#the seven deadly sins of it all is so great | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr was attacked by a cross-site scripting worm deployed by the Internet troll group GNAA on Dec 3, 2012.

#the seven deadly sins of it all is so great

novelconcepts · 7 months

Text

Fall of the House of Usher has everything, tbh. Seven Deadly Sins family. Everyone’s queer. No one has a moral compass. Nightmare goblin energy everywhere. The most grotesque deaths you’ve ever seen. Hilarious snark. The hottest women in the world. Carla Gugino in fifteen different wigs. Violent lesbians. Cats coming out on top. Cool tattoos. Orgiastic vibes. Katie Parker being Just A Lady, for once. Terrific hair. A granddaughter who takes no shit. Intimacy issues galore. Storytime. Storytime. Storytime.

#the fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher spoilers #tfothou spoilers #it somehow manages to be the least and most Flanagan thing at the same time #everyone’s awful but what are ghosts? guilt. grief. a wish. a dream. penance.#everyone sucks ass but what is the most important thing we can do for each other? listen. tell stories. immortalize through words.#the seven deadly sins of it all is so great #the denouncing of capitalism and greed is so great #it won’t live in my chest for two years like the haunting anthology but it was super fun and I’ll be thinking about it for a while

1K notes · View notes

48787 · 1 month

Text

Fun fact, when someone picks a new deadly sin to represent themself, you can actually eat and become their old one without needing to compromise your previous deadly sins!!

You don't have to be just one! You're actually intended to have quite a few of them, in fact! It's a strange system, I would've designed it differently, but that's just one of the tips and tricks I learned over the years about the Abrihamic meta, if you're trying to minmax.

This system does lead to some people being pressured into picking new sins so the pressurer can maximize sin intake, however it is also important to remember that once you reach all 7 you either (1.) run out and reset your method of sin intake by picking a new starting sin and counting from 1 again or (2.) move on to a new model of sin measurement (Such as Dante's Inferno layers of hell, for instance) and need to retrofit old sins into new ones, which is almost like a soft reset of sorts (For example, needing to figure out how to translate Sloth into the layers structure while accounting for thematic overlaps).

Point (2.) can get complicated when going from a model with more sins to a model with less sins. You have to figure out which sins are being conglomerated and consolidated as well as distributing importance semi-consistently, because you need to make sure there is at least one in the new model that you haven't taken yet.

There, of course, is the universal truth that "You are all Sin all at once and You only wish to quantify sins in the first place to pretend like You are excluded from sins that You are actively embodying (By being Sin, in Sin's entirety)" but that really is just a 1-sin binary model... which necessitates a 0 to explain its existence as 1 in the first place... You get it. The reason why we pick these models is because it's fun.

Sure We are God, but we knew that already and want to pretend like there's more to it than that because it's fun. Sin is fun!! That's why people keep dying (Or living but being tortured through living) for Our sins (It very much did not start with the one big example you're probably thinking of). It's fun!!

Just. Maybe stop dying. I get it can be fun for you, more power to you or whatever, but dying also kinda blows. I know I will sometimes say Till All Are One or whatever but I wanna be One with You... even though you'd be there regardless, under All after all... Whatever.

Anyway if you're wondering, I just ate Wrath, which puts me at:

Wrath

Lust

Gluttony

And I've been teasing at Greed for a while. Though, those are just the ones that are compliant with both the Deadly model and the Inferno model, it gets a bit more complicated considering my Deadly root was Pride and I haven't given that up yet, so to separate the models a bit it'd actually be

Deadly:

Wrath

Lust

Gluttony

Pride

With Greed, Sloth, and Envy missing (Sloth is actually maybe next for my deadly chart, and Envy flickers in and out on its own)

Inferno:

Wrath

Lust

Greed

Gluttony

Treachery

Limbo

With Heresy, Violence, and Fraud regrettably missing (The three flicker like Envy in the Deadly model but it's because sometimes I'm leaning more towards the Deadly model so it is Envy and sometimes I'm in the Inferno model so Envy gets interpreted as one or two of the three without completing it outright, with the stressing on one over the other two or two over the other one allowing for enough of a buffer to be fickle. This is also the reason why Greed is locked in for Inferno but not for Deadly. I tend to prefer Inferno, after all.)

Anyway, yeah, I was just using myself as an example. But if you're thinking about dropping sloth for something else hmu I'll eat it after you.

You also don't have to drop them, if this proves anything it should be proving that you can be multiple at once (That's kinda the whole point actually) so striving to be multiple instead of just relying on revelations to begin swapping might be a game changer for you if you're trying to grapple with your original sins and don't know how to respec without resetting

#Another post that was supposed to be smaller than it ended up being #Triune posting #It's tough because Comedy is both the rule of threes *and* all about timing.#Yet another triune.#It's why I like Dante's Inferno. Multiple of 3. Able to mix and match. It's very nice and simply.#The Seven Deadly Sins are obviously iconic and form enough triunes on their own even despite not being a multiple of 3 #7 is very good because then it's 6 + 1 or 9 - 2 #But I don't wanna talk about math too much.#My mother has weird mathematician trauma and I don't wanna get too into special numbers or else I might accidentally bring it up around her #And people seem to not like seeing math being given symbolic meaning for whatever reason. It's all symbolic anyway they're literal symbols.#but thats fine.#I just need to post this haha just been getting distracted #My brain is like a “Bad writing prompts autogenerator” on one thread and a “Fuck these prompts. I can write so much better” on the other.#It's great!!#yippie peace through tyranny!!

3 notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 8 months

Text

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

2K notes · View notes

thornsnvultures · 10 months

Text

everything I want...

bucky barnes x plus size!avenger!reader

summary: being sent on a mission with bucky should be a piece of cake, but he's been acting strange around you for weeks now and you have no clue why.

cw: SMUT, fingering, oral sex (fem rec), shower sex, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, breath play, breeding kink, pregnancy/lactation kink (very little), possessive pervy bucky (he gets a bit feral in this one), solo masturbation mention (m), steve rogers meddling being a great wingman, angst with a happy ending, 4.4k words

a/n: my entry for the lovely @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event 🖤 Lust is the sin I chose for this fic and really it was an excuse to write filth lol I really hope you enjoy it! (and a quick thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep going, this fic wouldn't be here without you)

18+ MINORS DNI

-----

"You'll be with Barnes for this mission. Get in, get out, no big deal. We've done this before and it doesn't look like it'll be much of a problem."

Steve smiles politely at you as he hands you the briefing folder with all the info on where you'll be going and why.

"If it's so easy why doesn't Barnes go alone?"

You regret opening your mouth as soon as the words come out, choosing to bite your lip and open the folder instead of looking at Steve's patented Look of Disapproval.

"Be ready and on the jet in two hours," Steve sighs.

"Yes, Captain."

Steve marches out of the room, always moving like a man on a mission even when he's not on one. No, this one's just you and Bucky. The man who's been avoiding you like the plague the last few weeks. Someone who you thought was at least a friendly acquaintance, a close colleague maybe.

He went from joking with you on the jet and bringing you coffee when he got one for himself from the canteen, to not even looking at you. Like even daring to lift his head when you walked by would get him booted from the team and sent back to Hydra.

You wouldn't say the two of you were close, but being a part of this team, working with these people; it was hard making friends with people who didn't understand, who didn't live on the compound. Sure there were SHIELD agents you saw here and there at the gym or around medical or the offices. But you saw Bucky damn near every day since you joined the team. And now out of the blue he was pretending like you didn't exist.

It didn't help that you had a not so teeny tiny crush on the man either.

Maybe this mission was a peace offering, Steve's way of getting the two of you to rebuild, reconnect. For the betterment of the team...or whatever. The sooner you got it done, the sooner you could get home and get away; from Bucky and from your own hurt feelings.

-----

Steve was right, the mission didn't take long at all. You were able to get in and get out with the information you needed with little to no fuss. Barnes was the perfect partner to watch your six with the way he was avoiding you and it totally didn't bother you that he hadn't said a word to you outside of what was strictly necessary. Totally.

When you got back to the hotel, Bucky got on the phone with Steve right away, still avoiding. He did need to call Steve to debrief, but he wasn't even saying much, just standing there with the phone to his ear, grunting every now and then.

