#how the romans cleaned themselves

[2day-ago-kids]

Do you agree with the hippie spirit? is gender diversity ?

Hello all hippies. This is a design that I am proud of. What do you think of this pillow?

#leek the hippie #the #hippie #interior design #my moving journey #hygiene in the middle ages #pride #high all the time #thats the spirit #happy hippie presents: yaw baby (break my heart) #designer bed covers #hygiene in the old west #gross hygiene practices from the past #the world is yours #how the romans cleaned themselves #bring me the horizon #netherlands travel guide #noir desir clip #alphabounce slide #hippy #noir desir officiel #wanna go there

[masquenoire]

Regarding Roman’s parents, the abuse he suffered at their hands went further than just neglect. Financially he was certainly well-provided for, never left to starve but behind closed doors, there was an abundance of anger and resentment in the family household. Mr. and Mrs. Sionis were *obsessed* with how they were regarded by their peers, especially the Waynes whom they aspired to be like despite loathing them in secret and their obsession with the wealthy family only deepened much to the deterioration of their own.

Mrs. Sionis was particularly resentful, both towards her husband and child as well as the people she envied so much. They lived the picture perfect life she craved, imagining herself in their shoes to the point she became absorbed with what they must have thought of her, how much ‘better’ life would be if only she could be more like Martha Wayne. Roman quickly began to despise both families; the Waynes for always being what his parents were concerned about and his own for only caring about how they looked to everybody else, ignoring their own son or how their behaviour was making him feel. Many nights he overheard vicious arguments, his parents blaming one another for perceived slights against them and how it was the other’s fault, how much they hated each other but also blaming them for how Roman turned out, how they were burdened with a freak like him instead of an ideal son like Bruce. As a result, Roman hated every moment of his childhood growing up, hating his parents more and more every passing year for how fake they were, pretending to be a doting couple who publically adored their ‘friends’ while talking shit about them behind their backs, how they refused to drop this pointless facade which only made them all miserable. He’d long since learned to keep his mouth shut, not to embarass his parents before their peers otherwise he’d end up being the one severely punished by his parents later on taking out their frustrations on him instead of each other.

#( 💀 ♮ IMMACULATE INTERESTS ♮ | musings ) #( 💀 ♮ UNMASKED MALICE ♮ | headcanons ) #Draig and Bri got me thinking lately seeing posts about their muse's parents and childhood #Roman wasn't exactly 'neglected' as he had food and clean clothes but emotionally he was #Constantly hearing his parents talking about the Waynes and comparing themselves to them was tiresome #Especially when they started comparing Roman to Bruce #'Bruce is such a nice boy why couldn't we have had a son like him instead of a freak like you' #And so on and so on #Mr Sionis didn't care much for Roman as he wanted a son to pass the family company onto #Hence why Roman failed with Janus Cosmetics #That was the real reason why he became bust #His dad didn't teach him how to run a company since he never intended to leave it to Roman in the first place #Didn't think women had a place doing so #Roman winged it for five years but made the crucial error of investing in a failed line of toxic chemicals #He was deceived by fradulent developers and turned to being a criminal because of it

[fantastic-nonsense]

obviously I'd be thrilled to just get the whole PJO series adapted and then end it there. However: Heroes of Olympus as a story can be cleaned up sooooooo much in a way that PJO just doesn't need to be, and a tv adaptation offers the perfect opportunity to do so

like honestly my hottake is that I think Disney could solve both the problem of adapting a long, convoluted sequel series and a lot of the problems HOO as a story has if they a) do The Lost Hero and Son of Neptune in the same season and b) deliberately wait until the PJO actors are in their 20s to do it

Just thinking about this a bit more:

three 12-14 episode seasons, with TLH/SoN in S1, a modified MoA in S2 that deals with some of the Argo crews' HoH subplots, and then HoH/BoO in S3

Percy and Annabeth are in their 20s and newly engaged when he disappears. This sets up the arc of Percy dreaming about settling down with Annabeth in New Rome in a more organic, functional way and also gives us as viewers a chance to see that the aftermath of the Titan War has resulted in tangible, lasting change for the demigods of Camp Half-Blood

Grover replaces Coach Hedge as the Seven's collective Protector+chaperone, which solves the series' problem of Grover's absence and the absence of the PJO Trio's friendship

the whole show/story takes place over ~6 months instead of the year it did in the books, and Percy+Jason's individual quests happen concurrently (simply not letting Percy sleep for 8 months and making an episode where he establishes himself at the Roman camp for awhile before he's forced on the quest with Frank and Hazel would solve about half of the problems on the Roman side of the series)

Season-wise, things mostly sort themselves out:

The first season starts off introducing the Lost Hero trio and we find out that Percy's missing at the end of the first episode. The second episode opens with Percy waking up at the Wolf House and starting his journey to New Rome. We get one episode entirely devoted to amnesiac Jason and Percy integrating into the new camps, making friends, and learning about their missing counterpart before the quest plots start up.

