#idk. lighting. fire. the power of god or something

[mcbitchtits]

hey. heyheyheyheyhey.

so like.

OBVIOUSLY this big purple miracle is gabriel.

obviously.

but blue and red make...?

[woantohae]

hey friend you should do a bob reynold x witch!reader like she has the same powers as wanda but like not??like a headcanon or them meeting through the thunderbolts idk just something fr fr

thank youuuu for stepping up

Thunderbolts || (Bob Reynolds x Polaris! reader)

Summary: They're not supes. They're not heroes. The don't give up.

What happens when a group of "bad people" needs to assemble to fight something bigger than them?

Author's note: Hello! So this is a series of Bob Reynolds, the other parts can be found in my masterlist <3333

Y/N had arrived at the place where Valentina had summoned her. The girl didn't entirely trust her word, but the woman had information that was valuable to her. For months she wanted to know where her sister Wanda Maximoff was. After the battle against Thanos, Wanda had completely disappeared. The black-haired woman tried to call her whenever she could, but her cell phone was always busy or she simply didn't answer.

Y/N knew she was still grieving Vision's death. But she let her know that if Wanda needs something, or a sister.... she would be there in an instant.

The darkness of the corridors did not give her a good feeling, she kept her eyes fixed on each corner to make sure she was prepared to fight if necessary. She turned the corner and found a room with various furniture and objects scattered around the space. There was a light illuminating the room but it didn't calm her down completely. She heard someone else enter the room, so she quickly hides in a dark corner. The girl doesn't want to start a fight so soon.

The new person is a man wearing a suit similar to Captain America's and wearing a shield with pride and confidence. It's John Walker. She had heard of him.

Y/N frowns when she sees that he is also hiding when she hears another person enter the room. Why on earth had Valentina summoned her here if more people were arriving?

She remains in her place until she sees how a new girl with short blonde hair enters the place at a slow but sure pace. She looks at some papers and her face expresses distrust. She knew she was not alone, especially when John decides to come out of hiding and start shooting her, to which the blonde dodges him. There are two more people who enter the scene and start fighting. Y/N lets out a sigh and takes off her coat, letting it fall to the floor. She comes out of hiding and stands in front of the rest.

"Who are you?" John asks. He proceeds to throw his shield, but the girl raises her hands and lets the energy flow from her fingers to stop the vibranium in mid-air and throw it across the room.

"Bad move" Y/N observes her opponents.

"How did you do that?" the blonde asks, without moving from the spot.

"What? This?" She lifts a metal box and throws it at the soldier. The shor-haired blonde girl throws a knife through the air, which Y/N catches and throws away, being caught by a masked person. The fight continues with bullets fired by another black-haired woman.

Suddenly, the short blonde haired girl stops the fight with a scream.

"Enough!" She exclaims "We're not going to gain anything if we keep trying to kill each other."

The masked person stops next to the black-haired person in the black suit. John looks at Y/N suspiciously and she raises her hands in surrender to hear what the blonde has to say. Everyone watches each other carefully to see their movements and not let their guard down.

"It's obvious that someone wants us gone," she points out with a gesture. "We've all done bad things here."

Y/N looks at her with a frown.

"Shadow op. Contract kills" she raises an eyebrow.

"Why would anyone want that?" John questions picking up his shield. He shrugs. "And you former Red Room assassin. Why should I trust you? God only knows the blood in your hands"

"That's pretty ludicrous coming from the dime store Captain America." the other black haired woman says.

"I'll have you know the official Captain America, so..." he defends.

"Yeah. For like, two seconds" Y/N jokes.

They both laugh with sarcasm.

"It getting so tense in here" a new voice says.

Everyone turns to where the voice is heard and sees a man dressed in scrubs. Y/N is ready to use her powers if he tries to attack them. The man immediately throws his hands in the air.

"Wow, easy"

"Who are you?" Ghost asks.

"I-I- I'm Bob" he says pointing to himself.

"Great. Another one we need to fight with" John says.

"Wait. Weren't you sent together?" Bob asks pointing at them, still raising his hands. It seems harmless, Y/N thinks.

"If that were the case, believe me, I wouldn't have thrown the shield at her," John points out Y/N.

"Yeah, sure," she says.

Before they can fight again, a clock starts counting down and the lights of the room turns off.

"Shit," Yelena says. He turns to Bob "Why are you here?"

"I-I don't know." he seems nervous.

The clock continues counting until there are only seconds left to find out what it is.

"We must go. Now!" Ghost says.

Everyone starts running as soon as they hear the clock beeping at zero. Y/N runs to Bob's side by chance and upon hearing an explosion, Y/N pulls his hand to fall to the ground with her.

The smell of smoke fills Y/N's nostrils and she coughs at the sensation. He looks to his side and sees everyone lying on the ground, trying to catch their breath as best they can. Bob looks at her fearful of what just happened and nods his head.

"Thank you" he thanks. Y/N just watches him and shakes her head, having only one thought in her head at the moment.

Valentina was behind all this.

........

Part II

Hi! I know it's short and nothing is happening between Bob and Y/N..... yet.

But I'm thinking about how to continue the story and I would like to complement it when "Thunderbolts" is released. However, I'm going to let my creative process take care of the continuation between both characters for now.

Hope you enjoyed it <333

[bochowssinner]

in love with the way you write remmick like hello??? the dark mysterious vibe, yeah. i also love the fact it’s black reader coded being black myself i love seeing it from the perspective of someone the same race as me. wondering if you’d mind typing an x reader with remmick showing up to readers house seeking shelter and she kind of figures out what he is, but he doesn’t turn her valuing her humanity? kinda sappy but i wanna see a more soft approach to remmick idk

🪽THANK YOU.

summary: a random white man appears on your porch one day, covered in blisters, and while your father is skeptical, your heart tells you to help him.

warnings: none i think.

a/n: worked on this for hours nonstop. got messy at the end. hope y'all like it.

the missisipi sun was at his back 'n he was burning up. the arid, limitless field of dirt extended for miles in all directions, scorched and crumbling in the sunlight. his weathered boots kicked up clouds of dirt heated by the sun as they shuffled through the sand. he was thirsty, dehydrated, longing for a small drop of water to coat his cotton mouth. and above all, he needed food—bones, flesh, and blood.

the sun. that ball of fire, that damned piece of light. remmick had previously been hunted by that blazing light. he tried his hardest to stay away from it, even spending days at a time hiding in a hole in the ground to allow his skin to heal. he was powerful, sure. but every creature had its weakness, and remmick? the sun damn near killed him.

he staggered with each excruciating stride, the sun soaking through his shoes and burning the raw blisters on his feet. as he ran, a wet plap filled the air, with the sounds of his own blood and sweat sloshing in his shoes and between his toes, exacerbating his blisters. remmick wasn't religious at all, but he found himself praying in his head that he could get out of this scorching heat. despite the fact that he was a sinner and a horrible man, God appeared to answer his prayer quickly as a house came into his view.

after helping your ma in making breakfast—scrambled eggs, cheesy grits, crispy bacon, and buttery pancakes—you were in the kitchen cleaning up. an unfamiliar male voice caught your attention, and you wiped your hands on the floral kitchen towel before making your way to the front door, the wooden floor groaning under your steps. standing with a double barrel shotgun in his hands, your father—a well known farmer in the neighborhood—was aiming it straight at the stranger kneeling at the door.

you stood behind him, looking up down the white man with worry etched on your face. he didn’t look like one of the men from the neighboring farms—he was too beat up, his clothes too raggedy. he also smelled. it was a hot day, but even from where she stood, the man reeked of something sour. a little bit like alcohol, a little bit like sweat.

your father questioned him relentlessly, his expression hard. this was strange; a random white man on your porch, covered from head to toe in blisters and looking like he had been beaten with hot barbed wire; something wasn't adding up.

remmick didn’t respond at first, licking his chapped lips and looking between the double barrel shotgun gun and your pa, taking in the little woman poking her head from behind the porch door. “i don’t mean trouble,” he said at last, voice rough and sandpaper low. his eyes found you, studying the confusion on your face. “i jus' need water.”

the air was tense, your pa's grip tight on the gun. the man on his porch looked like he’d walked through hell, red faced and staggering. he was also white, which was suspicious enough. the farmers around here stuck to their own, the lines of color were drawn deep. remmick held up both palms empty, but still, your pa didn’t lower the gun. “i’m dyin' o' thirst, i swear.” he swayed a bit on his feet, and both your and your pa noticed. he was exhausted, dehydrated. his eyes locked with yours, and something passed between them. pleading.

"pa, he's burnin' up.." you spoke softly, cringing at the blisters that covered him from head to foot.

your pa's gaze flicked over to you, softening for the smallest moment when he saw your big eyes looking at him. you were always a soft-hearted girl, seeing something in people that he didn’t. he huffed.

“you from here? who’s land you trespassing on?”

“i ain’t trespassing. i’m just lost, is all. i was headin' east, and then the sun got to me.” remmick ran a dry hand over his face, groaning. “i need a few hours. to cool off, get my bearings. i'll be on my way as soon as the sun goes down.”

"he can sit at the table. i'll get him some water.." you spoke firmly but softly to your pa, walking to the kitchen before he could say anything else. you've always been stubborn, anyway.

that night, you persuaded your father to let remmick stay in the guest bedroom for the night. and he agreed after some pleading, promises, and tears of empathy from you. and he hated seeing his baby girl cry. you provided him with clothes from your pa's closet, a washcloth and soap bar for bathing, food, and other necessities. you were a little nosy and looked into the guest room before going to bed to see how remmick was doing, and then you saw them. his teeth were as sharp as your brother's hunting knife, and you almost gasped before forcing yourself to stay silent. putting the pieces together didn't take long; you were a smart girl who had heard tales from your cousins who lived in new orleans about the kinds of things they saw. in the hopes that you would forget what you saw, you said nothing to your pa about it. if he even caught a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth, he would shoot remmick dead.

but remmick knew you saw, and he knew you would keep quiet.

that night, you awoke to the sound of the front door creakily closing, but a shimmer on your nightstand drew your attention. a piece of gold with a note next to it with only two words scribbled on it with a nearly empty ink pen.

thank you.

— R.M

the gold gleamed in the low light from outside, glimmering like the stars on a clear night. that was more money than you had ever seen, more money than your family made in a week. you’d never even touched gold before, the metal was cool beneath your fingers, the ridges of the coin imprinted in your palm. your jaw dropped. where had this come from? you looked at the note, confusion making your head spin. where had he gotten this from? you sat up, studying the note again. the handwriting was messy, the letters sharp pointed and uneven. the words were simple, but the coin was worth a weeks worth of their harvest. you'd never forget him.

remmick.

[bobbedazzled]

TIDAL

pairing: rafayel x reader | sea god x bounty hunter  word count: 3.3k content: enemies and lovers (?), some violence, stabbing, dub con, hypnosis/spell casting, minor blood/knifeplay(?), fingering, unprotected sex, tongue branding, blood tasting, wound licking, idk why I wrote this  a/n: taking a break from the college au, sorry I disappeared I got sick and had to study for a final for a class I hated. I got lazy near the end so in case the fight scenes don’t make sense…yes theyy do.

Under the shroud midnight light, your work is whispered about in the gilded halls of nobility. An assassin of efficiency, and utter discretion. Your blade serves the highest bidder, those draped in velvet and adorned by rings and guilt alike. You are both a sword and shadow hidden in the thick of political disputes.

Yet, even the bloodied hands of nobility do not require constant cleansing. When the seasons shift and the power struggles settle, your contracts grow sparse, and you are left to seek coin by other means. Bounties. Less refined, less personal, but profitable nonetheless. The work is grittier, the targets less acclaimed, but coin is coin, and survival does not afford you the luxury of idleness.

It is during one lull, while scanning the ever-changing board of wishes and hastily scribbled contracts, that your gaze lands upon a peculiar ticket. Unlike the others, it bears no name of a scorned lover or a debt-dodging merchant. Instead, it is a plea, written not by a single trembling hand, but under the weight of collective desperation. The nobles one again, faceless in their cowardice, have set their sights on something they cannot control.

The God of Sirens. A rebirth of the God of the Tides, awoken with a fire that replaced his missing heart. He reclaimed the seas and went after those who enslaved his children. A myth from long ago that reentered chamber walls after a city went to ruins for reasons unknown. It’s said he sits in the palace idly, waiting to be challenge.

A trickster, a lingering echo of something too powerful to be dismissed yet too dangerous to be allowed to roam freely. He is the embodiment of temptation, of illusions spun so intricately they unravel the minds of those who listen.  He stands before you, neatly condensed into a single offering of wealth great enough to make even the most seasoned hunter hesitate.

"Wrong." His voice cracks through the dawn like a snapped wire. A second later, the world twists as gravity betrays you, the air slicing past your ears before instinct takes over. A pivot, a breath, and the cold marble railing catches your boots. You crouch low, steady, but his scrutinizing glare chases after you like a predator unwilling to let its prey recover.

"Try again," he calls from above, lounging in his window like a bored god surveying those below. 

Your face contorts at his tone. You have no interest in being toyed with. Your bounty has already spotted you, there’s no point in staying. It’s time to retreat, to cool down. But as you turn, a flicker of fire licks your cheek, searing the skin before you can react. A slow burn spreads across your face as you cup the scorched surface, eyes snapping upward.

He leans further out of his chamber, expression unreadable. 

“I don’t usually repeat myself.” He goads. His gaze does not meet you as an adversary’s would, not even as a nuisance. But as something far worse. A plaything. His smirk holds the mirth of a child poised over an anthill. You narrow your eyes, fingers twitching toward the blade at your belt before walking away.

When you return to the bounty board, you toss his ticket back to the merchant who had so smugly handed it to you. Laughter erupts around you, rolling in waves of mockery. You ignore it, though the sting to your reputation is undeniable.

Not every bounty can be fulfilled, and it’s better to admit that than to die for the money.

The others are too proud to concede. One by one, they pick up where you left off. None return. The dunes outside his palace swallow their remains. 

Under the moonlight, the sand glows like a sea of silver, its ripples forming a pathway that calls to you, daring you to return. A question sat in your mind. 

Why didnt he kill you as quickly as the others? Is this a game worth playing?

���─   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

Flames flicker at your feet. They curl around your boots, beckoning you to come forward. You don’t immediately obey, wincing as it burns through your sleeve.

“Careful,” he murmurs, back still turned. “I don’t conjure natural fire.”

You seize the moment, fingers tightening around the weapon hidden at your side. The instant you raise it, he scoffs. A snap echoes through the air. Instinctively, you drop your weapon as it’s set ablaze, ash scattering to the ground.

“Sloppy.” He exhales, more disappointed than amused. “I expected better.”

He rises from his lounging position, movements unhurried.

“I’ve never met a female hunter before,” he muses, eyes smiling. “Has my bounty gone down?”

“You’ve killed plenty,” you counter. “Naturally, that’s done the opposite.”

“So, my price has turned me into nothing more than a lottery?”

“I’m not confident. I’m curious.”

“Curious?” His voice lilts upward, mockery woven into the syllables. “How insulting.”

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

At this, he turns. His gaze is an ocean, dark and endless, with pink gleaming in its depths. You understand, now, why others have fallen under his influence. The thought makes your stomach twist.

Something sharp glints in your periphery—you duck, evading his blade and returning a weapon in one breath. He catches it between two fingers, unimpressed.

“Sloppy,” you echo.

He hums, stepping forward, the room shrinking between you. “You think I find you entertaining?” He flips the blade in his grip, offering it back to you. “To call you that would be an understatement.” He leans in, close enough that your breaths mingle. “I find you fascinating.”

You shove a hand against his chest. He barely budges. In one swift motion, he seizes your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you back against the cold stone wall.

“Compared to the others, you’re far less desperate.” His nose grazes yours, lips a mere breath away. “It’s disappointing.”

You turn your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. He tuts, grasping your jaw and forcing you back to him. His grip is firm but not painful, fingers featherlight as they trace your cheek.

