#the seven deadly sins of it all is so great

[novelconcepts]

Fall of the House of Usher has everything, tbh. Seven Deadly Sins family. Everyone’s queer. No one has a moral compass. Nightmare goblin energy everywhere. The most grotesque deaths you’ve ever seen. Hilarious snark. The hottest women in the world. Carla Gugino in fifteen different wigs. Violent lesbians. Cats coming out on top. Cool tattoos. Orgiastic vibes. Katie Parker being Just A Lady, for once. Terrific hair. A granddaughter who takes no shit. Intimacy issues galore. Storytime. Storytime. Storytime.

[thenntrewrite]

If you’re interested in my Morgan OC you can check out my content blog, there’s a link on my main account. 😃

I intend on making a new blog solely for SDS/NNT content soon as well.

Also, another question. I noticed that you made Ban a Werefox. Are you making it so the Sins have one of every race?

Oh that's awesome! I'll be sure to check it out.

Also, yes! I intend on making the Sins different races—mainly in physical appearance since they all just looked like humans in varying sizes. Most of their races stayed the same, but the idea goes a little something like this:

Meliodas: Demon (Goat since they're the ones depicated as devils)

Ban: Beast-man (Foxes since it fits him well)

Diane: Giant (More Earth-like attributes since giants have a connection to the Earth)

King: Faerie (More plant-like features since faeries are one with nature)

Escanor: Human (Not much of a difference here)

Merlin: Unknown (I'd have to think more for Merlin, but she'd disguise herself as a human)

Gowther: Doll (Doll-like features that poses as a demon)

[classicintp]

Can't stand it when professionals have objectively bad takes but they're legitmately professionals and you're just some guy. You recognize this, you acknowledge it, you even appreciate it in the appropriate context, but it's so fucking infuriating. Even if the professional is humble and concedes to your point, which is usually not going to happen to even the humble in general unless it's a correction directly being witnessed, you still have their diehard fans demonizing you because you proved their idol wrong (even if you weren't pompous or obnoxious about it, just the idea that their beloved expert was human and made an error drives them mad). So I white-knuckle it and say nothing and then log into Tumblr and blurt it out in the tags.

[actual-corpse]

.... I reeeeeaaallllyyyyyyy fucking hate the modern interpretations of the Deadly Sins....

They're fucking SINS!!! These are things you desire and do above all else to detriment...

The one that really fucking gets me is the modern interpretation of Gluttony... Miss me with that Feeder shit bro. Gluttony is hedonism in EXCESS it's taking and having more than you could possibly need and just hoarding it all (like wealthy people hoard money)

Which leads to Greed... This one is one of the most true today... It's just wanting more and more and more, and you're willing to do anything to anyone in order to get what you want, usually to the detriment of others. You use people as a means to an end in your pursuit of MORE! (Corporations exploiting workers leading us all to ruin.... Usually found with Gluttony... The difference is that Gluttony is consumption and Greed is collection)... This one also breaks a Commandment. Don't take shit that isn't yours.

Pride... It's what caused the Fall of Lucifer. He saw himself as so great... Great enough to BE God!! Pride isn't about being Gay... and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being proud of who you are... It's when you begin to think of yourself as God! (Like Kanye) You, above all else, should be worshipped! Another Commandment broken... Two, actually. No gods above Me and No false idols.

Wrath... Being so angry that you could actually fucking kill someone for real... like.... Idk what else to say. A Sin that leads you to break a Commandment. Pretty bad. Don't kill and don't harm others.

Lust... Pretty self-explanatory, I guess... Don't ho around. Don't sleep with other people's spouses. Don't cheat on your spouse. There's a Commandment for this one.

Envy... Detrimental jealousy. Don't covet your neighbors stuff. Appreciate what you have been given. This one has a Commandment. It can also lead to Greed, maybe... because you covet all these things, so you take.

Sloth. This one is nebulous. All of these are based on a decent amount of research as well as the old Theology that I had to really dig into to bring together an understanding. Sloth is much more than laziness... But I wouldn't lump in Executive Dysfunction... There's typically a shame that comes with ED like, you KNOW you need to do something and you WANT to, but you can't, so you're just frozen in your own mind... That's not really it. Sloth is a willing rejection of work. You refuse to do anything of worth, and you are unbothered. You aren't working to honor God. You aren't working to honor yourself. You're being dishonorable and wasting the Gift of Time by just doing nothing. This one also has a Commandment. Set aside a Day for Worship (the Sabbath)... Simply ignore the Sabbath. Do nothing.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[pinkaditty]

high libido jiro headcanon actually has me doing front flips omlll

this is actually a great time 2 share: im writing a long hc post about the ghouls and what i believe their sexual behaviors would be. this was partially inspired by Obey Me!, due to the sins attributing to certain characters manifesting in different ways. for example, both Solomon and Asmodeus have the sin of Lust, right? however, Asmodeus's sin manifests as physical lust, whereas Solomon's manifests as a lust for knowledge. I was thinking about how the ghouls essentially make pacts with demons, and demons typically are tied to a sin, right? i used the classic Seven Deadly Sins, and attributed a sin to each ghoul. im writing their sexual behaviors based off of those sins and how they manifest.

Sneak peek below (edited to be more concise, will be lengthier when officially posted, posting ONE character per house for this, please note that their blurbs are incomplete and i haven't posted all i have written):

I KNOW THIS IS LENGTHY BUT IT'S IMPORTANT TO READ TO UNDERSTAND:

becoming a ghoul, as stated in the story, significantly increases your physical ability, battle prowess, and gives you a “stigma”, or a pact-based power. ghouls outrank humans in strength, resilience, and!!! aggression. while some ghouls are better-natured than others, it goes without saying that they all experience an increase in aggressive behaviors. this should be obvious, but when making a pact with a demon (fictionally speaking!!), i imagine that making such pacts with beings that are avatars of “sin” increases the desire to sin and decreases aversion to it. i like to think that indulging in sin becomes not exactly “necessary”, but vital in the sense that they can live without it but it makes human-esque day-to-day living harder. eventually the "sin" cravings get out of control and they have to indulge in some sort of sin, namely the sin they are the most associated with, because they “devoured” the demons they made pacts with. for example, say jin made a pact with a demon that specialized in sloth. when his cravings get out of control, he needs to indulge in sleeping in all day (or doing something similar) at least once. note that, like in Obey Me!, the sins may manifest differently. for example, i believe both jin and ren made pacts with demons that are sloth-based, but jin’s sin manifests in sleeping while ren’s manifests in avoidance.

as far as sexual behavior goes, the sins the ghouls participate in affect their sexual behavior, i think, just as they affect their personality and societal behaviors and interactions. for example, sloth-based ghouls may prefer doing little work during sex or have a preference for low effort positions; whereas glutton-based ghouls may prefer doing as much as possible, in as many positions possible, for as long as possible, regardless of how physically strenuous.

one more hc: it isn’t impossible, but it is excruciatingly tough for a ghoul to avoid (for lack of a better word) a creampie, if you will, when not wearing a condom. they are ghouls after all, and as such, will experience more aggressive and carnal sexual behaviors. contraception drugs with immediate effects are sold at the campus store LMFAOAOAOOA

Tohma Ishibashi (Greed-based):

this guy is power-hungry i fear, and thank goodness his boss is a sloth! he can pick up the leadership role all he wants. 

this guy is greedy bc he wants power for the sake of having it. y’know that trope where it’s really the king’s advisor pulling the strings? yea.

he wants more. he wants more. he wants more. 

without indulging myself too terribly much… if jin, alan, or haku had you, tohma would covet you even more than he already would if you were still single.

haha what? nevermind.

anyways we all already know how he indulges in his greed. how does he do so sexually?

in simple terms he wants more of everything from you

you suck him off? okay do it again. 

you came on his tongue? okay do it again. 

you clench your walls tight around his cock to make him cum faster? okay, after he recovers, do it again.

there can never be too much. if anything, there’s never enough.

Leo Kurosagi (Envy-based):

not gonna lie i kinda flip-flopped between greed and envy for him

but ultimately i think envy suits him best

i think envy is what spurs most, if not all, of his harmful or demeaning actions towards others

he’s jealous! god forbid someone do something better than he does. they’re guaranteed to become his next target. 

and it’s always personal, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise

because of this, i think he’d be selfish during sex

he wants more pleasure than his partner out of something, and if he’s not being directly stimulated, he wants something beneficial to him out of it

that said, he’s easy (i say this with love)

so it’s never a problem to convince him to do what you want, so long as you pay him back with interest later

its all about the trade! but lowkey he’s happy to do anything you ask, so long as you pay attention to him specifically. keep your eyes on him while he’s giving you head and i promise he’ll cum untouched.

