#humanity is a cage but so is divinity

[gr8butnotstr8]

Dare i say homelander's character always was kind of heartbreaking but after this episode I just- i don't think i have the words to properly describe my thought process but i'll try.

He's not just a whumpee turned whumper.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, right? Well that's it, until it's not just this.

Ever since he was born he's been nothing but feared, often even revered: not really like a god, at least not in a christian way, more like a lovecraftian abomination. He has never known humanity.

I repeat:

He has never known humanity.

When that scientist (Barbara) tells him his need for love and approval is too deep and too human for him to ever get rid of it he softly replies that oh well then it's good he's not human. And I mean, he isn't completely wrong is he? You cannot place the shackles of divinity upon a child and expect them not to succumb to the burden of your lowly, human, fearful gaze. How can we ever dare to demand him not to feel superior to anyone else when the first notion to be drilled in his head was that he's too powerful to be loved. Or at least to be only loved. Love tainted by fear is not what he's seeked all those years, even if he may not realize it. He craves approval, he craves genuine affection, to hold the gaze of another without seeing that glint of terror creeping out to meet his eyes, because it's always there. Even the most devoted hometeamer knows, deep inside their head, that Homelander's very nature demands they fear him. Sure they think it's just the respect they owe him for protecting them or whatever, but it really isn't. It's just the natural, human reaction to something that looks human but really is so far above human that you can't help but tremble. A weird kind of uncanny valley.

And so here he is. A god. In a horrific way yes, but still a god, and to try and mix - taint - his divinity with human wants? That's blasphemy. The mortals that tortured him when he was but a child, that shaped him into this wretched being yearning for satisfaction (such an alien concept, so beyond his reach) now must pay.

Humiliation of the flesh follows, because mere humans can't withstand what he was put throught, and as they die like flies he forgives them. Their sins have been forgiven. They have reached atonement not much in death but in the ways they died. In the tortures they put him throught.

Homelander is a "god born of man" and to free himself of the taint of humanity (and so mortality, which is his greatest fear) he needs to destroy his creators.

Anticlimatic, I know, but tragic nonetheless.

The paradigm has been flipped:

"God creates man, man destroys God" has now been reversed.

His yearning for love, his human neediness, has been shattered when he freed himself from his wretched notion of humanity.

Humans created him and made him of divine nature, then dared to call themselves his equals, then they brutalized his body to study its strenght and test its limits. How arrogant of them, to presume there'd be limits to such a thing.

In the end of this deeply nonsensical yapping i think homelander is truly cursed to never be happy, because he will always be in a cage and can only choose which one. He can accept his humanity (and the schackles that comes with it) and the inherent weakness of it, but that will never make him happy: he's too convinced he's a god, he believes in his own myth, his only religion (he is after all the only man in the sky).

Or, he can trascend humanity and become the fearful entity he was always destined to be, without human needs of love or approval he can be the ultimate arbiter of the planet. But that too comes with schackles, i'm afraid.

How could a divine being, basically a god, ever achieve satisfaction? Happiness? These are human matters. To give up humanity he has to give up on these goals too.

[blood-ology]

Finally watching a John Waters movie,, this shit is so fucking funny and insane I love it lmfao

[neverendingford]

.

[stupidsexygrizzop]

got this real specific kind of illness that has me comparing tfr oken and spn michael i think i need to be put down

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

I NEED Yandere tfe and tfp Starscream being comforted by their human after his daily beat down with Megatron. You don’t understand I want to kiss him and cuddle him so bad it makes me look STUPID.

It's okay, bestie - he makes me look stupid too. (●'◡'●)

Yandere!Starscream being comforted by his Human!Darling (TFP & TFE)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour (soft leaning??) Hurt and comfort, mentions of abuse and past abuse. Self deprecating behaviour (Starscream's). Reader is gender neutral and a human.

TFP Starscream

"Starscream!" Your cry of concern makes the seeker whince and his wings drop lower even more than they were already. There were many injuries with already leaking energon on his frame, dents here and there and another nasty marks that gave out how Starscream had to deal with another beating from Megatron.

And Starscream didn't want to let you see him like this - he looked pathetic, weak and he always feared one day you would realize that he wasn't worthy of your love.

Sitting on the metallic floor, the seeker hears the sound of your quick steps getting closer and feels the warmth of your hands touching one of his arms.

"Please, leave me alone." He pleads with his hurt voice, closing his optics and moving his helm away to not see you.

"As hell I am leaving, Starscream - He hurt you again!" You say, clearly angry and worried at the state of your lover. And it's your genuine worry that makes the seeker's spark clench and feel warm, too. It has been so many years since someone has ever been worried over him. You were such an angel, his true saviour, and he feels so disgusting with himself. He feels tainted, disgusting, dirty and someone as precious as you shouldn't be touching anything that is beneath you... like him.

"Starscream... please, look at me." You plead softly, and the seeker can't bring himself to not do what you ask, so he opens his optics and looks down at you. That gentle smile of yours makes him wail from the inside.

"My love, I... I just -" He starts, but quiets himself down when he feels you carefully get on his lap and hug him, your arms and head resting against his chestplate.

Precious you, divine you - someone as celestial as you loving someone like him. Starscream can't help himself but breakdown, allowing himself to cry as he is being 'held' by you. He didn't deserve you, you should only witness a worthy bot, not an injured one like himself. But the mere idea of you being in the arms of another bot made his spark clench and wail.

Even if it meant to have his frame marked and injured, his energon constantly leaking and be all battered and dented - Starscream would endure it to keep you with him. If it meant to have your eyes, attention and love on him, then Starscream will allow the others to humilliate him, to push him around, to bruise his pride and ego. Anything to have your love.

TFE Starscream

"Starscream... it was another nightmare, wasn't it?"

The seeker grumbles, moving his helm so he doesn't let you see the deep frown made on his faceplate and how he is hugging his legs against his chestplate for the sake of controlling his shaking frame.

Of course it was another nightmare and you curse silently to the bot and people whom had hurt your lover for so many years. Starscream has confessed to you that he was no saint or pure bot, he had done his share of pain and evil doing to get himself kicked around and punished. Still, there were many things that gave out that Starscream endured more passing from what he did, used as a punching bag by the leader he followed to then be trapped like a bird inside of a cage and witness his teammates be also pushed around as if they were nothing.

"It doesn't matter." Starscream says.

"It does matter!" You argue back, finally approaching your lover who, without asking or waiting, already extends his servo so you sit on it and carefully brings you closer to his faceplate. You place your hands on his faceplate, making the bot ex-vent and close his optics for a moment, finding comfort in them.

"... They found us - and he found me again. And while they took me back into that cell... he took you away from me. No matter how much I cursed and fought, you simply disappeared." He finally confesses, his voice trembling a little.

You frown, concerned - this wasn't the first time Starscream had a nightmare that was either related to G.H.O.S.T or Megatron. Still, it broke your heart each time to see him this shaken and affected.

"I am not going anywhere without you." You say, hugging his faceplate, and he snuzzles back.

You were right - Starscream wasn't going to let anyone take you away from him. He has finally found a place where he belongs, he has finally found someone who loves him dearly. And he loves you, too - so dearly it makes his spark nearly explode. He would shed energon and behead anyone who tries to separate you from him. He will burn down anything for you.

"... You'll never leave me." He mumbles.

"I won't. Ever." You mumble back, reassuring him.

I apologize for my inactivity o(￣┰￣*)ゞ my job got too actively crazy last week and I am suffering the effects of burnout. Vhaos out!

[veritasss5]

The price for your new beginning | pick a card.

Disclaimer: this is a GENERAL READING, take what it resonates and leave behind what doesn’t. This is for fun and should never be taken seriously. This is for entertainment purposes. It is just for helping you to have a general idea about your situation. If it does help you fine I am very happy about it, if not then I am sorry that it wasn’t for you and move on.

Take a moment to relax your mind and choose with your intuition.

Pile 1 → Pile 2 → Pile 3

Pile 1

Pile one I sensed you have family issues where you wish to run away instantly.

I got the KEEPER OF BEGINNINGS for you.

In order to become free from any negative and toxic situation that you are in, you must sacrifice the cords and chains that are blocking you from flying freely to explore this world.

You must let go people’s expectations on you, they are “suggesting” to become a certain version of you, but none are the version of you want to be.

To become a butterfly, you must go through a metamorphosis. Sacrifice the old for the new. There won’t be a new beginning without the ending.

The never ending cycle of old and new would never exist without each other.

