#life ruiner non

[isca-tide]

Went for a four hour walk through the woodland and to the reservoir to try and clear my head. no luck, but I did listen to the entire west end recording of Hadestown (thank you, slime tutorials), and every so often I found myself going 'oh, that's so Chenford' Seriously, I haven't fallen so hard for a ship in years. I'd be more concerned if I was even vaguely sane to start with, but it is disconcerting. Also me getting to the end of Hadestown 'oh god no no, I take it back, this isn't Chenford. Undo undo!' God that musical makes me bawl. I need to go see it in person at some point and cry the entire way through like I did for Hamilton.

[roo-bastmoon]

De-platform, Co-opt, En-joy

Roo's Guide to Handling Haters

Disclaimer: Not telling you guys how to run your blogs. Just sharing some tips on how to deprive narcissists of supply and live your best life online.

You're gonna see a LOT of hate, lies, and bullshit over Are You Sure? It's already started.

And everyone has their own way of dealing with that--whether it's to take a step back from the internet, or get into a dog fight in the comments, or compose thoughtful essays deconstructing ideas. I'm not here to pressure you into any one particular strategy--your blog, your rules.

But I've been in various online fandoms for 25 years now, on tumblr for 14, in ARMY for three, and I do have some wisdom I can share, if you want it.

Here are my three tips:

De-platform

It's well past time Jikookers de-center Taekookers and antis from our spaces, our narratives--and our minds. They live in a separate reality, they do not debate in good faith, and they get vicious when they don't get their way.

Consider carefully if you want to repost, or reblog, or reply to anyone casting doubt, slinging insults, or spouting conspiracy theories, especially over the next few months.

Would you buy them ad space? No? Then don't give them an inch in your space. Quietly report and block.

Mocking them often feeds into their victim complex. Don't feed them anything. Don't bring trash in this house.

They get nothing. Nothing.

Co-opt

If you just can't completely ignore or remove them, then don't waste precious energy arguing every little point with them. Their goal is to sap your energy.

Take a page out of an aikido self-defense handbook and use their own momentum against them.

Attacks are now an opportunity to spam the shit out of that hateful post with loving hashtags and links to playlists and fundraisers.

They just gave us free promo; go full-tilt Wunseidel on their asses.

En-joy

The best revenge is to live well.

Deeply, deeply enjoy and savor the content you do want to see. Leave no crumbs. Smack your lips and hum in satisfaction with every delicious bite.

The Jikook tag should be one big non-stop party-party-yeah extravaganza from now until well past September 19th.

Antis should be just sick to death of trying to come online for fear of seeing people ecstatically celebrating everything we get, and totally ignoring the ruiners.

Our boys are happy. They want us to be happy for them. So be happy.

Do. NOT. let the ruiners. RUIN it.

Above all, don't become the kind of fan that Jimin or Jungkook would be ashamed of.

You don't have to defend or resist a damned thing.

They shared all these amazing moments with us, and that is the best testament to the truth there is. So sit back, relax, enjoy.

Be sure.

Love, Roo <3

[ellethespaceunicorn]

2023 Character Wrapped

@geralts-yenn and @raccoon-eyed-rebel tagged me to talk about my favorite characters. And well, this is just too good not to pass up. So, join me, won't you?

Let's rank my favorite characters! (Based on # of times I have written them).

Under the cut to keep my ramblings off your dashboard...but you just know there are bunch of Henry Cavill-shaped bitches under this cut.

But, in what order??

Alright, let's get this party started with...

Walter Marshall - Night Hunter

I feel like this is absolutely no surprise that I've written the most for this grumpy bear. But, I just call him Daddy. Whether he be touch-starved, an enemy turned lover, falling in love like a love-sick puppy, taking a little "me time" for himself, or being the goodest boy as werewolf Wolfie. Even wrote a headcanon about his hobbies.

2. Clark Kent - Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League

I have loved the character of Clark Kent since I was a little thing, I'm obsessed with curly-haired nerds. Clark also is the only character I have written "fluff" for, be it praising what you think are flaws or surprising you for your birthday. I have written him as a Sub and as a Dom (in my only work that has surpassed 1k notes).

3. August Walker - Mission: Impossible - Fallout

I've never written August as the good guy, and there is a reason for that. In my head, he's the life-ruiner. He can be sweet (to you), but odds are he just killed a guy because the guy looked at you for longer than a second. I've written August as a pissed-off Dom who was sick of being interrupted, a very bad Daddy, and an Uncle who takes advantage of his nephew's girlfriend here(original) and here(director's cut).

4. Captain Syverson - Sand Castle

Oh, Syverson. My baby don't even got a dayum first name and he's popular. I've written him confronting a lover during a post-apocalyptic pregnancy realization, and as a married father-to be getting his beard trimmed and talking to his unborn daughter. He's also featured in my Werewolf!Walter Marshall story, and that's all I'll say about that. (Also, I've been referring to him as James Syverson in every iteration of the character that I have written for - I think.)

5. Mike - Hellraiser: Hellworld

My sweet baby boy. He is a guilty pleasure. I gave him a full series where he finds love and has quite the cast of characters as his family. But, technically, I only wrote the series because of what happened here and here, when his naughty Uncle slept with his girlfriend.

6. Napoleon Solo - The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

He's just so fucking sexy. I love him, your honor. He's been a suave and sexy older man wooing a young student over a good meal, and also started a series where he was falling hard for a woman in his apartment building (still in the early stages and I promise @deandoesthingstome that I will get back to this series).

7. Sherlock Holmes - Enola Holmes series

I have also loved Sherlock Holmes since I was a little kid. I thought he was the coolest person ever, but he's a curly-haired nerd so of course I loved him. I love when Sherlock is in love, whether he is ignoring his bratty wife until he takes matters into his own hands, or if he is having trouble coming to terms with new love.

8. Charles Brandon - The Tudors

This little shit. This redeeemable, sexy, fucking slut. I love him. I've only written him once, and it was a request! But, I enjoyed it. I loved writing him getting teased sexually and then taking control of the situation. So hot.

9. Humphrey - Stardust

Ok, not actually a fan of Humphrey, I've just written him. And that was all thanks to @sillyrabbit81's milestone celebration at the beginning of this year. This fic is kind of a weird egg, just, go with me though. The plot is: you and Humphrey are step-siblings who end up getting a little...involved. I'm not sorry for the title of this fic.

And to our last entry, the only non-HC character...

10. Lloyd Hansen - The Gray Man

What can I say? If I had the means, and I guess I really do but whatever, I would rank this man at #2 above Clark Kent. Because Lloyd-excuse me...Sir is one of my all-time favorites. I've included him inside larger stories as a bit player, see Bright Like the Moon (where he plays a bad man later in the series). But, I also wanted him to have his own show where he was the star, so I had him stalk and kidnap a girl and tie her up in the basement and call her Sunshine. I also wrote a little headcanon about his family, quirks, hobbies and his sleeping habits.

TL;DR: Walter Marshall is Daddy, Lloyd Hansen is Sir. And I need to finish one series before starting another. Maybe I will work on that. *snort*

I have written for a lot of characters, and I'm not gonna stop. I really wanna write so much more and my WIP folder is literally overflowing with things. I just started a new fic like the day I posted the most recent chapter of THiCC. What am I doing??

No pressure tags: @cardierreh15 @milknhonies @halfofmysoulsblog @xblackreader @xsapphirescrollsx

[whorejolras]

21, 27, 28, 33, 36

21. What I love most about myself

I love that my body listens to me and manifests what I want. I lost my natural curls and asked for them back, and got them back. I came out as non-binary and my facial hair became thicker and darker.

27. A description of the girl/boy I like

👀

she's the prettiest ever, with the most beautiful big green eyes, long soft luscious princess curls, killer eyebrows (this was the first thing i noticed lol). Dick Sucking Lips like no other. and that body 👀👀👀 i shant say anymore because *redacted* *redacted* but tummytinytittiestattoosthatassthighsleeggssalsotummy 😩😩😩

also....

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

28. A description of the person I dislike the most

oof who do i dislike the most. the most??? ok she's a receptionist at an Adult Establishment. she likes to come across as motherly but is literally infamous across the state for her treatment of workers. she's a life ruiner, she ruins peoples lives.

33 What words make me feel the best about myself

pretty, funny, smart, hot, good boy, magical, queer, fae vibing

36. Where I would like to live

I would love to live in Paris if we ever moved away from Naarm

for the ask game 🫶🏻

[period-dramallama]

"Katherine is also considered one of the greatest examples of a historical-fiction love story ever written. In a poll conducted in the 1990s by Ladies' Home Journal, the novel ranked among the top-ten all-time best love stories.

Weir was inspired by Katherine to become an author of historical fiction,[8][9] and the novel would also later inspire her non-fiction study, Katherine Swynford: The Story of John of Gaunt and his Scandalous Duchess (2008) (U.S. title, Mistress of the Monarchy, The Life of Katherine Swynford, Duchess of Lancaster). It examines Seton's novel in historiographic terms and, while praising its general historical accuracy, categorizes it as primarily a feminist romance."

I disagree with the idea that Katherine is a feminist romance. For me, Feminism 101 is Girl Power: celebrating women being good at masculine things- Girls Can Do What Boys Can Do. (Feminism 102 is celebrating women being good at feminine things AND masculine things- Girls Can Do What Boys Can Do And What Girls Were Doing Was Already Valuable).

As I said in my review of Katherine:

“Inclination and good taste” prevent Katherine from interfering in politics. It’s “men’s business” and she’s framed as better than that meddling realm-ruiner Alice Perrers (boo!hiss!)

That's not feminist. Anya Seton has failed Feminism 101.