Haru Sagara (Glutton-based):

my gluttony king…<3

can’t explain it i just feel it

he’s not greedy bc greed is wanting something for the sake of having it, while gluttony is wanting something for the pleasure of consuming it

consider him at Rui’s bar. always drinking too much.

consider him in his dorm. always working too much.

but does he enjoy it? yea. absolutely. even when he gripes he never says he’d rather do something else. 

he does it because it gives him pleasure, regardless of what way, which is what makes me believe he’s glutton-based

i think this guy’s a masochist that likes ass im not gonna hold y’all.

he hardly pays his own pain any mind, and if anything, seems to enjoy putting himself in pain for attention (more gluttony hints, he loves consuming attention)

and has not only brought up being smacked on the ass himself, but has smacked someone’s ass in the story. 

he also just repeatedly brings up ass regardless of whether or not the conversation had anything to do with it. 

he’s a horny guy i fear. i dunno. i just feel it. why do you think he likes those rabbit-like animals so much? he’s basically one himself. sex-loving freak (/affectionate!!).

he likes to go more than one round, and probably recovers quicker than most. 

once you’ve gone one round, unless this was a quickie in the kitchen while he’s making dinner or even in his room while Ren watches Peekaboo, you can expect at least one more, and at most four more. 

he likes quickies actually, let me just put that out there

Romeo Lucci (Pride-based):

you would THINK greed, i know, i get it, but i think that greed is just part of his personality. he’s just like that. PRIDE is the sin of the demon he devoured.

he wants you shivering in his presence. it fuels his ego. 

i don’t think he cares for the money as much as he cares about his ego. i think the income the casino makes fuels his ego as the guy running it, so he always wants record profits to fuel his ego.

does that make sense? like, sure, the casino makes money and all, but for romeo, it’s more about ego than monetary gain.

why do you think he wants everybody calling him “fico” and brags about his high end products and complains when even a single thing doesn’t go his way?

its all ego, that’s why.

that said, boy i hope you’re prepared to feed his ego when you finally screw him.

has a major praise kink because of it

tell him how pretty he is, pounding into you! he’ll try not to smile like a drunken freak.

Haku Kusanagi (Lust-based):

MY FAVVVV OUUUUGHGHHGHGHHHHHHH MY FAVVVVVVVVV

haru makes a close 2nd place if u couldn’t tell. but this guy?? nnnmmmmffffghghhhh…

he seems so incredibly normal and im not saying he’s not but im saying he has a much stronger libido than others around him. like, incubus strength.

rather than lust for attention or knowledge or something else, he literally lusts for sex. he’s physical lust-based. 

to him, it kind of sucks. he’s not super fond of it. i mean, what kind of future priest gets boners this frequently? come on man. 

at the same time, though, he can’t say it’s… all bad. its exhilarating in a way, and he kind of likes being horny all the damn time. 

to be clear, it’s not ALL the time… just relatively often. 

he’s a little conflicted and overall has mixed feelings on it. 

anyone complimenting his looks, which happens often (as seen in Hotarubi’s story), can just get him hard randomly.

god forbid you compliment him, even once. he’s rock hard immediately. it’s embarrassing.

thankfully though, he does an excellent job at hiding it. being used to it has it’s perks.

he’s abnormally good at hiding his arousal though, like you wouldn’t be able to tell unless you pressed yourself directly against his crotch. 

when the cravings get bad, however… he can’t hide it anymore. thankfully though, a very long, very self-indulgent jack off session that lasts a day will stave it off. 

once he has you, though… ohohohohoooo boy. 

you end up spending more time at hotarubi than you do in the chapel

you’re always sleeping over. you’re always waking up with hickeys. you’re always doing the walk of shame the following morning.

Rui Mizuki (Glutton-based):

not going to hold you, this one should be obvious

this is rui we’re talking about. the touch-starved, flirty womanizer. what do you think he’s going to constantly want more of for the pleasure of consuming it?

hell, i like to believe that prior to his curse, he was a super touchy guy. he loved to hug people or perform small acts of intimacy, like ruffling someone’s hair or rubbing their arms or holding their hands. he loved that! and he’s been robbed of it.

he is a pure glutton for touch, i know it.

(we are going to act like theoretically you can fuck him)

this said: do not let your hands leave him during sex. don’t!

something about hands in particular. how dearly he has missed and craved the simplest form of contact: via hands

he will be desperate to touch you, all over, with his hands, and he wants you to feel the same

the sex will be bareback. sorry.

Jiro Kirisaki (Sloth-based):

high libido king. low energy king.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!

i theorize it’s not just his illness that tears him apart, it’s also his sin of sloth

since he doesn’t indulge in it much (and isn’t really allowed to), his body oftentimes shuts down involuntarily to preserve itself, yk?

this being said…

i like to think he has an abnormally high libido

but he can’t often contribute time to it, what with him being so busy with research he hardly showers daily AND him being sick AND him needing to indulge in sloth. he barely has the time to jack off, really.

during sex, he’s generally pretty malleable to whatever you want, granted he doesn’t have to work too hard. 

will he blow your back out? sure! will he start out slow thrusting until he’s close and then speed up the pace to blow your back out? yea.

he can only go one round sorry! you’re not getting much out of him. but, surprisingly, he recovers quicker than most. so if, after an hour or so, you wanted to go again…

this was supposed 2 be a sneak peek but i think i did too much lmfao???

lowkey i was embarrassed 2 post this. this is the rawest stage of my work. straight from the brain and pure headcanon at that.

if u want 2 be tagged when this post is completed, let me know!

questions, comments, or even concerns? let me know!! and, of course, do let me know if you enjoyed the sneak peek at all.

EDIT: why is my brainslop getting likes lol? anyways I edit this 2 tag: @cupcakesmoothie and @aayakashii I put content of ur favs in this post and forgot 2 tag y'all 🫡 shame on me

[thornsnvultures]

everything I want...

bucky barnes x plus size!avenger!reader

summary: being sent on a mission with bucky should be a piece of cake, but he's been acting strange around you for weeks now and you have no clue why.

cw: SMUT, fingering, oral sex (fem rec), shower sex, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, breath play, breeding kink, pregnancy/lactation kink (very little), possessive pervy bucky (he gets a bit feral in this one), solo masturbation mention (m), steve rogers meddling being a great wingman, angst with a happy ending, 4.4k words

a/n: my entry for the lovely @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event 🖤 Lust is the sin I chose for this fic and really it was an excuse to write filth lol I really hope you enjoy it! (and a quick thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep going, this fic wouldn't be here without you)

18+ MINORS DNI

-----

"You'll be with Barnes for this mission. Get in, get out, no big deal. We've done this before and it doesn't look like it'll be much of a problem."

Steve smiles politely at you as he hands you the briefing folder with all the info on where you'll be going and why.

"If it's so easy why doesn't Barnes go alone?"

You regret opening your mouth as soon as the words come out, choosing to bite your lip and open the folder instead of looking at Steve's patented Look of Disapproval.

"Be ready and on the jet in two hours," Steve sighs.

"Yes, Captain."

Steve marches out of the room, always moving like a man on a mission even when he's not on one. No, this one's just you and Bucky. The man who's been avoiding you like the plague the last few weeks. Someone who you thought was at least a friendly acquaintance, a close colleague maybe.

He went from joking with you on the jet and bringing you coffee when he got one for himself from the canteen, to not even looking at you. Like even daring to lift his head when you walked by would get him booted from the team and sent back to Hydra.

You wouldn't say the two of you were close, but being a part of this team, working with these people; it was hard making friends with people who didn't understand, who didn't live on the compound. Sure there were SHIELD agents you saw here and there at the gym or around medical or the offices. But you saw Bucky damn near every day since you joined the team. And now out of the blue he was pretending like you didn't exist.

It didn't help that you had a not so teeny tiny crush on the man either.

Maybe this mission was a peace offering, Steve's way of getting the two of you to rebuild, reconnect. For the betterment of the team...or whatever. The sooner you got it done, the sooner you could get home and get away; from Bucky and from your own hurt feelings.

-----

Steve was right, the mission didn't take long at all. You were able to get in and get out with the information you needed with little to no fuss. Barnes was the perfect partner to watch your six with the way he was avoiding you and it totally didn't bother you that he hadn't said a word to you outside of what was strictly necessary. Totally.

When you got back to the hotel, Bucky got on the phone with Steve right away, still avoiding. He did need to call Steve to debrief, but he wasn't even saying much, just standing there with the phone to his ear, grunting every now and then.

Frustrated, you sat on the edge of the bed and pulled of your boots. Bucky was facing the window, looking over the city. The hotel room was modest, but modest for Tony Stark's standards was still luxurious and you wanted to take advantage of the shower that was practically the size of your bedroom back home before you guys left. You weren't waiting for Bucky to shower first.

"I'm taking a shower," you called out. Bucky made a noise but didn't turn around. His back muscles shifted against the tight black tshirt he wore when he shrugged at something Steve must've said over the phone. You couldn't hear what they were discussing but you could sense Bucky's tension from across the room. From the way he looked you'd think the mission was a failure, that he was reporting back with terrible news even though you know everything went well. Your fingers itched to rub soothing circles over his back, ease some of that tension away...

Shower, think of the shower. He doesn't deserve it.

Once you figured out which knobs controlled which of the four differently angled shower heads, you hopped in. Your clothes lay discarded on the sink as steam filled the room. It was heavenly. You'd have to ask Tony about installing a system like this in your apartment.

As you soaped up with the hotel body wash, your mind started to wander to the same person it always seemed to these days.

Part of why Bucky's sudden rejection was so painful was how much you'd grown to care about him. It felt silly, having a crush like this at your grown ass age, but that's what it was. Your stomach fluttering, your heart racing. You hoped he didn't know just how much he affected you every time he brought you coffee or talked to you or sat near you in a meeting.

Maybe that's why he's been avoiding you, maybe he caught on and...he doesn't feel the same way. Maybe he's trying to put distance between the two of you so you'd get the hint.

God, how embarrassing. You stand there with your hands on your chest, over your breaking heart, and try to hold it together instead of blabbering like a baby.

Of course he doesn't want you. He's a super soldier, practically a God. And he's been through so much. He's not the type to want a...girlfriend right now, especially someone on the team.