Frustrated, you sat on the edge of the bed and pulled of your boots. Bucky was facing the window, looking over the city. The hotel room was modest, but modest for Tony Stark's standards was still luxurious and you wanted to take advantage of the shower that was practically the size of your bedroom back home before you guys left. You weren't waiting for Bucky to shower first.

"I'm taking a shower," you called out. Bucky made a noise but didn't turn around. His back muscles shifted against the tight black tshirt he wore when he shrugged at something Steve must've said over the phone. You couldn't hear what they were discussing but you could sense Bucky's tension from across the room. From the way he looked you'd think the mission was a failure, that he was reporting back with terrible news even though you know everything went well. Your fingers itched to rub soothing circles over his back, ease some of that tension away...

Shower, think of the shower. He doesn't deserve it.

Once you figured out which knobs controlled which of the four differently angled shower heads, you hopped in. Your clothes lay discarded on the sink as steam filled the room. It was heavenly. You'd have to ask Tony about installing a system like this in your apartment.

As you soaped up with the hotel body wash, your mind started to wander to the same person it always seemed to these days.

Part of why Bucky's sudden rejection was so painful was how much you'd grown to care about him. It felt silly, having a crush like this at your grown ass age, but that's what it was. Your stomach fluttering, your heart racing. You hoped he didn't know just how much he affected you every time he brought you coffee or talked to you or sat near you in a meeting.

Maybe that's why he's been avoiding you, maybe he caught on and...he doesn't feel the same way. Maybe he's trying to put distance between the two of you so you'd get the hint.

God, how embarrassing. You stand there with your hands on your chest, over your breaking heart, and try to hold it together instead of blabbering like a baby.

Of course he doesn't want you. He's a super soldier, practically a God. And he's been through so much. He's not the type to want a...girlfriend right now, especially someone on the team.

Suds drip from your breasts as you try to finish your shower, bending over to scrub your feet while you try not to cry. It's silly, silly and stupid. But you were hoping that even if he didn't like you that way, that you wouldn't lose a friend too.

The thought of him never speaking to you again makes a tear finally fight its way free and you choke out a sob as it falls down your cheek. You hope the pounding water is enough to mask your choking sobs but who knows. Your emotions are all over the place. You can't seem to stop crying and you're angry. Angry at Steve for putting you on this mission, angry at your tears and angry that Bucky might be totally lost to you.

-----

Bucky can smell you.

He stands by the hotel window, holding the bridge of his nose like that'll make it stop. It never does. You're always there, invading his senses. Not just your body wash or the shampoo you use, or the heavy floral stuff the hotel has stocked up in the bathroom. He's trying not to imagine you using the individually wrapped bars of soap to lather yourself up not twenty feet away from him, but just like his hand on his nose, nothing helps.

No, even under all the artificial stuff, it's you that drives his senses wild. Something encoded in your goddamn DNA that fries his brain.

It took him a while to figure out what it was that made it hard to be around you. He could ignore it at first, when you first joined the team. He was still fresh himself, finally coming back to be a do-gooder with Steve and the team after talking time to heal and scrape away what was left of Hydra's programming. There wasn't time to acknowledge the way his dick twitched every time you entered the room. It wasn't appropriate. And Steve would kick his ass for chatting up the newcomer anyway.

But as the weeks and months drew on, as he found himself getting more comfortable, more used to a routine that always seemed to revolve around you, he couldn't ignore it.

He felt like a dog in heat. Most of the time he could manage it, but there were days out of every month where he'd scramble for the nearest bathroom, broom closet, empty meeting room, anything after being with you for even five minutes so he could relieve himself. Biting his lip until he bled to keep from cursing your name as he worked his fist over his cock until there was nothing left.

It was maddening, the shift in your scent. He craved you constantly, but those times when his needs couldn't be ignored he felt out of control. Like he was a snap of your fingers away from becoming him again.

It wasn't until you left your phone unattended in the compound gym that things started to make sense.

You had been chatting on the treadmill with a SHIELD agent. Bucky pretended to be focused on his workout while he listened in to your conversation. Your agent friend was talking about her and her partner trying for a baby so you recommended a period tracker app that you had been using for a while.

"It's great! After you've been using it for a few months it can predict when you'll be ovulating for max baby making potential."

Your friend laughed at the saucy tone in your voice, Bucky nearly dropped the massive dumbell he was curling on his foot. Images of you, breasts heavy and leaking, swollen and pregnant with his child was all he could see. And fuck him, he wanted it, needed it, craved it.

So when your friend was gone and you hopped off the treadmill momentarily in search of your water bottle, leaving your phone behind, Bucky took his chance to sneak a quick look.

It was all right there. He remembers the last day he could smell you so strongly he could barely stand it. He almost got caught in the gym showers, slamming a crack into the tile wall when he came so hard his vision went black with the scent of you burned in his brain. He didn't see you for two days after that but when he did there was a coppery edge to your scent. And the app on your phone proved it.

You were ovulating. Your body was practically screaming for him, demanding that he do what he was made to do and breed your sweet cunt. His need to rut into you, to bury himself deep and pump you full of his cum over and over, no matter how long it took until it sticks, finally made sense.

Bucky already knew he cared for you, but he didn't want to scare you, overwhelm you. He wanted to do right by you, take you on dates, show you how special you are to him. But this feral need to claim you wasn't stopping any time soon either. Maybe, he thought, he should give you some space. Give whatever this feeling was done distance and it would calm down. Then...then he could tell you how he felt. He needed to clear your scent from his mind before he was trapped in a constant state of relieving himself by his own hand month after month, wasting what belonged to you in tissues and shower drains.

-----

So he stayed away, for an entire month at that, before Steve got sick of his shit excuses and put the two of you on this mission together.

"Whatever's going on with you two, you need to work it out. We're not in forth grade any more, Buck, you can't pretend a girl has cooties just cause you feel weird about liking her."

Bucky tensed as he heard her boots fall to the floor behind him.

"I don't-"

"Don't bullshit me, Bucky."

"Language," Bucky's lip quirked, almost a smile.

"I'm taking a shower," you called from the other side of the room. Bucky grunted, not trusting himself to say anything more. He could feel your eyes on him.

"Just talk to her. I know what you're gonna say, she deserves better than a jerk like you. But she doesn't deserve the cold shoulder."

Bucky shrugged, forgetting that Steve couldn't see him. He heard the bathroom door click shut and his forehead dropped against the window.

"You don't get it, Steve. She's different. I can't control myself around her. I'm hanging on by a thread here."

Steve sighs and says something else but Bucky barely hears it over the sound of running water and your clothes hitting the floor.

"Bucky, you there?"

Shit.

"Sorry, I should...I gotta go."

"She likes you too, idiot." A part of him knew but hearing it out loud felt surreal. "I got the same senses you do. Better even," Bucky shakes his head at Steve's teasing, "I can hear her pulse pick up when she looks at you, how her breathing changes. How she sits close to you, touches you whenever she can."

Bucky shivers thinking of your hands on him, pulling him into your shower with you, letting him get close enough to touch you the way he's dying to touch you.

"And you know I can smell how wet she gets when y-"

"Watch it, Rogers," Bucky snaps with a growl in his throat.

"Then get your shit together, Barnes! She wants you too, you're not gonna scare her off."

Bucky wants to tell Steve he doesn't have any idea what he's talking about when he hears what sounds like crying coming from the bathroom.

"Alright, if you're done playing matchmaker I gotta go."

Bucky hangs up before Steve can say another word and tosses his phone on the bed. Before he can think better of it his boots are off and he's pulling his shirt up and over his head. His heart is being torn to shreds with every sob that shudders through thin walls and he has the sinking feeling that it's all his fault.

-----

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but you feel the rush of cool air hitting your back. Before you can wipe away your tears and yell at Bucky for coming in before you were finished, he's right there. His hands grip your waist and turn you around.

"Bucky.

"Shh, I've got you."

He pulls you in, crushing you to his bare chest in a fierce hug. You don't know what's happening or why but he's here. Finally he's here and you're not gonna do a thing to stop it.

Your face is still wet with tears when he kisses you, consumes you, more like. His lips, teeth, tongue invading your mouth and begging you to open up and let him take all of you. You're shaking when he lets you go long enough to breathe, but his hands don't let you go, only wrapping around tighter and lifting you up against his broad chest when he feels your legs go weak.

It's everything you've every dreamed of, there's no way it's real. He's naked for fuck's sake. You can see his discarded jeans on the floor by the door, feel the evidence of his nudity pressing long and thick against your thigh.