The season then alternates between Jason, Piper, and Leo's "Find Hera" quest and Percy, Hazel, and Frank's Alaska quest, with intermittent jumps to the Greek and Roman efforts to find Percy and Jason. It ends with Percy and Jason regaining their memories and each camp realizing their leader is on the other side of the country in "enemy" territory.

The second season opens around a month later as the Argo II docks in New Rome. Percy and Jason have both been given time to make friends, integrate themselves into the opposing camp, and become adjusted to a different way of life with all of their memories intact. They haven't physically returned to their home camps as they've both independently come to the conclusion that Hera switched them to initiate inter-camp unity and are wary of doing anything that would disrupt that goal. However, Percy and Jason have both managed to get messages to Annabeth and Reyna respectively at some point in that month, so everyone knows everyone is safe when the Greeks finally arrive in New Rome.

Cue MoA's various plotlines, which would be cleaned up and streamlined significantly while also integrating in some of the HoH arcs like Hazel learning how to manipulate the Mist, Frank learning how to use his shapeshifting powers, Piper coming into her own as a daughter of Aphrodite, Leo's seventh wheel arc and the Calypso subplot, Jason struggling to figure out what his place is, the Jason-Nico friendship, etc. Also set up the Greek v. Roman dispute and Reyna following them to Greece. Season ends with the Annabeth-Arachne confrontation and Tartarus fall.

The third season combines HoH and BOO; the season alternates between Percy and Annabeth's journey through Tartarus while the rest of the Seven finish their various character arcs via gathering the elements for the Physicians' Cure and journeying to the Doors of Death. After they rescue Percy and Annabeth and close the Doors, they plan to head straight to Athens to take on Gaea. Reyna reaches them just after, and Annabeth sends her and Nico off with the Athena Parthenos with Grover as their Protector.

The final battle switches between The Seven+Gods vs. Gaea+The Giants at the Acropolis and the Greeks vs. Romans at Camp Half-Blood. The Gaea plotline is resolved at the Acropolis, the Greek-Roman plotline is resolved as Nico and Reyna triumphantly arrive at Camp Half-Blood with the statue, a functional Greek-Roman working relationship, and the gods' blessing. This helps streamline the mess that was Blood of Olympus and actually provides a workable story resolution.

We get a final aftermath/epilogue episode that sorts out and ties up all remaining plot threads, teases Solangelo, and ends with Percy returning home to see his mom and planning out how to move to New Rome after he and Annabeth get married.

Obviously this is the roughest possible sketch of how it could be done, but I genuinely believe doing something like that could fix some of the biggest issues HOO has conceptually while streamlining all of the quest bloat. It'd be interesting to see them try, anyway.

#pjo #pjo tv #heroes of olympus #hoo spoilers #my writing #.......sort of #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #jason grace

[angelicsjn]

How would they react to someone flirting with their darling right in front of them?

YOUR SIX YANDERES.

— ROMAN CORNELIUS JAMES BEAUREGARD.

Whoever even dares would be a complete idiot.

Flirting with THE Roman Beauregard's S/O? Obviously this person is either stupid, insane or brave.

If they don't stop once he's made his presence known he acts polite, he has an image to uphold. He's an important person and need to be loved by all.

So he smiles, he walks away with his arm tightly wrapped around your waist and you feel the intensity radiate from him. His jaw clenching.

Behind the scenes he uses his power and influence to ruin this person. Finds out who they are, their job, their family. Everything. Uses anything and everything against them to ruin their lives. If they're squeaky clean, he makes something up. Forges up a complete lie that is still believable and makes this person's life hell.

Funny because while their life is turned upside down, they don't know he's the one at fault. They still probably support him, cheer him on and speak about that time they met him and his lovely S/O at that one party.

What a lovely and polite couple!!

— LATEN REED.

Does this person have a deathwish? Who would flirt with this beast of a man's S/O.

Everyone knows that Laten is kind, he's the life of the party. So sweet. But his body? His height? His attitude when angered? They're more than dumb. They must be suicidal.

Laten is forgiving enough, he would politely tell them that you're taken. To stop flirting but if they're persistent and keep up with it, they're getting their jaw spun.