Suds drip from your breasts as you try to finish your shower, bending over to scrub your feet while you try not to cry. It's silly, silly and stupid. But you were hoping that even if he didn't like you that way, that you wouldn't lose a friend too.

The thought of him never speaking to you again makes a tear finally fight its way free and you choke out a sob as it falls down your cheek. You hope the pounding water is enough to mask your choking sobs but who knows. Your emotions are all over the place. You can't seem to stop crying and you're angry. Angry at Steve for putting you on this mission, angry at your tears and angry that Bucky might be totally lost to you.

-----

Bucky can smell you.

He stands by the hotel window, holding the bridge of his nose like that'll make it stop. It never does. You're always there, invading his senses. Not just your body wash or the shampoo you use, or the heavy floral stuff the hotel has stocked up in the bathroom. He's trying not to imagine you using the individually wrapped bars of soap to lather yourself up not twenty feet away from him, but just like his hand on his nose, nothing helps.

No, even under all the artificial stuff, it's you that drives his senses wild. Something encoded in your goddamn DNA that fries his brain.

It took him a while to figure out what it was that made it hard to be around you. He could ignore it at first, when you first joined the team. He was still fresh himself, finally coming back to be a do-gooder with Steve and the team after talking time to heal and scrape away what was left of Hydra's programming. There wasn't time to acknowledge the way his dick twitched every time you entered the room. It wasn't appropriate. And Steve would kick his ass for chatting up the newcomer anyway.

But as the weeks and months drew on, as he found himself getting more comfortable, more used to a routine that always seemed to revolve around you, he couldn't ignore it.

He felt like a dog in heat. Most of the time he could manage it, but there were days out of every month where he'd scramble for the nearest bathroom, broom closet, empty meeting room, anything after being with you for even five minutes so he could relieve himself. Biting his lip until he bled to keep from cursing your name as he worked his fist over his cock until there was nothing left.

It was maddening, the shift in your scent. He craved you constantly, but those times when his needs couldn't be ignored he felt out of control. Like he was a snap of your fingers away from becoming him again.

It wasn't until you left your phone unattended in the compound gym that things started to make sense.

You had been chatting on the treadmill with a SHIELD agent. Bucky pretended to be focused on his workout while he listened in to your conversation. Your agent friend was talking about her and her partner trying for a baby so you recommended a period tracker app that you had been using for a while.

"It's great! After you've been using it for a few months it can predict when you'll be ovulating for max baby making potential."

Your friend laughed at the saucy tone in your voice, Bucky nearly dropped the massive dumbell he was curling on his foot. Images of you, breasts heavy and leaking, swollen and pregnant with his child was all he could see. And fuck him, he wanted it, needed it, craved it.

So when your friend was gone and you hopped off the treadmill momentarily in search of your water bottle, leaving your phone behind, Bucky took his chance to sneak a quick look.

It was all right there. He remembers the last day he could smell you so strongly he could barely stand it. He almost got caught in the gym showers, slamming a crack into the tile wall when he came so hard his vision went black with the scent of you burned in his brain. He didn't see you for two days after that but when he did there was a coppery edge to your scent. And the app on your phone proved it.

You were ovulating. Your body was practically screaming for him, demanding that he do what he was made to do and breed your sweet cunt. His need to rut into you, to bury himself deep and pump you full of his cum over and over, no matter how long it took until it sticks, finally made sense.

Bucky already knew he cared for you, but he didn't want to scare you, overwhelm you. He wanted to do right by you, take you on dates, show you how special you are to him. But this feral need to claim you wasn't stopping any time soon either. Maybe, he thought, he should give you some space. Give whatever this feeling was done distance and it would calm down. Then...then he could tell you how he felt. He needed to clear your scent from his mind before he was trapped in a constant state of relieving himself by his own hand month after month, wasting what belonged to you in tissues and shower drains.

-----

So he stayed away, for an entire month at that, before Steve got sick of his shit excuses and put the two of you on this mission together.

"Whatever's going on with you two, you need to work it out. We're not in forth grade any more, Buck, you can't pretend a girl has cooties just cause you feel weird about liking her."

Bucky tensed as he heard her boots fall to the floor behind him.

"I don't-"

"Don't bullshit me, Bucky."

"Language," Bucky's lip quirked, almost a smile.

"I'm taking a shower," you called from the other side of the room. Bucky grunted, not trusting himself to say anything more. He could feel your eyes on him.

"Just talk to her. I know what you're gonna say, she deserves better than a jerk like you. But she doesn't deserve the cold shoulder."

Bucky shrugged, forgetting that Steve couldn't see him. He heard the bathroom door click shut and his forehead dropped against the window.

"You don't get it, Steve. She's different. I can't control myself around her. I'm hanging on by a thread here."

Steve sighs and says something else but Bucky barely hears it over the sound of running water and your clothes hitting the floor. 

"Bucky, you there?"

Shit.

"Sorry, I should...I gotta go."

"She likes you too, idiot." A part of him knew but hearing it out loud felt surreal. "I got the same senses you do. Better even," Bucky shakes his head at Steve's teasing, "I can hear her pulse pick up when she looks at you, how her breathing changes. How she sits close to you, touches you whenever she can."

Bucky shivers thinking of your hands on him, pulling him into your shower with you, letting him get close enough to touch you the way he's dying to touch you.

"And you know I can smell how wet she gets when y-"

"Watch it, Rogers," Bucky snaps with a growl in his throat.

"Then get your shit together, Barnes! She wants you too, you're not gonna scare her off."

Bucky wants to tell Steve he doesn't have any idea what he's talking about when he hears what sounds like crying coming from the bathroom. 

"Alright, if you're done playing matchmaker I gotta go."

Bucky hangs up before Steve can say another word and tosses his phone on the bed. Before he can think better of it his boots are off and he's pulling his shirt up and over his head. His heart is being torn to shreds with every sob that shudders through thin walls and he has the sinking feeling that it's all his fault.

-----

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but you feel the rush of cool air hitting your back. Before you can wipe away your tears and yell at Bucky for coming in before you were finished, he's right there. His hands grip your waist and turn you around.

"Bucky.

"Shh, I've got you."

He pulls you in, crushing you to his bare chest in a fierce hug. You don't know what's happening or why but he's here. Finally he's here and you're not gonna do a thing to stop it.

Your face is still wet with tears when he kisses you, consumes you, more like. His lips, teeth, tongue invading your mouth and begging you to open up and let him take all of you. You're shaking when he lets you go long enough to breathe, but his hands don't let you go, only wrapping around tighter and lifting you up against his broad chest when he feels your legs go weak.

It's everything you've every dreamed of, there's no way it's real. He's naked for fuck's sake. You can see his discarded jeans on the floor by the door, feel the evidence of his nudity pressing long and thick against your thigh.

His lips work down the length of your neck, down your chest, to suck a puckered, soapy nipple into his mouth. He's looking up at you with those murky blue eyes and your mind goes blank. You don't care why he chose now of all times to see you, to touch you, as long as he doesn't stop, as long as he keeps sucking and licking and biting you just like that. And you really must've hit your head because, fuck, you're already this close to coming and that's never happened before.

Your thighs press together, searching for any kind of friction, as you tug on Bucky's hair. When you pull, his eyes roll back. He groans, the noise shooting straight to your pussy.

Still holding you up with one hand, Bucky bullies your thighs apart with the other, spreading you open and on your tip toes so he can slide his fingers over your cunt. Two thick digits slip between your folds and shove into your cunt. You gasp, writhing around his fingers. It's too much, you feel so fucking full you can barely stand it. But Bucky keeps working his fingers, scissoring them, spreading them deep as he pumps them in and out. Your nails scrape against his skin, scrambling across his broad shoulders to find purchase as he brings you careening fast over the edge until you're plummeting, screaming his name as you spasm around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers away and you watch, dazed and panting as he sucks them clean. The way he moans around his fingers nearly has you coming again.

"Bucky, please," you don't know what you're asking for but you don't care. You'll gladly take anything he gives you.

"Need more," he groans, his eyes glazed. "Can I have more, angel?"

You're nodding wildly as he sits you down on the shower bench. Hot water rains down on his back and he's lifting your feet up on the bench so he can keep you spread wide open. His big hands clamp down on your thighs and it would be almost painful if you weren't distracted by the way his mouth latched onto your clit.

"Fuck! Bucky, oh my god," there wasn't any stopping your rambling, begging, pleading. It was too much, too good. Bucky's moans vibrated to your core. He feasted on you like you were his last meal, licking every drop of your juices, sucking each fold before fucking into you with his tongue.

You could think, talk, breathe. All you knew was Bucky's touch as he made you come again. Your legs shook and your back arched and it went on for what felt like forever, this mind blowing pleasure that you almost didn't feel worthy of. That he looked up at you as he cleaned you up with his tongue like you were everything to him in this moment made your eyes well up again for being so emotional.

A look of worry wrinkles Bucky's brow. 

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

With a shaky hand you brushed back an errant hair from his forehead and caressed his cheek. "No, I'm fine. Sorry, I just get emotional like this before, y'know..." You didn't want say it, especially not to a guy you liked right after he ate you out. It was hard to look at him still sitting there between your legs, your face feeling hotter by the second.

"You mean before your period?"

You sputtered and tried to close your legs. No way, there's no way you're talking about your period with your dream man with your legs spread open like he's your gyno.

"Don't hide from me," Bucky growled. You watched, your jaw dropping, as he nuzzled his nose into your mound at the apex of your sex and breathed in deep, filling his lungs with your scent.

"How did you know?"