His lips work down the length of your neck, down your chest, to suck a puckered, soapy nipple into his mouth. He's looking up at you with those murky blue eyes and your mind goes blank. You don't care why he chose now of all times to see you, to touch you, as long as he doesn't stop, as long as he keeps sucking and licking and biting you just like that. And you really must've hit your head because, fuck, you're already this close to coming and that's never happened before.

Your thighs press together, searching for any kind of friction, as you tug on Bucky's hair. When you pull, his eyes roll back. He groans, the noise shooting straight to your pussy.

Still holding you up with one hand, Bucky bullies your thighs apart with the other, spreading you open and on your tip toes so he can slide his fingers over your cunt. Two thick digits slip between your folds and shove into your cunt. You gasp, writhing around his fingers. It's too much, you feel so fucking full you can barely stand it. But Bucky keeps working his fingers, scissoring them, spreading them deep as he pumps them in and out. Your nails scrape against his skin, scrambling across his broad shoulders to find purchase as he brings you careening fast over the edge until you're plummeting, screaming his name as you spasm around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers away and you watch, dazed and panting as he sucks them clean. The way he moans around his fingers nearly has you coming again.

"Bucky, please," you don't know what you're asking for but you don't care. You'll gladly take anything he gives you.

"Need more," he groans, his eyes glazed. "Can I have more, angel?"

You're nodding wildly as he sits you down on the shower bench. Hot water rains down on his back and he's lifting your feet up on the bench so he can keep you spread wide open. His big hands clamp down on your thighs and it would be almost painful if you weren't distracted by the way his mouth latched onto your clit.

"Fuck! Bucky, oh my god," there wasn't any stopping your rambling, begging, pleading. It was too much, too good. Bucky's moans vibrated to your core. He feasted on you like you were his last meal, licking every drop of your juices, sucking each fold before fucking into you with his tongue.

You could think, talk, breathe. All you knew was Bucky's touch as he made you come again. Your legs shook and your back arched and it went on for what felt like forever, this mind blowing pleasure that you almost didn't feel worthy of. That he looked up at you as he cleaned you up with his tongue like you were everything to him in this moment made your eyes well up again for being so emotional.

A look of worry wrinkles Bucky's brow.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

With a shaky hand you brushed back an errant hair from his forehead and caressed his cheek. "No, I'm fine. Sorry, I just get emotional like this before, y'know..." You didn't want say it, especially not to a guy you liked right after he ate you out. It was hard to look at him still sitting there between your legs, your face feeling hotter by the second.

"You mean before your period?"

You sputtered and tried to close your legs. No way, there's no way you're talking about your period with your dream man with your legs spread open like he's your gyno.

"Don't hide from me," Bucky growled. You watched, your jaw dropping, as he nuzzled his nose into your mound at the apex of your sex and breathed in deep, filling his lungs with your scent.

"How did you know?"

"Your phone, you left it open at the gym." Bucky doesn't stop kissing your mound, your belly. It's like he's a cat and you're the catnip. "And I can smell it on you. Your scent changes, gets...deeper somehow. Like you're calling to me."

Suddenly he's lifting you up and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist with a shout of surprise. Bucky grabs one of the giant hotel towels on his way out of the bathroom, carrying you like it's nothing. It is for him, but it's jarring. You always forget that he's not just some guy. Like the fact that his enhanced senses don't just include hearing and sight. Of fucking course he can scent you like a bloodhound.

Bucky lays out the big, fluffy towel and drops you on it, watching with hunger in his eyes as you jiggle when your body bounces on the mattress. You want to cover yourself with your arms and squeeze your legs shut, but you hear his voice in your head.

"Don't hide from me."

Bucky crawls on top of you, his thick arms and broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. It's just him and you and this bed. And between you his cock pushes thick and needy against your weeping cunt. His hips twitch as he kisses you, lightly rubbing the thick vein running down his cock through your folds.

"Please, Bucky," you whine against his lips.

His forehead rests against yours briefly before he sits back on his heels. Bucky's heavy-lidded gaze is hungry, staring at the way your cream coats his cock.

"Please don't tease me, Bucky," your plea comes out shaky and unsure. "I can't take it."

Bucky caresses your cheek, tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb.

"If you let me in, I don't think I'll ever leave."

Your brows pinch, your heart hammers away in your throat. You get the feeling he doesn't just mean in the physical sense.

"I don't want you to leave."

Bucky's eyes shut and his jaw clenches and you reach for him. To take his face in your hands so you can pull him close and look into those beautiful blue eyes when he finally thrusts inside. And he lets you.

You hold him in your hands as his whole body shakes. You've never felt so full, so complete, but you need more. If only he'd move, you need him to move.

"Bucky-"

The growl that explodes from deep in Bucky's chest is the only warning you get before he pulls back, nearly all the way out, and slams back in. The force of it shoves the air from your lungs and you can scarcely catch your breath before he does it again and again, picking up pace until he's hammering into you, pounding you into the mattress. His groin grinds against your pelvis with every deep thrust, the thatch of hair there teasing your clit.

Bucky takes you by the throat, tenderly at first, saying, "Look at me. Don't look away, beautiful, keep those eyes open."

It's a struggle but those blue eyes ground you as your mind tries to float away. You don't know what sounds you're making, what you're even saying but Bucky shushes you, tells you he's got you, you're his.

"My pussy. Mine to fill up, right, beautiful? All mine."

You nod your head as best you can with his fingers on your jaw, babbling nonsense. He doesn't slow or stop, that super-soldier stamina helping him keep a brutal pace.

Bucky grabs your right thigh, turning it over so it's on top of your left and holding it there with the hand not on your throat. Your eyes roll back at the way the new position has him grinding against your inner walls. You thought you felt full before, but this is something else entirely.

Your hands fly up to Bucky's forearm, desperate for a part of him to hold on to as he looms over you, taking what belongs to him. His hand on the meat of your thigh tightens as he grunts and groans and you grip at the hand on your throat, silently begging for his gentle hold to tighten too.

His eyes soften, as he shifts his hand and squeezes. This man could end you right here, right now, with a twitch of his finger but he's looking at you like you're delicate, so fucking delicate and it doesn't make any sense. Your brain is fried, everything feels like too much and just right at the same time. Like you're meant to be here under him, full of him, taking everything he gives you.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Your legs shake under his grip and you feel yourself implode. His words ricochet around your head as you come, coating his cock, and the sheets, with your release.

Bucky's grip on your throat loosens and he collapses on top of you, capturing your lips with his, cradling his arms around you. His full weight on top of your twisted, bent body is a welcome pressure. You never want him to leave.

"Mine," he growls again. "Gotta fill you up, breed this sweet little cunt so everyone knows you're mine. I can't hold back anymore. Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours, Bucky," you cry, "all yours. Only yours."

Bucky lifts your right leg up over his shoulder, spreading you wide open. He brings his thick fingers down on your messy cunt with a wet slap and you cry out, shaking as you come again.

"That's it, beautiful. Milk me fucking dry."

Bucky's hips stutter and go still and he shouts, spilling inside you, filling you to the brim.

Bucky lets your leg fall from his shoulder and collapses on top of you. Before he can suffocate you, not that you'd mind, he rolls the two of you onto your side and holds you tight to his chest. You can feel his release slipping out, oozing down your thigh. There's so much, you don't even want to think about the clean up. Not now, not when it's so much easier to think about how good it feels to be here, in his arms.

"You're mine," Bucky whispers into your hair, taking a heavy breath, filling his lungs with your scent.

"All yours," you smile, your cheek pressing against his solid chest.

"I mean it. Not just here, not just tonight. I want to make you mine, angel."

Bucky sounds so serious it almost worries you. You turn your head where it rests on his bicep, trying to not get distracted by how big it is. Those blue eyes of his are soft but searching your face, like he needs you to understand, to know that he means it.

"I want that, Bucky. I want it so bad."

Your voice is quiet but you know he can hear you loud and clear, can hear the desperation in his voice mirrored back in yours.

His big hands roam your body, caressing your breast, your hips, like he wants to touch you everywhere all at once. You help him settle on a place by lifting your leg and curling it over his hip. You can see it on Bucky's face, how much he needs you. The way your combined scents make his nostrils flare, the tightening of his jaw. His fingers leave your hip and delve between the juncture of your thighs, a groan rumbling through his chest.