One punch and they're out cold with a tooth missing. You don't fuck with Laten, especially the one he loves.

He will then apologise for making you see him angry. He only wants to show the best parts of him! Behind the scenes, he would AND HAS fucked up those who hurt you.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

Jae is sneaky, he's a scheming man and will manipulate those around him to hate the person who flirts with you. He watches them, picks up on everything and uses it against them.

He can make the most popular person turn into the biggest villain and he won't stop until everyone hates his guts.

He watches with a smile as people call him out on things he created. He laughs as they distance themselves from the person until they're completely alone.

Biggest thing, Jae doesn't care. He's loved by all, he's amazing. Once they all hate them, he'd make it known. They've already lost everything so why would anyone believe him?

"I told you to stay away from y/n." He'd say before walking away with a smirk. He won, as always.

— KAIDAN ALEXANDER WOLFE.

He internalises it. Is he not good enough? Do you like this person? Are you flirting back?

He'd go through a mixture of emotions until he realises you don't like this person. You want nothing to do them. Of course you don't, you're with him!

He's then angry. Very fucking angry.

Kaidan takes work off them, modelling jobs are now his. Brand deals are now his. He makes sure to post better outfit pics. You name it.

He'll become better than this person at everything. There will be rumours that this person is copying Kaidan and he plays his violin over this. Dropping hints on social media that he's being copied by them, that he feels attacked and like they're obsessed.

It leads to this person being run off social media due to the amount of hate, even though Kaidan never verbally spoke bad about this person, he dropped enough hints for the people to confirm that they're trying to become him.

— HAYDEN WEST.

He wants the ground to swallow him up. He hates it.

He feels under attack like he's going to lose you to this person. He becomes insecure and compares himself to this person.

He follows you around like a puppy. Watches your reactions whenever this person is near, to see if you give them attention at all. He hates it, so so much.

After you reassure him, his confidence does pick up. That's when he begins to think of ways to keep them away from you.

He's not physically scary, he'd have to use his brain. He'd tutor this person, just feed them the wrong information until their grades are so bad they've failed and can't progress onto the next year.

Hayden does small things that embarrasses this person in public. Pouring water where they're going to walk, 'accidentally' bumps into them and tips his food over their white t-shirt. Oh god! He's so clumsy!

You don't see what he's doing, you think he's innocent, like everyone else. Half the time nobody even notices him, much like the one who was flirting with you...

— JOSHUA WHITE.

He is a very kind man, a respected one too. Nobody would flirt anyone he is with.

I mean, how could they? He's so sweet. It'd just be wrong to do that.

But with the off chance that someone would actually flirt with you, he's really just like 🧍‍♂️the whole time.

Maybe he's upset. Maybe he's ready to kill. Maybe it's Mabeline. Who knows?

Really, his eye is twitching, and his fist is curling from the bad thoughts. He doesn't let it show.

When he shakes the person's hand, he smiles, but his dark eyes are blank. They walk away with a red hand from the pressure, but even then, they're convinced he's the nicest person they ever met.

#darling reader #darlingcore #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you

[leupagus]

Working title is "Aziraphale is going to get a good grade in sex, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve"

"So!" Aziraphale said, plopping himself down in the chair opposite. "Urophilia."

Crowley glowered at him from behind the safety of his third-best sunglasses and his mug.* He hadn't slept last night — he rarely wanted to, these days — yet it was somehow still too early for this. "No," he attempted.

"I know we neither of us go in for the more, er, granular human bodily functions," said Aziraphale, without even the slightest hint of listening. Crowley took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that he still found this annoying as — well, his former employer's residence. He'd worried, in a vague sort of way, that if Aziraphale came back and they worked things out, became a proper us, that he'd start thinking everything Aziraphale did was wonderful. But even true love had its limits, thank — well, his other former employer's residence. "Did I ever tell you, I tried defecating once? Terribly awkward business, I had to make an anus and everything. But Cicero was very obliging in teaching me about the stick."**

Conversations with Aziraphale tended to fall into one of three categories. Either he was humming away in his default cheeriness, in which case he'd burble happily along with whatever Crowley said for hours on end; or he was in a pet about something, in which case he'd be drier than the desert outside Eden and Crowley'd be lucky to escape without injury to his pride or person. Or he was like this, in which case Crowley's participation was purely decorative.

Still, they were getting some stares. Nina hadn't started tutting yet, but she would do soon. "I'm not pissing on you," he said, firm. "And vice versa."