"Your phone, you left it open at the gym." Bucky doesn't stop kissing your mound, your belly. It's like he's a cat and you're the catnip. "And I can smell it on you. Your scent changes, gets...deeper somehow. Like you're calling to me."

Suddenly he's lifting you up and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist with a shout of surprise. Bucky grabs one of the giant hotel towels on his way out of the bathroom, carrying you like it's nothing. It is for him, but it's jarring. You always forget that he's not just some guy. Like the fact that his enhanced senses don't just include hearing and sight. Of fucking course he can scent you like a bloodhound.

Bucky lays out the big, fluffy towel and drops you on it, watching with hunger in his eyes as you jiggle when your body bounces on the mattress. You want to cover yourself with your arms and squeeze your legs shut, but you hear his voice in your head. 

"Don't hide from me."

Bucky crawls on top of you, his thick arms and broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. It's just him and you and this bed. And between you his cock pushes thick and needy against your weeping cunt. His hips twitch as he kisses you, lightly rubbing the thick vein running down his cock through your folds.

"Please, Bucky," you whine against his lips.

His forehead rests against yours briefly before he sits back on his heels. Bucky's heavy-lidded gaze is hungry, staring at the way your cream coats his cock.

"Please don't tease me, Bucky," your plea comes out shaky and unsure. "I can't take it."

Bucky caresses your cheek, tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb.

"If you let me in, I don't think I'll ever leave."

Your brows pinch, your heart hammers away in your throat. You get the feeling he doesn't just mean in the physical sense.

"I don't want you to leave."

Bucky's eyes shut and his jaw clenches and you reach for him. To take his face in your hands so you can pull him close and look into those beautiful blue eyes when he finally thrusts inside. And he lets you.

You hold him in your hands as his whole body shakes. You've never felt so full, so complete, but you need more. If only he'd move, you need him to move.

"Bucky-"

The growl that explodes from deep in Bucky's chest is the only warning you get before he pulls back, nearly all the way out, and slams back in. The force of it shoves the air from your lungs and you can scarcely catch your breath before he does it again and again, picking up pace until he's hammering into you, pounding you into the mattress. His groin grinds against your pelvis with every deep thrust, the thatch of hair there teasing your clit.

Bucky takes you by the throat, tenderly at first, saying, "Look at me. Don't look away, beautiful, keep those eyes open."

It's a struggle but those blue eyes ground you as your mind tries to float away. You don't know what sounds you're making, what you're even saying but Bucky shushes you, tells you he's got you, you're his.

"My pussy. Mine to fill up, right, beautiful? All mine."

You nod your head as best you can with his fingers on your jaw, babbling nonsense. He doesn't slow or stop, that super-soldier stamina helping him keep a brutal pace.

Bucky grabs your right thigh, turning it over so it's on top of your left and holding it there with the hand not on your throat. Your eyes roll back at the way the new position has him grinding against your inner walls. You thought you felt full before, but this is something else entirely.

Your hands fly up to Bucky's forearm, desperate for a part of him to hold on to as he looms over you, taking what belongs to him. His hand on the meat of your thigh tightens as he grunts and groans and you grip at the hand on your throat, silently begging for his gentle hold to tighten too.

His eyes soften, as he shifts his hand and squeezes. This man could end you right here, right now, with a twitch of his finger but he's looking at you like you're delicate, so fucking delicate and it doesn't make any sense. Your brain is fried, everything feels like too much and just right at the same time. Like you're meant to be here under him, full of him, taking everything he gives you.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Your legs shake under his grip and you feel yourself implode. His words ricochet around your head as you come, coating his cock, and the sheets, with your release.

Bucky's grip on your throat loosens and he collapses on top of you, capturing your lips with his, cradling his arms around you. His full weight on top of your twisted, bent body is a welcome pressure. You never want him to leave.

"Mine," he growls again. "Gotta fill you up, breed this sweet little cunt so everyone knows you're mine. I can't hold back anymore. Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours, Bucky," you cry, "all yours. Only yours."

Bucky lifts your right leg up over his shoulder, spreading you wide open. He brings his thick fingers down on your messy cunt with a wet slap and you cry out, shaking as you come again.

"That's it, beautiful. Milk me fucking dry."

Bucky's hips stutter and go still and he shouts, spilling inside you, filling you to the brim.

Bucky lets your leg fall from his shoulder and collapses on top of you. Before he can suffocate you, not that you'd mind, he rolls the two of you onto your side and holds you tight to his chest. You can feel his release slipping out, oozing down your thigh. There's so much, you don't even want to think about the clean up. Not now, not when it's so much easier to think about how good it feels to be here, in his arms.

"You're mine," Bucky whispers into your hair, taking a heavy breath, filling his lungs with your scent. 

"All yours," you smile, your cheek pressing against his solid chest.

"I mean it. Not just here, not just tonight. I want to make you mine, angel."

Bucky sounds so serious it almost worries you. You turn your head where it rests on his bicep, trying to not get distracted by how big it is. Those blue eyes of his are soft but searching your face, like he needs you to understand, to know that he means it.

"I want that, Bucky. I want it so bad."

Your voice is quiet but you know he can hear you loud and clear, can hear the desperation in his voice mirrored back in yours.

His big hands roam your body, caressing your breast, your hips, like he wants to touch you everywhere all at once. You help him settle on a place by lifting your leg and curling it over his hip. You can see it on Bucky's face, how much he needs you. The way your combined scents make his nostrils flare, the tightening of his jaw. His fingers leave your hip and delve between the juncture of your thighs, a groan rumbling through his chest.

"Bucky," you pant as his fingers play in the mess he made, slipping in and out of your cunt.

He kisses your forehead, continuing to work you open once again.

"Need to have you again, angel." Bucky doesn't wait for you to respond before he's guiding himself in til you're full to bursting. "Gotta keep you stuffed full, baby."

You shudder at his words, his hands roaming your body.

"I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

---

--

-

🖤

[justwinginglife]

Hello!! I absolutely love all your works and always look forward to them! I was wondering if you could write a story where Soshiro is tasked with overseeing y/n, who has been placed under his care as a punishment for reckless behavior in another division.

At first, y/n appears composed and polite when they meet, though sometimes a bit detached. However, on the battlefield, she reveals a completely different side—crazy obsessive over research, (just like Hange from Attack on Titan or Merlin from The Seven Deadly Sins.) She gets excited at any chance to learn something new, eagerly diving into every opportunity.

Y/n also has a sadistic side, often prolonging fights and tormenting her targets to satisfy her curiosity and ambition, showing little empathy towards the Kaiju she encounters. (And maybe kinda found hot out on the battlefield 😗 she can be gun or blade user, either one is fine!)

AHH thank you so much for the support!

Red Alert

Hoshina was shocked that you were here. 

He’d been told that you were reckless, rambunctious, crazy incarnate, a hellspawn, all manner of devious and disastrous. He’d been told he’d have his hands full with you, that any semblance of sanity he had would be ripped to shreds. He’d been told to expect the worst and then double it. 

So imagine his surprise when you showed up at his doorstep, smiling sweetly, so sweet he could almost taste the sugar dripping from your lips, looking prim and proper, salute at the ready, as you patiently awaited his orders. He looked at the transfer orders again, then back at you, then back at the orders. You couldn’t possibly be the devil they were describing. 

“Vice Captain, sir, is everything alright?” You spoke in a mild mannered tone and he could hardly believe his ears. 

He scratched his head. Then he held up the paper in his hands. “This is you, right?”

You nodded. “Yes sir, I’m your new transfer, pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you, Vice Captain, sir.” Respect practically oozed from your every word.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling to himself, “Is the Second Division seriously just full of liars and gossips or what?” Then he ushered you inside the base and began taking you for a tour. 

He watched you curiously as he walked alongside you, but you never gave any indication that you were as wild as the rumors said. Eventually he began to relax. 

If he was honest with himself, he actually enjoyed your company. You laughed at his jokes, regarded him with high esteem (not everyone did), and seemed like a genuinely good person. You even made a big deal out of requesting a duel with him, stroking his ego by making him think it was a great honor to be trained by him. He was astounded to think anyone disliked you.

He’d been told that your transfer to the Third Division was your punishment for insubordination and disorderly conduct, but he thought that the way you conducted yourself was just fine. Was more than fine. He thought you were the perfect picture of an exemplary soldier and an exemplary person. 

And when he began overseeing your training, he was impressed even further by the grace and the skill you possessed. The ease with which you fought made him eager to stand beside you on the battlefield, so he assigned you to the front lines on your very first mission with the Third Division. His eagerness was his downfall. 

He was sure you’d make quick work of the Yoju before joining his takedown of the Honju, but you toyed with every single one, taking great pleasure in their torment. You were like a kid on Christmas, if that kid was maniacal and clinically insane. He found it impossible to ever erase the image of you smiling sinisterly, your eyes ablaze with a devilish gleam, cackling hysterically, as you slaughtered the Kaiju, and then kept slaughtering them even after they’d gone to their graves. The other soldiers around you shrunk back, wincing, as you massacred the Kaiju corpses, reveling in the desecration of their bloodied remains, even going so far as to giddily collect samples for further research. You found this gory landscape a playground and you were more than happy to play. You took such pleasure from demolishing these demons, from splattering their organs on the pavement, from grinding their matter into grime, that it was almost orgasmic. 