“You saw my bounty,” he murmurs, voice lowering, “and had the audacity to trespass just to marvel at me.” His lips brush yours as he speaks, a phantom touch. “I find that rather offensive.”

The flames at your waist flicker higher, eating away at your clothing . The hand pinning you move to the skin uncovering at your waist. You refuse to cry out as the dull drag of his nails mark your skin. Instead, with your wrists freed, you strike.

A razor, hidden beneath your sleeve, slices across his torso. He barely reacts, expression unreadable as he watches the surrounding flesh redden, blood staining his garments. Then, with a single effortless movement, he retrieves his dagger from the wall, steel gleaming. The blade bites deep into your shoulder. You choke on a gasp, shoving him away and stumbling back, your arm quickly slick with crimson. He exhales, slow and deliberate, pressing two fingers to the shallow cut at his stomach. A smirk tugs at his lips as he watches you falter.

His blade twirls between deft fingers, feet bringing him closer until he towers above you. Your knees scrape against the tile as his fire coils around you, framing your silhouette in flickering gold. He halts an inch from your whitening knuckles, gaze alight with amusement.

He extends the dagger to you once more. “Try again.” His smile barely hides his teeth, his pupils blown wide. His very presence hums with something heady, intoxicating.

Your pulse quickens, adrenaline crackles beneath your skin. As you reach for the dagger, it flicks out of your grasp before you can claim it. 

Pain ignites in your palm. A ball of fire unravels where the blade separates your flesh. Your scream rips through the chamber, raw and unbidden.

“You were taking too long.” He teases through your cries, slipping the metal from your flesh. His voice is silk, his eyes gleaming. He watches, enthralled, twirling the knife in his grasp before  tossing the dagger.

You collapse against the wall as his gaze engulfs you. When losing, you’re used to looks of disgust, disdain. But him, intoxicated by his excitement, your body trembles. He kneels before you, his presence suffocating. The heat of his flames flickers dangerously close, picking at the edges of your tattered frame. Fingers tighten along your jaw, tilting your face toward the fallen dagger across the room. His lips ghost along your cheek, voice velvet, poison-laced.

"Fetch."

For a moment, you don't move. Won't move. Your pride coils in your gut, hissing, demanding you refuse him. But then his grip shifts— just enough to let you feel the raw strength beneath his amusement. Your voice cracks through the cold air, “Does it always take you this long to kill?”

“Kill?” His voice lowers. “And what fun would that be with you like this?” He leans away from your face and grabs your wrist, marveling at the blood painting your skin. He lifts your palm, still raw and bloodied, to his lips. “Why would a fish play with their food?” He murmurs.

His thumb slides beside the opening of your wound, pressing down against the flesh. His mouth is agape as you scream, watching, as if truly entertained by your agony. His tongue slips slowly over the raw opening, setting your nerves on fire. 

“It’ll be easier to eat after breaking you down.” 

His mouth is dirtied by your blood. He leans in, fingers press against your pulse. His nails ghost down your throat as if debating whether to carve further.

"You're hesitating," he taunts, grip loosening just enough to let you scramble free. The moment your feet touch the ground, you bolt. But you don’t run for the dagger— you run for the window.

He watches as you leap, landing hard in the palace garden. His dagger nearly misses your ankle as you gather yourself, dashing through the lush palace yard to escape his heavy glare.

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

The memory of his fire clings to you like the scent of something burned too deep into fabric. A single spark from a passing lantern makes your fingers twitch. The smallest ember makes your breath hitch.

The bounty board is quieter now, the crowds that usually gathered has thinned. The Siren’s posting remains, its price climbing higher with each passing week. As he said, he became a game of chance. A death wish dressed in gold. You trace a scar along your hand, a parting gift from the last time you entertained the idea of collecting.

And yet, despite the warnings carved into your own skin, your feet still hesitate before walking away. Nobles continue to complain as they lose hunters by the day, and you can’t help but be proud at how desperate the city is to have his head. 

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

Rafayel lazed over his furniture, the ornaments adorning his body gleam against the setting sun. Fish swimming at his fingertips ignite and scatter around the room, lighting his candles. Melted wax hangs from their silver plates, branded with a royal emblem he does not own. A hum escapes him as the breeze tickles his neck.

“A visitor?” He sings. His head tilts upward to hang from his seat, a smile already playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, my dear.”

Your laugh is short, amused at how quickly he recognized you. Your heart quickens under his gaze. “Have you charmed me, siren?”

He smiles knowingly, “Amplifying the emotions that are already present is far more exciting. Why else would you come back to me?”

You shrug, “I’ve come to congratulate you. Your life bothers the inner city so much that your head no longer has a set price.” 

It’s true. After collecting from another mission, you noticed his poster. His face decorated a large canvas, emboldened by red spelling. Under his picture, the price tag reads: 

⋆ ANY ⋆

His bounty is now a blank check.

“Ugh, that explains why I’ve been so bored lately.” He swings his head, leaning over the lounge chair to meet your eyes.

“How should we celebrate?”

A dullness stirred in your stomach. The orchid in his eyes bloom as a smile dances across his face. His color becoming clearer, more vibrant, more beautiful than before.

“Come closer, my love.”

Your heart pounds, you fully acknowledge that you’re under his spell but feel no need to fight the thoughts his power amplifies.

Slowly, you approach him. “Curious, what does a fish want to do with a palace anyway?”

He laughs slightly, “Humans. Curious but not cautious.” he mutters, reaching a hand out to you. Your palm slips into his grasp, body following as he guides you on the lounge chair. “Invade my kingdom, take my children as pets.. . and then question why I retaliate.” He lies in the chair’s silk as you climb in. The room shrinks at the sound of his voice, melodic and heavy. 

“Such filthy resolve.”

You sit atop him staring into the colors of his eyes. Your fingers brush against his lips as they move, inattentive to the scorn leaving them.

“You, Ms. Hunter.”

An idle hand explores his chest, drawing lines in his neck down to his collarbone. His darkening gaze flickers through his lashes as your hand treads down, tracing the muscle of his torso. 

“You’re getting cockier with every visit.” 

You lean dangerously close as you study the jewelry that wreathed his hips. His nose nudges your cheek, he speaks against your lips.

“Do you enjoy how I favor you?”

“Favor?” a small laugh leaves you. “Do you scar all your toys?”

“With my reputation, would it make sense for you to leave me unscathed?” He hums as his fingers trace your jawline. “I’m protecting you, my love.”

Inattentive to him undressing you, his hand slips past your clothing as his voice continues to charm you. He feels cool against your flushed body, dragging against the uncovering skin. You lean into him the lower he trails, accepting his touch. 

“You’re so cute.” He murmurs.

His hand drags down your body before slipping between your legs. Your breath hitches as he fondles your slicked folds. A moan escapes you as slender fingers slip into your slit. Shallow breaths settle in the haze between the two of you. He becomes restless, his free hand roaming your waist. His cock twitches at the sight of you grinding against his hand, almost jealous of the hand surrounded by your soft velvet. He pumps another finger inside, taking in the cries escaping you as he maintains his rhythm.

“Almost there baby?” 

Your grip on him tightens as you nod against his shoulder. He watches as your hips roll into his knuckles, body twitching as you inch closer to your release. Suddenly, his ingers slip from your warmth. Irritated and empty, you whine— body searching for something to finish you off. He kisses down your neck as he pulls away from you.

“Do something for me first.” He cups your face, planting tender kisses against your lips, “Then I’ll reward you.”

He holds you by the waist, tapping a finger to your lips with his other hand.

“Open.” He commands, voice colder than before. You follow, parting your lips and meeting his gaze. His thumb glides against your tongue as another hand holds your face steady. His nail pierces through the surface of your tongue. You flinch as his fire carves lines down the muscle.

“Shhh, almost done.” He coos, watching you wriggle in pain.

A hint of smile tugs at his lips as his thumb rubs against the scar. The softness of your tongue is disturbed by the roughness left behind. He presses against the muscle and is pleased by your obedience. He watches you shamelessly wrap the injured muscle around his finger as he retrieves his thumb.

“A brand for my favorite pet.” He murmurs. His lips rake up your jaw, settling against the tender skin under your ear. “You’re mine now.” He says, voice rough.

His hand presses against the small of your back, pushing you close once more. “Want your reward?” His cock springs from the easy access of his garments, the heat of him rubbing against you. You grind down on him as his lips find yours, hungry and eager as he tears off what’s left of your clothes. 

He teases himself between your folds, rimming the tip around your throbbing entrance. You grip his shoulder, breath uneven as he lowers you down his length.

“That’s it, take me like a good girl.” He purrs. An encouraging hand holds your waist, directing your body to move. You melt into him as you moves. 

His breath is hot against your neck as the pace quickens. Your moans echo through the night as your hips collide. Hands finds solace on your ass, kneading the skin as you lose yourself in his ecstasy. He feels so soft, his embrace suffocating yet addictive. You cant help the noises that escape you as the knot in your stomach aches to unravel. A trail of kisses tickle up to your neck while a hand holds your waist, “That’s it baby, leave yourself wide open to me.”

Rafayel stills himself, watching as you ride closer to release, as you unravel against him. A dull pressure breaks through your skin— A blade penetrates your dorsi. You suddenly stiffen, body twitchy from your interrupted orgasm. Your wails rip through the haze thickening the room as he nuzzles his smile into your neck.

“You sound so beautiful, my love.” He pulls you closer to continue his praise. His kisses do nothing to distract from the pain welling around your wound. 

Hand prints stain your skin as he strokes your cheeks, untucking the hair past your ear. “Why aren’t you moving? Have I played too rough?”

You find the strength to fight out of his hold. You knock him in the head as you lift a leg, kicking him away and off the lounge chair. You both fall to the floor, a strained groan escaping from you as you unsheathed the blade from your flesh. A hand ghosts over your figure, desperate to keep you from escaping. The blade twirls in your palm before you turn to face the figure behind you. You pin his hand to the floor with the blade, imitating a move done to you nights before. 

You don’t meet his eye, hurrying to your feet. The siren sits there silently as your blood trails out the nearest exit. He scoffs, tossing the weapon aside. The wound barely bleeding as it closes itself. He lies on the ground, chest still heaving from the fight he started.

“Ah, I wasn’t finished.” He sighs. 

The sand is still warm between your feet as you run through the desert. The city’s light reflects off the dune’s curves, guiding you to its gates. His voice echoes through your ears, his unwavering spell following you through the darkness. You shake your head, heart thumping with adrenaline. You’re far enough from his palace walls but it feels like he hasn’t let go of you. 

You return to the city completely tattered and injured. The people of the night quickly look over you in contempt as you drag your body through the crowded streets. 

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

His oceans are strongest the nights he craves you most. Nights you spend fighting against his spell, ignoring his melodies. You see him, hear him, feel him. His whispers and praise tickles your neck. The ghost of his fingertips graze your skin and prickles its surface. His voice taunts you the more you try to ignore.

“Come to me. Return to me.”

Nights have passed and your return to the city has left you restless. The scar he left on your tongue brushes against the roof of your mouth as you stroke the wound healing on your back. You so carelessly allowed him to brand you, leaving his spell to continue to haunt you. 

ه*:･゚ঔঌ ৡ

[sp4ceboo]

Warriors: Choi San x Reader

A/N: ohh boyyy after the kpop fanfic drought im back and it's with warriors au choi san

Summary: San and Reader are mages, which means they are made to serve. They are lowborn, destined to obey humans - the nobles and the highborn - with their every breaths. What if they don't want that?

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, fingering, cockwarming sort of), swearing, violence, death, blood, minimally gory at one point, war, child soldiers (14 yo), society is a shit place to be if you're a mage, tons of worldbuilding, assassins, freaking bath sex, hint at sa at one point from some dude we hate, san is kind of a brat tamer, seonghwa cameo but sad, idk if you can tell but i suck at summaries, mention of a harem, mention of slavery

wc: 4.8k

As a child, you watched from afar, waiting for things you could not grasp.

They told you that you were made to serve. They recounted age-old tales, about gods that crafted humans in their divine hands, moulding the mages afterwards to be commanded by their beloved creations. They filled your mind with legends of faithful individuals of your kind who proved their worth with obedience until you wished to be like your forebears.

Back when you were but an infant, you believed it. You knew the two powers that were bestowed upon you by the gods, varying in every mage, were gifts made solely to assist the highborns. In your naivety, you thought the rosy flame cupped in your small, childish palms would be used to warm the nobles in the icy winter, and that you would fulfil your purpose through that, through being of use to them. They had no shame as they informed you you were just a tool forged for following their orders, and you were convinced it was all true - until you met San.

Although you were the one with the ability to summon an inferno, he was always the one with a burning fire in his eyes. Like all mages, he’d been taken from his parents the moment he didn’t need his mother’s milk - he was given as a peace offering from the Hwangso warlord for his control of water: helpful for the upkeep of the crops.

This occurred in the small period of time in which Hwangso, the neighbouring province, was attempting to forge alliances with your province, Neugdae. Soon after, your warlord breached their territory, claiming it as his - you often wondered if the news filtering back from the front lines of a new settlement captured ever affected San.

You met him when he was an eight year old filled with bottled fury too old for his years, and you were a quiet, invisible seven year old. At those tender ages, neither of you had developed your second ability yet, nor had you gotten a taste of the power at your fingertips, but San still held his head high; you remember marvelling at the way he’d make a point of meeting every single noble’s gaze and holding it. He was just a scrawny, sun browned kid back then - nothing like the elegant lethality of the man that he is now.

Every day until you turned fourteen, you toiled beside him. The work was cruel, your supervisors crueller; the sun would beat down on your back as you laboured in the fields, side by side with San as barely a quarter of the way across the settlement, the nobles sheltered beneath their silky parasols, boasting their pale, porcelain skin. Back then, San never spoke of the injustice of it all out loud, but something about the look in his eyes when he saw them swanning past stirred something inside you. He made you realise that you were not the soulless, mindless puppet that you’d been told you were, but a person.

It wasn’t simply the rage inside him that drew you to him, though. It was the way he remained sweet, kind, despite it all, making sure to send licks of cool mist down your neck when your supervisors weren’t looking, nicking extra crumbs of food for you and remaining beside you, a beacon of light that anchored you to sanity even in the dark.

Even when, you at fourteen, him fifteen, were sent out into battle.

There were always skirmishes between neighbouring warlords: a constant push and pull for more land, more resources, more power. They would attack on a whim - mages were expendable, nothing more than canon fodder; behind each squadron was a noble who would hang back behind the lines, commanding, unbothered by the bloodshed because it was the blood of mere tools.

By then, both you and San had developed your second abilities. San’s was the ability to manipulate shadows, turning them into almost solid shapes that could physically hinder attacks by forming daggers or clutching hands, or could temporarily block the world out in a shroud of rolling black fog. Yours was the art of shapeshifting; you let the outline of your body flicker between forms, changing into powerful, deadly creatures whose substance was inhabited by the soul of a wavering teenager.

You’d known that you’d be forced to fight since you were young, but you never could have imagined the brutality of war.

It was there, in the midst of the battlefield, that any lingering innocence was burned from your soul. You learned that San’s water did not just bring life, but could also fill up someone’s lungs until they drowned upon dry ground, that your fire was not just a source of warmth or light, but could also combust a man’s heart within his chest, that the animals you were teaching yourself to shapeshift into could maul and break bones.

Many nights, you would fall asleep, curled against San, your face buried in his side with his arm wrapped around you, the taste of blood still in your mouth from where you’d torn your enemies’ throat out with the vicious canines of a tiger or the needle sharp fangs of a lynx. You would leave the front lines soaked with crimson, the essence of other people in your hair, smeared on your face, caked and drying under your nails.

It terrified you, how easily you could slice their flesh open with your claws. Armour was not wasted on mages, only generals, so just like you, all they wore were roughly woven tunics tied at the waist and trousers - you met no resistance when you killed your own kind, silent apologies on your lips.

Within the squadrons were also humans that had fallen from grace - criminals who still felt entitled enough by their birthright to think they could have a fourteen year old mage’s body; San protected you until you could protect yourself. In the first few weeks, when the punches he threw were too weak to deter them, he would let them beat him, giving you time to escape before returning to you, limping, lip split and nose bloody but the fire in his eyes never faltering.

