#to his own divine will. it's above and beyond both the rules and a LOT of the understanding | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stranded-labyrinth · 1 year ago

Note

post fall hannibal and will are regularly blowing each other's backs out on beaches and beds and every other available surface in cuba. life is good and they're killing and eating folks together on the reg. they learn and know everything there is to learn and know about one another, until one night they're cooking and hannibal sees a spider in one of the vegetables and five minutes later he's on the counter while will busts a lung laughing at him but gets rid of the spider in like five seconds while also identifying which kind it is and what its habitat usually is etc etc so basically a little fic based on your post and featuring entomologist will graham

i had to look at pictures of garden spiders for this. i hate you.

anyway, this didn't end up being very crackficy at all. as a matter of fact, this is just angst LOL. i'm sorry for taking it so far beyond the direction you wanted it to go in

also, big warning for arachnophobia, because spiders are talked about a LOT in this fic!

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The weaving maiden, doomed to repeat her greatest accomplishment and gravest error for years to come.

Every so often, Hannibal found himself thinking back to her story. While he scarcely spoke of it, it had become one of his favorites.

There were two people on Earth who knew why Hannibal so frequently consumed human flesh, and one of them had counted herself amongst the dead that lay in his past. That left only one, who had stood alongside him, searing the other contender’s arm on a grill to show Hannibal the wonders of southern barbeque.

Then there was the classic depiction in Greek myth of mortals boasting to the divine, divinity striking down mercilessly until the mortal would indeed understand that there are fates worse than death.

Rule number one of the ancients: Never equate yourself to a god, nor place yourself above them.

Hannibal was quite certain that, should he have been born approximately 3,000 years prior, he would have been flayed open in public.

That being said, the myth was one of the only ones in existence to truly be able to make his skin crawl, and thus its horror was far more embedded into his mind than any of the other tragic tales of the Greeks (save for one that he’d lamented by heart for approximately four years).

People often made the mistake of assuming that spiders died off in the winter. They could not be more wrong.

There was a time years ago, during those frozen months in Lithuania, in which his captors had been able to keep their fires burning.

Their first goal had always been to simply obtain ransom money and be on their way. Hannibal could remember the glow of campfires then, Mischa asking him when they would be going home. He never had an answer for her.

He remembered killing all the spiders for her in their little den.

Easily frightened as she was, being so young, she sought her older brother when seeing something crawling horribly fast along the wall, or along the floor. Even sitting innocently in the corner, those little creatures frightened her, and thus they were swiftly sent back to whence all things came with a hard PAT.

There had been one that had passed them by, as it turned out. Mischa discovered it sitting in the corner and let out a shrill cry, loud enough that one of their captors had shouted at her for it. Hannibal did swiftly away with the offending arachnid, neither of them knowing what had already taken place before its discovery.

A day came not long after, closer to their freezing days, where Hannibal could remember Mischa growing sniffly. Searching around, he discovered the likely perpetrator: A dust bunny in the corner, aggravating her allergies.

He remembered grabbing it, hoping to remove it from their den.

He could almost forget her hunger pain induced cries when he remembered the way she screamed as hundreds of the spider's babies cascaded over them both. He had very nearly drowned her out with screams of his own that day.

Spiders, for every day since, were associated with exactly one scene in his mind: Fear, death, and the cold.

Arachnophobia, as people seemed to so commonly deem just about any distaste of the horrible little things, always seemed to be the butt of the joke. Something to be mocked for, something pathetic, something weak.

He was not weak.

That being said, he was rather fortunate that the concept never came up to begin with. In their little house, Hannibal had yet to see any of the cursed creatures. The most he’d hear of them were from Will, who would find one on occasion and inform Hannibal that he’d taken it outside, before going on about its species, where it was native to, the patterns of its body, and then inevitably inform Hannibal that he had just, in fact, been bitten by the little rascal.

Hannibal smiled to himself as he went on with his chopping in the kitchen, wondering just how much poor treatment at the hands of an animal Will could withstand. He imagined Will would forgive just about any creature that wasn’t human. Most of all, it was pleasant to be able to find himself unaffected by the knowledge of the arachnid’s presence, for once. Perhaps it could be said that it was because he never actually laid eyes on them.

In the middle of his thoughts, his eyes focused more on the pan he was pouring into than his hands, it seemed that the outer shell of the onion he’d been chopping was touching his hand. Odd, he thought he’d brushed those aside already.

And then it moved, and he glanced at his hand.

--------

Will stepped through the hall, brows furrowed in confusion. He could have sworn he’d heard his name be called, quickly and in a tone he’d never heard Hannibal use before, but he’d received no response when he called back.

“Hannibal?” he called, beginning to head towards the kitchen. “Are you–

Any question he may have had cut off entirely when he stepped into the kitchen, only to see Hannibal perched on the furthest possible counter.

Cowering.

Before he could so much as question him, eyes radiating concern, he spotted movement across the floor between them.

When his eyes locked onto it, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh hey there, little guy,” he cooed as he bent down, scooping the spider off of the floor and into his palms. “What are you doing inside? You’re never inside! Did someone leave the window open, hm? Were you curious?”

He doesn’t notice Hannibal staring at him, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow.

“Oh, you’re a pretty little guy, aren’t you? Yellow garden spider!” Will declared proudly. “Oh, your stripes are just beautiful…”

Hannibal swallowed hard, willing his voice to not quiver as much as he was sure it would.

“Will.”

Will glanced at him, snapped out of his reverie by the reality of his petrified lover.

“Kill it.”

It was not a request. It was a command.

Will frowned.

“Hannibal, I’m not killing it, you know that,” he argued. “I’m just gonna take it outside.”

Hannibal’s mouth opened to speak, his vocal cords cut off when they were inundated with things he could say. Let it go so it can come back? So it can lay eggs? So it can bring its swarm?

So he’ll be drowned in frightened screams again, no longer knowing which are his own?

Will’s eyes raked over him, his frustration beginning to dissipate.

“Hannibal,” he began, daring to finally ask, “why are you on the counter?”

Hannibal did not answer, his eyes firmly locked on the vile creature in his lover’s hands.

Concern melted back into Will’s look. “Hannibal…” He took a step forward. “It’s not gonna hurt you, see? Look, it’s just–”

As Will held the little beast out, Hannibal flinched.

“Whoa– Okay, okay!” Will said quickly, taking several steps back. “Look, I’ll…I’ll just take it outside, okay? You won’t have to see it again.”

“It’ll come back,” Hannibal said, quiet enough that he was just barely heard. “It’ll come back in hundreds.”

Will stood still, as though searching for a solution. He had never seen Hannibal like this before, not ever. He had never seen Hannibal frightened.

As the creature moved in his hands, he could feel a particular spot beginning to itch. Looking down, he saw a rather familiar two pin pricks in the heel of his palm.

He sighed.

He dropped the spider to the floor.

And he stomped.

He swallowed hard, trying not to audibly gag at the distinct crunch feel beneath his shoe. The quick shattering of the exoskeleton, like tiny tectonic plates forced to shift beneath a great weight. A little world coming to an end.

He lifted his foot, staring down at the curled up remains of the critter he was going to let outside.

Some small agony swelled in his chest, and he looked to Hannibal, the way he always did.

Hannibal was finally breathing again, his face showing nothing but pure relief.

And the agony was gone.

Carrying the spider corpse to the window to give it a good toss outside, the realization dawned on Will that he would do just about anything to never see that fear in that man’s eyes again.

It wasn’t the first time he took a life at Hannibal’s behest that he never thought he’d take.

And Hannibal gazed at him the way he imagined humanity had been gazing at the moon for thousands of years, in silent awe of the beauty he was beholding.

Somewhere deep in his memory palace, a little boy had someone to kill the spiders for him, too.

#stranded-writing

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 5 months ago

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I do recall suggestions that they give the throne to *others*, to create a new Olympian- similar to how Hestia did Dionysus. (How does THAT apply?)

You're right! There was discussion in The Tower of Nero about replacing Apollo's spot on the Olympian Council, so the thrones can't be too connected to them.

Plus, they didn't even have those thrones until Hephaestus arrived (I have that in my timeline as after Ares & Athena's birth, but before the twins', so the Elder Olympians and Ares & Athena did not have thrones for a while.)

Hestia abdicating technically doesn't come from the myths, and was the assumption about why sometimes Hestia is the twelfth and why it's Dionysus other times, but since that's what happens in the RRverse, we're just gonna roll with it lmao

Anyway, the above does support the idea that the thrones themselves are not connected to the gods- so this leaves the question of why was Dionysus so concerned then?

I propose now: The thrones are manifestations of human culture. They are made up of the domain whatever god the throne is assigned too. So just like Dionysus says, if they thrones are destroyed, so is human culture and the gods will weaken alongside it, since the thrones are connected to human culture, and more specifically, their domain of human culture.

Which also leads to the question- if Zeus has such control over immortality, why hasn't he taken it from his brothers? Or any other he deems a threat?

Zeus has taken it from Poseidon once! But I personally headcanon that the Laomedon servitude did not completely drain him and Apollo of their immortality, since it is myth-canon that they are both still very much gods during this timeframe, and both use godly skills to get the job done (ie, Poseidon uses his super strength and Apollo his lyre).

With Apollo's time with Admetus, I think Apollo was drained a bit more of his immortality, but he still had it in him because, as Apollo himself tells us in The Hidden Oracle, he made Admetus's cows have twin calves, a clear indicator of godly power.

ToA is when Apollo was sucked dry. And honestly, during the first two times, I don't think Zeus has much interest in depriving Poseidon or Apollo of their power- or at least, not all of it.

If he is willing to do so at the point of ToA...then why hasn't he?

(the below thoughts are inspired by @tsarinatorment, mainly from authors notes/behind the scenes thoughts)

I think it's because, unlike Hades, Poseidon, and Apollo, Zeus has not gotten a power boost from his own belief. Zeus's belief stems from a paranoid need to be in power and to stay in power- that is not a very good cornerstone for self-belief.

Tsari once said something along the lines of "the tighter he holds on, the more power slips through his fingers" and I think that also applies here. The more he hunkers down and insists he's in the right, that he has all the power he deserves, the more it slips away.

And how about granting immortality? Beyond apollo- and dionysus- ascending on their own, the gods have been known to make *other gods*, seemingly independent of worship- and possibly, the self belief of the individuals they immortalize.

Granting immortality seems a little trickier to pin down. Apollo tells us in The Dark Prophecy;

It is no small thing to make someone a god. The general rule is that power trickles down, so any god can theoretically make a new god of lesser power than him or herself. But this requires sacrificing some of one’s own divinity, a small amount of what makes you you—so gods don’t grant such a favor often. When we do, we usually create only the most minor of gods, as I did with Parthenos and Hemithea: just the basic immortality package with few bells and whistles. (Although I threw in the extended warranty, because I’m a nice guy.)

This is an interesting concept, but also one I scratch my head over because a lot of mortals have been made immortal over the course of mythology, and also I just don't quite understood why a god's power would have anything to do with creating a new god. I think @fearlessinger once talked about this in the Discord but I don't quite remember what she said XD

Plus, Dionysus wasn't made a god- like you said, he became one himself. And Artemis's hunters! They have immortality (albeit with strings) but it's still immortality! But Artemis is no weaker than the other Olympians (I think Rick kinda shot himself in the foot here lmao).

putting on our clown hats to figure out What The Fuck Is Going On in the big wide world of the RRverse haha!

what are your thoughts on the olympians’ thrones? we know that they are connected to the power of the gods, and that kronos’ tactic was to destroy olympus/their thrones in order to weaken them (so when kronos destroyed the arm rest of ares’ throne, did that weaken him during the battle with typhon?)

but why should the destruction of their thrones weaken them? isn’t the source of their power, their divinity, well, themselves? and what of minor gods? or what about during the first titanomachy? sorry for the lengthy question but it’s all very confusing and im interested in hearing your take.

THE OLYMPIAN THRONES

first let's see what Dionysus had to say about this in The Last Olympian

"Whichever! Now listen, the situation is graver than you imagine. If Olympus falls, not only will the gods fade, but everything that is connected to our legacy will also begin to unravel. The very fabric of your puny little civilization—"

"Yes, yes. Your entire society will dissolve. Perhaps not right away, but mark my words, the chaos of the Titans will mean the end of Western civilization. Art, law, wine tastings, music, video games, silk shirts, black velvet paintings—all the things that make life worth living will disappear!"

"—the other gods would never admit this, but we actually need you mortals to rescue Olympus. You see, we are manifestations of your culture. If you don't care enough to save Olympus yourselves—"

Let's look at the third part first! Dionysus tells us that the gods are manifestations of human culture. And as we know, in the RRverse, the gods have moved around with the flame of progression, where the most human power is allocated. This is why they are in the US in the RRverse, and why they tend to reflect a more American culture (ie, Zeus in a CEO suit, Poseidon as a fisherman, Ares is a biker, ect.)

So what I'm getting from Dionysus's explanation here, is that the gods and human culture are intrinsically intertwined with each other. You can't have one without the other and all that. If human culture fades, the gods weaken, and if the gods weaken, human culture fades.

Something interesting to note here is that Dionysus says that the gods will fade if their thrones are destroyed...interesting, considering Dionysus and Percy also discuss how Pan faded.

But Pan didn't fade because of a lack of human belief/culture - he faded because his domain was being destroyed. Helios and Selene faded because they lost faith in themselves.

I think Dionysus might be overexaggerating a bit here. I don't think the gods would have necessarily faded if their thrones were destroyed- just significantly weakened. And perhaps, weak enough that if they ever just decided to give up...they would fade.

(Which brings up an interesting notion of Dionysus fearing them fading, because maybe that implies he thinks not all of them have the willpower to push through that...food for thought)

Kronos destroying Ares's arm rest is curious, since after the defeat of Typhon, we see the Olympian gods and nothing is out of the ordinary, even with Ares. So I'm guessing the arm rest getting cut off didn't exactly affect Ares, but if a larger piece of the throne or even the throne itself was sliced up? We'd have a different story.

I believe the source of the gods' power comes from a variety of places- mortal belief, their thrones, and belief in themselves. We see the latter occurring with Apollo in The Tower of Nero especially, where he's able to bring himself back into immortality on his own willpower, and I think we even see this happening with Hades and Poseidon, leaving their respected realms to come to the aid of Olympus and leaving behind their grudge (Hades) and ego (Poseidon) for the greater good.

This brings up an interesting idea, then. The Olympians have three main sources of power. But are they even aware of the third?

Because think about it. People, in series and out, have automatically assumed Helios and Selene faded because of a lack of mortal belief. But, that is not what happened, for they were still majorly worshipped- instead, it was a lack of faith in themselves. They lost their sense of self.

So I think the "power ranking" of these sources go as follows;

Belief in self

Mortal belief

Thrones

Mortal belief is often talked about, especially in ToA where Nero tells us mortals gave him a prolonged life and eventually immortality. He does not have a throne like the Olympians, though he does have a fasces, where his immortality is stored.

Could it be that the Olympian's immortality is stored in their thrones? Maybe. But remember, Nero is a wannabe god. There has to be drawbacks to that, and I bet the fasces was one of them. He has to contain his immortality in something, while the Olympians do not, because they are immortal. Full stop.

Now minor gods...this is a bit trickier, but I think minor gods have a power scaling of their own. The Olympians are on another level for godly power- they are The Squad so to speak.

How powerful minor gods are I think depends on their domain, as well as mortal belief/their own belief.

Hecate, for example, is probably exceptionally powerful for a minor goddess because of her position as the goddess of magic, the Mist, and crossroads among other things (did you know she has some influence over prophecy? ;3 she and Apollo were two sides of the same coin when it came to prophecy).

Iris is probably not as powerful as Hecate is, because, uh, rainbows aren't exactly powerful when it comes to magic XD

As for the Elder Olympians' power during the Titanomachy...that's also interesting to think about. Imo, I think their power grew over the time of the war, since they didn't really have the opportunity to fine-tune anything what with being in Kronos's stomach and all lol

Zeus probably got more practice in when he was young, but probably not as much when he became cupbearer. And I also think the symbols of power of the Big Three help channel their power- which now has a funny image because here are the guys learning how to focus their power with training wheels while the girls are just fucking around and finding out.

Demeter probably strangled a few people with her plants. Hera probably unleased a hoard of peacocks on someone. Hestia no doubt set a few things on fire.

lmao, that's funny to think about.

Anyway, finally got around to this one!!! :D

#ramblings of an oracle #the trials of apollo #toa meta #pjo apollo #pjo artemis #pjo dionysus #pjo zeus #pjo poseidon #pjo hades

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years ago

Text

lesson

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: smut, masterbation, daddy mentions, heavy degradation and humiliation (lots of sluts and whores) but also some good girls !! teasing (so much teasing), orgasm denial/edging, choking, bondage, cum play (so also unprotected sex), pussy play (including spanks and cock thumping), pillow humping (for like a second), spitting, panty fucking, harry has a very dirty mind, please, only 18+ !!

word count: 6.4k

synopsis: he only has one rule, and she still can’t seem to follow it (or in which harry teaches y/n a lesson)

author’s note: hello! this took a little longer than i expected, so thank you for being patient with me! this is absolute, pure, unadulterated filth (absolutely no fluffiness about this—be proud for me) please, note the warnings and don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned above (that’s why i put them there :)) xx

masterlist

—

Y/N’s heart races in her ears as she scrubs at her hands, foamy soap slipping down her wrists in her haste. Harry calls for her downstairs, the front door slamming shut, shaking the house. She can’t find her voice just yet, traces of a stolen orgasm lingering in her tired body. The sheets are crumpled from her quick highs, and her legs are weak. She feels giddy, despite the odd numbness that seeps into her bones. She finally feels fulfilled after a long day of insatiable throbbing between her legs.

Clad in a simple tee and underwear, she steps out of their bathroom when he finally gets up to their bedroom. She dries her hands off, eucalyptus, mint, and other artificial scents lingering. She’s still catching her breath.

“Hey, babe,” she smiles, just like she does every time he gets back home, but there’s something behind it that’s unfamiliar, a devilish hint.

It’s her eyes that give her away.

They’ve been together long enough for him to know what she looks like after she comes, her shaky legs, dopey smile, and glazed over eyes. The mischievous glint is different, however.

“How was your—”

“How many times?”

“What?” She tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed innocently. It angers him; it actually makes his chest tight, and he has to bite his cheek to keep from snapping. She has the nerve to act as if nothing is wrong. Lip tucked between teeth, she steps forward, hands splayed in front of her. An unfamiliar feeling bubbles in his stomach. Not quite possessiveness but certainly close, this feeling is akin to lust and indignation, and it melts into a pool of gluttonous desire.

Normally, he takes a step back to collect his thoughts when he’s this emotionally invested, but it’s difficult when she looks so tempting, so divine, so satisfied. Fresh faced with a cheeky grin, she beckons him, imploring him to punish her, challenging him to ruin her.

He stalks forward, their gazes never faltering, until she falls onto the bed, still looking at him innocently.

“How many times did you make yourself come?”

His words bite, but she looks indifferent, the glazed look in her eyes taunting him. She doesn’t answer, but then again, she knows that she doesn’t need to. He cups her throat, so tender, pliable, and exposed, and he can feel her swallow thickly.

“I’ll ask again. How many times?”