Yes, it was published in 1954, but Elizabeth and the Prince of Spain was published in 1953 and was markedly more feminist, having a healthy respect for Elizabeth's intelligence and her political acumen. Her taking the throne is a Good Thing.

In the top 10 best love stories? One of the best historical-fiction love stories?

Nah. The love story isn't as much of a focus in the book as you'd expect. It needed more development and I think it was hindered by the un-feminist choice to make Katherine apolitical. If Katherine had more agency, if she was involved in the duke's business, if she was like his consigliere, then the relationship would be better fleshed out. And Katherine's lack of personality doesn't help the romance either. A truly great romantic novel is where the characters are great together, but they have personalities as stand alone characters. Katherine pales in comparison to Elizabeth Bennet or Jane Eyre.

[midorinpd]

One thing I HATE hate hate about the treatment of mental disorders and personality disorders is how people with BPD are commonly treated with respect, kindness, empathy and care from both non-mentally ill people as well as mentally ill people and are generally extremely well recepted for being a cluster b personality disorder. While every single other personality disorder in cluster B (besides maybe histronic) is demonized, called sociopaths (even though only one OCCASSIONALLY fits the criteria for even being one.) psychopaths, abusers, narcs, manipulators and life ruiners whenever BPD entirely has the capatbility to be abusive and manipulative as much as any other personality disorder. the only difference people see is that people with BPD tend to have more empathy. Not only do people with BPD get romanticized to all hell (albeit in a bad way) with the whole yandere trope at least they're portrayed in a way that's still likeable and relatable half the time. I love not being able to even hint towards the fact I have NPD without being treated like some abusive shithole.

[littlewalken]

feb 20

And we all agreed that no one would ever tell Peter Noone what Oh You Pretty Things was really about, ever, and the world was a better place for it.

Okay, finally had 24 hours here. First off The Pile was dealt with in a combination of stacking it more properly to take up less space, sorting a portion of it in to like items, and creating a different pile of at least two beach wagon loads of things that can go because we don't need them here or haven't needed or used them since we left the blue carpet house.

We're down to one iron, the nice purple and stainless steel one from this century. We're down to one small cube shaped ice chest, the one with a spout, still have bigger ones and thermal bags we're more inclined to use. I accept that part of it was because our greedy cousins kept the ice chests we had with us when we were homeless.

Once upon a time we needed sandwich keepers in three different colors, with matching thermoses that didn't get used as much, but now we don't. They get to go. That does mean replacement sandwich keepers but that's nothing.

It was firmly stated and agreed upon that I will purposefully go cold before I even look at a fleece jacket that the Life Ruiner wore a lot and... I thought her trash had been gotten rid of when we moved in to the shit shack.

Things have been packed up for so long I forgot I had killer whales in my bathroom at the blue carpet house.

But the Sesame Street cake pans are in the same place at the same time now, did just recently get Bert and Earnie, and now I want to hang them on the wall to display them.

One idea I have is to get some pegboard sheets, place them against the wall, have a short shelf or something in front of them to hold them up, and... I don't think it's exactly in the rules but with this place we're definitely going for a no holes in the walls poster putty everything approach.

And I found some of the record albums I want to frame and display, I thought the Shock Treatment soundtrack had that thing where the cover gets worn in a round pattern by the record, it's fine. I need to count the singles and the doubles so I know how many of each to get. My posters are here but I'm not flattening the ones I want to use out until after all the stuff is here because I'd need room to get around the work table I'd put them on.

Was just about to go astronaut time on a project yesterday but I need to be in contact to expedite the sorting and getting rid of non personal objects we have too many of right now.

Did get to some working out different ideas for Grease 2 in Imagination Land tho :)

[thegenealogy]

1 Chronicles 11. "The Age of David Gilead."

David Becomes King Over Israel.

11 All Israel came together to David at Hebron  and said, “We are your own flesh and blood. 2 In the past, even while Saul was king, you were the one who led Israel on their military campaigns. And the Lord your God said to you, ‘You will shepherd my people Israel, and you will become their ruler.’”

The Phillistines bury their dead in the Dry Fountain, but all Israel comes to life in Hebron, "the Perpetual Fountain, the Heap of Testimony."

If Har Gilboah, the Circular age of Agony belongs to them, then the Age of David Gilead belongs to all Israel:

3 When all the elders of Israel had come to King David at Hebron, he made a covenant with them at Hebron before the Lord, and they anointed David king over Israel, as the Lord had promised through Samuel.

The Genmatria for Samuel is "Seal of God". The Seal is like a passport for Wandering Jews that allows them to enter the King's Gate:

The Jew further points to the staff in his arm. In order to preserve his faith, he was forced time and time again - for 2000 years - to take the wandering staff in his arm, abandon his home, wealth and security, and seek out new territory where he could continue to live as a Jew.

The Hebrew term for "and the staff", "v'hamateh", has the same numerological value as the word "the vessel", "hakeli", symbolic of the menorah in which we kindle the Chanukah flames. Hence, this verse is alluding to the three components of the Chanukah lights: the menorah, the wick and the oil - all of which testify to the eternal allegiance of the Jew to G‑d.

"Identify, I beg you, these objects. Who is the owner of this seal, cord and staff?" the Jew asks G‑d. "It is to this man that I am pregnant!" Our loyalty and commitment remain eternally to the owner of the "seal" and "cord" of the Chanukah flames; our deepest intimacy is reserved to the owner of the "staff" of Jewish wandering.

We discussed the curation of the wares and expertise needed to maintain the holy regalia and storehouses of treasures and their meanings in the previous sections and why pregnancy from one of their owners is a requirement for Jews.

David Conquers Jerusalem

4 David and all the Israelites marched to Jerusalem (that is, Jebus the ruiners). The Jebusites who lived there 5 said to David, “You will not get in here.” Nevertheless, David captured the fortress of Zion—which is the City of David.

The Jebusites are one of a class of ruiners, actually. From Ki Tessa:

10 Then the Lord said: “I am making a covenant with you. Before all your people I will do wonders never before done in any nation in all the world. The people you live among will see how awesome is the work that I, the Lord, will do for you. 11 Obey what I command you today. I will drive out before you the Amorites “warlike”, Canaanites “jealous people”, Hittites “broken”, Perizzites “uncivilized”, Hivites “licentious” and Jebusites “friendless, unfriendly” . 

12 Be careful not to make a treaty with those who live in the land where you are going, or they will be a snare among you. 13 Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones and cut down their Asherah poles [straight poles].[g]14 Do not worship any other god, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.

6 David had said, “Whoever leads the attack on the Jebusites will become commander in chief.” Joab "Decided of the Father" son of Zeruiah "the Siege, the Balsam of God" went up first, and so he received the command.

7 David then took up residence in the fortress, and so it was called the City of David. 8 He built up the city around it, from the terraces[a] to the surrounding wall, while Joab restored the rest of the city. 9 And David became more and more powerful, because the Lord Almighty was with him.

Thus never began the Age of Endless Beauty, the Age of David Gilead. We have, Jew and non-Jew alike failed to heed the wishes of the Lord whose name is Jealous and thus have we withheld it from ourselves.

[lyssxxa]

I seen a girl on tiktok saying how she has a makeup remover which burns her skin and it’s rubbish and she hates using it. But the reason she keeps using it is because the makeup remover is still there, there’s still some left. If she were to throw away the makeup remover she would have none and she would be forced to go to to buy new makeup remover. She said this applies to life. I have to be grateful that my ex put me through hell, tortured me the way he did, lied and cheated non stop to the point where it just kept getting worse and worse and he hurt me in the worst ways imaginable because otherwise I would have stayed with him. It had to get so bad that I couldn’t take it anymore and left him. Otherwise I would’ve been stuck with the narcissist for life/for as long as he wanted to keep abusing me until he discarded me for someone else. I’ve been lucky to escape at my age. I’ve wasted important years of my life but it could have been so much worse. I could be like his ex and be 30+ left with a child. These people are disgusting and professional life ruiners, no empathy at all, narcissistic abuse should be a crime. I seen statistics about how many people suffering from narcissistic abuse end up committing suicide and someone said narcissists are murderers who get away with it because they kill people slowly and emotionally not physically. It’s true.

[itsactuallyicedcoffee]

I don't hate being asked, 'How are you', but there's always a moment of pause before I answer where I do a quick mental dialectic about how honestly I should answer the question. 9 times out of 10, though I usually just settle on a vague non-answer like, 'fine', or, 'not bad', because it's very hard to gauge when exactly it is appropriate to go on a five minute spiel about how completely and thoroughly miserable I am in everything I do, how this has been the worst year of my life and it's barely halfway through April, how my social anxiety keeps getting worse the more I isolate myself from the people I love, how it's all become a vicious cycle where I find myself unable to reach out to to my friends who then assume I'd rather be left alone, how I am now illegal as a person in over half of my goddamn country, not to mention, even, that I haven't even started HRT because if the thought of asking a friend to hang out is enough to trigger a panic response in me then there's no way in hell I'd be able to make a single goddamn appointment, and how my job sucks and my coworkers are all bigoted idiots who I dare not interact with for fear of revealing something that they might ostracize me for or worse, but this is the best job I can feasibly get and I need to keep it since I'm the only one in my apartment who can consistently make their share of rent on time, and the list goes on and on and on.

Just seems a bit rude to drop that kind of a day-ruiner on someone's lap, sight unseen, y'know?

[wowed-by-ace]

Me and @byeong-kwan-you-not tonight

(Wow photo credit to STARDAILYNEWS)

[teamcivilian]

Fear and Desire — Chapter 03

Fandom: James Bond

Rating: M

Warnings: Non-con in Ch01 and to a briefer extent in Ch03, graphic depictions of violence in Ch02 and Ch03, and major character death.