Hoshina was more than embarrassed to realize that the sight of you slaying each monster with such hunger and tenacity, with such joy and thrill, turned him on. He had been instructed to enforce punishment upon you, but he found himself wondering what your punishment on him would feel like. Would he find himself in whatever heaven you were enjoying right now? He shivered at the titillating thoughts that had begun to gnaw at his brain. 

When you finally turned your sights to the Honju and absolutely ravaged it, wreaking nothing less than total havoc and mayhem on its unsuspecting form, Hoshina had to actively stop himself from licking his lips. Was it wrong if he promoted you so soon?

He found you decently pleasant upon first meeting you, but now he was finding you increasingly more enticing with every passing minute. He wondered what it would be like to be ravaged by you and for a moment he envied the Honju. 

Of course, the Vice Captain in him knew that eventually you could grow to become a problem, but right now the Vice Captain was off duty. Right now, he was just Soshiro Hoshina, he was just a simple man. And as a man, he was defenseless against his urges. He was finding himself to be more and more like you, more unabashed and reckless, as he suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to take you right here, among these corpses, amidst the raging battle. Somehow he felt that you wouldn’t care if you were laid bare in the middle of the city, officers and citizens alike gaping, as they watched his lust devour you whole. 

But the obscenities quickly evaporated from his mind the moment he saw you were hurt. It was just a cut on the arm, nothing to be too concerned about; you hadn’t even noticed it yourself, as you were still riding out the high. But Hoshina snapped to attention. He raced to your side with bandages and alcohol to clean the wound. You were honestly shocked when he started attending to an injury you weren’t aware of, but his genuine kindness grounded you, brought you back to the present moment. And presently, you were touched. No one had ever cared about you enough to tend to you like this, no one had ever looked past your derangement long enough to care.

When you’d been reassigned, you’d been prepared to defend yourself, been prepared to go out kicking and screaming, clawing and biting. You were prepared for people to cross to the opposite end of the hallway or even just turn around and go the other way when they saw you coming. You were prepared for whispers and rumors, for malice and misintent. You were resigned to the fact that no one could meet your gaze. 

But Hoshina was looking right at you. He stayed right by your side through your whole frenzy, and he never faltered, and he never fumbled. He kept pace, and even had the audacity to be entertained by your crazy. Was he crazy? 

You wanted to ask him but you didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

He finally broke the silence. “You know, I could always ask the cleanup crew to save some organs for you. For research purposes.”

Your eyes lit up but you were still wary, still unwilling to let yourself dream.

“And I could maybe see about getting you a lab somewhere.” He continued.

The more he talked, the more you wanted to kiss him. 

“I just need you to focus on taking down the Kaiju as quickly as you can so we don’t risk any more lives and then I can get you anything and everything you want afterwards, understood?”

You nodded eagerly. 

He smiled.

Your heart melted.

“You can talk, you know. I won’t hold anything against you.”

You bit your lip. “I know, Vice Captain, sir. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer. I’ll… I’ll do my best. For you. Sir.”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “You know you can just call me Hoshina. You don’t have to be so formal all the time.”

“Of course, Vice Captain, sir. I will try my best to not be so formal, sir.”

He laughed again. “Work in progress, huh? I’m okay with that.”

You blushed. You weren’t sure how to process whatever mangled mess of emotions you were feeling right now and you felt pathetic that blushing was what you were resigned to at the present moment. 

Whenever you met with Death, your blades clashing with his scythe, you met him with no fear. You welcomed Death. You fed him souls, sent demons to his door, swords in hand. You weren’t afraid to die on the battlefield, Death was an old friend. But whatever monstrosity you were now feeling, that, you were afraid of. That was a whole different beast. 

As you gazed into Hoshina’s eyes, you felt the red alert go off in your mind. 

Danger.

Proceed with caution.

But you fell in love with him anyway, the way you did everything else- with reckless abandon. 

[theshiftingwitch]

The 7 deadly sins

Using emotions to manifest your desires

Disclaimer: the following statements are merely for entertainment purposes. You do not have to follow any of the advice mentioned in this post. It may contain toxic tips and tricks.

No matter how long you've been a part of the law of assumption community, you must have , at one point, heard the statement: " Feelings do not manifest." I am by no means writing this today to negate that statement because it is simply true. I'm only here to suggest a different approach.

Throughout history, and thanks to the rise of certain religions and schools of thought, feelings and emotions have been separated into two categories: positive and negative. Negative emotions then became equal to sins, blamed for humanity's downfall and accused of being the root of all evil.

Spirituality, on the other hand, refrains from such a divide. All feelings are valid and all emotions are part of the human experience. No feeling is bad or negative or "sinful" and every emotion deserves to be felt and honored as a part of life.

So, what does that have to do with manifestation?

Let's break it down:

Law of assumption decrees that your thoughts create your reality, meaning than in order to get what you desire, you need to focus on your assumptions. But does that mean you have to repress all of your feelings, turn yourself into an emotionless robot and live your life through a calculating, unfeeling lense?

Absolutely not. As I have previously stated, emotions are an integral part of the human experience, and they demand to be felt if you were to stand a chance of a healthy life. And because there is no such thing as a negative emotion, here is how to integrate the seven deadly sins into your manifestation routine.

Pride: arguably one of the most infamous sins, pride is associated with the fall of the Great. Cautionary tales about humility are always spread around campfires, urging people to never let their pride get the best of them lest they fall and lose everything they have. But that's not what we're doing today, in order to manifest your wildest dreams, your pride must be alive and thriving. Associate it with a strong self-concept, simply refuse to bow down to anyone or anything, and never see yourself as less than anybody else. You are the creator of your reality, the god that commands everything around you. Your power is your own to use however you please and your reality must and will bend to your desires. Why would you let anyone tell you what you can and can't have in your own reality? Why would you put anyone above yourself? This is your world, and everyone else is just living in it. A healthy pride will allow you to understand your true power, and to refuse to settle for less than what you deserve.

Lust: my favorite "sin" when it comes to getting everything you've ever wanted. If your desire is to get the attention, admiration, and worship of everyone you have ever met, if you crave to have men fall at your feet, if you want to be so famous everyone on the planet knows your name, you need to use people's lust against them. Humans are predictable creatures, men especially so, so if your desire is to become an icon and to have an army of fans ready to throw their lives on the line for you, lust is your best friend. We see it in media everyday, with big names utilizing subtle yet powerful techniques to make everyone fall for them. Dress, act, speak, walk, and stand like the Goddess (or god) that you are. Invite that alluring siren energy into your life, speak like you have honey on your tongue and walk into a room like you own the place. Become an icon and watch as everyone around you becomes obsessed with pleasing you. (You do not have to engage in sexual acts if you're not comfortable with that. Even the promise of sex will turn them into clay.)

Greed: always looked down upon, greed is considered the worst human trait of all times. You cannot want too much, you cannot ask for too much, you have to settle for what you have and be grateful. Why? Why can't you want more? Why can't you know that you deserve better and never settle for anything less than exactly what you want and so much more? The world is yours and settling for anything less is pathetic. What you want is yours right now, so why should you be happy with bread crumbs when you can have the entire cake? You can always have more, you can always get bigger and better things. Do not drive yourself crazy, of course, use your discernment but never settle. Resources are infinite, money never ends, and everything you want already exists. If more makes you happy, then go get it!

Wrath: I used to say that if I were one of the seven deadly sins, I would be wrath. Everyone always made it seem that anger was one of the worst human emotions ever and that it never ends well for the angry person. But I'm here to tell you now that that was just an excuse to keep you from standing up to the people who hurt you. Because how come everyone can do whatever they want to do to you but the second you get angry and fight back you're the bad guy? Use your anger to manifest your desires. If your current reality is not up to your standards, if your 3D is not showing you exactly what you want, be angry about it. Use rampaging and ranting and venting and let it all out and demand to be heard because you are the universe. There is no need to suppress your wrath and drown yourself in fake gratitude and humility in order to get what you deserve. If you're angry then feel angry, no one can take your anger away from you except for you and how do you do that? by getting everything you've ever wanted.

Gluttony: I'm guessing that you can already tell what I'm about to say. Gluttony is defined as this insatiable need for overconsumption and over indulgence to the point of waste. You need to be a glutton for your desires. And no, I'm not saying over-consume tips and tricks here on LOA Tumblr, you already have enough knowledge under your belt to manifest everything you desire. I am saying however, that when you're complaining about not having what you want you are a glutton for despair and misery. Turn that around and use this to your advantage. Become a glutton for power. You have the key to the universe in your hands, are you going to throw it away and continue wondering why you don't have everything you want, or are you going to use it and manifest your wildest dreams?

Envy: nobody deserves it more than you.

If you see someone else living the life you want, having everything you've ever desired before, going out with your SP, or even having your dream job, you need to remind yourself that it does not mean you do not deserve any of those things. Jealousy is a perfectly human emotion and wanting what other people have is not an indication of failure. You can have all of those things and more, so use your jealousy to fuel you. Of course, that does not mean go out and try to ruin everybody else's life, it means go inward and focus on what you want so you can have it. You sp is yours, that job is yours, that degree is yours... you deserve everything and more and just because someone else has it right now doesn't mean you're never going to get it.

Sloth: you do not have to lift a finger to get everything you've ever wanted. Yes, you can indeed sit pretty and watch as everything comes to you. All you have to do is control your thoughts, be stubborn about what you deserve, and make your affirmations the dominant thought process in your brain. You do not need to take action, you do not need to get out of your way to get something, you do not need to chase anything. You can just relax, enjoy life, and expect to be handed everything on a silver platter.