On those nights, tears of frustration would leak from the corners of your eyes as you cleaned him up. He could so easily stop them if he used his abilities, but by then doing that without being instructed to do so by a highborn would lead to a flogging or a beating - fairytales no longer worked on you at that age, so your commanders and generals utilised fear mongering instead. You remember the hate and helplessness burning inside you when you looked at them: if all the mages rebelled at once, the nobles would have no chance, but everyone was too scared. Using your abilities on humans only led to execution.

You remember Seonghwa: he was a mage a few years older who cared for you and San as if you were his blood. He got too strong - you can’t recall his second ability but his first meant he could push a man over the brink of insanity, until he frothed at the mouth and his brain boiled within his skull. When you first witnessed the depth of his power, you were originally struck by the pain in Seonghwa’s eyes, and then by the fear in your commander’s.

The next day, Seonghwa was gone.

Often, you wonder if he fought back, or if he just let them kill him.

After, you made San promise that he wouldn’t show them if his powers developed further. He made you promise the same, and when you fought beside him, he was a constant reminder to reign yourself in, to survive. You were more careful with your powers from then on.

Some nights, though, when the frost ridden night air cut right through the ragged material of your blanket, you huddled next to San and lit a small fire in your hands. He’d tell you to stop, and you’d point out that he was shivering; he’d reply that he’d rather that than get you caught, and you would ignore him, not missing the way he tucked himself closer to the flame.

You didn’t tell him, but sometimes you would shift into a small animal, like a raccoon, and steal food for him in the dead of night. You didn’t answer when he asked you where you got it from, just shrugging and thrusting the rolls of bread and strips of dried meat into his hands, telling him he should eat.

When you were sixteen, San discovered he could animate his shadows. He could mould them like clay in his hands, breathing purpose into them - they would disintegrate within about a week or so, their outlines fading until they dissolved into nothing. San shaped a little dragon for you, the length of your forearm and the width of one of your thumbs; he came to you with it cupped in his hands, awe limning his face as the two of you watched it wriggle through the air between you and coil itself around your wrist.

You have many memories of those times, but one remains crystal clear, even to this day. A year onwards from San’s dragon, you found yourself hemmed in by enemy forces, your body tired from the fight - victory was so close for your side, and because of it, the Hwangso fought even harder, like cornered animals. If you broke through them, you would have been able to easily end their commander, but they had you, six to one. Hands closed around your throat, choking, and as the consciousness bled from you, you heard San’s cry, smelt the fear in the air as he tore through them to get to you: that in itself would have been insignificant - you had saved each other countless times through the years - but he had disobeyed a direct command.

He’d been told to kill the commander. He’d had a clear shot, and even still, he’d ignored orders, choosing to save you instead.

Both of you were beaten for it, and even as you heard the sound of San’s ribs cracking, he held your eyes, silently telling you that he’d do it over and over again, if only to keep you with him.

You think that was the moment when the two of you truly got a taste for rebellion. It was the point in the long, winding thread of your life that made you realise that whatever they told you, you would disregard it if it were for San. Their words no longer had as much power over you, because you knew your bond with him was infinitely stronger than any fear they attempted to instil within you.

Soon after that incident, your commander retired, and he was replaced by a man who was more of a fool than him. You began to lose land to Hwangso’s troops, far enough that the settlement where you grew up in was ravaged, razed to the ground. Your commander informed you that you’d evacuate the highborns, leaving the child mages and the servants behind because they would only slow you down - that was the moment you decided to stop listening to him.

The last mage rebellion had been decades ago - they were not ready. It was pathetic how easy it was to overthrow them; together with the rest of the troops and the mages from the settlement, you rebuilt the town and fortified it. San treated his soldiers with respect, with loyalty, and they loved him for it, for the way he would march into battle with them instead of cowering at the rear, for the way he could often be seen in the newly restored fields, watering the crops, for the way he recognised them for who they were.

To this day, you’re in awe of it. Never in your whole life have you come close to anything but fear for a leader, and yet you see it clear in their eyes that they love San, and that he loves them. He is everything that the highborns fear - a powerful, confident mage, wreathed in righteous shadows, fiercely intelligent, a master of strategy.

One of his first moves was to ally himself with the Hwangso warlord, the very man who had given him as a gift to your province. Deep in the highborn’s eyes was the presumption that he could break San and make him yield, followed a month later by pure terror when you held a knife to his neck, hissing to never speak of San like that again. The two of you brought his head in a sack to Hwangso and claimed your rule over the province.

That didn’t mean it was easy, though. There were the nights when San would tremble in your arms, baring his fears to you, his doubts - that it was getting too much too fast: that maybe he really was just made to follow orders. You scoffed at that - you’d seen him grow up, watched his shoulders broaden and his figure fill out with muscle, you’d seen the fire in his eyes blazing with passion; you knew he’d always be more than enough.

You’re not sure when the love blossomed between the two of you. Maybe it was always there, first shown as fierce protectiveness, later as searing kisses where no one could see, of fingers laced with yours in the dark of night. He married you shortly after he began to be recognised as an actual warlord, not a rogue mage; it was a quiet ceremony, but the celebrations of your people were far from that - rumours of the Neugdae province’s mage warlord and his wife rippled like wildfire through the regions, stirring fear and hope alike.

Some wonder why San does not take more wives - he has control over the Baem province as well Neugdae and Hwangso now, and any warlord with that much power would take on a harem without blinking. Not San, though - he’s different from them, he is a mage, a lowborn, his bronzed skin a sign to them of his childhood in the fields, and they find he is an enigma, as is his mystery shrouded right hand man.

But not to you - you understand him as if you share a soul.

On the surface, you are his only wife, aloof and coldly beautiful. In the shadows, you are his sword, his hand. There are myths of you, of the fire wielding ghost that robes itself in a black cowl and changes its skin into a man’s worst nightmare; stories of how you will twist your victim’s thoughts around until he finds the tip of a blade poking out of his chest, speared right through his back. It’s how you prefer to operate - they fear the unknown, and you are the unknown.

The fabric of the bag held in your fingers is soaked with blood. Within it is the head of the Yong province’s advisor. He was an awful man who deserved what you gave him - in a locked room at the back of his house, you found several young mages, half starved and chained by wrist and ankle to each other and a hook set in the wall. Bile bites at the back of your throat at the thought: you’re lucky you never experienced the uglier side of mage slavery.

Night is falling, the sun casting long shadows down the road. You always find the darkness comforting - it feels as if San is near. Today he is; you raise your fist and knock thrice on the solid wood of the gates, lifting your hand in recognition of the guards who peek over the turrets.

Slowly, they ease open the doors, and you stride into the courtyard, your boots clicking against the roughly hewn pavings. A squadron of your soldiers are sparring, but they halt their training when you enter, snapping to attention as you stop at the centre of the space, the dying rays of the sun streaming down the steps towards you, the air still as you wait.

He appears, his gilded silhouette glorious at the top of the stairs. His shadow guards spill down the steps towards you as he descends; their bodies contort and bend, the swirling mass of them parting around you, liquid night, jaws snapping, circling you until you’re surrounded.

A smirk pulls at your lips, and you throw the bag at his feet. You do not bow low, simply dipping your chin as he extracts the head from the sack, inspecting it and nodding before returning it to its roughly woven grave and handing it to one of his shadows to take away. Meeting your eyes, his own filled with amusement, the hint of a smile flashes over his face.

‘Welcome home, my love.’

San’s words are soft, voice quiet enough for only you to hear. You suppress the urge to pull down your mask and kiss him, instead letting your fingers brush against his as you walk with him up the steps and into the hanok; his shadows close the door behind you and the moment they do, he hooks an arm around your waist and hugs you tight, his embrace warm and sweet as always.

You laugh. ‘I was only gone four days, Sannie.’

‘Four days too long for me to be separated from my wife,’ he replies, pushing your cowl back so he can kiss your forehead.

Gripping his shoulders, you tug him down so you can peck his lips before sending him out to the courtyard again - you’re the last person expected through the gates tonight, so he should go out and dismiss the mages training in the courtyard so they can go home to their families and lock up. A happy sigh leaves you as you toe off your shoes, walking through your home and stripping off your bloody clothes before submerging yourself in the pool sunken in the floor. San has already filled it with fresh water, and it takes you mere seconds to heat it up with your fire.

Leaning with your head against the wooden ledge of the pool, you let your muscles loosen, half closing your eyes. The silence doesn’t last long, though - there’s a soft, steady noise coming from the screen behind you, almost like… breathing.

‘Show yourself,’ you command into the still air.

A man steps into view - a human, eyes crazed, knife clutched in his fingers. You realise he does not know who you really are; he just assumes you are the mage warlord San’s wife, delicate and helpless, and you let that role engulf you, backing away to the other edge of the pool with your eyes wide, luring him closer.

‘Your man took everything from me,’ he spits, blade pointed at you as he stalks forward. ‘He took my power, my wealth, my squadron of soldiers. And now I will take his wife.’

Surging out of the pool, you dodge the swipe he aims at you, sending fire surging down the knife’s handle so he drops it with a cry and twisting his arm behind his back in the most painful way possible, wrenching him down to his knees with his face an inch above the water.

‘How did you get in?’ You ask coolly.

‘I’ll never tell y - ’

You send tongues of flame licking down his ribs. ‘Answer the question or suffer.’

The door eases open, revealing San. His eyes land on you, water dripping down your body as you pin the man to the floor, then the distorted reflection from the blade of the knife that’s fallen into the pool, and something dangerous flashes inside his gaze. You let him grab your attacker by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet as he brings him face to face with him; you see San’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists.

‘How fucking dare you try to come anywhere near my wife,’ he growls, shadows coalescing behind him.

You can tell he’s about to say something else, but he stops as the man, trembling and fruitlessly clawing at San’s fingers, wets himself. Your husband’s lip curls in disgust, and he drops him at your feet, pressing him down onto his knees and yanking his head up so he is forced to look up at you. Bending down, you breathe in the sheer fear permeating the air, a soft smile on your face.

‘Now, answer the question.’

‘You’re not his wife,’ he whispers, pale.

‘Oh, but I am,’ you sneer. ‘But that’s not the only role I occupy.’

Slowly, his face drains of colour, horror rippling across it as it slowly dawns on him. He recoils in San’s grasp, scrabbling at the floor in a sorry attempt to put distance between you; he has finally realised who you are and he acts like fucking coward, his mouth gaping wide in a silent plea. Unhurried, you fish the knife out from the pool, twirling it around your thumb before gliding it gently over the skin of his throat.

‘I’m getting impatient.’

‘I - I - the guards, they were distracted upon your arrival, I snuck in at the southern perimeter, please don’t - ’

His words dissolve into a weak gurgle when you slice open his throat. Blood gushes from the seams of the wound, dribbling from his lips, and you step back as he tips forward, landing with a wet thump face first on the wooden floor. Glancing up at San, you sigh before getting back in the pool. One of his shadows carries the body away and your husband tugs his clothes off and slides into the water beside you, pulling you into his chest.

‘He did not hurt you, I presume?’

You snort. ‘He tried.’

San’s fingers run thoughtfully up and down your arm. ‘I’ll talk to the guards. I probably shouldn’t have put Jisung on dusk duty while he was recovering from that fever.’

You nod but don’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He hums, tipping his head back to give you more access as you mouth at his skin, letting your palms wander over his shapely chest, grip his broad shoulders, skim his waist; you trace the many scars all over his body, and he allows you to, his strong hands gripping your hips when you settle in his lap.

He curses low at the feel of your teeth sinking into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hips jerking upwards, and you both groan at the sensation of the underside of his cock grazing your clit. Smirking, you let your tongue lave over the spot where you bit, pressing a kiss to his jaw and pulling back as his hands tighten their grip on your ass.

‘Missed you too, Sannie. Good to know how much you missed me.’

‘So fucking bratty,’ he hisses.

A thrill shoots through you as he stands, the water sluicing in rivulets down the planes of his chest, lifting you and laying you on the edge of the pool, pinning your knees to the wood and spreading you open. The crude way he looks at you is all consuming, his eyes surveying you from where he stands with the water to his mid thigh, watching as your pussy clenches at the sight of him towering over you.

San remains there, just looking at you, and you curve your spine, almost whining in attempt to make him touch you without you asking for it. His lips quirk to the side as you squirm, trying to inch your hips down so you can grind against him, but his fingers tighten on you, refusing you.

‘What is it you require of me, love?’

Finding your attempts unsuccessful, you huff, glaring at him. He loves to do this, make you articulate exactly what you want from him - he likes the flush that heats your cheeks, your body still shy even after all your years with him, he likes the breathy noises you make when he forces you to tell him just what you desire when all you can think of is his dick, he likes it when you can’t  help but beg him.

‘Y - your fingers,’ you mumble. ‘And your cock.’

‘Say that louder for me, sweetheart, I didn’t catch the last bit.’

‘Your fingers and your fucking cock,’ you snap - a sorry endeavour at trying to hide how much you love when he inflicts this upon you.

San raises an eyebrow, not moving to touch you. Waiting.

‘Please,’ you add.

He smiles. ‘There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Your mouth opens to retort, but he slips his fingers inside you, and your back bows, a soft moan leaving your lips as he sweeps his thumb over your clit, his other hand palming your breasts, his tongue dragging over your skin. Burying your hands in his hair, you tug, making him groan low and deep as you pull him closer.

Delectably, his fingers curl, and you ache for him. San has ruined you for anyone else, he is branded onto your soul and also your body, fading marks from your last time together still slightly visible on your throat - a necklace of love bites, laying claim to you. He catches your chin as he brings you closer to the edge, tasting your moans on his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit.

You keen, coming hard around him, chest heaving, and he smirks, holding your waist as shudders wrack your legs from the aftershocks. The fire in his eyes burns ever brighter, so hot you feel your stomach go molten - your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails raking over his back, your tongue unable to form anything other than his name.

‘You’re always so willing to behave once your pussy’s full, hm?’

‘No, I,’ you start, but cry out when he pinches your clit in warning, the muscles of your thighs jumping as it lances through you, white hot. ‘Y - yes, yes, I am, please - ’

In one fluid movement, San buries himself inside you, sheathing himself until his hips kiss yours. Catching you wrists in his hand, he pins them above your head, and your back arches as he pulls out, agonisingly slowly, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging on your walls before slamming back in, tearing a cry of his name from your chest. Tugging your legs up from where they were wrapped around his waist, he hooks your knees over his shoulders - the new angle makes you sob, writhing beneath him as his cock head drives into perfection, drives you to euphoria.

Sometimes, San makes love to you, but not tonight: tonight he fucks into you mercilessly, traces of possessiveness lacing his actions as he litters your skin with bites, his hands leaving exquisite bruises on your hips. Pleasure tears through you like an arrow through your heart, white hot and maddening, ravenous.

‘You fit around my cock so well,’ he pants. ‘Like you were made for me, sweetheart.’

Something snaps inside you at his words, and as if he senses it, San presses his thumb down hard on your clit, speeding up his thrusts until the air is punched from your lungs. Stars flash before your eyes, and your mouth falls open, toes curling as you come on his cock, your cunt convulsing around him, thighs twitching; he doesn’t stop, just continues ploughing into you, and you tremble, tears slipping down your cheeks at the relentless pound of his hips into yours.

With a gasp, he pulls out and comes over your stomach, his wide shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths, and you groan as he eases you back into the warm water, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he tucks your head under his chin, sliding his softening cock into you again. Wrapping your arms around him, you press a kiss to his jaw and rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

‘How do you feel, my love?’

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. ‘Good. Really fucking good.’

He laughs, and you bask in the sound of his happiness and the comfort of his warm skin against yours. San’s hands run up and down your spine, soothing, and you smile sleepily; you are home, reunited with your other half, the missing part of your soul.

With San, you are complete.