Summary: "If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?" — Cormac McCarthy (No Country for Old Men)

[Ch01] [Ch02] [Ch03] [Ao3 Link]

This was originally going to be four chapters but I said, three is enough. It's been a hot minute since I saw NTtD and I tried to elaborate a bit on Safin's motives, since canon couldn't be bothered. — Dorminchu

03: RUINER

Growing up, Safin was always a smaller, sickly boy compared to his siblings. That was why his father had been so eager to share his knowledge of the garden. 

By the time he had awoken from the coma his body had betrayed him. Now every day was a fight to regain what had been stolen from him, travelling in and out of hospital. A dozen surgeries and therapeutic sessions. Physical therapy and medications. Access to his father's inheritance ensured he would have a fresh set of organs and whatever else he required. The nurses and doctors and psychotherapists all remarked on what a polite and reserved young man he was in the face of the awful tragedy that had befallen his family. How strong he was to persevere through all of that.

In-between operations and recuperations Safin had plenty of time to ruminate. To lament what had happened to him for the rest of his life would be futile. Instead of grief there was only hatred disguised as emptiness. Under threats of incarceration he had expressed his absence of feeling and been told it was no aberration. Grief took a lot of time to process. He had every right to be angry about his condition. Never illness.

Though his family had been slaughtered and the garden razed, many of the books remained intact. Over the next decade and a half, and with time and care, he was able to eliminate most traces of the dioxins from his body in ways most modern medicine could not. He could do little about his skin pitted over.

By the time he was eighteen he had established contacts with the same men his father had worked for and learnt the name of his family's killer. Over the course of his recovery he was able to whittle down his desire for vengeance from the absurd and theatrical into something more sensible.

Alone, he would raze those who had seen fit to ruin the lives of his family, and from there begin reinventing a new life for himself from the ashes. It began with Mr. White and ended with Madeleine Swann. A girl born from wealth, brought up in the shadow of her father's work and a dying, feckless mother. He looked down into the surface of the lake, into the black abyss, and saw his sister. He reached into that lake and withdrew an innocent child from death. He ensured she would survive in time for her father's return.

For the next eighteen years he was her silent confidant. He knew of her name and all of her pseudonyms. Passing details delivered by his loyal subordinates. Her interest in mental health and non-profit work for charity. Her lack of luck in friends and poorer taste in men. At any time, he could have ended her as her father had ended his entire family. When Mr. White was found with a bullet in his head in Altaussee. When Swann came into contact with SPECTRE's worst nightmare 007. When Blofeld was thrown in prison, and when Bond abandoned her for good in Matera.

Yet Safin did not intervene. Why should he enable the success of that syndicate which had taken everything from him? Despite her abhorrence of her father's methods she had accepted White's money and his protection. She attached herself just as naturally to 007. She was cunning enough to spite her own fear. And nine months after the incident in Matera she bore a child.

Only then did Safin begin to put together a procedure for her retrieval. She would need protection and MI6 could only offer a surface-level guarantee. So for the next four years as he amassed his resources he was also keeping an eye on Madeleine Swann and her infant.

When they met for the second time in her office, five years later, he was curious. Would she recognize him now? Did she pause because of his inflammatory words or some part of her mind that recoiled in unwilling recognition?

The same part slowly giving way from disbelief into understanding on some subconscious level. It was not clear until she grasped the memory box in her hands. The horror he had grasped in the eyes of the adolescent giving way to despair. To look at his face and know there were no outs, no bargaining chips.

Two days had passed since their initial arrival onto his base. In between consultations with Obruchev and the other bioengineers, Safin noticed the blank walls. The soldiers around every corner were necessary but a proper refurbishment was overdue.

Military intelligence anticipated that the MI6 agents 007 and 008 would arrive within the next twenty-four hours. Not enough time to intercept the release of Heracles into the atmosphere. There were enough forces on the ground and around the island to alert him to any further interceptions. Better yet to lower the guard around the subterranean complex and let MI6 come directly to him. After Bond was dealt with there would be time to create an environment more befitting of home.

For now his new guests must be kept comfortable.

That morning, Madeleine would not come out of her cell for breakfast. When Primo opened the door she was still laying in the bed provided, feigning sleep. Dressed in her own clothes from the day before.

Safin said, Playing dead won't help you.

The stillness to her body suggested childlike stubbornness. But there was nothing she could do to harm herself within her cell. The room had been checked before her arrival.

He said, Mathilde has asked me about you. Did you know that?

No response.

I would like you to accompany me for breakfast. You may go willingly, or I will have you dragged like a prisoner. Which will it be?

She finally raised her head. An ugly, violent emotion kept behind her eyes.

There is a change of clothes for you. He motioned over to the chest. You will dress first. Everything you will need is here.

She did not move. I'd like some privacy.

Safin said nothing.

The realization passed over her with a slight shudder. She averted her face. She got up and went over to the chest and opened it. She slipped out of her blouse with trembling hands but kept on her camisole.

Undress, please.

A sharp flinch of her shoulders that she disguised as reaching for a plain taupe dress that would come down to her ankles. Matching blouse and cardigan covered her wrists. If she were looking she would catch his cold, empty smile. She had nothing to fear from him.

As she redressed she did not look at him. She stood with her chin down. He walked over to her. Without anger she was a much simpler creature. A beautiful, fragile thing just as easily snapped in half. In a perfect world he would have plenty of time to correct her more clandestine tendencies.

He said, Now, I'm sure you feel better.

Madeleine said nothing. She was looking past him. Safin nodded to Primo.

In a little while the two of them were attending a quiet breakfast while Primo remained as wordless vigil. The female aide who brought the tray of tea caught Safin's attention.

Klava, he said, switching to Russian, a moment please.

The aide stiffened at the gesture. He brushed her sleeve aside and brandished her hand revealing a row of smaller teeth-marks that were not enough to pierce the skin. How did this happen?

Her stupid little shit, she hissed, wrenching her hand away. That's the last time I bring her food.

Madeleine grasped her own teacup tightly. She was watching them now, very closely.

Safin said, I think she would not retaliate without good reason.

Every time, she asks for her mother. I don't see why you insist on keeping them separate from each other. The aide glared at Madeleine.

Your orders were to make sure the girl was fed and rested. Not push that responsibility onto our guest.

Your guests, the aide said through her teeth, who will not eat or drink anything I offer them because they suspect it must be poison.

Madeleine's jaw was very tight.

I assumed you would be skilled enough to negotiate, Safin said. Perhaps I was mistaken. If you would prefer instead to work down in the garden, I will notify your team immediately.

Klava's face was very pale. No, of course not.

Very good. You may leave us.

Then he looked at Madeleine. If you wish to know, Mathilde is safe. The girl does not cry much. But she is listless. She misses you dearly. I see no reason to separate you indefinitely, as long as you remain obedient.

She wouldn't bite someone out of malice, Madeleine spat.

Safin allowed her a small smile.

Of course not. She is usually so well-behaved.

Listen to me, right now. I will do whatever you ask. But you will not involve her in this sick little game. If you ever think of harming her, or allowing harm to come to her—

—in what way have I harmed either of you?

Her eyes flashed.

I have given you a room to sleep where you will not be threatened or disturbed. I have provided your daughter similar accommodations. If I wanted to hurt you—he glanced at Primo with the barest of nods that went unreciprocated—there are much simpler ways to do so. He looked at Madeleine. You are the only woman on this base. 

Her jaw clenched. Each meeting would be the same as the first. Safin waved his hand.

If you still think I have harmed you, in any way, please speak. Whenever we are alone I will only ask for your honesty. 

Her grasp on the teacup was uneven. She had curled her fingers into a fist, white-knuckled. He reached across the table to take her wrist and she shrank back, displacing a little liquid onto the saucer. His mouth twisted.

Madeleine, there is no need to be nervous. We are having a civil discussion.

She looked him in the eyes and said, I am doing this for Mathilde. No one else.

Of course. You need not justify yourself to me. He said, But if you are still concerned, I will entrust you the responsibility of caring for Mathilde. In return you will remain here on the island.

Madeleine's facade of calm rippled. What are you saying?

I cannot send you back into a world that would just as soon devour the daughter of SPECTRE. You will be safer here with your daughter. Does this not suit you?

The same dangerous softness without a smile. One misplaced word was all it took. She swallowed dryly.

Yes, it—it suits me.

Safin nodded. Have some tea.

Madeleine glanced at the mess she'd made but did not move.

You saw Klava serve us both. I gain nothing from poisoning you.

She took a sip but her eyes shone with contempt. She said, For what purpose are you keeping me alive?

I knew that someday you would grow into my enemy. You have been living in the shadow of your father for so long, yet you forget you are still his daughter. When you offered yourself for the sake of Mathilde it was your choice. The first, selfless act you have ever wrought, and now you will live by it.

That's not what I asked.

Madeleine, we have each lost so much. We understand one other so naturally that there is no reason for me to eliminate you. As the daughter of SPECTRE, it would be a greater cruelty to leave you to fend for yourself. What I am offering is far more merciful.

You are confusing obsession for mercy.

He faltered. A wheezing scoff shook his frame and betrayed the frail body beneath the kimono.

I assured you that I would never let anything happen to Mathilde, he said. But when our business with MI6 is finished, if you truly wish to leave this place, I will hand over the girl to your lover. There are many who would pay good money to claim ownership over Bond's woman.

Now she was forcing herself to remain very still. Her face must be blank. Placid. An arrogant tilt of the chin or callous remark would be easier to stomach than his lack of sentiment. Without that tenuous thread of human connection all her sacrifices were for nothing. The sooner she understood this truth the easier her life would be.