She stares at him, jaw set and ready to hold her own. It’s different from her usual demeanor. No matter how bratty she would act, she easily fell into her submissive headspace, answering his questions obediently and listening to him eagerly. She doesn’t seem to want to break that easily today. Instead of her usual shy and shameful glaces at her hands, she sits up fully, looking him dead in the eyes, and grins, a twisted little smirk that makes his stomach curl and his cock grow thick. She wants to play a game, but it seems that she has forgotten that he is the one in charge. His fingers tighten around her throat, pressing into the spots beneath her jaw that leave her vision hazy.

“Only once,” she says sweetly, albeit weakly from her grip on her neck.

Lies.

He knows that.

She knows that he knows that, but maybe a part of her just wants him to piss him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps. “How many times?”

His patience is wearing thin, and this game, this teasing, is getting out of hand. She thinks that she can have an advantage over him, while still playing the submissive. Someone needs to put her in her place.

“Almost three times,” she admits finally, sinking back. He finally lets go of her neck, and she holds the spot where his hand once was, vexing eyes yearning for his touch. He cocks a brow.

“Almost? Did I interrupt the third?”

“Yes,” she whines. That’s when he notices her thighs pressing tight together, and she shifts on the bed.

“Does daddy not please you, babylove? You need to touch your princess parts because daddy doesn’t make you feel good anymore.”

Filled with hurt, his words seem to get to her. The familiar docile look in her eyes slips in, and her lips sink into a pout. She’s drinking from the palm of his hand.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t touch you anymore—”

“No,” she cries, sinking further into her headspace. “But—daddy, you left this morning,” she says, her lips pouting.

That’s true.

The night before, she was his soft babylove, who just wanted to be as close to him as possible, be held and comforted and loved. That’s how he awoke this morning: warm with his cock soft inside her. He kissed her awake, as she deserved, and even though he felt comfortable simply being wrapped in her warmth, he needed to taste her. He was slow with his movements, languidly licking along her lips until wetness coated her thighs, teasingly sucking on her clit until she was trembling, wanting to build up the pleasure.

Admittedly, he had to rush out before she could finish and go to a meeting regarding his upcoming tour. He had quite the time trying to hide his semi for the better part of the morning.

“And I was feeling achy,” she continues rambling; the poor thing is close to tears. He feels for his pretty girl, he truly does, but he pushes that aside. A part of him feels hurt, like she couldn’t trust him to take care of her when he came home. Harry doesn’t ask much. She can be as bratty as she wants to, purposefully teasing him when they’re in public or refusing to do the simplest of requests, but he just asks that she let him take care of her.

She couldn’t even give him that courtesy.

“Don’t make excuses,” he scoffs. “I thought you were a big girl.”

“I am,” she promises.

“Big girls wait for daddy to come home and help them come,” he says, stroking her cheek. Tender touches mask his true intent. He suddenly shoves her back, hand tight to her throat once again, and she gasps, head tilting back into their pillows.

“Naughty girls touch themselves. Whores come almost three times at their own hand.” He grits his teeth. “Are you a whore?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can feel her heart racing beneath his grasp. A glimpse of a smile is enough to let him know that she’s fine; she’s enjoying herself, seeing him so riled up, possessive, and ravenous.

“Are you still wet? Achy?”

She nods.

“Whores get wet when they’re in trouble,” he says offhandedly. Her body quivers at the malice dripping from his tongue. “Arms up.”

She does as told, holding onto the headboard, eagerly awaiting his next demand. This is what she wanted, after all.

She has no idea what’s coming.

Usually, whatever punishment he gives her is what she also enjoys, from the occasional spanking to overstimulation. He usually has her coming until she can’t take anymore, until an ache seeps into the bliss.

Not this time.

He tugs her shirt up and over her head while his other hand fiddles in their bedside drawer. Moments later, a pair of silk scarves tie her hands to the headboard.

“Not too tight?”

She tugs on the restraints and shakes her head.

“Color?”

“Green.” She beams, breaking character for a moment.

Even if they were in the midst of a deep fantasy, he has always made a point to make sure she knows that it's alright to voice any discomfort and vice-versa; she often asks for his color whenever he seems to be overwhelmed. They both know how volatile headspaces can be, with the slightest changes making a huge difference in the experience.

He runs his nose along hers, lips tracing along the curves of her face, nibbling teasingly at her chin, down her neck, and grinds himself against her. He sucks on her breasts, biting at her nipples until they’re peaked. She closes her eyes, savoring every spike of bitter pleasure he has to offer. He sits back after a moment, appreciating the glimpse of light that catches her wet skin. He palms himself.

“It’s only fair that I get to come three times since you did. Make us even, right, lovie?”

“But I only made myself come twice.”

Y/N really has the nerve to talk back to him with her hands tied to the headboard, her body exposed to him, the only thing covering her modesty a flimsy pair of underwear. He cocks his head to the side.

“Should we make it four?”

That makes her hesitate, sinking back in the sheets. She shakes her head, cute pouty lips puckering. He would love nothing more than to run his cock along that pretty, dirty mouth, to feel her greedy tongue tracing the underside of him lazily, to wrap his hand around her throat and feel it expand as he fucks her face.

But he knows that she would enjoy it too much.

Too much for a punishment.

Harry traces along the curves of her features, from the slope of her nose to the round of her cheek, soft and lingering, a harsh contrast of what’s to come. He smirks. She parts her lips like a good girl when his thumb passes over them, biting it teasingly. He, then, drags it down her chin, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

He can’t help but think about how pretty she would look with cum and spit dribbling from those sinful lips, eyes barely able to stay open. Fucked beyond belief, she would moan his name and other incoherent thoughts oh-so sweetly, her voice wrecked. His grateful babylove, his lovely, satiated Y/N would whisper a soft thank you after taking him so well. He truly wishes he could do that, give her anything she ever desired, make her feel euphoria like never before, a high no one other than him can give her, but she was greedy and naughty and misbehaving.

And she needs to learn a lesson.

Now, he has to tease her, to bring her to the brink of orgasm, only to shatter her, again and again, until she’s on the brink of tears. She’s going to be left unsatisfied, trembling beneath him, while he brings himself to orgasm, again and again, until he’s milked himself dry. She will be grateful if he gives her even a bit of pleasure, but it is not enough to push her to the end.

It would never be enough.

He leans in close, his lips a fleeting embrace, just past her reach. He wants to taste her, but he needs to be patient.

A warmth buries her, and his overwhelmingly familiar scent swallows her, safe and comforting. She doesn’t know she’s even pulling on her restraints until her fingers are numb and tingly, yearning to feel his skin.

Maybe this was a bad idea, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“You can beg and plead all you want,” he says, “but know this: you will not be coming again tonight.”

Her eyes darken, and a satisfied little grin graces her pretty face.

She got what she wanted, tied up and vulnerable to him.

However, this isn’t her game anymore.

Now, she’s at his utter mercy.

“And if you do come, somehow, I will not touch you for a week; not only will you not feel my cock, my fingers, or my tongue, there will be no kisses or cuddles. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s my good girl.”

He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, diligently, his fingers lingering a little long on his inked stomach, knowing that she likes to take her time and admire that part specifically. After he peels the button up away, he finally sits next to her on the bed, his back to her. His belt falls to the floor with a clatter, and she holds her breath.

The silence is deafening, thick with tension. She waits, knowing that patience will help her. She also knows better than to say anything, since it would probably worsen her current predicament. Harry has always been level-headed, even in his dominant headspace, being very patient, especially in trying circumstances. He can take a lot before he snaps. She usually has to beg him to slap her, to spit in her mouth, or to fuck her so hard her legs give out.

This new persona is unpredictable, new, and alluring.

It’s different and all the more arousing.

She shifts, the bed frame creaking. A feeling of naughtiness courses through her, as it did earlier. She wants to see how much she can get away with and how far she can go before he loses control and puts her in her place. She watches him closely, her breathing ragged. She drags a pillow up by her feet, and Harry pays her no mind, perhaps assuming she’s just getting comfortable. His shoulders shift as he nimbly undoes the buttons to his pants, his back muscles tightening and relaxing. He begins taking off his pants, billowy and undoubtedly expensive fabric slipping down one leg at a time slowly, meticulously. The pillow now nestled between her legs, she grinds her hips down, wishing it was his thigh, the one with tiger on it, bared teeth and hungry.

He turns suddenly, and she’s caught yet again, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she works herself harder, imploring him to stop her—to punish her. The pillow does very little to satiate the pent up tension between her legs, but it’s better than nothing.

Honestly, she knew he was going to catch her in her lies. That's why she made herself come right before he got home. She wants to get caught, the thrill of going against his rules giving her a high she’s still coming down from. And as he looks at her again, fury in his eyes, she could just fall apart. She wants him to put her in her place, punish her for being a naughty, filthy brat.

She wants him to ruin her.

“No,” he growls, ripping the pillow away and effectively knocking her legs back apart. He slaps her pussy with little warning. She squeaks, tugging at the silken restraints. A shaky, guttural moan shutters from her chest, deep and desperate, and her head falls back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” she cries.

The skin of her swollen pussy burns in the most addicting way, leaving her legs spasming, feet slipping down the sheets. She can feel his rings through her panties, just a slight sting, but her clit takes a brunt of the force, and perhaps, that’s what makes it so good.

“No moving.”

He rubs her soothingly, a stark contrast to the fire behind his eyes. Despite how bratty she’s been, her sweet, attentive Harry is still there, making sure she’s taken care of, comfortable, and safe. Her needy hips chase his fingers, a broken plea on the tip of her tongue.

Again.

He twists her panties with his index finger until her puffy pussy swallows them, the swell of her mound bulging from the tight elastic bands. He smacks her again, a little more gentle this time, but hard enough to still make her toes curl. She laughs through a breathy moan, her heart racing. He tsks, mumbling under his breath.

“This is your punishment. You’re not supposed to be enjoying it.” He tugs her panties up tight to her clit. “You’ll take anything I give you. Won’t you? I could spit on you and call you a bitch, and you’ll say thank you. Right, babylove?”

He delivers another resounding slap to her cunt, and then, another for good measure. This time, her back arches from the mattress, eyes rolling back. Fire licks her skin, and it hurts, no doubt, but in such a way that's indescribable; it burns, but it spreads throughout her whole body, and it makes her limbs tingly and warm, yearning for more. Again, he runs his hand along her exposed mound to ease the ache.

“Thank you,” she moans, and he smiles. He spanks her poor pussy raw, again and again, until his hand hurts and her arousal drips onto the sheets. Her thighs threaten to close, but she digs her feet into the mattress, aching for more pain, more pleasure, just more. Her world spins, but at the center of it all is him—striking eyes, teasing smile, and pretty lips—and he’s all hers.

“Taking it so well, pretty girl,” he says, moving to kneel between her spread legs. He can feel the wetness through her panties, and he nudges his head around where her clit is, still blocked by her useless underwear, her pussy visibly tightens with anticipation. He leans back, still close enough to feel the heat from her, and he slips his cock under her panties, the tight, elastic band pulling at his tender skin while her lips massage the underside. She’s wet, perhaps from her orgasms from earlier, but likely from the spanking. He thrusts, wrapped in soaked panties, until the tip of his cock nudges the fabric at the top of her mound, and he twitches when the underwear pulls at the sensitive head in a certain way.

“Such a naughty girl,” he moans, thumbs pulling at the fabric to wrap tighter around his cock. “I’m only fucking your panties, and you’re already soaked.”

He pulls out reluctantly, his cock heavy on her wet underwear. He spits on the fabric and spreads it over her mound, just to tease her little more. She tugs at her restraints and whines from the sudden cold.

A drop of saliva slips past his puckered lips, landing on his open palm, which now cradles his cock. He hasn’t resorted to jerking himself off in a long time; he hasn’t needed to, but he works himself easily, finding a calculated rhythm, fast then slow, quick, eager strokes along the head then long, languid strokes along the entire length. He sits on his heels, and his legs ache from the weight. Her thighs twitch, and she pulls at the restraints. His balls brush against her mound with every movement of his hand, and he swears he can feel her jump with every movement, so sensitive, so responsive. He fucks his fist, hips unconsciously bucking, wishing it is her warmth that coats him, squeezes him, and pulls him in. He yearns to touch her, to feel her smooth skin, but he knows that this lack of physical touch is as difficult for her to bear as it is for him, and that makes it a little better.

Her chest heaves with unsteady breaths, eyes fixated on his hand working his cock. She pulls futilely at the scarves, until her wrists hurt. She knows that she’s not going to be able to get out, but she unconsciously reaches for him. She’s not used to being so exposed, body vulnerable to his gaze, without having him touch her. Sure, their thighs are pressed tight together, but it’s not nearly enough.

This isn’t what she thought was going to happen when she broke his rules. Truly, more so than usual, this is a punishment: to see him work himself to orgasm without being able to touch him. She wishes she was the one to make him squirm, moan, and come.

“Please,” she whines, eyes pleading with him, and he knows what she’s begging for.

“What? You think I want to touch a dirty little brat like you?”

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean? I came home, hoping to spend a nice evening with my good girl, only to find out that she broke my rule,” he says. “My one rule.”

He wishes it was her hand stroking him, eager eyes and tempting smile staring back at him. It would feel so much better than his own calloused fist. He feels himself tighten to signal an impending end, weak but an end nonetheless.

“I wanted nothing more than to come home and to have you come on my tongue more times than you can count, but you couldn’t be patient, and now, you have to take your punishment.”

She twists and squirms beneath him, her body undulating on the sheets. The need that tugs on her features is almost enough to break him, to make him give in and make his pretty girl come on his face, but then he remembers that scheming smile she had on her face, that devious look that made him rife with lust. He remembers that she was on this very bed by herself just before he got home, making herself come, her head thrown back, whining and whimpering. The thought brings the fire back.

He cups her cheek and leans forward, stretching her legs apart, and his cock rests just above her belly button, still cupped in his hand. Her tongue dips out of her mouth. His eager, naughty girl waits for him to spit in her mouth, to shove his ringed fingers down her throat, to do anything, but he pulls back again, and she frowns.

“How did you do it? Did you use your fingers, baby?”

She nods pitifully, and he hums, his strokes quick.

“Yeah? Bet they weren’t as good as mine.” He runs his thumb along the head, pleasure sending chills down his spine, trying to prolong his buildup.

“No one’s fingers will ever be as good as mine.”

He wants to prove it to her, to pound his fingers inside her until she can barely breathe, arousal gushing down his wrist as she comes until she’s crying. He wants to kiss her tears away as she begs for more. Perhaps, with all the teasing and build-up, he could get her to come with just one finger with one well-placed thrust. Her hips buck, and he knows that she’s thinking about that, too. After the stolen orgasm from earlier and the burning spanks her poor pussy received, she must be desperate for anything he’ll give to her.

His orgasm builds quickly, with his thoughts running amuck, visions of her, on her knees before him, choking on him until tears stream down her cheeks, on her back, moaning while he pounds into her, on top of him, grinding down on him, not letting up because she just loves the feeling of him deep inside her belly.

He comes on her tummy, a broken moan slipping past his bitten lips, spurts of his seed stain her pretty skin, and her breath hitches, shocked at the sudden warmth; then, she hums contentedly.

“There,” he sighs, admiring his work.

“Thought you were gonna come three times,” she says softly as he steps off the bed, sore cock heavy between his legs. His knees tremble.

“Open,” he coos, slipping his fingers in her mouth, and she sucks away the remnants of his orgasm. He smooths out her brow with his free hand, brushing away a bead of sweat that sunk from her hairline.

“Who said I’m done with you? No, I’m gonna go shower, and you’re going to stay there with my cum on your tummy and think about what you’ve done.”

He kisses her nose, just like he does every morning after loving on her. It’s a sweet gesture, one that doesn’t match his demeanor. He leaves her there, like he said he would, tied up as he moves to the bathroom, shoulders pushed back, self-assured and composed. Harry steps into the steaming shower, washing away the sweat from his skin.

Y/N whimpers in the next room. She has given up on tugging at the silk scarves; instead, she’s trying to ignore the insatiable throbbing between her legs, her arousal slipping out onto her thighs, like a greedy slut. His words ring in her ears, and it makes the arousal worsen.

She rubs her thighs together to alleviate some pressure, but it’s little use. Perhaps, if she tests him just a little more, he’ll throw away all willpower and ravish her until the early morning hours, but her resolve weakens with every passing minute. She wanted to tease him a bit, maybe get him a little mad, so he would put her in her place. She wanted him to fuck her to oblivion, until she can’t keep her eyes open.

This is a different kind of punishment, one she’s never even considered. In her fantasies, she’s tied up and vulnerable, but he lavishes her with touch until she’s overstimulated, drunk on him, his scent, his touch, his voice.

This is a different kind of punishment, a true punishment in her eyes. The teasing, lingering touches is enough to make her burst, and to have him there but just beyond her reach is near painful.

His cum has nearly dried on her belly, and she wishes he came inside her, stuffed full of his warmth; at least, then, she wouldn’t be so cold, so exposed.

She perks when he steps out of the bathroom, and he wastes no time straddling her hips, his cock twitching against her tummy. The weight of his body on hers is suffocating, her overstimulated senses taking him in, his warmth, his touch, his scent. She can feel every ridge of his body, every drop of water that slips from his clean skin, everything.

It’s almost too much all at once.

“Color?”

She blinks.

“Daddy, please,” she whispers, “want you to fill me up. ‘M such a greedy cock slut. I won’t even come, promise—”

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what color,” he says.

He doesn’t usually use her name when they’re this far into the fantasy, but it seems she needs it now.

“Green,” she breathes out. “Green, green, you feel so good, H. ‘M sorry I touched myself; I just couldn’t help it. Wanna make you feel good, please.”

“I wanna believe you, baby.” He cups her cheek, cold water dripping from his hair and melting into her skin. He takes her in, relishing in the sight of her craving, trembling, and begging for his touch. He likes seeing her on edge like this, dangerously close to teetering off into oblivion.

“But I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

He traces the head of his red cock along the seams of her panties, like he did earlier, but this time, he tugs her underwear aside, mouth watering at the sight of her pretty, puffy pussy, surely sore from the spanking earlier. He spits on her, and he watches as it slips down into her most intimate fold. She’s so responsive to the slightest touch. He spreads her open, lips parted to reveal her wanton pussy. He tugs back the hood of her button, hard and throbbing.

He slaps his cock against her clit, the skin tacky with his spit. The slight, sudden touch is electrifying, and it makes his cock twitch, hungry for more. He can see her tighten up, and her hips jolt. Shivers trail from her spine to the tips of her peaked nipples. He thumps the head of his cock on her clit quickly, concurrent with every keen thrust of her hips, spitting in her every so often, leaving her wet and swollen and filthy, just like she is.

“Thank you,” she whimpers. “Feels so good, daddy.”

He teases the head of his cock just past her lips and nestles himself inside her finally, her warmth swallowing him easily. His eyes flutter closed, savoring what he so desperately needed.

She breathes out sharply when he stops with just the head inside her. This teasing is almost becoming too much.

“More,” she whimpers, “Please?”

He looks at her with fire in his eyes.

“No, you don’t tell me what to do. Besides, I don’t think you deserve my cock.”

