#christ on the cross did not suffer as i have

[cuubism]

Can I pressure you to work on the 'having a job sucks ass' math AU fic?

yeah 😂 i started working on it when i was annoyed with my job. which is always

here's a snippet from earlier in the fic, because i think the later part i'm working on won't make a ton of sense out of context

[ make me work on one of my fics if you want ]

-

Dream shuts his laptop as Hob approaches. Oh, yeah. He was definitely waiting for Hob, specifically. Hob is getting the sense that he’s in trouble. And he’s not stupid. It’s not hard to guess what has Dream upset.

“Look,” he starts, “don’t even—”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts. Yep, that’s the trouble tone, the one Hob used to get when he did shit like giving himself a concussion playing pick up football on the quad. “It is ten p.m.”

“I own a watch too, Dream,” Hob says tiredly. Does Dream think he wants to be working this late? He’s just trying to stay employed.

Dream’s lips press into a thin line. And Hob knows him well enough, can read him well enough to recognize that what’s underneath the annoyance is concern. But what exactly does Dream expect him to do about it?

Hob sits down—more like collapses—into the armchair diagonal to where Dream is on the couch. God, what he really wants is to just fucking face plant into bed, not deal with this.

Christ. When did he start thinking about talking to Dream as dealing with?

Then again, this is less talking to Dream and more arguing with Dream, and he fucking hates doing that.

He scrubs his hands over his face. “It’s far away, alright?” he argues, though it sounds more like a whine. “It’s not like I can teleport.”

“It is not acceptable that they keep you so late,” Dream says. Then his tone softens. “I worry over your level of exhaustion. That is not even mentioning the commute.”

“Honestly, the commute’s not the worst part,” Hob says. “Gives me more time to get stuff done. Or fall asleep.”

Dream gives him a flat look. “Precisely.”

“I don’t want to hear judgment about work ethic from you of all people,” Hob snaps. God, he hates arguing with Dream, he hates it. It’s not like when they bicker. And it’s not like arguing with anyone else. The thought that Dream is upset with him is genuinely distressing.

“I think I of all people am uniquely qualified to give it,” Dream says.

He’s not wrong. Dream is a workaholic if ever there was one. It’s something Hob’s had to talk to him about in the past. Frequently, in the past, Hob was the one who was better about it.

It’s just that having this job is a level of relentless he couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

Hob can’t just quit though, even if he is overworked. It’s a good job, career-wise, and it pays really well, and he wants Dream to be able to keep his post-doc position without worrying about the salary because Dream is just quite frankly not cut out for anything where he isn’t able to work independently at least ninety percent of the time and Hob doesn’t want to see him suffer, and he wants them to be able to buy a house someday—

“Look,” he says, before Dream can suggest that he actually quit or something, “Dream, we’re making fucking bank, okay?”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “We are?”

“Yeah, we’re married, or did you forget?”

“It’s your money.”

“The joint bank account says otherwise. Half of it is yours.”

Dream frowns, then gets a wicked look in his eye. Oh no. “Does that entitle me to half of your suffering as well? Do I get half a say in whether it continues?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Are you going to watch me suffer half your exhaustion and do nothing about it?” Dream challenges, steamrolling right over him. He’s impossible to argue with when he really gets going. And great, now he’s employing that look. That pleading look that he knows Hob can’t say no to, eyes wide and helpless. “Will you leave me to my agonies?”

“Alright,” Hob says, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Enough. Stop joking around.”

“I’m quite serious. I don’t wish to see you suffer.” He crosses the room, kneels in front of Hob’s chair, and takes Hob’s hands, bringing them down from his face. “Your unintended comparison was more apt than you realize. When you prosper, I prosper. When you suffer, so equally do I.”

“Should have been a fucking poet instead of a mathematician, Dream,” Hob says. It shouldn’t come out as bitter as it does.

Except— “Maths is poetry,” he says, echoing it just as Dream says it, too. Hob had known he would.

It makes him smile, that he can predict Dream like that.

[dreamcrow]

τετέλεσται... orz

[archersgoon]

when i moved back to the city i went the local public school for a year, but in the months beforehand my dickhead father convinced himself that if i was living in the city i should be living with him (a situation in which i would've died badly post-haste) and part of the argument was that he wanted me to go to the (obscenely expensive) private school near where he lived, because the public school in question apparently had a nasty reputation (it didn't. i did an exceedingly boring year there). and also because it was public i guess (big talk from a man who went [REDACTED]. anyway i thought this was absurd and i was telling my oldest sister, who'd gone the local catholic school back in the day about this and she was like no yeah. they used to throw frozen peas at me. ???????

[vamptastic]

cannot exaggerate how truly horribly my stummy is hurting me i may have suffering more than anybody else on earth ever. only time it's ever been this bad is when i was on an international flight after drinking coffee didn't get an ounce of sleep for ~36 hours and then landed in berlin and spent the next 12ish hours walking around in the sun without water. truly horrible levels of stomach pain and i am literally just sitting in bed sipping water and occasionally eating a saltine. wghats wrong with me

[hampterguts]

kinda funny seeing that last queued tf post with me gushing in the tags abt the comic bc i havent felt joy or even an emotional connection reading mtmte for a while

[revehae]

Could you do something from dream 00line + mark bullying, dub con and non con? 🥺

well… this is basically what you asked! i changed it up just a little bit tw // noncon, forced oral (m receiving), gangbang

“come on,” jeno groaned playfully, grip on your hair tightening. “that’s not how you used to do it.”

you whimpered weakly, the muffled sound sending a tiny tremble through jeno’s cock as he kept your warm mouth around him in spite of your protests. not that you could expect anything less from him. he was never afraid of forcing you into something you never wanted. 

jeno had never seemed afraid of anything, now that you thought about it. you still remembered the risky exploits they made you tag along on. how could you not? it was only some years ago, back when they would force you to please them in the boys’ locker room. 

haechan laughed, both at jeno’s encouragement and the miserable look on your face. he always did like seeing you suffer. “you want her to gag on your dick like a virgin?”

jeno shrugged. “call it nostalgia.”

“guys, come on,” mark said, as if he was trying to put a stop to this. but you knew better. time after time of being disappointed, getting your hopes up thinking he would make them leave you alone, you learned years ago that mark was hardly any different. “aren’t we a little too old for this now?”

haechan rolled his eyes in annoyance. “jesus christ,” he sighed. “will you ever get off your moral high horse?”

“he can do whatever he wants. he can leave, if that’s what makes him happier,” jeno said, in spite of knowing mark wouldn’t go, the same way you did. he yanked your hair harder, forcing your mouth further down onto his cock until you were damn near suffocating. “i’m not stopping until she gags.”

jaemin laughed out of nowhere, having been quietly watching the entire situation unfold. “maybe she’s had practice since then, jeno.”

“you mean, our little slut has been whoring herself out to other guys?” haechan chimed in, snickering. the thought amused him. no guys used to ever come near you, like you were the most unfuckable thing in the world. you were obscure and unnoticed. 

jeno felt you pushing at his thighs like you used to do when you desperately needed to come up for air. “in that case, what’s the fucking problem? why are you being so difficult?”

your eyes winced closed when jeno slapped your cheek, the burn of his palm sizzling on the side of your face as you jolted back. your eyes watered, and before you could bother to recover, jeno was forcing his cock back inside your throat, thrusting his hips. 

that was when you finally and inadvertently gave him what he wanted, gagging around his cock and scraping at his thighs for mercy that he wouldn’t give you, keeping your mouth on him by your hair. 

“that’s it, babe,” jeno told you, looking down at you with a blend of scorn and amusement. “choke on it just like that.”

mark shook his head in disapproval, arms crossed. “jeno, dude. you’re gonna hurt the poor girl.”

jaemin crouched down beside you when jeno pulled out of your sore throat, having finally gotten what he wanted. “don’t be such a prude, mark. she can take it,” jaemin replied, looking at you almost dotingly. he pressed two of his fingers into the corners of your lips and forced them into a smile. “isn’t that right, baby?”

you shook your head, backing away from them until you crashed backwards into the side of the hotel mattress. when you started to crawl towards the door, haechan kicked your ass with his shoe, making you slump onto the floor for all of two seconds before you scurried onto your feet.

and nearly tripping over them, you made a beeline for the door. the same door mark was near, as if he was toying with the idea of turning around and heading out too. but rather than let you go, he gripped your arm. 

your eyes were stinging. you glanced up at him desperately, hoping that maybe he would show some remorse. “please. you said you were sorry. you promised.”

it’s not right, mark told himself, swallowing as he looked at the fear in your stare. after graduating, he told himself that he would be a better man and not a stupid boy.

and that was why on the last day of school, he took it upon himself to apologize for everything the four of them had done to you that senior year. he promised that he never meant for things to go so far, that he meant every word of what he told you, that he regretted everything he had done to hurt you. 

and even now mark wanted to make them stop, he really did. but that desire was outweighed by the one to feel you again, to lose himself in the heat of you as his thrusts became more and more restless. 

and a moment or three later, that was exactly what he was doing, all the while holding your smaller body down as his eyes fluttered closed, hypnotized by the sweet squeeze of your vice-like cunt. he became increasingly feverish with every passing second, unable to hear the thoughts that told him to be gentle. 

jaemin nudged haechan playfully. “you know, this is exactly how i remember it.”

“ah,” haechan replied with a pleasant sigh, a little smile on his lips as he watched mark fuck you mindlessly. “some things never change.”

[pirate-poet]

updated with more poems and all (two) songs!

salt & honey masterpost

JANUARY – 1888

salt & honey is a crossover fic that puts characters from the Master and Commander media into the Sunless Sea/Fallen London universe. The Surprise is a steamship, the sea is the zee, Stephen is imprisoned at the Isle of Cats instead of Mahon...well. Please heed the warnings on this one, it's angst-heavy!

LINK and the fic is COMPLETE!

bonus content below the cut(currently the map, twenty title poems, mentioned music, more to be added including full poem list and calendar)

(edited sunless sea map)

A note on the poetry: some of these are very topically relevant to the fic to the point that I was yelling to my alpha readers about how perfect they were! Some are very not topically relevant but still good poems. I highly recommend them all! I took great pains to make sure that each poem was written before the time of the fic so the characters could, theoretically, have read them. Also I'm going by Ao3 chapter numbers, not how they would be numbered without the introduction and interlude.

Ch 2 title: Edward Lear's "The Jumblies Ch 3 title: Emily Dickinson's "A little bread - A crust - A crumb" Ch 4 title: Dante Gabriel Rossetti's "Jenny" Ch 5 title: Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam A. H. H. Canto 11" Ch 6 title: Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "The Pains of Sleep" Ch 7 title: William Blake's "The Garden of Love" Ch 8 title: Adam Lindsay Gordon's "The Swimmer" Ch 9 title: William Butler Yeats' "Byzantium" Ch 10 title: Robert Browning's "Prospice" Ch 11 title: Dante Gabriel Rossetti's "Insomnia" Ch 12 title: Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam A. H. H. Canto 24" Ch 13 title: Gerard Manley Hopkins' "I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day" Ch 14 title: Christina Rosetti's "Promises like Pie-crust" Ch 15 title: George Barlow's "The Immortal and The Mortal" Ch 16 title: John Keats' "Ode on Indolence" Ch 17 title: Dante Gabriel Rossetti's "Jenny" Ch 18 title: Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam A. H. H. Canto 3" Ch 19 title: William Blake's "Holy Thursday" Ch 20 title: Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam A. H. H. Canto 4" (for some reason this one is hard to find just as a poem so have a shmoop link) Ch 21 title: John Clare's "A Vision"

Music I mentioned: Surprisingly I didn't mention a lot, which is strange because I am a classical musician(hobbyist). The issue I have with mentioning music, though, is I have NO idea what was popular at the time and finding out is harder than finding out when a poem was published. Oh well, maybe I should be more chill about historical accuracy in the alternate history fiction universe.