Of course, he said, it doesn't have to be this way. You can start over. Repent for the sins of your family. He gestured to the vial tucked away against his breast. If you wish it, I will make sure no one else can touch you.

After breakfast he dismissed Madeleine to her room and ordered Primo to accompany him to visit Mathilde. She was sitting on the bed meant for an adult, clutching the stuffed rabbit to her. When the door opened she looked over sharply.

Mathilde, I would like to talk to you. Is that all right?

No response.

You are more comfortable with French? He switched. Your mother and I were just talking about you.

Mathilde said nothing, though she was looking at him closely. She had her mother's hair. The same nose. Safin approached slowly and she did not decry his actions. She was looking over at Primo. Her wide blue eyes a shade darker than her mother's.

He indicated the opposite corner of the bed and asked, May I sit here?

She glanced over at the stuffed rabbit. Clutching it tightly, she nodded.

I heard about what happened this morning, with Klava. I understand you miss your mother. But you cannot behave like this in my home.

She was a bad lady.

Bad? What did she do?

Mathilde's brow creased. She was saying mean things about maman. And me.

Hardy, like her mother. But she would need a little coaching.

I'm sorry, Mathilde. I didn't know. If you would rather see your mother from now on, that can be arranged. But you must behave yourself. Can you promise that much?

Mathilde was looking at him closely. To settle her nerves, Safin gestured to the stuffed animal. What is his name?

Doudou.

I see. That's a nice name.

Mathilde said, Why are you talking to me?

You are my guest. I want to know how you are feeling.

You only care about maman.

That isn't true. You are important to her, and so you are important to me.

Mathilde looked away from him, at her only friend. Deep in thought. You know my maman?

We met a long time ago. When she was a child I saved her life. Over the years I came to care for her.

Why do you care about her if she doesn't like you?

Safin stopped. Mathilde was looking at him, unbiased and frank. Unlike her mother she had not yet learned to hate. He chuckled.

Well, sometimes you care for someone, even when they do not understand why. It doesn't matter if they understand. You care for them all the same.

He touched her head as if to tousle her hair. She tensed immediately, and he removed his hand. Are you feeling well?

It's cold.

It's no good for you to be stuck in a room by yourself. I would like you to accompany me for a walk. Remember? We walked around the garden together.

He offered his hand. She did not take it. I want to see maman.

You will see her after we walk. You have my word. OK?

They rounded the circumference of the garden two times and did not speak. Mathilde kept Doudou under her arm.

Mathilde looked him up and down. Still tense. I'm not supposed to talk to you.

Safin knelt down so they were on the same level.

Your mother is going to be all right. Right now she needs a little time to think. I know that I said you will see her. But she needs to be alone. Have you ever felt like that?

Mathilde didn't speak. She looked steadily at Primo and walked up to him and offered Doudou. Give him to maman. So she's safe.

Primo blinked slowly. He took the stuffed animal and nodded.

Safin caught Primo's eye. Return her to the room afterwards. She will see her mother another time.

Madeleine had been sitting, thinking. When the staff spoke in front of her at all it was always in Russian. They would always avoid eye contact. The thin man with glasses looked over and expressed his condolences for the boss's woman. Primo was the only one who acknowledged her with a look.

Every one of them complicit in their leader's scheme.

Left on the verge of tears that wouldn't come. Until he was away from her family once and for all there would be no end. She could not fold.

The moment she saw her own face it would be her father staring back at her. Or her mother.

Primo opened the door, walked in, set Doudou on the armoire. The kid came up to me and insisted that you have this.

Madeleine looked up. The muscles in her face fighting a losing battle for indifference. Her composure finally broke into a light sob. Primo turned away, ready to leave.

You don't have to do this, she said thickly. You see this plan he has, the lack of one. How can you stand there and let him get away with it?

I have my orders. As do you. See to it you don't give him a reason to reconsider his mercy.

Madeleine sneered. This is not mercy. It is senseless.

What he could not communicate in words. Two souls entrapped in the same circumstance. 

He's sick, said Madeleine. And he isn't getting better. That is why he feels he must eradicate all of these people, isn't it?

Primo said nothing.

He has probably been sick for some time, I think. All the medicine in the world can't stop the inevitable. Your boss is no better than any of these heartless men and women he has slaughtered in the name of progress. Whatever ideology he wants to paint it as. If he succeeds, what else is left to conquer?

Primo said, I'll collect you when he calls for you.

Madeleine walked over to the armoire. She clutched the rabbit to her own body and wept into its soft fur.

Then stopped. Groped the seam along Doudour’s head until she found the foreign outline under soft fabric. There was a slit no bigger than an inch. Reaching in, she experienced a stab of pain along the pad of her finger. Drawing out a shard of china spanning the length of her palm to her ring finger.

Madeleine wiped her bloodied hand on the sheets. She stared at the shard for a long time. She used it to tear a strip from the sheet and bind her hand.

Each time Madeleine left the cell she paid close attention to her surroundings. In the garden, the steel gate was closed. Mathilde was nowhere to be seen. It was just Safin and Primo and a handful of soldiers in the garden, around the perimeter.

Where is Mathilde?

She was not feeling well, Safin said. Primo told me she hasn't been sleeping regularly. I offered to give her some tea but she refused. So we will let her sleep for a time.

Madeleine looked at Primo who gave her the slightest incline of the head.

Then Safin was right in front of her.

What happened to your hand?

I cut myself.

Safin took her hand in his, meticulous. His brow furrowed. How did you manage this?

I wasn't thinking. I dropped one of your plates and cut myself cleaning it up.

Safin looked at her closely. Why were you cleaning? That is for the help to do.

I thought it would be right. I did not intend to offend you, or your help.

Primo was coming up behind them.

Safin understood what was happening a second too late. Primo was the larger man and he grabbed Safin by the back of the collar, pinned his arms behind him with little effort.

Madeleine looked at Safin. His teeth bared. In her other hand she gripped the shard of china so tightly she'd drawn blood. He opened his mouth to speak.

She slashed at his naked throat in one jagged movement. Blood spattered down her chest and forearm. His mouth opened but all that came out was a congested gurgle. Madeleine shut her eyes.

For some reason the soldiers were not rushing to eliminate them.

Primo let him fall limp to the ground. Madeleine did not look.

These men answer to me, said Primo. Safin gave me that authority. I instructed the to give Mathilde a light sedative. Right now she is only sleeping. She will wake up in an hour or two none the wiser to this.

Just then, Bond and the other 007 rounded the corner. Madeleine looked at them and they looked at her and the woman said softly, Shit.

Madeleine, said Bond, but she was already with Primo.

It's over, said Madeleine.

Not yet. We have to shut this down. 008, with me.

Nomi glanced at Madeleine once before joining Bond up the stairs into the heart of the facility.

Hours later, when the island was disarmed and they were all on a helicopter back to Europe, Mathilde was sleeping in her mother's arms.

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

Hello! Tis I, your friendly ancient historian here to be a fun ruiner!

Actually, maybe not a fun ruiner, maybe I'm going to be a fun ENHANCER. You be the judge.

So here's me, scrolling through captive prince fan art, like you do, gushing over how gorgeous everything is and how talented everyone is and suddenly a little voice goes off in my brain that I can't get to shut up.

I know Damen's culture is fictional, and has influences of both ancient Greece and Rome, but let's be real, from the clothes they wear, to the words they use (kyros is just Greek for lord) to Makedon's name literally being an area of Greece, it's Greece, my dudes. And my brain is getting tired of seeing Damen drawn wearing open circle laurel leaf crowns like a Roman emperor. So here's an injection of historical accuracy.

Ancient Greece is known for being democratic in the popular consciousness, but there certainly were some monarchies, the most famous of which was ancient Macedonia, with kings gaining prominence during the Hellenistic period. Akielos reminds me in many ways of a Hellenistic kingdom, with it's kyroi who are powerful in their own right, elaborate court culture, and emphasis on arts and sophistication. And during this time the historically accurate headware for kings was this:

It's called a diadem. It's just a ribbon, usually purple or purple and white, tied around the head and knotted under the occipital bone. It's not very exciting, I admit, but i would just KILL to see one Damen in a diadem, because I am a nerd, and I suspect some of you are historical costume nerds too.

But then you have THIS STUFF

(photographs mine except the third)

These are from the museum at Thessaloniki, and are crowns from ancient Macedonia, dating from the 4th to the 2nd century BCE. No photo really does them justice. Now they're NOT royal symbols, although some have been found in royal tombs, but they've been found in non royal graves as well. In fact, we're not sure to what extent they were worn in real life vs being merely grave goods. What they probably are is banquet crowns, and are "merely" symbols of wealth and status. But they're big, they're bright, they're shiny, they're elaborate, and they MAKE A CLOSED CIRCLE, and I think they need some love in the CP fandom.

The larger, leafier ones are more common in males tombs, the smaller ones with the swirlies might be reserved more for females (don't quote me on this. That's a thing I noticed once, and I don't think anyone's done an actual study on gender and gold banquet crowns, so I might do it one day and then I'll cite myself, but till then, I might be wrong). But there's a whole GENRE of these things lying around, along with beautiful jewelry that does not get the credit it deserves in the mainstream consciousness.

So I am here to spread the shiny.

This has been an irritating costume rant with historical details no one cares about. Feel free to ignore me . But it's 1 am and I have a degree in Macedonian history I can't even get the diploma for, so I'm taking it out here. Enjoy the trivia and the shiny.