I do sense you are someone supposed to fly freely in the sky and explore the ocean of this world. Blue and light blue are strong colours that I see for you.

You may fight a lot for your freedom, and you are reluctant to sacrifice and make a huge discussion for your own personal choice.

Pleasing people is easy, but is it worth it? Have you ever seen a butterfly locked in a cage?

Choosing yourself was never an easy option, but at the end this journey full of obstacles will be worth it if you are the one to choose among others' expectations about you.

It’s fine to say no. It’s fine to misstep in a world full of perfection.

Go fly higher little butterfly of freedom. Don’t stay in this cage full of lack of empathy for you. If someone really thinks for you, it is you. People that love may not understand you, but it is fine.

You are the one to seek importance and validation from you.

It’s time to break the chains without fear of consequences.

Pile 2

Pile two I sensed you are very close to your new beginning. I saw a person in the dark really close to the door of light where you can exit the tunnel of darkness.

I got the KEEPER OF COMFORT for you.

You can relax now. All your hard work that you put before has paid off greatly for you. The price that you have to pay is only to get out of your comfort zone and do stuff that your past self would never imagine.

I do see that you are highly guided and protected. So the results earned is also thanks to your great spirit team or divinity that has your back.

There is one specific spirit or ally (can be physical or spiritual) that helped you a lot to get out from your darkness. They helped you greatly when you needed it the most and now you can share your happiness and achievements with them.

Some people do see a big shift of energy in you or a great change in you. They either congratulate you directly or secretly admire you from a far. They consider you as a strong person and a few of them never imagined you would do this big jump of change.

If you are still struggling, keep going because you are someone that has a high inner strength. You are very close to your new chapter and so don’t let go of your hope.

If you can’t handle anymore, ask help for divinities or spirits to come and guide you.

After that door you will enjoy a beautiful view, like a secret garden that no humans have ever seen before. That beautiful view that only you get to visit is a very beautiful and fulfilling prize after your struggles and hard work. Just like when you climb the mountain and see a beautiful landscape on the top of the mountain.

People won’t get it, but you are happy. You are happy that you got what you desire and that’s what matters the most.

You are a beautiful human being full of love and empathy, don’t let people shut down your light.

Pile 3

Pile three I sensed you are very heartbroken for something. I sensed grief and loss. You are very sad that you lost something important and you can’t recover those good memories of before.

Moving to the card, I got KEEPER OF SURRENDER for you.

This card is suggesting you surrender and let go of the things that you can’t recover or repair anymore.

You already made the sacrifice, you can’t undone the action. Sometimes losing something dear to you hurts so badly, but it is also a sign of healing and welcoming the new positive experience that is awaiting for you.

Your price for your new beginning is indeed sacrificing what can't have a good influence or impact for you. I see a lot of crying and grief. Please take a break and have self love healing sessions with yourself.

Put a lot of extra care with yourself, and treat yourself as a very light feather that is made of delicate material.

You may be overwhelmed by negative emotions right now, but soon you will be free from the grief.

For you that is autumn right now. Winter will come for you to rest and heal. And so on spring will also come for you to be strong and welcome the new beginning that Life (universe) is having reserved for you.

You are the pile that doesn’t need a new beginning instantly after the heartbreak phase. So take your time that you need to pick up your strength to move on. Listen to yourself and the voice that is hidden in your heart. It is time to think about what you actually need in your life.

One day you shall shine like a bright star, but it is not today, for now.

[iri-desky]

A few Luka thoughts because I'm insane

The reason so many characters see their lovers and those they miss in Luka is for two reasons. 1. He tries to be the idol, someone's god, something larger than life outside of the cage for his illusion of freedom. It's all a desperate attempt to conceal the fact he has a god himself and is just as vulnerable as any mortal, as any human who has the potential to feel. (Part of my thoughts on how Ruler of My Heart reflects Luka, which I'll probably reflect on later, albeit it's primarily because of the infamous line "Make me your god--I can give you everything!") The divinity he manifests reminds those of who they worshipped in their tumultuous mind and brings them a feigned promise of salvation.

OR, MORE LIKELY;

2. Luka is a blank slate. He is whatever they tell him to be, he is what he is required to be and nothing more. That's why his aesthetic is merely the picture of elegance and nothing more, just pure white and gold. Blank. Nothing, no emotion, only what you want to see. Just what you wish you see. It's all a game, he does what is needed to survive. While I'm not a believer in the idea that Luka did that weird hallucinations thing in Round 5 on purpose, I'm mostly definitely a believer in the idea that that's just the effect Luka has on people. He's PERFECTION. Perfection how you want it, when you want it.

Luka is like iridescent or tinted glass. The light he projects changes from your perspective, as to what it needs to be to abide by the laws of light and physics. However, it's distinctively a bit different from the light that enters, namely a bit shinier and prettier. But you don't care because it's pretty, after all. But at the end of the day, i's thin glass with only a little change to it. It can be shattered at any moment and can only shine with light. But it's pretty, right?

[ataraxiaspainting]

Icarus.

Yan (Emperor) Zhongli x F Reader.

Synopsis: You were taught ever since you opened your eyes to never go against your god. So why do you wish now that you have never opened them at all?

Warnings: Yandere themes, major power imbalances, manipulation, future forced marriage, some violence/gore, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 3k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Little Dark Age by MGMT

As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese

The Other Side Of Paradise by Glass Animals

All Eyes On Me by Bo Burnham

Space Song by Beach House

Murders by Miracle Musical

Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

A Pearl by Mitski

Isabella’s Lullaby by Takahiro Obata

*~*~*~*

“‘You know that I love you.’ And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that the other mother loved her as a possession, nothing more, a tolerated pet whose behavior was no longer amusing.” – Neil Gaiman, Coraline

*~*~*~*

There is no sin greater than to be a bird.

To be a bird is to be devoid of all burdens, soaring above all who are shackled by them, like a warden overseeing prisoners, or the sweetest and ripest peaches up on the highest of branches so no one can reach it. They can go anywhere, birds, with the winds at their call, the very embodiment of freedom itself, something your god has taught all his people to be wary of. Freedom can be a blessing, he told one of his counselors once, but it can also cause humans to be too conceited. There is no sin greater than to be a bird because all others will be envious. Envy is also a sin, one so common that even Archons are said to possess it. Sin gives birth to more sin, more suffering, and thus only the original that birthed it all shall be punished by Celestia’s fury. 

There is no greater sin than to be a bird, so the gods put in place cages, made to make those trapped by gold and chains and other things entirely. Birds who are not lured into such traps are dealt with by lightning, making them fall back down to the ground below, the last thing they see is the very sky that punished them. The sky, the stars, the moon, the sun… the entire world will be against you when you are a bird.

It will be that way until you die. The world hates birds and the way they fly and soar. Birds are meant for cages, or to be struck down with their corpses made into trophies.

There is no title greater than to be a hunter.

The sin; to be a bird, freedom… the title; to be a hunter, despotism.

To shoot, to stab, to twist until the prey bursts, is the way of someone whose greatest sin is doing good for this world.

To bleed, to be trapped, to be killed and put on display for all to see, that is what a bird’s purpose truly is, in the eyes of the divine.

They are different, quite so, like different ripples in lakes of mixed blood and water.

You can almost hear them, can’t you?

Celestia favors the strong. Celestia despises the weak. It makes sense to most people, those who were born into power be it money made from blood or strength made from blood. They don’t see the way the world works. The way flies feast upon rotting meat and are soon to be eaten by something bigger. It makes sense for most people, but not for you. Despite everything you have ever been taught from word of mouth, life on the streets teaches you otherwise. For everything you have endured, you have learned that you are not weak. In any case, quite the opposite.

You don’t pray anymore with everyone else, as they keep reciting such things over and over again at the states positioned throughout Liyue as if the emperor would listen to them. 

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!” They would hold hands with their bodies being placed in circles around the sculptures. They close their eyes altogether, to not see the sacrifices trapped between them at the monuments, the last thing they see is the Lord of Geo’s face, looking down at them with a stone-cold glare laced with eerie delight. “O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all! O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

To be praying and to be preying are two quite different things, but to the people of Liyue, there is no difference. Blood seeps into the earth all the same, regardless of who sheds it. So, as evidence that the people of Liyue do indeed bow down to Celestia’s every whim, they bring birds of all kinds and steal them of all they have. Their feathers make for excellent clothing, their bones make for stellar weaponry, and their feet make for charms of good luck. Celestia only smiles down upon the strong, after all. Celestia despises freedom because, without the divine, humans would have nothing to leash them onto rationality and laws. Perhaps that is why Mondstadt is very much in chaos now. Their god was said to have betrayed Celestia by giving his people forbidden knowledge of how nature originally ran its course, causing an uproar among the citizens. 

