#threads. ﹙ carter grey. ﹚

[emotionlcss]

﹝ closed starter ⇾ @mccntower from xx ﹞

sure carter had known why they were there, or at least why she was there, he'd just followed in suit because it meant the rest of the day she'd be all his. ❝ yeah, and i think you look pretty good when you're calling out to god while bouncing on my cock. ❞ his tone was still soft, knowing it wasn't church appropriate conversation, but still. once her hand had stopped his, he hadn't moved up any farther, but his fingers still drummed over her thigh, a devious smirk on his features. ❝ you know exactly what i'm doing, baby. keeping myself occupied for another, what'd you say? thirty minutes? ❞ it was almost too easy to rile her up, she was always so good, wholesome, and god it was such a turn on.

[sincityszn]

the rest of his day went by pretty slowly; he was just anticipating the night, which made his day longer. the second he got to his loft, he took a shower and made sure the place was cleaned up before grey arrived. he had his chef cook them up a very nice meal, and he had the table all ready for when she arrived. smoothing out his black crew neck tee that he paired with some grey slacks and a belt as he waited for her.

she knew he was practically a god that walked on water to the other women in the workplace. sure, she wouldn't deny he was attractive but definitely wasn't like the others. "glad we agree on that," she nodded, this blackmail would be ineffective if it got out what they were possibly doing. "i do, i'm a bit of a collector," of both general attire and lingerie, "it does, red it is. i'll see you later."

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx. 

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him. 

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind. 

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket. 

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement. 

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.” 

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross. 

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.” 

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks. 

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,”  it was a statement more so than a question. 

“I have, Aïdōneús.” 

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.  

“As you wish, Kore.” 

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold. 

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits. 

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…” 

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips. 

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.” 

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.” 

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.” 

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.” 

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?” 

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice. 

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes. 

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier. 

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”  

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her. 

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld. 

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined. 

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost. 

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return. 

This was another lie. 

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return. 

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.” 

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.” 

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?” 

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone. 

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”  

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him. 

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods. 

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them. 

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.” 

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze. 

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips. 

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips. 

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away. 

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos. 

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity. 

There was a simple spell that would serve both. 

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer. 

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”  

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.” 

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.” 

He, of course, obliged her. 

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree. 

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet. 

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips. 

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red. 

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him. 

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it. 

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him. 

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now. 

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips. 

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath. 

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something. 

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring. 

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate. 

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.” 

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.” 

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.” 

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her. 

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?” 

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon. 

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable. 

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it. 

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both. 

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

[thesummerstorms]

God, I have so much reading and/or research to do to see if this actually makes sense. But my rough/working outline for Heroes of Olympus Wonder Family goes like:

> The Titan War/Second Titanomachy ends

> Diana sees enough when the Justice League is sent to clean up and investigate the remnants of the three day battle in Manhattan to demand answers of the Gods

> Diana, along with Donna Troy and Cassie Sandsmark, get answers. They do not like the answers. Too bad, so sad, Zeus already made them swear, so no take backs.

> Diana and co. start seeing the early supernatural disturbances that indicate Gaia's rise, which were previously hidden by the Mist

> Artemis of Bana-Mighdal has started figuring out the whole demigod thing on her own with the Mist having been weakened by Hecate's defection, but assumes Diana already knows, which pisses her off

> All four Amazon's respective teams/ superhero friend groups are perturbed by their sudden, seemingly random disappearances and their refusal to explain what's happening (Diana & co. because of their oath on the Styx, Artemis because she's playing her cards close to her chest until she finds out who already knew about the dying children.)

> This continues, gradually escalating and getting tenser, until the Gods seal themselves in Olympus and Thanatos is captured. None of the Amazons actually know where either Camp is specifically so they can't ask for answers unless they find a demigod in the wild.

> Cassie Sandsmark takes a blow that should have killed her in front of Kon and Tim. She revives similar to Gwen from Camp Jupiter. Her friends freak out. She freaks out. Diana shepherds her away without answering any questions.

> All three of Diana's Amazons go dark overnight. Donna and Cassie's absence isn't really noticed by the civilians, but the press does eventually put it together that no one's seen Wonder Woman.

> Artemis the Amazon has also gone missing, but most people who notice think she's gone back to Bana-Mighdal. She has not.