[donutloverxo]

Tainted

*gifs not mine*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - this is inspired by a hc @sweater-daddiesdumbdork once wrote me and gave me a frigging murder kink. Life ruiner😡😡

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Steve saves you and plans on never letting you go again.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), kidnappings, being held hostage, murder, blood, non descriptive violence, captain kink, slight murder kink.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 6.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

One of the most amazing thing about living with you was that Steve never had to come home to an empty house. He was now responsible for you, he’d have to shoot you a text message, he had gotten pretty good at texting, thanks to your guidance, or call you, he definitely liked calling and hearing your voice better. He’ll always be old school.

You’d get that slight waver in your voice as you tried to pretend that you weren’t sad, he could see your cute little pout through the phone. And while he would never want to cause you any sort of pain, knowing that you’d be waiting for him, that you’re missing him when he’s away, made him feel wanted.

That even someone like him deserved love and happiness and a safe, boring life. That may be there was a reason he died only to wake up again in a strange new world.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t come with your own set of challenges. You were messy if anything, leaving clutter everywhere and putting off doing your dishes and laundry for days. Maybe not the most practical but definitely the cutest roommate in the world.

He’d learn to put up with it because it was worth it. Maybe, he could even learn to 'let loose' a little as people always recommended to him.

At first, he couldn’t wait to ask you to marry him. He had even impulsively bought a ring with your birthstone, he knew you were obsessed with them and astrology and maybe even dark magic. But then you surprised him with a date to an old diner and introduced him as your boyfriend to your friends.

He liked your friends quite a lot, he couldn’t really understand what they were talking about half the time. From what he could tell - by their fascination with his muscles and all the touching and squeezing to his biceps, them wanting to hear about his life before the ice - it seemed that they liked him too.

But hearing you call him that, your guy, your boyfriend, your beau, as your friend Stacey had put it, he decided that he wasn’t quite ready to let go of this blissful courting period. He was rushing things.

He needed to live in the moment and just enjoy being your boyfriend for now, he had all the time in the world to wife you up - preferably not to late though.

He was so unbelievably happy, ecstatic to see you, to surprise you, his mission ending a week early he got home as soon as he could. He thought of maybe taking you to Vermont for the weekend, he had never been but Nat told him it’d be a nice little getaway and that you’d love it.

His wide smile slowly fade away as he looked at the state of his door - the latch broken. Forced entry. Somebody broke his door in. He pushed the door wide open and made his way in.

He knew what was to come next but he willed that thought away. Maybe you kicked it in yourself, maybe you forgot your keys. He kept telling himself that because he was terrified of thinking the alternative.

He stepped in as soon as he was able to shake himself out of his haze. Looking at the state of his, and your, apartment. A broken vase, and the coffee table smashed in.

Crouching down to take a closer look he saw some blood on the ceramic. Whoever did this to your home, better hope that it’s wasn’t yours.

He got up, directing his simmering rage towards his new mission. He didn’t panic, not yet, he couldn’t give himself that kind of luxury. His mind coming up with ten different to find you and make the bastards who did this pay.

NOBody can hurt the people he loves, especially his girl, and get away with it.

***

Your eyes fluttered open before scrunching shut to adjust to the harsh fluorescent light. You blinked, looking around you while squinting.

Some sort of empty grey room... a window to the side but it was dark outside. You dress sticking to your skin as your whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Three men in a corner, one for them shouting at the others in a foreign language.

You felt a yip of pain radiating in your arms and then realised they were tied up behind you - strapped to a creaky chair.

You tried to shake free of them, by wiggling your wrists but then winced at the burn it caused, capturing the attention of your kidnappers.

One of them smiled at you, walking towards you.

“Finally awake, are we?” he asked in an abnormally chirpy way. “You were out for quiet some time. Did you sleep well?”

He squatted before you, you could see his face, his cold grey eyes betraying the warm smile that graced his lips. Many white scars littered over his jaw...

And then you remembered.

How you rushed home when you felt someone was following you. Locking the door, you tried to call Steve but couldn’t get through to him.

And then your stalker broke into your home. You tried to smash his head in with a vase but couldn’t really do any real damage. Everything was hazy after that. Maybe he drugged you - you couldn’t recall.

You exhaled shakily when you realised he was watching you both from the corner. You could never forget his dark hoodie and hair. Or fresh cut on his forehead. You had never so much as hurt a fly or even slapped anyone. How you managed to smash his head in you’ll never know.

You looked at the man before you again when you heard him calling out your name, his smile haltered for a moment as he looked back to your stalker.

“I’m sorry about that, he’s a rookie. He’ll be reprimanded soon enough. This wasn’t exactly our plan but we’ve decided to improvise.”

You tried to speak but with your throat and mouth dry and your mind in shock the words wouldn’t come out.

“Oh, that’s alright, don’t struggle. We don’t want anything to do with you, you’re just a normal plain Jane going about your life, aren’t you?”

You could only give him a weak nod, still trying your best to shake yourself free of your bounds without him noticing.

“That’s right. You haven’t done anything wrong, you don’t deserve to have anything bad happen to you, do you?”

You nodded again. Your breath hitched when he got closer to you, in your face, his hands planted on your bare thighs with your skirt pooled just below your hips.

“But we don’t always get what we deserve. You’re close to the Captain, that’s right Michael’s told me all about how taken he is with you. I mean... I never would’ve imagined Captain America would pick someone like you but to each their own,” he cupped your cheek, the cracks in his palm harsh against your soft skin.

“What do you want?” you asked, not looking away from him.

“I want justice. For things to be in the right order. You’ll have to suffer for it, but know that it’s for a good cause.”

“You’re wrong,” you shook your head, “he’ll come for me.”

“We’re counting on that,” he snickered.

You’re not sure what came over you, all you knew was that you wanted his disgusting hands off of you, “He’ll come for me, and then you’ll regret ever touching me.”

“Uh, I don’t know about this,” you pulled on a thread from your skirt with your right hand, your other hand in Steve’s as he held onto your waist, pulling you into his side. “It’ll be inside me?” you shuddered.

“Yes, but,” Bruce scratched his head, he was adorable like that. You never would’ve imagined him to be the hulk, a 'rage monster’. “it’s not as bad as you think. You won’t even feel it. All shield agents and Avengers have one. Except Thor, because that wouldn’t be of any use. The radius is only on earths surface. You would’ve thought that would be enough,” he chuckled.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, looking at the chip, smaller than an acrylic nail, watching Bruce load it up.

“I know it’s not ideal, doll. But I’ll feel much better knowing I can find you, in case something goes wrong.” He kissed your temple, as you braced yourself.

“Will it hurt?” you gulped as Bruce lined the shooter or gun, by the looks of it, to your forearm.

“Just a little. You’ll barely feel it.” He gave you a sympathetic smile.

“Look at me, pup,” Steve gripped your chin, moving your head till you looked into his blue eyes, he pressed his lips to yours, massaging your tongue with his to distract you.

“Mm,” you winced and moaned into his mouth when you felt the piercing pain. It was like getting a flu shot but you had never having been a huge fan of needles either.

He released his hold on you as Bruce worked on cleaning your the blood seeping through your pierced skin. “You did good.” Steve said.

“Do I get a sucker?” You asked Bruce and he chuckled - as if you were joking, you do not joke about candy, “No I really want one.”

“Let’s keep this between us.” Steve told you both.

“Of course,” Bruce nodded, “I can keep tracker dormant till we need it but are you sure?”

“I’m not sure who I can trust.” But he knew he could trust his teammates.

You sniffled, keeping your tears at bay because really something so little shouldn’t make you cry, rubbing your hand over your wounded bicep as Bruce handed you some gummy bears.

“They’re Tony’s. He leaves snacks everywhere, it’s annoying.”

“Thank you.” You blinked up at him and offered some to Steve.

You never thought you’d need it. Until now, you were sure your friends or your mother would notice that you’ve been gone and Steve will find out and track you down. You knew he would. He had to.

He frowned, his nails digging into your cheekbones, pluckering your lips, “Where’s all that confidence coming from?” he quirked a curious brow up, “He’ll walk right in and pay for everything he’s done,” he snorted.

“You’re way underprepared to take someone like him on,” shut up, shut up, shut up, why the fuck are you egging him on? “He’s strong, he’s a survivor.” Even without the serum, he survived an abusive household, being bullied, being sick, and you knew how protective he could be. To the point where it was downright irritating.

“We’ve got all the time in the world to prepare, you should be worrying about yourself,” he spat.

You had always been bold, even in the most inappropriate of situations. Like when you lectured a boy for over an hour on respecting boundaries for throwing spitballs at you, in kindergarten. Steve even said that he fell for that ‘spunk' in you.

‘Well-behaved women rarely make history’ your mother had told you.

And really, you liked that about yourself as well. You liked that you found a man that would encourage that side of you instead of calling you ‘difficult’ or ‘bossy’.

However, you immediately regretted everything you had said. Not because it was untrue, but because your captor took out a sharp pocket knife, a dark glint in his eyes.

“We only need you alive,” he said as you gulped, “I suppose, it wouldn’t matter if you’re missing a finger or two.”

You frantically shook your head, choking on a sob. “No,” you pleaded, “you’ll... he will find me and you will - ”

“Go to prison at best. It’s a risk we’re all willing to take,” he put the blunt end of the knife against your cheek, “We have to do something to kill the time.”

You couldn’t breath, your heart hammering in your chest, what if he doesn’t come for you? You won’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t like you could protect yourself, at least in this situation, all you could do was wait for him.

You shut your eyes, and braced yourself for the pain. Except... it never came, you simply heard someone fall down, some sort of clattering sound.

Upon opening your eyes you saw one of his friends face down before your in the corner, the other guy, your lovely stalker, drawing out his gun, looking at the only window to your left. You swore you a saw a glimpse of a flying disk knocking your stalker out.