Ch 26: Dvorak's Humoresque (i stand by Jack's pun. it's fiddly) Ch 29: Paganini's duet

[yaeggravate]

Is Capitano Anfortas Alberich?

Hiii, I have been losing my mind over this for months, and I needed to share my findings all in one place.

This might get debunked in a few weeks but until then there is actually a very high chance Capitano is Anfortas. …And not just because his constellation is a giant arrow pointing straight at him.

WARNING: This contains spoilers for the World Quest Shadows of the Mountains.

UPDATE (5.1): WE WON 🎉🥳

As a refresher, Anfortas was the Knight Marshal of the Schwanenritter (German for Swan Knights), a Khaenri'ahn warrior band who went on to protect Sumeru from the onslaught of the "Dark Beasts" during the Cataclysm. The giant Ruin Golems scattered in the forest and desert of Sumeru were piloted by them.

Barely-Legible Bulletin In view of King Irmin's present indisposed state and the current unknown threats facing the Kingdom……Knight Marshal Anfortas has proclaimed that he will temporarily take up the post of Regent and lead the Regnum Concilium Ultimum until the Kingdom returns to a state of normalcy…

At some point, King Irmin became indisposed (unable to rule), which made Anfortas step in as a temporary regent until the Kingdom returned to a state of normalcy. (Didn't age well.)

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: The writings are as follows: "Remember always that it was the Alberich Clan, who did not have royal blood, who stepped in as regents when the strength of the one-eyed king Irmin failed."

This is further confirmed in Kaeya's secret notes from the Hidden Strife event which implies Anfortas is part of the Alberich clan.

Later, Anfortas was betrayed by his comrade Hadura. He fought and executed them, losing his left eye in the process. With Hadura, the last of his comrades, gone, the Schwanenritter are no more.

The ultimate fate of Anfortas is currently unknown as is his exact relation to Kaeya and Chlothar. Whether or not Anfortas is Kaeya's father/uncle/grandfather/secret older brother is not the point of this post.

This is specifically about the connection between Capitano and Anfortas.

I will start by listing the reasons why he could be Capitano and then consider the reasons why he's not.

THE THREE NAILS

Capitano's constellation is likely the three nails which is a reference to the crucifixion of Jesus.

Triclavianism is the belief that three nails were used to crucify Jesus Christ.

I do believe it belongs to Capitano, since he said he would pick up the mantle of "salvation" and is in the nation where people can be resurrected. …Needless to say, we can assume there's not going to be 50 plot twists behind this.

The three nails symbolize salvation and redemption, as well as the suffering of Jesus. You can also think of it as a symbol of martyrdom.

Anfortas is named after the Fisher King from Arthurian legends, who guarded the Holy Grail. The Fisher King was cursed by an incurable wound, stuck between life and death, doomed to suffer for eternity. There are several versions of the legend, with differing names for the Fisher King, "Anfortas" being one of them.

As it happens, the Fisher King is likened to Jesus on the cross quite prominently, both in art and on stage.

Carman explores the use of Christian symbolism in Perlesvaus. He connects the Fisher King with Christ himself, noting his name, Messios, his function as a sufferer, and his death symbolizing the Crucifixion.

In the version of Wagner, he even gets stabbed by the Holy Spear in the same side as Jesus while he was crucified!

Parzival became the primary source for Richard Wagner's 1882 opera Parsifal, in which the Fisher King is wounded by the spear that pierced Jesus's side.

As if that wasn't enough, one of Anfortas' knights left a note inside a Ruin Golem. They state they don't know whether they will be seen as sinners or heroes but believe Anfortas will find a way to save them.

An Abandoned Letter ...I often think lately about how future generations will tell my story. Will I be a sinner? Or a hero......The situation here is dire, but I believe that our Marshal will find a way. I believe... We once fought bravely here, doing our best to prevent this inglorious war. I believe that when it is all over... we shall recover our past splendor...Glory evermore... to Khaenri'ah...

This thematically fits the three nails. Unfortunately for this knight, Anfortas was unable to save Khaenri'ah and their people were condemned as "sinners" throughout history.

At the time of writing, Capitano says something curious in the trailer for 5.1:

Humanity's survival is worth any price If I could go back I would do whatever it took to ensure their survival. You've experienced something similar, Mavuika. You should know exactly what I mean.

Though we don't know the full context yet, this is not a surprising revelation if Capitano is Anfortas; he lost his homeland Khaenri'ah, "the pride of humankind," after all. Furthermore, he compares his suffering to that of the Pyro Archon, the ruler of Natlan. Anfortas was also briefly responsible for the survival of a nation, acting as the KING regent of Khaenri'ah.

Another incredible parallel to the Three Nails can be found in the influential poem The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot which is about the Fisher King.

The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

In the poem Eliot associates the Fisher King with the tarot card the Three Staves.

(The Three of Wands/Staves in Thoth and Rider Waite decks.)

The poem is actually important enough to be referenced in the game a bunch of times. If you recall, in the Veluriyam Mirage event, we ran into three brothers, two of which argued in front of Kaeya and Klee. Turns out the names of these two brothers are in the poem, with the game possibly using them as stand-ins for Anfortas and Chlothar. You can read more about it here in a separate post.

My point is, since the poem is a source of inspiration, it can be assumed the writers are aware of the association of the Three Staves with the Fisher King, aka Anfortas.

If true, I think they did something really clever here by combining the Three Staves with the Three Nails.

THE BLACK SERPENT

I think most people have noticed the draconic/serpent imagery on Capitano's outfit. He has black scales, makeshift claws and a bunch of infinity symbols.

It is curious then that Capitano is essentially dressed as a black serpent/dragon.

Dainsleif: Black Serpent Knights. They once belonged to the Royal Guard of Khaenri'ah.

(...Yet unlike Capitano, the Black Serpent Knights don't look anything like black serpents.)

Little known fact is that even though Anfortas was the leader of the Schwanenritter, his knights still wore the Black Serpent armour. Ynghildr, one of the Swan Knights, turned into a Shadowy Husk that used the Windcutter model.

Mysterious Chronicles: "…Ynghildr, Schwanenritter, 'Damsel of the Dale' …Went missing in the battle against the Onslaught of Dark Beasts. Only her … and signet ring were recovered. A proper knight's funeral was arranged for her…"

(We even end up fighting her during the WQ Vimana Agama 💔.)

In the Shadows of the Mountains WQ, we find out two Khaenri'ahn knights, also using Black Serpent armour, went forth to Natlan to stop the Abyss; their sacrifice turned them into statues for 500 years. I think it's highly likely they were sent there on Anfortas' orders.

This is because one of the knights has interesting lines before and after you bring him peace:

"Irizar": "Leave! Go… I don't want him to see me— like this—" (The voice seems to come from the very depths of the unmoving statue. There is a hint of respect toward someone remaining within…)

Irizar: Did you see? Your orders have been carried out… You… won't be disappointed…

The thing is one of Anfortas' Ruin Golems is right next to Natlan.

This is also where you find the note written by the knight who worries if they'll be seen as sinners or heroes. I do not think they were ordered by Dainsleif, as his last order before he returned to the palace was "to protect the people of Khaenri'ah" while the last will of the Schwanenritter was to destroy the Cataclysm, which is an interesting contrast in itself…

Dainsleif: To this day, I still remember the final orders I, the Twilight Sword, gave to Halfdan on the day of disaster in Khaenri'ah, before I made haste back to the palace... "Inform all Black Serpent Knights to protect the people of Khaenri'ah at all costs." Zurvan: They said that those heroes (Schwanenritter) had walked their path despite the ill repute they had garnered… And that it was to carry the will those heroes had borne, and to completely destroy the disaster from the dark depths that they had followed the heroes' path to this place.

My personal speculation is that the Schwanenritter was a special division from the Black Serpent Knights. From the book Perinheri, we know there was an Alberich who was "commander of half the knights". As stated by old man Pierro himself, the reliability of this book is a bit dodgy, but this might give us a clearer vision on who was in charge.

Anyway, if those knights were sent by Anfortas, there's a chance he might have ended up in Natlan himself as they were heavily affected by the Abyss. Perhaps something funky happened to him there amidst all the chaos… who knows? If we consider the three nails and what it represents, perhaps Anfortas died; but since he's a Khaenri'ahn likely cursed with immortality and Natlan's leylines are weak, death won't come to him that easy.

One other thing: on either side of the door to Khaenri'ah, there are two reliefs that show a guardian holding a sword. As it happens, their helmets are flat and have a huge 8-pointed star in the middle... just like Capitano.

OTHER SIMILARITIES AND SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR 🤨

–Both Anfortas and Capitano are commanders of an army. To paraphrase @kaeyacollection, if I was Pierro, I would want someone with experience to lead my army and not some random bloodstained guy from Mondstadt, right? Pierro and Anfortas would have undoubtedly known each other as Pierro was a Royal Mage and Anfortas was part of the Royal Guard, so it wouldn't be strange for Pierro to recruit someone who he's already familiar with and can depend on.

Mocking Mask (Pierro): Since my level of learning could not compare with the sages, I failed to earn the favor of the previous ruler.

Furthermore, Pierro refers to King Irmin as the "previous ruler" which is an odd choice of words as it could either imply there is still a current ruler out there or Pierro simply acknowledged Anfortas as the last one, which has some interesting implications seeing as he only took up the position temporarily.

–Anfortas is highly respected, as shown by the note written by the knight who believed in him until the end. Someone even tried to write a letter to him begging him to petition the king. And if that knight who was sent to Natlan was referring to the Marshal, it means his main concern was that he would fail Anfortas.

Furthermore, there's a message left scattered across Ruin Guards with the encryption key being Anfortas' name…

Decoded message: We Schwanenritters have fought to the last one

We don't know who left it there, and hell it might be Anfortas himself, but whoever it was certainly valued the name. Fun fact: the achievement you get when you interact with all the Ruin Guards is called In the Name of Anfortas. This is similar to the achievement In the Name of Favonius, which you can get after completing a daily commission that indirectly involves Kaeya!

As far as we can tell, Capitano is also highly admired. Viktor would rather work for him, Varka wrote an entire love letter about him and the voicelines of the Harbingers confirm he's respectable man. (Although Wanderer and those of us who have run into Cap's animal lava farm may have some questions 🤨)

About The Captain "The ever-righteous Captain," "the brave and fearless Captain," "the nigh-invincible Captain"... Even my mechanical ears demand maintenance after listening to so many compliments from the members of the Fatui. Don't you think that possessing absolute righteousness is actually a latent danger? And that's without taking his great personal strength into account.

According to Wanderer, Capitano is seen as extremely righteous. We don't know enough about Anfortas to compare his morals with Capitano's but we do know that he executed his own comrade after a betrayal yet still gave them a proper knight's funeral since they were the last one left. This could allign with Cap's extreme righteousness and honor.