No one knows what happened to the god of Mondstadt after that.

Was he smitten down? Did his people turn on him? No one in Liyue knows for certain, as people of Mondstadt are forbidden from entering the land said to be made up of the purest of gold.

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

That is the first thing you hear when you wake up, huddled in a corner to prevent yourself from getting even more wet from the rain. You assume that maybe it will be the last thing you hear when you close your eyes for good.

*~*~*~*

You grew up in Qiaoying Village and, once you grew up, got exiled from Qiaoying Village. You stood out, which no one saw in a good light. You were a mischievous, rule-breaking child, always stealing Jadevein Tea Eggs and both tea and tea sets made of fine porcelain. Your older brother taught you lessons far too valuable and unique for the traditionalist settings of Qiaoying Village, lessons like how to pick the elderly’s door’s locks, how to properly identify which pockets had the most Mora, and how to make alleyways a labyrinth for those who chase you.

Your older brother, though, did not partake in thievery himself. You suppose that might have been the first warning sign of many more to come. He made you, a child about half his age, do his dirty work for him. He always hoarded the rewards afterward, and if you got caught or he got caught with whatever treasure you had given him, he would pretend to scold you for going against the way of the Qiaoying. He said it was just pretend, but that look in his eyes still haunts you to this very day. As you got older, though, you got dumber. You crossed a line with everyone. You decided to steal from a Fontainian duke.

It was a foolish decision. Fontainians are known for their high sense of justice, and their tunnel vision when it comes to crimes and punishments. But you were just a child, were you not?

You couldn’t help it. You were just a child. That is what you told yourself then, and it is what you tell yourself now.

No one helped you then, and no one helps you now. Hell, it would be a miracle, a blessing from Celestia, if your older brother came to Liyue Harbor to visit you. But he never loved you, did he? He never loved you, and you never hated him until you saw him for what he truly is. A petty servant of Madam Mei with a spine thinner than that of a twig. He was a coward then, and likely still a coward now. Perhaps it would have been noble of him, while you were still an infant, to use that pocket knife he always carried around. It would have been better for you, for you to not know anything you know about him now. 

But he was a coward, your older brother. The person who taught you everything about thievery is also now the person who taught you how important it is to keep your cards close. Life on the streets calls for both, you suppose. Liyue Harbor may not be the friendliest for the homeless, but at the very least it had pockets to swipe into when no one was looking. Old habits die hard. You ended up relying on every memory of the past, no matter how bitter or how deceivingly sweet they were. You bore it. You bore it all. Every memory, every fragment of a lie, and every fragment of a half-truth. Life is never so simple after all, is it?

Your life was never perfect, and therefore still is not now. But you know deep in your heart that you would prefer this life over seeing your older brother’s face ever again.

But now, with eyes brighter than amber staring above you as you lay, your arm broken, you wish that your brother had taught you some fighting skills instead of everything else he taught you.

But he was a coward, and so are you.

To be fair, though, he never met the emperor and never thought that he would. So did you. No one in Qiaoying Village did, most likely. It was so far from the proclaimed harbor made of gold and trader’s blood and prayers. This was where the emperor lived, in his castle in the mountains surrounding Lingju Pass and Mount Tianheng. It was made up of the finest gold and wood and jewels. Only the best for the emperor, while people like you get mere pebbles. That is why, when you saw yet another stranger in a white cloak roaming around the alleyways, you attempted to strike. Your mistake.

Your mistake.

You were on the ground in an instant, your arm breaking so loudly an elderly man on his deathbed could hear it. 

The stranger’s eyes glittered like gold.

Frozen gold, perhaps, with how he was staring down at you with such disappointment.

So, he stared down at you.

You stared down at your arm.

You should have known better. But you are just someone trying to live, are you not? It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. But that white cloak the man is wearing with the sigil of geo on the back, one of the few symbols of the emperor himself, should have made you not attempt to pickpocket him. You should have known better. You really should have known better. Should you apologize? You are already as good as dead though, aren’t you?

Does a death sentence await you?

Life? Death? Prison? Life. Death. Prison.

Escape.

You have to escape.

But the emperor seems to know what you are doing, what you are planning.

So he stops you with a simple hand raised, and pillars of geo appear out of nowhere, trapping you in the corner. Now there is nowhere to run.

He stares down at you.

You stare down at your feet, all mangled up from a life made of thievery and poverty.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You prefer it that way.

You are in a cage. But he is not.

Please.

Please don’t kill me. 

Please.

*~*~*~*

Is it a sin to indulge? Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Perhaps it depends. Is the indulgence centered in reality or fantasy? This escape attempt, perhaps, is both.

Like the many that came before it, the only sounds you can hear is the rain, the water falling from the glass windows like teardrops, and sometimes you can swear you hear the sound of someone weeping. Despite everything you have gone through though, you do not weep with them, whoever they are. You only keep stepping on ahead for a brighter future, one where you sneak off to Sumeru, a land that prioritizes knowledge over riches. You’d have a better life there than here, you think. Anywhere but here you would run off to actually, even if it was Snezhnaya. 

You are treated well, too well.

You still don’t know why instead of throwing you in the dungeons, Morax placed your unconscious body in one of the many, many guest rooms that were spread about in his castle.

You are treated far too well, almost to the point that it is maddening. Everything is so perfect, from the morning birds outside your window that wake you up every morning when it just so happens to be time for breakfast to the hairbrush you use to put your hair up when it is time to sleep, the design intricately laced with jade and topaz. Perfect, perfect, perfect. It’s maddening, sickening, how perfect everything is. You wish he had just put you in a cell because at least then everything would not have been so planned out for you, even the type of flowers you saw in the gardens that week. 

“Damn it all…”

In your opinion, the clothes you received today were more intricate than usual. The sleeves are puffed and transition from white to a deep teal color. The dress itself showcases delicate lace patterns of glaze lilies around the waist and wrists, while the skirt is impractically long for any running. Strangely, the inside of the skirt features a constellation pattern, though it seems to be a design meant for your eyes alone. The purpose of this starry sky motif remains unclear. The dress, like everything else, appears flawless and fits you perfectly, almost as if it was tailored specifically for you. Given Morax's wealth, you can't help but entertain the possibility. However, the overwhelming perfection of it all borders on madness. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect, so damn perfect. 

Today, you were not given shoes, presumably due to the rain and the consequent cancellation of your garden visit with Morax, where you typically indulge in tea and wine. As you approached the staircase leading to the dining room, however, the guards obstructed your path. Their actions were gentle, but their words were not. They formed a human barricade, preventing your descent. One guard clicked their tongue disapprovingly, while the other remained silent. Perhaps they harbored some disdain towards you. The servants in this establishment either treated you with utmost care or completely disregarded your presence, so it was not entirely surprising that the guards displayed a semblance of dislike.

The real surprise was you not being allowed to go to the dining room to eat.

“The emperor wants you to stay in your room for the time being. He shall see you shortly there.”

So, you went back, albeit muttering curses along the way. Due to your lack of shoes and the guards not even allowing you to go downstairs, this escape attempt is as short-lived as a moth flying much too close to a flame.

As you were told, Morax came in his usual attire, black and brown robes with a geo sigil on the back. 

“...”

“I have been told that you have been getting a bit too curious with your wandering.”

Ah, straight to the point, it would seem. 

There is no point trying to beat around the bush when it comes to Morax. “It is not like there is anything else to do here.”

He sits beside you on the bed, not too close but not too far either. A perfect balance. “I can give you other activities to do if you would like. I can also answer some questions you have since you’ll be living here from now on.”

“...This isn’t temporary…” You look down at the arm he broke, a time which feels like a millennium ago. “Am I being charged?” Your question is quietly said. “Aren’t thieves simply sent to cells for a few moons?”

His chuckle was unexpected, causing a slight surprise. Morax, who was typically expressionless, wore a smile on his face. Despite the possibly good intentions behind it, the sight and sound were unsettling and made your skin crawl.

“...You don’t tell me anything.” You whisper under your breath. That much is clear. Despite Morax's little attempts to conceal it, his secrecy is unmistakable. You can't help but feel like a naive child stating the obvious.