The man before you cursed under his breath, “Get. Up. Come on!” he ordered.

“Yeah, if I could do that I probably would’ve,” you snarked, still trying to get your aching wrists free.

You barely even registered - who could only be your Captain - sneaking up behind him, snapping his neck with his hands in a matter of seconds. He collapsed on the ground and you could finally see Steve.

His clenched jaw and cold eyes softened up on seeing you, you couldn’t help but let out a sob as you realised you were going to be free.

“You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he soothed you, kissing your forehead before swiftly free your hands.

You stood up on wobbly legs, holding onto his arms for support, “Steve,” you breathed out, “you came for me.”

“Of course I did,” he sighed, gently pushing your face against his chest as he hugged you close to him. “As if I’d ever abandon you,” he smoothed a hand over your back and decided to not dwell on your comment. This wasn’t about him, you were in shock.

“I was so scared,” you sniffled, “he said, he - ” you couldn’t even finish your sentence as you broke down in a fit of sobs and hiccups.

“You’re safe now,” he promised.

“You - did you kill him?” you pushed away from him to look up at his face so you could take him in.

You had never seen him in his uniform. Only ever seeing him on the news but he had his cowl on and a suit that was much more on brand for ‘Captain America’ than the darker one he had on now. It made him look bigger - if that was even possible. Bigger than the shield now strapped to his back.

His usually clean shaven face had the faintest shadow to it while his hair was slicked back. He looked beautiful, so soft and innocent, definitely not someone who’s capable of hurting anyone.

“He hurt you,” he replied, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised wrists, “and so many others, he got what was coming to him.”

“You knew him?”

“Yes. He got away the last time we tried to catch him - but we don’t have to talk about that right now. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shook your head, “No, I’m just thirsty and I really want to lay down,” you murmured, resting your head on the star in the middle of his chest.

He pressed a hand to his ear, letting his team know that he had found you. You vaguely saw agents clad in black gear storm the room.

“We did a sweep of the place. No one else is here,” Natasha said. “How you doing?” and then frowned when you didn’t respond.

“She’s tired. It’s okay, love,” he kissed your temple, snaking a hand under your knees and picking you up with ease.

You weakly nodded, wrapping your hands around his neck, glad to be babied by him because you didn’t have the strength to stand.

“They didn’t give you anything to eat?” Nat scoffed as you shook your head.

“How long have I been here?” you looked at Steve, struggling to stay awake.

“A day and a half. We’ll get you fixed up,” he swore, carrying you towards the quinget.

“Where are we?” you nuzzled your nose against the rough kevlar of his suit.

“Bermuda,” he said.

“Oo, I’ve always wanted to come here... just maybe not like this,” you chuckled but Steve didn’t find it all that amusing. You cupped his cheek in your palm, hoping to maybe calm him down a bit before falling asleep.

***

You vaguely heard a familiar voice calling out your name, you’d recognise it anywhere, it was one of your favorites, one you’d known your entire life.

“Mom?” you muttered, opening your eyes and looking around the room to look for her. You smiled when you saw her sitting on a chair just beside your bed, the faint, annoying beeping told you that you were probably in a hospital.

“Hey there, honey,” she smiled back at you, her eyes misty as she pressed her lips to your cheek. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“I’m sorry,” you tried to sit up as she fluffed your pillow up to support you. “I was... um... kidnapped.” Saying it out loud made it feel so ridiculous. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought.

“Yes, Steve filled us in on everything. So, Captain America, huh?” she raised her brows.

“Yeah,” you chuckled nervously. Doing a once over to your large, mostly white room to look for him. He wouldn’t just up and leave you, would he?

“How long has it been going on?” she asked.

“Um, three or four months?” you winced when you realised just how much trouble you were in.

“And, you live with him. Linda filled us in on everything. You’re quitting your job too now.”

“It’s - it’s not as bad as it sounds...”

“Never mind that, you need to rest. Then you won’t have to worry about all this. I’m taking you home with me. And you’re never coming back here again.”

“What? No! I still have over two years of school left.”

“You can do it online! You can find just as a good a job in Queens.”

“No! I’m not coming,” you whined.

“Well, you’re not living with a man you barely know either.”

You were interrupted by a knock on the door. A doctor entering, apologising for disturbing you and Steve right behind her. He still hadn’t changed out of his suit.

He stood at the end of your bed, squeezing your foot to let you know he was there for you as your mother glared daggers at him.

“Looks like you’re doing good. Blood sugars back to normal as well...” the doctor said, “You’re free to go home.”

“Really?” you smiled. So done with everything. Sleeping in your own bed sounded like heaven.

“Yes, let us know if you need anything.” She looked over your chart again and then left.

“Good then, you can come home now.”

“No! I’m going to my apartment in Manhattan, the one I share with Steve.” You rolled your eyes. Pleading Steve to back you up with your eyes.

He cleared his throat, “Um, ma'am, you can come stay with us, if you like.”

He held your mothers gaze, to let her know that he was serious and earnest.

He knew he wasn’t perfect by any means. He had a million flaws and cuts that ran deeper than anybody would ever know but he always thought, or maybe arrogantly assumed, that if nothing else he was someone ‘you take home to mama’ as Clint had once put it. He thought that your parents, like most, would like him. That he’d easily get their blessing to be with their daughter. He was known to be America’s golden boy after all.

But your mother had ripped him a new one as soon as she saw him. Accusing him of abusing his power to woo you. That you were here because of him. That he’s not worthy of you.

And all he could do was stand there and take it because everything she had said was the truth. He didn’t deserve you, you were captured and possibly traumatised because of him.

At the same time, he couldn’t just let you go. Not till he gets to the bottom of who had hurt you and makes sure that you’re safe from now on.

“No, thank you.” She scoffed, looking back at you and shaking her head. “What are you doing with your life?”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes but being with Steve definitely isn’t one,” you looked over to him, he looked just as tired as you, “I just want to go home. My home with Steve.”

“Fine, I’ve always let you make your own decisions.” she sighed, finally giving in.

“And I’ve never disappointed you.”

“That’s debatable,” she snorted, “I’ll come check on you tomorrow then. Maybe send me your address. You know? Something you should’ve done months ago.” She returned to glaring at Steve.

“I’ve only been living with him for a month!” you tried to defend yourself.

***

“I can take off my own clothes, Stevie,” you giggled, him kneeling before you to help you out of the sweets the med bay gave you. Your dress was dirty and ragged now. “I really liked that dress though. I don’t have many like it. You think we can get it back?”

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do, doll,” he kissed your bare thigh before rolling your panties down your legs.

“You’re kinda dirty too,” you remarked, sniffing him. He didn’t smell bad, as if Steve would ever smell bad to you. Just a bit of gunpowder, like that of firecrackers, a bit pungent instead of his normal piney and woodsy scent.

“Thank you,” he deadpanned before cracking a smile, “I was just excited to see you. Or I would’ve showered before coming home and then I didn’t get a chance to.”

He worked on unbuttoning your shirt He insisted on you getting a button up instead of a t-shirt considering how sore your arms were from being toed up for so long. Tied up... like an animal.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, caressing his cheek, “come back to me.”

“Sorry, I’m just... I don’t know,” he shook his head. He couldn’t let you know the guilt and despair he felt, you’d end up comforting him instead of the other way around. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Yeah. Still can’t believe any of this was real.” Running your hands up and down his suit, the feel of the material almost soothing to touch. “You wanna shower with me?”

“Don’t know, doll. That showers pretty small.”

He did have a pretty generous salary but opted to live in a more modest apartment, he never took more than he needed anyway, with a small shower. Not too small, but definitely not big enough for you both.

“We’ll make do, come on. I’ll make you squeaky clean.”

He took over ten minutes to get rid of the suit. You watched intently as he removed more latches than you could count.

“Is it bulletproof?” you wanted to know.

“Yes. But probably not as good as a vest. I’ve never been shot so I wouldn’t know.” He answered, taking off his undershirt.

“It’s funny because I always thought y’all were naked under there,” you chuckled, and then your jaw dropped as he took off his briefs.

You had never seen his cock while it was soft before. He was always more than excited when you got to him. It was amazing how pretty he looked either way.

“You and so many other people,” he almost shuddered at the thought of having been asked the same question so many times.

After making sure the water was hot enough, you both stood under it.

You took some of the lavender wash you had bought from lush, squeezing it on your sponge. Steve, bless him, was amazing at so many things. Shopping - it seemed was not one of them. All he had in his bathroom was a bar of soap, one toothbrush and a vintage straight razor.

Which just won’t do for you, so you took it upon yourself to stock the whole place up with your favorite stuff. The lavender being Steve’s favorite, you remembered how flustered you got when he told you that you smelled good. And then tried to explain that you always smell good while turning redder than a tomato.

You did his front, asking him to bent his neck a bit so you could wash his hair because he was almost a foot taller than you. You were about to do his legs, you’d take any excuse to feel up his thick thighs but he told you he’d do the rest himself.

Taking the sponge from you, he ran it under some water, working on cleaning you thoroughly. Under your arms, your breasts, your stomach, between your legs and then your legs.

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - he knew that since the moment he had met you. But something about washing you up like that felt so intimate even though there was nothing erotic about it.

After washing you thoroughly he wrapped you up in a towel, “My cute lil' burrito,” he booped your nose.

You puffed your cheeks out, you weren’t sure if you liked that nickname. Observing just how gentle he was with you, helping you into a cotton nightie, as opposed to drying himself off hastily and carelessly before pulling some sweats and briefs on.