> She may actually find Sadie and Carter Kane at some point, but I know even less about their books

> Elsewhere on Half-Blood Hill, the Roman and Greek demigods eventually destroy Gaia. A lot of clean up/mopping up is done after the funerals.

> Diana publicly reappears with grey inexplicably threading her hair. When Bruce and Clark demand answers, all she'll say is that the Gods can take back anything they freely gave. The implication is that she angered her father Zeus and is no longer immortal.

> Bruce and Clark realize she can't speak about whatever happened, but are disturbed enough by the results that Bruce starts digging.

> Donna Troy shows up first to bother Dick Grayson in Bludhaven specifically and then to the Titans. Unlike Diana, she is still actively looking for loopholes and starts bugging the shit out of them to return to Manhattan, hoping to lead Dick specifically to discover the demigods without revealing enough herself to get zapped by her oath on the Styx.

> Kon and Tim just walk in one day and Cassie is sitting there without any warning. This is one of the weaker bits for me because I haven't read enough source material, but right now I imagine it leads to Cassie having some sort of break down that Tim and Kon don't know how to handle. If that's OOC, I'll revise it later.

> Artemis has voluntarily relocated herself to NYC, though she vocally hates it, due to the proximity both to CHB and the Brooklyn House. She reached out to Jason starting to ask for aid gathering specific information, not knowing that he's already been tipped off by his brothers that something is up.

> Somewhere in the midst of this growing mess, Annabeth Wayne Chase, only a few months returned from Tartarus, is spurred by a chance reunion with her cousin Magnus to go home to Gotham for closure.

> She doesn't intend to contact any of her family so much as observe them from a distance, as her own Oath not to reveal the Gods and their children to the superhero community is still in place.

> ...good luck with that, Annabeth. It's not like they're all already more suspicious of the Greek gods right now or anything....

[mutantmuses]

Starter Calls ; Wish List Threads ;

Memes ; Promo ; Open Starters ;

Rules & Muses down below ;

Rules ;

1.i will only be writing with people who are 21 +

2. it's been a while since i've been in this fandom so please bare with me & my rustiness. xD

3. i do have other blogs so i may not be on here all the time.

4. all muses will be of age.

5. i do write NSFW stuff so if that's not your cup of a tea i understand.

6. i am a shipping whore so please if you ship two characters let me know cause there will be a 9/10 i will ship it too. :3

7. my inbox is ALWAYS open so please come bug me.

---------------

Muses ;

Marvel muses ;

Mystique FC ; Gillian Anderson

Rogue FC ; Anna Paquin

Jean Grey FC ; Famke Janssen

Elektra FC ; Jennifer Garner

Wade Wilson { Deadpool } FC ; Ryan Reynolds

James "Logan" Howlett { Wolverine } FC ; Hugh Jackman

Wanda Maximoff FC ; Elizabeth Olsen

Vision FC ; Paul Bettany

Peggy Carter FC ; Hayley Atwell

Peter Parker { Spider Man } FC ; Tom Holland

Natasha Romanoff { Black Widow } FC ; Scarlett Johansson

Hela { God of Death } FC ; Cate Blanchett

Felicia Hardy { Black Cat } FC ; Kate Siegel

The Goblin Queen FC ; Sophie Turner

Erik Lehnsherr { Magneto } FC ; Ian McKellen

Emma Frost FC ; Vanessa Kirby

Pietro Maximoff FC ; Aaron Taylor-Johnson

Mary Jane FC ; Evan Rachel Wood

Agatha Harkness FC ; Kathryn Hahn

DC Muses ;

Kara Zor-El { Supergirl } FC ; Melissa Benoist

Lena Luthor FC ; Katie McGrath

Kate Kane { Batwoman } FC ; Ruby Rose

Diana { Wonder Woman } FC ; Gal Gadot 

Harley Quinn FC ; Lady Gaga

Poison Ivy FC ; Nicole Kidman

Selina Kyle{ Catwoman } FC ; Zoe Kravitz

TESTING ;

Shayera Hol { Hawgirl } FC ; UNKNOWN

Gambit FC ; UNKNOWN

Irene Adler { Destiny } FC ; UNKNOWN

---------------------------

MAINS ;