“You are here for multiple reasons. For instance… you remind me of someone. As such, you must have questions, if you are anything like her.” His eyes glaze over you, from the top of your head where your hair is half put up with a hairpin to the anklet just hovering over your right foot. “All humans are born with an innate sense to pry. I won’t judge, as I am an Archon.” Are his words heartfelt? “Through my veins flow gold, but yours flow with sanguine, life, and desires.” 

His hand reaches forward, but he does not touch you. “You must see yourself as better than us because of this. Am I correct?”

“My feelings are not as monochrome as they seem to you. They are complex, quite so. But you are right, in some regard.”

“This is why I cannot stand the so-called divine.”

“Another reason as to why you are here. You are a sleeper of such, and I intend to help you open your eyes to the truth.”

You look at his eyes, seeing all the horrors within their depths.

The emperor known as Morax possesses eyes of pure gold, along with attractive features and pale, rosy lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile. Your body instinctively reacts, urging you to flee before your mind can fully comprehend the situation. However, your brain, awakening and analyzing the situation, is interrupted by the overpowering force of instinct, echoing the same warning as your body: the charming smile is a mere facade, reminiscent of something unsettlingly artificial. It is akin to a sculpture with painted skin and eyes or a doll with exaggerated, intricate features. This man, with his literal golden eyes, his potentially persuasive words, and his captivating yet unnerving countenance, is someone you cannot trust.

Desperate to escape, you attempt to run, only to find that arms and hands, seemingly made of stone, emerge from the walls, gripping and restraining your own. Two of these strong hands ascend, slithering towards the center of your back, forcefully pushing you down into a bow, while you remain compelled to gaze upwards. Your focus remains fixated solely on the emperor's eyes, observing the eloquent patterns of gold within them.

The caress of their touch is tender upon your cheeks, unlike solid ones that demand for you to stay.

“You shall become my consort and see the gates of Celestia for yourself. Humans are made to worship, after all. The divine are made to simply awaken those who have strayed off the path of destiny.”

*~*~*~*

To possess the gift of sight, encompassing all, is the gravest transgression one can commit. Thus, those winged creatures who lack this awareness are banished to the depths of the earth, their vision, their literal eyes stripped away until their cries reverberate to the surface, where the emperor Morax shall pronounce the ultimate verdict.

[kiame-sama]

Omega Marechi (Yandere!Upper-Moons x Omega!Reader x Yandere!Muzan)

Warnings; yandere, multiple yandere, stalking, mention of violence, mention of social imbalance, my abo au (less than 1000 omegas world wide and omegas are a commodity of sorts), omega reader, abo social ladder, abo societal structure, unfair situations, instinct manipulation, kidnapping, threat of murder, blood, violence, mention of human consumption, demons, female bodied reader, female reader pronouns (let me know if y'all want a male version).

(It's a personal headcannon of mine that omegas are short & chubby, so very soft and squishy)

(Also, let me know if y'all want a continuation of this, I have a certain idea involving stockades I have been interested in trying out)

~~~~~~~~

Deep within the winding surfaces and ever changing interior of a fortress wreathed in darkness, demons began to gather. Though they were few in number, each demon had their own impressive strengths and abilities that set them apart from the many other members of their brood. Even with their combined presence and strength, their master stood above them in every way possible.

The king of demons, he who sired every other demon, stood watching his upper ranked generals as they gathered beneath him. Short dark hair seemed to swallow all light in the inky abyssal color, bright red eyes glinting like lit lanterns on the darkest of nights. His fair skin unblemished and so smooth it could be mistaken for the marble of a true artisan's finest work. Truly a vision of a true apex alpha with the beauty of a divine being.

The six generals that gathered were supposed to be without company and solely focused on their sire, yet one was not alone. Next to the top general of the king's army was a large rectangular box shape that was draped in heavy fabrics to conceal what may be held within. The fabrics seemed to be soaked in a heavy perfume mixed with the hint of an unusually appealing scent that taunted the senses.

"What have you brought, Kokushibou?"

The deep and commanding voice of the demon king rumbled out with a tint of curiosity in his tone. Where he expected quite a bit from his upper moons, even he had to admit that the actions of his top general were odd. It was not often that the upper moons did something that surprised him- and usually was met with a swift reprimand- but his curiosity had been peaked by the abnormal behavior.

Without saying a word, Kokushibou gripped the heavy fabric and quickly pulled it away, revealing what had been concealed. Beneath the cloth lay an iron cage- much like what an exotic beast would be transported in- with blankets lining the bottom of the cage for cushion. The cage itself wasn't very interesting when compared to what lay within.

Laying bound in the iron cage was a woman, her (h/c) locks strewn around her head and her (s/c) flesh looked incredibly plush and no doubt was soft to the touch. A delicate and fine silk kimono wrapped around her bound form, even that which held her was made of the expensive materials. Her eyes were covered in a long silk ribbon, mouth held shut by an intricate golden muzzle, her arms cuffed together with similarly intricate cuffs in front of her and lower legs cuffed together.

A woman- no matter how decorated- wasn't much to crow about, but the pungent scent that had been smothered by the perfumes was now free and quickly reached those nearby. There was a visible change in the way the other upper moons stood, their nostrils flaring and eyes fixed on the soft woman as they contemplated what she was. The scent reached Muzan last, but he knew immediately what was being presented to him, though he could scantly believe what his senses were telling him.

"No," Douma started, his multi colored eyes wide in disbelief, "that's impossible. Omegas aren't real! It must be a trick."

"Looks real to me. Smells real too. Actually," Akaza sniffed, looking curiously at the bound female, "she smells like a marechi."

A soft whimper came from within the cage, the female inside moving and seemingly trying to pull away from her binds. The muzzle secured on her kept her from speaking and muffled her sounds as she responded to the voices around her. Blindly she turned her head towards the sound of Akaza speaking, seemingly trying to understand where she was and who she was with.

"She was being transported as cargo on a train. From her scent, it was made clear to me that she is an Omega and a marechi. She has no mating marks present on her body. The humans transporting her were on their way to deliver her to slayers, a gift from a small village of fools."

Muzan silently descended from where he had been standing above the upper moons, approaching the cage curiously. The other demons watched in interest as their sire crouched, observing the bound female that had been presented to him. He had not encountered an omega, even in his long life, so seeing such a rare and unusual being in a cage was surreal. Truly, he had thought omegas were just another myth created by humans.

He reached a finger between the bars, his sharp nail gently scraping over the exposed neck of the omega. Naturally, she responded with a fearful sound at the feeling of something sharp against her neck, trying to writhe away from the sensation. The obvious fear was accompanied by an intense scent that prodded at their minds to defend the soft woman from whatever may be causing her distress.

Muzan observed the struggling of the delicacy he had been presented with, red eyes gleaming and unwavering. After a moment of simply watching the omega struggle, he reached his hands forward to grip the cage bars. With one flex, the metal groaned beneath his hands, crumpling like sand and bending out of shape. One of his hands held the cage still as he ripped the bar off of the cage, pulling out several more until he could access the omega.

The loud sound of the metal bending and crushing had clearly upset the omega who let out a muffled scream into the muzzle, body twisting and writhing to escape the frightening sound and its source. Another scream escaped her as one of Muazan's hands gripped the back of the her kimono, dragging her out of the remnants of the cage. A sharp scent made him freeze, the taunting ambrosia of marechi blood filled his nostrils as he moved to examine the omega.

Sitting on her cheek was the smallest of cuts, blood slowly beading along the line of the slice. Within the second Muzan noticed the small injury, a greedy mouth formed along his hand. The elongated tongue quickly stretching out and slowly laving over the gathered blood with an apparent groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest from the taste.

His pleasured sound only seemed to frighten the omega more, whimpering out and beginning to cry from the terror. It was understandable, she had been in the cage for an unknown time and now was listening to the sound of an unknown assailant flavor her blood. With a quick motion the blindfold was pulled away, revealing (e/c) eyes that were filled with delicate tears and horror.

Her gaze became fixed on the bright red eyes of the predator in front of her, body falling completely still. Much like the way an injured fawn would freeze upon seeing the open jaws of a bear. The body of the soft omega seemed to curl in on itself, as if she were trying to seem as small as possible all without looking away.

He lifted his free hand towards her and gripped her ornate metal muzzle despite her frightened sounds and slow shaking of her head back and forth. She cringed and closed her eyes tightly as his hand gripped the clasp of the muzzle that held it on.

For a moment, things seemed to stand still in baited anticipation of what the demon king would do next. All upper moons keenly awaited their sire's next move as it would determine the fate of the omega they all were interested in. Wanting to get their hands on her if he allowed her to live, or wanting a piece of her if he chose to consume her.

A soft click of metal could be heard in the profound silence as the clasp of the muzzle was disconnected.

~~0~~

You warily watched the frightening man remove the muzzle you wore, seeing how hungrily he looked at you the entire time. He seemed to be contemplating you, much like many others would when first coming into contact with you. The man- or monster, would be more accurate- suddenly grinned, hand gripping your neck and slowly lifting you up.

Even with how you struggled, the man seemed to have no problem holding you until he was fully standing. His expression became more fierce as the veins in his face became more pronounced, tongue slowly dragging over his lips. After a moment he lowered you so your feet were on the ground, no longer holding you off the ground but still holding you in place.

"You are a truly unfortunate human. Luckily for you, I intend to keep you for the time being. You staying alive or not will be determined by your actions."