“Don’t wear a shirt,” you pleaded, he looked amazing shirtless, but that wasn’t the only reason, you really liked feeling his skin on hours, pressing kissing on his perfect, smooth, golden skin, ”pretty please.” Right now, he’d give you anything you wanted and you intended on milking that as much as you can.

“Alright, doll,” he replied, pulling you up in his arms again as if you were his bride, as you giggled so sweetly, “now, what would you like to eat? No take out, it has to be healthy. And remember my culinary skills are limited,” he said, carrying you to the living room and putting you on the couch as he started working in the kitchen.

“Stevie, I’m not hungry. Well, that’s not true, I’d like some ice cream,” fluttering your lashes at him, “Mint chocolate chip? I’m pretty sure we have some.”

“Of course, puppy,” you smiled, at the prospect of getting a sweet treat and the nickname, “as soon as you eat something.” He added and you huffed in annoyance.

He whipped up a sandwich for you, two for him because he was starving, some peach iced tea so you wouldn’t eat his ear off while complaining.

You only picked at your food, giving more than half of it to him. You truly didn’t feel like eating, instead craving some cuddles with him.

You tried striking up a conversation with him multiple times. Not because you didn’t like silence. You did when it came to him, you could go hours without talking and it would feel so serene and perfect. You never had to talk just for the sake of it when you were with him.

But you had come to read Steve pretty well. He seemed distant and closed off. The air around you both thick with tension. You tried to ease it while telling him about how brave you were while quitting and didn’t cry at all, how Tony dropped by and was apparently stalking you - which was a bad idea because it seemed to make him angry, clench his jaw tight, his brows furrowed as he placed your plates in the sink.

Unsure if you had done something wrong or were mean to Tony, who was technically his boss, you twiddled with your fingers, “Um... I - I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying to hold back tears. Spending the night at your mom’s house sounded like the better choice now.

“Hm?” he looked back at you, he could do the dishes tomorrow, “what for?”

“I shouldn’t have been snarky with Tony. I know he’s your boss and all that but he’s kinda cocky... And I got really mad when I found out he did like a ‘background check' on me. I mean I get why he would but still. I can apologize to him.”

“No no,” he shook his head, kneeling before you, taking your hands in his, “you misunderstood, love. I’m not mad at you, I could never REALLY be mad at you. It’s Tony I’m angry with, he went behind my back, ambushed you at work.”

“To be fair, you did the same when you asked me out,” you snickered as a blush crept up his neck.

“Right.” He finally cracked a genuine smile placing feather light kisses on your knuckles and the to the bandages on your hands.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you asked, running your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails.

“It’s probably better if we don’t talk about it,” he said, laying his head on your lap. Your slight scratching massaging his never-resting head.

“I think we should. My mom said I don’t know you. And to some extent, she is right. I don’t. Maybe I’m just imagining things but... sometimes it feels like you’re holding back.”

He gathered enough courage to look up at you, your almond shaped eyes looking down at his and he knew that he could talk to you about anything. He did. But there will always be that little voice that tells him that he shouldn’t. He would only trouble you.

“Don’t you pride yourself on being honest?” you caressed his scratchy cheek.

He snorted. He really was dense enough to think he was the perfect son-in-law package.

“I just, the way you looked at me, when I killed that man, I’m afraid that you’re scared of me now. That’s the last thing I want. It’s my worst nightmare really.” He leant into your touch.

“Steve, that wasn’t because I’m scare of you. It was because I’m fond of you. You were so strong and brave and you saved me. I liked being the damsel in distress more than I thought,” He chuckled at that, his doubts a bit relieved, “that’s... not all though.” You murmured.

“What is it?” he wanted to know.

“You, um, the fact that you would do that for me... it’s just. I never thought anyone would love me that much.”

“I only regret doing it in front of you. I’m sorry you had to see that or go through any of that.”

“I’m not a child, Steve,” you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not, but you’re you. You’re pure and an angel. I - I’m tainted - tainted by blood, tainted by war - ”

“Steve, that’s not true. You’re not, you’re the pure-est person I know. War and - that doesn’t define you.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew about all the things I have done, sweetheart.” The sweet nickname he had for you, which now he used in a patronising tone, “I let my best friend die. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“What’re you talking about?” you frowned. You heard about Bucky from him and your history textbooks but you don’t remember reading anything like that.

“It’s... something I’m not ready to get into.” He put his forehead on your knee. He knew you loved him but there was only so much baggage you would be willing to accept.

“Okay. You can take your time and tell me if and when you’re ready, baby.” You went back to idly playing with his, “But I need you to know that I love you. Nothing you could ever say will change that. To think that... for a second I thought that you wouldn’t come for me.”

He snapped his head back up, “What?”

“I thought, that you’d be busy with your mission. You wouldn’t even find out I was missing or... you just wouldn’t care enough to come yourself. I mean, I knew you would come, obviously. But you have other more important work...”

“No,” he shook his head, “How could you ever think anything's more important to me than you and your life?”

“Yeah, I was being stupid.”

“You can be a bit silly sometimes, doll.” He nuzzled your tummy, making you giggle. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again. I was so scared I’d never see you again,” he confessed against your nightgown.

“That’d be a bit hard to do. Keeping an eye on me like that. But if it means I get to spend more time with you then I’m down.”

You convinced Steve to let you have some ice cream. He only let you have half a scope, telling you that you’d have trouble sleeping otherwise.

“I’ve been sleeping for most of the last two days.” You tried to argue but it was hard to change his mind once he had it set on something.

You both brushed your teeth together and he stared at you as you went about your night-time skincare routine.

Cleanse, serum, moisturize, sleep mask.

All he did was wash his face and he still looked fucking perfect.

He stayed true to his word, sticking by your side to the point where you had to kick him outside to have some privacy to pee in peace. He was right there waiting for you when you opened the door.

Finally, you were in your cosy bed. Light’s off and cuddled tight with your boyfriend. Your stuffed unicorn and your Captain America plushie to your other side.

With your legs tangled together, you rubbed your feet up and down his legs. Which were unfortunately covered with his sweats.

“Steve,” you whined.

“Yes?”

“Take off these damn pants. They’re hurting my skin. So friggin' prickly.”

“Sorry, doll. I know how precious your skin is.” He sounded like he was mocking you but he followed, pushing his pants away.

“Good?” he asked holding you close to him again.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed against his naked chest. “Let’s sleep like this everyday, please.”

“Sure.” He replied. He liked being a ‘human furnace' for you.

He wasn’t going to fall asleep. Not after everything that happened. He hadn’t slept well in the past week but he was afraid that if he’d shut his eyes for a single moment and you’d be gone. This time, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to find you.

He hadn’t been to crunch or even prayed in a while. Losing his faith a long time ago after all the terrible things he had seen. But he had prayed when he came back found his home to be wreck. He prayed that you’d come back to him because there were some things he just could not control. Nobody could.

After a while he lowly whispered your name. “Are you awake?” he asked.

It was silly but he missed you. Even though you were laying right next to him in his arms - the safest place you could be.

“Yeah. I can’t sleep. Even though I’m so tired.” You yawned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” You snorted. “You’re not a good liar, Steven.”

“Can I ask you something? And you can say no if you want I won’t mind.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Can I, um, have you? I just need to feel you, sweetheart. After everything – I need to know you’re really here.” he was cut off by your lips crashing on his.

You winced when your teeth clamped together but he soothed your upper lip by nipping at it with his tongue.

“Steve,” you panted as he broke awake, shifting under the sheets and pushing the helm of your gown up.

He placed quick open mouthed kisses all over your thighs, over your stretch marks, spreading your thighs further to accommodate his broad shoulders, he made sure to check in with you again.

All you did was push his head towards your heat, begging him to eat your pussy - as if he needed to be told twice.

Swirling and spreading your glistening juices of arousal around your weeping lips, he dove in for his prize. Drawing patterns on your bundle of nerves before sucking at it harshly, he plunged his tongue inside. Lacing his fingers with yours and pinning your hands down by your hips.

You kept desperately pushing your hips up, wanting more. Arching your back up and holding onto his hands tightly as he lightly grazed his teeth over your clit.

“Say my name, sweetheart,” he demanded against your heat, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

Your orgasm washing over you in waves, electrifying every nerve in your body as you clamped your legs around his head, holding onto him.

He kept lapping you up through it, taking everything you’d give him.

He loved worshipping you - spending as much time as he could between your legs - because you were his goddess but right now, he just needed to feel you.

He climbed up the bed, hovering over you, he pushed two thick fingers inside you mouth till the second knuckle.

“Get them nice and wet, doll.” He instructed.

You moaned around him, making loud suckling noises, “Yesh, Captain,” it came out muffled, what with your mouth full.

“Captain?” he smirked. You had only ever called him that as a joke, he never knew being called that in a salacious way could stroke a fire inside him. Making him them painfully hard in the confines of his tight briefs. He pulled his fingers out of you, pushing his hand down till it was between your legs. Nudging your entrance with them.

“Sorry, it slipped out.” You were too unabashed to feel guilty. 

He scoffed, “Say it again.” 

Pushing his fingers inside you. Pumping them at a fast pace before you even had a second to think. It was desperate and fast so unlike how it is usually between you both. He needed to be inside you but your needs would always come before his. 

“Captain,” you mewled, chewing on your lower lip and holding onto his face. You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you still need to look at him. “I told them my Captain would come for me. And you did...” he swallowed your screams with his mouth as you clenched around his fingers. 

“That’s right,” he groaned, sucking your slick off of his fingers, “I’ll always protect you. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Shaky fingers working on taking his cock out of the hard confines of his uncomfortable underwear. He didn’t waste a single second before sinking inside you, as deep as he could. He moaned into your neck, “So fucking tight, doll. Like you were made for me,” he bit your neck. 

