attacking those they encounter. They also can be found rarely in the lands of the Orlanthi, though always far from populated and prosperous lands.

Whirlvishes

A soul captured by the Wild Hunt in the wastelands is bound into the wind itself, creating a ghost known as a whirlvish. These are human-sized dust storms, and they rage for centuries on end, until destroyed. Their minds leave them in this state, as they exist only in rage, passion and frenzy. They attack any sentient being they encounter when operating outside control. Unlike most spirits, they exist in physical form and can be harmed by weapons, and if defeated, their rage is sated. They become normal ghosts and may pass on to the Underworld as long as no one prevents them from doing so.

[seithr]

favorite top 5 of your ocs

Asking this of me who has no less than 10 aus of the same 3 characters is going to kill me... I can't put the same purple eyepatch bastard here five times or the invisible powers that be will come after me. Hard limit of two of the same guy (AND ONLY ONE GUY ALLOWED TO DOUBLE UP) only!! Here we go I finally put some names to the characters I mention in my tags:

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NERO listen years ago I did a silly challenge to throw together a bunch of design notes you like into a single guy and out came bigtits mchimbo over here. I don't know what more to explain besides I made him for myself in a very self indulgent way. Flames and passions god who's just here for a good time and make sure everyone else does too. Specifically I really like his tiny gay little earrings. And his velvety fuzzy body. And his wings good for hiding/setting around his waist like a skirt that hang right over his ass. I like a lot of him. He's like a stressball to me. Sorry ok next guy

NADINE DUVAL otherwise known as why I had to put a au caveat answering this. Yes I love Zinadia, my main girl's, FFXIV iteration—the evil 200 year old viera and her posession/longing subplot—but I am... really attached to FE3H still and still REALLY jive with Nadine's place in the world, and the reinterpretation of the main "noble dad died, get exiled, come back for revenge about it years later" she gets. She's more heroic here!

The devastation of that loss and event gets cranked down since FE3H's plot takes prescendence and character narrative importance—so... It's fun exploring how she turns out in a time where she gets socialized properly, has friends, people to fall back on, to fight for and who look for her not as a symbol to prop up but a friend who had connections and good dreams for the world...

She touches my heart in a really specific way. Fire Emblem Three Houses as a world sucks YES i am sure and know, but it has chances for her to turn things around that most other verses she doesn't get. I love you handsome noble woman

WYRM my big bastard. My "true dragon" among a sea of dragonpeople/elkiir.... Fafnir, Moby Dick, Frankenstein, the devil hiding in the truth, warnings-ignored manifest, will to survive at any cost incarnate. Wyrm is a suit of armour mangled and bloodied and brought to life, fueled by eating magic-drenched flesh, eventually burning up its previous owner inside it too—their bones fused to its organic-metal like a living casket. As that person wanted, they will not die without their revenge. Wyrm will take as long as there is something to take.

The biological anomaly of its "life"—not continuation of its previous one, but still not truly "alive" now either—is an insult itself. You can't pierce him with a lance—a stab doesn't kill metal. You can't take them apart either—they're not made with vital organs and blood, as much as the flames of burning it sustains movement and thought. Weapons of those who fail to kill her are embedded in their body, and where this endlessly-growing beast has outgrown its once human-sized form—leg growth shooting through boots and fresh skin and muscle filling in—those remaining claws and hands and limbs still work, endlessly trying to grow, to "live" as commanded.

Wyrm is far and away one of my favourite creatures. Fucked up dragon eating people alive, and its hunters slowly start to recognize what corpse exactly has sustained it.

CAIA SINNORHA it is known I adore this knight woman. It stings to try and be the best of anyone. And to come so very close to your greatest dreams, only to be thrown back down to the start because the person you love most—who you wonder if you still love—has done the worst thing possible. The eldest daughter, the eldest child, the symbol of the military-nobility's promise to continue serving and fighting, as symbols of a new era.

A shining hero who gets told by those who inspired her that they don't believe in that idea anymore, and she ought to give up rather than keep continuing on that hope she'll make it. Her bird-of-prey motifs in her gold eyes, featherlike wrist decor and her tail's scales, her double-kneed legs... I'm so so fond of her design, the way she carries herself in it... Strange half-dragon people and the minute ways they're different and work around it, like her leg braces and how being neither fully once species or the other impacts her idea of lineage and legacy. She is sooo compressed by the system and trapped in it and needs it to work because she thrived under it once and cannot bear the idea it will never be good as that again. Ms Sinnorha my proper knight crumpling under the weight and expectation of what it means to be what you imagine you need to be... wah

ZINADIA AEDELRIC it is known I am helplessly dedicated to Zinadia. She's the beating heart of this machine and all my ocs. Greasy kicked dog demeanor, kicking and clawing your way back no matter what. She always gets up, no matter how it hurts. Twenty long years it takes for her to have the battle against her traitor king of a brother—twenty years of this hound knight chasing down her dragon. Uuruurgh. Exiled and scapegoated, and taking up that mantle anyway—if she's accused of being a Kingslayer, then her noble brother will see what one really looks like. I'm fighting to not say in every sentence "She is so cool to me."