–Capitano proclaimed to the Pyro Archon that someone needs to pick up the mantle of salvation during a crisis…. which is exactly what Anfortas did. He stepped in when Irmin was busy poking holes in the veilussy of sin. Who knows? Perhaps Capitano doesn't want history to repeat itself.

–There could be another reason, though. You see, The Schwanenritter is named after the legend of the Swan Knight. These were an order of Grail Knights who would be sent out in secret to provide a ruler to a kingdom if there was none.

Members of this order are sent out in secret to provide lords to kingdoms that have lost their protectors

Furthermore, the Swan Knight had to hide his origins and name; same thing Capitano is doing.

The story of the Knight of the Swan, or Swan Knight, is a medieval tale about a mysterious rescuer who comes in a swan-drawn boat to defend a damsel, his only condition being that he must never be asked his name.

Varka: The man hides everything under the mask he wears, so no one can know his past or his origins.

–Speaking of which, when Capitano was first mentioned in Varka's letter, guess who was there to witness it?

What's funny is he doesn't even speak during this entire scene. They just forced him to stand there for seemingly no reason.

–Capitano is in Natlan. In Kaeya's hidden letters, there is a lot of fire imagery. Kaeya's father takes this even further by practically quoting Natlan's rule of resurrection. They even use the same term for ashes/embers in the original CN.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: A piece of it has been burned away, and the remaining parts show signs of having been rescued from that same flame.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: (Kaeya's father): "Though we could not restore Khaenri'ah to life, we of the Alberich Clan should lead lives as those who blaze like fire, rather than those who wallow in the embers." Dainsleif (Travail trailer, Natlan): The rules of war are woven in the womb: the victors shall burn bright, while the losers must turn to ash.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: (Kaeya): "Now that I look at it, his handwriting was as grieving as a smoking ash pile."

I don't know what to make of it and perhaps there's no deeper connection, but you have to admit, it is a little odd…

–The name Anfortas is speculated to be derived from french "enfertez" which means infirmity or weakness/illness. This is a very interesting contrast to Capitano's strong man persona. Not to mention, Capitano's commedia dell'arte counterpart is a braggart who only boasted about his strength. Who knows, perhaps Anfortano is suffering from an ailment/curse and is using whatever means he can to make himself stronger. (Such as the "presence" inside him.)

That being said, in the book Perinheri, the Alberich who was commander of half the knights was part of the "mightiest figures in Khaenri'ah".

–For some reason, Kaeya has what looks like snakeheads with a split tongue on his pants. You can also find a version of this on Capitano's outfit. …Yeah, I don't know either.

Jokes aside, Kaeya is wearing the top half of Capitano's modified Fatui coat complete with weird double flaps and fur boa. (There was a Hoyofair fananimation a year ago where the artist portrayed Anfortas with black fur which is pretty funny in hindsight.)

If Capitano isn't related to Kaeya, I'm going to need a very good explanation for why they share the same terrible fashion sense.

–Both Chlothar and Caribert have black hair and blue eyes... just like our buddy Capitano. While that's not enough to claim they're related, it is certainly a point in our favor.

–Since Pierro was original enough to give the title of "the Doctor" to a doctor, it wouldn't be too out of place for him to dub a marshal "the Captain".

–Kaeya was adopted by Crepus, who owned a Delusion. Is it really a coincidence that Kaeya was taken in by a man with ties to the Fatui? If any of the Harbingers are connected to Kaeya, Pierro (Khaenri'ahn) and Capitano (identity unknown) would be the two biggest suspects, right?

WHY CAPITANO CAN'T BE ANFORTAS…HAHA UNLESS?

–As mentioned before, Anfortas lost his left eye. From Mika's character story, we know Capitano has glowing dark blue eyes plural. However, it's unclear whether he lost his eye in the literal sense or was only blinded. It's possible Anfortas simply grew the eye back but if that's the case I don't see the point in mentioning the loss in the first place, other than to draw a parallel to Kaeya (who didn't even lose his eye either…)

–Capitano uses a strange power that looks related to Nightsoul… …Whatever it is, it could point at him being from Natlan. However, the Traveler can use Phlogiston despite not being from Natlan. We don't have Pyro Traveler yet but I suspect they will be able to use Nightsoul as well.

Mavuika also says she sensed an "unsual presence" inside Capitano. This "presence" could explain his ability to use Walmart Nightsoul and why he has knowledge on a secret oath made 500 years ago (and why he has two eyes again).

–I think it's possible Anfortas is either Kaeya's "pirate" grandpa or his father and if that's the case the chances of Capitano being playable are abyssmal 💀. However, Arthurian Anfortas was famously saved by his nephew Parzival. If they go by the legend and Parzival is the equivalent of Kaeya, Anfortas could be his uncle instead.

In any case, we'll have to wait and see where the story goes from here. Even if Anfortas isn't Capitano, he still has major relevance that has yet to be revealed. Until then, much like Anfortas and Capitano, all we can do is suffer on the cross 👍🏽

*UPDATE 5.1: CAPITANO'S LINES FROM THE AQ

"The Captain": Why...? Because I am a survivor of Khaenri'ah. I've witnessed the devastation and terror of the Abyss with my own eyes. "The Captain": That's right. My family, my comrades, my homeland... were all lost to the Abyss. It is an unforgettable pain, one that no amount of time could ever dull... not even five hundred years. "The Captain": If I could go back, I would reject all false hope. I would do whatever it took to ensure their survival.

"The Captain": That story begins with the cataclysm five hundred years ago.... I failed to save Khaenri'ah from the rampage of the Abyss. When the situation became unsalvageable, I fled to Natlan with the remainder of my platoon. "The Captain": Only to find that Natlan had fallen victim to the same tragedy. I defended this land for quite some time and, in the process, met the chief of the Masters of the Night-Wind, Ayizu. I'm sure many people viewed Khaenri'ah as the cause of the tragedy, but Ayizu was kind to me all the same, and even helped me in my time of need. "The Captain": From that moment, I made it my mission to aid Natlan. In battle, a warrior fights to win. Even though my homeland was lost, I was already committed to this fight.

"The Captain": Heh, even without the mask, my past appearance is long gone. Even with the curse of immortality, the flesh still rots. Paimon: Wait, do you know someone named Dainsleif? That problem doesn't seem quite so... extreme for him. "The Captain": You've met him already? Paimon: Yeah, a bunch of times. Sounds like you know him, too. "The Captain": During the age of Khaenri'ah, all I knew was his name. The last time I saw him in person, he was traveling with the Prince. He carries a degree of pain and hatred that far surpasses my own.

[princessbrunette]

reader x sarah x jb where sarah and reader are making out in front of johnbee- he’s in trouble so he doesn’t get to touch 🥺

𐙚🦢🩰⋆.˚❆

“okay, i get it — i’m reckless, alright? i suck, how long is this gonna go on for? you know what this is? it’s cruel. the agreement was that we both get to have her, sarah.” john b scolds, sat with his hands tied by the blue bandana, his blonde girlfriends handiwork. she smirks, pulling away from your mouth, looking at him over your shoulder where you lay panting and nude against her — legs split embarrassingly wide, hole twitching around nothing as she circles at your clit. his mouth practically waters at the sight of your glossy folds, all open and needy — a hole he knows he can stuff well.

“the agreement was that you stop putting your life at risk for this bullshit treasure hunt. suffer the consequences, john b.” sarah hums with a smile, dragging her lips down your ear. “you really could’ve been in my place right now. touching her tits, grabbing her ass, fingering her pussy. but no…” she shrugs and it’s just to rile him up.

“jesus christ.” he pants. “what do you want me to do huh? get down on my knees? sarah i’ll do it.” he shakes his head, brow creased in desperation. seeing a man that was usually so in charge and calm get all urgent just for a taste of your pussy made your legs quake, squeezing more drool from your swollen, puffy pussy lips. “she needs me.” he states.

“do you… need him, babe?” sarah tilts her head with a jokey smile, craning round to look at you. you didn’t know what to say, you did want him — but you didn’t want to let her down so you simply shrug, avoiding all eyes. sarah sighs, rolling her eyes before sliding out from behind you and wandering over to john b, releasing him from the constraint carelessly. “fine. have at it.” she quirks an eyebrow and he marches over, looming over your spread open body.

“do you need me?” he pants, eyes doing all the touching for him. you drag your eyes from sarah and nod pitifully, lip wobbling as you force your legs even wider. he huffs out a smirk, swivelling his head to look at sarah where she stands with her arms crossed in just her seamless bra and panties. “ouch. all that being cruel for nothing, sarah cameron.”

“eat me.” she smirks, coming back over to join the two of you.

“uh-uh, not after that stunt. our pretty girl right here however,” he marvels at you, hands on the insides of your trembling knees holding you open sliding inward to reach your folds where he spreads them, inspecting your holes and pulsing clit. “oh i’m eating it all night.”

𐙚🦢🩰⋆.˚❆

[slamminslamminmcgill]

all im saying is ✨Logan with a knot✨ and Wade overstimulating you bc you cant get away -🦐

shrimp anon more like shrimp COLORS bro your vision is INSANE!!!!!!

soooo idk conventional a/b/o rules and i kinda don't care so im picturing a heat cycle as once a month endeavour. and bc you're on T you're a HORNY motherfucker and you're angry and violent so it's basically whoever can get their hands on you or knot in you first will take care of you. then as long as you get bred at least once you're fine. then you calm down and it's big aftercare hours bc your post-heat clarity endorphins are going CRAZY

now since your heat only comes once a month, wade treats it as a special occasion. and it wouldn't be fair of him to do the honors EVERY month, now would it?

so even though he's home with you, and logan's not, and won't be for a while, wade wilson will refuse to fuck you. it's not his turn. he did it last month.

and your heat is MISERABLE. imagine the worst period cramp you ever had, combined with hot flashes, searing rage, and it gives your cunt the sensitivity of a fucking bear trap. you'll clamp down on anything that touches you.

so no matter how much you suffer. no matter if you scream, cry, beg, grovel, bite, or commit acts of gratuitous violence against him.

he will hold out.

he will hold out until logan gets home and finds you naked, cuffed to the bed by your hands and ankles, a chewy ball-gag in your mouth getting crushed by your gritting teeth, and wade's holding a wand vibrator to your cunt.

he waves gayly at logan, "hey pinkie pie, merry christmas! wanna come open your gift?"

"jesus christ, are you fucking torturing him?! the hell is wrong with you?!"

"with ME?! where's your holiday spirit?"

logan just stares at him blankly, puzzled by what this psychotic dipshit could possibly be talking about. in response, and in the spirit of the season, wade sings him a song.

"🎼it's the mooost wonderful tiiiiime, of the mooonth~!🎵"

now he gets it.

"oh... okay. so then why did you tie him down like that?"

"well, we had a little INCIDENT earlier..."

--

you had managed to grab one of wade's guns and shot him in the chest

"OW!!! you RESOURCEFUL little shit!!! GRRR, oh~ mysweetboybabydarling i'msoproudofyou, butnoi'mnot, BAD BOY!!!"

--

"no, i mean why didn't you take care of him your-fucking-self, wilson? you really gotta make this my problem as soon as i walk in the fuckin' door?"