She could almost cry. He’s so close, but he won’t go any further, just teasing her with what could have been. She tries to pull him in deeper, her walls tightening around his head. It makes his toes curl, burning pleasure forming in his belly. She tries to pull him in, aching for just a little more. He holds her hips down to keep her from moving.

“Please, I’ve been good. I said I was sorry for making myself come. I’ll never do it again, promise. Please, I just wanna feel you, daddy. That’s all I wanted today.”

“This isn’t about you anymore, babylove. You’re just daddy’s little fucktoy, my little cock slut.” He thrusts slightly, the tender head dragging along her tight opening, never pushing further. “And right now, I wanna hear you cry for my cock.”

Her feet trail up his legs, knees hooked at his hips, frantically trying to pull him in entirely. She tried to be good; she asked him nicely to just fuck her already. At this point, she doesn’t even want to come. She just wants to feel him, to alleviate at least some of the pressure throbbing between her legs. It’s humiliating because she’s near tears, desperate for his cock.

He came not even fifteen minutes ago, and he’s still sensitive. He pulls back until the head is nestled just past her entrance, muscles tight around the tip. He jerks off the base of his cock for more stimulation. A part of the pleasure comes from watching her squirm; she’s so desperate as she yanks at her restraints, hips thrusting and pussy clenching to pull him in deeper. It’s such an odd sensation, her entrance being fairly sensitive, but it’s not enough to stimulate her.

It’s never enough.

“Maybe you’ll come just by the feeling of my cum inside you.”

She honestly might.

The skin of his cock drags back and forth along her sensitive walls as he jerks himself off inside her.

“I bet you will,” he grins. “Just remember, if you come, I will not touch you for a week. Be very careful, Y/N.”

She wiggles pitifully, her arousal dripping down his shaft, and he uses it as lubricant.

“I bet your poor little clit is throbbing,” he teases. “‘M so sorry, babylove.”

He’s not.

There’s a wicked smile that splits his face.

He pulls out suddenly, making her gasp, and thumps his cock some more on her pussy, landing a particularly rough blow to the sensitive part of her exposed clit, puffy with arousal, the hood stretched back.

“Please, daddy,” she whimpers, “more. I’ve been good. I won’t do it again.”

He gives her some more, dragging himself along her fold in languid motions, circling around her clit before he thumps his cock on her pretty little button. She squeaks.

He stuffs himself inside again, just like before with only the head inside her. She groans, tightening up. It’s as if her body has a mind of its own, clenched and frenzied for any type of stimulation. She squeezes him so tightly, and she fights against his hold on her hips.

He comes shortly after, his body curling into itself like it usually does when he has a particularly strong orgasm, back arching with every wave.

Y/N moans when his cum fills her, reaching deep inside her, and her walls clench with need. It’s barely anything, but it’s still more than what he was giving to her before, and she could honestly come from that little bit alone. She’s trying to regain her composure, cunt still throbbing. He kisses her face, like he usually does after he comes, a gentle reminder that he’s still her Harry. He massages her waist, lingering down to her hips. They bask in each others’ warmth, trying to find the energy to move.

That’s normal for him, sweet and mushy and loving.

What she doesn’t expect is him tightening his hold on her hips and thrusting himself fully inside her, his cock still weeping out remnants of his orgasm.

She would scream if she could, but the breath is knocked from her lungs, choked moans passing through clenched teeth. Animalistic and brutal, Harry sets a quick pace, her entire body moving with the power behind his thrusts. Her mind is blank, and her body hums, pleasurable vibrations coursing through her body to every single nerve. She forgets that she isn’t allowed to come, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the consequences just yet. Finally, she can taste the bittersweet euphoria, making her world dizzy as he fills her again and again. She could almost cry with utter relief.

Yes, yes, this is what she wanted—no, needed—and it’s even better than she dreamt. Her sopping pussy takes him easily, reaching the neediest part of her. She spreads herself further, angling her knees to her chest so he can pound himself deeper inside, cream dripping onto the sheets. Her legs are sticky with their shared arousal.

Harry’s face is flushed, brows furrowed as he loses himself in the feel of her. It’s been almost as torturous for him as it has for her; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this frantic, never has he felt so desperate to plunge himself into her depths, never has he been so entranced, so sensitive to any touch. His head tips back, features twisted, chest bared, and teeth gritted. His breaths are weak, faltering and shallow. He groans as she tightens around him. Sweat drips down his chest.

“H? Color?”

It takes a moment to pull him back.

“Green, baby,” he says, smiling ever so slightly.

He’s never felt this before, this vulnerable yet powerful, on the verge of pleasure and pain, dancing along a tightrope threatening to snap at any second, such a thrill. He feels light headed, high off of her. He wants to feel her, embrace her, love her.

He rips at the knots around her wrists, fingers trembling, but they won’t budge, and he loses his balance, instead wrapping his arms around her arched back. He nestles his nose in her neck, pulling their chests tight together. She smells of salt and sin and sex, and he can’t control himself.

“So fucking good.”

He presses himself deeper, the head of his sensitive cock nudging the inmost parts of her. He fucks her easily with his cum spilling out with every hard thrust, leaving their connected bodies sticky. He can’t pull out much without his cock weeping with overstimulation, but he can’t stop, the pleasure all too addicting.

“Jus’ one more, lovie,” he whispers. “So close. Don’t you dare come.” He grits his teeth, rubbing at her swollen clit, subtly and just to make it throb, before his hands rest on her lower belly, thumbs connecting just below the button. He fucks into her harder, the bed frame shaking and smacking into the wall.

That’s when realization hits her.

She’s close.

She’s so close, one well placed thrust, one harsh stroke to her clit will push her over the edge.

But she has to hold it off.

His words ring in her ears in time with her racing heart, his threat of no intimacy sobering her. If she thought before was punishment, having to see him pleasure himself without being able to touch him, this is hell. Her orgasm burns painfully in her belly. It tastes so sweet. She clings to the silk restraints. She doesn’t want to give in, but it would feel so good; it would be a high that would leave her lightheaded for hours afterward, and shockwaves of pleasure tightening her muscles as a constant reminder.

She sobs, on the brink of breaking. Her hands tingle, drained of blood. She’s trying to relax, to breathe through the waves of euphoria that crash over her, and it works for a second, but with that, she opens up more, taking him deeper and more easily. That’s when the pleasure would shatter the calm in harsh waves. She closes her eyes, a drawn hum seeping from her chest. He grabs the back of her neck, using it as leverage as he fucks himself deeper into her, and she cries out.

“Look at me,” he demands. She does, barely, her teary eyes glimmering. He smiles, and she feels warm. “There’s my pretty girl. I’m almost there, just a little bit more. Doing so well for me babylove. Don’t come.”

“Please,” she moans, peering through her lashes. “Come for me, daddy.”

She lights a fire in his veins, sending a rippling feeling of ecstasy through his spine. His eyes roll back as he comes once again, his prick pulsating as he empties himself deep inside for a third and final time. Satiated, he grinds his hips against her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. She’s throbbing around him, legs trembling at his sides. She sighs, most likely out of relief but perhaps also out of frustration. As he nestles himself deeper, her lips tremble, features pinching as she tries to hold off an orgasm, clenching so tightly that his softening cock slips out of her. She moans.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing his lips sweetly to her sticky forehead. “You did so well for me, babylove. So proud of you.” Then again to her cheek. He traces up the backs of her thighs, hooking her legs around his waist.

“What did we learn?”

“Don’t touch yourself unless daddy says so,” she whispers, her voice dry. He nods appreciatively, eyes taking in her trembling form, and leans back.

Her thighs twitch occasionally at his sides, and he wants to bite them, skin surely sensitive to the slightest of touches. Sweat and cum and saliva paint her flesh, but the absolute masterpiece is her ruined pussy, swollen and wet and divine. He thumbs at her, gently guiding her lips apart to expose her pink inside, quivering with an insatiable need. He wants to lick up the cum that slips out of her, but she’s been through enough, the aftershocks of her stolen orgasms still visibly lingering in her sore body.

Another time, perhaps.

“That’s right, babylove. I think you finally learned your lesson.”

—

#enjoy nasties #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes filth #never knew i would have to make a tag like that but #here we are #gif not mine #credit to owner

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moiraineswife · 3 years ago

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Jasnah and Wit - Presentation Meta

Part 1 of the great saga of Witsnah “WELL ACTUALLY” metas I plan on doing bc y’all have just pushed me That Far.

Well hello there. I’m GRUMPY. And what I do when I’m grumpy is I channel it into a little thing called spite meta. That’s what this is. It’s me angrily yelling for several thousand words about why this thing is a GOOD thing, actually.

Today’s subject, the much controversial post Rhythm of War canon pairing that is: Wit/Jasnah.

So let’s (angrily) explore why this is actually a positive thing for both characters, on a nuanced, meta, character analysis level. Because that’s the only level that I have.

I admit, I was sceptical and uncertain. But when I actually sat and thought about this for a hot second...It started making a lot of sense to me. And then I thought about it for, like, a hot minute, and it made a LOT of sense to me. And now I’ve thought about it for a hot month, so come. Step into my thoughts, and I will explain my perspective on this all…

Firstly we’re going to talk about clothes. Yes, clothes. Clothes and what they symbolise for this pair, together and individually.

He was immaculate, as always, with his perfectly styled hair and sharp black suit. For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over. - RoW, 64

Wit and Jasnah have bonded over the idea of presentation and the effects it can create. Both of them have used this idea to great effect multiple times in the series. Wit displays himself as a more appropriate form of an Alethi highprince at war - a crisp, tailored, military suit in a colour that makes him instantly and easily identifiable in a crowd. It’s part of his subtle mockery of those around him - that the King’s Wit is a better presented highprince than the REAL highprinces. It also makes him recognisable, and it makes him seem professional and able to move easily in high society.

Equally, we’ve seen him take the guise of a poor beggar so as to sneak into Kholinar and go unnoticed and dismissed when he sneaks into the palace to recover Design in Oathbringer.

Jasnah, meanwhile, gives a memorable and impactful speech to Shallan at the beginning of Words of Radiance about the illusion of perception. About how by presenting herself as a princess, looking the way others expect, she is able to effectively use her authority. And would be able to similarly do so if she simply convinced people she was a princess, by manipulating their perception of her.

Both Jasnah and Wit understand this idea - of presenting yourself, not necessarily in the way you want to look, but in the way you want others to look at you. Creating for them the thing you want them to see, which enables you to better be that thing.

It also runs deeper than that. They’re not just people who like to dress well. They understand that this has a power to it. They understand the effect it will have over others. And it’s this deeper thing that I believe they’ve bonded over.

Because they don’t simply appear put together in their clothes; they appear put together in their everything. Wit and Jasnah are people who are consistently calm and composed regardless of the situation. They do it in very different ways. Jasnah with calculating stoicism and intellectual calm. Wit with indifferent frivolity and nonchalant acceptance of what’s happening around him.

The core effect is the same. When the walls are crumbling down, the armies are sweeping in, and everything’s on fucking fire, Wit and Jasnah are two people you expect to be able to look to for direction and a bit of sanity amidst the chaos.

They’ve both cultivated personalities and personas that revolve around appearing and seeming in control and unperturbed whatever is happening. It’s like their whole Thing.

So the presentation is not only about clothes and make up, it’s about who they are deep down as people. The fact that they’re always the strong ones. Always the ones in control. Always the ones who aren’t panicking despite the fact that everything’s on fucking fire.

They’re people that others EXPECT to behave a certain way. There’s a predictability to them. A dependability. In Wit’s case, it’s that you can rely on him to be esoteric, confusing, and unpredictable, but still.

There’s a pressure in that. There’s a pressure in always being THAT put together. In always being THAT on top of things. In always being THAT person who can never break down screaming when things go wrong because that’s not who they are and not what people expect. They have to be more than that. They have to be BETTER than that.

They’re also people that other characters tend to other/deify. Shallan remarks several times about Jasnah being inhuman/beyond ordinary people, and even goes so far as to compare her to the divine, despite her being a heretic.

Wit, meanwhile, gets asked if he’s a Herald, has that odd air of always knowing things that he shouldn’t, and being in places he shouldn’t at the right times.

They’re both ‘positively’ outcast. And I don’t mean that in an overly posh English way and being positively outcast, darling. What I mean is that, instead of being shunted outside of the circle of normality, they’re both placed on pedestals above it. Which is a different sort of outcast, but comes with its own package of problems.

And this brings us to: vulnerability. Because they’ve bonded over this presentation thing, but they’ve ALSO bonded over the fact that they’ve found someone they don’t have to do that around all the time. Someone they can let their guard down with and just be themselves. Someone they don’t have to present and perform for. Someone they can just be HUMAN with.

So we’re going to look more closely at the clothing aspect of this. Because there’s symbolism here, and it deeply interests me. With a focus on Jasnah, because Wit’s a mystery by design, and Jasnah’s got some more intentional stuff going on here I feel, re narrative symbolism.

So from the moment we’re introduced to her, Jasnah always looks immaculate. She always looks perfectly put together. Shallan remarks multiple times on her havah, on her make up, on the intricate and perfectly done braids of her hair. Which is a little bit gay on Shallan’s part (which is valid) but it’s also significant, symbolically.

I talked already about Jasnah’s idea of ‘power is an illusion of perception’, but I feel it’s worth coming back to. Both because of how much it shapes Shallan, but also how much it shapes Jasnah, and informs what we know about her.

Jasnah is ALWAYS put together. She is ALWAYS perfectly made up, the absolute ideal of the perfect Alethi princess. Even in scenes of distress or ‘downtime’ scenes - such as waiting for Shallan in the hospital, or visiting her after her betrayal, or the relatively more relaxed setting being on board the Wind’s Pleasure. The text makes a point to note that Jasnah is perfectly done up and presenting exactly as she wishes.

The times we see slips in that are DEEPLY interesting to me.

The first one I want to look at, briefly, is That Controversial Scene in the way of kings, where Jasnah uses Soulcasting to kill the men who attacked her and Shallan in the alley.

Just prior to this we see her bathing, where Shallan still remarks on how composed Jasnah is. This is also part of her presentation. She’s entirely naked, but that illusion is still up. She’s still more in control than other people are fully clothed.

What I find interesting is the specific note that Jasnah does not take the time to have her hair braided before she sets out with Shallan. It’s mentioned as being unbound a few times.

Symbolically, I like this, because I feel like it speaks to a slight loosening of her usual control. There’s something about that scenario that sets Jasnah on edge. There’s something about it that makes her feel.

Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it?

Shallan is unnerved because Jasnah seems calm. But I get the sense, from this line, and from the intense repetition of how unnaturally composed Jasnah appears, that her composure is a front. And that if we had her perspective on this scene, it would look very different from how Shallan imagines it.

There’s something driving her here. Something beyond the logic she explains to Shallan, about making the city safer, about the guards not doing anything, about how innocent women will not be able to protect themselves from this, and how she wanted those men gone. All of which I believe is true, but that line from Shallan, and the way in which Jasnah goes about this...It feels personal. There’s something else going on behind the scenes that we don’t know or understand.

Regardless. This is the first time we see Jasnah step out of the cultured, reserved, stoic scholar. She’s something other than an ideal Alethi princess and studious mentor in this scene. And the detail of her hair being unbound, contained, wild, for the first time since we’ve met her feels..Significant. It’s an important detail to linger on, I think.

Which brings us to the next exception to Jasnah’s exceptional presentation rule: her murder!

Even in the scene before where we see Jasnah, arguably, the most vulnerable that we’ve seen her, in the cabin when Shallan confronts her about her fear of the upcoming apocalypse. It’s only a moment. Only a moment of genuine emotion that Shallan manages to glimpse before the mask comes back.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. Shallan began to creep away, but a voice from the floor suddenly said, “Truth!”

Startled, Jasnah looked up, eyes finding Shallan—who, of course, blushed furiously.

Jasnah turned her eyes down toward Pattern on the floor, then reset her mask, sitting up with proper posture. “Yes, child?”

The text notes in this segment that Jasnah’s poise and presentation is a mask, but it also describes it as her ‘defenses’. This is her armour. It stops people looking too close. It stops them reading her emotion, her weaknesses. This is also one of very few times we see Jasnah attracting spren in the series.

However, even in this scene, clearly exhausted, overworked, and overwhelmed, Jasnah remains perfectly put together. All of her armour, her immaculate havah, her make-up, her braids, are all in place. Even in this moment.

Which makes a stark contrast to the next scene we find her in where she’s dressed only in a “thin nightgown”, and is lying on the floor with a sword in her chest. The vulnerability of unexpected assassination.

When next we see Jasnah, in the epilogue, is when she’s freshly spat out of Shadesmar after an apparently harrowing ordeal.

Her clothing was ragged, her hair formed into a single utilitarian braid, her face lashed with burns. She’d once worn a fine dress, but that was tattered. She’d hemmed it at the knees and had sewn herself a glove out of something improvised. Curiously, she wore a kind of leather bandolier and a backpack. He doubted she’d had either one when her journey had begun.

Even in another plane, apparently being hounded and in fear of her life, she’s managed to acquire some appropriate clothing, a glove, and a damn bandolier. Because of course she has. Perception. Iconic.

After that we don’t see her out of anything beyond her famous havah-braids-make up combo. Even when she’s with her family, and Navani remarks in her setting down the mask of the queen, she remains masked. There are still defences up. She never fully lets her family in on her plans, or her thoughts and fears.

No, the next time we see her symbolically, and emotionally, vulnerable: is with Wit. Perhaps for the first time, fully, without ANY of her usual masks and pretences, and under her own steam and of her own volition.

Locked away in a central room on the second level—sharing no walls with the outside, alone save for Wit’s company—she could finally let herself relax.

She DELIBERATELY picks a house with a second floor, and an interior room with no outside walls, with multiple fabrial traps to warn of assassins or intruders. But she manages to relax in Wit’s company. There’s a trust there. An understanding. A much needed vulnerability.

Clothing wise, in this scene Jasnah is dressed only in a nightgown and a dressing gown, and is carefully noted to have her safehand uncovered. Jasnah isn’t Vorin, strictly speaking, but she’s still been raised her entire life in a society that views safehands as something inherently sexual/to be hidden. So much so that she takes the time and care to sew herself a safehand glove while in Shadesmar. So all of this is a fairly Big Deal. It’s a Big Deal for anyone. For Jasnah? More miraculous than Kaladin giggling.

Jasnah Kholin is not vulnerable. Jasnah Kholin is never unguarded. Jasnah Kholin never willingly lets her guard down. Jasnah Kholin is absolutely as paranoid as Elhokar, if not more so.

She’s made herself a BUNKER at this point. She’s in an interior room, surrounded by traps, there’s spheres sewn into her dressing gown, and she has a wholeass BOAT waiting for her in Shadesmar JUST IN CASE someone manages to get through: guards, an entire BUILDING, multiple rigged traps, then her, with her plate, her blade, her Soulcasting ability, and all of her wit and skill, to somehow manage to wound her badly enough that she has to retreat to Shadesmar.

This woman does not do trust. She does not do vulnerability. To the point that it is absolutely 1000000% a fault. This IS Jasnah’s greatest flaw. Her isolation. Her mistrust. Her paranoia.

Anyone that comes into her life she’s suspicious of. She blithely warns Shallan about Kabsal stating he’s only using her to get close to Jasnah to steal from her/kill her.