Wanda MaximoffErik LehnsherrMary JanePeter ParkerRogue

[emotionlcss]

it had been an accident at first when carter had stumbled upon his new step sister's onlyfans account - or at least that was the lie he had been started with. she didn't need to know that he'd purposely gone looking for it once he heard her alone in his room one day. but it had blossomed into something more, something much dirtier than he would have thought. the messages the two had shared back and forth were anything but casual, and would certainly cause a stir if anyone found out, but carter quite literally could not give a shit. she was gorgeous, and every ounce of the male had wanted to make her, his. she'd been on his mind all day, and getting home had taken longer than he would have wanted. being alone for the weekend, they were going to make the best of it. walking through the front door carter hadn't stopped until he reached her room, opening the door with a smile as she was already posed for him. crossing the room his hand trailed down her exposed skin, moving down her back, tracing along her ass until he'd teased a finger through her folds. ❝ mm, just as promised. ❞ 

muse: arden michaels open to: men connection: anyone and everyone tbh, make it as forbidden and taboo as you want

arden saw nothing wrong with creating an onlyfans account for some extra cash. it didn't bother her that strangers were probably getting off to her photos and videos as long as they paid. the most important fan to her though was him. as promised from their text exchanged, she was bent over her bed with her ass in the air and wet folds on display waiting for him to arrive. this was for his eyes only.

[first13]

teeny tiny psa:

i've shifted all rp interactions exclusively to discord. over the years, i've found tumblr to be quite unpleasant for portraying peggy as a character. it's not the fellow writers, but certain members of this fandom who have been incredibly hateful. i'm tired of not being able to enjoy tags for a character others may not appreciate. when i don't like something, i simply disengage and focus on what i do enjoy. however, being here has shown me that not everyone shares that same sentiment and would rather antagonize, bully, and ridicule people instead. i don't come here to be made to feel awful about things i find joy and comfort in, and neither does anyone else. unfortunately, it seems that respect isn't always granted and extended to everyone.

i love writing, and i don't think i'll ever stop. but for the foreseeable future, i'll only be doing so on discord. if we haven't already moved our threads to a private server, or if you'd like to start writing, please reach out and dm me characters over on discord I'm playing currently: peggy carter, sharon carter, natasha romanoff, and I'm currently in the process of adding emma frost, pepper potts, jean grey and carol danvers to my roster.

this blog will remain semi-active, and i'll still post or reblog things i love or that relate to plots i have going on with my rp partners. but as for interactions? nah.

it's all love x

[somediyprojects]

Death by Cross Stitch stitched by Denise.

Just when my two Directors and I were beginning to get a little blasé and think we'd probably seen it all sampler wise, along comes Denise with her Death by Cross Stitch

It's faultlessly stitched 2 x 2 on 28# hand dyed Lugana from Fabrics by Stephanie in a shade called Autumn Splendour. At this point the entire Long Dog Board of Directors raised an objection. Surely this nomenclature is wrong. So we ate a few custard creams, drank Earl Grey from bone china cups (except Quill who slurped his from the saucer) and we moved a motion on the spot that it should be renamed Raspberry Parfait.

But our actual eureka moment came as we scrutinised Denise's choice of threads. DMC ecru etoile didn't raise an eyebrow but - here it comes - gold accents in DMC metallic E3821!!!

Like three Howard Carters discovering Tutankhamen we realised we were in the presence of something remarkable - golden-tongued lions, just like a pair of Egyptian mummies.

It was at this juncture that all three of us fell down the rabbit hole 🕳 🐇. Quill took the left hand tunnel as there was a signpost saying "to the pub", Colin bolted to the right because he panicked, but I carried on in search of more useless information to add to my collection. And I found it.

A passing scarab beetle 🪲 told me that golden tongues were thought to bestow eloquence which allowed the deceased to speak with the God Osiris, Lord of the Underworld and Judge of Death by Cross Stitch.

I must examine Quill's beak carefully for a gold interior when he returns from the pub in case the Stingo Gold label is having an effect. That bird can talk his way out of anything, particularly the washing up.

—Julia Line, designer

[emotionlcss]

﹝ closed starter ⇾ @carefuldosage from xx ﹞

carter had known that this was wrong, even if it wasn't his kind of thing - so when she was putting her hand on top of his, he had already expected it to be coming. ❝ yeah, i know you've said it before. but i think 'he' would want us both to get laid. ❞ the male shrugged, the same smile playing on his features as he had stopped the upward movement of his hand, but his digits were still softly drumming against her thigh. ❝ c'mon, nobody would ever know. they'd just think you're sitting on my lap, praying or some shit. ❞ it probably wouldn't work out, but it didn't hurt to try. ❝ i'm bored, and this thing hasn't even started yet? i think it was nearly over. ❞ even if there was hardly anyone around, and he hadn't actually been to church to know how the services went, but nobody had ever claimed that carter was the smartest guy in the world.