Drawing his hips back he thrusted inside you, brushing against your g-spot, making you keen. 

He stopped immediately, propping himself up on his elbows he looked down at your hooded eyes. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded, “Yes, it’s just so good,” as if to prove it you clenched around his length, to make him feel all of you just as he was doing to you. 

He groaned at that, his balls already tightening, aching for release, “What’s the safe word?” 

“Mm... buttercream.”

“That’s right, good girl,” he cooed as you whimpered at his praise as he withdrew his hips again, loving you in a slow soft way. 

Pushing your gown up till it was above your breasts - he didn’t really have the patience to properly take it off. He sucked a spot just above your breast, so you’d remember his love every time you looked at it. Your nipples pebbled and goose bumps painted your skin, with your cunt tight around him he knew you were close. 

Wrapping his mouth around one bud, He pulled and pinched at the other. He stopped his ministrations, he needed to look at you as you climaxed. To know that you needed him at least half as much as he needed you. 

Your face scrunched up as you met your bliss, your nails drawing blood from shoulders - not that he cared in the slightest. 

His hips retracting and thrusting as he lost all sense of rhythm and finesse chasing his end as you laid boneless beneath him. He kept fucking into you, filling you to the brim. 

He heaved above you, making sure not to collapse on top of you. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of you. 

Pulling you close to him, his lips pressed up against the crown of your head, he whispered sweet nothings to you. “My brave girl.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re so strong, sweetheart.”

“Stronger than the hulk?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replied, tracing the bandages wrapped around your wrists. “Now try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll sleep alright. Thanks to you.” You giggled. 

***

tags will be in the reblog.

this was my longest fic!i know it wasnt the best conclusion to something i drew outover 4 chapters but its the best i could do. sorry for weird format tumblrs mad i had too much fun lol. comments and reblogs are really appreciated!!

[transmasc-wizard]

Ok okokokokoo of all the revenge in "secret" wip which is the kept deserved/satisfying

ohhh thats a hard one

so. first up. Hemlock's is the least deserved lmao. it's funny to me from a non-thematic perspective. basically, he tried to up his crime game, failed, got arrested, and now is literally just doing the same crime (vault robbery) to the same guy entirely out of spite. (from a thematic perspective there is actually Stuff i will examine but like. if you turn off your brain. hehe funny theres NO deep reason he's doing this)

but for the actual most deserved: Victory, i think, Lei being close second. Victory's revenge is against their brother--they just want to tear down everything he has. the painting they're stealing is more symbolic than anything. they want him to remember what he did to them. (basically, he let the youngest brother die in order to keep his wealth.)

Lei's--taking over the crown from the king who killed her family--is also really satisfying, but it being less personal on one side (the king doesn't even know he exists) makes it more.... sad and angry, than anything. her life was ruined and the life-ruiner isn't even aware. vs with victory, it's the white-hot burning triumph of getting back at someone who knows exactly what they did to deserve it.

[paintedwarpony]

I’d love to know your thoughts on Luthic worship!

ABSOLUTELY. I would be glad to share! This is something that I started to explore as a player myself (but sadly the DM I had at the time seemed to actively discourage creativity) but then picked back up and continued to explore and expand on as a DM myself when one of my own players wanted to work up more orc-ish heritage culture for his own half-orc.

So typically the god that most orcs and half-orcs are associated with is Gruumsh the One Eye, the Ruiner, who in most instances aint a good dude. Specifically in my campaign, running in Matt Mercer's world Wildemount, Gruumsh is a Betrayer God and known to be a savage and brutal warmongerer and pillager, the orc and half-orc army under his command is cursed with equal savagery and brutality.

So two of the many brilliant things that Matt Mercer's world allows for are:

1. Races/Species historically considered monstrous or evil are given the opportunity canonically to be free of that villainous heritage

2. While there is a Prime Pantheon he built in and has made PLENTY of room for Quasi and Lesser Deities.

 

Alot of orcs and half-orcs in Wildemount turn to Kord the Storm Lord as their chosen deity, using his expectations of challenge and strength and sportsmanship as an outlet for the energy and rage thats left behind when breaking from the cursed influence of Gruumsh but I wanted more, "less aggressive" options.

So while exploring a bit about Gruumsh in older editions of D&D and orcs in the Monster Manual I came across little bits and blurbs about his "wife" Luthic. Of course in the info from the Forgotten Realms and older references she didn't have all the best traits but there was surprisingly ALOT of potential to really use Luthic as a benevolent goddess compared to the Ruiner.

Luthic is the orc goddess of home, hearth, family, fertility, wisdom, medicine and caves (and a few other less ideal things but we cherry pick because we can). Her totem is the orc rune for "home" and her animal is the cave bear/bear. She's referred to as "Cave Mother" which is the common deity name I and my player chose to refer to her by (akin to the Wildmother or the Moonweaver). She most associated with the Life and Nature domains. And while Luthic isn't particularly depicted as being soft or kind, her focus is always shifted to being protective of home and hearth, of family and to the health, prosperity and propagation of the family to carry on strong bloodlines.

Those were the biggest themes I decided to run with when it came to those that follow Luthic is their loyalty and protectiveness of their home and family clan, that orcish clans and families that follow Luthic are far more likely to produce Clerics and Paladins than more war-like classes, almost all Luthic followers have knowledge or home training in medicine and fall back of remedies readily.

Arguably Luthic is the reason half-orcs exist at all. One of the “commands” of Luthic is to go, propagate and bring strong young into the world regardless of heritage. A true goddess of fertility, Luthic doesn’t care about the parentage of children as long as they are strong and healthy. Feeding off that I made it a trait of Luthic Orcs to be far more tolerant and accepting of other Races and Species and especially accepting of individuals that are mixed races (wither orc is one of them or not). They are also far more relaxed and willing to seek partners and mates of any gender in other races and species. This makes for A LOT of diversity and mixing of culture as well as racial traits and physical attributes in Luthic Orc clans and families. In my personal campaign this is part of the reason why Luthic Orc clans thrive so well in Xhorhas and under Dynasty rule, where there is a similar mindset concerning mixed race family units and children. (The Kryn and Dynasty canonically embrace and view mixed race pairings and children as blessings and displays of genuine love). So a lot of Luthic Orc clans are made up of half-orcs of a variety of heritages and origins. The strength and bonds built within Luthic Orc clans start very early but they don’t prevent members from scattering to find their own families and places in the world but there is always a desire to eventually return, either for a visit or to knit two family groups into one. All in all this aspect of followers of Luthic make them exceptionally protective of children, their own and any they cross.

While many a villager or adventurer find themselves pleasantly surprised (or outright lucky) to find that some of the best midwives, surgeons, and healers have the surprising origins of being connected to Luthic Orcs or a Luthic Orc clan by some means, worshippers of the Cave Mother are not soft pushovers. A part of Luthic’s mythos and origins was that she was a general and great warrior of Gruumsh’s armies. While they are not the ravagers of the Ruiner’s followers nor the more aggressive tribes that follow the Storm Lord, Luthic devout orcs and half-orcs will without hesitation lay down their lives to defend their families, clans and homes. Often this protective instinct is so strong it extends to the community and/or country an individual orc or half-orc may be from and Luthic Orcs are often exceptionally fierce and revered soldiers and guardians.  

Within the campaign a few of the symbols and signs of worship of Luthic that had come up are holy symbols and totems in the form of bear claws or teeth, either left whole or carved with runes or turned into beads and charms used in any form of jewelry or ornamentation. The use of a bear pelt to accentuate or ornament clothing or armor, use of orcish runes (particularly ones meaning “cave”, “bear”, “home” and “family/clan”) are often embroidered, engraved or embossed on clothing, weaponry or armor as subtle ways to display loyalty to the Cave Mother. Simple shrines are made and often adorned with home and hand made carvings or crafts made of bone, clay, wood, stone, anything natural in the shape of a bear or a female/feminine figure representing Luthic herself. Her most holy day is the Winter Solstice and followers of Luthic gather up their families and closest friends and clan members for a long day and night of feasting around comfortable, roaring fires where familial and communal bonds are strengthened and prayers offered up for a healthy and hearty year to come and that any babes born are whole and hale (as in the more “primal” communities of orcs the winter is often considered the “mating season” as war bands and ravagers hole up in caves to ride out the worst of the winter weather).

Keeping actual bears is not common practice as bears are notoriously terrible pets and difficult to fully train and tame, though some Luthic worshippers that find themselves wandering the world as an adventurer do occasionally challenge themselves with raising a bear cub. Though any bear dens found in non-nomadic Luthic Orc territory are considered protected and to be left alone unless the animal proves to be a danger to the clan or community in some way.  

NOW that all being said I am only just starting my research into Maori culture and traditions and how I can weave it into Orcish and half-orc culture. The Maori have an extremely rich and deep culture and it has so many unique traditions and aspects. A major part of the Maori culture I intend to borrow from is the use of traditional arts. They include whakairo (carving), raranga (weaving), kapa haka (group performance), whaikōrero (oratory), and tā moko (tattoo). The patterns and characters represented record the beliefs and genealogies (whakapapa) of Māori. Tattoo especially will play in a lot into Luthic worshippers especially for clans in certain regions of (my homebrewed parts and cultures) of Wildemount that will display more diverse and influenced cultural traditions. BUT because I haven’t done all the research I want on that subject yet I will at this point refrain from commenting much further on the use of Maori cultural influence because its really important to me to get it right.

I went off on a bit of a ramble but hopefully this was informative! I’ve had a lot of fun developing this stuff for my campaign, characters and players and am glad to share it!