"Bucky," you pant as his fingers play in the mess he made, slipping in and out of your cunt.

He kisses your forehead, continuing to work you open once again.

"Need to have you again, angel." Bucky doesn't wait for you to respond before he's guiding himself in til you're full to bursting. "Gotta keep you stuffed full, baby."

You shudder at his words, his hands roaming your body.

"I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

---

🖤

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #my fics

3K notes · View notes

lovelybrooke · 2 months

Note

Hey there, i wanted to say i enjoy the immortal reader series so far, now im wondering how does the angels and overlords reaction on seeing them back in hell? I was wondering since the immortal reader met I.M.P.

I might write an actually piece discussing their reactions later, but this is just some ramblings.

I don't know how they would find out, however once they do they are doing everything in their power to get you back to them.

The Hotel Gang has the most power, since Charlie, who I believe is the only one allowed to travel through the other rings of hell, would pull a "do you know who my dad is?" to get you back. If Stolas is aware of reader at this point, her is the only one who could maybe hold her back, but that's a big maybe.

The Angels also have some power, however not that much. I think that Sera isn't willing to go down there for you, since she can pretty much always keep an eye on you, so as long as you're safe there is no reason for intervening. Adam thinks otherwise, and would love to go down there are murder all of Imp city, but Sera won't let him.

The Overlords don't have much power in this situation. They can't travel in between the rings, and most of the people they have working for them are sinners, so even if they are aware of where you are they can't do much to get you back. The most they could do is keep an eye on you while you go about your time in I.M.P city.

Either way, I.M.P. really can't do much if anyone came to take you. They're great fighters, when it comes to fighting humans. When it comes to angels and overlords, there isn't much to be done...

That is, unless you've come to befriend one of the Seven Deadly Sins, even Stolas. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Ars Goetia and the Seven Deadly Sins are both stronger than the Overlords, only being outmatched by the Morningstar's. Even if Charlie is strong, she wouldn't want to start significant conflict with other parts of hell, so there's a small chance you would stay with I.M.P. longer than expected.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #platonic yandere helluva boss #yandere helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #platonic yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel

186 notes · View notes

another-lost-mc · 9 months

Note

Hii, first of all, i love your writing 💕 and I hope you're doing well.

How do you think the bros would react watching the movie Se7en?

I think it would be interesting to see their reactions since the theme surrounds the seven deadly sins.

a/n: I love this movie! I re-watched while I worked on this since it's been a while. I wrote the blurbs in order of the sins as they're portrayed in the film.

➤ watching the movie se7en | the demon brothers

1k words | x gn!reader | nsfw | violence and dark/disturbing themes, demons thinking about demon things, movie spoilers

BEELZEBUB | the gluttony scene

Any other time, he'd be joking that if he had to die, he wants to die eating. He understands that now's probably not the best time to tell you that.

He feels a bit sad for some reason. He's not sure if it's the poor bloke's death on screen or the movie's gritty atmosphere in general.

Ravenous hunger has its downsides, but most of the time he enjoys eating food. He can understand why being forced to eat would be emotional and literal torture for someone.

He knows he could eat that much pasta without breaking a sweat, but he doubts it would be comforting to you so he doesn't say it out loud.

He wonders how much he'd have to eat for his body to break down in protest of finally being too full, but he keeps that to himself too.

MAMMON | the greed scene

It's not a horror movie but the dark vibe still gives him the creeps.

He hasn't had to look away (yet) but he tucks you closer to his side so you can cuddle. You can hide your face in his chest for the gross parts if they bother you, he won’t tease you.

He sorta gets an inkling about the greed motif— something about a scummy lawyer and money trading hands is his first guess about why this guy was targeted.

Eh, close enough.

There are a lotta ways to kill someone with greed without actually killing them, y’know.

(He doesn’t wanna talk about ‘em though. He doesn’t want you to think badly of him.)

BELPHEGOR | the sloth scene

What the actual fuck.

He was feeling a bit sleepy watching the movie up to this point, but he's not anymore.

He understands the interpretation of his sin, but he's surprised to see such an ugly version of it in a human world movie like this.

If he senses that you're uncomfortable, he tries to distract you until the scene ends.

Now seems like a great time to pause the movie so you can both get up and get a drink, or stretch—or maybe go for a nap if you're tired and don't want to finish it right now.

(He's going to make sure you don't have bad dreams after this.)

ASMODEUS | the lust scene

He's had custom sex toys made before, but something like this? Yeesh.

Literally fucking someone to death seems so brutal, so unromantic. This isn't how he would do it, but he doesn't tell you that; he doesn't want to scare you.

(If he had to kill someone using his sin, he'd fuck them before ripping them open from stomach to sternum.)

(If he had to kill you with his sin, he’d make love to you until you eventually fall asleep. Your death will be instant and painless before he cuts out your heart and eats it.)

He notices that this part of the movie made you squirm in your seat more than the others so far.

Maybe a warm bath and cuddling in his bed will help you relax once the movie's over. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to hold you.

LUCIFER | the pride scene

It feels anti-climactic compared to some of the other portrayals of sin so far, but he appreciates the simplicity. He was afraid it would be needlessly gruesome like the others.

Pride is insidious, the mother of all sins, the first deadly bloom that causes all others to fester and rot on the vine.

He can’t help the way his mind wanders after this. As an angel, he tried to resist sin. As a demon, he embraces it. Humans are weak and he knows for many, pride is their downfall.

You might not believe you could be pushed to make such a fatal choice, but Lucifer senses the way your own blend of pride lingers within you too.

He keeps silent about those thoughts and he wraps his arm around you for the rest of the film.

LEVIATHAN | the envy scene

He’s unusually quiet. He doesn’t complain or whine about how boring it is, and he doesn’t reach for his handheld either. Sometimes he looks puzzled by what’s on screen, and other times he seems contemplative.

He’s a little surprised by the ending. Speechless almost. He understands envy, but to do all this?

And the part with the wife, well...he thinks it's just a bit of an overreaction, don't you?

He can’t help but glance at you once the movie's over. He thinks about life before you and life with you now; he can't imagine life without you in it anymore.

Would he be capable of that type of jealousy if you didn't choose him? If he had to watch someone else live their own happily ever after with you while he suffered alone?

Huh.

When the movie ends, he distracts you with an impromptu game night in his room and he cuddles with you in his tub after.

His tail curls around your leg as you drift off to sleep, and he realizes he'd do so much worse just to keep you by his side.

SATAN | the wrath scene

For the most part, he's been less interested in the portrayal of sins. He's totally wrapped up in the mystery aspect of the movie instead.

Throughout the entire film, he's muttered under his breath about certain things he noticed or his guess about what might happen next.

(He’s read all the books mentioned in the library scene too.)

He figured that the cop with the short fuse was going to be involved somehow with wrath. He actually thought the character was a bit annoying.

He does sympathize with the cop's behaviour at the end—all he has to do is think of someone hurting you and it makes him seethe with rage.

The reveal about the wife caught him completely off-guard but thinking about it later, it seems so obvious.

468 notes · View notes

weirdly-specific-but-ok · 2 months

Text

the antichrist's wellness influencer era

HELLO, SINNERS, welcome to my youtube channel, I'm Adam, the Antichrist, Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, father of lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness.

Today I want to talk to you about the law of attraction, a trend that's been circulating in the self-improvement community recently. And hey, I'm all about the law of attracting! TODAY WE'RE MANIFESTING OUR BEST, MOST SINFUL LIVES.

Now I know some of you are skeptical. Manifestation? What kind of nonsense is that, it's not for us Satanical sinners! Well, I'm here to tell you that is ABSOLUTELY IS. NOT JUST MANIFESTATION, BUT ITS SINFUL BROTHER, DELUSIONS.

LET ME SHARE A REAL LIFE STORY.

I HAVE USED MANIFESTATION MYSELF. IN FACT, I USED IT AT THE EARLY AGE OF ELEVEN. I USED IT TO REVERSE THE APOCALYPSE! Not only that, I delusioned my way out of my bloodline of darkness, made myself related to my adoptive family, created duck aliens, possessed my friends and defied heaven and hell!

SO YOU SEE, YOUR DELUSIONS CAN NOT ONLY MANIFEST YOUR FUTURE, BUT ALSO REWRITE YOUR PAST. BE DELULU. IT WORKS.

