iron-hearted
Bite the hand that feeds
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“What the fuck is happening?”
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Strange straw structures have erected themselves around the island over night. To the north standing tall enough to be seen past a forest is a straw rat. To the south, tall as the trees is a straw turkey. To the east and west the strawfigures sit between the two heights, one a hound and the other a tigershark. All are decked in winter’s feast ribbons, though a closer inspection may bring forth the word “bound” instead. Never the less they are inanimate and flammable.
Punk has already climbed the tigershark, torch in-hand, contemplating the destruction of the massive ‘beast.’
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Your Muse as a Deity
Tagged by: @woodlandsandwanderers
Tagging: uhhh idk
GOD OF: justified rebellion, advancement, public arts, authenticity, justice, music, anger, identity, trust, connection, vengeance
ASSOCIATED WITH: The crunch of gravel underneath heavy boots, the feeling of wind in one’s hair, late nights spent wide awake laughing with close friends, bright neon lights on a dark street, pools of motor oil in the streets. The tightness in one’s throat and the warmth in their face when anger boils to the surface, clenched fists and a set jaw, bruised knuckles. The urge to defy all law but your own. The weight of long-kept secrets. The urge to run away. Fire.
SACRED PLANTS: Amaryllis, Calytrix, Devil’s Snare, Stinging Nettle, Black Roses, Cypress
SACRED STONES/GEMS: Asphalt, Concrete, Aragonite, Hematite, Pyrite, Iron, Mahogany Obsidian
SACRED ANIMALS: Scorpions, Snakes, Crustaceans, Bats, Felines
COLORS: Charcoal black, dark grey, grey, rust orange, bright orange, vibrant red, deep purple
FOOD: Spicy and Savory. street foods- especially the stranger ones. Things consumed by the everyday person when there’s no time for a home-cooked meal, or just when the craving hits. The sort of food one tries to try something new, and ends up discovering a new love for. Things such as fried rattlesnake, scorpion pops, street tacos, and snack chips are popular choices with her.
SCENTS: Gasoline, Smoke, Motor Oil, Fresh Spraypaint, New Leather, Rust, Alcohol, Freshly-laid Pavement
ACCEPTED OFFERINGS/METHODS TO HONOR: Indirect worship. Punk has never liked direct acknowledgement, and never will. Worship of the cybernetic god is best shown in everyday acts. Offerings and gifts will be rejected or ignored, as she prefers to remain uninvolved in the lives of others, and does not wish for her existence to influence the decisions of others.
The best way to worship is to remain true to oneself, to do all things with genuine intent, to treat others as equals and never treat anyone as lesser or subordinate. Standing with those facing mistreatment, metaphorically spitting in the face of authority, being kind in a world full of cruelty. Do no harm, but take no shit.
WAYS TO GAIN THE IRE: Dishonesty, mistreatment of others, being the cause of injustice, attempting to stake oneself as an authority over others
Despite her title as the god of anger, Punk is difficult to earn the ire of- at least in any notable capacity. She believes firmly in the mantra to live and let live so long as no harm is done. However, to hurt an undeserving person with full intent to do so is a quick way to earn the god’s wrath, and that is not something she will hesitate to express despite her withdraw from the lives of mortals otherwise.
Unfaithful partners, intentional abusers, crooked politicians, corporate heads, the extremely wealthy, and much of their ilk will be finding themselves a target of Punk’s ire with ease due to the misery they cause in the lives of others. She cannot stand those that would intentionally do unnecessary wrong or impose upon someone else’s right to comfortable existence.
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The only warning for the cyborg is a courtesy knock against a chest before a brown blur enters in punk’s vicinity. Before they know it, a THUNK of fish hitting metal is heard as they are promptly smacked by the ‘weapon’ wielded by the blur and it hits the floor. The blur is gone by the time it hits the floor, kinda looks like a bear as it was leaving.
The fish is… not a fish at all! It’s a coconut crab!
“What the f-AGH!” is the cyborg’s reply to the smackdown, which startles her more than it hurts, knocking her flat on her ass.
Puzzled, she picks up the crab and gets back up. There’s a note attached, reading MERRY THANKSGIVING, signed off by some W & K. Punk isnt sure she knows who that is, but hey, she’ll accept a free…. Whatever this thing is. She thinks she’ll name it Pincher Joe.
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Punk sits and listens to him struggle to find the appropriate title for them, just kind of gawking absently at him until he settles on something. Friend. She likes that, she thinks.
Buuuut the fact that people don’t leave is… concerning. She wonders how she didn’t know that, usually she knows things. This place has been a little hard on the foresight, though, when everything is so new.
“…Well, I think I’m okay with that, actually.” They shrug after some contemplation. “Admittedly, I was kind of sad thinking I’d have to go back after I-“ they shake their head. “Well, point is, I like being outside. It’s new, and it’s cool, and I like it.”
(iron-hearted) ❛ i think i’m getting pretty good at this pumpkin carving business. ❜ Spoken oh so confidently to herself while she stands there next to… what is supposed to be a jack o lantern, but is more or less just a pumpkin with a big hole crushed in the front. It… doesn’t seem like Punk’s aware someone else is nearby.
Woodie stops to watch, looking Punk over before settling his gaze on the unfortunate squash. Could have been a pie, he thinks, but what's had a hole punched in it has had a hole punched in it. No good making any comment, though. If you don't have anything nice to say, you're better off shuttin your mouth and stitchin it that way.
That's how Momma had always put it, anyway.
Nevertheless, he tries.
"Was there eh, somethin ya were goin' fer, there?"
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i don’t know where this anger came from
it boils all the same
sometimes it escapes
bruised knuckles
or a scream that burns
i try to hide it.
i try to pretend its not there
but, i’ve found
a fire still has a way of blazing,
still eats you alive,
even if you aren’t looking
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Why does t r a g e d y exist?
Because you are full of rage.
Why are you full of rage?
Because you are full of grief.
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i died in that house
and whoever came back
wasn’t me
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… . .
they put me in the ground
but I’m back from the dead
… . .
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I’m something DANGEROUS;
with g u n p o w d e r in my VEINS
and DAGGERS in my g a z e
I’m a l i v i n g WEAPON —
a t i c k i n g TIMEBOMB
— and you can’t DISARM me
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i’ve been sailing through the sky like an untethered star
nothing to tell me where i’m going
or where i’ve been
or when i’ll finally stop
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❌(GR verse) Any beef you've buried the hatchet of?
“Totally. I forgive people soooo easy, you wouldn’t believe. Especially the fucker that put me in this situation.”
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