"your PROBLEM?! i hand you some prime-time, limited-edition, hot and bothered, ripe for the breeding, tranny boy BUSSY on a silver platter, and that's somehow NOT where your dick wants to spend its evening? am i hearing that right? please tell me i'm not. please tell me you're not this stupid, pookie bear."

instead of arguing back, logan goes quiet. he's thinking. and then, he laughs. that low, husky laugh that you have when you're marveling at the nerve of whatever dumb motherfucker is talking to you. or maybe, when that dumb motherfucker is making a point.

"heh... y'know what? fine." logan angrily strips his clothes off, one by one. his tanktop, "you want me to be the one to knot him? huh?" his belt, his jeans "can't do anything yourself, can ya?" and lastly, his boxers. then he grabs his cock and shakes it at wade.

"so then get me hard, you faggot." he clicks his tongue twice. "c'mon."

wade throws himself at logan's knees and gives him that gawkgawk4000turbotyphoon treatment to get him up. logan sighs in relaxation, grateful that wade was putting his mouth to such better use. once his eyes flutter open, he nods at you, finally giving you even a modicum of attention while you're under intense distress, and he merely waves at you nonchalantly, like how a pedestrian does to a car that lets him cross.

"hang tight, bub. be with ya in a second."

wade works him over until his knot is just barely starting to swell. he then takes his fattened cock and slaps wade across the face with it.

"take his chains off."

"hm... are you sure you want me to do that, princess? he's feisty, y'know. might get yourself bit, if you're not careful."

logan slaps wade again, but this time it's a bitchslap, using the back of his hand. and his claws.

"take. his fucking. chains off."

"mmm, right AWAY, your majesty~!"

[harryslittlefreakk]

little angel

the pact extra but can be read on its own 🫶🏼

summary: a little drabble of needy y/n and dad!rry goodness

warnings: pregnancy talk, mostly fluff, slight smut

a/n: i’m dead at this couple 🥹 that’s all i can say

you can join my taglist here and find the rest of my writing here! enjoy xxx

“I want a baby,” Harry sighed, pulling you close to his chest. “Harry-” you started, wriggling in his grip as you tried to face him. “No I know, s’not much more we can do. Just wanted to say it in case the universe is listening.”

“Yeah, but-”

“The universe doesn’t listen, I know what you’re gonna say.”

You finally broke free of his grasp, turning around to look at him. “Shut up for one minute and listen. I’m late.”

“Where you going?” he asked, brows furrowed as he tried to remember any plans you’d told him about. “Christ,” you rolled your eyes, laughing at his response. “Late for my period,” you explained, watching the gears turn in his head.

“Really?” he gasped, fingers trailing up your back. “Yeah, like a week. I don’t know though, I don’t feel like this is our time.”

“You wanna find out?” he asked, padding towards the bathroom. You’d kept a stash of tests since the beginning of your relationship, preferring to be able to test for your peace of mind rather than have to rush out to the store in a frenzy if you were ever late. You’d never actually had to use one, getting your period right on time every month until now. Though you knew Harry was desperate to be a dad, you’d never really been properly trying. You hadn’t tracked your ovulation or waited for the little blue cross every month. You’d seen the toll that it had taken on your friends relationships and didn’t want your sex life with Harry to turn into a means to an end.

You cuddled into him as you set the little stick down, the end of the three minute wait feeling a lifetime away. “You okay?” he murmured against your hair, rubbing a hand over your lower back. “I’m a bit scared, H,” you whispered. You were scared. Your relationship had been a whirlwind, only two years now since you reconnected, and you weren’t sure you were ready to sacrifice your time alone with Harry just yet. But if you were to ever have a baby, now was the right time. Your workload was looking light for the next year or so, and Harry wasn’t planning a tour any time soon. And most of all, you were worried you’d let him down. He’d been waiting so long for a baby, taking everything at your pace and waiting for you to want it as much as he did. Which you did, but you also knew that it was your life that would have to totally change, your body that would suffer through the strain of growing a new life. Harry would give parenting his all, and you’d always known he’d be an incredible dad, it just wasn’t the same as what being a mum would entail.

“S’a big thing, darling.”

“Don’t want to disappoint you if I’m not, Harry,” you told him, your fear turning to tears in your eyes. “Never, baby. You’ll never disappoint me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you sighed against him, anxiously checking your phone to see how long had passed. It had almost been three minutes, so you slipped your phone back in your pocket and looked up at him, urging him wordlessly to look at the test. “If it doesn’t show it by now then…” your voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Y’ready?” he asked, stepping towards the windowsill as you sat down on the edge of the bath. You nodded, heart caught in your throat. He turned it over, and even from where you were sitting you could see it. The brightest blue cross, an unmistakable answer. Harry was frozen in place, hands shaking as he stared down at the test. You’d thought about this moment so many times, imagining how you’d feel and react. But seeing the positive result in front of you, knowing there were the tiny beginnings of a life inside of you, everything you’d imagined went out the window. All you could feel was the rush of nervous excitement, your previous fears disappeared in place of those tiny blue lines.

Harry turned to you with tears in his eyes, a great big grin spread across his face. “A baby,” he whispered, pulling you up into his arms. “A baby,” you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

—

“Please, Harry,” you begged, shuffling behind him. You’d been practically rabid for a few months now, the tables turning on which one of you was totally insatiable. Your pregnancy hadn’t come with many symptoms, except the exhaustion and the constant ache in your core. You needed more of your husband, needed him in a way that would only be cured if he could climb inside of your skin. “You really want me to cancel this interview for you?”

“You would if you loved me,” you whined. “I can’t, kitten. Just give me half an hour and I’ll show you how much I love you.”

“I don’t have half an hour, H,” you pleaded, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Come on then, I can give you five minutes.”

Harry lead you over to the sofa in the corner of his office, pulling your t-shirt up as you laid down, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He ran a hand over the gentle curve of your growing belly, pressing delicate kisses to your skin before slipping a hand inside your panties, pleased to find your folds already soaked for him. “Needed me so bad, huh?” he smirked, slipping a finger straight into you. You whimpered at his touch, pleasure so built up inside of you that you could have came right there. With only five minutes to get you where you needed, Harry went right into tickling at your sweet spot. He’d been so good at accommodating your every need, dropping whatever he was doing to give you whatever you wanted, whether that be his touch or simply his closeness.

His thumb brushed against your clit, sending your back arching off the soft velvet as you gasped for breath. You could feel the knot in your core tightening, thighs clamping together around his hand. “Come, sweet girl,” he urged, rubbing circles against your button as his fingers fucked in and out of you. You cried out as a buzzing spread through your body, your orgasm ripping through you.

His hand slowed down as he rode you through your high, satisfied in giving you exactly what you craved. Harry pulled the knitted throw over you as your eyes fluttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He pulled his desk chair over to stay next to you, tangling one hand in yours while he set up his laptop on his knees.

—

“What do you want to be called, huh?” you wondered aloud, fingers dancing across your bump.

“Stevie,” Harry replied, looking up from his spot on the floor. He was surrounded by pieces of wood and tools, desperate to get the crib built by the end of the day. “Not Stevie,” you laughed. “Stevie Styles is a ridiculous name.”

“It’s a great name.”

“It’s a pornstar name, do you want your daughter to have a pornstar name?”

“It’s a strong name.”

“What if she has a lisp? Thtevie Thtyleth.”

“Then you come up with something better.”

“What about something Italian?” you asked, pulling up a list of names on your phone. It was something you’d thought about a lot since your summer in Italy, loving the delicate nature of the names. “Alessia, Lucia, Emilia,” you listed off, imagining each name attached to your little girl. “I like Alessia,” Harry mused, standing up to pad over to where you were perched on the bed. “Show your mama what you like, little angel,” he spoke softly to your bump, one hand splayed across its curve. She kicked lightly against his palm, her tiny feet always dancing to the hum of her dad’s voice. “I think she likes Alessia,” you laughed, the sensation of her moving not one you think you’d ever get used to. “It needs something else though, Alessia Styles isn’t quite there.”

“Noelle,” Harry murmured against your neck. “She will be a little Christmas baby after all,” he added, glancing over at the foliage garland on your mantle. “Alessia Noelle,” you repeated, placing a hand over his. “I like that, H,” you smiled. He hummed against your skin, peppering delicate kisses on every part of skin his mouth could reach.

—

“I can’t do it, H,” you whined, pacing the length of the room. “You can, baby. It’s so close now,” he told you, fluffing up the pillows on your bed. He held his hands out to you, helping you to lay back down. “You can’t pace her out of you, no matter how hard you try. I’m gonna call the doctor back in, okay? Then we can meet our little girl.” Harry smoothed his hand over your hair, waiting for your nod before he pulled away.

You were physically prepared to meet your little angel, but the mental preparedness was something else altogether. You’d been patiently waiting for your new arrival for nine long months, but now that you were faced with the final hurdle you suddenly felt totally incapable of having a new life in your hands. Someone to shape and raise, to grow with as much love and care as you had over the last months.

You’d been fully dilated for a while now, ready to push before you’d had a little freak out. Now you were back in the bed, back flush against the cold sheet. Harry had your hands in his, eyes locked on yours to keep you calm. “Jus’ have to focus on me, okay kitten?” You nodded, bracing for the next contraction.

Pushing was one of the hardest things you think you’d ever do. You’d read the books, seen the movies, spoken to your mum and Anne so many times and yet you still weren’t prepared for how hard it would be on your body. It was a full body exercise, every single muscle tensed as you got closer to meeting your baby girl. Until finally you heard that strangled cry, the tiny gasp falling from Harry’s lips, the blur of movement before she was placed on your chest. Your body finally relaxed, content as you wrapped her in your arms. It felt like hours had passed since you laid back in the bed, though looking at the clock you knew it had been just shy of fifty minutes.

Harry took her in his arms as you sunk into the pillows, exhaustion taking over you. Fatherhood looked good on him. A muslin draped over his shoulder, sweatshirt damp with your sweat and tears. He looked totally frazzled, in the best way. Cheeks flushed from his heart exploding within him, love-drunk as he stared down at your little angel, her tiny fingers clenched around his ring.

“I want another one,” Harry cooed, totally smitten with the tiny girl laying in his arms.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @sturnioloenthousiast @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @poojasdesk @averytermaat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @kkr102 @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz

[rhiannonsknife]

could i maybe request a blurb where everyone finds out what shauna was doing with jackie in the meatshed, and you’re the only one that sides with/ doesn’t turn against her? like sure she’s a little freak but look at her! she’s so sad! who could possibly be mean to her???

- 🦔

shaunaaaaaa!! :( why do you guys love to see her suffer on this blog? (also, mind you, i just wrote this on my phone while watching a movie and i didn’t beta read…)

the freezing cold bites at your cheeks as you stand outside the cabin. the tension hangs heavier than it ever did before, a new low you didn’t think was possible. shauna stands before you in the snow, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face pale and blanker than you’ve seen it so far.

“she’s been in there talking to jackie!” tai’s voice is sharp, almost disgusted but mostly confused. “holding her hand, doing her make up! do you realize how insane that is?” she gestures wildly toward the meat shed. “she’s been braid-“ tai chokes on the word. “braiding her hair. jesus, shauna”

shauna flinches, just barely, but you catch it. her lip trembles for half a second before she tightens her jaw, locking down any vulnerability.

“she’s gone, shauna,” tai presses, stepping closer, the anger in her voice rising. “jackie’s dead. and whatever you’re doing in that shed? it’s it’s not normal!”

the others linger nearby, silent but visibly uneasy: nat leans against the side of the cabin with her arms crossed over her chest, lottie stands a little further back, watching the scene unfold, whereas van fidgets awkwardly, her gaze darting between tai and shauna as if she’s unsure whether to intervene or stay out of it.

in the end, it’s you who steps up. “that’s enough!”

tai turns on you instantly, her eyes narrowing. “what?”