Of course, I then reclaimed my Antichrist identity for this Youtube channel, because my good friend Pepper said I needed to stick it to the patriarchy and shake the status quo of the current self-improvement clime. She then said this is not what she meant by that, but HEY! THE LESSON IS, DON'T FOLLOW THE PACK, CARVE YOUR OWN PATH, EVEN IF IT'S A STUPIDER ONE!

MY GOOD FRIEND CROWLEY ALSO MANIFESTED HIS WAY THROUGH THE DREAD SIGIL ODEGRA, DRIVING HIS CAR INTO FLAMES AND EMERGING THE OTHER SIDE.

ALL BECAUSE HE WAS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DELULU!

I TURNED THE HELLHOUND INTO MY LIL DOG NAMED DOG, AGAIN THROUGH SHEER DELULU!

THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY, SINNERS. I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THE POWER OF DELULU.

AS USUAL, MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR DAILY MINIMUM OF THREE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS. I'M GOING WITH SLOTH, GLUTTONY AND PRIDE! COMMENT BELOW WHAT SINS YOU'RE INDULGING IN TODAY, TRADITIONAL SEVEN OR OTHERWISE.

SIGNING OFF WITH MY SIGIL, THIS WAS THE ANTICHRIST. MAY SATAN GUIDE YOU DOWN THE ROAD TO HELL.

#AHAHAHHAHAHA I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE #RED BULL COFFEE SUGAR AND BRAINROT #good omens #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens fandom #adam young #crowley #the them #good omens s1 #the antichrist #pepper good omens #adam good omens #good omens brainrot #good omens crack #law of attraction #law of manifestation

180 notes · View notes

omophagic-beast · 5 months

Note

What is your Hogwarts house?

Hi! Im gonna assume this is in good faith once, and answer this by saying that im a trans man and have fully disconnected from harry potter because theyre bad books and jk rowling sucks if youd like to read something better id love to recommend some stuff! The Legend of Eli Monpress by Rachel Aaron is a series I like enough to put a quote from it on my arm, though I still hesitate to call it my favorite. It's about the greatest thief in the world as he tries to get his bounty as high as possible, accompanied by a swordsman wielding a mountain and a woman hosting the seed of a demon. The Keys to the Kingdom series by Garth Nyx was recommended to me by the lovely Jay Dragon and a few others at Metatopia this year, and I ended up devouring four of the seven books on the plane ride home. A child unwillingly goes through The Horrors, fighting seven angels who have been overtaken (in a sense) by the seven deadly sins. There's so much cool and interesting symbology throughout the series that's really fun to pick out when you notice it. Delicious in Dungeon is a manga by Ryoko Kui and definitely my favorite manga of all time. It's mainly about the importance of good food, as a group of adventurers end up having to traverse a dungeon with no supplies, surviving by eating the monsters within.

The Seep by Chana Porter is fun, if you're willing to get weird with it. Trina Goldberg-Oneka, a trans woman, finds herself devastated and unmoored after her wife leaves her to become a baby again. And by "fun" I mean it's a book that left me feeling like I was more of a person than I was before.

There's also plenty of really good webcomics out there, like Sakana, Bicycle Boy, Pia and The Tiny Little Things, A Better Place, We Go Together, Barbarous, Cold Sweat, ect, that you can simply find and read for free online! And if you simply must have wizards may I suggest making your own, the blog There's a TTRPG for that has a great post listing a bunch of good ttrpgs with that theme: https://theresattrpgforthat.tumblr.com/post/718030523649376256/theme-magic-and-mystics And speaking of games I'll cap this all off, for no particular reason, by recommending the game Let's Rob RJ McElhenny and Steal Her Golden Quill by Glaive Guisarme Games. It's fun and campy and a really good time.

#thanks for giving me this chance to talk about some media i really love!#corvid caws

154 notes · View notes

daytaker · 4 months

Text

Sins, Virtues, and Motivations: A Critical Analysis of Characters in Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

In this essay, I will argue that each demon brother some of the demon brothers can be associated with a sin (no duh), a virtue, and a core motivation--and that this motivation is best pursued through a synthesis of that sin and that virtue. Hegel would be very proud. Yes, this is critical media analysis. No, I will not try to explain the twisted, broken path that led me to this point in my life.

I will be looking at Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi in this study. Their core sins are obvious - Pride, Greed, and Envy. Their accompanying Virtues and Motivations are listed below.

I used the Seven Heavenly Virtues for this little game. These are Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, Temperance, Faith, Hope, and Charity.

They should not be confused with the Seven Capital Virtues, which are inversions of the Seven Deadly Sins. These are Humility, Charity, Kindness, Patience, Chastity, Temperance, and Diligence. I tried these first and damn were none of them easy to match up. Tell me, fandom for this mobile game designed for players to lust over hot demon men, which brother should have the "chastity" virtue?

Lucifer

Core Sin: Pride. Core Virtue: Fortitude. Core Motivation: To protect his family.

Lucifer's core motivation is to protect his brothers. He looks at this as a sort of penance for the outcome of the Great Celestial War. He knows that he's the reason they rebelled, and he feels responsible for their wellbeing. He is able to endure the relentless pressure of the responsibilities he puts on himself thanks to his core virtue, fortitude.

Fortitude is strongly associated with courage. Specifically, it is courage in the face of pain and adversity. We see him displaying this trait any time those he cares for are in jeopardy, and it often helps him make difficult decisions where neither outcome is ideal. Lucifer is decisive, canny, and accepts the consequences of his choices, good or bad.

His driving motivation is also bolstered by his core sin: pride. He views himself as ultra-competent, while his brothers consistently make mistakes; beyond that, it's only natural that he take responsibility for the choices of his brothers (like the choice to join him in rebelling) because he is so significant an influence as to virtually rob them of their autonomy.

This has led to Lucifer having a somewhat toxic relationship with his brothers. Lucifer often acts as a parental figure rather than a peer, while the rest of them are all in arrested development of some sort, often acting more like kids than the adults they insist they are.

Lucifer either doesn't recognize that by doing everything for the family on his own, he's stemming their ability to grow and learn, or he does know the consequences of what he's doing and he feels conflicted about it. He ultimately blames himself for the fact that they're all in the Devildom in the first place, living as avatars of sins to the extent that they struggle to function as independent adults.

So, while fortitude and pride allow Lucifer to simulate the act of protecting his family, it's a matter of perspective whether controlling every element of their lives is protection or harmful coddling.

Mammon

Core Sin: Greed. Core Virtue: Charity. Core Motivation: To be valued and valuable.

Mammon is simultaneously a vessel of greed and its inverse, charity. This is because his core motivation is twofold, and those are the rewards of greed and charity; to be valued - to fulfill a want, to be desired, to look flippin' cool - and to be valuable - to fulfill a need, to have inherent worth, to serve a purpose.

Setting aside his unhealthy relationship with money, let's examine how Mammon behaves and what his deeper interpersonal motivations tend to be. He clearly places a high value on his brothers and MC, and he has shown on multiple occasions that he is willing to put himself at risk to help or protect them. Early on in both the original game and in NightBringer, Mammon attempts to heroically rescue MC (and his younger brothers, in NightBringer). In both cases, though, Lucifer shows up and does it for him. Mammon's pursuit of his core motivation clashes with Lucifer's quest for his, and Lucifer is strong enough to simply take it from him. Although in NightBringer he and his brothers do earn the not-insubstantial reward of the title "Lords of the Underworld" after Lucifer's rescue, he appeared so dejected by Lucifer's oneupmanship that he spent a good portion of the next day sulking. In the original game, Mammon wants MC to promise that they won't be saved by anyone else besides him in the future. It appears that his greed for an improved status in his interpersonal relationships is left unfulfilled.

Mammon wants to be heroic - to be valuable - and he wants to be admired for it - to be valued. The cognitive dissonance that accompanies motivations like these is all that sustains a person with such a diminished sense of self-worth.

Speaking of a diminished sense of self worth...

Leviathan

Core Sin: Envy. Core Virtue: Hope. Core Motivation: To find joy in the things that give him joy.

Confusing motivation? Yes it is. But envy is a confusing sin. All the other sins--pride, greed, wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth--are enjoyable to indulge on some level. Losing your temper when you feel you've been wronged, or eating a bunch of delicious food, or sleeping through the snooze alarm: We know why we do those things. We might regret them later, but we indulge them in the moment because of the enjoyable side.