"Oh, all right," Aziraphale huffed, pulling out his spectacles and wrapping the temple tips fussily around his ears. He peered down at the magazine he'd apparently brought with him; even from here, Crowley could see some illustrations. They were… illustrative.

"What," he said with the conviction that he would regret it, "Is that?"

"It's 'Kinks and Fetishes: An A to Z Guide,'" Aziraphale said, handing it over with all the glee of a dog showing off a rotted tennis ball it had found in the back garden. "I've been doing more research, you see. Apparently, there's all sorts of sex we could be getting up to. I truly had no idea there were so many—" he waved his other hand around vaguely. "Configurations."

"Does Glamour have a print edition anymore?" Crowley asked, thumbing through the pages. There were a lot of illustrations.

"Not as such," Aziraphale admitted. "But Muriel found it for me on the World Wide Web—"

"Don't call it that," Crowley sighed.

"��and you know how I dislike reading off of those… screens," he continued, making a moue of distaste. "So I made my own proof copy, as it were."

Under "Tentacles," there was a stern reminder that you shouldn't have sex with octopuses.*** "Angel," he started, then paused. "Vicarphilia?"

"I thought it was something to do with priests and things, but apparently not," Aziraphale said, leaning over the table to point out the next one. "What about whipping?"

"No fetishes that I could've done professionally," Crowley decided firmly, shutting the magazine. He waved it away, out to the Tadfield Library where Anathama would probably find it and laugh for a week, then try at least a half-dozen of them out on poor Newt.

* Nina had set one aside for him after a while, since he didn't mind the permanent stains that had developed along the inside. "Pretty sure those are scorchmarks, actually," she'd complained. "On the outside. What did you do to it?"

** Roman public toilets were aptly named — men would gather to have a bowel movement and a chat, cleaning themselves off with a sponge on the end of a length of wood. Hence the phrase, "Getting the wrong end of the stick," something decidedly less pleasant when taken out of its metaphor.

*** Accompanied by a picture of a young woman doing exactly that.

#good omens fic #what if I skip over the getting together and go straight to the ridiculousness #ineffable motherfuckers #also I know that in the book Aziraphale is an early adopter of computers #but the tv show has him doing his accounts by hand plus the joke of having Muriel being the millennial computer tech is funny to me #ficcage of interest #good grade in sex fic

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Started thinking about temple living quarters.

The standard I see in fic is private apartments, shared with a padawan if there is one, usually with a small kitchen and so on, like a regular apartment. It stands empty when they go away. TCW shows fairly small dorm-like rooms occasionally, but animation is expensive, so. I've also seen the term padawan-dorm referred to with confidence, so that probably crops up in a book somewhere. I was thinking about semi-communal living, in a place without nuclear families and

how particularly when it comes to cooking, whenever I've been in a situation where I'm close to the people I'm living near, cooking and eating solo were the first to be compromised and become a communal activity. I stayed private with most things but not that, at least not most meals.

how jedi aren't even at the temple most of the time when they are active, because they're supposed to be serving the whole galaxy, so whatever quarters they would have would be standing empty most of the time, and on a planet that is notoriously short on living space to boot

I don't remember the source but I remember a reference to the temple historically using it's towers as a beacon, sheltering people in times of disaster. Not having completely private apartments for jedi would free up space to serve as refuge and so on.

They're not supposed to accumulate possessions, strictly speaking. ...which doesn't necessarily mean having nothing, but maybe they don't have a habit of collecting personal furniture so much? Or just an excess of stuff? Idk.

Privacy is essential but at the same time spending so much time on the move makes the idea of returning to a solitary apartment on your time off kind of lonely. Especially if you have to cook all your own food. (I may be fixating on the kitchens here)

Also for masters and padawans it might be nice to have a break from each other at the temple and see other friends more, tbh

I like the idea of them just having a bunch of communal spaces scattered around, where even if their rooms are small, there's lots of places to hang out with each other and catch up, or relax by themselves if they want.

And maybe they have smaller but still shared kitchens rather than one big industrial scale kitchen? It's just not restricted to a single knight who is barely there. Maybe jedi cook together as bonding thing.

Baths? Communal baths? Like Roman or Korean style.

Imagine a bunch of half-finished art projects just lying around, untouched until the jedi in question gets back from wherever.

I could go even further and bring up the concept of no bedrooms everyone just takes out their bedrolls from a closet and sleeps side by side on a clean (under-heated) floor, which is something I have experienced.

#jedi

[clydesavage-thefox147]

So...I loved the new Asides short. A lot to love actually. But, Now that it is confirmed that Janus is cold blooded...this just makes you realize the hell he goes through with that.