~~~~~~~~

You had been taken to a large ornate bed that no doubt belonged to the demonic alpha that broke your chains but left your cuffs. From the way he stared at you, you felt like you were being appraised much in the way one would appraise a meal. A yelp escaping your lips as you were thrown down on the soft surface.

In seconds you felt the silk that held your clothing together rip open, the ornate kimono falling open. Your body was completely left exposed to the intense gaze of the man, you had been dressed for meeting several new mates who were top members of the demon slayers. Instead it seemed the demons found you and decided to keep you for the time being.

Part of you was terrified to fight back as you didn't wish to anger the demon that took you to bed. Based off of his scent, you knew you were dealing with an alpha of great strength and willpower. The alpha himself seeming to be above other alphas that you had caught the scents of whenever one would pass through your village. He was clearly the one others answered to as they had gotten out of his way rather quickly when he decided to drag you to his chambers.

You tried to keep your thighs pressed together to give yourself some kind of protection, but the demon was quick to pry them open. His gaze was intense and you felt your body warm in response to how he stared at your exposed figure. A whimper from you seemed to break the trance he was in as his eyes flicked up to look at you for several seconds.

"And still, you are afraid. Tell me, Omega, did the humans you lived amongst even give you a name, or have you always been Omega?"

"My name," you struggled to keep the fear out of your voice as you answered the alpha demon, "it's (Y/n), (L/n)(Y/n)."

"(Y/n)? I am Kibutsuji Muzan, king of demons. You have gained my attention, (Y/n), quite dangerous indeed. I expect you to be an obedient omega, understand?"

"Ye-yes, I understand, Alpha."

"Good."

You whined softly as one of his hands came up to palm your soft chest as if appraising it like fruit. His bright red eyes gleaming in interest as he observed you trying to sit still for him and let him continue what he wanted. Clearly you were a high tier omega as you were so obedient and did exactly what the alpha told you to do.

The village you grew up in must have trained you to be a good omega, taking the word of an alpha as law. In any case, he was quite pleased to have such a treasure in his grasp. He vaguely considered keeping the omega for himself, but he knew the way the upper moons stared, even Akaza showed clear interest.

An omega would certainly be a unique reward and incentive to push the upper moons further. Beyond just that, using the unique human omega sent could throw off the slayers in such a way there would be no one left to stand against the demon king.

[levans44]

leave me with nothing when I come down

pairing: steve rogers x fatal touch!reader

summary: The Almighty Captain America, laid to waste by your bare hands and pussy.

Now wouldn’t that make for a nice headline.

warnings: 18+ SMUT, just pure filth, some angst, FWB, hate fucking, heavy choking, breath play, sub steve rogers, subtle fdom, reader has fatal touch meaning she can't make bare skin contact with anyone without killing them

word count: 1.8k

a/n: I... don't even have words for this one, really. just that steve rogers with a choking kink and submissive streak would heal me.

"Second time this week.”

“Shut up. Take that shit off.”

A 2 a.m. text is all it takes. 

He’s at your door, helmet in hand, hair wild from the ride—straight off the tarmac, still carrying the scent of Marrakesh on his skin.

There's no small talk, no kissing, no preamble.  

It’s not like he needs it anyway, the strain of him evident against the kevlar—a monument raised in devotion. 

Because out there, beyond the sanctum of your studio apartment, he’s a god of war—sharp lines, discipline incarnate. Issuing orders like edicts and delivering punishing blows in the name of combat training. 

But in here? He’s just a man. 

Yours.

His uniform sloughs off like old skin—discarded offerings marking a trail to the altar of your living room. The shield leans haphazardly against the doorframe, forgotten.

There’s a dumb, boyish grin on his face when you corner him against your threadbare couch, climbing over him and settling roughly in his lap. And when your bare thighs slide up next to his own, caging him beneath your heat, his lashes flutter involuntarily—because the first touch is always an adjustment, no matter how many times he’s been here. 

Like a live wire pressed to his skin, ripping through his veins and setting every nerve ablaze. 

All the white-hot brilliance of a collapsing star; tiny supernovas erupting under his skin, leaving behind a constellation of heat marking your divine path. 

You narrow your eyes at him, nostrils flaring, yet your dainty fingers still tremble when they rise up to his chest.

The locus of your power—where your touch is most potent—laid flat over the flushed skin covering his heart. The thrum of his pulse flutters against your palm, reassuring.

Still beating.

The first time you'd touched him, you’d been so cautious—fingertips barely grazing his skin, sending sparks across the top of his knuckles. Yanked your hand back just as quickly, wide-eyed and breathless as if you expected him to crumble to the ground in front of you.  

Instead, he’d caught your quivering hand in his, grip warm and unyielding.

It’s alright. 

Guided it under his shirt, pressing your palm flat against his chest, just left of where the five-point insignia's etched into his skin. He'd kept your hand there for a long while, letting you feel the warmth of human flesh, the steady rise and fall of a moving ribcage besides your own—maybe for the first time.

Met your gaze as if to say:

See? Still beating.

Disbelief and trepidation in your eyes when you stared back, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But when it didn’t—when he didn’t—you’d gone straight for his lips instead.  

“Where’d you go, Rogers?”

Your distant warning calls him back, punctuated by a soft tsk as your hips tease slow circles over his lap. One hand braced on his shoulder for leverage, his stomach glistening with your arousal. 

There’s something chiding in the furrow of your brows, the purse of your lips—like you’re disappointed that he’s managed to remain in one piece. Like setting him alight was the only absolution.

He blinks, still drowning in the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming burn reduced to a steady buzzing as his eyes focus back on you. 

But it’s too late—you’ve found other ways to keep his mind tethered.

Your arm slides behind your back, finding the head of his cock, swollen red and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. As soon as your fingers graze the tip, his breath hitches, abs clenching like he’d taken a blow to the gut. His hands shoot up to grip your hips, palms searing at the contact. 

An appeased grin touches your lips as you stroke him once, twice, then sink down in a single, fluid motion, the heat of your body enveloping him whole. 

“Oh, fffu—“ 

His mouth falls open, a half-formed hymn forming on his tongue, the rest swallowed by the ruthless pace you set.

Both hands anchored to his chest as you lift back up, until just the head of his cock is enveloped by the tight, wet ring of your entrance. You swivel your hips in a slow, teasing circle, testing his restraint before sinking all the way back down. Then you'd start over from the top, the weight of your thrusts heavy and relentless—eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as if you’re basking in the first downpour after a lifelong drought. 

He tracks your every movement, eyes lazy and half-lidded, head lolled against the back of the couch. The thick column of his neck bares itself to you, his jugular pulsing a steady offering.

And being the merciful god you are, you take it.

Four dainty fingers curl around his throat, your thumb pressing just enough to feel his breath catch, his pulse thundering under your grip. Searing heat shoots up his neck, sharp static rippling across the flesh.

And as his vision grows hazy around the edges, you begin to glow at its center. Your silhouette illuminated by a blinding radiance as you bask in his pain—the ache, the burn, all laid bare for you.

“That’s it, show me.”

His voice breaks out gravelly and thick, nearly unrecognizable with you pressing down on his vocal cords. His hands grow restless, quick to worship the curve of your hips, your stomach, before sliding up under your shirt. Calloused fingertips find your nipples, pebbled and straining against the flimsy cotton, and pinch hard enough to elicit a choked gasp. He smiles as you glare and press harder against his neck, betrayed by the way you clench around him when he repeats the gesture. 

The only man who can withstand your touch without succumbing to its power. His super-soldier healing ability absorbing your raw, unbridled energy, strong enough to send anyone else into a permanent coma with just a moment’s touch. 