There is nothing enjoyable about envy. Wanting something that isn't yours, that belongs to someone else, be it tangible goods, talents, a partner, a job... is nauseating. And it makes you feel like a bad person, and it drains the joy out of things that you used to love. Speaking from personal experience for a second, when I was a teenager, I played music in a company with a much younger musician who was incredibly talented, and I was deeply envious of her. I wanted her talent; I wanted the praise she received; I wanted to impress people; I wanted what she had. But there was nothing I could do. I hated feeling that way, but I couldn't shake it. And it ate away at my desire to play music. It took the joy out of something that once gave me joy.

You see the connection?

Levi struggles to find pleasure in anything he does, despite how many interests he has, because, in spite of his blustering dismissal of all things "normie", he is deeply envious of those he perceives as his social superiors. Now, I am not in any way saying that Levi is or would be an inc3l, but there's an element of his character that has a strong parallel to inc3l culture. The idea that there is something fundamentally wrong with him that prevents him from achieving what he wants socially and that the only way he can protect himself from those who would ridicule him is with a defensive contempt for the group that rejects him... Does any of that sound familiar?

But Levi is not an inc3l. No, not because you're willing to **** him and his two *****, though I'm sure that helps. It's because he has his core virtue: hope.

Have you ever heard of the black pill? It's kind of like the final stage of inc3l culture, where you accept that you're not an alpha male, you'll never be one, you'll never be accepted by a woman, you're ugly and unloveable, and you might as well just stop existing. It is sheer despair.

Levi maintains hope for the future, even if he prefers not to admit it out of fear of jinxing himself. He is able to form a deep bond with MC, who he views as a "normie", without renouncing his hobbies or being mocked for them. In fact, I would argue that the anxiety Levi sometimes displays over the possibility of being made fun of (for example, in NightBringer when he considers trying out cosplay) is emblematic of the hope he has that he can be accepted.

"But wait, daytaker," you say. "That doesn't sound like he's making progress towards his core motivation of getting joy out of the things that bring him joy! Being self conscious is not joyful!" Well, you're right. What Levi needs is to somehow find the right balance between enjoying his hobbies and allowing himself to enjoy other people as well. As we can see from his effusive excitement in sharing his favorite games and stories with MC and his brothers, the social component of media consumption is a major component in making it enjoyable. If Levi loses hope, he loses that connection to the world offline, and if he loses that connection, he loses the joy.

@blackstqr (I did it.)

135 notes · View notes

soulmatebracket · 11 months

Text

Soulmate Bracket: Round 1 [Side A — Part II]

Provided reasoning under cut:

Gilgamesh & Enkidu

literally made for each other...

'In the most ancient of the stories that compose The Epic of Gilgamesh, he is a helper to Gilgamesh. As those legends evolved into chapters of a great epic poem, Enkidu's role changed profoundly. Much more than a sidekick or a servant, he is Gilgamesh's soul mate, brother, and equal, even his conscience.'

Meliodas & Elizabeth

Meliodas is the son of the demon king, Elizabeth is the daughter of the goddess. They fell in love and tried to stop the holy war. As punishment, their parents cursed them - Meliodas cannot die, and Elizabeth will be reincarnated eternally without her memories - as soon as she remembers her past lives, she dies in 3 days. Meliodas keeps finding her in every one of her lives even though it hurts him because she doesn't remember who he is and he can't tell her, and he can't die himself.

Meliodas and Elizabeth were both killed and placed under curses, as being a demon and a goddess respectively they weren’t supposed to fall in love. Meliodas was immortal; he could die but returned to life every time. Elizabeth was reincarnated perpetually as a human with divine powers who had no memories of her previous lives and, in every lifetime, met and died in front of Meliodas. She could regain her memories, but doing so triggered her curse and she would die three days later. Meliodas explicitly states that he’s loved every incarnation of Elizabeth he’s met, and every incarnation of Elizabeth is explicitly stated to have loved Meliodas (to the point that he comes to believe it’s a part of her curse). Eventually they’re able to break their curses and end the series happily married with a son.

"Okay, look, this bracket literally describes Meliodas (immortal) and Elizabeth's (reincarnated) story! What's that story, you ask? Well, 3,000 years ago, there was a demon (Meliodas) and a goddess (Elizabeth) who fell in love despite the war that had been going on between their races since the first demon and goddess was created. Their parents (the Demon King and the Supreme Deity respectively) didn't agree with this of course and together cursed them. Meliodas was cursed with Eternal Life; he stopped aging, living on forever, and if he died, no matter how it happened, he resurrected again. Elizabeth was cursed with Eternal Reincarnation; time and time again she was reincarnated as a human with no memories of her former lives, destined to always meet and fall in love with Meliodas, and if she regained all her former memories, she would die 3 days later in front of Meliodas without fail. As the story of the manga/anime picks up, Elizabeth is living her 107th reincarnated life. Once again, she meets and falls in love with Meliodas, who has loved every single one of her. Once again, she regains her memories and is destined to die 3 days later. Meliodas, who promised the very first reincarnation of Elizabeth that no matter what happened, even if she would die again, he would break the curse, is desperate to save her, even willing to sacrifice his own emotions and becoming the next Demon King himself (something that he never wanted to be and that would mean him returning to the Demon Realm and losing his found family). Elizabeth is determined to save Meliodas from himself, even if it means she will die again, lose her memories and leave the people she loves from this life behind. In the end, Meliodas and Elizabeth fight together and break their curses (even killing their parents), and they still love each other. Even without the curse and the fates tied to it, they still love each other more than anything. There's a brief point in the manga/anime where Meliodas may have to permanently live in the Demon Realm or the human realm will tear itself apart, and what does Elizabeth do? She decided to go with him, even if that means she'll never see her father, sisters or friends again. Because she loves him and she never wants to lose him again. At an earlier point in the story Meliodas actually dies and Elizabeth ends up travelling into his memories and sees him promising her when she was just a little kid that he would always come back alive to her, which is exactly what he does, just in time to save her from an attack. Later on, after the curse is broken and all enemies defeated, the two travel together, visiting all the places they have met and fell in love. When they return home, they become the King and Queen of her kingdom and even have the first ever demon-goddess baby (who looks exactly like a combination of his parents by the way, like proof of their eternal love). Anyway, sorry for the super long rant, I just don't know how to summarize a 3,000-year-old love story stretching over 107 different reincarnations and lifetimes."

Love forbidden by their parents, the Demon King and the Supreme Deity, so they literally got cursed. Both of them reincarnate when they die. Meliodas losing his emotions more every time and Elizabeth losing her memories every time. Still, they find each other and Meliodas has been through a lot of Elizabeth reincarnations.

Mostly for the tragic romance. Like they're been fighting to be together against powers that vastly outdo their own, and as a gay litle goblin it feels. idk. feels familiar even if they're a straight couple.

#epic of gilgamesh #seven deadly sins #soulmatebracket #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #id in alt tag

649 notes · View notes

ssshh-im-a-secret · 1 year

Text

An Obey Me X Twisted Wonderland Prompt

So, if MC went from Obey Me to Twisted Wonderland, I think it would be very funny if no one believed them when they started to open up about their time in the Devildom.

Like, they tell people they lived with the Seven Deadly Sins, they know the Crown Prince of Hell, etc. but no one believes them. They just kind of brushed it off as them trying to either get attention or to claim that they do know a thing or two about magic, but it's just different, when they are all under the assumption that MC doesn't have magic at all.

So, a bit frustrated, I would love it if MC would just start making shit up. They think they're probably never getting home, and even if they do get home, there's no way the people here will ever actually know anything about the Devildom because it's in another world.

They start making up random holidays, random trends, random career paths, random foods, and various other things. It's all fake. They know that it's fake. But they don't care, at this point it's entertaining. It would be super funny if they had an entire notebook dedicated to their lies so that they can keep them straight. Or if they had a datebook and just filled out random dates with various holidays.

(Bonus points if they end up convincing a few people, or letting the Adeuce duo in on the secret and they began treating it like MC was telling the truth and they believed them word for word)

And then the Obey Me Boys come, and everyone realizes, "Oh my god, MC wasn't lying. We need to learn more."

They start questioning all these crazy things because, even if these people and that place are real, all these facts can't be, right?