“i said, that’s enough,” you repeat firmly, stepping closer to shauna. you purposefully place yourself between her and tai, shielding shauna from her angry glare.

“oh, so you’re fine with this?” tai snaps, her arms flying up in disbelief. “with her acting like jackie’s still alive? do you even get how screwed up that is?”

“she’s grieving” you reason, refusing to back down. “i get that this…whatever she’s doing, probably isn’t healthy, but yelling at her isn’t going to help!”

tai lets out a sharp laugh, though it lacks any humor. “unbelievable. you’re actually defending this? her?”

“yes, tai. i am” thankfully, your voice doesn’t waver. you glance back at shauna, who’s staring at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. “she’s sad. she lost her best friend. yeah, maybe she’s handling it in a way we don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean we get to tear her down for it!”

tai’s mouth opens like she’s about to argue, but for the first time, she seems at a loss for words.

“jesus fucking christ,” nat mutters, breaking the silence. she rubs her temples, breath puffing in the cold air. “this is such a shitshow”

you ignore her, focusing on shauna instead, whose shoulders are beginning to shake. gently, you reach out and take her arm, tugging her away from the center of the group. “come on,” you tell her softly. “you don’t need to deal with this right now”

shauna lets you guide her back towards the warmth of the cabin, her steps slow and hesitant at first.

behind you, tai lets out an exasperated noise, but she doesn’t follow yet. you hear van mutter something under her breath, but it’s muffled by the wind, and you don’t care enough to turn back and ask.

you lead shauna back and inside, the noise of the others fading into the background. “i-” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper. then she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“you don’t have to explain, not to me”

her lip trembles again, and this time, the tears finally come. they roll silently down her cheeks as she stands there, shoulders hunched, her entire body shaking with the effort to hold herself together. you step closer, pulling her into a hug without hesitation. for a moment, shauna stiffens, but then she crumples against you, burying her face in your shoulder as the sobs finally break free.

“i’ve got you,” you murmur, your hand gently running up and down her back. “It’s okay, shauna. i’ve got you”

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Headcanon with TF141 & König with Fem! Reader who had amnesia after loss blood from battlefield and how would the mens react. Pls!

Oof ouchie owie my heart 😭 this is so mean I love it 😭😭😭😭 (I’m not crying YOU’RE crying)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

When the nurse told him you suffered amnesia due to the severity of your injuries, he didn’t want to believe it. He refused. Even though they told him it could last a few minutes to several weeks or months, he didn’t want to believe it.

So he went to visit you, sat beside your bed, balaclava twisting nervously in his hands as he watched you sleep. He eventually dozed off, arms crossed over his chest, head resting back against the wall. He woke up to a soft prodding at his shoulder,

“Excuse me, are you the nurse?” You’d asked, throat hoarse and exhaustion evident.

“Who do you think I am?” He asked, his heart beat so hard in his throat, his stomach churning and heavy, he felt violently ill

“I… don’t know to be honest. I’m not sure why or how I got here.” Your voice was small and uncertain and fuck he wanted to cry. His eyes burned and his throat threatened to shut.

What should he do? Tell you what happened and risk further trauma? He’s the reason you were out here in the first place. What’s the right thing to do? What would you do in his position?

“Sir? I’m sorry, I’m just really thirsty. I’m sorry to bug you.”

“Don’t sweat it, here, have my water.” He uncapped his water bottle and got up to bring it to your lips, you took it from his hands before he could tip it back,

“I’ve got it, thank you.” You said with a weak chuckle. At least that’s still the same. He watched you drink your water, weighing his options in his head. If the roles were reversed, you’d be honest with him. Gentle, but firm. Even if it pained you, you’d tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

He was a both a coward and glutton for pain.

“You can call me Ghost, for now.”

He still wasn’t sure if he’d tell you about all the nights spent together, all the mornings you had breakfast in the mess hall together, your apartment that you shared, the tattoo he has under his collarbone of your callsign or the matching one you got of a skull on your hip. This could be his chance to spare you the pain of sticking around him any longer.

But he’s selfish, in that sense. He’s had you, he can’t lose you now.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s devastated. He’s absolutely heartbroken, there’s no way this is happening. He’s convinced it’s not real. It’s a bad dream and he’ll wake up in your arms and it’ll be gone. How he wishes that was true.

He comes into your room, the nurses words echoing in his head, triggering his tinnitus, making him nauseous. His legs are horribly unsteady and his hands have never shook this hard. He feels like such a fool for being so fucking weak in front of you like this.

This isn’t about him, it’s about you. It’s all about you, it’s about setting things right with you, it’s about bringing you back to him. It’s all about you.

He sat beside your bed and waited for you to wake up, and when you did you smiled so wide when you looked at him, that he honestly believed the nurses were wrong

“This might be wildly inappropriate, but you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

God how he wished the nurses were wrong.

“Could say the same for you, love.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and stamped out the ache in his chest

“Love?” You blinked in confusion, “are you my- oh god, I’m sorry, I… I don’t remember.”

“It’s alright, the nurses said it could happen. You’ve been through a lot.”

“If I’m here then, yeah, seems like.” You chuckled dryly,

“I’m Johnny.” He held his hand out to yours, you took it and couldn’t help how soothing his palm felt against yours as you introduced yourself shyly.

He could be strong. For you. He’d do anything for you, whether you wound up remembering or not, it didn’t matter. He’d do anything.

John Price:

He’s shell shocked. Please god no. Not you. Please sweet fucking Christ, not you. He doesn’t go to see you right away, he sits in his office quietly. He’s sitting in the dark, replaying the events that led up to this over and over in his head like a fucked movie on loop.

He snaps. He’s flinging everything off his desk, it’s all flying to the floor, he’s screaming, crying, raging. The team hears it and they all run to his office, Ghost is the only one to successfully hold him back. He eventually gives up and starts sobbing. Perception be damned.

He’s clutching onto Simon like his life depends on it, Soap and Gaz quietly start picking stuff up off the floor,

“Come on, mate, she needs you. Clean up and go.” He’s not stupid. He’s seen you two, seen the way you are with one another. It’s the best kept secret of the 141.

“I know. Fuck, I know.”

He hesitantly walks to your room, his heart pounding a mile a minute, he hears you talking to the nurse and you sound a little hoarse but it also sounds like you’re drinking water. He waits until you’re done talking and walks in, he steps aside to let the nurse walk out and sits beside you,

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Not great but the pain meds help.” You laughed weakly, “and you must be?”

“John.”

“John…?”

“Just John.” He sighed, slowly taking one of your small hands in his, giving you every opportunity to withdraw, “Your John.”

He’s a patient man. He can wait.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

He’s in tears before the nurse even has a chance to walk away, Price has a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in an attempt to keep him grounded

“None of that, Gaz, just go see her. Somewhere in her heart, she’ll be happy to see you.” His words were reassuring and it helped give him the boost he needed to go and see you.

So he did, with an arm full of flowers, your favorite snack and candies, and fruits of course. He came in and set them down at the table quietly, watching you watch him as he did so. He took a deep shaky breath and pulled the chair up to the bed.

“Is that all for me?” You asked with a shy smile, even under the unflattering glow of the fluorescent lights above you, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen,

“Yup. I thought if I’d brought you the things you like, it might help you recover your memory.” He swallowed his tears, swallowed the lump in the throat, he’d set it all aside because there’s work to be done.

“I take it you and I are quite close then?”

“As close as two people can get, without being related.”

“Hm. That makes me happy, you seem really sweet…?”

“Kyle. Or Gaz. But you’ve always called me by my name.”

His heart skipped a beat when you tried his name out, getting a feel for it on your tongue, and then you smiled softly at him.

It’ll be hard work but fuck you’re so worth it.

König:

He feels violently ill. He’s nauseous through and through, he’s in shock, he’s grieving, he’s mourning, he’s furious, he’s appalled, he’s miserable

It’s all playing over and over and over and over again, the exact moments that led up to this. You trusted him and let you down. He fucking let you down. He ruined it. He ruined the one good thing he had going for him in this shithole. It’s gone it’s all fucking gone. And it’s all his fault.

All of that was repeating in his head as he punched a hole in the tile in the bathrooms, it repeated when he’d try to sleep until you woke up, it repeated while he’d wait for you, it repeated until there was nothing but self-inflicted venom pumping in his system, circulating mercilessly

And then you woke up. He’d at least had the presence of mind to take his veil off so he wouldn’t startle you, but in his vitriol he forgot something,

“You’ve got a little something on your uh… all of that.” You sleepily laughed, pointing at your eyes,

“Ah yes, that’s intentional.”

“Why?” You blinked in confusion, weakly trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes,

“Helps keep me concealed when I wear this.” He lifted the veil in his hands for you to see,

“I imagine it’s hard to do with your size.”

“It can be but I’m quite determined.”

“You seem upset, I take it you and I are close and the nurses told you?”

He gently took your small hand in his, his eyes watering, lower lip starting to quiver,

“Oh schatz, you have no idea.” His voice shook and your heart broke for him, his accent brought you peace even if you couldn’t exactly remember why, you could still put the pieces together. You don’t know why, but you wanted to be strong for him,

“Then give me an idea.”

[ardenzia777]

give us the bible art oooooo

I've drawn these that i can show atm. the last 2 aren't done ngl but that's ok, they're still at least presentable Explanation of each piece below owo

first one was an idea of like a really peaceful Jesus holding a lamb and just a heavenly setting around, very old school, very renaissance, but wanted to be unique and make his halo a white hole that cascaded out stained glass light. Pearls to represent purity and Sapphire in his crown to signify the sapphire throne

second one was a sketch i put some more detail on, i just wanted it to show the somberness of a well aware sacrifice. unironically wanted it to feel demure. feel both dark and light. the dampness in the air before and after the rain. wanted to add black stars as well to show a hidden/veiled divinity. King of kings but is veiled in mortal flesh, appearing more grounded in our world than he really is. also was making connotations with wine and his blood as well.

third one i wanted to really pull inspo from Elden ring and take its symbolism into different context but the same context, which was inspired by how Elden ring does the same thing with Christianity. The symbolism of Marika crucified was for sure meant to be a reference to Christ, so i wanted to depict him crucified but with Marika's rune. Both crucified by their authority, and technically both done for the sake of saving the world. difference is one did it willingly to save those unaware of their burden, the other went unwillingly, likely kicking and glaring. I wanted to switch the crown of thorns for a crown of shattered runes. both still make you bleed, but i loved how runes represent power and strength, and how that could tie in to the symbolism of the crown of thorns, still being a crown. a sign of power. added some other crucifixes of the Elden ring style to represent the many others who have died before, though his is above them all, for he was the greatest sacrifice. Lastly wanted the view to shift from a broken battleground of the world, covered in the shattered runes of so many hurt people's suffering, to the boundless skies of the awaiting paradise. symbolism of Jesus sitting on his cross in anguish, but keeping his eyes on the future he was doing this all for. Bonus: made his cloth covering also swirl like Marika's, but for the effect of giving him a halo. This piece still isn't done, i'm excited to work more on it later.