[daydreambclievers]

“if i’m still a gremlin, chances are i’ll probably steal the blue shirt back. and i will be sorry not sorry about it…but, if you were to rescind the gremlin comment, i’d throw in my extra big claw clip with the blue shirt. because i’m that nice. just please don’t wear it while you’re driving because those tiktoks of those girls are burned in my brain and i don’t want that to happen to you because i sort of care about you or whatever.”

"that's so rude, janna. i obviously would've snuck it back into your laundry so you thought you lost it like any normal little sister. my full sales pitch is that the blue shirt is not only very comfortable, but it makes your tits look great if you care about that kind of thing. and also, that color looks really nice on you."

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 22 @ailesswhumptober - prompt: Forced to hurt somebody else

On some days Charlie hates her role

CW: non-con drugging, inuury, reluctant whumper, dehumanisation, toxic environment, moral conflict, medical setting.

AiLessWhumptober List Complex 27

Charlie’s hands trembled as she examined the wounds scattered across Asset 84’s battered body. Under the unforgiving glare of the med wing's fluorescent lights, his pale, sweat-slicked skin took on an eerie sheen. His grey eyes—normally stoic, unreadable—now flickered with pain and something else, something buried beneath the surface, just out of reach.

“Hold still,” she ordered, her voice cold, brittle, clinging to the authority she had to maintain.

84 didn’t move. He never did. Even now, after his body had been torn apart by jagged metal, he refused to flinch. Refused to show weakness. But Charlie saw the tightness in his jaw, the subtle way his muscles spasmed under her hands. He was hurting—more than he would ever admit. And yet, she couldn’t acknowledge it. Not here. Not in Complex 27, where vulnerability was a death sentence.

Sometimes, in fleeting moments, she wondered what it would be like to know the assets’ names. To call them by something other than numbers. To see them as more than disposable tools. But what good would that do? There was no place for connection in this place. No room for compassion when every decision was calculated, every action rooted in survival.

“84 needs to be operational by morning.”

Colonel Carter’s voice echoed in her mind, her order cutting through the haze of doubt. They didn’t care that it had been less than a week since 84 was dragged into the med wing, barely clinging to life. They didn't care that the wounds were only just starting to heal, that he was still heald together by thread. They didn’t care that the rumors whispered he’d thrown himself over another asset, shielding them with his own body. All that mattered was the fact that he was still breathing. And if he was breathing, he had to be useful.

She dragged her eyes away from the fresh sutures lining 84’s torso, the patches of bruised flesh that hadn’t even begun to fade. Instead focing on the tray besiders her, laid out with the instruments of her trade: scalpels, sutures, bandages, and vials of drugs designed to force bodies back into action regardless of their condition. Each tool was a reminder of her role, of the cold efficiency she was expected to maintain.

“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath, a word she hoped 84 wouldn’t catch. Apologies were a luxury they couldn’t afford, a crack in the armor she had built to survive in this place. She drew up a dose of stimulant, the clear liquid glinting under the harsh light.

One sharp jab, and 84 would be functional. Not healed—never healed, not really—but functional enough to follow orders. To stand, to fight, to kill. That was all they needed from him. It’s what the Facility always needed.

It didn't matter that the drugs would rip through his system, pushing his body far past its limits. That the pain would be unbearable—worse than the physical trauma, worse than the jagged metal that had torn him apart. And when it wore off, he’d be even more broken. Likely to fall apart in the field.

That he would potentially even die.

84’s eyes followed her movements, their grey depths reflecting a weary resignation. He knew what was coming.

She swabbed a spot on his arm, the skin there already marred by countless injections. Her hand hovered for a moment, wavering, wishing for an alternative. The silence stretched too long, her hesitation too obvious. And in that moment, Charlie felt his eyes on her—not just passive, like usual, but watching, really watching. Maybe he saw the hesitation. Maybe he saw the conflict that she worked so hard to bury.

“Just do it.” His voice was hoarse, but steady.

Charlie took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the syringe. 84’s steady gaze unnerved her, it was intense, probing. As if he could somehow see into her soul. She looked away, staring at the trey.

There was no escape from this reality—no choice but to follow the orders that kept her alive.

She knew it.

He knew it.