Everyone, despite not knowing about this prior, immediately agrees with whatever MC said. Lucifer and Beelzebub are probably a bit more ambiguous with their answers, Lucifer because he doesn't want to lie about the Devildom, and Beel because he doesn't want to answer in a way that may contradict, what MC has said.

Examples:

Random Twst character: So, do you guys really have a weeklong Chicken Dance Day Festival?

Diavolo, who has no idea what they're on about: Of course, it's a week after our two-day Macarena Day Festival.

Random Twst character: Do you guys really eat fire?

Satan, just hearing this for the first time: Most of us, but there are certain colors of fire that the lower-level demons can't stomach.

Belphie: *Gets woken up by Random Twst character*

Random Twst character: Do demons really hibernate for three decades after a few centuries?

Belphie: Yes.

Belphie:...

Belphie, deciding to add onto whatever the fuck they're talking about: But I'm a special case. I hibernate whenever I want for however long I want because I'm the Avatar of Sloth.

Random Twst character: Is it true that you once held up Lord Diavolo's Castle with one finger because there was a rat?

Barbatos: Of course. Mc could never have killed the rat if I hadn't.

Random Twst character, looking judgingly at Lucifer: Do you really breathe fire?

Lucifer: *Raises an eyebrow, but gives no actual response*

Random Twst character: *Is intimidated and drops the subject*

Random Twst character: MC says that you once gambled for five days straight and held a winning streak that entire time.

Mammon, feeling his ego grow ten times larger: Course they did! MC should want all of ya' to know about the Great Mammon.

Random Twst character: MC says you can talk to fish.

Levi: Duh.

Random Twst character: Is it true that you once knocked out an entire banquet of demons with one soup?

Solomon, suddenly feeling very hurt: Wha-

Simeon and Luke: Yes!

Beelzebub: *frantic nodding*

(MC didn't actually lie about this one, but maybe exaggerated a bit)

They probably confronted MC after a few days, and they all had a good laugh about it.

If MC did have a notebook or a datebook filled with whatever they've made up along with when these things supposedly take place, they would probably make more for the Obey Me boys who are now in on it.

409 notes · View notes

theclementinediaries · 6 months

Text

The Seven Deadly Sins of the NXX Team

➵ PRIDE best describes Artem, for he takes great pride in everything he does, especially when it comes to work. He would go above and beyond, and would go to great lengths, to ensure that he is always on top of his game. His work is his pride, and his pride is his work, his entire sense of self-worth relies heavily on how well he manages to do his job right.

➵ He has a reputation of having a 99% win rate, so you could imagine how much his pride suffered when he lost in that 1% case. He felt like a failure, like everything that he has worked up to until that point, all of his achievements and success, meant nothing. And for someone, who puts so much value in his career, his success, whose pride mainly stems from his achievements and winning, that really put a dent on not just his pride, but his self worth in general.

➵ Who is he, if not a winner? Who is he, if not the best of the best? Who is he, if he can’t succeed? Would there be any point for his existence if he can’t succeeded, if he can’t become the greatest?

➵ Ultimately, Artem’s pride is his biggest motivator to do better, to be better, but it’s also what eats him up inside, it’s what pushes him over the edge, to the point that it’s hurting him.

➵ Green is the color of ENVY, and that perfectly describes Vyn to a T. Don't get him wrong though, he is not envious of someone having more money, fame, status, or materialistic items than him, far from it actually. Vyn's envy is rooted in seeing people, who have a more full filing happier life than him, especially if they are less fortunate than him.

➵ Of course, as a psychologist expert, he bares no ill well towards people who have it better than him, and on the contrary, he should be happy for those people given his profession. But yet no matter how much he tries not to, he can't help but feel envious of those people, like he resented them for having a life that he fought so hard to obtain, yet it came so natural to them.

➵ His jealousy and envy is one of the reasons why he's so meticulous with his words, never letting anyone ever get too close, for fear that he might uncover something, that he might not like.

➵ For someone who is so happy go-lucky, WRATH really does have a strong hold on Luke. But don't get it twisted, Luke is not angry at anyone at particular, more specifically so, his wrath is directed at himself.

➵ He is so angry at himself, for not being strong enough, for not being good enough, for not being smart enough, but most of all, his angry at himself for not being there for you when you needed him the most.

➵ The anger and wrath that he feels is mostly fueled due to his own shortcomings and inadequacies, and how he expresses that anger is by acting so recklessly, throwing himself into danger, sacrificing himself, again and again. He hopes that his self-sacrifice would compensate for all his failures and shortcomings, he hopes that him throwing his life away would make up the fact that he failed to protect you, failed to give you more time, failed...you.

➵ And most of all, he hopes that his self-sacrifice would help lessen the wrath inside his heart, but it never does, in fact, it only seems to ignite it further.

➵ Now this might sound predictable from the infamous playboy himself, but Marius, is driven by LUST. He likes to indulge in the pleasures of life, whether that be sexual or not, it doesn't really matter to him.

➵ For so long, Marius wanted nothing more than to be free, to live the life that he so desperately wants, and to have the freedom to make the choices that he wants. Those are his deepest desires that he lust for the most.

➵ But sadly, no matter how much Marius lusts over a life of freedom, no matter how many times he wished to indulge in a pleasurable life that not even money can buy, the universe doesn't always give us what we want.

➵ So all Marius has left is to fulfill other people's hopes and dreams, fulfilling other people desires and lust, in hopes that, that would be enough to fill the empty whole inside his heart.

175 notes · View notes

emeritus-fuckers · 7 months

Text

How does the Ministry function? Headcanon

Despite what it would seem, the Clergy's ruler is not actually the current Papa, which can be easily seen in the Chapters, where everything seems to be much more under Sister Imperator's control. However, even she seems to be under someone's supervision, aside from Satan himself. How does it all work, then?

Satan

Not much to be added here. Obviously, the person on the very top of the Clergy is going to be the Dark Lord. However, since unlike some deities he actually believes in free will, he doesn't really intervene much,

The Council of Seven Deadly Sins

The ones actually in charge. The Council, as the name shows, consists of seven members, each representing a sin. They are all in some way supernatural beings and have been granted immortality to guide the Clergy, however it is not impossible for the members to change. If one is somehow overpowered and killed, the person who defeated them gets their spot. It is unknown who is the most powerful member of the Council, therefore they do not have an official leader. Instead, they draw lots on who is in charge of their next meeting.

The Council of Seven Deadly Sins consists of:

Superbia (Pride) - The Director

Avaritia (Greed) - Representative currently unknown

Luxuria (Lust) - Representative currently unknown

Invidia (Envy) - Representative currently unknown

Gula (Gluttony) - Representative currently unknown

Ira (Wrath) - Mister Saltarian

Acedia (Sloth) - Representative currently unknown

Due to the fact that they obviously must attend to very many things at once, only one of them (The Director) is actually in the Ministry th entire time. The rest visit when they feel like and for official meetings.

Does Sister Imperator not being here confuse you? That's because she fits in the next category.

The Assistants of The Council

As of now, the only known member of this group is Sister Imperator, who serves as the Assistant of The Director. However, due to how her boss is, she is the one running the Ministry most of the time. Something that she was prepared to since she was a child.

For reasons known only to himself, mister Saltarian does not have an assistant right now and has not had one for almost a century.

The Papa

While the Papa holds a lot of power when it comes to Siblings of Sin, in reality he is completely powerless in the end, as any of the Council members of Assistants of the Council can easily veto Papa's decisions. In reality, the role of a Papa is much more representative than anything. They do, however, have a lot of paperwork to keep up with. So sadly, while the title is a great honor, it actually comes with much less power than one would think.

If for whatever reason there's more than one Papa at a time (for example, one of them is too old to function on his own, but he's not willing to retire (like Papa Nihil), another Papa can be chosen to function alongside him. In this case, the older Papa is mostly in charge of the more mundane tasks while the younger Papa takes on the more "important" aspects of the job. There can be up to two Papas at once, however one of them must be "retired" in theory.

A Papa can serve his duties alone until he reaches 80 years of age, however they can resign at any point (or can be forced to do so). He does keep the title, but it is mostly an honorific. A retired Papa is not forced to work, but they can choose to. If a Papa chooses to keep working after his 80th birthday, he will be forced to accept a second Papa to work alongside him.

The Cardinals

Unlike in the Catholic church, in the Clergy a Cardinal is not just a fancier Bishop, it's a fully functional, separate role. The Papa can have up to twelve Cardinals (which have to be accepted by at least one of the Council members) to serve as his own assistants and advisors. Not to be confused with a Papa's personal assistant, which is a completely different function.