Electric wolf knight with ambiguous dragonblood in her, hunting down monstrous dragonhounds and biding her time until she gets her hands on her real prize, the man who stole away her life in seat of luxury, safety, love... Everything she's done will be worth it in the end, if her love is awaiting her still, and all it takes is to prove that she deserves to live, and always has, all this time, to the man who condemned her to death.

Zinadia and the story in Thunder—which IS Zinadia—means the world to me. Aaa. Wolfy scarred woman...

[byanyan]

“ your full name’s yeong-hwang, huh? ” he takes a good look at them, taking in every little detail of their face. yeah, it’s hard to picture them being a yeong-hwan. “ byan’s perfect for you, you do not look like someone with a name like that. ”

call byan by their full name, see how they respondㅤㅤ∘ ˚ ( accepting!! )

ㅤnerves jitter beneath their skin, hearing their birth name coming out of sol's mouth. it's uncomfortable to hear it from anyone, but to come from the one who knows them best (yet still not fully... there's so much left to share with him that they're not quite sure how, or if they'll ever be able to)... there's something uniquely distressing about it. byan can practically feel the fight or flight instinct kicking in, gaze dropping the moment he starts scrutinizing their face. despite knowing that sol isn't likely to think any differently of them, as he's only ever been incredibly accepting of every piece of them, there's a fear that tightens in their chest regardless — the same one that always seems to rear its ugly head when any of the more real details about them are laid out on the table for another to ingest. it's so... exposing. it shouldn't be, it's not exactly a secret when yeong-hwan is arguably what most people have known and referred to them as throughout the vast majority of their life, but it's more complicated than just being a name that they hate, there's so much more tied to it, and the 'what if's start to creep their way in against byan's will.

fortunately, sol's voice breaks the silence again before they can spiral too far. before they can freak themself out so badly that all they can do is flee.

for a long moment, byan merely sits with the words, eyes intent on hands that have curled into anxious fists in their lap. they're very simple, all things considered. arguably one of the most normal comments someone has ever made in regard to their names. but that's... not a bad thing. on the contrary, there's something relieving about it, something that lifts the crushing weight of fear from their chest and allows them to breathe again.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤbyan's perfect for you.

ㅤ—oh god. ohhh no. a lump has formed in their throat that wasn't there before, and they can feel that tell-tale sting pricking in their eyes. son of a bitch. why the hell are they on the verge of crying over this? it's not as if they haven't had people opt to use their nickname before, or even had people tell them that byan suits them better than yeong-hwan does! they sure never cried in those moments — felt more emotion over it than they cared to admit, sure, but never cried! why on earth is sol's response the one causing such a ridiculous overreaction?!

ㅤ...they know why, of course; it's because it's him. him, sol, their boyfriend, the one who they've allowed further in than anyone else, who has only ever wanted to know and understand more about them, and who has accepted every single piece of them he's ever been presented with, no matter how awful or strange or pathetic. he's the one they care about most, love the most, and are most terrified of eventually crossing that line with where they become too much for him. of course his response is more meaningful to them than any other.

it's still stupid, to be so affected by something so small as his reaction to learning their full name. it's such an inane little thing, but to byan... it's more symbolic than that. it's a further acceptance of them for who they are. it's him perceiving them in the way that they want to be seen. it's all of these things that they've always craved but never been given, but here this dumb boy is, giving all of it to them at once.

ㅤgod, how did they ever end up here with him? they don't deserve him.

heat entering their face in all the embarrassment that washes over them at the sensation of tears only continuing to well up, byan licks their lips and opens their mouth, but no words come out. they're... not sure of what to say, and truthfully, even if they did know what to say, they don't trust that their voice wouldn't tremble should they make any effort to speak. part of them wants to get up and leave, to come back once they've calmed down, and for a moment... they almost do. lurching forward in their seat, they have to dig their nails into their palms to fight the urge off. (they're trying to get better about this. about being open. about letting him see those parts of them they're still afraid to share. that includes their emotions and their moments of vulnerability.) face still turned downward in an effort to hide the tears that haven't quite started to fall, they remain frozen in a state of uncertain hesitation, unsure of how to proceed but most certainly not wanting sol to just watch them cry.

then, as if coming to a decision all at once and not wanting to give themself a chance to reconsider, they're moving forward again. rather than standing up and bolting out of the room, however, they all but lunge at sol, arms swinging to wrap around his shoulders and pulling him in against them. biting the inside of their cheek, byan holds onto him tightly, burying their face against his shoulder and breathing in the scent they've come to find so soothing. they still don't trust themself with words just yet, but... for the time being, they figure he'll get what they're trying to convey just fine without them.

ㅤㅤㅤthank you... i love you.