With a shaky hand, Charlie pressed the needle against 84’s skin, the sharp tip piercing through the fragile barrier of flesh. She fought the urge to pull back, to stop, to find some other way to heal him that wouldn’t feel like a betrayal. But the Facility didn’t allow for such luxuries. In this world, compassion was a weakness, and weakness had no place in Complex 27.

As the stimulant surged into his bloodstream, Charlie felt a pang of guilt rip through her. She watched as 84’s body reacted—a fleeting moment of tension as the drug coursed through him. His muscles twitched, then relaxed, and for a brief second, she thought he might grimace. But he remained stoic, the embodiment of the soldier he had been trained to be.

“Functional,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Just functional.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a bitter reminder of what they were all reduced to: tools to be used, mended, and discarded. No names, no identities—only numbers and ranks, each asset stripped of their humanity to serve the whims of the Facility.

This was their lives: a cycle of compliance, pain, and forced efficiency. She had a job to do, a role to fulfill, it didn't matter that she hated it.

[indiiffercnt]

“woo!” the male shouted as he’d sunk another ball into a cup. “i’m on fire, baby!” he added shortly after getting the balls back. and tossing another one in, though then finally missing. he’d had a few drinks at this point, though he hadn’t thought it mattered too much, not having class in the morning - and weekday parties were always the best. he’d caught the eye of the other as he was playing, smirking in their direction, as he was trying to impress them - though honestly he hadn’t known if it was working at all.

[indelibleevidence]

Warning: Zapata-negative post. If you've read Torture Without You, you could probably guess this was coming, because I have Feelings(TM) about black sites. I'm not tagging it with the show tag, and if you're a Tasha stan you can safely skip it. I'm not going to hate on anyone else for loving her, because in the early seasons, and most of season 5, I love her, too.

*

Disclaimer over, and aaaargh, CIA Zapata makes me so mad! Like what the hell is this weird loyalty for Keaton? I know that when Tasha decides that you're one of her people, she'll basically ruin her own life to make sure she stays loyal to you. But beyond that, I don't understand her, at all.

I adore Jane/Remi and her sometimes eyebrow-raising approach to life, work and occasional vengeful agendas. But Jane and Remi make sense in the way they're written. Like occasionally something will be slightly off-brand, but the writers are generally consistent, and one of Jane's defining characteristics is guilt and self-blame for the bad decisions she's made. But we really don't have that with Tasha.

Zapata has spent the season so far defending Keaton, and saying she believes in 'his way', and giving the taskforce the united front approach she preached to Reade in 1x05 ('it's one thing to express doubt internally, but doing it in front of Carter is bad, etc). So at least that's a common thread from her FBI days.

But away from the taskforce, she spends half the time kissing Keaton's ass ('sure, I'll lie about Dragonfly', 'sure, I'll lie about knowing Nas was CIA', 'sure, I'm with you all the way and will definitely screw over my dearest friends in your favour', but then we see so much doubt and unease from her about the direction she's going in at other times, like all but one of 3x15's private scenes with Keaton.

I just hate that she puts her job before her moral compass, just because it's her job. Like with Cade, who was kidnapped and black-sited presumably not long after his departure from the US, since he doesn't recognise his toddler son ('was that even my son?') and must have been gone for the entire two-year time jump. Keaton gives her an order and refuses to listen to her misgivings, insults Jane, refuses to see any grey areas re: Cade's case, despite the fact that Keaton would most likely be DEAD if Cade hadn't gone to Jeller. (Yes, I have always hated Keaton, and I always will.)

But despite the fact that she knows Keaton is a shifty bastard who's making her punish someone who just wants to go home to have a life, she goes along with it? And then she has to deal with her life being threatened as an immediate consequence of the lie she didn't even want to tell? She ignores the teaching moments given to her by this case - the villain of the week is the third 'I used to work for/with the CIA until they screwed me over and left me to die' case the team have worked since Jane's arrival - first 1x05, then 2x04, and now this one - and Hirst's pointing out how far down the slippery slope she's gone. And she STILL sides with Keaton, just because she doesn't want to admit she made a mistake leaving, or made a mistake with brushing off Reade's advances a couple of years ago? He even offers her an FBI job back. What more do you want, Zapata?