We dismiss this, and look at it as brilliance/Jasnah knowing all, because she’s right. But it’s flawed brilliance. Because it’s the ‘broken clock’ fallacy, you know? If you suspect EVERYONE around you of being an assassin...Well, some of them will be.

Jasnah’s paranoia is another meta, however. But the point here is that: Jasnah doesn’t do anything by halves. She has an ideal for how she wants to live her life and she COMMITS to it. And part of that is her presentation, and the perception she projects, to an unhealthy degree, even around trusted family.

So the fact she has found someone she can relax all of her INCREDIBLY strict and overzealous masking and enforced personal presentation? Is both very significant in terms of her relationship with Wit, but also herSELF?

Because Jasnah NEEDS this. She needs it like Kaladin needs therapy yesterday.

Jasnah is a “strong independent woman” but if you double down on that idea, and follow it up with “Jasnah is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a man/anyone” then you are absolutely 1000% missing the whole entire point of her character.

All the Stormlight characters are deconstructions of classical fantasy tropes, to varying extents.

Jasnah is the ‘strong independent woman’ trope except asking what if you ACTUALLY apply that to an actual human person? What would that do to them? How would that hurt them? And what it does is everything Jasnah is.

Which has been done so MASTERFULLY because we look at all of these flaws, and these objectively negative things that she does to cope with having this label slapped onto her, and we golf clap quietly in a corner and go ‘wow that’s so badass, that’s so cool, let’s totally romantacise all of these actually deeply worrying coping mechanisms and not look at them at all until Brandon smashes us in the face with them like a baseball bat with the nails of Jasnah’s trauma pounded into it’.

Okay maybe that was SLIGHTLY dramatic. But my point is: Jasnah’s apparent omniscience can also be looked at as extreme paranoia and mistrust.

Her independence and ability to ‘get shit done’ on her own, to the point she doesn’t tell another living soul about the LITERAL APOCALYPSE for more than HALF A DECADE is actually self-inflicted dangerous isolation.

Her constantly being poised, and on her game, and never displaying any emotion is actually extreme repression, to the point her own MOTHER describes her as ‘having the empathy of a corpse’.

Her consistent othering by all of the other characters, from her ward to her mother, deifying her, and othering her, and considering her immortal is actually putting her on a pedestal and cramming an INCREDIBLE amount of pressure to reach an impossible, unattainable, and inhuman level of perfection that becomes so normalised and commonplace that her return from the dead is just like ‘well yeah that’s just Jasnah’.

And all of these things are INCREDIBLY unhealthy!!! They’re not something any real person should have to do just to exist. Especially not in the middle of an apocalypse. When her father was killed in front of her. And then her brother was murdered. And the apocalypse she tried to warn everyone about is happening. And she’s the most experienced Radiant. And she’s also suddenly a queen of her kingdom. Which has been taken over by the enemy btw. And they’re in the middle of a war. And people are dying. And she’s responsible for those people dying. But also some of her highprinces are treacherous bastards. And oh look here’s a couple of slightly mad Heralds she’s taken charge of and- OH MY GOD PLEASE LET HER NAP!?

Again. Slight hyperbole on my end but I feel like I’m #Justified. The point is, her suddenly, after FOUR books, having a single person that she can confide in, and be vulnerable with, and admit she’s afraid, and uncertain, and doesn’t know what she’s doing, and isn’t sure she can actually do this, is not ~anti-feminist~ and it’s not “out of character” and it’s not damaging her ideal it’s actually deeply positive, and healthy, and a symptom of Character Growth.

Jasnah’s is choosing Wit. With her eyes wide open. And she has some reservations about things, because she’s JASNAH, of course she does. But she listens to him. She confides in him. She lets him see HER. She lets him help HER. She admits that she needs that help. She actually says to him, out loud, with full human words, to his face, right in front of him, that she’s frightened. SHE ADMITS THIS!!! Jasnah’s having all this stealth background character development that y’all are sleeping on but I am personally deeply hype about.

And it’s because Wit UNDERSTANDS her. And she understands him. And this is really the crux and core of this whole relationship for me, you know? This whole idea around them always being The Strong One. and finally FINALLY (for him, too) having someone that they don’t have to be strong for. Or regal. Or composed. Or poised. Or in control. Or even knowing what the fuck they’re doing.

She can just...Be. She can ask questions. And show uncertainty. And admit to fear. And to doubt, of herself, of the other Radiants, of humanity in general. And have someone to look to, when everyone is ALWAYS looking at her.

It’s the beginning of an actual support system. Because she needs this SO badly. Because she has her family but she also...Doesn’t have her family? She looks after them. She protects them. From assassins, and then from what was happening in the world/her role in it. Because there’s that line in Oathbringer that she has, about people loving her but still hurting her.

Navani mentions that after she hit adolescence (and after her parents locked her in a dark room and let her scream herself hoarse because they called her mad, lol) she withdrew. And she no longer asked questions. And she no longer wanted a mother, or a support figure, or someone to take care of her. She rejected all notions of that. Because there was something broken there. That trust was gone. And Jasnah will set aside the crown, and the mask of the queen around her family, but she is only fully vulnerable, and fully HERSELF with Wit.

And I cannot understate (i feel like I’m doing a Good Job of not understating this here people) how absolutely fucking ESSENTIAL that is.

Jasnah is NOT a machine. She is not a divine being beyond trauma and pain. She is a human being who has suffered, and who has responses to this.

Jasnah accepting Wit’s support and companionship is as big a step in processing and healing from her trauma as Kaladin accepting he can’t protect everyone and does not deserve to always carry that guilt.

I don’t care if you don’t like the ship. I don’t care if you think it was rushed (there was...a year long time skip. Things did not remain in stasis. Things changed. This is an interesting narrative device bringing us into them and letting us extrapolate backwards). I don’t care if you hate the bones of Hoid and never want to see him on screen: I DON’T CARE.

If you have any respect and regard for Jasnah as a character I need you to acknowledge that this relationship is a positive and healthy thing for her. I need you to see that it’s a step forwards. I need you to see that, from a purely narrative standpoint: this is a thing that should be celebrated for her.

In terms of Wit, too, this is a good thing. I am not about one-sided relationships where only one person is getting something out of it. Even when that one person is the light of my life Jasnah Kholin who deserves all the things ever.

For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over.

Coming back to this RoW quote let me make things as abundantly clear as possible re why I’ve bonded over this ship: They’re kindred spirits. They understand each other. In a way that no-one else has understood them for Jasnah possibly ever, for Wit in a very very very very very very very very very long time.

They’re both brilliant. They’re both intellectually at the pinnacle of humanity. They both know that. They’re also both damaged. They both cover up that damage with a carefully crafted presentation. Jasnah’s is regal composure and Wit’s flamboyant nonchalance, but it’s a mask in both cases.

They understand each other. And they understand the need to have what they’ve found in one another: someone they don’t have to be that way around. Someone they can just be with. Someone who understands why they have to be that way with everyone else; but can give them the freedom to be themselves.

Such parallel. Much power. Very choice.

I was gonna talk about Other Stuff in this meta but lol. 4k words of clothes screaming later and I feel like maybe this should be part 1 of an ongoing saga. Ahem.

The take away from this is: I totally understand why Brandon put these two characters together. For the amount of characters he has, he actually has relatively few romantic relationships. None of them are done on a whim, and they’re always healthy, mutual, and positive for both characters. They make sense, in short.

And these two as a pairing makes sense. On more than a “”””business transaction””””” level of them wanting and getting information out of one another. It makes sense even if there was no Desolation, and no threat to the world, and they were two randomers who met in a tavern and connected.

There’s a personal connection there. There’s an intimacy, and an understanding, and a sense of looking into another person’s eyes and saying ‘yes. You know. You feel it too’. They go through life in much the same way - standing out, never quite fitting, never finding anyone on their level that can relate to them or compete with them or challenge them.

They have someone who can fulfil them. Someone who can actually meet and exceed their abilities for once. But equally someone who can ground them, and meet them at their lowest point, and allow and even encourage that vulnerability.

TL;DR: this relationship is positive for both characters, and healthy, and important for both and this is a hill I WILL fucking die upon. Just watch me.

More metas to follow. Bc I have more to say. Not as long as this one, in all likelihood, bc I feel like this is the Lynchpin argument for this pair. But still. More to say.

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theoi-crow · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe Hercules' myth involves him being mortal before becoming the god of strength. Does this mean humans can ascend to godhood?

Hi! Sorry for the late reply, I've been busy but this ask is fascinating!

Hercules or Heracles (the Greek version of his name) is a demigod.

His mother, Alcmene, is human, while his father is Zeus. He was already part god like Perseus, Bellerophon and Achilles. Hercules was only able to ascend to godhood because he was already halfway there and while humans like Patroclus and Sappho can be possibly venerated as heroes or past ancestors, ancient Greece is very explicit on making sure that any human who ascends to godhood is a demigod, even if they are said to have a human mother and human father, like the story of Theseus whose human father was Aegeus but many myths claim it was actually Poseidon: (LINK)

So, can humans who are not already demigods ascend to godhood? No, according to the ancient Greeks, they can't.

This does not mean people didn't do extraordinary things, it's just that the ancient Greeks assumed whoever did extraordinary things was a demigod. This happened because when people accomplished something extraordinary in ancient Greece, the public considered that person to be someone who went beyond human limitation and thus considered more than human. People started suspecting a god as a possible parent.

Sometimes the person claiming to be a demigod did it for political reasons, like Alexander the Great who claimed to be the son of Zeus. Did people actually believe him? Not until he was able to prove his superhuman ability by creating one of the largest empires in human history at such a young age and in such a short time: (LINK)

Another thing I want to mention is how important ancestry was to the ancient Greeks.

Every Greek person only had one name and sometimes multiple people had the same name. So in order to differentiate between two people with the same name, their "last name" would be the name of their father, for example: "Theseus son of Aegus."

When someone didn't know who the father was, they would go by the mother's name, but if the person did something extraordinary, then people would start claiming they were the illegitimate child of a god (usually Zeus) and they would speculate and make stories about them emphasizing their status as a demigod (this is one of the reasons why there are a lot of stories about Zeus and rape. To the ancient Greeks, rape ment "going behind the father's back" even if the women wanted to be in a union with the god because to the ancient Greeks women did not have autonomy so their father's permission was very important).

Classifying a person who did the impossible as a demigod was very important to the ancient Greeks for a few reasons:

1. It would create the idea that only living demigods can do impossible things and thus disencourage "regular" humans from thinking they can also do that and thus keeping them in line for the politicians in power who ruled every aspect of their lives.

2. It cemented the idea that the gods still interact with their people and future demigods will be bestowed with their blessings and thus their hometowns would also benefit from said blessings.

3. Adding to reason number 2, it was also used for tourism.

4. It kept the honor of both women and children who didn't have a man claiming to be the head of their household and thus allowed the father of the mother to not have a shamed lineage.

5. It was especially used by kings to keep tyrants from taking over and kept civilians from rising against them for fear they would be cursed by their divine parental figure.

6. It was used to explain the unexplainable and as a way to keep people from thinking they could do something without the influence of a god and thus letting it get to their heads as we see in the cautionary tale of Bellerophon who grew impatient with his accomplishments being accredited to his father Poseidon and people assuming it was because he was a demigod and not because of his own efforts. After growing so frustrated over losing so much personal credit, he demanded a place on Olympus because of all he accomplished and was sent a gadfly by Zeus for using pegasus to force his way into Olympus and thus falling to his death after the gadfly bit pegasus who bucked Bellerophon off: (LINK)

WARNING!!!:

The idea that a human can be a god is very dangerous and one often used by toxic cults forcing their will on others. They push the narrative that someone is the reincarnation of Apollo or the child of Zeus and will use that narrative to try to force people to do things they don't want to do because a living "god" told them to do it.

People who believe they are a god are often described as having a "God Complex" (LINK). Not only is having a god complex dangerous to the person and everyone around them, but it's often associated with an extreme form of narcissism (LINK)

Why are god complexes so dangerous? Every human is fallible. We make mistakes and we grow and learn from those mistakes when we admit to them. People who have god complexes usually believe they are so perfect it's impossible for them to make mistakes so they blame everyone else around them and never take responsibility for themselves. As someone who grew up with very narcissistic adults with god complexes, it's frustrating to be gaslit and blamed for things you never did. They also don't believe in consent or believe they are above needing consent because they are a god and "know better."

If you meet someone claiming to be a god

RUN!

Seriously, run. Everyone has the ability to do and create extraordinary things but people with god complexes do not understand consent or how to respect the will of others because they think they are above other humans. Although I'm not a big fan of Witchtok, here's a little jingle that helps explain more about people with god complexes. (Tw: mentions of violence) (LINK)

Demigods are best left to mythology and storytelling.

They can be very inspiring, but a living "god" is very dangerous because they force their will onto others and are not above intimidation tactics. Here is a list of people who had been worshipped as living gods in the past and this includes Hitler, so you can see why the idea of "living gods" makes me very uncomfortable: (LINK)

These Delphic Maxims address god-complexes:

11) Φρόνει θνητά: Think mortal thoughts.

141) Εὖ πάσχε ὡς θνητός: Do as well as your mortal status permits.

The way that I personally interpret these two maxims is as a reminder that humans are human with human limits. It therefore asks that we not act like a god because that's assuming we no longer see ourselves as human.

It also asks that we not assume we can think like a god because that's over simplifying the way that the gods operate by applying human morals to them when they are beyond our comprehension and know things we'll never know, so they are a lot more complex than we'll ever understand, and assuming we know is to limit the gods.

But overall the main message is to respect the will of others by not thinking you are way better because you are more god-like than they are. EVERY person has the ability to be spiritual and the ability to create in such extraordinary ways that seem almost "god-like" to others but we are still human with human limits.

I personally believe human limits are beautiful and one of the many reasons why the gods are so fascinated with us. The gods get to see what we accomplish with such fragile lives, small limits that are carried by strong wills and big hearts.

I hope this helps!

#demigods #Greek gods #greek mythology #Hercules #hellenic polytheism #tw cult #tw cult mention

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charturnus · 3 years ago

Text

Clothe yourself in beauty untold (and see life as a means to a triumph)

Ship: Alcina Dimitrescu x Female reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI; vampire bite; mentions of homophobia and religious trauma; d/s undertones; dirty talk; use of strap-ons; orgasm control; face sitting; degradation;

Summary: Chapter III, I want to satisfy (the undisclosed desires in your heart) AU;

I am so consumed by her. I feel complete, everything I’ve longed for, for all these months, is finally here before me. I never want to be anyone else’s, I want to be hers utterly. I want this, every day of my life until I turn to dust and ash and Hades himself claims me for his own.

━━━━━━━━━ ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯ ━━━━━━━━━

My mistress towers over me, tall, dark and beyond breath-taking. I feel both as though I’ve never been more alive than I am now, and as I’ve been dead for aeons. Have I been kneeling here for 6 seconds or 600 years? Whichever it is, I am beyond content. This, I realise, is what I was always meant for. My lot in life, my place on this earth. Kneeling between my lady’s thighs is what Prometheus himself kneaded me out of clay for.

When she bares herself before me, all I can think is that surely this is proof of divinity. No human could create something so magnificent. No, certainly the gods breathed life into her. Blessing her with those great, golden eyes, the purple-blue veins on her arms, running like rivers down the backs of her hands.

She presses my cheek against her thigh, her cool flesh tempering the searing heat blooming beneath the surface of my skin. For a while she allows me to sit there, taking her in. My eyes are restless, moving this way and that, determined to remember every inch of her. Every freckle, each scar, I take them all in one by one. She’s laughing somewhere high above me. Her eyes are pure sunlight, shining brighter than Helios in his chariot.

‘’You know how to make a woman feel beautiful, draga mea.’’

I give her a smile. ‘’Beautiful is not enough to describe you, it doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.’’

‘’Oh sweetling, aren’t you simply perfect?’’

The simple praise makes my heart swell. I nuzzle into her thigh, breathing in deeply. Her skin itself smells like the lavender soap she so loves, but there’s more beyond that. The smell of desire hangs thick in the air and it makes my mouth water. I realise that if I were to raise myself upright on my knees, as opposed to sitting back on my heels, my mouth would be perfectly positioned to pleasure my lady.

Ever so delicately, I turn my head farther, so my mouth makes contact with her skin and I press a gentle kiss there. Far above me, I hear her hum. So, I shift to the other thigh to repeat the action. I keep shifting, from one thigh to the other, creeping slightly higher every time.

When I get to the apex of her thighs, I stop and hesitate. Do I kiss her there too, or should I use my fingers first? I started this with a kiss, I reason with myself, so I ought to end it on a kiss. Only, when I lean forward, a hand tightens in my hair, pulling my neck back sharply.

‘’Tsk, tsk, tsk. I do believe I am in charge here, pet.’’ Her voice is low and dangerous, but I am not frightened. Quite the opposite, the ache between my legs has returned in full force. ‘’Besides,’’ She muses. ‘’It would be terribly rude of me not to make that pretty fantasy of yours come true, especially after you’ve been such a darling for me.’’

She takes a step back from me and I cringe at the loss of her touch. I want to reach out my hand to touch her, but I don’t fully understand her rules yet. If she steps back from me, that must mean that I’m not allowed to touch her, so I grit my teeth and sit still, like the good girl I am.

She circles me slowly, her feet hardly making any noise on the floor. I have to resist the urge to turn my head to follow her as she moves beyond my line of sight. My thoughts are racing at unfathomable speeds and I am so preoccupied that I don’t hear her stop right behind me. When she places a hand gently on my shoulder, I jump.

‘’Oh come on now, I haven’t even started with you yet.’’ My lady chuckles as she throws a long piece of fabric over my shoulder, so that I may look at it. It’s a plain black rectangular piece of fabric, cotton by the looks of it.

‘’What’s this for?’’ I ask, as run my fingers over it.

‘’This.’’ My mistress says, as she pulls it from my fingers and holds it at eye-level in front of my face. ‘’Is a blindfold.’’

Realising what this means, I pout. ‘’But, I want to see you.’’

One of her hands finds my throat. She does not squeeze the air from me, she doesn’t even hold on tightly. Still, I hold my breath.

‘’I make the rules here, little one. You will see me again, but for now I want you to put this on.’’

When her fingers leave my throat to place the blindfold over my eyes, I wonder what it would have felt like if she had used even a fraction of her strength on me. But her fingers are busy elsewhere, moving the fabric over my eyes, drowning me in darkness.

When the knot is secured, I feel her sink down next to me. Before I know it, her voice is in my ear. ‘’Be good now, while I fetch your treat.’’ Her breathe tickles the back of my neck and sends a chill through my body. ‘’Can you do that for me?’’

I nod eagerly. ‘’Yes, I’ll be good, I promise.’’

I hear her get up, her footsteps retreat to somewhere beyond my perception and I am left alone in the abyss.

***

When my mistress lifted me from the frozen forest ground on the day she found me, I lost consciousness almost instantly. She tried to be gentle, but my injuries were too much. My broken ribs groaned under the pressure of her arms and before I could truly register the white-hot pain ripping through my body, I was already gone from the world.

When next I woke, she was hunched over me, wiping the blood and grime from my face with a wet cloth. I had no will to cry, or to speak, let alone to protest her actions. I watched her through my half-closed eyes. For a woman who was apparently so evil, I thought her very beautiful.