And there’s a thought in there somewhere, deep in the corner of his sex-fuddled, oxygen-deprived brain, about something Sam once told him. How some people grow so accustomed to pain that they seek it out—caught in a relentless cycle of self-destruction and sabotage, never having known a life without it. 

Sound familiar, Steve?

And maybe the fact that this was what he was thinking about, in the midst of being fucked into oblivion, was a good example as any to prove Sam’s point. But he shoves that thought aside too, tossing it onto the ever-growing pile, stacked miles high. 

Like all the others, it’ll have to wait. When you’re not grinding your hips and arching into his touch, so warm and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

So he pushes you harder, meeting your thrusts and pinching your nipples sore until you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Draws you to the edge, just like he knows how, that line where control and reason blur into nothing but raw sensation. 

His Adam’s apple bobs under your palm when he swallows thickly, smiling: 

“You’re gonna cum, aren't you?”

You let out a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut, whispering as if you’re pleading for forgiveness. 

“Shut up. Shut up.” Your prayers grow louder still.

“God, just fucking—”

He meets your glare with a steady gaze, the subtext in his eyes clear as day:

Do it. Try me.

You slow the relentless rotation of your hips, brows furrowing as you lift your other hand. It hovers for a moment, uncertain, before draping over the one already pressed to his neck. 

The added pressure’s enough to actually render him starved for air, back arching as his breathing grows shallow. Pressure builds up in his ears, the blood rushing to his head and muffling the world around him, leaving him with only the thrum of his own pulse and the filthy slaps coming from between his legs, wet and frenzied as you pick up your pace.  

Your brows are knitted together, a bead of sweat rolling down the curve of your temple. Knees rubbed raw against the scratchy upholstery as you roll your hips over and over, hands still fixed over his throat. With no room to swallow, spit starts to pool in his mouth, the same time your rhythm falters, a familiar pattern of spasms signaling your end. 

He’s right there with you, teetering on the brink—whatever breaths he can muster getting shorter, faster. It leaves him lightheaded and reeling, the serum working overtime to absorb the onslaught of your energy. 

And if the thought of his healing ability stretching out so thin, enough that you could actually choke him to death, only makes his dick swell inside you, then… fuck it. He likes the noises you make anyway, eyes rolling back every time it finds that tender spot deep within you. 

The Almighty Captain America, laid to waste by your bare hands and pussy.

Now wouldn’t that make for a nice headline.

He drops one hand to find your clit with deft precision, desperate to see you tip over the edge before his lungs give out. Rubs tight, small circles, just above where his dick’s plunging into your heat, until you're twitching violently against him, collapsing forward with a sharp, fractured cry. 

Your hands release around his throat, flying up to grip his hair instead, and the sudden rush of oxygen precipitates his own release as he bucks up into you, a strangled groan ripped from his abused throat.

He finds solace in the crook of your neck, the cradle of something divine, as light bursts behind his eyes. He comes in thick, pulsing ropes, his body collapsing under the weight of the sensation, trembling as he’s made undone by your touch. 

He blinks away black dots from his vision in the comedown, ears still ringing as you shuffle off his lap. You raise a soft tissue in his direction, smiling at his defeated form—legs spread and chest heaving—and grant him a few more breaths before he lifts himself off the couch.

“Same time next week?”

"Fuck off, Rogers.”

With a tired huff, you snatch up his uniform off your floor, shoving it against his chest. He smiles, letting his hand brush against yours, savoring that electric surge one last time. 

His shield feels feather-light when he slings it across his back, giving you one last look before you slam the door in his face. He doesn’t miss the blush that bloomed across your cheeks, just seconds before you averted your eyes, mirroring the one on his own face. 

Because the truth is, he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe more.

Someone to break the parts of him that never healed quite right, snapping them clean so he can piece them back together. 

As he stares at the faded mahogany of your apartment door, that familiar high begins to settle in—a fleeting but vivid taste of what it felt like before the serum, when cuts stayed open and bruises remained tender for weeks. 

And as the long-lost weight of exhaustion starts to seep into his bones, making his eyelids grow heavy, he rejoices. 

He’s treading on nothing but air when he bounds down the stairs of your building, giddy with anticipation for a night of deep, unbroken sleep. 

He’ll dream of you until the next time he’s back.

[threepandas]

Bad End: In Bad Faith

Summoning spells hurt.

Reality? It doesn't want to let you go. Whether you see it or not, you are attached. Part of the very fabric of the universe. Your atoms blending into the mess that is creation, on a level so small, that the human eye can not possibly catch it. Where you begin and end? Doesn't. Not really.

We are part of a tapestry, incomprehensible in scope. Mere designs. Details. Parts of it's ever sprawling beauty and horror. And? Woven in as we are? Part of it, as we are?

It does not want to let go.

Will, in fact, FIGHT not to let go. To Summon? Is an unnatural act. Many, foolishly, believe it's not. But... that is because they mistake Transportation magics with Summoning. With swapping a design's location upon the weave... with ripping it OUT.

In one? You take what is not yours. In the other? You're just rearranging what's there.

Nature (and indeed, the very Gods themselves) abhor Summonings, along with the vacuums they create. So, one must ask; How could they be called "Holy"? Such a painful, unnatural, divinely detested thing? Who in their right mind, would EVER do such a thing? Would cross the very Gods, as Summon in Their Name?

King's of course.

High Priests of the Holiest of Temples. Rich in gold and jewels, power and influence. Full of decadence and the surety of their own pure, pure souls. So much BETTER then the masses. So much HIGHER then the rabble. Poisoned on their own twisted faith. When given the choice between their God and Power? Faith and Fortune?

They would not be able to hear their God screaming, were he to stand right in front of them. But of course, they act in HIS Name.

I can feel it. Day in and day out. He looks upon his so called "Chosen" and is SICK.

Summoning hurts. My body, my soul, torn and stretch between to places. Until something gave. Were it not for the mercy of My God? I would have arrive at this end in chunks. A paste! Shredded beyond comprehension, killed beyond even mortal flesh. My very SOUL would have-!

The Universe SCREAMED as I was torn out of it. Like a fist full of fabric, made of person, of living flesh and bone, was gored out of a living thing. It was a disembowling. A calculated mauling. All burning light and tearing void. Chanting voices that dragged like hooking chains.

I... I can't even remember what I was doing that day. The sheer pain of it all? Overwhelms everything else in my memories. Left me delirious and weak. A puppet to be hoisted up and declared holy. A success. Stripped of my old clothes and anointed in oils and silks, finery and holy things.

A Holy Maiden.

In response, of course, to the King's Holy Maiden. Which was supposedly delivered by the God of Shining Light. She is very... perky, I am told. A plucky and endearing child. For all she is treated as some woman grown. She... she means well, even as she blunders through messes of her own creation. It is easy to tell. But all told? Anyone can tell you. She sounds... young. So very young.

Gods, what is she even DOING here? What are either of us? Every day, I can only pray the girl is safe. Because? I know. I know, I can not help her.

I am trapped.

She is trapped.

Whether she realizes it or not. Can see past the pretty smiles and fancy set dressing, to the unrelenting iron bars she can't escape. Though her chains are gilded and far longer then my own. She is a prop, a tool, in the hands of power. We both are. And neither of us asked to be, were given a choice. No... no we were simply taken from our homes.

Sometimes...? I catch the edges of something familiar. Beyond the Temple that is my cage. Hints of news or bits of gossip. When Worshipers or servants don't notice me nearby. I think? Possibly. We may have landed in an Otome game, her and I. But I can not be certain. It may simply be the only framework I have, for situations like this.

I wonder what my role is, in all this. If I even have one. Since I am kept like a trinket and holy trophy. Adored but not obeyed. No purpose beyond my supposed Holiness. Worshipped AT in the place of the God they know damn well they have angered. Though, through out all this? And, out of all of them? Worst, of all of them? Is the man who... who covets me.

There really is no other word for it, with the way he behaves. What else could it one call it? As he haunts the gilded cage he has created. The way his eyes track me, obsessive and cataloging, predatory and hunting. Picking apart my every action for meaning, for preference.

Trying to pry from me, my every thought and desire. As if to crack open my mind and read it's secrets. As though observing some sweet little creature, in it's natural habitat; And not his prisoner, in the pretty little cage he had made.

Forcing me to choose, again and again, between pretending not to notice? And engaging once again with my captor. Knowing all the while, if I so much as smile? Dared to so much as soften my expression?