PS: i know he was impaled through his wrists, i'm considering changing it to be more proper, but i also liked the hands look, but idk, we'll see Anywho ahhh, hope you like em owo

[blueberryarchive]

𝒍𝒂����𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

୨ৎpairing: cowboy!jm x reader x preacher!jk

୨ৎword count: 5k

୨ৎgenre: smut, horror, angst

୨ৎtw: dead dove do not eat, mentions of death and gruesome details (human and animal), blood, mentions of arms and physical violence, cursing, smut (blood drinking and playing, period sex, rope play, degrading, dub-con, groping, penetration)

An Ewe and the Captive Bolt (a serie)

Today was his birthday, and for the first time in 28 years, the sky looked like a sheet full of spots. He felt ever since he saw Sirius and Canopus in the sky as two little white suns the night before, that this year was going to be different.

What Park didn't know was that what would be different was the pain he felt on the left side of his arm and his chest. The hot, thick blood soaked his shoulder and eye until it covered his eyelashes. The battered hat clutched in both dusty hands as he entered Carmen's diner, a child's shame on his tight lips.

The poor girl behind the counter dropped the key lime pie from her hands, creating even more noise in the place (which Jimin didn't appreciate being in such a state).

"Christ." She murmured, still static.

"Be a doll and bring me a glass of water, would ya'?" Jimin crawled to one of the seats, grunting as he felt his muscles burn.

The girl approached with a small towel and a terrified look.

"Never seen blood before?"

"No, sir." Her brown eyes were like two walnuts bouncing between Jimin's face and arms. She was adorable, her face round and her hair so curly that she reminded him of his sheep. If she hadn't been the sheriff's daughter, he said to himself every time he saw her.

"Are you hurt, sir? I can call my daddy and-"

"No need for that, sweetheart." He raised his hand. The last thing he needed was to have Montrell in his affairs. "It ain't my blood, it's my horse's"

Apparently, that seemed to affect the young woman more. Jimin was a little offended by her reaction.

"Why don't you bring me a piece of that delicious key lime pie you had in hand and two coffees."

There were more questions in her curved eyebrows, but she just nodded and walked away. Park took off his shirt, leaving a tank top underneath it, with the handkerchief that he kept in his jeans, he began to wet his hands and his face.

His fingers were still shaking from the adrenaline. The shrill sound of the car's tires driving away, the heated laughter cloistered behind the smoked windows, the last sharp sigh of his horse before Jimin ended his suffering. He had to find the bastards who ran over his horse. FH-6077, he read the plate in the distance before crossing the curve, and his brain couldn't stop humming the six digits like a prayer.

The sudden hand on his shoulder calmed the waters, the undoubtable smell of myrrh and tobacco from his companion.

"Happy birthday, buddy." His voice was gentle. If Jungkook ever went above a couple of those decibels, Jimin assumed he was going to die. Even seeing Park's bloody hat on the table and Park's bloodstained boots, he didn't flinch to ask.

Perhaps it was his ecclesiastical nature that gave him the confidence that at one time or another, others would fill the silence with their confessions. But Jimin could see in the father's noble eyes the desperation for an explanation.

"Sure." That was all he said. The girl approached the table with the pie and the coffee.

"Goodnight, Father John." She smiled widely.

"Night, Billie. How's your dad?"

"He really liked your mass today. I did too, I really liked the reading." Jimin noticed how the corners of Billie's lips twitched, contorting herself to try to look prettier for Father John. So obvious and adorable, but of course, Jeon would give nothing more than a shrug and the most predictable questions.

The difference is that Jungkook could fuck the sheriff's daughter. What father didn't want his daughter to be in the sacred hands of Father John?

Father Jeon (or John due to the Americanization of Jungkook's family) was tall, wide like a log, and robust like an unhorned bull. Attractive in every sense, but bland, shy until it hurts.

"'M glad, tell him I will visit Missus Davis next week."

"Do you have a smoke? I'm dying in here."

They both looked at Jimin who was just smiling with his mouth smeared with whipped cream.

"You can't smoke here, sir."

Jimin winked at her, grabbing the white stick that Jungkook handed him as he also sat down to end the unbearable flirting.

"I know, pumpkin. It'll be a quick one, I promise."

The girl didn't say anything else, and she walked away. Disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"I'll marry her in two months." Said Jungkook.

Jimin frowned. Jungkook curled his fingers, pointing for his friend to come closer and light the tip of the tobacco.

"Marry her? You can barely tolerate the poor girl."

"I love her." The father stated as he nodded slowly while he drank his coffee. "She's a good girl, I think she likes me, too."

"Are ya sure?" Jimin joked.

"Where's that bad hoss you've been riding since last month?"

Jimin's blood warmed again, the drags on his cigarette even longer.

"Fuckin' punks ran over 'im and broke his ribs. Had to do it." He pointed to the gun under his hat. The bloody clothes reminded him how clumsy he sure looked trying to pamper a horse that was already three steps away.

FH-6077.

"I'll find them tomorrow."

"I'll help you."

"What are you gonna do?"

They both looked at each other, the watery, electric current between them. Ideas undulated and braided between their cruel smiles.

"Haven't changed a bit, church boy." Smoke weaved into Jimin's blonde hair, his devilish smile vaporizing memories of his teenage pranks.

Jungkook drank the last of his coffee, his face falling back into the same bitter sadness that every father held as if he carried the weight of all the souls and sins of Rivermouth on his back. The silence was long afterward, the black night extended to the mountains, to the sky, to Park's own reflection in the glass. The round face with pronounced lips and rude, detailed eyes, sweet when they feel like it. The spitting image of his mother.

"I have some hippies coming to the ranch tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded, the pressure in the handle increasing, the clack of the cup being clenched by his teeth in a sip. Jimin knew he shouldn't have mentioned the hippies, but it was that ecclesiastical power. He knew that Jungkook hated the smell of pot, the long hair, and the colorful t-shirts, which reminded him of his father, previous father John.

God knows what Jungkook had to witness, the carbonic stench that emanated from that charred skeleton. The tongue pressed between two pieces of blackish board that used to be teeth. The fetid fat that ripped and curdled in the organs. There was not a day in which the poor man did not think about that before going to sleep and found himself face to face with the featureless face of his father, with the incinerated bowls pointed at the eyes of his son. Sitting in the chair under the cross that has sat on that wall since Jungkook's birth.

And Jungkook cried. He would close his eyes and every night, he would grab the skull and make it crunch under his thick hands. The body did not defend itself, it let its boy vent as if he were a sacred entity and knew that at the same time, the next day and every other day, he would appear again in that chair, and Jungkook would never be able to exhaust his anger against him.

"I have to go." It was the only thing he said leaving a ten dollar bill in the table. Park understood. "Go fetch a new hat from my house tomorrow, it's about time you threw that shit in the river."

"Hey."

Jungkook turned around. Jimin stopped smiling.

"Take it home in the morning, I'll make you breakfast before the rodeo."

Jeon looked at the floor with uneasy eyes.

"We'll see."

As he left the diner, the fresh wind conquered the father's soul. Nostalgia washed away his stony face and for the first time in years, he wanted to be a child again. Disappear with Jimin and sleep in the old hayfields of the abandoned Hillside.

He put on his black hat and started walking down the dark street, both hands in his pockets.

Today the smell of boiling fat was stronger than ever, the ghost of his father floated in the swirls of Rivermouth dust and, with it, the remains of the children who were later taken from that same cabin.

The white lace curtains let in the yellowish light of the first rays. The unmade bed, the smell of pine in the sheets.

In one corner of the bed, Park was dressing for the day, the muscles in his shoulder had swollen with the hours and makeshift cloths covered the open, bloody sores. Every so often, he hissed and swore under his breath.

The coffee began to gurgle in the kitchen as he finished putting on his boots, it was barely 6:30, but he already had the eggs frying and the beans hot in the pot. It seemed strange to him that his companion was not already sitting next to the window, Bible open and the first cigarette of the morning in his hand.

He turned off the stove just in time and poured himself a cup. Today he felt more domestic than ever, he had spent the night fixing every detail in the ranch, from the dust on his late mother's china to the rifles displayed in the hallway. To be frank, he spent the entire night cleaning every corner, maybe detailing every object in every room so that at the end of the weekend nothing would be missing, or the crash made him remember how little he's done in 28 damn years.

A porcelain jewelry box his mother had placed in one of the rooms was covered in a thin layer of gray dust; it was his mother's favorite piece. He hadn't opened it since the last time he stole a couple of pearls to buy his first rifle, the red stained his face with shame, and the only thing he could do as an apology was turn the house over with his own handkerchief and clean even the windows. He was surprised that the smell of lye and soap hadn't killed him.

Hearing one of his sheep bleating, he opened the window and decided to lower his chivalry a bit and smoke his first cigarette before Jungkook arrived. In the distance, he could see one of his ewes, fat and terribly woolly, walking slowly towards the barn. She was pregnant and Jimin knew that there were maybe 24 hours left, her skin was bulging, and her bleating was painful and whiny, she couldn't take it anymore.

The curtain caressed Jimin's face with the wind that was beginning to warm up, he took a drag of the cigarette and turned his body towards the kitchen. He felt a strange itch in his chest, the kind that bothers him when he senses a spirit floating near him. The greenish branches and the smell of sausages were mixed up with the subtle gallop of a skinny horse and the unexpected smell of myrrh.

He walked to the front door and opened it to find Jeon's promised hat. He sighed as he saw that not only was it one of his black deathly-looking hats, but he had also planted him at breakfast, sure to go see the grandmother of his very unexpected but predictable fiancée.

Long story short, Jimin had to eat four cowboys' breakfast and the whole pot of coffee, and the hat he would wear to the rodeo today didn't match his outfit at all. Dozing was the only thing he could do after loosening the buckle on his belt and putting the hat on his face.

The leather furniture was sinking under his body, the soft song of the river in the distance, and the birds pecking at his roof took him back to his childhood. Sleeping wherever he wanted without any purpose. He dreamed of the gallops of his first horse: Champ, a Tennesee Walking that had belonged to his grandfather, black as coal, glistening in the sun of his student days and running like a devil in a hurry. He dreamed that he was in public showing the animal to auction it.

"How do you encourage a horse to move forward, Sage?" A woman in the audience shouted.

"I don't know, kick his ass or something." Heavenly laughter coaxed him out of his lethargy.

His body sat on the furniture before he knew it, sweat covering his back, veins marked on the left side of his face. He ran with the unconscious weight of his body to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger until he saw the circular corral where his star horse, Arrow, was located, with a stranger on his back.

His fingers reached for the rifle lying on the rocking chair.

The blonde girl staggered on top of the animal while her thin fingers held his hair tightly. The horse's sleepy eyes moved from side to side, snorting as he searched for direction.

"Come on, horsie!" The girl snapped her teeth and laughed as the horse curved to one side. "Are you seeing, Hunter? It's moving."

Hunter was smiling foolishly, lying on the grass, his thin, wavy hair fluttering around his ears like a delicate flower. The dark glasses covered his wounded deer's eyes.

"You're such a cowgirl, my love." His voice was sarcastic.

And with a shot into the air, silence muted nature. He silenced the current, the clucking of the chickens that fluttered in the distance. Hunter, Sage, and Blondie turned to the cowboy who walked slowly across the grass towards them. A whistle from the stranger caused Arrow to raise his front paws until Blondie fell with a screech to the hard ground.

"Kitty!"