My mother had always told me that a rotten inside would show on the outside, so one could always tell when a person was evil, as they would be horrific monsters. I had thought about the depiction of Lilith in our local church. She was painted as a pretty woman with long red hair, I didn’t think she looked monstrous at all, but rather that she was a mesmerizing beauty. When I told my mother this she had struck me across the face and told me to keep those disgusting thoughts to myself.

As I lay in the little bed, my injuries pulling the strength from my body, I found that I didn’t care very much whether this woman was good or evil. I didn’t have much strength to care about anything at that point.

By then she had noticed that my eyes were open and following her every move. She spoke to me in the sort of tone one uses to coax a frightened animal out of hiding.

‘’You’re alright now, you’re safe here.’’ She said softly. ‘’We’ll patch you up and soon enough you will be as good as new.’’

I knew she meant it as reassurance, but I still scowled at her. ‘’Don’t bother.’’ I mumbled. ‘’When you find out what I am you’ll want me dead too.’’

She leaned back, cocking her head to the side. As she raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, she looked rather haughty. ‘’Whyever would I want that, when I have spent substantial effort to keep you alive? Hmm?’’

I laughed at her then. It was a dry, humourless laugh, that scraped my throat rather painfully. ‘’I already told you, I am a monster. I don’t deserve this life.’’

Her eyes narrowed and she raised a single hand, high in the air. One minute, it looked like a regular, albeit rather large, hand. The next, her claws were slashing through the air. I screamed, trying to scramble as far away from her as was possible in my physical state. With her free hand she held me down, her claws already retracting back into her fingers.

‘’That, is what I call monstrous.’’ She said as she nonchalantly adjusted her gloved. ‘’Can you live up to that, little mouse?’’

‘’There are more ways than one to be a monster,’’ I grumbled. ‘’And besides, that-‘’ I say, gesturing to her hands. ‘’Doesn’t necessarily make you a monster.’’

That made her laugh. It was the first time I heard it and even then it made my stomach twist with the knowledge I pulled that joy from her.

‘’You think that my claws don’t make me a monster?’’

I shrugged, what was I supposed to say? Sometimes people have strange things happening with their bodies, who was I to judge?

‘’Why are you so convinced that you are a monster, little one? Tell me the truth of it.’’

It’s best to just get it over with, I reasoned with myself. Those claws of hers looked fairly sharp, if she decided to end me, it would probably be over soon.

‘’I am unnatural,’’ I said. ‘’I have no interest in men, it is women I want. They caught me with a girl, that’s why they hurt me like this.’’

Her features softened and I sensed a sadness coming over her. She placed a hand gently on my shoulder.

‘’That, doesn’t make you a monster, little one. It makes you human.’’ She sighed. ‘’There are many women like you in this world, I count myself amongst them.’’

‘’They say you are a monster, in the village. If you say that it’s true, then why are you so kind to me?’’

‘’They’re not entirely wrong, little one.’’ She chuckled. ‘’They don’t lie about what I do to women. But it is the fact that I drink their blood that makes me a monster, not my love for them.’’

I had to ponder this for a while, wondering which bit of this woman the villagers fear the most. What frightens them more? A countess who murders their daughters in cold blood, or one who steals their daughters from their beds, to bring them into hers instead.

***

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me out of my reverie. Eagerly I turn my head towards the sound.

‘’Have you been good?’’

I smile. ‘’When am I not good for you?’’

‘’Oh, I don’t know.’’ My mistress says airily. ‘’I seem to recall a time where you were quite feisty.’’

‘’Not anymore, though.’’ I protest.

‘’No, you are quite the perfect little pet, aren’t you?’’ she says. Her voice is closer now, coming from somewhere in front of me. I hear rustling, the scrape of wood against wood, and something that sounds like it could be a belt. Then, more footsteps.

Large hands find my own smaller ones and she helps me to stand. She guides me carefully through the room and I follow her, blind, but full of trust. She sits down, on what I suspect is the bed and she pulls me into her lap once more.

When she settles me down, I realise with a start that there is something behind me, poking into the small of my back. Gingerly, I reach out a hand behind me, to feel what it is. I have my suspicions of course, but I do like to test my theories.

My fingers nudge against the supple leather and I gasp. My mistress chuckles but doesn’t interfere with my exploration. She nuzzles her nose into my neck as I wrap my hand around the appendage, trying to gauge the width of it. My fingers meet, with only the slightest overlap. I trace my hand over it carefully, feeling ridges and bumps.

‘’I see you’ve taken a liking to my cock, little one.’’

Her words make me shiver and I let go of the appendage, reaching for her hand instead. Her mouth finds my skin and I yelp. Her teeth sink gently into the point where shoulder meets neck, hard enough to feel it, but not hard enough to draw blood. With nimble fingers she undoes the knot of my blindfold and she lets it fall to the floor.

Her tongue darts out, soothing the bitemark, before licking all the way up to my pulse point. She stays there, suckling on the skin. One of her hands finds a breast, kneading it, rolling the hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

I let my head fall back against my lady and I grind my hips, mewling in pleasure, trying to indicate to her that I want more.

‘’Shhh… We have all the time in the world, sweetling.’’ She coos. ‘’We’ll go nice and slow.’’

I whine loudly, squirming in her grasp. I feel like I have already waited for a hundred years. How long has it been since I initially took my place at the hearth? It must have been hours, at least two. My pleasure ebbed and flowed. She coaxed it out with her words, her hands on my skin and then she pushed it back with her confusing confessions and my own jealously that bloomed forth from it.

‘’Don’t be a brat.’’ She chides. ‘’You asked for this, remember?’’

‘’I didn’t ask to be tortured!’’ I exclaim, rather dramatically.

She barks out a laugh at this. ‘’Oh, poor thing.’’ She says mocking my theatrics. ‘’If you think this is torture, I cannot wait to see how you react to everything else I have in store for you.’’

***

She keeps this up for a long while. My thighs are straining, my kegel muscles flexing and relaxing, putting me on edge. Everything around me has fallen away. The only thing real to me in this moment is my lady, her hands on my body, the ache between my thighs and her mouth on my neck.

I can’t stand it any longer, I am wound too tight. An exasperated groan leaves my body and I try to remember how to form sentences.

‘’puh-lease.’’ I end up half moaning, half groaning. ‘’I-I need.’’

I don’t know what it is I am asking for. Anything but this, however sweet it may be, if I don’t get any relief, I feel as though it would kill me. I might collapse and cave in on myself, combust and burn away to a pile of ash.

‘’Awww.’’ My mistress coos. ‘’You need more?’’

‘’Uhuh,’’ I whine and struggle under the heavy grip of her hands on my hips. ‘’More.’’ I gasp. ‘’Please, just- more.’’

‘’Well,’’ My mistress muses. ‘’You do deserve a treat.’’

I don’t have time to prepare, before I know it I feel her fangs sink into me. I watch a galaxy implode in front of my eyes, a million tiny white stars pop and crackle and fizzle out. I stare out into the open, my eyes unseeing, my mouth hanging wide open in a silent scream. I am seized by a terrible piercing pain, but then she settles, her tongue sliding against my skin and she begins to suck.

And oh…

Pleasure as I have never felt it overwhelms each and every one of my senses. I have been drunk an uncountable amount of times in my life. I have tasted wine and mead and hard liquor. I have felt the liquid courage flowing through my veins, making my head feel light, igniting the fire of passion and desire in me.

None of it can compare to this. She sucks and sucks, my head spins with every mouthful of blood she draws from me. I let myself melt into her and I moan freely at the sensation of being so utterly hers. As she drinks from me, I feel a pressing warmth envelop me from all sides. Dripping down from the puncture wound in my neck, to the very crest of my thighs.

Once she has had her fill she releases her grip on my neck, pressing soft kisses to the mark that she left there. Her lips, covered in my blood find mine and I don’t flinch at the metallic taste of my own blood.

When we finally part she stares at me, a magnificent wildness in her bright golden eyes and I can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to fly too close to the sun. I have no wings made from wax, though, I think dully. I won’t melt and sink beneath the surface, to be claimed by the sea. I am soaring, up and up and up. I will gladly let those golden flames consume me whole.

***

I expect the intense feelings of desire, and the light-headedness to dwindle now my mistress is no longer drinking from me. But it stubbornly persists, even when she carefully lays me down in amongst her silk sheets.

The ache of my desire has increased tenfold, I feel like I have gone mad with need. I feel too hot, the pressure between my legs becoming too much. My head lolls back, as I squeeze my thighs tightly together. I let myself moan and whine, loudly and unabashedly.

‘’Oh my, pet.’’ My mistress says with delight evident in her voice. ‘’You are certainly enjoying my pheromones, aren’t you?’’

I whimper and part my thighs for her. ‘’Plea- ease.’’ I half stutter, half sob.

Her fingers trail down from my neck to the very tops of my thighs, feeling the wetness smeared there. She leans forward to press a kiss to my lower stomach. My hips snap up desperately seeking friction. She laughs and moves her fingers up- up- up to where I need it most. When she feels the copious wetness that covers my swollen cunt, she groans.

My hips are moving frantically, attempting to create a steady rhythm that will get me to my peak. She presses fingers against my clit and I lose any last shred of decency left to me. Coherent sentences are too much of an effort for me, I have forgotten how to string words together, how to be polite. All I can do is babble incoherently, begging for her to keep going.

She’s half laying on top of me, still mindful not to crush me, but the pressure of her on top of me is heavenly. I bury my face into the crook of her neck, whining and keening, a string of expletives falling from my mouth.

My mistress whispers raggedly into my ear. ‘’My, I didn’t know you could be that filthy, pet.’’

‘’F-for you, only you.’’ I groan out.

‘’That’s right. All mine.’’ She grunts. ‘’Let go now, pet. Come all over my fingers.’’

It doesn’t take long, after that.

My orgasm seems to last an eternity. The shock waves come and come and come and never seem to cease. My mistress talks me through it, in a low, soft, reassuring voice. Telling me I’m such a good girl for her, that I’m all hers.

When her fingers still, I whimper pitifully. But when she raises them up to her mouth, I feel a chill move through my body. Carefully, she licks my desire from her fingers, humming in delight at the taste.

‘’That was a lovely appetizer, my little mouse.’’ She says once she has thoroughly cleaned her fingers. ‘’But I’m not nearly done with you.’’ Quick as a flash, her hands find my hips. Before I know it, she’s flipping me over, until I am lying flat on my stomach.

‘’On your knees for me now, sweetling.’’ I hear her say, through the dense fog of pleasure still clouding my mind. Shaking, I manage to clamber to my knees. My arms, I decide, are still too weak. So I fold my arms and allow my head to rest there for a while.

‘’Oh, what a lovely sight this is.’’ My mistress muses. ‘’Such a pretty ass you have.’’

I feel myself flush, but I still arch my back for her. It’s beyond thrilling to know that she wants me, that she desires to see me in such a way. If she likes to look at me like this, I’d be willing to sit here for endless years.

One of her hands smacks lightly against my buttock and I gasp. ‘’Spread your legs more, draga mea. I need some more room if I am to fuck you properly.’’

Shakily, I move my thighs further apart, cringing slightly at the thought of what I must look like. Those concerns however, are wiped clean from my mind the very second one of my mistress’ fingers finds my cunt again.

Gently, she circles my entrance, using only light pressure. ‘’Have you done anything like this before, sweetling? Tell me the truth of it, I need to know how careful I need to be with you.’’

I know I have never taken anything quite like this, but how different can it be to several fingers? Elianne, the baker’s daughter, had freckles on her shoulders and long, red hair. On countless nights I had buried my face in her ginger hair as she fucked me with three of her slender fingers and I had begged her for more after that. I liked it when she fucked me hard and slow. So, I reason with myself, I should be able to take this perfectly fine.

‘’Nothing quite like this,’’ I mutter. ‘’But I like three fingers, usually. So this shouldn’t be that different.’’

My mistress chuckles. ‘’Oh it will be different, but if what you say is true, then I need not worry too much about being extra gentle.’’

‘’Please don’t.’’ The plea tumbles out of my mouth before I can really register what I’m asking for. ‘’I- I like it rough. I- please don’t be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow.’’

She groans and her free hand reaches for my neck, pulling me up, so I’m flush against my mistress. I feel her breasts against my back and I let out a little squeak of surprise.

‘’Be careful what you wish for, pet.’’ Comes her whispered response. ‘’I’m going to utterly ruin you.’’

The hand on my cunt disappears, I feel her moving around, hear the soft ‘’pop’’ of a stopper being pulled and then the sound of liquid. It’s an oil of some sort, I think. To help her slide in easier.

She shifts some more, pulling me closer to her by my throat and then her fingers return to me, pushing in, slowly.

Her fingers are thick, much thicker than my own or Elianne’s. One of hers feels like two of my own largest fingers. She pumps her fingers in and out several times and I moan for her, arching my back as much as possible in this position.

‘’I think you’re ready for my cock now, aren’t you, my little pet?’’

‘’Oh, gods please.’’ I babble, sinking back into my mistress, enjoying the way she feels when she’s pressed against me.

‘’Oh no, dear. That won’t do. You can do better than that. Use your words.’’

I let out an exasperated whine and wiggle my ass into her. Instantly, the hand around my throat tightens and I gasp. ‘’That’s cute.’’ She hisses into my ear. ‘’But I make the rules here. Either you beg for my cock or I leave you like this.’’

The hand squeezing my throat is steady and unmoving. My head feels heavy with desire and lack of blood flow. I suck in a shuddering breath.

‘’I want your cock, mistress.’’ I say, opting for the honorific, as opposed to her name. ‘’Please fuck me, please. I want to be yours, I want to come on your cock.’’

She hums in approval and her grip loosen around my throat. Her fingers slip out of my cunt, but before I can mourn the loss of her, I feel the head of her cock nudge against me.

Slowly, ever so carefully, she pushes inside of me. She takes her time, sliding her cock in, bit by bit until she’s flush against my backside. I squeeze my muscles around her and moan low in my throat. Experimentally, she pulls out halfway, before thrusting back in. It’s too soft, not nearly harsh enough.

Even with the little room I have to manoeuvre, I throw my hips back to meet her. To her credit, she gets the hint. On the next thrust she adds a considerable amount of force, pulling back slowly, before repeating the action.

She releases her hold of my throat entirely and I sag under the dead weight of my own body. I let myself fall forwards, resuming my earlier position of laying my head in my arms. One of her hands finds my hip, the other pins one of my arms firmly to the mattress.

I am consumed by my lady. The combined sound of my moans and her groans and obscenely wet slapping sounds, filling the room.

When she shifts the angle slightly, speeding up only marginally, I feel myself go rigid in her grasp. It’s just right, exactly right. She growls with the effort of it, the noise sending a shiver down my spine. I can’t stay quiet, even if my life depends on it. I arch my back and I cry out with pleasure. I spread my legs as far as I possibly can in this position, willing this wonderful feeling to stay and never desert me.

‘’Oh, I see.’’ My mistress purrs. ‘’it’s like that is it?’’

I don’t answer. I don’t think I’d be capable, even if she had ordered me to speak. I simply nod my head, sucking in great lungfuls of air as I do so. When she is in me like this, I feel beyond whole, I feel complete. I want to be wrapped up in this embrace forever.

When one of her hands snakes around my thigh to stroke my clit, my mind goes entirely blank. I am floating, I am soaring and flying and falling all at the same time. I sob, feeling the tears spilling from my eyes. With my free hand I reach behind me, to touch her, to anchor myself to this reality.

‘’Be a good girl now.’’ My mistress growls. ‘’Come on my cock, like the little whore you are.’’

I thrash wildly in her arms as I come, howling out my pleasure. She holds me securely in her arms, not letting me escape from her fingers or her cock. ‘’Mine.’’ She growls as she fucks me through it, never ceasing her steady rhythm. ‘’My beautiful little whore, all mine.’’

‘’Yuh- ours.’’ I manage to stutter out. That is the truth of it and after all, good girls tell the truth.

***

When the shockwaves finally cease, I feel my body go limp. My lady’s cock is still moving inside of me, though she has slowed down her thrusts. I can feel my hair sticking to my sweaty brow, my legs are trembling with the effort of keeping them spread and holding my lower body up.

She leans down to pepper kisses all the way up my spine. Wearily, but content beyond measure, I turn my head, to capture her lips with mine. The thrusts keep coming and I mewl into her mouth, as she slides her tongue against mine.

‘’Such a good little pet you are.’’ She murmurs against my lips. ‘’You took me so well.’’

When she slips her cock out of me I whimper at the loss of it. It nudges my thigh, the leather now hot from the heat of my body and slick with my own wetness. My mistress guides me to my back and I gratefully sink into the soft mattress. I smile at her, my head clouded by this love drunk haze. She gives me a smile in return, but where mine shows tired gratitude, hers is wicked, her eyes taking me in with clear desire.

I allow my eyes to wander, from her face, lower, to where I’ve been longing to look ever since I realised for the first time that I wanted my mistress. Her breasts are full and covered by marks that show where her skin stretched to accommodate the growth. I want to touch her there, to kiss her, to wrap my mouth around a nipple and suck.

Movement around her bottom half distracts me and my gaze falls lower, to the leather straps wrapped around her hips. For the first time, I get a look at my lady’s cock. In reality it’s a simple black thing, but seeing it strapped to my mistress’ in this way, with the clear evidence of my desire smeared all over it, makes my face flush.

‘’You look so powerful.’’ I blurt out.

She hums, pulling at the fastenings of the straps to loosen them. ‘’That’s because I am, draga mea.’’

When the straps part from her body, I am once again confronted with the dark patch of curls between my mistress’ legs. She discards the cock and the straps it’s attached to, without much care, throwing it in the general direction of the ottoman.

‘’Now, let’s think.’’ She says, as she begins slowly crawling up my body, kissing whichever part of me she can reach as she goes.

‘’You asked me to bend you over and fuck you until you cried.’’ She takes one of my nipples into her mouth, suckling until I gasp and arch my back.

‘’You asked me to feed from you.’’ She licks over the bruised puncture wound in my neck, making me shudder and whimper.’’

‘’You asked me to tell you that you’re a good girl and that you’re taking me so well.’’ She reaches out to grasp me by my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. ‘’Do you remember what you asked for next, pet?’’ My mistress taunts.

I rack my brain, trying to remember the order in which I had confessed my fantasy to her. After everything that has happened tonight, my whole confession appears to have been wiped clean from my mind.

‘’Perhaps my pet needs a little reminder, hmmm?’’ She teases, her smile wide and devious. With one hand she reaches in between her legs, sinking two of her fingers into herself and humming with the pleasure of it. I stare unabashedly at the point where fingers meet cunt. My mouth waters and my head swims.

When she pulls her fingers free, she gives me a sweet smile and pushes her fingers up to my mouth, nudging against my lips. Instantly, instinctively, I open to receive them. Tasting my mistress on my tongue. Poets and bards and novelists write about a woman’s desire as though it’s supposed to taste of flowers and sweets. It’s nonsense. She tastes of sex and I cannot get enough of it.

Her fingers are large, filling my mouth thoroughly, but not pushing in too deep. Contentedly I suckle on her fingers, tasting her desire on my tongue. Too soon, however, my mistress pulls her fingers free.

‘’Enough of that.’’ She says, shifting her body upwards until her cunt is hovering mere centimetres from my face. ‘’Put your mouth on me now, pet, and make me come.’’