I would be flooded, by whatever had caught me eye.

A lovely flower? Every room would be choked by them. Buried by them. The gardens filled and filled, until I begged for change. A good meal? I would get nothing else. Over and over, until all joy was stripped of it. Until I was sick of it. Could no longer stand the sight of it. Clothing, books, or paintings? Piles fit to beggar nations.

But the gods forbid, I EVER smile at people. Oh no. They were unworthy, you see.

The Grand Priest? Did not like when the filthy, unworthy, sacrilegious masses, dared to touch HIS Most Holy Maiden Of The God's. Or when I noticed them. Looked at any of them too long. Was "forced" to acknowledge they even existed. Gods forbid speaking to them! A sermon to the faithful was one thing! That could be allowed, if they purified themselves throughly, but the unwashed masses?

Gods, No.

Absolutely no such sacrilege would take part on HIS watch! By his word, his decree from on high, it was verboten.

It was...

Unquestionably, I knew, it was the antithesis of the Gentle Dark. That very God that had held my soul together. Through his unnatural summoning; That Very God, he SUPPOSEDLY swore too? Worshipped? Everything I prayed too. Reached my soul out too, in His kindness? For just a moment's escape? That very God.

From my God, to whom I prayed. Who anchored me, in these uncertain waters. All I could feel was His concern. For me, whom he could do little to aid. And His disgust. At what was being done in His name. As though rot had been smeared upon His flesh, vile and abhorrent. He recoiled, sickened, reaching for the safety of distant, faithful halls.

"Praying again, most Holy?" Came from the shadows, cool and soft. A pleasant voice to match a pleasant appearance. As though that was all that held meaning. "Even in your diligence and purity, you can not live on prayer alone, most Holy. I am afraid we will have to end you prayers for the day. So that you may eat. This humble servant has brought you offerings to choice from..."

He trailed off meaningfully. Wanted me to ask. A favorite game of his, this little trick. A verbal set up. Prompting you to ask this or that, engage him just a bit more, here or there. Get dragged into talking to him, dispite not wanting anything to do with him. He dangles bait. Shiny and enticing, just within reach. Hoping you'll take it.

Like a fishing lure.

No, actually, I don't want to know what dinner is. I, in fact, SHALL ignore why you call them "offerings". Yes, I DO plan to refuse to engage. Grey wall. Nonresponse, just all the way down. Boring, really.

You may be able to keep me here? But by the Gentle Dark, I CAN make this as miserable for you as possible. There shall be no Happy Little Family charades. No "content within my cage." No playing along to appease you.

(Quitely, but with FEELING, I say onto you! Get FUCKED.)

"A night of contemplations, I see. Understandable. Heavy are the shoulders that hold the heavens." That's Blasphemy, you heretical BASTARD. With a capital "B". To BOTH! No. NO. Do not engage. It's what he wan-! "You will be relieved, then, to know we are one step closer to disposing of that heretical whore."

I twitched. Hands squeezing each other until they were a white knuckled grip, to keep me from lashing out. Breathing in deep and slow, to try and fill my lungs with patience. The strength needed, not to not lash out. My jaw clenching hard as it battled the words snarling to escape.

(You leave that CHILD THE FUCK ALONE, YOU CREEP. She is sixteen! Seventeen AT BEST! She SHOULDN'T BE HERE! Should be safe. Meeting up with friends or chatting about interests. As she lounges, safe, at HOME. Going to school! Not getting dragged into politics! Tarted up and told to play soilder! Made a FUCKING RELIGIOUS LEADER!!!)

(Inside me, the Gentle Dark seethes and howls. Who is this man? To try and kill a Protected Child of The God's own Brother? What is Dark without Light? Light without Dark? Who are THEY to suggest the gods want anything but Balance?!)

Rising to my feet, I can not stay here. If I do, I may try and bludgeon my captor with an alter bowl. Desperately careful not to take my rage out on the alter before me, I run through the steps to finish my prayers. Gently. Gently. My God does NOT deserve misdirected wrath. Through gritted teeth, I force my breathe to be even. With tense muscles, I refuse to so much as look at him.

I DESPISE.

"How beautiful."

Like vile spiders and the sweeping prick of claws, his foul admiration sweeps over me. Disgusting. Hateful. Abhorrent and unholy. It is as though, the colder I become? The angrier and more disdainful? The more captivated, he becomes.

Twisting and twisting me, into some sort of disdainful god for him to worship. Abusing this soft house of benevolence, to make his self-harm somehow Holy. Coveting the Divine even as he refuses Them. It is... horrifying. A soul deep wrong.

A kinder woman would seek to understand "WHY?"...

I am not that kinder woman, I think.

"You are angry that I failed you, when all you ask of me is worship. Unity." He declares to my back. Once again projecting what he wants to believe, regardless of what I do or do not say. I have already given up trying. He lives in his own delusion, prefers it really. "Forgive me."

Ignoring him, I begin to walk away. Let him monolog in peace. Talk to the Idea of me, if he's so desperate! He can paint my face upon a wall, for all he needs my ACTUAL input. Sadly, however, I do not get far. With a swish of silks, knees hitting marble, my skirt train is caught in covetous hands. Jerking me to a stop. I turn.

"Ah..." He is kneeling, as though praying at my feet, my skirt's edge pressed to his face. His voice is... almost a sigh. Monotone, yet dancing the edge of obscene. "Oh, Most Holy, forgive your most loyal dog. Look only at me, I serve only thee, does my worship not please you?"

"Do you want more?"

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. There was fire and death there. Madness and burning. Religious zealotry churned and twisted into obsession, with his self made God. What did he even see? When he looked at me? It was almost... ironic. That the Grand Priest of the Gentle Dark, would BURN with such Scorching.

The Priests of the Shining Light would have noticed. Would have warned him. Helped him. No doubt why he avoided them. The monsters of their Gods, clouded his mind... and yet? And YET?

He was a Grand Priest.

No beast could take his soul, that HE did not ALLOW.

He was a monster of his own becoming. I wondered... in this moment... was THIS how he gained the power to Summon me? What damned DEALS did he MAKE? Does he seek to corrupt me? Turn me from the Gentle Dark to the Endless Dark? Something crueler? Colder still?

Disgust. Refusal. Rage.

"Oh." His voice wavered, obscene as he sucked in air, even as his eyes widened up at me. Hands reflexively clenching at my skirts. A jagged grin, of too many teeth, slowly carved its way across his face. Transfixed. Unhinged. As he shuddered.

"Magnificent, my Goddess. So Pure. So Clean. Mine and mine alone. I alone, am Worthy. Your most loyal soldier. Your most DEVOUT worshiper. I will give you the World. Everything, my queen. My lady. My Master of the heavens. Ha ha ha! Mine."

"All mine!"

"Amen."

[riptide-pools]

LMK OCs

Lady Crimson | Fire & Brimstone AU

Character: Lady Crimson is the twin sister of Red Son. Her powers are wind element similar to Princess Iron Fan but got sealed by Lady Bone Demon from her brooch, the 'Ankh Shield'. She obtained the brooch due to Samadhi Fire Incident but she doesn't remember any memory of it.

Lord Crimson | Flames & Ashes AU

Character: Lord Crimson, similar to his female counterpart, had encountered the Samadhi Fire Incident but remembered every bits of the memory. But for him, he succumbed to the fire and brought back by LBD.

Zǐ Dīngxiāng / Rai | Celestial Gatekeeper AU

Character: Rai is the Celestial Realm's guard. To prevent any intruders from entering the Heavens. They're a Lotus Dragon, born from a dew drop from the hands of a divine being and his lotus bud bloomed into his being. He's also a student of Ne Zha.

Lang Zhu / Wolf Spider | Toxic Spindle Webs AU

Character: Zyan [human name] is an arachnid obsessed scientist. After Wolf Spider turned into one of Spider Queen's goons, he lost his humanity. He had doubts towards Mayor and his Mistress. And as he knew his hunch had been correct, he sacrificed himself to save Spider Queen from LBD, yet he failed and he perished alongside his Spider brothers.

Haiyang | Gilded Cage AU

Character: Haiyang is Mei's older sister. As the heir to the Dragon Clan, it is assumed that the Dragon Blade will be given upon her. Yet when Mei took the blade and defended the home from the Bull Clone, she had forced to accept that the destiny of the Dragon Blade won't be in her hands. Hence her not so close relationship with Mei.

[lulu2992]

Does Jacob Seed believe in God?