"Woah, cowboy." Jimin's silky voice approached, placing the buttplate of his rifle on his shoulder, aiming directly between Hunter's eyebrows. "Move slowly, ya wouldn't want to scare an alarmed man any further, now would ya?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Blondie or Kitty or whatever her name was, rolled her red eyes.

"What the hell are you doing on my ranch?"

"Let's go, Hunter. I'm not going to talk to cornman." Sage was the tallest of them all, her shorts squeezed her thighs until they were overflowing, and her hair was long like a beach princess.

"Watch your fucking language around me, missy." Gritted Jimin removing the safety on the rifle.

"Sage, for once do you want to shut the fuck up."

Hunter raised his hands, sweat beginning to gather on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes shone as he heard the heels slowly approaching behind Jimin.

"Love." He exhaled.

"Is this part of southern charm, Mr. Park?" Coquettish, the dying accent of someone who once lived in these parts, daring, too much for her own good. But still, he lowered the gun, spitting on the ground.

When he turned around it was as if a pink burst of glitter and vanilla had slapped him from the stupor of sleep. The glasses were square and large, they covered almost her entire face, that was the first thing Jimin saw.

"Ma'am, are these your friends?"

"We are your visitors, cornman." Jimin ignored the Californian's irritating nasal whine as the sweet girl in front of him approached little by little with a smile. He felt the itch again, the one that senses a spirit floating nearby, this spirit was the nebulous memory of your face.

"Could you speak again, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" You laughed, and it was like birds were chirping in your throat. "You're Ari's son, right? I really liked the jams your grandmother used to make."

And oh, it couldn't be more obvious. It couldn't be more evident, not even because God had exploded your name in the sky. It was the stunning makeup and hair wax, it was the sequined heels and Patsy Cline songs reverberating from the old speakers. It was your name in the newspaper almost every week.

It was your sailor costume, the jam falling from your humiliated face, it was Jimin's hand caressing the bulge in his jeans that same night on top of the hay, imagining how you ate the strawberry jam that his mother made.

Now you called yourself Love, the name was as obvious as you were. Of course, your hippie name is Love.

"Miss Peaches '57." His voice was soft and trembling. Your eyes opened in surprise.

"Gods, I didn't even remember that title." You put your hand on your mouth, dressed as a Hollywood girl but your loving manners were indelible.

"Excuse me, where are my manners? Jimin Park." He raised his hand for you to place in yours, light and trusting. A chaste kiss to the back of your hand without stopping to see your eyes behind the orange glasses.

"You can call me Love."

"A sight to sore eyes, Love."

"Always." You responded. Jimin swallowed hard, trying to hide that nostalgic smile, 'pure in every way. With that same smile, he invited the four to go through their rooms, the tension subsiding fluidly with each laugh that came from your blessed lips.

It was as if you said one thing and the sun came a little closer, deorbiting out to your echoes, warming the room and Jimin's cheeks.

"Can you help me look for my suitcases?" You touched the shoulder of the cowboy who agreed and guided you to the front door. Like the good boy his mother raised, he opened the door for you, and outside stood a Packard Caribbean: long, yellow, and sleek as a sunflower.

"Nice ride."

"Thank you, it's from Hunter's dad. He gave it to him for his birthday. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Beautiful." His nose scrunched watching your stomach bulge down your cute little top, hard nipples contouring the pink fabric. You still were just good enough to eat.

Examining the car little by little, a detail began to emerge in his memory. Among them, glowing in the heat of that morning were the six digits from the night before: FH-6077.

When it came to religion Jimin didn't have many opinions.

As a kid his mother went to church every Sunday and took him. He saw the statues of Jesus suffering with indifferent eyes, he made his first communion only because they promised to give him a sip of wine with the host, he listened to the stories of death and plagues as if they were cartoons. 

God was a very complicated being, the more he thought about him, the heavier his body became.

To his surprise, God was nothing more than a sham, a wall between you and him. The host, that time Jungkook's father offered him, tasted like nothing and the wine went down his young throat tasteless.

"Body of Christ." You said, the music playing crisply on the record player Hunter had brought. The guitars repeated the same riff over and over, he hated it.

Jimin stuck his tongue out where you placed a small square of magazine paper no bigger than a fingernail. Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered, his knees throbbing as he knelt in front of you, your thumb brushing against his lips before sealing them.

"Amen," he sighed.

The host that you offered to his mortal body was as tasteless as the first, but only Jimin knew the euphoria that, like a hurricane's wind, announced the sweet path that awaited the cowboy.

Jimin was not a man who smoked more than five cigarettes a day, seven if it was a bad day. But your siren song in his ear convinced him to drown his morals in your dark waters, your hands took both sides of his tanned face and you threw him without warning to your sanctuary, towards the steepest rocks, to your glorious eyes. And damn, Park could drink the water from your pupils and die of poisoning.

"I missed you so much, I didn't know it until the moment I saw you." His lips said before thinking about it, narrow pupils lying on the grass next to you. You just laughed, it was the only thing you did and he just admired it.

At one point around noon, Jimin took the steering wheel of the Packard. Hunter, Sage, and Kitty were talking about a record, making strange sounds and asking the opinion of Jimin who was driving down the dusty road, making the engine roar so that you would scream next to him.

"Slow down!" You asked. He went faster, he didn't care.

The purring of the car made Jimin's body pulse, his mouth was dry, his arm no longer hurt, and his lips prayed the license plate of the car, over and over again.

I'm going to find it, he told himself. And when I find him I'm going to make them suffer, as the tips of the horse's bones pierced its dark fur, neighing over his own stupid words trying to calm the wounded animal.

Faster, find it.

Like oil, the green branches of summer became watery and greasy in his vision, and the dust was stalactites that bathed the car in yellow.

"Good luck, cowboy." Kitty approached Jimin, somehow he had made it to the rodeo. The horns announced his name on all four corners and people shouted his last name like the idol he was.

Sage and Kitty kissed his cheeks before he climbed on top of Arrow, the weight of his body creating echoes every time he moved.

There was no one in that audience who saw Jimin on his horse who was not surprised by the agility with which the rope rose above his head and created fluid circles to catch the rough calf that writhed with the knot in its thick neck.

Jungkook saw from a distance how the cowboy's smile was so bright, how he rejoiced at the applause and the roses that were thrown at him. His movements were vehement, fiery, and impulsive like a devil without fear of death.

The hat Jungkook had given him had a small, withered pink carnation on it. He stood up as quickly as he could at the end of the show, but before he could talk to him he only saw Arrow galloping thunderously in the distance, one girl was wearing the gifted hat, she grabbed Jimin's waist and with the other, she gave whiskey to the cowboy. The copper thread falls to his chest and settles on his strap.

"The sight of him today was incredible, I had never seen 'im like that." Billie smiled behind Jungkook, her cheeks red, eyes covered with a fine lust that she probably didn't even recognize.

The firmament rose high above his eyes, there was no star that Jimin didn't feel the overwhelming sound of fire burning in his ears. His body was sweating on the grass, and the smell of nicotine was strong after smoking two cigarettes to settle his reverberating body. The high had passed and his body was a used towel.

He doesn't remember much of what happened, but the remnants of the hallucinogen's burn made him understand that he had the damn time of his life. A laugh left his lips, embarrassed by how easy it was to convince him to do that stupid thing. What Jungkook told him was true: you haven't changed at all, cowboy.

"How's my favorite rodeo king?" The angel landed above his head, you were wearing his hat and a flowered dress.

"Roughened up, I guess." Just like after a good fuck.

"Don't get hooked or you'll end up like Hunter." You combed your hair as you walked around him. "He can't last a day without it or else he starts hitting Kitty."

"Why don't you report it?" Jimin stood following your steps. After looking around him for a few seconds, he realized that he was in the rodeo arena, darkness bathed the stadium. The blue moon showed your silhouette walking over the horseshoe tracks.

"Because Kitty doesn't want to, they are going to get married in a few months. He promised to stop doing drugs when they did. It wouldn't be good for a kid."

There was a lightness in the promises the Californians made to others, they nodded seriously, but you could see the consequences in their evasive gaze.

Jimin nodded.

"Are you always so quiet?"

He nodded again, and they both laughed.

"'M better when I'm not ten feet deep in an LSD hangover, I can assure that."

"Yes, but..." Your silhouette approached his body, and you carried the energy of ten bulls on you. Your immortal look, you haven't changed anything. "I asked if you're always this quiet."

Jimin inhaled as he understood your question.

"When I'm in the stadium I'm more vocal." He again evaded the answer you were looking for so much. His chest beat boldly like the time he saw you covered in strawberries and sugar.

"You were a star this afternoon, your eyes were shining."

"Always."

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Sure thing, sir."

Blood surged to Park's neck, his eyelids drooping, his pride tainting his flirtation. Enough of the games.

"Run." He murmured, saliva pooling in his throat.

You frowned with your typical smile.

"What?"

"I asked you to run." His body suddenly lunged and you became alarmed, raising your hands. "As fast and as far from this stadium as you can."

His pupils didn't move, his soft smile was confident. Your skin grew cold with each step, at first slow and suspicious, the darkness of the large arena was intimidating because it felt like you were not moving forward.

You heard how an object created hollow, sharp sounds in the air. It was his lasso.

"No." You muttered, running even faster.

And swoosh, you fell to the ground. The rope squeezed your neck, leaving your body in mid-air, your tongue came out and your eyes bulged from the sudden lack of air; the hat fell away from you. Your body was no longer yours, your stupid fingers tried to loosen the knot, but it was too late.

The boots approached, collecting the rope that was left over around his arm. The silhouette became part of your blurred vision.

"Stand up."

"I. Can't." Your lips emulated as you writhed like a worm in the dust.

"Lemme' help ya'." Jimin snatched the rope for you to stand up, your knees moved up to him where his fingers loosened the knot a little. "Breathe, little girl. We don't want an accident."

Saliva came out of your mouth in streams and fell to the floor. Jimin grabbed your chin and wiped it.

"Don't make a mess now."

"I'm sorry, sir." And now you sounded as helpless and stupid as Hunter did this morning. It was adorable.

You were afraid to look up, your eyes trained on the hat a few meters away from both of you.

"Tell me, pumpkin. How can two ugly sons of bitches like your parents have such a beautiful girl?" He laughed, dragging the rope to where his hat was, you walked behind him with careless steps. With a couple of blows, he blew the dust off his hat and looked at you again, searching for an answer you didn't even know how to articulate or if you should.

His hand wrapped the rope around his fingers until he had you as close as possible, the smell of tobacco hammered your temples, and your eyelids wrinkled to try to wake up. 

Great was the surprise when you felt a pair of dry lips resting on yours, his tongue daringly passed over your lips so that you would open, his moans softening your fear.

His saliva was bitter and lovely, his tongue running flat across the outside of your mouth until it reached your chin and the tip of your nose.

"Let's see, open your mouth, sugar. Don't be shy."

You obeyed as the knot tightened around your neck, moaning as his lips sucked on the tip of your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"God have mercy." He sighed, squeezing your chin with his hand. "How can you taste so damn sweet."

You moaned as you felt his teeth nibble gently at your neck, his fingers piling the fabric of your dress around his fingers.

“Mm,” you squealed, walking away even when it didn’t suit you. "Can't."

"It's a good thing I didn't ask." Jimin brought you closer, caressing your neck again.

"I'm on my days." Shame sealing your thoughts, in your eyes the hope that just the thought of seeing the blood would disgust him.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and slowly kissed you again, this time with the softness of an apology.