[randomness-is-my-order]

the pjo show’s cinematography is so warm and homey and clever and detail-oriented so i wanna compile a few of my favourite still shots because why not??

^this one had me smiling so hard, not because it’s a particularly beautiful shot but the framing of the three is so well done. the focus is on sally who is talking to grover (both prominently in the front of the shot) while percy – who isn’t a part of the conversation but a listener of it – is still properly visible through the glass of the door and like??? i just think it’s a super cool way of having a passive character in the shot that i haven’t ever seen before, in a way that percy is both highlighted and still so clearly in the background that it doesn’t take away from the focus characters. also percy’s sweater matching the colours on the door is the cherry on top!!

^next is this one. it’s so perfectly angsty and though not complete, the symmetry is still eye-catching. it encapsulates the feeling percy must experience in that moment–him, amidst destruction, knowing he’s the cause but not knowing how or why. he looks all of twelve with his haphazard hoodie and almost forlorn look. he is not gloating, he is not cheerful. though he doesn’t know the gravity of his parentage, it’s almost like the show is telling us that his powers–which cause the door to break, too btw–will always be a source of isolation for percy. he is a force of nature, a destructive one most of the time, and the fact that he is just a child who is confused will never matter because this world doesn’t care for childhood but godhood alone.

idk, this shot just evokes a very unsettling kind of sadness for me. i think it’s beautifully framed.

^i absolutely love this one simply for the fact that the sheer struggle of the fight is so prominently visible. and yes, i cheated, this isn’t exactly a still shot but like an action sequence screenshot but whatever, it’s too good to not mention it here. the way percy is, honest to gods, bracing against the spear for his dear life, the evident and overwhelming rage on clarisse’s face, the blocking of the scene – it’s perfect. clarisse is not playing and percy is genuinely in danger and i love how this shot and the whole scene really sold us on that fact.

^ i just think it’s extremely cool that we can see the minotaur howling in pain, percy having his mouth wide open as if he’s letting out a yell as he goes to plunge the horn and that as percy does this act–killing the minotaur–which is surefire source of safeguarding himself and grover, something that will get him to camp, we can see thalia’s tree in the background. there is no reason percy had to make the kill here, with the chaos of the fight, so the fact that this is the spot and this is the shot as he kills the minotaur makes me think it’s deliberate. having thalia in the background is so impactful because again, percy could have met a similar fate in some other alternate universe but here, he wins and he survives.

^ do i even need to explain??? the shot is pretty and beautiful and almost magical. percy, alone with a tin of fire, burning blue food and talking to his mother. maybe one thing i can point out is that the sally-percy bond has been heavily indicated through glowing lights since the start. if you recall, the “you are not broken” speech by sally was given in front of the warm, glowing headlights of the car and percy’s face was illuminated by that warmth just the same way it is illuminated by the tin-fire in the forest.

^ first, this is too fucking gorgeous. second, percy is wearing his red jacket again and this dream happened after he reached camp so in my opinion, this dream was initially a comfortable imagining of percy’s mind and was then hijacked by kronos but i could be wrong since i don’t clearly remember how they manifested in the books originally. nevertheless, it’s a great detail to have him wear the red jacket because even if he may not have it with him anymore, it’s still clearly something he holds dear – and might associate sally’s memories with.

also, the fact that percy seems to have alot of scenes with fire might be because as someone who can control water, fire can never truly be a source of danger for him and therefore, he can find comfort in its warmth unhindered, always?

^ how could i not love this epic moment? the trident is perfect, big and blue and grand and majestic. half the screen is water, obviously. but what makes this good shot a great one is that there is literally no one else directly near percy except annabeth. the campers are all far away and in this shot itself only annabeth remains close to percy, though she is fittingly on the land, observing the scene before her. remember how i said percy’s legacy promises isolation but this shot tells me that despite that, percy will have someone who he can count on to be by his side (also cool that even in the bathroom, annabeth was technically still near him, even if she was, well, stalking him) and maybe this is my delusional ass talking, but annabeth being here is foreshadowing for me. i just think it’s a choice to have this epic revelation where they could easily have had percy standing alone in the middle of the lake but no, annabeth is also there and not only because she’s the one who led to that revelation but because she’s someone who isn’t intimidated by percy’s parentage and still can be beside him.

^ i adore this shot because 1) it shows us just how young and tiny percy is and 2) it tells us that maybe that door is so fucking huge because it’s being inclusive of centaurs and other giants of their world. also, symmetry strikes again!!! the colours are so well balanced, not bright and vibrant but on the pastel side that indicates an aged feel to them.

and lastly,

^ i just find it funny that a private academy like yancy has an official vehicle that looks as beat up and terribly malfunctioning as this. 😭 like this half van was so out of place i literally goggled at the screen when it first appeared.

okay, i’m done for now. i also really liked the faceless sally scene in the start paralleling medusa’s eventual beheading but i already made a post about it. this legitmately only covers about 10% of the shots i wanted to talk about but these might be my favourites. this was long af so if you read the whole thing, mad respect to you.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

I know you already said you'd do it... BUT maybe could I request a standalone fic (not a kinktober one) of a Franky x Reader x Robin fic with daddy/mommy kink, sub!virgin!AFAB!reader

idk if you ship frobin though but if you want to feel free to add that in!

YEAH BABY THIS HAS BEEN FLOATING IN MY MIND EVER SINCE I SAW THAT POST!!! I need more Franky Fuckers in my life. I have zero ships in One Piece EXCEPT FROBIN! They are clearly so in love I can't stand it. Here's the fic, I love it.

Sex Education

Pairing: Robin x afab!reader x Franky

TW: threesome, cyborg banging, misuse of devil fruit powers, girl on girl, two girls one guy, fingering, riding, face sitting. porn!

——

“That color is ugly.” Nami comments at the shade of light green you had chosen to paint you toenails. 

“Is it really that bad?” You lean back and admire your half painted foot. It shimmered in the sunlight on the deck of the ship. 

“Looks like barf.” Nami didn’t look up from her work, carefully painting her own nails a dark shade of pink. 

“Well now that you’ve said that, I can’t unthink it. Do you have the polish remover?” You ask.

“I think Robin has it in her room, you can go grab it, puke-toes.” Nami laughed. 

You roll your eyes and stand up. You begin to head towards the inside of the ship in search of the nail polish remover. You reach Robin’s bedroom door and grab the handle and open the door. You three girls were best friends at this point, knocking was a moot point. 

“Hey, Nami said my toes were ugly so can I just grab the-“ 

Your eyes immediately meet Robin’s as she gasps. Fully nude, she is seated on Franky’s lap who was also shed of his swim briefs. His huge hands cradled her pale, plump ass. A slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead as her arms wrapped around his massive neck. 

“Y/n!” Robin yelps out at you. 

“OH my god?! I’m so sorry!” You stutter out and slam the door shut behind you and run back up through the ship. Your mind was racing. Franky and Robin? A thing? I mean… it makes sense the more you think about it… but seeing it first hand was still a bit jarring. Were other people here having sex? Were you the only one who had never done it before? Is this something you were missing out on?

You burst through the door to the deck where Nami was fanning her drying nails. 

“Woah where’s the fire, y/n?” Nami asked you, noticing your panicked expression. 

“Nami I- I went to get the nail polish remover- and I? I don’t know! The door wasn’t locked! I just went in! And she- and they- they were…!” You were out of breath and couldn’t get out a coherent thought. 

“Oh, walked in on Franky and Robin? Yeah they’re like rabbits lately. Good for them, honestly.” Nami went back to fanning her nails. 

“Wait… you knew?” You couldn’t believe it. 

“Duh? Are you that oblivious? Why do you think they’re always mysteriously absent after dinner? Jeez you need to get laid.” Nami rolled her eyes. 

“Wait… are YOU fucking someone!? Is everyone here having sex but me?!” Your eyes bugged out of your head. Were you the only (human) virgin left on this ship? Sure you had urges, but you always just took care of it yourself in the quiet of your own room late at night. 

“Not since that last island, no. Nobody on the crew, obviously, pickings are way too slim. I made out with Sanji once when I was wasted but he was such a bad kisser I told him to get fucked. It was all wet and gross.”

“Really he was that bad—? Wait come on, you’re getting laid too? Is everyone else?!” You returned to the point of your questioning. 

“I mean yeah, y/n, we all have needs. Except for Zoro… I think there’s something seriously wrong with his brain. Sex is great, especially with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Nami gave you the truth. Maybe it was time for you to finally explore your sexuality…

You both turned your heads as a door swung open. A red-faced Robin smiled meekly at the two of you as she walked towards you and sat down at your side. 

“You need to start using those hands to lock doors, girlfriend.” Nami chuckled and rose to her feet. She winked at the both of you and headed into the kitchen. 

“Hi y/n… So… I’m sorry about that. I should have been more careful. It was a private moment and I apologize for you having to see it.” She genuinely searches your eyes for forgiveness. 

“it.. it’s okay. I just didn’t know you guys were together like that…” You blush and look down at your feet. Robin smiled. 

“He’s sweet. I know we might not look like we’d work out, but I find him quite charming actually!” Robin’s eyes sparkled. “And the sex is phenomenal.”

“Oh.. I… um… I wouldn’t know…” You felt your cheeks continue to heat up. 

“Are you a virgin, y/n?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, talking mostly to yourself. You continue. “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose… I’m plenty old enough and I’ve thought about it loads… I just… haven’t had the right opportunity…” 

“Well… If you really wanted to change that… I’m sure we could help you.” Robin takes your hand in hers. You look up into her eyes, they were kind and warm. 

“What?” You were confused as to what kind of help she was offering you. 

“If you wanted to experience sex with people you trust for your first time, I have no doubt Franky would jump at the opportunity. I would be there too, of course, to guide you. We’re very… open… to new experiences… if you’re understanding what I’m saying.” 

“Oh…” Your eyes widen. It might be a good idea to finally get that awkward first time out the way, especially with someone you trust and know well. “I mean… yes? Sure. I guess I’m saying yes.”  

“Perfect.” Robin squeezes your hand. “How about tonight? After dinner? My room?”

You nod. You can’t believe you’re casually agreeing to lose your virginity to two of your closest friends. 

— —

That night, after dinner, you excused yourself from the table a little early so you could freshen yourself up. You took a quick shower, shaving your legs and trimming your bush, washing your hair with the most expensive shampoo you could find in the Sunny’s shared bathroom. After the shower you dried your hair and slathered your body in lotion. You felt like you were getting dolled up for a date, not a dick appointment. 

You perused your closet for something to wear. You wanted to look comfy and casual, but still sexy… wait why were you overthinking this? You had known Robin and Franky for years, who were you trying to impress? You shook yourself out of your racing thoughts and settled on a black pair of knee length spandex bike shorts and a black cropped tee. You finished your hair and applied a bit of makeup before spritzing yourself with perfume. You looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“Ok y/n. You can do this. It’s your totally normal friends who are a robot and someone with devil fruit powers who are going to take your virginity. This is fine and normal. Your life is normal.” After a few minutes of hyping yourself up, you make your way to Robin’s room. You take a deep breath and knock on the door a few times, remembering to knock this time after your intrusion earlier. 

Robin quickly opens the door with a bright smile.

“Y/n! Come in! Are you thirsty? I have some wine.” She grabs your hand and pulls you into her room. Franky was relaxing in a large armchair against the wall facing the bed. 

“Hey pretty thing! So good to see ya!” He beamed at you with a cola in his hand. 

“Hi Frank, sorry about earlier…” You meekly apologize and stared at the floor. 

“Hey no problem! Sorry ya had to walk in on me and the lady like that without warning.” Franky pushed his sunglasses up on his head and took a sip of his beverage. 

“Here, y/n.” Robin shoved a large glass of white wine into your hand. She clinked her own glass with yours and winked. “Come sit.” 

Robin retreated to her bed and patted a spot next to her for you to sit down. You took a big gulp of your drink and sat next to her on the fluffy purple comforter. 

“So I was just telling Franky that you’re a virgin.” Robin states casually as she sips her wine. You choke on yours. 

*cough* “Oh um.. yeah…” *cough*  “I’ve never done anything really…” You sheepishly say as you catch your breath. 

“Wow, someone as gorgeous as you? I’d had never guessed. Well don’t you worry sweet thing, we’ll take care of you real nice, right mama?” The cyborg smirks and leans back in his chair. 

“Of course daddy, we’re going to make sure she feels so good.” Robin uses her free hand to start stroking your upper arm. 

“Oh, so we’re like- doing this? Now? Okay uh-“ You stutter out. 

“Well, whenever you’re ready, sweet girl. You’re just so pretty I can’t help myself.” Robin scoots herself closer to you on the bed and starts playing with the hem of your crop top. “Can I take your clothes off? I can take mine off too, if that’ll help you feel more comfortable.” Robin purrs into your ear. 

“O-okay…” 

Robin pulls your shirt over your head, breasts falling and bouncing against your chest. She then slips off your shorts, making you fully nude in front of them. 

“Wow sweet cheeks, no bra or panties? And pierced nipples? Such a little minx.” Franky remarks at your lack of undergarments. You blush at the comment about your piercings.

Robin stood up and pulled her dress over her head. 

“Isn’t she cute?” Robin smiles at you and back at Franky as she slips her panties down her legs and unhooks her bra. Her incredible rack was staring you straight in the face and you unconsciously rubbed your legs together in excitement. Her body was so gorgeous and toned, you wanted to feel it on top of you. 

With both of you completely naked, Robin sits next to you again on the bed. “May I kiss you, y/n?” Robin asks, bringing her hand to your chin. 

“Yes…” You whisper, meeting her gaze. You close your eyes as she leans into you. Her kiss is soft, her lips are buttery and smooth. After a brief moment of pressing her lips to yours, she begins rolling her tongue along your lower lip, silently asking for you to open your mouth. You oblige and she slips her tongue into your mouth to explore it eagerly. You bring your hand up to cup the side of her neck. 

“Mmph!” You huff out in surprise as she slid one of her hands up to your breast and experimentally toyed with your nipple. You continue to make out as her hands play and squeeze at your breasts. Robin pulls back from your lips, continuing her ministrations on your tits, rolling the silver barbells in her fingers.   

“You’re so sensitive, little one, can’t wait to see what else turns you on.” Robin giggles. 

“Spread her legs, mama, wanna see that cute little pussy.” Franky prompts her from his chair. 

Quickly, Robin is behind you, your back pressed against her ample chest. She gentlly takes your calves and hooks them over her spread legs so you were fully exposed for your robot lover. She begins open mouth kissing on your neck from behind and you sigh at the feeling. 

“Can I touch you, y/n? Is this okay so far?” Robin whispers into your ear. 

“Yes… I want you to touch me…” You whimper out, body aching for more contact. 

“But no one has ever touched you here… right? Maybe just yourself?” She slid one of her hands down to cup your mound. Her voice became more sinister. Your face and ears were bright red, feeling embarrassed but your sexual desires were too strong so you pushed the feeling aside. 

“Just me, Robin… no one else…” 

“hmm… So you know what you like? How about this? Do you play with your little clit like this?” Robin coos at you as she begins to apply pressure to your throbbing bud and rub it in circles, your pussy was leaking at this point. 

“Hnnnnn, yes! Yes I like this!” You whine out. 

Robin continues slowly rubbing your clit and kissing your neck. She uses her free hand to pinch your nipples. Wait, was that a third hand? You looked down and you had one hand touching your sex and two on your breasts. You had never thought about it before but her devil fruit powers were certainly useful in this situation. 

“You two look so super like this…” Franky lowly slurs out as he takes another sip of his drink from across the room. “You know she won’t be able to take me if you don’t stretch her first mama…” He adds. 

“I’m getting to it… let me enjoy her first. You’re so impatient my love. Don’t forget who’s in charge here. I want to make it special.” Robin teasingly scolds her boyfriend as she doesn’t falter in her movements against your clit. 

“Mmmm- more please! Wan’ more!” You wanted to feel something inside of you, having been worked up by Robin’s hands. 

“Aww what a sweet baby. I can give you more.” Another hand appeared and one slender digit slid into your aching hole. 