Obediently I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. Slowly she sinks down until she is flush with my tongue. She lets out a contented sigh and carefully rocks once, twice, thrice, backwards and forwards over my tongue.

The full scope of her need hits me as her wetness runs into my mouth and smears over my face. I try to look up at her and notice that her eyes are screwed shut, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. It’s clear to me that she is holding back and that just won’t do.

My arms reach up to wind around my lady’s thighs, holding her tightly. It won’t do anything of course, she’s much too strong for me, she could overpower me without any real effort. But still, it’s the thought that counts.

I begin to move my tongue against her now, flattening it to drag it, first up and down, then side to side. I try circles and zigzags, all in an attempt to figure out what she finds most pleasurable. Slowly I begin to draw soft moans and sighs from her, each one makes my heart glow with pride.

After a little while of this testing, I withdraw my tongue, but before she can protest I take her large clit between my lips. She lets out a sharp gasp, her hands finding my face, cupping me gently, albeit urgently.

Carefully I begin to suck her into my mouth, applying my tongue in tight circles. Above me my lady is finally moaning in full, her voice trembling and filled with need. She continues to rock her hips, rutting against my mouth. In spite of her compromising position, it is she who controls the pace.

It surprises me when her hips already begin to falter in their rhythm, after only a few short minutes of this treatment. Her moans and gasps come more frequently, a clear flush evident on her face and chest.

‘’Yes- Gods- just like that.’’ She pants. ‘’Fuck- your mouth is so fucking good.’’

Spurred on by these words falling from my mistress’ lips, I keep going, in spite of the blooming ache in my jaw. I suckle on her clit, coating it copiously in a mixture of my saliva and her own wetness. She groans and pants and moans. Her hips never ceasing their stuttered motion.

‘’Oh- Oh… I’m going to-‘’ She lets out a single drawn-out groan. ‘’Fuck- take it, take it all-‘’ She stops halfway through her jumbled up sentence, too overcome with pleasure, her hips moving erratically until she completely stills and lets out a low moan from deep in her throat.

She is a vision when she comes. Her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. No sight has ever been more breathtaking to me. My lady is a beauty worthy to rival divinity. Her copious wetness fills my mouth as she shudders and shakes against me. I drink it all in. Her desire fills me like the nectar of the Gods. She makes me feel immortal, indestructible. She makes me feel like the most desirable woman walking this earth, like Aphrodite herself blessed me with divine allure.

She gingerly dismounts from me, moving in to kiss me, tasting herself on my tongue. With her hands in my hair and my mouth on hers, I know that I can never bear to be with anyone else. She has me now and I am utterly unwilling to leave.

Icarus wasn’t such a fool after all, I think dully, as I crawl under the sheets to lay next to my lady. Everyone blames him for flying too close to the sun, as if it’s such a strange thing to want to feel the blazing sunlight consuming your skin. His wings melted, but if they hadn’t he too would have felt the magnitude of a force this strong.

My wings aren’t made of wax, I flew up- up- up. I have tasted the burning heat of the sun, I have felt her true force and I never want to be parted from her.

My lady looks at me tenderly, her eyes burning gold like ichor.

Is this what it feels like to taste the sun?

#c: alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #re8 #char writes

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unohanadaydreams · 3 years ago

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Could I get Knight! Kenpachi and Princess! Reader, otome scenario first meeting please! I hope I read the rules correctly jejdnfnf

YES! Y E S!!!! anon this is SO big brained. Oh my god. Please feel all the freedom to request more prompts for knight!kenpachi.

notes: a first meeting for the game’s surroundings, premise, protagonist, and Kenpachi all wrapped in one. Ah, the divine struggle between duty and lusting after + growing to love one fine motherfucker.

i thought of setting this in a Japanese inspired castle, but I know myself and I would get too caught up in being ‘accurate’. instead i’m gonna stick to what I, a filthy fantasy casual, know.

features: SFW content and some olden day vibes.

Bleach Your Heart: The Otome Ask Game

Knight!Kenpachi + Princess!Reader + First Meeting

You are the only daughter and heir of the castle to survive childhood and beyond. Both your parents live, greeting you with love each day you break fast.

The castle you will one day be Lady of is two grey rectangles of stone connected by one laid on its side in the middle of them, encircled by walls so tall it winds you to climb up them. There is little grandeur in your surroundings beyond the luxury of a full belly and warm room, always. Even the flower gardens are built sturdy rather than pretty.

Life is uncertain in the mountains. But not you. Not within your walls, with your father’s defense strategum to support them. There is even a little town within the castle walls, something no generation before him could hope to maintain and protect successfully.

Your father, who has taught you maths, strategy, and how each part of the castle must be maintained with upmost harmony, has announced it is time.

For marriage. And for more protection.

He is not aging well, hands that once held firm a sword too weak at the wrist to pick up a bowl laden of soup. And those who would battle for his castle are growing more organized—more dangerous.

And He is King before being your father, so you do not fuss even if you feel the weight of his responsibilities crushing you into a curtsy.

Those he will make knights the next morning now sit in the dining hall, eating perhaps their first meal of its kind. There are whole birds on the table, roasted well, and garnished with fresh greens meant to bring crisp freshness to the juicy meat. Thick stew and bowls of berries serve to fill any stomach that the birds do not satisfy. Not grand, but plenty.

You stop at the western entrance, wearied by worries of the future.

There is seldom so much noise as now. The men, all wearing some form of leathers and bits of mail, seem more aflame than the scones that flicker on the walls. You easily spot the newcomers—those who are already knights have been for most your life and are comparably calm.

A man with no hair and colorful makeup springing from the corner of his eyes like wings bangs his tankard on the table one—two—three times after gulping it down in seconds. Yells his victory and calls for another.

The man across from him, hair of oil and feathers truly decorating his eyes, throws a berry at the bald man’s face. It misses.

The bald man turns his head, laughing, to watch the fruit sail past him, and spots you. He waves, calling something you can’t understand, words unfamiliar.

Your hands untangle from behind you and one springs up to return his gesture before you can remember that you are in a doorway, where anyone could be behind you. Perhaps he is being friendly and grateful, you think, for your father choosing him, when so many trained up warriors from your land and the next struggle to find a place with no official war to guide them anymore.

A deep chuckle behind you is all you need to remember your surroundings. You turn, eyesight not filled, but overwhelmed by the height and lean bulk of the man meant to receive the greeting you took for your own.

“Oh,” you say after moments of staring, voice quiet and faraway sounding to your own ears. “Greetings.”

The side of his face where a long scar is carved into skin--above, below, and through his eye--is more lifted into smile than the other. A patch covers his other eye, held by nothing; seemingly nailed into his face by metal studs at the edges of the fabric.

It is not his appearance, punctuated by wild black hair sticking out at the sides like a wolf pelt does at one’s back, but his smile that hushes your manners and leaves you standing there--staring.

The smile is too wide and open. You can not help but remember Martha, who’s smile split her face similarly when hearing that her husband had not returned due to the cold rather than an enemy. Her usually puckered lips had bared her teeth as she laughed harsh, breath white and swirling into the cold air.

He had a smile that spoke of madness.

You heard Martha’s laughter as he acknowledged your words with a nod, asking, “Ya lost or something?”

“Lost,” you say in an echo, eyes drawn to the thin sword at his waist. “N-no. Not at all. I am princess to this castle.”

He laughs, the sound mingling with that which had begun to haunt your ears, as he shrugged. “Guess you’ve never seen a real warrior, then. Thought so, with all the stiffs you’ve got lazin’ around.”

The comment rouses you from where you’d retreated into yourself, drawing your eyes narrow. “I can see you are from across the mountain and perhaps you’ve different ideas of what a true fighter is, but know that all who protect this castle are genuine warriors.”

“Protect? I’m here to fight,” he says, gripping the hilt of his sword and shaking it for emphasis. “That’s what your daddy promised us. Is he a liar?”

“W-no; of course he isn’t,” you lift your chin, responding with gusto. “My father is an honest man and king.”

The man snorts, his head bowing toward the tables of familiar men who had accepted your fistful of flowers and paraded you around on their horses as a child, “They wouldn’t last as a warm up against me.”

“You won’t be fighting them,” you say, eyeing his crossed arms, wanting so much to reach out and smack one of them. “Surely, you must know protection comes before everything? Don’t they teach you that from wherever you come from?”

“Anything I know, I taught myself,” he grunts, smile gone. “And I know a real fighter when I see ‘em. Just like I know I wasn’t hired to sit and wait for a battle to come my way.”

Your father’s words in the throne room pressed you once more and forced a sigh from your chest. “You were hired to escort me to court, then.”

“Yeah, promised a lot of danger along the way, too. Always fun to be had on the edge of a kingdom.” He spoke with utmost confidence, leaning closer than any real knight would dare.

Your father had chosen this man, so you would not ask him to reconsider, but hearing him speak of killing as though it were as much a hobby as needlework or jousting made you bristle.

But you would not let your anger sit on your tongue or coat your words. It would be unwise to lash out against the person who would be a great part responsible for your future safety.

“If you are so great a warrior,” you say slowly, “and the one who will escort me, then it is an honor.”

You dip into a curtsy, listing off your proper title and name before inquiring for his.

“Zaraki Kenpachi--ah fuck, it’s backwards here, ain’t it,” he mumbles, looking to the side, his smile small and human. “Kenpachi Zaraki.”

“Lovely to meet you, Kenpachi Zaraki,” you say, hardly meaning it.

“Nah, you don’t like me at all,” he says as he passes you, large hand giving your back one firm pat. “Do ya, princess?”

#kenpachi zaraki #kenpachi zaraki x reader #bleach imagines #bleach x reader #bleach your heart: the otome meme #oh my GOD WAS THIS SO FUN #please don't pay attention the absolutely BOTCHED manga girl #i did my best with my shitty mouse work aslkdjf;owliaejf

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pinguuu-ni · 4 years ago

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Masamichi Yaga’s Curse

Chapter 147 is heartbreaking but interesting.

The chapter starts out with a flashback to a time we can assume was when Panda was ‘born’.

Yaga is shown emprisoned for having made a cursed corpse independent of a continuous external source of cursed energy, therefore constituting a threath for the potential of being able to create an army of those. This information is conveyed by Gakuganji, along with the fact that the higher-ups are considering making him a special-grade and restrain him indefinetely. He asks Yaga if he really is unaware of how he created Panda.

We don’t know exactly what was the time when this happened, since we don’t know when panda was born, but regardless, we can assume that the reason why Yaga was released and not risen to a special grade was because of Gojo’s influence. Gojo being missing in action, Yaga is again openly targeted.

And curiously, if you remember the reason why Yaga was set to execution in the first place - supporting Gojou and Getou - things don’t quite line up, but that is not the point of this discussion.

Gakuganji shows up and kills Yaga, apparently without much of a fight.

Yaga then decides to explain how he made the independent cursed corpses while drawing in his last breaths. But if he could avoid execution by doing it before, why didn’t he do it - especially when in the panel above he looked like he was getting ready to fight?

The number 3 has a myriad of symbolic meanings - from representing the divine across multiple religions, to perfection, to balance. The triangle is the geometrical representation of the number 3 and emphasizes balance.

One of the reasons why 3 is seen as a symbol of perfection is because it represents the sum of the unity (1) and multiplicity (2).

Yaga mentions that the 3 souls have to be compatible. Let’s refer to Panda’s 3 cores: the Panda, his sister and Gorilla.

The three of them are very different in their essences. Therefore, The compatibility between the 3 souls used is not based on similarity, but rather, on difference (or multiplicity) , hence the reason why the souls must be able to observe each other - to understand each other, each of them supporting and balancing the others, forming an unity.

For comparison's sake, if you recall the other instances when we saw cursed corpses, in both they are dependent of an external source of cursed energy (Yaga in the first (interview), Yuuji in the second (movie training)), and exhibit a different behavior form those of 147 and Panda. They do not seem able to reason and are just puppets that can be turned on and off, whose sole purpose is to throw some punches.

Meaning? Yaga coulnd’t make that hypothetical army of evil independent cursed corpses even if he wanted since behind their process of creation is the principle of balance.

Now, let’s go all the way back to the Goodwill Arc.

Gakuganji wanted his students to kill Yuuji not because he hated him personally, but because his existence defied the ancient, set-in-stone tradition of the Jujutsu world. Which is exactly the same he is doing now with Yaga.

The higher ups placed a death sentence on Yaga for the same reason they put it on Yuuji (and Yuuta, for that matter) - fear. Fear that they might represent danger for society, but mostly for themselves and their positions, since powerful people outside the core of those who hold the power of the institution represent emminent danger.

We now have all the pieces to understand Yaga’s curse to Gakuganji - he was not cursing him for having killed him, he was cursing him for being unable to look at things in another way than that which the higher-ups tell him he should. He is cursing him for, like a cursed corpse who is dependent on a cursed energy source to survive, being dependent on a set of ancient rules and others’ judgement rather than his own to take any action, for being unable to look around him and understand the world and the circumstances by himself.

Gakuganji is adept of tradition. Tradition is tradition and doesn’t need to look at anything else. It doesn’t need to change. Indeed, it mustn’t change - and that is what Gakuganji is unable to acknowledge - that ‘tradition’ is merely the coverup for making possible the execution of every otherwise questionable action, all for the sake of keeping the power in the hands of those who hold it and so desperately want to cling to it. Even if it means the rest of the world falling to shambles.

For the system to keep up, tradition is to be followed blindly, never questioned, and for that matter close-minded people like Gakuganji are ideal, easily being used as pawns. And hence the danger that the core surrounding Gojou represents - much like the souls inside Panda and the other independent cursed corpses, these people look at each other and at the world around them. They observe through their own eyes and reason by themselves - which represents red flags of danger for the system, growing inside the system itself.

Look at how well we can see this contrast when we also look at Panda’s actions

Panda does not even try to fight Gakuganji. Even if we think that he would have the action more than justified, he says he has no motive since he is not bound by human behavior. Yaga is already beyond saving and Gakuganji killed him acting as a pawn, and not out of personal spite. Panda is able to look beyond what is displayed in front of him and recognizes the passive role Gakuganji has had in this execution, choosing then it is not fair to hate or fight him for acting in the behalf of others.

And yet, however, Panda shows how much Yaga’s death hurt him.

A cursed corpse more balanced, humane, understanding and independent than himself. Quite the shock for an old man, uh?

This ended up a bit all over the place but To sum it up:

Yaga died to pass a point - the need to look beyond the obvious and the need to think by oneself. If it wasn’t Gakuganji who opposed him, he would have fought back.

Back in goodwill, Yaga told Gakuganji that their regrets as adults could wait as they supported and tended to the younger generation and their regrets and hardships.

Yaga's regrets will now wait forever as he dies surely with plenty - leaving behind his son, leaving behind Gojo, leaving Shoko and the young students, knowing somehow Geto is "alive" - but faithful to his principles, and also surely leaving along with a curse, a lot of regret in Gakuganji.

Let's see where this will take the old man

#jjk analysis #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk spoilers #jjk 147 #yaga masamichi #gakuganji yoshinobu #at this point i dont see some kind of gakuganji redemption arc as an impossibility #also please Gege stop killing everyone who Gojo holds dear #that man has had enough #anyways hope i got my point across because i feel like this went all over the place ahah;;#im too tired to write so much #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta

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umbralstars · 3 years ago

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Sothis, the Church of Seiros and Byleth: A Pagan Reading

Due to L!Byleth and the minor hyperfixation he caused I decided to make a whole discussion on how I personally view Sothis, the Church of Seiros as a whole, and examine Byleth's role in the story.

So just some ground rules before I begin:

This is just how I personally viewed the story as I played it, and my own perspective on the plot and meaning behind certain things. I am open to discussion in the comments and reblogs, and if you disagree with my opinion that's perfectly fine. Also so much of this is going to read like headcanons/assumptions loosely supported by canon's thin red strings and I am ok with that.

If any in-game quotes are used they will mostly come from the Church Library since it's easy to check but I'll paraphrase important scenes that I can remember.

Also after compiling a timeline of events best I can understand it I have made a few assumptions: worship of Sothis existed before the Church of Seiros (perhaps even going as far back as pre-Calamity times) and thus Church doctrine and beliefs is largely based upon previously established beliefs about the Goddess. This doesn't have too much to do with the analysis itself, but I just wanted to say it as I quote The Book of Seiros parts a few times and the writings in those books I hold to have a basis in that pre-Church faith.

With those in place, allow me to begin.

The Sothis/Church of Seiros Meta:

While there have been many metas comparing Sothis and the Church to medieval Christianity, I have always looked at them both through a distinctly non-Christian, Pagan lense.

I myself am a syncretic polytheist who has a complicated history with Southern Baptists. These two core aspects of my spiritual life does color my perceptions of the religion presented in this game and I am fully aware of that. Three Houses came at a time in my life where I was finally seperating myself from my latent Christianity, and exercising my Pagan goggles on this was a major step I took towards that. My intention here isn't to say that Christian coding doesn't exist, but to simply give my ideas and perspective on the religion presented in this game.

First, allow me to give the define the Gods through the lense of a Pagan as it's important to the framing of my ideas:

"The Gods are real, sentient, disembodied minds with awesome greatness and powers beyond what we humans can currently explain with science."

This is the simplest, shortest definition of the Gods I can give and Sothis, beyond a shadow of a doubt, hits all of the criteria as she is presented in the game. The Pagan conception of the Gods does not require any pretense of tri-omnism, and I believe it's best to look at Sothis, and many other FE Gods, through this lense. Sothis, when she was alive and even when she is "dead," is capable of amazing feats such as creating life, turning back time in a limited capacity, and restoring entire continents to life after calamity. While she is not tri-omni, she does not need to be so to be a Goddess and one worthy of worship and reverence.

Church doctrine itself also exhibits other fundamental aspects of Pagan practice and belief that are important to me and many others: animism and the reciprocity cycle. As stated by The Book of Seiros, Part 1,

"The Revelation.The Goddess is all things. She is heaven above and the land below. She is eternity incarnate. She is the present, the past, and the future. Her eyes see all. Her ears hear all. Her hands receive all."

Obvious allusions to omnipresence aside, another reading of this passage is a far more esoteric, and hard to put into words, aspect of Pagan belief about the Gods. In a sense , the Gods are not limited by the physical constraints of the world and their bodies are inherently an aspect of the very universe itself. They are not omnipresent at all times, but they can be wherever they wish to be especially wherever their presence and power is strongest. That is actually the purpose of idols, alters, and temples. The Gods are not idols or are bound by them, those things are simply repositories to allow us humans to connect with and worship them.

The natural world as well can be the "body" of a God. Places where their spirits decide to dwell. Natural phenomenon one can feel their presence in. They are not limited to these places, but upkeep of them is necessary to maintain their power and spirit. In this way that passage can be read as Fodlan and the Blue Sea Star being the places where Sothis' spirit chooses to reside along with her actual remains needing to be maintained to keep her spirit maintained. Her sacred body likely extends across all of Fodlan and her spirit resides most strongly as the Blue Sea Star.