This was such a fun post! I hope you enjoyed reading it, and remember, this is only for your enjoyment 😉

You do not need to take any of this advice if it doesn't resonate with you or if it goes against your beliefs, feel free to disregard this whole thing. This is not a manual for manifestation, it is simply something I cooked up in my brain because I was feeling a little toxic.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Not Just Sundays

Prompt: Sloth | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin Trying to Make it On the Road, Steve Back Home in Hawkins, Failing at Managing the Distance, Good Uncle Wayne, A Touch of Angst w/a Happy Ending

Another night, another show, and another missed phone call that he promised he'd make over a week ago. Fuck. Time is just slipping away from him. From the studio to gigs to party after party. They've really got a good thing going, and slowing down right now just isn't an option. Once the ball is rolling, you gotta keep it going. Steve will understand. Steve always understands.

He's good like that.

Eddie knows Steve wants the band to make it. Succeed. Even if that means Steve's been getting a smaller slice of Eddie's attention right now. It won't always be like this, Eddie's sure, so for right now he's gonna strike while the iron is hot.

He'll call Steve tomorrow. For sure.

A week later, there's a note waiting at the front desk of the next hotel. An order to call home. Eddie looks at his watch, but doesn't really have time to call Wayne right now. 

"Make time," Jeff says, as if Eddie had said that out loud for everyone to hear. He didn't, he doesn't think, Jeff just knows him that well.

"Fine," Eddie says, and drags his ass off to one of the phone booths in the lobby. It's cheaper than using the room phone, he's sure.

Wayne picks up after three rings.

"I had a boy here last night, pretty upset after not hearing from you in sixteen days," Wayne drawls by way of greeting. It's a condemnation, and Eddie feels it. If he hasn't talked to Steve in sixteen days, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's called Wayne. 

Longer. Much longer.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"I'd say," Wayne answers.

"I'm just busy," Eddie says, and he knows it's an excuse. He could make time, he just hasn't prioritized it. Like getting out of Hawkins just spread his wings a little too far.

Wayne sighs. 

"What will it profit anyone, if they were to gain the whole world, but lose their own soul?” Wayne quotes, and Eddie leans his head against the glass.

"Are you proselytizing to me again, old man?" Wayne grew up with religion in a way that Eddie did not, and therefore can pull verses and lessons out of his coveralls pocket at any time. It's annoying.

Wayne sighs, "No. I'm not. Not really. But what good will it be to you, boy, if you make it to the top, and then take a look around, only to realize you're all by yourself?"

He's not all by himself. He's got Gareth and Jeff and Goodie. 

But he knows what Wayne means. Will the fame be worth it, if he loses Steve in the process? No. No way, and he knows that. He does. It's just been hard to juggle both right now.

"I'll call him," Eddie promises.

"It's not that," Wayne says, as if that wasn't the reason for his whole call.

"It's not?"

"Think long and hard, Ed. If you don't have space for him right now, if you don't want to make space, it's okay."

And Eddie starts to argue.

"Eddie. It's okay. But don't string him along while he waits back home. It's not right."

"What do you-"

"Shit or get off the pot, kid."

And Eddie laughs. They've moved from a sermon to Midwestern idioms. Great.

But he knows Wayne is right. 

Goddammit.

He calls Steve next, and he's not home. Which, that serves Eddie right. He doesn't leave a message, feels that's too easy. Steve will hear it, forgive him, and Eddie thinks he deserves to get a little bit of his anger. A little bit of his hurt.

They have a four-night break. He could run home. It's not that far. See Steve. See Wayne. Put out the fires he's caused.

Yeah. He's doing that.

Eddie throws some clothes in his duffle, as the other three watch him pack.

"And you'll be back by Thursday?" Jeff asks, and Eddie swears he will be. He knows the schedule. 

"Okay then," Jeff says, tossing the keys onto the bedspread, "go apologize."

Eddie will grovel, will beg if that's what it takes.

It was a long drive to think. The house is dark. He pulls out his keys and lets himself inside. It's kind of a mess, which is so unlike Steve. There are dishes piled into one side of the sink, and laundry sitting in baskets waiting to be folded.

Maybe he's just been busy at work. Picking up extra shifts or something.

Eddie dumps his bag in the bedroom, and no Steve there either. 

He needs something to do to keep his idle hands busy, and he starts the dishes. Folds the laundry, then moves on to running the sweeper. 

It's after ten, and still no Steve. Maybe he's staying at Robin's. It's too late to call her, she'll either be pissed or worried about where Steve is, so Eddie can't do anything except wait and worry that maybe he's too late.

Then a key's sliding into the lock, jiggling the handle, door swinging open, just before eleven. Eddie's been sitting on the couch in the dark.

And he doesn't mean to, but he scares the shit out of Steve.

"Jesus Christ, fucking hell," Steve snaps, clutching his hand to his chest like he's decades older than his years. Like he's terrified.

Well, that's probably fair. He spent his teenage years being chased by monsters.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just me," Eddie reassures, holding out his hands as if to prove that he's harmless.

He's not harmless.

He's hurt Steve, and that's a bitter fucking pill to swallow.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks as he takes a couple big steps forward, barreling into Eddie's chest. He smells like sweat and, well, Steve. 

Eddie hugs him back, but feels like shit that Steve has so easily opened his arms, and heart, after Eddie's been so careless with him.

"Everything okay?" Steve asks, face presses into Eddie's neck.

"Yes, yes, I just missed you and I've been pretty shitty about showing that," Eddie explains, hugging him as tight as he can.

"Missed you, too," Steve says, "I'm glad you're home."

Eddie wants to know where he was, wants to know how he's passing the time. But isn't sure if he should barrel in and start demanding to know things. He's the one that hasn't been around, hasn't been reaching out, he probably doesn't get to start grilling Steve.

"I probably stink," Steve says, trying to take a step back, but Eddie won't allow it and just hugs him tighter.

"Love it, wouldn't change a thing," Eddie teases and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's chest.

He really wouldn't change a thing.

"Sunday night basketball," Steve offers, as if that's an explanation. 

"Yes, of course, that," Eddie says, teasing him a little more, and Steve giggles, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck.

"Mr. Clarke unlocks the gym. And the dads and old men in town get together and play basketball at the gym," Steve says, fingers digging into Steve's back.

Eddie laughs, "Mr. Clarke plays basketball?"

"Not well," Steve admits, biting him, just a gentle nip, and fuck Eddie's missed him. "But good isn't a requirement. Just gotta be outta high school and willing to show up."

Eddie should know this. Should know what Steve does every night, not just Sundays. 

"I'm sorry I've been scarce," Eddie apologizes, "I've been an asshole."

"You've been busy," Steve counters, "but I wouldn't mind hearing from you more often. Even if it's just for a few minutes."

"I'll do better," Eddie promises, and hopes that's true. Steve deserves for him to do better. Eddie wants to do better for him, for them, for their whole future, for their present.

Where he's a touring musician, for real, and Steve is playing basketball with Mr. Clarke for fun.

Eddie wants it all with Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Sloth was interesting to approach! Of course, at first I was like, sloth = lazy. Then I read this:

"Sloth becomes a sin when it slows down and even brings to a halt the energy we must expend in using the means to salvation."

Obviously, I'm twisting the religious take here, but Steve's his salvation, and he can't neglect expending his energy to love him.

[bunji-enthusiast]

I’m literally obsessed with your Seven Deadly Sins posts ✨🥺😭

If you feel comfortable doing so, could you please write headcanons for Ban and Escanor with a short girlfriend?

I am happy to write this for you, thank you for giving me a chance mystery friend ♥︎

Ban

This sneaky bastard loves to lift you up in the air, (at times deemed appropriate) He without a doubt is relentless in teasing your height. Though if you are uncomfortable with him lifting you or his teasing, he puts a stop to it very quickly, its more toned down after that.

He is absolutely in love with you regardless, to him, he simply cannot stop finding the most adorable things about you physically or mentally. Ban absolutely adores you!

Heaven forbid anyone injures his love, they simply would not walk away with their life or unscathed. Ban is personally firm in protecting the ones he truly cares about, you included, doesn't matter if you may be the ruler of the heavens or the weakest of ants. He's a loveable greedy bastard, and he certainly takes it in stride every time.

Mischievous scheming as hell without a doubt, but regardless he has a very personal private side. Ban loves to cuddle you, trap you within his huge frame, makes him feel somewhat better in the moment - though he plays it off quite easily. It helps him feel like he can protect you from anything, he cares about you a lot. As he often lacks confidence in his power, in spite of the fact he's repeatedly displayed such power with levels of ferocity one normally can't do.

He doesn't really feel bothered with your height, if you feel insecure in relation to your height, he reassures you real quick. Not his love, Ban wishes you didn't have such thoughts about yourself. Though, it will come unfortunately and Ban knows he can just simply be there for you in any point of the way.

Ban simply finds your height adorable, sometimes nicknaming you; short-stack, stool, resting place and so on. He even feels lucky to be taller at times, it gives way to comedic gold!

Escanor

He really doesn't pay any mind to your height, always focusing about other aspects of you. Escanor tends to be very romantic towards his own partner, so you can expect to presented with heart-warming poems and roses.

With Escanor, the rest of the sins had practically joked that you were now deemed untouchable since the two of you were officially together in every sense of the word (except for marriage). Many times over however, he had proved this statement true, stepping in and protecting you when you call for his help.

Regardless if you were powerful as he, or even powerless - this man loves you all the more in any more then the average man. He is very attentive to your needs and current emotional state, if you feel like you are unable to speak in certain situations, he does so for you.