“Robin!” You gasp out and lean your head back on her shoulder. She slowly dipped her finger in and out of your cunt as you moaned in pleasure. She added another finger and you yelped. 

“Have you made yourself cum like this, y/n?” 

“Yes- nnghh! But you’re! You’re so much better! Ah!” You breath out as she pulls and taps on your sweet spot with her soft fingers. 

“You’re too kind, baby.” Robin smiles down at you on her shoulder. “Daddy is pretty big, sweet girl, so I’m going to have to add another finger, okay?” She has another hand stroking your hair. 

“O-okay… Fuck!” Robin adds a third finger into your weeping cunt and bullies them all into your spot. You felt a familiar yet stronger feeling build up in your lower half. You were sighing and moaning as you look towards Franky in the armchair. He had shed his minimal clothing and there was a hand sprouting from the chair and stroking his large cock. You had no idea how that was going to fit inside you, although your mouth watered at the sight of it. It was cut, thick, and gorgeous. Your orgasm was so close. 

“I think- I think I’m gonna cum, Robin! I wanna cum!” 

“Go ahead and cum, sweetheart, want you to feel so good….” She continues her work on your pussy as you slam your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel your orgasm rip through your body and spill out onto Robin’s hands. You moan out loudly. She slowly pulls out her hand and rubs your cunt comfortingly. 

“That was so good, little one! You’re so wet and open, I think you’re ready to take daddy now.” There was a glint of mischief in her voice as she stroked the sides of your arms and kissed your cheek. 

“You… you think?” You were hazing coming down from the powerful orgasm that Robin had just given you. 

“Mhmm.” Robin kissed you on the forehead. “Come here daddy, lay down.” She nodded towards her cyborg lover. 

“Showtime, ladies!” Franky laid down on the bed, as you were sure he had done hundreds of times. “Hop on up, little one!” He beckons you with a large hand. You collect yourself and straddle his huge hips. 

“I.. I don’t… I don’t really know what to do, should I-?” You sputter out, your eyes darting from Robin’s and Franky’s. 

“Let me help, sweetheart… You ready?” Robin leans forward and grabs Franky’s thick cock and lines it up with your soaking hole. You nod.

Another hand grabs your hip and begins to lower you down onto Franky’s dick. 

“Ahh! It’s too much!” You felt the sting of his fat member stretching you out as it entered your virgin cunt. 

“It’s okay! It’s okay just take it slow, okay?” Robin was kissing your upper arm as she guided you down further onto the man below you. “I’m right here…” 

You mewled and whined as you slowly took Franky inch by inch. Eventually you felt your muscles relax as your body was flush to his. He was fully seated inside you. 

“You did it! You did it, y/n! Mommy and daddy are so proud of you! Look how pretty you are with a cock inside you!” Robin gleefully released your hip to tilt your head down to look at where Franky’s dick was balls deep in your little hole. 

“Ohhhh pretty girl, you’re so TIGHT!” Franky exclaimed as he grabbed your hips with both hands. “Never felt anything like this!” He praised you as he rubbed loving circles into your pelvis. 

“I.. I did it…” You were breathless, never having felt so full in your life. 

“Can I fuck her now, mama? Please?” Franky looked up at Robin, pleading to be able to wreck you. 

“Yes, daddy, but don’t scare her off now. Be gentle.” Robin captured your lips in a soft kiss to distract you from her boyfriend planting his feet and beginning to thrust upwards into your tight hole. 

“OH- Robin! Ah!” You moaned against her lips as your lover began to rut into you from below. It was so big and rubbing against your sweet spot so deliciously. 

“I know sweetie, I know. You’re doing so good, taking daddy’s cock so well!” Robin cooed as she pulled back from your lips. 

“Come on mama, take your seat. I want both!” Franky panted out as he thrust into your pussy. 

Robin giggled as she moved to hover over Franky’s face and sat down on his waiting tongue. Robin sighed as she felt his tongue move against her wet folds. She leaned forward into you and wrapped her arms around your neck as you continued getting speared by Franky’s cock. 

“Isn’t this mmhmmm- nice, y/n?” She mewled out as Franky sucked on her clit. 

“AH YES!” You shrieked out, feeling your belly begin to tighten again. You felt a hand rubbing your sensitive, engorged clit. You felt two more hands pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples. You felt two more hands squeezing your ass cheeks in addition to the large metal ones clutching your hips desperately. There was so much stimulation from every direction you could barely take it. Robin captured your lips in a messy kiss. 

“Come on girls, I can’t take much more of this!” Franky shouted from underneath you both, he was clearly affected by your tight wetness. 

“I want to kiss her for a little, be patient, daddy.” Robin pulled away briefly to scold him playfully. She dives back in to your swollen, wet lips. You grab the back of her head with both hands, the pleasure driving your boldness. The lewd wet slurping of Franky on Robin’s pussy was causing you to clench on the dick inside of you. Robin was keening and moaning into your mouth and you had never seen anything so hot. 

“Fuck daddy, I’m going to cum. Want to cum with me, little one?” Robin looks you in the eye and continues her work on your sensitive bits. 

“YES! Fuck I’m right there, please daddy!” You shriek out.

“Soak me, cum on me, ‘wanna feel it!” Franky pushes into you as far as he can go and your body spasms and creams all on his robot cock. You scream out in pleasure. Robin moans his name as she, too, finishes all over him. His blue hair was soaked in Robin’s gushy release. Robin kisses you deeply as you both finish your orgasms. 

“Let me fill her, please mama, wanna stuff her so bad!” Franky begged his partner from underneath you. 

“Of course daddy, anything you want.” Robin moved off his face and pinched his nipples to encourage his finish. 

“FUUUUCK-“ Franky groaned loudly as he spilled himself deep inside your no-longer-virgin pussy. You fell forward, burying Franky’s face in your sweaty breasts. You were so dick drunk you couldn’t move. 

“Come on little one, let’s get you tucked into bed.” Robin lifted you off Franky’s cock with her strong arms and laid you down under the covers. 

“Th-thank you guys…” You whisper out. 

“Hey, after that? I’ll let you join me and the lady ANY time!” Franky proceed to tuck both you and Robin into her comforter and head out to finish his repairs for the evening. 

“Robin that was… so incredible…” You stroked her jaw as you laid in bed facing each other. 

“Well sweetie, if you want to part of our little arrangement, I think we could make it happen…” Robin giggled at you as she raked her fingers through your hair. 

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow…” And you drifted off to sleep. 

[romsabombs]

OH BOY

Malevolent part 51 "The Purpose" notes

omg purpose... is it about oscar

ok faroe metaphor :(

who did we kill this time😐

what is going on bro

lilith.....!!!!!

HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE??? WHATTT THATS HARD

MY FAVOOORITEEEE💥💥 :3333

this is awesome LILITHH

THE PORTRAIT i was right about this

what the freak!!!☹️☹️ mean as hell

"which is worse, to die or to have never existed?" idk ask shubby

WHAT two weeks😦 new prison pits??

"you've been here from the start" hmm do u think the radio static at the end of each episode is lilith listening in

what is going on bro

ok who is gonna die . i think antoine

oh .. .lilith mention

what is going on bro

two days ago..

bro really thought hed go this far and have no one question his motives

blackstone is just portable kiy

a key huh . thats why kayne needs it

WOAH WHAT WAIT HUH WHA😨

MOOOVE ORTHORR

naur not the horse :(

this is hot

JUST LIKE DADDY HELLOO????😀

that was HOT

"you are being manipulated" ya no shit

arthur my pet🥰<3

shes known about u forever bro

arthur my sweet boy :33

do u think harlans voice SUFFERS doing the lilith voice

ofc we remember the butchers chair..

how is that rabid dog👺 okayyy...

DEAD and GONE 💜

"not all things that are dead are gone. and not all things gone are dead" faroe:(

the campfire light :(( OHH FAROE :(

Bull Shit 😐

THE GLASS? "you thought i'd forget:)"

oh no her magic 🤕

"let me look at it" his blind ass

oh 😟😟😟😟😟

did alia predict this

"something sinister assaults my will" OH 😦

bro they all trust him to have good intentions AND HE DOES but its . but :( but hes giving it to the enemy

"i cant do this without you" ok vro..

WOAH 🤕 nononono :(( god☹️

put him down like a sick dog

:( :( ohhh this is sad . lily all over again

it felt Necessary:(

HAHA evil thing to say

is this the first time characters have talked over eachother

it WAS antoine im correct about everything actually :33

ONE OF THREE?? ohh many more seasons to go

AZATOTH MENTIONED💥💥

ok deadnaming her dad funny as hell

the FLESH!!!!!!! 🤕

"power👺" "is that so😐"

you LIE 😡😡😡

dang he like actually cared about these people?? wild

:(( ohh antoine never survives the horrors

will we have to kill him AGAIN but fr this time???

eat the elephant‼️

day of wrath is near😟😟😟

OH SHES the day of wrath??!!

"how can i keep going" :•(

aw :((( MAN ☹️☹️☹️

what if i bash my skull into a wall

antoine bro SIT DOWN😭

scratch........🧍‍♂️

"is everything alright" "yes m'lord . besides the way i feel" me asf

thats so SADDD protect his ass 😞

they never tell him anything bro

oh wait . no nvm he knows

ohhh hes going mad🤕 jesus christ

talking over eachother again

"oh! 😃 anything! 😁"

antoine....😞

OHHH COME ON :((( WHATAT :( NOT THE WAYLAY 😟😟😟

brother you've BEEN there

his atheist ass why couldnt he jus lie

yeah what the freak . just LIE

WHAT :( :( ohh antoine :( 😞

i love this episode structure its so interesting

arthur loves not taking responsibility for his actions

:(( FAROE :( the fire can't fight the rain

WHY LIT A FIRE THAT IS SURE TO DIE??????? WHAT :(

oh this episode is devastating

he had a life :(

this is CRAZY 😟 NOO ALIA

shes just a girl living in captivity..☹️

she had to sleep eventually 😓😓

"i did not doubt you but i needed to try myself" "i understand" ohh he sounds so defeated

oh antoine 😞😞 send his ass back to the lighthouse

at least he slept ..

"let me see it" BLIND‼️‼️

THIS IS SO SAD dont yell at him bro

nurse hes talking to himself again

OHHHH this is DEVASTATING

god damn it . its the end of the world

we LEAVE her :( 🤕🤕🤕 if i fell into eternal slumber would u leaveme. ..

what thefreak!!! we should try true loves kiss

oh she left us a letter :(

thats TERRIBLE

BRO ITS ANTOINE 🧍‍♂️

lilith shes a girls girl🎀

shes traumadumping

yeah dont give it to her asf

hes like humanitys spokesperson

💥💥DADDY💥💥

racism is TAUGHT 💜

shes losing the idgaf war

shes so passionate about deadnaming her father

hes so HOT idc idc

not for comfort..

ANTOINEEEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️

antoine your whimpering is awfully distracting

lilith help us??🎀

DIVORCE DIVORCE DIVORCE🎊🎊

GOD I MISSED THIS divorce arc

"i need somewhere to scream at the top of my lungs. if they didnt hurt so fucking much" :((( hes so me

YORICK HASNT YAPPED FOR TWO WEEKS??????? fork found in GARAGE

NOOOO dont be cruel :( BRO BRO

WHAT THE FREAKKKK 🧍‍♂️☹️

it was a TEST

has he gone mad 😟😟😟

NO WHERE ??!! 😦

was it a test????

HAHA they dont TRUST him!!!!!!

antoine :( ..... 🤕

they r so alike

i cant believe it was CLICKBAIT

:(( ohhh this is TERRIBLE

HAHA what do we do now like. where are we without hope

god .

hes still ALIVE bro . hes a fighter

OHH what if i SOB and PISS and DIE

HARDDD one of the hardest monologues in the show i fear

purpose mentioned

YAAAA FUCK YOU‼️‼️‼️

WHAT BRO leave our girl faroe alone

"sometimes the things that were in our life for far too little time make the biggest impacts" OHHH WHAATATTT WHAT IF I DIE☹️☹️☹️☹️

whole ass episode about faroe and they aint even say her name once. CINEMA

ohh this MUSIC i fw this HEAVY

her death didnt have to be the end for him :( SOBBING CRYING PISSING

when one door shuts and locks another secret little hatch opens somewhere

NONONONO not today 👺👺

"you do what you have to do. i'll enjoy the starlight" he WINS the idgaf war

im literally gonna EXPLODE

first severance finale now THIS

next episode nightmare part 2 ??? i LOVED that episode im a sucker for nightmare sequences asf

guys i think he finally accepted her death :((

brb gonna THROW UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[castielscaplan]

Thunder & Vibranium (MK & MCU X-over)

Summary: When Bucky walks through a portal thinking it was one of Stephen Strange's doing, he meets with the Thunder god, Raiden in the Outworld.

Warnings: none :)

WC: 820ish

A/N: i've been thinking about doing this crossover for a lONG time now. I couldn't figure out how to do it until a few days ago. I d hope this makes sense to y'all. lol. Also, idk who to tag??? So i'm just tagging bucky & marvel & MK forever tags.

Read on AO3!

--

Bucky Barnes had faced many enemies—soldiers, HYDRA agents, and even himself. But as he stood in the middle of an unfamiliar, storm-torn battlefield, it was clear he was far from home as he glanced around him, slain bodies of all types. Some creatures held numerous limbs, others had bled green, purple, or even blue..

The sky above rumbled, thick clouds swirling with electric energy. The last thing he remembered was a portal opening up during his mission, a golden rift tearing through the air, something he’d assumed Stephen Strange had opened up. Now, he was somewhere else—definitely not Earth as he knew it. His metal arm buzzed in the charged atmosphere as if it could sense something, someone, watching him.

“Where the hell am I?” Bucky muttered, scanning his surroundings trying to find a person or creature who he could speak with..

"Earthrealm," a voice echoed, deep and booming.

Bucky spun around, coming face to face with a man cloaked in blue and white robes, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Lightning flickered around him, the energy crackling along his fingers as if it obeyed his command.

Raiden.

“I’m guessing you’re the one responsible for dragging me here?” Bucky’s voice was sharp, his stance tense, ready for a fight. He had heard of gods in myths but had never expected to meet one—let alone someone who looked like he could turn him into a pile of dust with a flick of his wrist.

Where the hell was this place?

Raiden stepped forward. His face was calm, though his presence demanded respect. “You were brought here for a reason, James Buchanan Barnes. Earthrealm is under threat, and your skills are needed.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He had been manipulated before, used as a weapon by forces much stronger than him. He wasn’t going to fall for it again. “Why should I care about this ‘Earthrealm’? I’m not one of your soldiers. And i refuse to be soemone else’s pet for pleasure.”

Raiden’s eyes flashed as a streak of lightning split the sky. “Because Earthrealm’s destruction would mean the end of all realms—including yours. There is no choice, Winter Soldier.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. His metal fist curled into a ball, but he knew better than to fight against something this powerful. "Alright, Thunder God," he growled. "What's the plan?"

--

They were at the heart of the chaos, Raiden and Bucky side by side. The ground shook as monstrous foes from Outworld charged at them—creatures with tusks, claws, and powers that rivalled any Bucky had faced before. The Winter Soldier fired off rounds from his rifle, precision perfect as always, while Raiden summoned lightning, striking enemies with the wrath of a storm.

As another wave of foes came crashing down on them, Bucky found himself thrown to the ground. His weapon skidded out of reach, and his mind flashed back to countless battles, each moment forcing him to fight for his life. He couldn’t understand what he was fighting. And he fought aliens from space, which was saying something.

But before his enemy could strike, Raiden appeared in a blur of blue, lightning fast. With a shout, the Thunder God unleashed a bolt of pure electricity, frying the attacker before turning to help Bucky to his feet.

“You fight well, James,” Raiden said, his tone as calm as ever despite the battlefield around them. “But in this realm, power must be balanced with wisdom.”

Bucky grunted, wiping blood from his lip. “Wisdom won’t do much if you're dead.”