Gods in FE also, more often than not, have a physical body that is important for their connection to the physical world. FE Gods are not incapable of interacting with or watching over the physical world from the spiritual, but have much more free reign when their physical body is alive. The places where their bodies are buried are where their power is most heavily felt, and their spirits the strongest, as evidenced by the Mila Tree and the Good Ending of Future Past in Awakening. This what I believe the true purpose of the Sealed Forest to be. Given how protective Rhea is of the place, the strange alter and Crest of Flames that is just there, and that being where Byleth awakens and Sothis remembers, either parts or the entire rest of Sothis' physical body must be buried there and not actually in the Holy Tomb.

As an aside, the remains of the Nabateans can also be seen through this lense but to a lesser degree. It's obvious that parts of their souls and power remain with their bodies, and thus, maintaining the Relics, Crestsones, and the other Nabatean remains not fashioned into weapons would be of utmost importance to Rhea. Because, if they were to be lost or damaged her kin's spirits may forever be lost to the physical world.

Fodlan being the sacred body of Sothis is also why I believe the Church of Seiros to be an ethnic religion and a henotheistic one to the people of Fodlan. The Goddess is only ever credited in the creation story and a lot of other Church doctrines as having created and choosing Fodlan as her sacred ground. The people of Fodlan likewise are seen as her sacred people. Nothing in Church doctrine says that Sothis is the only God to exist and I truly cannot remember a single instance where anyone says other religions outside the Church are false ones. Hence why I say Fodlanders are henotheistic, where they do not deny the existence of other Gods, but Sothis is the most important and only one worshipped by them. To the people of Fodlan as long as foreigners do not deny her existence and those of Fodlandic descent worship her as they should there is no cause for an uproar.

This is not to say other religions can be practiced freely on Sothis' sacred ground, as evidenced by the women in Abyss who says she worships there "because Abyss is where it is allowed." Along with Atheism among Fodlanders to be a taboo in their societies. Whilst I don't see the Church to be a beacon of religious tolerance (or that Fodlanders don't believe their religion to be the best), I also do not believe them to be proselytizers to places outside of Fodlan.

The reciprocity cycle also has a place within Church doctrine. The Book of Seiros, Part V describes the various commandments Sothis gave to her people and how if they abide by them the Goddess pays the people back with blessings and gifts. Textbook reciprocity is doing something for the Gods, such as sacrifice or ritual, and gaining something back in return or the Gods do something for you and you give back to them in turn. Reciprocity can be as simple as giving thanks for the blessings the Gods give or complex as full ritual, sacrifice, and or prayer to gain a blessing/aid or give thanks for one. The best case of reciprocity I see in game is the restoration quest for the Saint Statues. Whilst the Saints are complicated in how I believe their divinity is handled there is no doubt the player receives blessings from them for restoring their icons.

(While I would like to devote an entire section to them and the Nabateans in general like 80 - 90% of my ideas are headcanon that I'm still not sure of. I don't think the Nabateans are Gods like Sothis is however immortal or long-lived they may be. I also still don't know whether the Saints would be worshiped or venerated in the Church, as I still don't understand the distinction of those two things myself, so I don't want to make a judgement call).

What about Byleth?

Byleth...is tricky. Now, I must preface, that all of this is my opinion. Some of it may not be supported by the game, but this is how I personally write him and his status regarding everything we see in game.

Byleth is, for all intents and purposes, the 13th potential vessel for Sothis to return to the world as they were given Sothis' Creststone on the request of Sitri. Here's the thing. I personally do not believe that Sothis is truly dead or that Byleth manifested her consciousness on happenstance. It has been my personal belief ever since playing the game for the first time that Sothis' spirit does indeed reside in the heavens and that the piece of Sothis that resides in Byleth until his awakening is only a fragment. Along with that I believe that Sothis' consciousness and power manifested in Byleth specifically because Sothis wished for it to be so.

My ideas are centered around a few aspects of the game that have always stood out to me as rather strange if kept in line with the larger context.

Why after all this time and Rhea's many attempts did Sothis manifest in a stillborn child?

How was Sothis able to speak to Byleth and wake him after his 5 year coma?

Why does Byleth loose the Goddess' power at the end of Crimson Flower?

How was Sothis able to speak to Byleth if you choose to S-Support her?

How exactly was Byleth able to dream about something that happened long after Sothis' death even if he can access her memories?

These sticking points have always struck as odd given everything that Sothis says before Byleth's awakening. Sothis should not be able to speak to Byleth at all, but still does so only a few chapters later and comments on the war that Byleth was only privy to the very beginning of.

Hence my belief that Sothis' spirit as the Goddess of Fodlan does reside in the heavens, watching over the continent, and only able to interact with it and its people in subtle ways. Some of her spirit and power laid within her Creststone as it passed from vessel to vessel. One way or another, she was able to foresee the coming war that would change Fodlan fundamentally forever and chose to manifest that piece of her consciousness when the opportunity presented itself. It's why Byleth can dream of a battle that happened long after Sothis' death because he's remembering something experienced by the Creststone and knowledge given by the Goddess soul who resides in heaven.

I also believe that Byleth and Sothis as we saw them during the game was a mistake in some way. Byleth as his own entity was likely not supposed to be and the piece of Sothis' soul that was supposed to manifest wasn't supposed to be amnesiatic or at the very least not separate from Byleth. There were a few times pre-time skip where Sothis would be talking and Byleth's model would be moving and his facial expression changing. Almost like their thoughts were so intertwined that they were practically the same even before the awakening. It's very likely to me that Byleth's memory issues, lack of ability to properly express emotions, and other aspects of their character to be directly connected to the fact that Sothis' soul manifested incorrectly.

The Sothis he hears before waking from his coma and the one he speaks to during his S support is likely the full spirit of the Goddess communicating with him through great effort and only able to because he's her avatar. She knows of the pain Fodlan is experiencing because she can see it and feel it even as Byleth slumbers. Same thing for why Byleth would lose her power and soul piece on Crimson Flower, as Sothis may have interpreted siding with Edelgard as a rejection of being her avatar and simply deciding to be human instead (I don't wish to speak too long on a route I don't particularly like, but I felt that strange ending should be addressed).

My experience as someone who follows a Kemetic path leads me to not see Sothis' soul being split in this way as strange. In this particular religion, as I understand it, the soul is encompassed as multiple different parts all combining to make a singular being. Both Gods and humans have multiple parts to their souls, so one residing in the Creststone, later manifesting in Byleth, and another part residing in the heavens is plausible to me. Also if I wanted to compare Byleth to another FE character, his situation reminds me most of Nagi from FE 11 & 12 who is an amnesiac and likely an incarnation of Naga to aid Marth on his quest. Nagi doesn't get much characterization in those games, but it does show that incarnations/avatar of Gods, who aren't the confusing mess of Robin and Grima for instance, isn't a new concept in series for Byleth.

In terms of what happens after Byleth awakens I do believe that Byleth himself becomes a God or at the very least a demi-god in his own right. As it was Byleth absorbing the piece of Sothis' soul into his own, the Goddess' power was inherited by him alone. The inner turmoil caused by two souls sharing one body finally ceased and Byleth was fundamentally changed becoming, well, an Enlightened One. As the game doesn't really explore Sothis and Byleth much post-Time Skip, due to the war taking precedence and Byleth's unfortunate existence as a silent protag, how exactly he changes is up to personal interpretation. I personally believe he gained not only Sothis' power but some of Sothis' memories and insight that the Creststone soul piece had. He also gained greater control and range of emotional expression and probably took on some of the characteristics Sothis had.

Byleth is both an avatar of the Goddess and his own person at the same time. He is and is not Sothis.

#fire emblem #fe3h #byleth eisner #fe sothis #church of seiros #fodland #fe3h headcanons #m!byleth #i really do apologize if this is rambling #i've had these ideas since first playing the game and never wrote them down #and they all came back to the surface all at once #i can't tell if this is supposed to be meta or pure headcanons #both? both is good

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dailycharacteroption · 3 years ago

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Deity Drop 1: Apsu

Though today’s subject is also lawful good, he is much less involved than Erastil. I present the draconic deity Apsu!

It always seems that in fantasy settings, at least the ones with their roots in D&D, there are always two major dragon gods, one good, one evil, and Pathfinder is no different. However, while the classic duo in many D&D settings are brother and sister, in Pathfinder, the duo is father and son, and today we are looking at the father.

According to draconic belief, Apsu is in fact one of the deities responsible for the creation of the multiverse, and while that is likely an exaggeration on the part of dragons, it no doubt has a grain of truth to it. In any case, Apsu originally did not go by a name, and was originally described as one of two great waters (which ties into the description of his real Mesopotamian namesake), the other being Tiamat (whom is implied to be, or at least a version of the very same Tiamat running around D&D’s various settings, but who is only mentioned in Pathfinder briefly because of legal reasons), whom was his mate and wife.

The pair had many children together, but one in particular, Dahak, was a violent and destructive being whose rampages are the very thing that turned the plane of Hell into a burning place of suffering long before the first devils or even asura arrived on the plane. He was not content to end his rampage at an entire plane of existence, however, and slew many of his siblings, whose broken remains fell to the material plane and were reborn as the first metallic dragons.

Enraged, Apsu named himself and took form, joining with the metallic dragons against his wayward son, defeating him. However, before the final blow was struck, Dahak pleaded for aid from his mother, who answered, offering the dragons injured in the fight healing if they would turn on Apsu. Those that accepted became the first chromatic dragons.

Dahak escaped in the ensuing fight, but Apsu ordered his followers not to pursue, turning to ask his mate, who took the name Tiamat, why he had aided his son.

Tiamat only answered that she blamed Apsu for the death of their children, and cast them out from their home to wander.

Since that time, Apsu and Dahak have only met once, when they teamed up to help other gods defeat the monstrous Rovagug. After the battle, Dahak swore he would kill his father, and left. Ever since then, Apsu has been a distant leader of dragonkind, quietly preparing for the day when he and his son will have their final showdown on the surface of Golarion.

Apsu himself, who dwells in a roving demiplane home called the Immortal Ambulatory, teaches that one should seek glory and peace, and that leaders should be just and fair, which makes sense as he is the patron deity of all good dragons, metallic and otherwise. However, while many good dragons worship him, very few among them actually take training in divine magic under his guidance, perhaps out of draconic independence. However, he does have a small following of humanoids on Golarion, most notably the group known as the Platinum Band, who do train as proper priests of Apsu.

Unsurprisingly, Apsu has a much wider following on the planet Triaxus, where the native Rhyphorians and their dragonkin allies among the Dragon Legions of the Allied Territories.

Though Apsu’s parenting skills are called into question by the existence of Dahak, he is nonetheless a god of justice and good, serving as an inspiration to those who wish to uphold his ideals. He commands his followers to help those in need, as well as guide them to become stronger, and punish the wicked that betray your mercy.

This aligns him with a lot of paladins, as a lawful good god he is at least respected by many civilizations, but he is most commonly worshipped by those who travel and do his work across the world. However, it is notable that Apsu apparently refuses to have a hand in the creation of oracles, even as part of a pantheon, as it is against his beliefs to force power upon a mortal, especially not that which also curses them. Oracles that come to worship him later do exist, apparently, as those that do gain access to unique spells. Additionally, as he is associated with the preparation for war, he is often given prayers by architects and craftsmen who build fortifications and other tools of protection for coming war.

Apsu is served and worshipped by most good dragons, metallic and otherwise, as well as even some wyverns and drakes that have risen above bestial concerns. He does command some angels as a celestial god, but he counts no one specific outsider type as his own. He does have a herald in the form of the celestial silver dragon Oreganus, as well as Blameless Flame, a coatl surrounded by the flame of a gold dragon’s breath and Syrax the Platinum, a clockwork dragon with the mind of a once-living brass dragon.

Apsu rules over the domains of Artifice, Good, Law, Scalykind, and Travel, as well as the subdomains of Archon (by way of good or law), Construct, Dragon, Exploration, Toil, and Trade. The inclusion of Artifice is tied to the oft-forgotten aspect of Apsu as the builder of fortifications.

His second edition domains are creation, protection, travel, and wyrmkin, as well as granting spells associated with bolstering natural attacks, creating temporary items, and shapeshifting into draconic form.

Those who are devout enough to follow his deific obedience perform a daily ritual of walking in one direction for half an hour, then walking back. When traveling away from their starting point, they consider the tactical and strategic advantages of the terrain, while on the way back, they consider it’s wonder and beauty and contemplate on the Wayfinder’s role in its creation. Such devotees are granted heightened awareness, particularly when it comes to attackers.

Evangelist devotees tap into Apsu’s aspect as a crafter and preparer, gaining spells to carry large loads with a disk of force, bless weapons with the divine power of law, and create wards against the environment; as well as enchant weapons to fight on their own, and the power to pour life into an object you have crafted, animating it.

For those that follow the path of the exalted, they imbue his aspect as a traveller, blurring their movement, defying gravity, and moving with incredible speed. What’s more, they are blessed with the ability to monitor the places they have been, placing short-lived sensors whenever they teleport away, letting them see what goes on afterwards, be it pursuers, or potential spies or sneaks. Additionally, they can set up safe locations and teleport back to them with allies at later dates.

Draconic fury is the gift granted to those who become sentinels in his name, blasting foes with sprays of light, bolts of fire, and imbuing themselves with draconic wards against the elements. What’s more, they can surround themselves in a ward against foes that is most effective against evil dragons. Additionally, they can imbue their weapon with the normally reserved fury of Apsu in battle, making for supernaturally accurate attacks that are almost guaranteed to deliver deadly wounds to evil dragons.

As far as I know, neither Apsu nor Dahak have been mentioned in Starfinder yet, so it is unknown what their status is. Both deities were prophesized to end their struggle once and for all on Golarion someday, but in the far future of Starfinder the planet Golarion is missing. So, either their battle has already happened before or during The Gap, or that prophecy was derailed in the same way as most other prophecies in the Age of Lost Omens and beyond. If Apsu does exist, either with or without Dahak, he is no doubt most popularly worshipped among the Skyfire Legion and among more goodly parts of the Drakelands on Triaxus, much as they have always done. Still, any world where metallic or otherwise goodly dragons exist may see some of his influence, and I imagine that he might even have a small following in the Knights of Golarion.

That does it for today, but it’s good to demonstrate how even gods outside of the Inner Sea grouping can be just as influential in their own way.

#pathfinder #deity #Apsu #dragon

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kandyrezi · 3 years ago

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+ Anonymous said: Reficul and Sin headcanons

+ Anonymous said: Refisin nsft headcanons please❤

[ ♡ / ♢ ] Reficul x Sin HCs.

• Reficul had originally been a seraph who rebelled against her creator because of her own arrogance and pride, wanting to be the most powerful divine entity even above god, but when she was banished and fell out of heaven with a sword pierced deep into her chest, she fell deep into the shadowed, forbidden realm in the underworld. Sin was the one to find her bloodied and beaten up, floating in a river. The serpent took the angel to a quiet place to heal her wounds. Since Sin is one of the few creatures above the devil in terms of power, she was also the one to turn her into a devil. Sin used to rule over the Pentagram world before Reficul took over, but the serpent is still the most powerful creature in the demon world.

• Of course Reficul had heard of her former comrades talking about a ruthless serpent that lives in an unknown realm beyond where her god’s world lies. Reficul and Sin created a place together for all those fallen from heaven who sided with the former seraph.

• Reficul laments about her defeat for a long time, but this demon with a gentle smile, who saved her from certain death and offered to create a place for demons to live in, gradually begins to make her soul - her entire being feel whole again.

• Reficul has always felt like she’s above everyone else, but Sin is the first being she allowed to break the walls she’s built within around herself, and now views her as someone equally powerful, worthy of eternal devotion.

• Their wedding ceremony was rather small, despite them being the two most important figures in the underworld. Reficul believes their love is something special and to be kept between just the two of them, and Sin didn’t much care for a big audience either.

• They got married high up on a mountain with the main city standing tall yet faint in the distance.

• They said “I love you” for the very first time to eachother at the altar.

• Reficul brings Sin home souvenirs and trinkets from other worlds. She knows Sin has somewhat of a bad habit of hoarding items, but the devil thinks it’s quite endearing for someone otherwise so orderly.

• Reficul also brings Sin along for sightseeing in other worlds and has introduced her to some of her acquaintances - at least she and Satanick are somehow by miracle getting on well.

• They used to not get a lot of couple time together late at night after their matrimony when Mors was still little and would crawl into their bed after a nightmare, which happened so frequently Reficul didn’t believe he was really telling the truth and was just too overly attached to his serpent mother.

• Sin coils her tail around Reficul’s middle in early crack of dawn before work and always gives her a kiss, “Good morning, dear.”

• Similarly, Reficul will go up to her wife from behind when she’s occupied with another task like cooking or sewing embroidery, wrapping her hands around her waist and pressing a gentle peck on the forehead.

• Sin visits Reficul at work sometimes to bring her something to eat, but the devil really just uses it as an excuse to slack off and drop the remaining work onto her right-hand man, Lzet, going out to have a little lunch picnic date with the wife instead.

• Reficul keeps a silver pocket watch decorated with small lilies with her, that Sin gifted her, at all times - whilst Sin keeps a golden pocket mirror. They gave these items to eachother on the same day Reficul proposed to Sin. A keepsake to always remind their spouse of eachother whenever they're far apart... or should something happen to either of them.

! explicit under the cut !

• On the more raunchier side… it’s usually all soft lovemaking, but that doesn’t mean things don’t get kinky, especially by Sin herself, who likes to put on an innocent face, but is in reality as much of a mischievous demon like the rest, in quite various ways – she likes to experiment and see what really makes her beloved tick. One of the salacious things they’ve gotten up to is Sin having Reficul drink a powerful aphrodisiac and see how many times in a row the devil queen can orgasm – thirteen is so far the highest record.

• Sin is more into foreplay and teasing than the actual act of intercourse, so Reficul makes sure to drag it out as long as possible, paying each part of her wife as much attention as possible.

• Reficul is something of a service top – she knows every bit of the body belonging to her dearest in intricate detail and what makes her writhe and come undone fastest.

• Sin would usually be a (gentle) dom with anyone else, but Reficul is the only one she submits to. She is normally the one tending to other people during the day and aiding them with their problems, so it’s nice to be taken care of during the night once they’re all alone.

• Sin doesn’t make a lot of noise, but she does whimper sometimes, whilst Reficul is mostly quiet overall, but that’s to be expected when her mouth is too occupied with leaving deep kisses on the other woman’s skin.

• Both Sin and Reficul have interchangeable genitalia, but Reficul usually favors having a cock. Sin, not nearly as much, but when she does choose to do so, another one of her “abilities” is able to cum aphrodisiac.

• Being a naga, Sin naturally sports two cocks, which is... an interesting time when they choose to do double penetration. Sin usually has her tail underneath Reficul’s thighs for support during these sessions, it can easily become overwhelming, though nothing the devil can’t handle.

• Reficul is not much of a tease, but she is rather romantic, more so with gestures rather than words – not that it doesn’t mean she is not a master at both if so her beloved desired.

• Sin has a bit of an affinity for seeing Reficul wearing pretty, dark red lingerie or airy ciffons with cute floral ornamentation.

#mogeko #funamusea #refisin #the gray garden #reficul (tgg)#sin (mogeko)#okegom #dsp #deep-sea prisoner #ficlets #how does one write raunchy stuff with a naga..... i am confusion??

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wizzycore · 3 years ago

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hard mode: like a dog.