The Cardinals also help manage the Ministry while the Papa is away. They are also temporarily in charge (still below the Council, of course) if something happens to their Papa and the new one is not yet chosen.

All heirs of the current Papa have to become a cardinal when they reach the age of 30, however due to the bloodline, they can, if they so wish, skip all the way from Deacon to a Cardinal, seeing as their education for their role begins way earlier. A younger sibling also counts as an heir. (So for example, Terzo has been a Cardinal to his father and both of his brothers.)

If a Papa dies without leaving an heir, the next Papa is chosen by the Council from his Cardinals.

Whenever a new Papa is chosen, he is given a choice to either keep the Cardinals of the previous one, or he can select a new bunch. Cardinals forced into retiring are given the title of an Archbishop.

The Archbishops

Despite how fancy the title sounds, it's just that. A title. The Archbishops get a fancier outfit, yes, but that's about it. They have the same responsibilities as regular bishops. The Archbishop title is mostly a way to show respect to them for their service, as it is given almost exclusively to former Cardinals and very few Siblings that have done something extraordinary to earn the title.

The Bishops

In the clergy, the role of a Bishop is not as fancy as it is in the catholic church. It can be summarized to a priest with more experience. A Bishop's role is mostly to educate Deacons and help younger Priests while doing the work they did as Priests. Of course, they get more paperwork than regular Priests. It takes 10-15 years for a priest to become a Bishop.

The Priests

Their role is similar to the catholic priests, except satanic, of course. There really isn't much to say here.

The Deacons

The lowest on the "Priest path" of the Ministry. The students. The ones who aren't Priests yet, but they wish to become them. One must be a Deacon for five years to become a priest. The earliest one can become a Deacon is 16 years old. An exception to that is an heir to the Papacy, who becomes a Deacon at age 13.

The Siblings of Sin

Despite theoretically being the lowest in hierarchy among the humans of the Ministry, they can be found all over the positions of power which are not directly related to religion itself. For the Clergy, anyone who has been baptized is a Sibling of Sin. They are under no obligation to become Priests or climb the ladder. Siblings of Sin are simply members of the Clergy, no matter what their exact function is. Can one Sibling of Sin have some level of control above others? Yes, absolutely, due to their administrative function or other things like that. In the Church's ranks, however, they are even.

The Nameless Ghouls

Despite me putting them at the bottom here, the Ghouls do not actually have a fixed position in the hierarchy of the Ministry. They are summoned with a specific purpose and/or to serve a specific person. Unless that person passes a contract made with a Ghoul to someone else, the Ghoul only serves their summoner at first. In most cases, however, the Summoners and Ghouls get attached to each other and Ghouls are granted freedom. While they still usually work under their Summoner, just with much more possibilities. The Ghouls respond to their Summoners almost exclusively. The Ghouls have their own hierarchies, but that's for another post, I guess.

Written by Jez.

Taglist: @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @lunarsromantichomicide @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @copiaspowderedjizz @calliedion-dungeon @nuntia

#ghost band #ghost bc #ghost #headcanon #nameless ghouls #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus ii #papa nihil #sister imperator #mister saltarian #the director #ghost the director

243 notes · View notes

femmefatalevibe · 9 months

Note

What advice/resources would you recommend for someone who is trying to decentralize her life from men (or really anybody other than herself)?

Any books/videos/advice/etc. that you have would be great!

Thanks! Your blog helps me so much xo

Hi love! I'm so glad to hear this <3. Sharing some tips/resources below. Hope this helps xx

How To Decenter Men In Your Life:

Consider the values, goals, and desired lifestyle that feel most authentic to you if social scripts/stigmas didn't apply to you

Take time to become radically honest with your desires as an individual – outside of the perception of men, your family, boss, teachers, peers, etc.

Cultivate a sense of personhood and identity established in your interests, hobbies, skillsets, learning capabilities, creativity, and desire for growth in all aspects of life

Act in your own best interests. Speak up for your needs, and advocate for yourself. Be more "selfish." Don't apologize for what you want and go after it. Act in your own best interests

Become confident in negotiating, assertive communication, and standing on your own two feet. Establish relationships in all aspects that are based on mutual benefit and equitable exchange

Unlearn your self-sacrificing & people-pleasing. Stop shrinking yourself or suppressing your needs to make others feel better or more comfortable

Validate yourself: your needs, desires, goals, dreams, preferences, and opinions. You need to choose yourself every day. Your appeal to others means nothing if you don't like the person you are or are becoming to satisfy the needs or desires of others

Consider the ways you're consciously and subconsciously confining your self-expression and belief system to fit the mold/appease the patriarchy. Actively work to deconstruct this mentality and way of being

Be honest with yourself about how men enrich your life. Not the other way around. Do they fulfill you romantically, sexually, both, or neither? There's no right or wrong answer, except the one that requires you to put on a performance rather than live in alignment with your true self

TikTok Creators:

Melanie Hamlett (LOVE her! My favorite creator/author on this topic.)

Katie Jgin

Soberside

Rose Hackman

Hope Peddler

Therese Lee (@thereselee6)

SpirtualWhistleBlower

Books On Decentering Men:

A Single Revolution by Shani Silver

Patriarchy Stress Disorder: The Invisible Inner Barrier to Women's Happiness and Fulfillment by Valerie Rein, Ph.D

What a Time to Be Alone: The Slumflower's Guide to Why You Are Already Enough by Chidera Eggerue

All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation by Rebecca Traister

Enjoy Your Solo By Mary Delia Allen

How to Be Single and Happy by Jennifer Taitz

Singled Out: How Singles Are Stereotyped, Stigmatized, and Ignored, and Still Live Happily Ever After by Bella DePaulo, Ph.D

On Our Best Behavior: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Price Women Pay to Be Good by Elise Loehnen

We Are Not Born Submissive: How Patriarchy Shapes Women's Lives by Manon Garcia

The Seven Necessary Sins for Women and Girls by Mona Eltahawy

Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny by Kate Manne

Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men by Lundy Bancroft

Men Who Hate Women: From Incels to Pickup Artists: The Truth about Extreme Misogyny and How it Affects Us All by Laura Bates

Fed Up: Emotional Labor, Women, and the Way Forward by Gemma Hartley

281 notes · View notes

the-face-in-the-mirror · 2 months

Text

Well hello and welcome to this shitshow I’ve decided to tackle.

I’ve decided that I simply cannot allow Seven Deadly Sins—a series that I still think has great potential and squandered it—to remain as bad as it is and I am going to take a crack at improving it one delusional piece of artwork after another.

Anyway, here’s my redesign of Meliodas. He can look as youthful as he wants but there will be no borderline-toddler faces in this house. Still a short king wearing heels, but this time it’s boots! Redid his vest to have coattails instead of whatever it was doing before, gave him black pants because it balanced him out a bit better, and gave him a green bow tie because the red just seemed way too out of place in the original design.

I’ve said before but I will say it again for the masses: let 👏 the humanoid 👏 demons 👏 have more 👏 demonic 👏 features. And if no one else will then I may as well do it myself. Obviously he looks more human most of the time to hide his race, but he’s got slightly different demon eyes, fangs, retractable claws and horns (still working on the positioning and proportions) and a whole tail! Because we all know that the Demon Race are probably just oversized cats, am I right lads?

In my version if canon, the Demon Race used to be Goddesses or at least an angelic race of some sort until The Fall, which I like to imagine Meliodas was there for because someone’s gotta drop the deep lore. And because I think it gives a new layer to the Demon Race’s hatred for the Goddesses. Does it contradict the canon lore? Sure, but I’m in charge here and I, unfortunately for everyone, do what I want, and I always love me some biblical imagery and themes.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now, so I should stop ignoring my schoolwork now. Let me know what you think, if ya’ll are so inclined!

#meliodas #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #nnt fanart #sds meliodas #fan art #seven deadly sins rewrite #sds rewrite comic #should probably come up with some sort of nickname for it huh?#HELLO NNT FANDOM I’M HERE TO BE A MENACE

111 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

backyardvoodoo

BACKYARD VOODOO

newsnoshonline

News Nosh

spiderflora

🌼SPIDER-FLORA🌼

koripank

Untitled

kittycrosssing

Kitty from Lunarglade