Raiden’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Perhaps. But I believe there’s more to you than just the soldier. Your past does not define you here.”

Bucky looked at him, surprised by the words. No one had ever spoken to him like that—as they saw beyond the Winter Soldier, beyond the killer.

The battle raged on, but Bucky felt something shift inside him. Raiden wasn’t just a god wielding lightning—he was someone who understood the weight of responsibility, of carrying the burdens of an entire realm on his shoulders. In a way, it reminded Bucky of his own journey, trying to break free from the chains of his past while fighting for a better future.

Together, they were an unstoppable force. Raiden's lightning complemented Bucky's ruthless efficiency, each move calculated and lethal. They tore through the enemies like a storm sweeping across the battlefield, unrelenting and unyielding.

As the dust settled and the last of the Outworld warriors fell, Bucky stood beside Raiden, breathing heavily but alive.

“So, what happens now?” Bucky asked, looking at the destruction around them. “We just keep fighting? Forever?”

Raiden turned to him, his glowing eyes softening. “There will always be battles to fight, James Barnes. But it is up to us to choose which ones are worth it.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like maybe he had found a cause worth fighting for.

[cultkinkcoven]

something something

I don’t know if I consider myself to be a god spouse (to Lucifer) because while we’ve never been wed officially, and I somewhat reject the label, I still do feel some kind of kinship with it and other god spouses. I feel like I’m having some version of that experience. Maybe that’s just devotion, I embrace the label of a devotee a lot, but sometimes I do very much feel as though I am one of his nuns. Not just a devoted subject or initiate but a wife/husband of God himself, I suppose. But that also feels silly. I’ve started to embrace the idea a little more, although I still don’t know if it really fits.

and Lucifer’s attitude around that has always been somewhat the same, even after all that has happened. He doesn’t seem to care whether I refer to myself as his devotee, partner, or consort. According to him, our relationship is already “beyond labels”, which I suppose is extremely clear now.

“Initiate, subject, disciple, partner, lover, beloved, pet, son, baby, star, devotee, priest, medium, meal. I don’t care which word you use.”

and I thought that was funny, especially for Lucifer and Luciferianism, where we are so concerned with naming ourselves. Defining ourselves. To not give this thing a name, of all things. Idk. it’s funny to me.

“Your name is Shi and you are mine. Whatever words you use to dress that up beyond that are your own concern.”

I don’t think there’s any one word that can accurately describe what we have going on. Perhaps just mutual obsession.

After all that has happened, it has become very easy for me to contact, sense and summon Lucifer. Extremely easy. And he has changed. So have I though. My Lucifer is no longer the infinitely benevolent perfect king who lulls me into a romanticized fantasy. He is now just Lucifer, the light bringer. And sometimes that light is just a quiet flicker. Sometimes a blazing fury. But not theatre, and not entirely tailored for me. He comes to me easier now, but he comes to me with greater purity, which is not inherently easier. He is softer now, and he trusts me more. Does not command as much, leads but doesn’t always direct.

Something has in fact been strengthened in me, but it feels more like a sensitivity than anything else. I am very sensitive right now. Sensitive most severely to his touch, but also perhaps to energy in general. I feel the way I did when I first started going through trials with Jophiel. Though he is a sweet angel, he did push me to the outer edges of my limit a couple times. Lucifer pushes me beyond my limit completely, not in the way Jophiel did. Not with blinding light and intense angelic esotericism, Lucifer does this with absolute gentleness, just a soft whisper in the dark. At that time I felt, and I do currently feel more powerful. Not because I am full of this triumphant rebellious fire, although that is still there. But because I am filled with a quietness, perhaps because I’m always trying to listen out for him.

It’s the type of quietness that is required to lock into that spiritual state, that lull into observation and clarity. It used to be difficult to achieve, or at least it took a while. Now it envelopes me.

Sigils and symbols have never been more significant to me than now. In witchcraft, spiritualism, occultism, there are so many symbols. I wouldn’t say that I had become desensitized to Lucifer’s sigil, but I looked upon it as a symbol, a chalice, an occult idea. And I suppose I still do. But now when I look at it, it breathes. It’s not just a pictorial, but a living thing looking back upon me. And I see him.

Our magic has always been a conversation, a piece of art, a co-creation. But now I also see it as a manifestation of him, perhaps in a procreative way, our offspring. Lol this is weird.

Lucifer is weird. Lucifer is more than weird, he’s a freak.

something something

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Prologue

I'm not super happy with this prologue but I've done my best with it :'). Also I gave God He/They pronouns. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 1227

Warnings: Uhhhh idk unless you count God as one.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Prologue // Chapter 1 >

Prologue

Before time began, there was her.

Cælitis (Definition): The divinities who dwell within the celestial planes. (Noun)

The Universe – The Beginning

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or a mistake, or there was something far greater beyond the confines of the ever-expanding walls of the universe. They had accepted solitary, thinking they were the only one, the first, when they awoke to a dark abyss, with the veins of creation pulsating at his fingertips. This was what God thought when they reached out for the first time, light bursting from within, shooting out and collecting into a colossal sphere. A star, he had named it, and he had much fun for who knows how long, floating through the endless vacuum, using these fiery balls of fire and gas to light his way. He would make them every colour he could think of, clumping some together to form the nebulas, or shooting some off into the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of it. Sometimes, he would press atoms so close together they would form rocks of all shapes and sizes, letting them wander and float around until they began clumping together into similar spherical shapes. He even swirled some clusters of stars and rocks around, watching as they turned into disks that would spin forever – galaxies, he decided to label them as. Before long, the universe was scattered with clusters of stars, planets, and whatever else they felt like creating, some so big their size was incomprehensible, others microscopic in comparison, and the rest varying in between.

When God had decided to rest their powers for a short while, he hadn’t expected to awake to the feeling that something was off when he observed his work. A small ripple, something he wouldn’t have picked up on if he knew they were the only being currently in existence. It passed through them, and he quickly shot towards the nebula that sat in the centre of his universal domain, their birthplace, so to speak. And what he came across was something very wrong. And he finally came to the realisation that he wasn’t alone.

It looked like a cloud at first. A dark mass that swirled and flared it tendrils around frantically as it contorted in and out of itself. He wouldn’t have been able to see it if it weren’t for the carnage it had left behind, it’s pitch black silhouette a stark contrast against the flickering specks of light behind it – the broken remains of his precious stars and planets.

Though he did not fear it. They knew that if this being had come into existence, it was here for a reason.

The Goddess was a being not many creatures knew about, and God wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want anyone to know he had an equal, someone, if aware of everything they could do, could rival him and his authority.

He was Creation, and she was Destruction. Not solely there to destroy everything, no. She was brought into existence to ensure there was change, to make sure God didn’t slow down, always keeping him on his metaphorical feet. He had welcomed change when they had first come across her, but not too much. See, he wanted things to progress, but on his terms, so when the flailing tendrils of the Goddess had parted to reveal a mass of black wings and hundreds of very curious eyes peering up at them, he immediately took them under his own wings, teaching them the timeline of the universe around them. Her naivety hadn’t flown past him, she had just come into existence after all, and at this realisation he was delighted.

Billions of years passed by under the tutelage of God, telling the Goddess that she was his creation, what was divine and what was sacrilege. She absorbed it all, enchanted by the ways of what she believed to be her ‘creator’.

At one point, Destruction was overseeing a supernova just outside the Andromeda galaxy when God had approached her, eager to show her something. Reluctant but curious, she agreed, allowing them take her to another celestial plane, gesturing his arms out wide and welcoming her to Heaven.

He introduced her to his creations, his hierarchy of the divine. From the Seraphims, all the way down to the angels. For a time the Goddess resided with them, telling them about her ways of existence, though it wasn’t always received positively. In fact, there was only one creation that was intrigued by her path of dismantlement, a chirpy seraphim named Lucifer, who would spend most of his free time following her around with wide eager eyes, asking questions a mile a minute. The Goddess would always answer truthfully, and soon enough God began to grow weary of the friendly exchange between the two.

It wasn’t long before he was dragging her back through the planes, until they came across a very colourful planet. Entering through the atmosphere, the two floated down until they arrived on top of wall that encased a very interesting sight.

For as far as the eye could see, there was desert, but within the confines of this wall was a lush paradise, filled to the brim with every possible plant. The Garden of Eden.

God revealed two creatures that he had brought into existence, their names Adam, and Lilith, and they were to create the human race. Though his idea didn’t last very long – Lucifer had trailed after the Goddess into Eden one day, going off on another one of his excitable tangents on whatever was flying through his head at the time, when he had come face to face with the cunning and evaluating eyes of Lilith.

Obviously most know what happened after that, and God had quickly created Eve, but when she and Adam both failed his expectations after Lucifer and Lilith tempted them with the apple from the tree, he soon made changes.

The Seraphim and his new wife were cast down into a new celestial plane called Hell, and God then turned to the Goddess, seething, accusing her – that she had planted those thoughts and questions into his creation’s mind. They wouldn’t hear any excuse, leaving her until near the end of Adam and Eve’s once immortal life on Earth.

When he approached her again, they said he had a new job for her, and she followed, hopeful for their friendship to be restored, though doubts began to creep into her mind when she saw what was before her.

Purgatory, he had revealed it to be, was where she would take mortal souls after their physical body expired and sort them between Heaven and Hell. Next was the Underworld, where, if a soul was displaced in either of the two afterlives, it would go there to remain for eternity, or if she decided to send it back to Earth to be reincarnated. It was her new domain, where she would reside when she wasn’t on Earth collecting new souls.

Distressed, the Goddess asked why she was to do this, but God said nothing, only explaining further on what her new purpose entailed, and she grew more and more distraught at the new path he had laid out in front of her. She was no longer to be regarded as Destruction, but instead would spend the rest of eternity to be called a new, more fitting name, one he thought described her purpose of being perfectly:

Death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[saintsylestine]

Aeldari x Astartes

Random story time!! Random OCs? Idk anymore I'm kinda falling in love with them.

#yes I started this as a smut with plot

#yes I think it has evolved into something more

#can I tag this as space marine husbandry if he falls in love?

Cw: alludes to nsfw but nothing rly (compared to my usual i mean c'mon).

Dreams of the Ruin-Bound - I

The Craftworld wept fire.

Wraithbone groaned like wounded lungs as the structure buckled inward, its psychic arteries ruptured by the hell-born storm tearing through its hull. Warp energies danced in bruised hues—violet, ulcerated gold, veins of bleeding crimson—licking at the ancient architecture like hungry tongues. Screams echoed from a thousand souls caught in the collapse, both Aeldari and daemon. This was no battlefield now. It was a tomb being born.

Brother-Centurion Malrion of the Red Seraphs moved like a wraith through the smoke, his power armor scorched and cracked. His helm was gone, one eye swollen shut, face blackened with soot and ash. The scent of blood and ozone clung to him—his own, others’, the indistinct stink of unreality. Every breath was a rasp. Every step a heresy against the pain in his side. But the relic was still in his hand. Clutched to his chest. An oblong shard of wraithbone, inscribed with a pulsing rune that throbbed in counterpoint to his twin hearts.

He had no idea what it was. Only that it had called to him. And that it had gotten too many of his brothers killed.

He turned a corner down a lightless corridor when he saw her.

She rose from the gloom like a shadow being born. No sound, no scent, but he felt her. The hum of psychic presence against his skin like cold silk. She was tall, narrow-hipped, robed in layered armor of etched plates and spiritstone. Her helm was gone, revealing a face so angular and still it bordered on cruel—black eyes reflecting not the firelight, but his own battered form.

The rune on the shard in his hand flared.

And so did hers.

A mirror of light on the underside of her throat—some embedded soul-symbol, half-alive, twitching like an insect caught in amber.

Neither moved.

Then—

“Give it to me,” she said in perfect Low Gothic. Her voice was dry, elegant, entirely humorless. “You carry something you do not understand.”

He raised his bolt pistol. She didn’t flinch.

“You think that matters?” he growled. “You bled this place out for it. I saw your kind—torturing, scavenging like crows.”

“And you? Dropping from orbit to butcher what you cannot name?”

The ceiling above them shuddered violently—chunks of molten wraithbone raining down. Both instinctively moved. He stepped left; she leaped to the right. The bolt pistol fired—shattering a daemonling crawling from the dark—but not her.

They landed close. Too close.

Face to face in the smoke, the relic now between them. Her hand brushed his as she reached for it, and—

He felt it. Not just touch. Not flesh. But a wave.

Memories that weren’t his. Moans, screams, the orgasmic death of a god yet unborn. Psychic pulse echoing through their skin like arousal chased through a cable of nerves. His breath hitched. She stilled, eyes widening a fraction—then narrowed, unreadable.

“It’s bonded to you now,” she murmured. Not angrily. Almost… fascinated.

“What did you do?” he growled, not letting go.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Yet.”

---

The corridor screamed again as something vast shifted deeper in the wraithbone. Malrion turned his head, instinct tightening his jaw. The smell of the warp was thickening—copper and sulfur and wet roses. She stepped back just enough to breathe.

Then her eyes locked on the shard. The soul-rune on her throat beat once, twice, then melted away into her skin. Absorbed.

“I need to see what it’s done to you,” she said.

“You’re not touching my mind, xenos.”

Her lips didn’t move. But her voice—that dry, glacial current—pushed through his skull like smoke.

You already let me in. The shard chose the path. I only follow.

He surged forward to shove her back, but she caught his wrist mid-motion—slender fingers like talons, cold and precise. The contact was electric. Not metaphor. Real. A crackling psychic arc tore open between them.

The world vanished.

---

Malrion stood in an obsidian chapel, vast and empty, lit only by stained-glass windows of writhing red. He was naked but not cold—his body etched with old scars, fresh bruises, and the sigils of the Red Seraphs carved into his chest with ritual blades. At the center of the chapel: an altar. Upon it: the shard.

And behind it, her. Dressed in nothing but a veil of shadow. Her eyes no longer black, but full of dying stars.

“This is your sanctum?” she asked. Her voice echoed in every rib of the cathedral. “Crude. Angry. Repressed. But beautiful in its suffering.”

He moved toward her—but the floor dragged at him. The guilt. The vows. The chains of faith forged in flesh.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled.

“Neither should you.” She walked around the altar, trailing fingers across its surface. Her touch made the shard moan—a wet, psychic sound that echoed between his legs.

“What do you want?”

She turned and faced him. Her body was lean, elegant, disturbingly inhuman—but her expression was pure hunger. Not for sex. Not yet.

“Truth.” A step closer. “Pain.” Another. “Pleasure... when you’re ready.”

She reached out—not to his face, but to his chest. Her fingers dipped into the ritual carvings across his sternum. In this space, in this psychic echo, they bled anew.

He gasped. Blood ran in coils down his abdomen, dark and smoking.

She licked it from her fingers.

And then he struck her.

His hand closed around her throat, slammed her back against the altar. Not gentle. Not clean. His body pinning hers with furious heat. But she laughed—not cruelly, not mockingly, but with the startled thrill of someone finally touched.

“Good,” she whispered. “Now we’re beginning.”

The cathedral trembled. A daemon roared from the threshold beyond.

And the vision snapped.

---

They were back in the corridor. Both breathless. Both changed.

Malrion stumbled back against the wall, eyes wild. She stood with one hand to her throat where his fingers had really closed, as if the dream had imprinted on flesh.

“You saw too much,” he muttered.

“No,” she said softly. “Not nearly enough.”

---

The air between them vibrated.

It wasn’t just the aftermath of the psychic breach—it was the silence after it. The kind of silence that came only after naked memory, after the soul had been flayed open and left exposed to someone else’s fingers.

Malrion leaned heavily against the wall, blood dripping from his nose in slow, thick arcs. His breathing was ragged. That vision—it hadn’t been a dream. It had marked him. He could still feel her fingers in the carvings on his chest, even under his scorched armor.

The Aeldari stood across from him, still. Her hand was no longer at her throat, but twitching slightly at her side. Not fear. Not weakness. Residual resonance. A feedback loop of touch and meaning. When her eyes found him again, they weren’t flat black anymore. They were wet. Not with tears. With desire suppressed by a century’s worth of discipline.