She's gone from 'terrible people do terrible things, and good people catch them' to 'I don't want my best friend to go to prison for murder, even if he did it', to 'the CIA make hard decisions so other people don't have to', which is basically 'I don't want to be constrained by human rights issues when I solve crimes, even though ignoring people's human rights and betraying them is a really great way to radicalise them and their kids'. And the writers just don't seem to give her a good reason to have made such an extreme shift. She got kidnapped ONE time and then wasn't allowed to torture the guy afterwards, and all of a sudden the FBI is too moral and regulated for her, and she goes to work for the guy who tortured the woman she was maid of honour for, doesn't tell Patterson her terrorist ex is still alive, and...? What is in your brain, Zapata? What logic are you following?

And yes, I know they try to explain in that season 4 episode that Reade was being too protective of her post-Sandstorm, and not letting her get her adrenaline fix at work. And having Jeller and Patterson move out of New York must have given her Abandonment Issues. But talking about it like rational adults would seem to be a better step than joining the shadiest law enforcement agency, just because Keaton once said she'd be a good agent. The same agency that once paid her off to inform on Jane, and who then tortured Jane not once, but twice.

Like I don't know if Tasha's arc was originally planned for Nas, and then Archie Panjabi had other commitments, so they spliced it onto Zapata. But it doesn't quite fit her, despite Audrey Esparza being amazing in her role. And the writers never really seem to have a clear direction for her to go except down. Like the narrative never really pulls her out of that spiral, because the last season was so short that she's never given time. And then Keaton proves that he was never deserving of her loyalty in the first place, which makes her character arc more of a character crash and burn. And I just don't get what they were trying to achieve with her.

I really wish the writers hadn't just made her the morally ambiguous one, just to have every bad decision she's made come back on her and then her arc just...stops? With a PI gig (which I personally think was all in Jane's head as she was dying of ZIP poisoning), a dead love interest, and a kid she didn't plan for? Like is she just supposed to be a cautionary tale? It doesn't feel satisfying at all. And I hate that, because there are moments where Tasha is amazing, and just shines, and is loyal and capable, and why did they do this to her? 😨

[emotionlcss]

flshlight​:

with his single word, she completely melted underneath him.  ❝ fuck, daddy. ❞ she groaned, kissing him harder than he’d kissed her before. everything between them felt perfect. they had their designated roles. she knew what was expected of her. she’d stay faithful to chase, she’d be his, and she’d let him do whatever he wanted without complaint.  ❝ i meant what i said. you can do anything to me. ❞

as she had kissed him harder, he’d returned it, figuring that it was the least that he could do in this moment. his hands had ran down her body, fingers reaching over every inch that he could. ❝ i know, baby. tell me where you want to be fucked first, you want daddy to claim that pretty little pussy of yours, or that tight little ass? ❞ it wasn’t often he’d given her the choice, and there was no saying that  he’d go along with whatever she picked - but at least he’d put it out there for the moment.

[champagneandparacosm-archive]

Muses biographies   //  Thread Tracker // discord available upon request

Active Muses: Joanna Vaughn, Kylie King, Owen Castillo, Nick Faunten, Hallie Grey, Luke Barret, Arlo Singh, ‘Finch’ Rizzo, Skylar Trunke, Hazael Courpet, Zadkiel Durn, Jakub Vrana, Adrian Orrin

Spotty Muses: Parker Forck, Malcolm Marx, Mia Grielle, Carter Vaughn, Milo Turner, Monroe Harris, Veeta Strike, Fern Voltair, Timmy Doya, Ozzie Dacken, Elizabeth Graceland, Deena Roweena, Grennen

Archived Muses: Lalienna DeMentriento, Nate Sainte (Kinda Spotty/mainly dead), Ashton Winters, Johnny Zachar, Asheima, Chase Vermonte

Available Upon Request: Blake (demonic beast), Cerberus (hellhound), Eilblis (incubus-feeder of pain) 

[emotionlcss]

sincityszn​:

lindsey lifted herself up onto the countertops, crossing her legs she looked at the male. “what makes you think i’ll have sex with him in his bed? there’s plenty of other places.” she let her hands guide over the granite while a smirk played at her lips. “carter grey! are you saying you want to sleep with me?” tilting her head to the side as she batted her eyelashes at the man. the blonde loved flirting, especially with carter.

carter hadn’t said  anything yet as  he was watching her, moving  towards the counter with her as he was placing himself between her legs. ❝ what i’m saying is that if you want to sleep with him, that’s your choice. but if you’d rather be with someone that could actually give you what you need, then my room is the best option. ❞ a smirk had played over his features as he was looking to her, letting his hand move to rest against her knee.