YOU SAY THAT AS IF I DIDN'T MAKE A WHOLE ANIMATIC ABOUT THIS????? HELLO???

this song LITERALLY makes up part of the symbolism for my main fire character now omggggg

but just in case you didn't watch it and it got buried in my sideblog spam, lets break it down, baby!

i interpreted this in my animatic to be about learning shadow magic in khrysalis! but now that i think about it more, i start to think about morganthe. :(. and malistaire. and literally everybody :(. i feel like a lot of characters in wizard101 are led by destiny into very scientifically (magical science!) dangerous situations.

in the case of malistaire -- trying to ressurect sylvia in part with the direction of the cabal, him being misdirected towards his own doom without even knowing it

in the case of YW -- literally.... literally everything. old cob decieving them. being ordered around by the divine. the semi-divine. the mortal. ambrose. theres so much potential here.

again, in my animatic i recall zaltanna the mirrormask's first words to the yw in khrysalis -- that mercy is not a good look on them, that the only way to succeed in morganthe's army is letting that go. even as zaltanna is secretly part of the fifth column, she feigns perfect loyalty to the rules of morganthe's army -- and she urges the wizard, who she believes to be the one to bring down morganthe, to do the same.

i think a lot of characters try to make the yw lose their sense of compassion. but it never really works.

[its] - mercy

yw Has killed. Is Killing. Will Kill again. and i think the yw is pure at heart. but there are times where it just slips. don't you just want to go apeshit?

also, #shadow magic. "go beyond pure humanity's border" could probably be interpreted as either becoming the scion OR shadow magic, but since i haven't reached scion in my playthrough yet, i prefer to comment on the latter. the yw loses credibility once theyve associated with shadow magic and grandfather spider. they become, in ione's words, "tainted". the yw has seen so much and dabbled in so much of the divine even pre-scion that their concerns elevate above the mortal and into the world-ending, the divine, the dark comedy of gods and their children.

i didn't explore this properly in my animatic because it was about my wizard ocs's relationships with raven and spider, but i like to think this can apply to more than just them. ambrose, for example! who sends yw into so many wounding situations before simply reeling them back. but of course...

now that i've finished empryea part one, i can say i'll add to my interpretation of "to her" -- before i finished, i imagined it as grandmother raven, as the yw trying desperately to get back into her good graces, to regain that comforting presence of love and support in the little bird in their ears. but now i think about it? mellori. mellori mellori mellori. i cant tell u why its just vibes in my brain but of course like mother like daughter amiright?

i interpreted this as rat in my animatic, but now i think of it as fighting grandfather spider in mirage -- specifically the clock and "set it in motion all over". i like to think spider and yw were locked in battle for a very long time, were it not for the time fuckery in mirage. specifically because of the catharsis it brought them both. but im fucked up like that <3

- grandmother raven

ok this one is specifically a headcanon on my end. the yw is so tired. so weary. and they just have periods of giving up after a while. just going through the motions of combat. and it makes them an easier hero of the spiral -- they don't have such things as hangups. sure, the compassion tries to shine through, but the reality is, yw doesn't ever have time for that, do they?

RAVEN RAVEN RAVEN !!!!!!! it just seems like so much of order is about acceptance!! and faux-peace!!! and its why chaos needs to exist too! (also -- accept your future path wasn't yours to be chosen -- the prophecy :( about morganthe AND awaking old cob)

#ferry #ferry wizard101 asks #wizard101 #w101 #khrysalis spoilers #long post #mirage spoilers #arc 3

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hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years ago

Text

Zavis shrugged innocently.

“Oops?”

He looked back down towards the water, and indeed, two halves of a very splinted and broken Great Eagle Bow were floating in the water below.

The Yiga tosses his sword between his hands casually and gave a soft chuckle. “Ok, all this aside, I have been waiting forever to kick your ass ever since Rauru. Like,” He rubbed his left shoulder. “My poor clavicle! Exposing me wasn’t enough, you had to mess with my violin shoulder! How would you feel if someone just randomly pounced on...wait do Rito even have collarbon—”

Faster than thought, Revali dashed forward with the full force of his tornado behind him, and the next thing Zavis knew, he was pinned by his shoulders, head hovering above the stairway below.

“HK—Yeah, that. That’s what I’m talking about...very rude...very....” He sputtered as Revali’s talons edged his head further towards open air. “Yeahyeahyeah, we can say you won this round, ahahaha—Anyone else feeling deja vu?”

Revali clicked his tongue and leaned his so close Zavis nearly thought he was about to bite his face off.

“Oh I’ve won indeed, little bard. But let’s ensure this result stays permanent—”

The Rito released one foot off his shoulder, and pierce his talons into the pocket by the Yiga’s belt. His remaining handful of paper talismans fluttered away in the wind. Revali then turned back to shove him over the edge.

But Zavis was faster. As soon as the hold on one of his shoulders fell away, he reached for his sword and butted the pommel into Revali’s face.

He stumbled back, but seemed to recover instantly with the power of spite. He took an arrow and held it like a dagger as he lunged, the wind still at his command.

Zavis dodged left, but lost his balance as the wind forced him backward, and he toppled off the edge.

“Fuck!”

He thrust his sword into the side of the house, and hung on for dear life. He glared up a few feet away to lock eyes with Revali.

“Don’t you get it!? I thought you were the sharp one! I’m trying to help you. It takes a lot to recover your reputation from ‘serial killer friends’ to ‘heroes.’ The more effort you put into defeating me, the better.”

He weakly gestured with one arm towards the scrambling Sheikah down below, and spoke a bit louder. “And what a show we did put on for them! And though my skills and intellect were great, I shall admit defeat to you, my friend! For surely no one rivals your valor!”

Revali’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, green flames seemingly simmering his face off. He hopped on Zavis’ sword, and both the Yiga and the sword squeaked pathetically as the wood that held the blade started to weaken.

“I don’t think you understand, poet. This isn’t about winning...this is about settling the score...” With each articulation of his words, Revali playfully hopped up and down on the sword.

Zavis grimaced at the motion, but rolled his eyes. “Are you still mad about the grave thing? Ok, ok. I’m sorry I accidentally caused monsters to trample all over those graves. I can give a more proper apology when I’m not dangling over the dangerous drop above that long staircase...”

Revali scoffed with an unexpected smile. “Oh, I’m well over that, don’t worry. Recently I’ve detached from my deceased family in place of...more desirable alternatives.”

He edged his talons closer to the end of the sword where Zavis was holding onto.

“I mean, that was the plan...until matters got complicated.”

The boy’s breath caught, but he glared confidently at Revali.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Revali scoffed again. He started hopping up and down again as he spoke in a dignified tone.

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy.”

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop.

“It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop.

Zavis sucked in a breath as the panel of wood his sword was impaled into started to pry away. Revali leaned down close to Zavis’ face again as he smirked.

“A little bard like you would be familiar with the work of Illian Quiverspear, yes? That quote’s from Osprello. Act III if I recall correctly?” He tilted his head, as if asking for confirmation.

Zavis nodded. “Sure, the play where the osprey character is egged on by the parrot Rito, Iago, to kill his wife.” Zavis couldn’t help but quip as he smirked. “Is that a request, Champion Revali? Got a lover you want me to off?”

SLAM.

Zavis gasped as his sword sunk a foot down the side of the house, his grip loosening as the sword angled to a near 45 degree angle.

“What I want is for you to get what you deserve!” Revali leaned down, resisting the urge to just peck his eyes out. “I can’t believe how pathetic you truly are! A double agent...Tsk...” He shook his head as he crossed his wings.

Zavis’ thoughts bubbled with confusion. “I feel like being on the same side is a good thing—?”

“IT ISN’T.” Revali slammed his weight onto the sword again, the force strong enough to erupt a blade of wind out the edge. “First you make me look like a fool in Rito Village, then again, you elude me in Rauru. And now you. Break. My. BOW.”

“I’LL BUY YOU A NEW ONE, OK???” Zavis’ grip slipped further down the sword. “Look, I don’t have anything against you personally, cause you know in retrospect we have a lot in—”

“You were given everything!” Revali spat. ��You were rich and prosperous, with loving parents, and talents to be praised for day in and day out.” He shook his head and waved away the memories. “While I chewed on dirt, and suffered under the constant dissatisfaction and anger of the Rito unfortunate enough to hatch me.”

He stomped on the sword, and once more the wood creaked, and the blade slipped just a bit further. “I endured and rose beyond my pathetic circumstances. But then I get a front row seat so seeing you throw away everything that I should have had!” His talons scratched Zavis’ skin. “You had the freedom to live as you wanted, and you decided the best course of action was to destroy the foundation that held you so highly!? You cast aside your ties, and for what? To play pretend?”

“My ties didn’t serve me any purpose! I’m more useful to everyone as a Yiga.” Zavis glared up at him. “And make assumptions all you want, but life wasn’t as glorious as you make it out to be.”

“HA!” Revali threw his head back and laughed. “Forgive me Master Zavis of the Yiga! I did not realize I should have expressed more sympathies for you!”

“I am so sorry that you never had to worry about food on the table, nor clothes on your back. I am ever so sympathetic to your joining of the Yiga Clan, as you provided them the information necessary to wreak havos upon the kingdom for years! And most of all...I am so sorry that you decided that your ‘greater usefulness’ as a Yiga was more important than caring for the people who foolishly decided to love you.”

Revali bore both his talons on Zavis’ grip. “Siv only started changing after you destroyed his trust. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the catalyst in all this.”

The Rito shook his head as he bounced on the sword again.

“And now!” Hop. “You’re supposed to be on my side all along?” Hop. “You?! Who succumbed to underhanded tactics and pathetic desires,” Hop. Hop. “To be praised and respected, the same as me?” Hop."Hmm...I don't think I can let that fly..."

Revali chuckled again, before regaining his grim expression. “I resisted the temptation to be selfish for years. My entire Hylia-damned life I’ve played by the rules of this kingdom and its authorities. And now you’re saying I could have given in all along, and still be in the right to be called a hero?!”

Zavis’ grip finally gave away, and he started to fall.

“GAAH—”

His forearm was suddenly caught be Revali’s talons, the grip harsh enough to draw a bit of blood. He leaned down once more.

“Assivus’ actions and choices are his own, and that divinator is certainly a problematic instigator...” Revali stared down at Zavis, green fire bearing into him. “But since you’re already here, and since we’re already allowing ourselves to be a little bit self...I see no reason I can’t settle for taking this all out on a insufferable little bard like you!”

The Champion's grip released.

#???#Assivus Hartell #The life of the party and then death #hku spoilers

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sledgefuweek · 3 years ago

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Each year we take a close look at the prompts for Sledgefu Week, for those who may be stuck for ideas or not quite sure about what the prompts could entail. Below the readmore are all seven prompts, as well as a short write-up exploring what they mean and some ideas to help get the creative juices going. Enjoy!!

Sickfic

This is a really popular and well-known fanfic trope that I feel probably needs little explanation, but I’ll write a little bit about it anyway! It essentially covers fic where one character is ill and the other cares for them -- it could encompass any kind of illness at all, (including chronic illnesses) and there’s a lot of room to get creative with it. You can go for angst, hurt/comfort, or fluff: it’s just a really good general prompt that I think works nicely to kick the week off!

It suits for Sledgefu pretty well, considering Snafu’s canon mild hypochondria, as well as the fact that Eugene’s dad is a doctor. It could be fun to lean into it: make Eugene play doctor for an actually-sick Snafu, and it could be just as fun to subvert it! There’s really endless options for canon fic: shrapnel wounds turned bad, heat-sickness, seasickness, illness from bad food or bad water or any kind of tropical disease you can think of (malaria is a big one!). You could make one of them (or both) a medic; you could genderswap them and write the gay field nurse fic this fandom sorely needs. And of course if you choose to branch out into modern AU you can begin to think of what might afflict them outside of a war setting: has Eugene been working too much and come down with a cold? Are they hungover, and need mutual care (and lots of takeout)? A lot of the time sickfic focuses on one character doing the comforting and the other character feeling unwell, but there’s nothing to say they can’t both be feeling shitty! I think we say this every year but there’s really no rules at all, you do whatever you feel inspired to do. With Sickfic, just be mindful to tag anything that others might be affected by eg. vomiting, blood, needles, etc.

Tarot

I feel like Tarot is pretty well-known to the Sledgefu fandom, or at least to those who like to write Snafu or his family a little witchy. In case you just have a vague idea of what Tarot actually is and what its purpose or origins are, I’ll explain it as concisely as I can! Tarot decks started life in Europe as playing cards, but eventually began to be used for divination. It’s made up of four suits, or the Minor Arcana, (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles) as well as a twenty-two card Major Arcana (the imagery of which you’re probably very familiar with). Commonly, tarot decks and tarot reading is used as a means of communicating with the higher self, deities, or with the universe. They can be used as a way to see the future, answer questions, or to give/receive advice. There are different ways of reading them too, depending on how one lays out the cards: I don’t want to make this too wordy, but if you’re curious I encourage you to check out this site to learn more!

For writers, there’s a lot of places this prompt could take you! Probably the most obvious will be fortune teller fic; a classic. Lean into Snafu’s Louisiana roots and have him telling fortunes in the depths of the French Quarter, or go against the grain and have Eugene reading cards and palms and tea leaves as a practice passed down through his family. Or maybe more casual: modern AU Sledgefu flirting through amateur tarot readings with a deck picked up from a junk shop. If you read Tarot and have a connection to it, you can express that through writing! It’s a pretty open-ended prompt, especially if you consider some of the meanings of the cards; you could even write a story inspired by that! The Hermit: Snafu withdrawing, leaving Eugene on the train to spend the next few months in solitude, working through things. The Moon: Snafu and Eugene hitting a rough patch, hiding things from each other. The opportunities really become endless once you start taking the readings of the cards into account! And for visual artists, this must be such a fun prompt: I feel like it’s so a visually rich, whether you’re re-drawing the cards to encompass Snafu and Eugene within them, or making a collage based around some of the things mentioned above: fortune tellers shops, witches cottages, etc.

Trinket

Every Sledgefu Week we tend to have a couple prompts that are a little more open to interpretation, and this year’s ‘Trinket’ is one of those. It might be difficult to try and think of something to base a whole fic or piece of art around, but we really encourage you to let your imagination run wild! There’s already some great trinkets in the show itself: Eugene’s ring, the lighter that Gunny Haney gave him, Snafu’s stolen gold teeth, or their dog tags. Think of small, special objects that you might have: what imbues them with comfort or meaning? What makes you love them? You could have Eugene giving Snafu his ring, or have Eugene musing over war and death and loss while smoking a cigarette lit by his lighter. If you’re into Modern AUs, how could these objects carry through to modern day? Once you start thinking about it, the ideas start rolling in. Feel free to invent special trinkets for them: or maybe trinkets that they hate and want to get rid of, trinkets that remind them of bad times. Trinkets that remind them of each other, or family, or war. So much meaning can be held in the things we own, and I think it’s such a lovely concept to explore!

Crossover

So this prompt was born from the sheer number of suggestions we had for various movie, TV, and book AUs. We didn’t want to put them all to the poll and risk a lot of you feeling disappointed over the one you wanted not being selected, so thought it’d work best to condense them into a ‘Crossover’ prompt so everyone could do whatever they liked. So this is a very very broad one! It would be impossible for me to really go through the prompt and highlight some things that you could do for it, because you can really do anything you want to! Anything! It encompasses movies, video games, TV, books, musicals... if something tells a story, you can do a crossover. So if there’s ever been a film/book/etc. AU you wanted to do for Sledgefu Week but couldn’t quite get it to match the prompts, now is the time!

Vacation

A pretty self explanatory prompt, and one that I think can appeal to people who prefer canonverse and those who like modern AU too! Do you want to send Snafu and Eugene on the holiday of their dreams, or are they gonna be bickering in a gas station over who gets control of the map? Is Snafu gonna drive across a couple states to surprise Eugene by visiting? Is Eugene gonna do the same? There’s a lot of scenarios you can apply to the backdrop of them vacationing, and a lot of emotional journeys you can take them through! And for the canonverse crowd, you have the extra addition of letting them go have fun on an R&R, or taking a road trip post-war, visiting 1950s Paris... you can really do whatever you like!

Historical

This was another prompt like ‘Crossover’ that came from a lot of various suggestions that all boiled down to a similar thing: different historical events or periods. So like Crossover, I won’t linger too long on it (this post is long enough already) except just to say again: do whatever you’re inspired to do! There’s no rules here, you could even take everyone out of the Pacific and put them over in Germany: give them a different experience of war. In fact, you can do that with any war if you wanted to! Wanna do a M*A*S*H AU but made something else for Crossover? You could do it here! Want to put them in the 1920s? You got it. In the 1850s? Yeehaw, they’re cowboys now. 1969, Summer of Love? 1600s, make Snafu a prince? Literally the world is your oyster!

Horror

Past Sledgefu Week prompts have included things that could come under the horror umbrella (Supernatural, for example) but didn’t necessarily have to be made 'horrific’. For the ‘Horror’ prompt this year, we want to see frightening! Disquieting, uncomfortable; creations that either cross over with existing horror franchises, or lean on horrific things you come up with yourself. Horror movies, or TV shows, or books or podcasts or pieces of art all seek to elicit a sense of fear: this can be done by tapping into common phobias, or nightmares, those things which are universally and almost instinctively scary. We want to see things which lean into that, in whatever way you want to do it!

I’m no horror media expert (not by a long shot) but the opportunities for this prompt are really vast simply because horror has so many subgenres to work with. You could go gothic horror; Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights (a personal favourite AU -- Eugene soaked out on the moors, searching for Heathcliff-Snafu? Divine). Or you could go to the opposite end of the spectrum: Jennifer’s Body AU, Final Girl AU -- there’s no set way to do horror, in fact you could even bring horror into canonverse if you don’t like AUs. Think the Terror: some unknown beast lurking beyond the borders of their camp on Pavuvu, or Okinawa. Or you could even take the prompt entirely literally and explore the horrors of war and the toll it takes on them both. Please don’t feel stuck into needing to do Scary: horror is about fear and revulsion and dread, and these feelings don’t necessarily need to come from a haunting! (This is also a prompt ripe for monsterfucking, just FYI).

- - - - - - - - - -

So that’s the prompts for this year! They’re all really really great, and have a lot of potential to make some fantastic stuff :~) And to reiterate something I said right at the start, there are no rules here! I think every year we normally get at least one person unsure whether their idea will be okay for the prompt they’d like to make it for, so I just wanna say here: don’t second-guess yourself! As long as it can be linked back to the prompt in some way or another (can literally be the vaguest way possible) you’ll be absolutely fine. We don’t vet submissions at all, especially not for their content relating to the prompts. All we ask is that you remember to stay respectful in what you’re writing, and when the time comes to post it, you tag and warn appropriately :~)

On the subject of writing respectfully, we’d like to just take a moment to link the document on mindful writing re: race and gender that was made last year. Please take a look at it, even if you read it last year! It’s always good to keep these things at the front of your mind, as fandom is a community sport and we want to keep it fun and safe for everyone involved! So thank you if you’ve made it this far through this whole post, check out the doc, and enjoy the rest of the run-up to Sledgefu Week!

#sledgefu #sledgefu week #mod talk #info #if you saw this post before yes you did no you didn't <3 it has the horror prompt on it now lmao

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