She finally spoke, and her voice was huskier now—something cracked open in it.

“You keep your vows well, mon-keigh. Even in thought, you choke yourself with them.”

He wiped the blood from his upper lip. It smeared like warpaint.

“What did you do to me?”

She took a step forward. Just one. The air between them shivered.

“What you let me.”

He stared at her—not her body, not the elegant lines of her armor or the soulstones nestled like coiled serpents against her ribs—but her mouth. The way it had moved in the vision. The way it hadn’t here.

He felt his heartbeat begin to quicken again.

“You don’t know what that thing is, do you?” he asked, nodding toward the shard, now quiet between them on the floor.

Her lips curved. Not a smile. Just an acknowledgment.

“I know what it wants.”

“And what’s that?”

Her eyes flicked down his body, not with hunger—yet—but with the patience of a priestess waiting for the blood to boil.

“Union. Fusion. It wants to be felt—through you. Through me.”

He bent slowly, picked up the shard again. It was warm now. Not hot—fevered.

He turned it in his hand. Looked at her. Looked at the ruin around them.

“Then we’re not going to survive this, are we?”

She tilted her head, and for the first time since the slaughter began, she looked young. Like someone who remembered what it was to want, and to lose.

“No,” she said. “But we may as well burn beautifully on the way down.”

---

The inner halls of the Craftworld were collapsing in layers, like a dying beast shedding skin.

They moved through a corridor ribbed with soulbone, half-submerged in smoke and loose strands of liquified memory. The war had torn through this place like rot—spiritstones lay shattered in their cradles, leaking psionic vapor that coiled along the walls like translucent umbilical cords. Each step sent the echo of forgotten prayers quivering through the floor.

Malrion moved with the slow precision of a wounded predator. His bolter was slung, the shard in his grip like a blade, though it was useless as one. It pulsed gently—less now like a heart, more like a womb contracting.

She walked beside him, close enough for her shoulder to brush his pauldron whenever the path narrowed. Silent. Watching. Her stride remained fluid despite the debris, her breath as steady as a meditation chant. But now and again, when she thought he wasn’t looking, her eyes would drift—not to the relic. To the place where his armor had cracked, where scorched ceramite revealed a glimpse of his bare flank. Where sweat glistened. Where breath lived.

They passed a collapsed archway. He ducked beneath it first, but the moment he did, the stone above shifted. Not much. Enough.

The ceiling came down in a sudden avalanche of noise. He didn’t have time to think.

He turned, grabbed her, and pulled her under him.

They tumbled through smoke and stone and screaming wraithbone. His back hit the floor hard enough to crack the plating.

Then the world slammed shut.

---

Dust. Darkness. Weight. Silence.

Then—

Her breath against his neck. Her body against his—fully, palms braced against his chestplate. Her chest rose and fell against him. Light, fast. Her thigh pressed into his groin, his arm wrapped around her back, hand splayed across the curve of her lower spine.

They didn’t move.

Her face was inches from his. Their legs tangled.

The shard, pinned between their chests, began to sing.

A sound only they could hear—low, velvet, layered in moans and whispers. Not words. Invitations.

She stared into his eye. Unblinking.

Then slowly, without a sound, her hand came up and rested lightly on his throat. Not in threat. Not in comfort. Just… there. Testing the pulse. Feeling the heat.

“You’re warm,” she said softly.

“You’re heavier than you look.”

Her eyes narrowed. But there was no anger in it.

“Do you want me to move?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The shard between their chests began to throb. A pulse, slow and heavy, in time with his twin hearts.

Then—

A psychic flicker.

She gasped, and so did he. Their minds skimmed each other like flint on steel. Not enough to burn. But enough to catch.

Images. Again. Too fast to stop.

—Her hips grinding against his, slowly, like a ritual.

—His hands digging into her thighs, head thrown back.

—The echo of a name spoken in his voice that wasn’t hers.

Her fingers curled involuntarily against his chest.

His hands—still around her waist from the fall—tightened. Just enough to feel the give of her body under her armor.

The shard’s hum grew louder, a barely audible moan threading through the silence. The kind that didn’t belong to either of them.

She leaned forward slightly. Not enough to kiss him. Just enough to let her breath ghost across his mouth.

“This is what it wants,” she whispered.

“That doesn’t mean we give it.”

But his voice was less certain now.

And her weight on him didn’t shift.

...

Her breath brushed his lips.

He could smell the war still clinging to her—smoke, blood, something sweet and metallic that might have been soulstone dust. Her hair tickled his jaw, soft in a way that made his whole body tense.

The shard throbbed harder. It was syncing with them now—pulse to pulse, thought to thought. His hearts stuttered. Hers did too.

Then—her hips shifted.

Just a slight grind. A subconscious motion. Pressure against the joint of his armor. The noise he made wasn’t a growl. Not quite. But it vibrated through both of them.

She froze.

Her lips parted wider. He could see her throat move—swallowing.

“It’s inside us now,” she murmured. “It knows what we want.”

“Then it’s wrong.”

But his hands didn’t let go of her waist.

Her voice dropped to a breath.

“No. Just honest.”

Their foreheads nearly touched. He could feel the hum of her thoughts now—images she wasn’t saying aloud. The movement of her hips again, deliberate this time, slow and testing. Her eyes stayed locked on his, but she didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

The shard’s psychic whisper grew louder in his skull. It was beginning to feel like arousal. Like shared breath. Like a hand that wasn’t his on the back of his neck.

His mouth opened. Then—

A sound.

Not from her.

Not from him.

Something skittered in the dark just beyond the rubble. Something breathing wrong.

The tension snapped.

She pushed off of him, swift and silent, drawing her blade. He sat up with a growl, bolter sliding back into his hands, the shard gripped tight in his fist.

Whatever had been about to happen vanished like steam.

But the ache didn’t.

It would follow them through every step that came next.

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

Heheheheh some light reading for you all - I was gonna just use this as a warmup for some character dev and world building but.... I have grown fond of these two (＊ﾟ∀ﾟ)=3

In the next installment maybe we'll get her name?

Thank you for reading!!

[windvexer]

Hey chicken, I got hold of a pdf of scott cunningham " earth power" and "earth air fire and water " and something that confuses me in some spells is the method used relating to the goal. For example:

In one to help break bad habits, it says to write this bad habit in a a leaf, take it to a tree and bury close to the roots. Then put an offering for the tree in the same hole, cover it up and pour some water on the spot

But couldn't this action of burying and watering, be seen as "planting" the bad habit? And if you are planting it would grow...

Another one is for love/relationship, where with a burned stick you draw two hearts interwined in a piece of paper, visualizing a satisfying relationship and then put some rose petals in the paper, fold it and burn it in a candle or fire.

He describes that as it burns the power is released

But it makes me think that burning your wish in the paper would have an opposite effect, like destroying the wish

Idk. What do you thinks of those "mechanics" of spells? Am I overthinking?

Hi! I've never read those books and I'm not a Wiccan.

So I can only comment from my own perspective, which may be the incorrect perspective to accurately interpret what Cunningham is saying.

You are not over-thinking; you have stumbled onto a very important aspect of sorcery and one that is good to think about.

How is it that sometimes, a box is used to trap and bind energies, but at other times a box can be used to coalesce and radiate helpful energies?

How is it that a candle can both open portals and close portals? How can a candle both be banishing of spirits, and an offering to spirits?

How can burying something in the earth not only be destructive or even an aspect of curses, but also be a technique of prosperity and growth?

The reality is that burying something isn't magic and it doesn't do anything. Lighting a candle isn't magic and doesn't do anything.

"Doing magic" is not taking a leaf and writing things on it and burying it. A mundane person can do these things in a mundane way and no magic will occur.

Nothing is automatically happening; burying something neither automatically causes an act of banishing, nor an act of conjuring.

As the practitioner, it is you yourself who determines what happens. This is the vital and inexorable power of 'setting intent.'

The tree does not decide what happens to your habits leaf. The earth does not decide what happens to your habits leaf. YOU decide what happens to it.

No, it isn't strictly true that burying things is always an action of generative planting. A very popular form of cursing is to turn an apple into someone and then bury them to rot. But the Earth can also gently break things down through the cycle of decay. Or it can trap things, like a cave-in.

We see all of these things occurring in nature; of course you can plant seeds to grow strong. Of course if you bury a body it will rot. Of course leafs slowly decay and their particles return to nature.

All of these things are valid.

YOU decide which one happens. This decision is germinated with intent; it is gestated with technique. YOU are the creator god. The leaf is clay in your hands, and you can decide:

You are the body of the beloved that broke my heart, as this leaf decays their joy will decay.

You are the mustard seed that returns a hundredfold harvest, mightest among trees.

You are the leaf of the forest floor, breaking down and returning to nature, just as my bad habits break down and return to source.

It is not a leaf. It is not planting. It is a spell. You create the reality of what the leaf really is, and you dictate how it must try to interact with its environment.

It must be good with you, or it is not a good spell*.

So if you personally cannot get around the idea that burying something will always be an action of generative "planting," then you shouldn't do the spell like that!

It's not an issue of "wrong belief." You may be following valid intuition. You may be at a time in your practice where the Earth calls you to plant things to grow. You may be at a time in your practice where fire whispers sweet promises of destruction to you.

Explore what's around you and what you're feeling! Change the methods if you don't think they're right for you.

But it is also untrue to say that putting things into the earth is always an act of planting. It can be many things.

*This is not true but this is a post, not a book.

[the-elemental-heros]

”intro post.”

”hello hello! We are the greatest hero’s on earth and in hell! My name is mike, this is my partner, Lumi.” “Hai!” “and this is red light!” “Sup.” “If you wanna be a member I’d be happy to accept!”

PLEASE READ: if you are an ask blog that interacted with any of the members before erase those from the characters memory and history because if they don’t know who mike or Lumi is it will play into the story of these characters

(This is a rp blog for the elemental hero group and this was supposed to just be mike/phoenix and Lumi but it changed into something bit bigger)

(Drawings of each member coming soon)

Mikes powers: super strength, super speed, super hearing, black acid control, fire and lava control, can make weapons and everyday things out of black acid or lava or fire, teleportation, self-liquidation, shape shifting, can morph his body parts to form weapons, amazing with weapons combat, amazing with hand to hand combat, flight, obviously extremely durable because he’s fucking liquid, fire and lava creation and obvious manipulation, limited aura creation (he can make a firey aura around him) can make fire, lava, or black acid clones, laser eyes, obvious regeneration, he can make portals, he can self detonate creating a explosion of fire.

Lumis powers: super strength, same level as mike, super speed (slightly slower then mike), can make weapons and everyday things out of water and ice, can “fly” by spawning ice or water under her as she surfs it through the air, durability, super hearing, can talk to under water creatures, limb morphing (like mike), regeneration.

red lights powers: can change colors of lights (usually changes it to red), light manipulation, light creation, good at weaponry combat, super strength (weaker then mike), super speed (weaker then Lumi), limited aura creation (can make a red aura around her), can make light clones, impenetrable skin, infinite ammunition. Treikos powers: impenetrable skin, super strength, super agility, super reflexes, blood bending, best at weaponry combat, super adaptability, regeneration healing factor, teleportation, X-ray vision, enhanced vocal cords, super hearing, super durability.

Mikes boiling point extra powers and physical changes: can make his voice very loud, to the point of deafening, grows a pair of spider legs with 8 on each side, his powers just get buffed, grows a bit bigger going from 8’11 to 12’8ft tall, grows deploy and concealable blades under his wrist bandages that are about 10-13 inches at full length, lava spit.

random facts about mike!:

🔥: he is a LEE, death spot is his underarms. He has a very “EEK”y laugh.

🔥: He is a psychopath who loves to make people, suffer and he murders people. He is only saving people and acting like a hero because he likes being regarded as a god by some people and hero by most… most. 🔥: He died at 4 when being kidnapped and he was shot 78 times in the limbs, torso, stomach, you name it, he was only alive because they kept giving him adrenaline so he would stay alive and he died at the last headshot. 🔥: Kills because he views and thinks everyone is as bad as the 2 kidnappers who killed him, sometimes he has moments where he snaps outta that but it doesn’t last for long. 🔥: Is very rude, scary, and intimidating when angry or just being normal. 🔥: Obviously can’t die, I mean you can kill him but he will just come back after like a day. Same thing with everyone else. 🔥: Is very intelligent.. just his arrogance and confidence can cloud that at times. Speaking of confidence and arrogance he views himself as a god and looks down at normal humans like insects. 🔥: He’s very inspired by homelander, this whole thing is inspired by the boys and the seven. 🔥: is an art the clown level of brutality sometimes. 🔥: Basically a mix between homelander and the T-1000. 🔥: he is 31.

🔥: idk if I mentioned this before but his true self isn’t actually a psycho, yes he will kill murderers, arsonists, the ones doing atrocities. But he won’t seriously maim like smaller crimes like theft or stuff like that. His true self is actually a good person and caring, he is aware of his psycho side and his psycho side is aware of him. he didn’t want this killing to happen.

🔥: he has a brother only few know about. Treiko and cetchro know about this, his name is Nolan. They never told him because a few reason but the main one is because they know that if he finds out they kept this from him, they are dead.

things that can make phoenix come out:

Being tickled

being Shown affection

psycho self using powers to make him visible

Being surprised with something very odd (like a cat speaking-)

being reminded of his family

being shot (will kill you for this)

being injected with adrenaline or tranquilizers (will kill you for this)

being stabbed in the side of the head/ear (he can make body parts grow at will cuz liquid) (will kill you for this)

he can sometimes just come out on himself

random facts about Lumi!:

❄️: big lee, HUGE LEE. Most ticklish spots are belly, feet, back of knees, and neck.

❄️: even though her and red light are sweet and caring, like phoenix, they will kill criminals who have done very horrible things. And also like phoenix, they will hurt criminals who do smaller crimes like theft or stuff like that but not kill.

❄️: Is trying to make phoenix come out for good.. but Micheal is becoming more resistant by the second.

❄️: will protect people from Micheal if she can.

❄️: snuggle bug.

❄️: she is 24.

❄️: Favorite food: rotisserie chicken.

❄️: Likes being pet.

❄️: As you actually know, she cares about others greatly and is very sweet.. she is still a badass at times though.

❄️: likes to loaf from time to time. ❄️: died from being run over by a train.

(Facts about red light and treiko coming later.)

RULES:

NO NSFW! Suggestive asks are fine tho (I updated everyone’s age cuz I realized the age stuff had flaws-)

offensive jokes of any kinda are fine, racist jokes, phobe jokes, etc.

DO NOT try to fight these people if you cannot handle your characters being killed… you can just bring them back to life in a different post anyway lol.

don’t be rude to the mod, I’m fine with you taking joking shots at me but don’t be actually a asshole.

swearing is allowed, I’ll allow the word retard but don’t say a slur that you can’t reclaim (I think that’s the word).

don’t go into a fight with them and expect to win, I’ve already had one dude throw a fit about it, I don’t want it again.

This isn’t just a FPE blog it could go in really any fandom.

COOL BLOGS!:

@abbie-appleboy @engels-ask-blog @zip-the-chaos-child @girl-from-the-snowy-forest @lesbian-zipster @oliversoapeater-official @claireslibrarycard

@danger-bloomie @danger-oliverrr @danger-abbie @danger-zipster

@askmyfpeocs @ask-april-stuff-ig @official-crazie

@mister-hotchkiss-craft-teacher @best-art-teacher-miss-sasha @pansexual-music-teacher @cannibalistic-forest-monster @math-teacher-who-loves-oreos @ask-mister-barrel @ask-miller @ask-margaret-sterling

(Sorry if @s don’t work or I forgot you, did the best I could.)

Story: a corrupt super hero group with members who are regarded as hero’s and gods are under control by a powerful demon consumed by revenge, only select fews knew and know about the truth and that the leader is just putting up a facade… most ended up dead, but the ones who know and that are alive are trying to get that info out, yet, no one believes them.