If you had ever asked that if your shortness could be a problematic major factor to your relationship, he laughs it off and reassures you that he loves you in spite of it. Even if you any shorter, or any taller, he still loves you.

Escanor is a man full of love for those he holds dear, and his friends family. He is such a man full with it, you could always feel his love for others and himself pouring in every situation. He easily cares for those in the sins, and you alone.

Your height all in all is just basically none existent to this man, whomever your status may be. He loves you greatly, and brings great aspects to your once dull and boring life before him.

[bloop-bl00p]

My issue with the Hellaverse rulers

We all know the story of Lucifer causing a war in Heaven due to his hatred of mankind, losing and taking a quarter of the angels with him. Those Fallen Angels became the rulers of Hell, essentially torturing the sinners and going to Earth to tempt us or just chill out and give us math lessons (I’m not joking, some do when summoned.) Not in Viv’s Hell though, they were no war so where do the other demons come from? How did these demons manage to harvest such great powers, powers that can give them access to Earth and outrank the lower class? You can theorize that the Seven Deadly Sins were born from the sin of humans or some shit but that’s headcannon territory and this does not explain what created the Goetia. Are we supposed to believe that the second Lucifer and Lilith fell everyone was there to greet them with flowers and a little flag saying “Congratulations! You fucked up but you get a new kingdom!”

Talking about the Goetia…

How exactly do they work here? The Arc Goetia is listed in a book known as the Lesser Keys of Solomon. Their section contains detailed information about 72 demons and how to summon them, these demons were Fallen Angels. A random King named Solomon who appeared to be a master of witchcraft received a ring from an angel that gave him authority over demons and he used them to build temples.

And then you have the Helluva Boss version, with a Stolas born in Hell, who is at least 35. Why do they even exist in this world? The whole thing with the Goetia is that they were demons at the service of King Solomon around 970 to 931 BCE.

You also have those characters who are classified as such but those do not appear in the book like Stella who’s Andrealphus’s sister and who are their parents you ask? Figure it out. But fair enough maybe they do something that is specific to them like I don’t know:

[Context: Stolas wanted Blizø to kill said a candidate who was causing trouble for his associate.]

Ah! So the Goetia mission is essentially to make life worse on Earth using lower species like imps to do their binding. I would have hoped but… it’s a screenshot from the pilots which isn’t canon anymore. And til now, we have no indication that this is what the Goetia does in the cannon.

Stolas is immortal why does he need to have a child? Maybe it’s for other Goetia duties that will never be addressed in the shows but he’s the only character who is visibly shown to be forced into a marriage. Paimon clearly doesn't care if you are gay, asexual, or whatever if he wants you to make a baby you will make a baby. So naturally Andrealphus will have a wife, right? He’s only a duke and his sister got married to a Prince seemingly to alleviate their family so shouldn’t he marry a Princess or something like that, his parents would certainly pressure him to do so. And since Stolas needs an heir despite being immortal, wouldn’t he need one too?

[Context: God the inconsistency's gonna kill me. This is Stella’s party in ep1 of season 2 and you can see two men dancing together.]

Stolas could have been openly gay since the beginning, so what prevented him from divorcing Stella the second Octavia was born? The girl would have been too young to remember her mother and if she asked questions he could have just explained to her that Stella wasn’t a good person.

“But he played along so she could have a normal childhood.”

That would have been a great excuse if Stella did the same thing.

This woman literally threw their butler at her husband the second she learned he cheated on her with an imps not caring that her daughter was there! Stella is quick to anger and will most likely choose physical violence when she’s upset. How did Stolas though that THIS was a normal childhood for Via?!! And it’s not like he was trapped in the marriage they divorced quite easily… wait a minute…

Does Viv even understand the concept of arranged marriages?! Usually, both families benefit from the union (financially, religiously, and other), but few result in divorce due to the massive social pressure caused by the two families and the constant control and influence the parents have on their children. Realistically speaking, Paimon would have threatened Stolas for trying to leave Stella because there’s no way he married his immortal son just to get a new kid in the family.

Yet, it still happened without any complication and Stella left his castle. So where’s Octavia?! She’s his heir! He’s supposed to learn her fairy dust and star magic or some shit, he should automatically get full custody of the child! We don't even know what the girl's relationship with her mother is but considering Stella is framed as a psychopath, I wouldn't want my kid to stay with her EVEN for vacation, Octavia is 17 she saw her mother throwing a tantrum once I think she’ll understand why her father doesn't want her near Stella.

[lovebvni]

" ITS BRUTAL OUT HERE " - pick a pile

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│ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ...

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[ 🖊 ] created ⋮ 14.8.22

[  ] published ⋮  14.8.22

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ Arsyn   ⋆  ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

┊       ⋆     welcome to my blog !

┊     °

hey loves, so because i 1, got new tarot decks, and 2 want to call you guys out, im doing this. also - heads up before i even start - spirit said there's gonna be a pile where there are little/no callouts bc they're actually doing great. just some advice/motivation to keep them going

Hello! Welcome to a pick a pile. This is a general reading, everything should be taken with a grain of salt. Hundreds of people may read this, everything I say in your pile(s) may NOT resonate. Today we don't have questions. we're just going callouts. so prepare yourself, i know some of yall are soft.

along with these questions i will give things that may draw you to your pile. the alice in wonderland tarot has different cards but pretty much the same meaning. dont be shocked if instead of the hanged man i say suspention or something like that. i will be using tarot and oracle cards.

now please take everything with a grain of salt!

breathe in, now out, now pick a pile or two.

pile 1 ; pile 2 ; pile 3

hi pile 1!

confirmation for your pile: lowkey funny, life 'falling apart', consequences for your actions, business man/woman, equality, cycles, bakugou, passion, 'im always right, i know what im saying'

oracle: you are good enough - full moon in virgo

tarot: the hierophant, temptation, 7 of flowers, 5 of spears reversed, 9 of flowers

alright bros, the first thing i have to say is 1, you're not always the cause. bad things happen to good people and i know it sucks but it helps you grow. if only good things happened then you'd probably be boring as hell. i hear some of you guys can be because you cant keep a conversation going. the thing is, you may be a victim MOST OF THE TIME but that doesnt mean ALL THE TIME!! you can be wrong in an argument, you can be right in an argument. but it changes. you're a very driven, smart, confident person in most areas but that doesnt mean because you're the right person to be a firefighter but not a baker. 7 of flowers is saying dont back down from the things you KNOW you are right in, but when someone makes a valid point. take it, it can help you. being passionate is a good thing, but dont be ignorant.

temptation is something thats drawing you in, that one day will be negative. maybe its joining the football team but you'll get a serious injury. do not let anyone or anything tempt you that has high risks for pain in the long run. im not saying dont join that football team, but dont put yourself into situations that wont benifit you in the long run. there's a good and bad to everything. do not fall into or back into negative energies/things that didnt help you before. they sure as hell wont help you now

ngl i have no idea what this pile means during the second part

pile 2

alright so confirmation: tired, faking happiness, evolution, "PUT THOSE GRIPPERS AWAY", hawks, manifestation, abuse, Christmas, MHA, movies, memories, nsfw content, love desire, caring heart, makeup, procrastination, seven deadly sins

oracle: a time for healing - balsamic moon, expect powerful chance - new moon eclipse

tarot: 10 of spears, 7 of flowers, 3 of hedgehogs

so this is the pile whos done mostly nothing wrong. when i say mostly, i mean bc everyones made at least one mistake in their life. ofc theres still a callout. STOP BEATING YOURSELF UP! STOP BELITTLING YOUR PAIN, YOUR TRAUMA, THE THINGS THAT HURT YOU MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY EVERY SINGLE DAY!! let go of the past, its gone. its ending. get over it. that friend isnt coming back, they weren't right for you. let go of the past, accept it, and move forward. thats just some advice.

pile 3

hey pile 3

confirmation: false/negative manifestations, intrusive thoughts, self destructive behavior, gay, peaches (that one song omg), yung gravy, emotions, love, communication or lack of communication, birthdays, parties, celebrations

oracle: believe in the impossible - blue moon

tarot: 2 of cups, 4 of flowers, knight of teacups reversed

okay i got flowers in every pile, anyways this piles energy is of a pair.. two people or two piles? maybe you picked another pile. but its a harmonious pair. you guys may be for a long time, maybe shifting together, maybe you work on a lot of projects together? i heard you guys dont talk much but when you do its fun. you guys are a great pair. hold on to each other. i feel like once this pile overcomes toxic/negative behaviors they will shift. it depends on how fast you get rid of them/start manifesting positively.

change the way you see things, the emotions and reactions you have to things that happen. if you wake up in your cr and not your dr say something like "bro what?? why am i in my cr? thats odd, hasnt been like this before." see everything that happens in a different light. if you think that you saw something that was a sign btw, it was. take it and use it how you think its fit. use your talents, you know you can! practice the fun things you want to do one day. practive makes perfect!! get off your ass and do something. vent through an art form. you dont have to use words. you're doing nothing right now. you NEED to do something, but take a break from stressing yourself. its not helping anything

[another-lost-mc]

Hii, first of all, i love your writing 💕 and I hope you're doing well.

How do you think the bros would react watching the movie Se7en?

I think it would be interesting to see their reactions since the theme surrounds the seven deadly sins.

a/n: I love this movie! I re-watched while I worked on this since it's been a while. I wrote the blurbs in order of the sins as they're portrayed in the film.