It’s a popular theory that, even though the oldest Seed brother is part of the Project at Eden’s Gate, he only has faith in his own ideology and doesn’t necessarily believe in God or the Voice. So is Jacob one of Joseph’s Heralds simply because he wants to support his brother and use his influence to his advantage, or does he actually believe in a higher power and in the Father’s message?

The first time we come (very) close to Jacob, during the mission “The World is Weak”, he explains why he thinks humanity has “forgotten what it is to be strong”. He says that “our heroes used to be gods” but that they are now, among other flaws, “godless”. If Jacob associates godlessness, so the lack of faith in God, with weakness, one of the things he criticizes the most, it implies to me that he thinks believing in God is a quality, so he most likely does too.

The next time the Deputy is captured by Jacob’s soldiers, he stays in the background to let Joseph talk to them and explain how he lost his wife and daughter. The Father tells this story in the Whitetail Mountains for a reason: it’s about pain, sacrifice, being tested, and doing whatever we’re asked to prove our devotion. Although Jacob doesn’t say anything to the Junior Deputy in that scene, the pained expression on his face proves that Joseph’s speech affects and resonates with him, and we only fully understand why the next time we meet him.

The third time the Deputy gets captured and ends up in one of Jacob’s cages, he too has a story to tell. While he casually shows how submissive and “well-trained” Pratt has now become, he talks about his experience in the military and more specifically during the First Gulf War. He explains how he and another soldier, Miller, got separated from their unit without food, water, or radio, and had to survive in the desert. When he realized, after eight days, that they were most likely going to die, he accepted his fate. “And in that acceptance came clarity”, he explains, and before he says the last two words, Jacob pauses and looks at the sky. In my opinion, this may indicate he believes this epiphany was of a divine nature.

When he continues his story, he says sacrificing Miller so he could survive “wasn’t something [he] wanted” but “something that [he] had to do” before concluding that it was “[his] test” and looking at the sky once more. Again, to me, this suggests he believes that this “test”, this sacrifice he didn’t want to make but thought had to happen, was a divine trial, a “test of faith”, exactly like Joseph killing his own daughter. And in order to join his army, people are expected to do the same: they must sacrifice something (or someone) that’s holding them back. To Jacob, it appears a sacrifice is not just about the “weak vs. strong” ideology and culling the herd, it’s also how you prove your devotion, your commitment to the Project, to the Father and, by extension, to God.

In his final moments, Jacob says what led many people to conclude he was possibly an atheist: “My brother saw all this coming. I don’t know if he talks to God... that doesn’t matter. He was right.” I don’t think this means he doesn’t believe in a higher power, though. Many other characters in Far Cry 5, such as Jerome or Grace, clearly are religious but also think Joseph is a false prophet and that there’s no way the Voice he claims he heard is God’s. Here, Jacob doesn’t say it’s not true and that the Voice isn’t real; he simply admits that he doesn’t know if Joseph can communicate with God.

So, in my opinion, it’s very likely that Jacob believes in a higher power and that part of what he does to people has a religious significance. That said, as he takes his last breath, whether or not the Voice Joseph hears belongs to God doesn’t matter much to the Soldier anymore. What does, and what he seems to be certain of, is that he was right to believe in his brother.

[kachowden]

(Tw: Somewhat nsfw themes, disturbing descriptions, unhealthy idolization)

Surely,

I want to write about a man who is obsessed with you.

His love for you evades all reason without even trying.

Your being consumes his thoughts, mind and soul

Breathing means nothing, so little, if it means he can’t feel you next to him.

Basic human pleasures are lost on him in your presence. He does not need to eat, nor drink, nor sleep, for he believes your love will sustain him. Resurrect him.

“I love you. I love you I love you oh god I love you.”

Do not part with him, do not leave him he will surely perish if you do.

He’ll kiss yours hands, yours wrists, every finger and palm. He will praise your life above every god or flower between breaths.

The desires he feels for you are sinful, pathetic in comparison to you. His hands claw at his own skin, a cage that holds in his deepest depravities. Disgusting, ugly lust burns inside his bones. It feels terrible. It feels horrid. It feels amazing. Surely, he would never be able to fulfill you the way he wishes.

But he would be so grateful if you let him try. Just a taste?

Please?

Please haunt him. Haunt his dreams- His dreams, that are so blissful yet dull. He cannot feel you in his dreams. Even if they speak of you in his arms, he cannot feel you. He would rather be awake. Rather awake in your arms, in your breath and in your eyes.

He is jealous of himself. The one that holds you in his dreams.

He’d let himself drown in you. In your eyes, in your skin and in your tears.

No never your tears. If you cried he’d die surely.

Please please please

God if you kissed him just once, just once please just one kiss- he won’t ask for more he promises -oh god please just one kiss

But he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of your kisses. Surely he’s not, not someone as divine as you. He does not deserve your love, your touch or your kisses. Even your eyes on him would be too much.

Don’t look at him like that. He can’t handle it. He’ll melt, surely

Please take pity on him.

Surely you will?

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Cult of the First Mutant, Scenario One, Reader "Chatting" with Col. William Stryker:

Reader: in human form, trapped in a glowing ring of signs and sigils and circles on a freezing metal floor in a hidden base

Stryker: What... is this creature? This isn't the beast depicted in those old scraps of paper!

Reader: Um... hi? 👋

Stryker: Is it some kind of mutant freak? Get a chain or a leash for it; we'll see if they can fit our needs...

Reader: Wait, what?!

Guards: approaching

Reader: scared and p*ssed

Reader: ENOUGH!!! turns into their "divine" form

Stryker, the scientists, and guards: 😨😰😟

Reader: You little freakin' jerk! That is NOT how you treat people!

Stryker: What-

Reader: snaps their fingers, and everyone but Stryker goes still

Reader: You're a hateful little man, you know. Blegh. I don't know how you sleep at night...

Stryker: I've done everything to ensure the survival of the human race! I've caged beasts just like you! All of your kind will be dead!

Reader: cracks their neck Is that so? Tell me, oh "great" Colonel, was it worth it?

Stryker: What?

Reader: Was it worth it, to kill your son?

Stryker: I did no such thing! That- that thing wasn't my son! My son died the moment those ungodly powers manifested!

Reader: Hmmm... no. Your hatred, your fear, has driven you... not the need to "protect mankind" or whatever cr*p you jerks tell people...

Stryker: He killed my wife!

Reader: You took him away from the only man who could help him control his powers! What happened was an accident! One that would have been avoided if you and your wife weren't ableist, unknowing, toxic people!

Stryker: Listen here you-

Reader: LISTEN TO ME, YOU LITTLE B********! YOU, BECAUSE OF YOUR BLIND, FEARFUL HATRED, KILLED YOUR SON! YOU AND YOUR WIFE PUSHED HIM, HURT HIM, AND ISOLATED HIM! THIS! IS! YOUR! FAULT!

Stryker: I... I...

Stryker: falls to his knees

Stryker: I have nothing...

Reader: You've hurt countless others, killed them, butchered them, and ripped them from their families, their homes, their lives... you've even hurt two of my friends...

Stryker: visibly pales

Reader: But... I'm here to offer you a chance to do better. A way to take back most of the harm you've caused. I'll set you back in the past, with the knowledge of all of this; you'll have your wife, your son, and your job; but- you will never join the Weapon X Program. You will not spread mutant hate and racism. You can live quietly with your family, having a happy life, or stand up for mutant rights, or convince your friends in the government to focus on other, more useful, advances in history... I offer all of this freely... but don't take this for granted... this is a one-time offer, and if you say no... that is on you...

Stryker: ... I... I accept...

Reader: Good... I don't think you're entirely evil, Mr. William, but you're a broken man who let his fears and prejudices best him... with this choice, you take it all back, and start anew. You should feel proud of yourself; not everyone accepts such a choice

Stryker: What... what will I do? What... what would you have me do?

Reader: Well... what about medicine? Or mental health? Not that snake oil or psycho surgery nonsense, but perhaps helping others, understanding them, and finding ways to make their lives just a bit better?

Stryker: ... okay

Reader: Good! Well, then, good-bye, then, Mr. William; welcome to the right side-

Reader: snaps their fingers, and everything fades away...

(And this is why it's Dr. Cornelius who was experimenting, and there was no mention of Stryker! Because Reader offered him a chance to do better, and he actually took it!) (Of course, he's also a bit shaken by seeing Reader, who old scrolls and temples called the First Mutant, but, well, he has his family back, so he's ready to accept whatever they say-)

(Woo! Powerful and confused Reader!)