(Mod talking)

“Micheal talking”

“Phoenix talking”

“Lumi talking”

“Red light talking”

“Treiko talking”

Edit: two people have already forgotten the “please read”- I’m not angry btw

[mayapapaya33]

The "Are we the bad guys" energy of this episode is fantastic lmfao. This tense conversation in the entryway surrounding Ludinus' corpse is so good. There is a non-zero chance of this devolving into PvP and I am here for it. If this campaign ends as a Shakespearian tragedy of friend turning on friend, I will sob violently but I will also be deeply impressed. I don't think that's going to happen, but I could easily see Orym standing in front of the entrance, pulling an "I can do this all day" grimly forcing the rest of Bells Hells to choose between fighting him to the death and continuing on with what they have planned. I think it would break something in him, but I think he could do it. And based on Braius' conversation with Asmodeus I think he would join Orym. Fearne is a wild card, but she'd probably join Orym because he's her best friend. Dorian is a tough one because he's in love with Orym BUT he wants the gods to be gone so I'm fairly split down the middle. I think he might fight against Orym nonlethally for this and hope Orym forgives him later. Or maybe the power of love compels him idk.

Ashton's stance is totally predictable, he's been pretty consistent about his feelings. I do find it funny/annoying that some people are SO mad at Ashton that they're getting mad at real life Taliesin calling him stupid, meanwhile Caduceus is right there played by the same guy. Chill people, it's good acting, he's a punk barbarian, what did you think was going to happen? And like it or not, he does make a good point when he said that a crap ton of people now know about Predathos and Ludinus' plan and there's a whole moon of soon to be very angry people above them, and how the heck are they supposed to protect the jail from them, etc? A cave in is not going to cut it unfortunately. There are plenty of other Ruidisborn left out there who can get through these barriers and shovels exist.

Anyway, we all know what side of the fight Ash is on, but I do think he'd be highly reluctant to fight anyone in the party and would try to talk it out, badly. Which is funny considering he's the barbarian. If he and Fearne were on opposite sides of the debate/ fight I could see it either being really angsty OR like, Ash: "Sorry wince, Sorry, Hits her with a hammer Sorry!" Fearne: "No hard feelings" Ash: "yeah same" Fearne: lights Ash on fire, Etc. It could be the bit of comedic levity in an otherwise devastating scene.

Imogen and Laudna are ride or die and would be on the same side either way but would be on the side of releasing Predathos as well. I think they would have way less trouble starting shit. (Imogen would of course aim for non-lethal and spells make that easier than melee). Laudna might go for murdering Orym if she feels betrayed honestly, she's deeply scarred and needs a lot of therapy with that lady that lives in the frog. Like I said Fearne and Dorian are the main wild cards for me, so a lot depends on what they choose. I'm also not sure what Chetney would choose in this hypothetical. Travis is THE big red button pusher, but Chetney is strangely the wise-ish old man glue that helps keep the party together. So Idk if Travis or Chetney would win out on that one lol.

Also Ira, who the fuck knows what Ira would do if PvP broke out lmfao. Just spectate in the corner eating moon popcorn? Pick a side once the tide turns and it seems likely one side is about to win? Who knows?

[xxcherrydevilxx]

“For Her” 1/3 

— Karlach x Fem!reader

— Warning: Angst, so much angst, some spoilers? Idk not really but just in case

— Summary: You would do anything for your beloved Karlach not to die from her infernal engine. She deserved the world, to be free, and gods you would give it to her. Selling your soul to a devil in exchange for her is nothing, you would do it every time for her, always for her. — Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, I have decided while writing that there is no way in hell that I could do all I want to do in one story. I am splitting it up into three parts! This is the first, the second being fluffy smut, and the third is the crescendo with you getting taken to the hells! I don’t know when those other two will be out, it could take a few weeks or more to get em just right! But fear not, they will happen.

— Word Count: 2.7k 

The blood from Grotash’s corpse soaked into your robes, the sticky confirmation of the man’s death gave you a somber sense of accomplishment. However, for Karlach, it seemed only to ignite more rage and fear in her. Her ragged breathing drew you out of your dead stare at the mutilated body at your feet. 

“My love?” you hesitantly called, noting the lashing of her tail and your companions moving a step back. You had never seen her so… angry before. 

“So Gortash is nothing more than a pile of flesh?” she asked no one in particular. The toe of her boot kicked his head, as if willing for him to get back up, to make this mean something more.

You moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, to offer her some form of consolement, but she lurched from your grasp. The fire underneath her skin began to light and cast cruel shadows across her face, the temperature rising a degree.

“There's nothing, is there? I killed the bastard who ruined my life, and now my prize is to crawl into a corner and die.” her breathing hitched and the engine inside her flared with power as she let out a loud cry, her hands balling into fists. 

“Am I fucking missing something?” she called, her lips pulling into a snarl to bare her fangs at you. 

You. 

Your heart, the warmth to your cold, the being who smiled at you with such adoration. The one you would do anything for, the one who was dealt a cruel fate. 

“-I'm dying, I’m going to die,” her voice echoed off the palace walls. The flames curled and licked up her form, growing more intense as the seconds passed with tense stillness from everyone but Karlach.

“It’s- you won't, I refuse to allow it,” You immediately answered. Your voice caught and broke as you watched her feral eyes turn to you. The anger, the pain...

The eyes you stared into when you desired her compassion and love. 

All of that was gone now, she was fully engrossed in her rage and suffering, and you couldn’t hate her for it. 

“You can deny it all you want, soldier, but I'm dying, and you get to live.” Her lips turned up into a cruel smile, “And you- you get to watch the stars, warming your hands on the fire, dancing, eating, making fucking love- all of it, all of it,” she threw her hands up as if in defeat. The fire roared and her screams of anguish echoed off the walls. You gave her a helpless look, what could you do? What can you do to save her- to give her more time? Gods anything and you would do it, anything-

A deal. Karlach had finished her long, well deserved, tirade and told you that you could find her in camp later, once she had time to process. Your companions gave the both of you pitiful sad looks, some clasping their hand on your back as if a sign of moral support.

Your throat felt dry and scratchy, your eyes hot as if tears were about to overspill them. Your hands, still sticky with blood, clutched and let go of your robes as your mind worked frantically. Wyll was still by your side, waiting for you to speak, to ask for anything. That was always like him, caring for you and Karlach. 

Your voice sounded pathetic in your ears. “Can you- can you keep an eye on her for me, I have to… I just-” You cut yourself off, taking in a ragged breath as you felt the tears slip down your face that must have been covered in gore. 

“Of course, anything for you,” Wyll responded softly. Rubbing his calloused hand across your back. You felt more tears roll down your face and a guttural sound slip past your lips. It sounded so broken, you half thought it couldn’t have been your voice making such a sound. But when you felt Wyll pull you into a hug, a tight desperate hug, the sound which could only be described as heartbreak incarnate wretched itself from you yet again. You clung to Wyll, wailing like that until you could no longer produce tears, your fingers digging into his armor as if you could ground yourself with just action. 

You didn’t tell Wyll where you were going, you knew he and the rest of your party would try to stop you... But they couldn’t stop you from doing this. No god, tadpole, or what-have-you could stop your feet from moving towards the only cure for your beloved you knew of. If she knew what you would do for her, the lengths you were willing to go to for her, she would yell at your idiocy, say it wasn’t worth it. To you she was all you had, were you not supposed to try everything in your power to save her? If only for her to live longer, even if it meant without you.

The door that you stood in front of seemed to whisper your deepest desires. Was it because you were at Sharess' Caress? Or because a devil who probably knew of your arrival was waiting ever so patiently for you to knock. 

You rubbed your arm over your face, trying in a desperate attempt to seem more presentable. However, with the blood you tracked up the stairs and your puffy red eyes, all it did was further make you look desperate. Just what Raphael was hoping for. 

You brought your hand up to knock, the door opening after one tentative hit on the oak wood. He waited there, a devilish smile as he leaned languidly on the door.

“Well, pet, this is a welcome surprise.” he purred, opening the door more to allow you inside. The luxury of the room still astounds you, the plush bedding, and the intricate rugs that soften your step. 

“I see you are in dire need of counsel.” His eyes watched, and a brow quirked as he saw no one else follow you inside. “And you've come alone, my pet.” he smiled, flicking a wrist and making the door shut snugly behind you. 

You stood in the middle of the extravagant room numbly, the blood on your shoes soaking the carpet. You watched the blood expand across the floors as prayers flashed through your mind, gods knew this was the only way, and yet… 

“Even without that fiery tiefling of Zariel’s… How interesting,” He hummed, his voice almost beckoning you to spill your desires. You found your eyes looking at him, he had found himself a plush chair to lounge in while he waited for you to do what he had been wishing for. His long nails tapped on the arm of the chair, a knowing look in his eyes. The mention of Karlach made your heart constrict. 

“Tell me, small pup, what you need to ask of me without your companion's knowledge..”

You bit the inside of your mouth, your eyes skirting away from the man who sat in front of you like a king waiting for a peasant to speak, to beg. 

“I think you know,” Your voice, rough from sobbing, still held traces of venom. A click of the tongue from Raphael made you hunch your shoulders. 

“I am here to make a deal, my soul- whatever you desire- for Karlach’s freedom,” you willed your stern glare to find its way back up to Raphael. He stared at you with a knowing gaze, the hint of a smirk curling his lips. His eyes found their way to his nails, examining them as if bored. 

“Ah, love, how precious,” He cooed mockingly, his nails reflecting their sharp edge in the light. “Kneel,” he ordered, one long claw-like nail pointing to the ground for you to follow suit. Your knees buckled and you hit the blood-stained rugs, half aware of the small tendrils of pain shooting up your knees, you would have bruises come next sunrise.

If you saw the next sunrise.

But, if all things go well, Karlach would. She would see the next sunrise and the next for years to come. Warming herself in the rays. Safe, from Zariel… from her infernal engine… never alone again. If this is what it takes, kneeling in front of a devil and selling your soul to him, you would. You would do it a thousand times over. 

“Zariel wouldn’t be happy with me, you know, I would be taking away her prized fighting dog.” Raphael talked, his tone dripping with the same condescending attitude you would expect of him. You had to press your palms into the ground to steady yourself. You wished you could jump him, dig your nails into his eyes, and hear the pop, to bite his neck out. Using you this way, using your love this way. But you were too tired, so tired…

So, so tired.

You wanted to sink into a bed, soft and filled with feathers. To hear the hum of your beloved, happy and content and safe, gods you wanted her to be safe. To be cherished, if not by you then someone else… But who were you fooling anyway? you didn’t deserve her… Not for a second. She was good, kind, beautiful - despite her years in literal hell. The only good thing to come from this cursed tadpole and doomed savior mission was meeting her, rescuing her, and getting to love her for all you were worth.

So you painted a smile on your face, your eyes as big as moons as you looked up at Raphael with what you expected would make him stutter in his condescension. There, you saw it, a flicker across his eyes, the stilling of the tapping. 

“Why would Zariel mind if you brought her the crown?” You asked, a coyness edging itself into your voice. A lie, ruse, whatever you would call it. Yet Raphael didn’t know that if you played this right, and you would, gods you would. 

A darkness shuddered past his eyes, and with it the candlelight flickered all around you, causing you to flinch. 

“The crown is mine,” He hissed. Standing from his chair and stalking over to you, looking down at you with disdain. Your eyes widened, this time not in pleading but in panic. You brought up your hands, swaying on your knees as you bowed your head. 

“Of course, I was foolish. my soul then?” you begged, cowering. He let out a sharp laugh pressing the toe of his boot underneath your chin, bringing your face harshly up to look at him where he stood above you.

“Not enough, pet, try again,” he commanded, his eyes boring into yours. You swore you could see the licks of flames in them, the hells itself reflecting. Perhaps even all the souls he stole before, screaming at you to flee. 

But you couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. 

“Use me as a dog, and I will do your bidding, bring you the crown, Zariel couldn’t lay a finger on you then,” you babbled, your voice high-pitched and wobbly. Were you losing in this battle of wits? How could you gain the upper hand? His foot had left your chin and was now digging itself into your upper thigh, making you hiss in pain as you looked down. Not a soul, not a crown…

“Gift me to her once I slay the absolute, a better fighter to trade,” You blurted, and the pain from his heel digging into you let up, ever so slightly. 

“Think of it, she wouldn’t need Karlach if she had me,” you continued, sweat dripping down the side of your face. An idea flashed through your mind, so sick it wanted to make you gag. Horrible. Something you would regret ever speaking aloud. 

Yet, if it promised her freedom…

“Gift her lover to Zariel, think of the everlasting pain it would put onto her, her cost of freedom being her first love at the mercy of Zariel,” It felt like bile on your tongue. The only saving grace was that you hoped she would find another, forget your love, and be happy again. Nevertheless, you hated the words that spewed from your mouth. You hated more the look of delight that washed over Raphael as he sauntered away from you to sit back down. 

“Promising, very promising, my little pup,” you hung your head in shame, your vision cloudy as you pressed your hands hard into the floor to stop yourself from falling over in defeat. 

Gods, what have you done? 

“A deal, my pet, sign here.” fiery paper appeared in front of you, a quill dipped in blood-red ink- you hoped- alongside it. You shuddered, shaking your head ever so slightly. 

“Do you not have to converse with Zariel?” you whimpered. Wishing to stall for time, if only to have a few more seconds of freedom. You wanted to run back to your camp, your home. To cling to Karlach, to cover her in kisses, thread your fingers through her hair, touch every bit of her. Sear it into your memory. 

“Ah, no, I think this will suffice her…” he paused, licking his lips as he gave you another devilish smile “Only, and only if you do kill the absolute, the contract will then be activated. Her engine fixed, you whisked away to the hells.” he ran a hand through his hair, you could tell he felt smug about his idea, which was just your idea with extra padding. 

But this gave you time, sweet precious time with Karlach. Before your lives were both broken by your decision… yet, the benefits far outweighed the cons. With a cringe, as you picked up the quill, you signed the dotted line. Your soul and body now belonged to Raphael, you just hoped you could keep your promise.

“Wonderful little mouse!” he clapped, whisking the contract through the air to bring it to him. He licked his lips as if this was the most tasty meal he had ever devoured, and you wanted to rip the contract to shreds, quick and fast. 

“You can run along to your sweet if you would like,” he continued, bored of you already. He snapped his fingers and the contract and quill both disappeared. You were free to go now, yet as you left the far too beautiful devil’s den you swore you felt two axes hover over your neck. One, the ability to actually do the deal you signed on for… if you couldn’t make good on your promise, what then? There had to be loopholes, the contract wouldn’t be voided, and he would never allow that.

And the second, far more scarier, was if you made good on the promise. You could already feel the swift breeze of the proverbial ax as it loomed overhead. You ran a hand along your neck, feeling the sweat and grime build up. Your body was so tired, your mind had been pushed to its limit during the tense negotiation with Raphael, having to use every advantage you could think of. Now, you were signed off to one of the most notorious demons that lurked in the hell…

 Zariel. 

You shook slightly as you continued to stumble back to camp, holding yourself up by leaning into walls when you could. You felt sick, every part of you ached and you had hot flashes and chills a-plenty as you stumbled into camp. You wanted to curl up and wait for your freedom to slip. 

“Ah, soldier, where have you- gods are you alright?” her voice…it sounded like church bells, a lover calling you inside, a harp being played in the heavens. Her arms encircled you, worry etching itself across her face the longer she gazes down at you. She smelt of brimstone, sweat, and a hint of sweetness.

She smelt like home.

Her arms, her lips, her beautiful eyes. Gods, you never would stare into those eyes again. You would never feel her strong assured arms- 

“H-hey Karlach!” you let out a startled gasp. She had lifted you up, princess style, to carry your tired frame to her tent. 

“Let me take care of you for tonight, you look like you've seen the hells,” she mumbled into your ear, brushing her lips across your temple before dipping the both of you into her closed-off tent. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her, you would see the hells soon enough. Because you traded yourself for her, groveled at the feet of a devil. You wouldn’t have it any other way.