"A cowboy doesn't mind a little dirt." He murmured, touching the soaked towel that covered your underwear, two fingers pushed aside and the burning of your pussy collided with his cold fingers drawing a moan from your hurt throat.

"A good cowboy loves to get dirty." He smiled, removing the two soaked fingers from the red viscosity to put it in his mouth with a frown on his eyebrows. "Mm." He grunted, swallowing slowly.

You were speechless, stupefied. Who was this demon?

"Have you ever ridden a bull before?" His blood-tainted lips said, the idea shocking your senses.

You denied it, and God knows that was the stupidest answer you could give.

The animal began to make a mechanical noise beneath both of them, the leather surface pressed your thighs against the mechanical bull that began to move slowly.

Jimin's bestial eyes did not take off from you, the last of the bottle of whiskey went down his throat in long gulps and pushed the glass into the distance causing a roar.

Your legs were above his defined thighs, the bleeding wound between your legs dirtying his jeans but the cowboy didn't seem to mind. The dress already forgotten outside the stadium playing area.

"We'll go slowly because it's your first time on top." His consideration was so minimal, considering the situation. But you were a woman whose details annihilated your logic.

To the front and sides and then a gentle turn, this is how the animal began. Jimin moved his center with the animal, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your pussy.

One of his hands approached the dripping hole and with four fingers collected the blood until it painted his hand.

“Ah,” he requested, sticking his tongue out and you followed suit. His fingers got smeared on his tongue and cheeks until they reached his neck. With his tongue he passed over his lips, like wine he drank you, like sweet he possessed you and rejoiced.

His tongue entered your space again, the strange and bitter taste of your own blood while with his fingers he removed the zipper of his jeans until he showed that he was not wearing underwear underneath him, his tall and throbbing cock moved under his fist.

"Climb on, doll. You're wet enough for me." He laughed taking your body to sit on top of him. You hugged him as tight as you could as the mechanical animal began to move faster.

"We're going to fall." You whimpered. "Hurts".

"Shh, shh. Let me medicate you, it'll stop hurtin' when I dick you properly." One spank and his fingers squeezed the skin of your ass tightly. "You just have to move with me."

To the front, to the sides, two turns. You just had to keep your legs elevated a little, Jimin's cock sliding smoothly in and out with each movement.

"Now you're getting it. Fuck." Jimin hissed, squeezing your waist with his forearm. "You're quite the cowgirl, Love."

You moaned, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes absorbed every curve, from your breasts to your red-painted thighs. You were an angel, a myth that devours men. Your songs of pleasure echoing on the aluzinc walls.

The animal began to attack, abrupt and deeper.

"Does it hurt?" You asked between moans, watching the fabrics covering Jimin's arm begin to dye again. Jimin denied, cuntdrunk.

You removed the knot of cloth from the wound on Jimin's arm, running your thin fingers over the bleeding muscle. Park hissed, and the walls of your pussy tightened.

More, you wanted more.

Your lips sucked on the sores until you felt the metallic taste in your throat, Jimin pressed your body against yours. One turn, two forwards, three up. Your poor body trembled with the desire for the game to end but your pussy still wanted your walls to expand until Jimin's cock was molded inside you forever.

"If I knew you were such a slut." Park grabbed your hair to pull you away from his arm.

"If I knew cowboys fucked so well." The bloody smile of both of you was devilishly erotic.

The bull stopped suddenly, you looked at the man standing on the other side of you, rifle in hand, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Jungkook? Jeon!" It was the last thing you heard before you fell face first onto the inflated floor, blood flowing warm and your eyelids falling softly.

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch - LiTA (Sky/Prapai) 3/3

I'm watching Love in the Air for the first and ONLY time as part of my Pride Petty Watch, so I'm recapping my suffering experience. The previous recaps can be found here, here, here, and here. I made tea from Long Island *wink* and even though I am not mentally prepared for what's about to happen, I'm ready to finish this, so I can have a break from The Whores Horrors™.

*sign of the cross*

If I wasn't so upset at everyone but Sky and Sig, I think I would have really enjoyed the colors and the ways characters' positions showed power dynamics, but here I am, Bird Box-ing my way through the visual rhetoric.

Love really is blind because I feel Sky would stab Prapai if he heard Prapai call him "gentle" but Prapai has proven to not let reality get in the way of his vision.

I will keep repeating that when Prapai is good, he is the best. He is enamored by Sky picking out stationary. He is happy Sky remembered what he likes to eat. He is worried about Sky at school and his health. His flirty banter works in this setting. Everything is perfect (except Sky's shirt which I refuse to show because it got enough screen time without me adding to it).

How about we just stop here? Just like with Rain and Payu's story, this is a clear point that the story could end, and it would make sense, but noooooooo. The story needs TWO kidnappings because unlike telenovelas, apparently one was not suffice.

To think that Don't Say No was a choice for my Pride Petty Watch, but I'm here, suffering for my actions and watching Prapai forget who he slept with from his former roster. It happens to the best of us, 'Pai.

This is an odd comparison, but this is Last Twilight all over again for me. They just told each other how they feel with big declarations, and one hour later it all goes up in flames simply because the narrative demands it without it making any lick of sense.

AND WE ARE BACK IN THE RED!!!! This show gives me no peace and no relief, yet this time was less jolting because I felt it coming, and somehow him crying in the car repeating that it is happening again is more upsetting.

Get in, Slut for Christ! We're going to confessional, so you can pray for the sin of not taking no for an answer in a show full of people not taking no for an answer.

Not to stereotype, but you are wearing a holographic butterfly shirt, my dude, so what in the Lisa Frank bullshit are YOU doing in sex trafficking? You are not allowed on the Pride float this year, and if you dare to step on it, I will push you off of it and make it look like an accident AFTER I take the shirt off your body because you don't deserve nice things.

Prapai, you are better than this. You have displayed a mild sense of awareness regarding Sky, so having Sky breaking down right next to you without you acknowledging his pain is not your fault, but the story's, and I'm getting real salty about the way this plot wants me to like you yet simultaneously does everything to make me hate you. Was MAME fighting with herself when she wrote this?

Perfect example! Prapai has consistently followed up after the party because he knows something is off from Sky's responses, so he immediately questions if HE did something wrong instead of assuming it's Sky. He still sends Sky food. He goes by to check on him once. Then he brings out the burner cellphones.

As much as I complained about this behavior, it makes sense in this situation because it aligns with exactly who Prapai has been shown to be, a stalker (affectionately here, derogatory in previous episodes).

SO WHY WOULD HE BREAK INTO SKY'S APARTMENT AND READ THE JOURNAL?!

It's not even about the *thing* for me. It's about the lack of consistency for the sake of, what? drama? Prapai talked about swindling a key from Joy, so I'm not surprised he made his way into the apartment without Sky's knowledge, but for Prapai to use the key for this doesn't make sense with his previous behavior. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but Prapai has been desperate before and he consistently showed up at Sky's apartment to bother him. He tricked Rain into giving him information. He showed up ON CAMPUS to hound Sky. He sent flowers. Yet he does none of that here. Payu went to Rain's mama's house to hunt that boy down, yet Prapai doesn't get the same treatment. Payu got the opportunity to lock himself in a bathroom stall with Rain and sniff him after making a surprise visit to campus when Rain was avoiding him, yet Prapai must commit a crime to get to "I love you"?

And on that topic, the long break between Prapai stating he no longer liked Sky - while Sky was bursting with tears and started to cry harder - and Prapai saying he loved Sky was unnecessarily long. In fact, it was cruel. And as much as I hate Prapai's aggressive tactics and crass flirting, he has never been intentionally cruel to Sky, so Prapai ignoring Sky repeating "please, stop" again and again only to end with "I love you" doesn't work for me because that "please, stop" will rear its ugly head again when the ex enters the plot. Having Prapai do something very harmful to Sky who slowly crumbled down to the floor begging Prapai to stop, only to end with him doing something very loving and them smiling on the couch is an emotional beatdown that makes telenovelas jealous.

My boy Sig wasn't perfect because he defaulted to telling Sky to cheer up, but he asked the good questions, he let Sky stay with him as he worked through his feelings, he told Sky that Prapai loved him, and he told Sky to cry. He is a saint among cockroaches, and even though I do not believe in the institution of marriage, I would marry this man in a heartbeat and fully commit to the bit.

UNLIKE RAIN WHO IS NOW TRYING TO PROTECT HIS FRIEND AFTER HE WAS THE ONE WHO OFFERED UP SKY'S NUMBER AND APARTMENT KEY! I'm glad the story acknowledged that Rain's stupidity was pivotal to making this ship happen, so I'll acknowledge that both ships shift around yellow and blue as their love story develops.

---Episode 13---

I thought we were past this lighting and coloring, but this is a reminder that I'm in hell.

I completely forgot about the whole "Wipe Down" controversy in this show, and now I am fully judging y'all because out of all the SHIT that has happened in this show, especially in episode 13 so far, this is what y'all was upset about it? This was the battle y'all picked? The hill y'all wanted to die on was this moment? Y'all was mad because we were shown Prapai wiping down his partner as a basic form of care after sex? Prapai who stalks and breaks into apartments? THIS is the behavior of his that got y'all so riled up that you chose to write 2,000-word think pieces on and lower the show's rating on MDL with the long-ass comments?! THIS?! I hope your cardigans always snag, your soup always burns your tongue, and your glasses always have smudges on them because some of y'all do not deserve small joys or everyday whimsy. Shame on you, shame on your ancestors, and shame on your cow.

Prapai is checking that his helmet didn't hurt Sky when he hugged him, and I'm quickly coming around to the fact that "I don't hate you because you're problematic. You're problematic because I hate you the story hates you"

RAIN, NO!

I refuse to show this man's face or any of these scenes, but he is wearing a cross earring and the Sluts for Christ would like the record to state we do not know this man nor claim him, so we will be handling this situation promptly. However, we only need the ear, so if any other members of the delegation need anything specific, please add it to the Gay Agenda, and we will make sure to get those requests fulfilled in a timely manner. Thank you, and have a blessed day.

HE HAS A BRAIN CELL! HE'S GONNA PASS THIS COURSE!

Prapai just yelled at Sky, and I'm not even mad. This is where I'm at in the plot. Prapai ripped out the eyebrow earring, and I'm cheering him on. Payu stopped him, and I pissed. Prapai is rich. He will not go to jail. LET HIM MURDER!!!! He has already committed other criminal offenses, so what is murder to the list?! Mostly murder under these circumstances! THE CHARGES WON'T STICK!

SOMEONE BRING ME TAN SO WE CAN MORTAL KOMBAT THIS SHIT AND FINISH HIM!

"I'll cry for you" - My therapist will be sending you an invoice, LiTA

Chai, I knew I liked you. Your name is "Tea" and as a tea drinker, you have provided me the same level of comfort I get from a nice warm cup of spiced chai and I would also like you in my mouth. I fear you and respect you, so I know the sex will be fire and as the spokesperson for the Sluts for Christ, we have something you want, well . . . pieces of it anyway, so if you would like to exchange numbers, I can share with you any information I know perhaps over drinks . . . or under you. Whichever you prefer. I'm open to suggestions.

And commands.

Oh, thank God, I'm done! I am free. There is no more trauma to witness. Slytherin earned a point and passed the course. I never have to see him or these weather boys ever again!

*special episode pops up*

FUCK!