➤ watching the movie se7en | the demon brothers

1k words | x gn!reader | nsfw | violence and dark/disturbing themes, demons thinking about demon things, movie spoilers

BEELZEBUB | the gluttony scene

Any other time, he'd be joking that if he had to die, he wants to die eating. He understands that now's probably not the best time to tell you that.

He feels a bit sad for some reason. He's not sure if it's the poor bloke's death on screen or the movie's gritty atmosphere in general.

Ravenous hunger has its downsides, but most of the time he enjoys eating food. He can understand why being forced to eat would be emotional and literal torture for someone.

He knows he could eat that much pasta without breaking a sweat, but he doubts it would be comforting to you so he doesn't say it out loud.

He wonders how much he'd have to eat for his body to break down in protest of finally being too full, but he keeps that to himself too.

MAMMON | the greed scene

It's not a horror movie but the dark vibe still gives him the creeps.

He hasn't had to look away (yet) but he tucks you closer to his side so you can cuddle. You can hide your face in his chest for the gross parts if they bother you, he won’t tease you.

He sorta gets an inkling about the greed motif— something about a scummy lawyer and money trading hands is his first guess about why this guy was targeted.

Eh, close enough.

There are a lotta ways to kill someone with greed without actually killing them, y’know.

(He doesn’t wanna talk about ‘em though. He doesn’t want you to think badly of him.)

BELPHEGOR | the sloth scene

What the actual fuck.

He was feeling a bit sleepy watching the movie up to this point, but he's not anymore.

He understands the interpretation of his sin, but he's surprised to see such an ugly version of it in a human world movie like this.

If he senses that you're uncomfortable, he tries to distract you until the scene ends.

Now seems like a great time to pause the movie so you can both get up and get a drink, or stretch—or maybe go for a nap if you're tired and don't want to finish it right now.

(He's going to make sure you don't have bad dreams after this.)

ASMODEUS | the lust scene

He's had custom sex toys made before, but something like this? Yeesh.

Literally fucking someone to death seems so brutal, so unromantic. This isn't how he would do it, but he doesn't tell you that; he doesn't want to scare you.

(If he had to kill someone using his sin, he'd fuck them before ripping them open from stomach to sternum.)

(If he had to kill you with his sin, he’d make love to you until you eventually fall asleep. Your death will be instant and painless before he cuts out your heart and eats it.)

He notices that this part of the movie made you squirm in your seat more than the others so far.

Maybe a warm bath and cuddling in his bed will help you relax once the movie's over. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to hold you.

LUCIFER | the pride scene

It feels anti-climactic compared to some of the other portrayals of sin so far, but he appreciates the simplicity. He was afraid it would be needlessly gruesome like the others.

Pride is insidious, the mother of all sins, the first deadly bloom that causes all others to fester and rot on the vine.

He can’t help the way his mind wanders after this. As an angel, he tried to resist sin. As a demon, he embraces it. Humans are weak and he knows for many, pride is their downfall.

You might not believe you could be pushed to make such a fatal choice, but Lucifer senses the way your own blend of pride lingers within you too.

He keeps silent about those thoughts and he wraps his arm around you for the rest of the film.

LEVIATHAN | the envy scene

He’s unusually quiet. He doesn’t complain or whine about how boring it is, and he doesn’t reach for his handheld either. Sometimes he looks puzzled by what’s on screen, and other times he seems contemplative.

He’s a little surprised by the ending. Speechless almost. He understands envy, but to do all this?

And the part with the wife, well...he thinks it's just a bit of an overreaction, don't you?

He can’t help but glance at you once the movie's over. He thinks about life before you and life with you now; he can't imagine life without you in it anymore.

Would he be capable of that type of jealousy if you didn't choose him? If he had to watch someone else live their own happily ever after with you while he suffered alone?

Huh.

When the movie ends, he distracts you with an impromptu game night in his room and he cuddles with you in his tub after.

His tail curls around your leg as you drift off to sleep, and he realizes he'd do so much worse just to keep you by his side.

SATAN | the wrath scene

For the most part, he's been less interested in the portrayal of sins. He's totally wrapped up in the mystery aspect of the movie instead.

Throughout the entire film, he's muttered under his breath about certain things he noticed or his guess about what might happen next.

(He’s read all the books mentioned in the library scene too.)

He figured that the cop with the short fuse was going to be involved somehow with wrath. He actually thought the character was a bit annoying.

He does sympathize with the cop's behaviour at the end—all he has to do is think of someone hurting you and it makes him seethe with rage.

The reveal about the wife caught him completely off-guard but thinking about it later, it seems so obvious.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the antichrist's wellness influencer era

HELLO, SINNERS, welcome to my youtube channel, I'm Adam, the Antichrist, Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, father of lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness.

Today I want to talk to you about the law of attraction, a trend that's been circulating in the self-improvement community recently. And hey, I'm all about the law of attracting! TODAY WE'RE MANIFESTING OUR BEST, MOST SINFUL LIVES.

Now I know some of you are skeptical. Manifestation? What kind of nonsense is that, it's not for us Satanical sinners! Well, I'm here to tell you that is ABSOLUTELY IS. NOT JUST MANIFESTATION, BUT ITS SINFUL BROTHER, DELUSIONS.

LET ME SHARE A REAL LIFE STORY.

I HAVE USED MANIFESTATION MYSELF. IN FACT, I USED IT AT THE EARLY AGE OF ELEVEN. I USED IT TO REVERSE THE APOCALYPSE! Not only that, I delusioned my way out of my bloodline of darkness, made myself related to my adoptive family, created duck aliens, possessed my friends and defied heaven and hell!

SO YOU SEE, YOUR DELUSIONS CAN NOT ONLY MANIFEST YOUR FUTURE, BUT ALSO REWRITE YOUR PAST. BE DELULU. IT WORKS.

Of course, I then reclaimed my Antichrist identity for this Youtube channel, because my good friend Pepper said I needed to stick it to the patriarchy and shake the status quo of the current self-improvement clime. She then said this is not what she meant by that, but HEY! THE LESSON IS, DON'T FOLLOW THE PACK, CARVE YOUR OWN PATH, EVEN IF IT'S A STUPIDER ONE!

MY GOOD FRIEND CROWLEY ALSO MANIFESTED HIS WAY THROUGH THE DREAD SIGIL ODEGRA, DRIVING HIS CAR INTO FLAMES AND EMERGING THE OTHER SIDE.

ALL BECAUSE HE WAS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DELULU!

I TURNED THE HELLHOUND INTO MY LIL DOG NAMED DOG, AGAIN THROUGH SHEER DELULU!

THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY, SINNERS. I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THE POWER OF DELULU.

AS USUAL, MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR DAILY MINIMUM OF THREE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS. I'M GOING WITH SLOTH, GLUTTONY AND PRIDE! COMMENT BELOW WHAT SINS YOU'RE INDULGING IN TODAY, TRADITIONAL SEVEN OR OTHERWISE.

SIGNING OFF WITH MY SIGIL, THIS WAS THE ANTICHRIST. MAY SATAN GUIDE YOU DOWN THE ROAD TO HELL.

[clansocreations]

Meliodas from Nanatsu no Taizai/Seven deadly sins is actually so funny like goddamn.

Like here is this absolute freaking badass who takes names and kicks ass and also runs a tavern. He can't cook for shit. It's a running joke how he's unable to prepare literally any food that doesn't suck.

He isn't really secretive about his identity but people tend to not believe him.

"lol, is this kid really Meliodas, Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins"

Famous last words!! Because it is and he will mess you up.

He will end your bloodline if you mess with his girlfriend.

He has wanted posters of all of the Seven Deadly Sins *including himself* hung up at his tavern.

He originally opened the place to get more information on where his old mates are but even after all of them are found and the tavern gets blown to bits in an epic fight they rebuild it and continue to run it while also taking ass and kicking names.

Two of his old fighting buddies are also coincidentally (apart from being absolute badasses who kick ass and take names)

- a really good cook

-an expert bartender

So Boar Hat Tavern goes from "decent booze, atrocious food"

To "amazing food, great booze" over the course of the show

And here's the hilarious part.

In the sequel, the new protagonists of that sequel are ordered to come to the Kingdom of Liones, by orders of the King of Liones.

But once they get there they can't immediately talk to the guy who asked them to travel all this way and the following exchange occurs:

Guard 1: you can't talk to the king, he's gone to hang out

(Guard 2 elbows Guard 1) He's gone on a very important mission.

YEAH RIGHT, he's gone and fucked off to...guess where. His tavern. Which is still in business. Sixteen years after the end of the original show.

He then also serves his signature awful food to te new protagonist.

When I saw him do that I was like OMG Budddyyyy I'm so glad you're okay the last time I saw you you literally were the main antagonist. I'm so glad you're alright 🥲 😭

Tldr: i think its funny that Meliodas, former Great Holy Knight of Danafall and Royal Holy Knight of Liones, former leader of the Ten Commandments, Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins, Traitor to his people (twice), traitor to his kingdom, traitor to his other Kingdom, and eventually actual for real king of the second kingdom, feared unlike no other by goddesses, demons and everyone else whos ever seen him get serious in a fight

That this guy really really wants nothing more in the world than to run his business with his girlfriend and their weird ass found family troupe of ex-knights.

(He wants the quiet life so bad. Everything he's ever done, every kicked ass and taken name has been out of a really desperate need for a quiet life.

And then in the end they get it. And I love that for them. )

But it's still funny that he still can't cook even after 21-ish years of owning the bar.

Also: I started from the top down again AND THIS STILL SLAPS