If you're not aware, cold blooded means that one can not regulate their body temperature properly or can't produce their own body heat. So, that means Janus can't.

Reptiles must be kept between 75-80 degrees fahrenheit to be content to the highest 90-92. Anything higher than 92 is too hot. When a snake gets hot, it can get heat stroke like us, however in severe cases, it can cause them to seize and unintentionally kill themselves in the process. Florida is notorious for hot and humid climates, warm and humid is ideal for a snake but anything too heated is deadly.

On the flip side, if a snake gets too cold, below 70 degrees, it will start to enter what is called "Brumation" which is kinda like hibernation but different. During Brumation, a reptile's(or amphibian or fish) body systems will start to slow down resulting in slow moments and lethargy. They do not eat, only drink, seeing as their digestive system will slow or shut down completely. Snakes specifically choose to burrow underground or find confined spaces for any warmth they can find. If it drops below freezing, so 32 or lower, this can cause them to freeze to death. But Brumation is practically like living death, slowing down so much that not all reptiles make it out alive. However, the ones that do, have the benefit of higher fertility, better breeding success and better egg clutches....so I'm guessing Janus would be very hungry and horny after winter XD.

However, cold weather is one of the leading causes of respiratory infection in reptiles. Snakes are known for getting these. Symptoms can include nasal discharge, mouth breathing, wheezing or gargled breath, drooling or frothing at the mouth, vomiting or regurgitation, coughing, sneezing etc. If the drool or froth is not cleaned from the snake's mouth in time, it will cause it to rot off. So, if Janus got COVID, he would be screwed.

So, looking at Roman's gift, it's pretty thoughtful in the sense of "Here so you don't freeze to death, I'm not that sadistic" And Janus was kinda taken back. Like, he is aware of what he goes through and is shocked that Roman even cared to do that bit of research for the gift to get.

He was so taken back that he even felt sorry for being a bit too outlandish even if he was drunk. Which, with him saying he was having an "unhinged jaw"(which further shows he can do that), it means he's more truthful when he's under the influence. So, that means that this "cold blooded" admittance is true. Is Janus ashamed of this to the point he looks upset? Or is it genuine shock from Roman's gift coming from a thoughtful place of consideration?(even if Roman said he did it begrudgingly).

In a past post, I said that Janus could have a lot of interesting and compelling things about his genetic differences that would make for pretty neat moments. I'm glad we're getting more information about the "snake" behind the "snake man" and what he really deals with being this way. But, I feel sorry for him that he has to deal with it on a routine basic. It must be tough but he is self care so, he hopefully does his best. There's so much more yet to be confirmed about him that I hope one day will in some way but even if not, it's still a cool and intriguing thing of how a snake-human hybrid would function.

But so far, it's confirmed he's cold blooded, he sheds and he hisses with drawn out S's. (It was confirmed he sheds in a past Livestream, but he was very embarrassed by it).

Now...onto that alcohol addiction. Snakes can't consume ethanol, it actually burns their mouths and throats. It's so effective against them that it helped in relinquishing them from bites. They also don't like the smell. Like with us humans, snakes can contract liver damage from alcohol. In ancient belief however, snakes drowned in wine and left to ferment in it was beneficial to health or was believed to be. But, rubbing alcohol is deadly toxic to snakes, so much so it can dry them out, penetrating deep beneath the scales. Snakes can get accidentally drunk from eating fermented berries in the wild so, Janus's consumption of wine makes sense, however it's hurtful to him potentially. Alcohol can also be an appetite suppressor which if he drinks it routinely, no wonder we have only seen him eat cake and half a sandwich, which is not healthy enough for him. If his main consumption is wine, that is risk of overdose and drunkorexia. I know snakes can go without eating for a while but still. But, in conclusion, Janus is an unhealthy alcoholic. As much as it's funny seeing him drunk, it's shocking in the fact that he's actively hurting himself in the process if that's the case.

Anyway, I can go on and on about snakes all day but that's a future thing. Thanks to Janus, I know so much possibly useless snake information lol.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders

[theknightmarket]

I still think about Chase Me a lot and it.

Hmgh. 🙏

Not a lot of Murdock content that goes into his potential motives.

"You're a special case."

In which Murdock's cat and mouse chase comes to an end. TW: cursing, mention of murder Pages: 16 - Words: 6,500

[Requests: OPEN]

They got him.

They got him.

They’d trapped him in a corner and wrapped the cuffs around his wrists. He was sitting in a cell, chained to the desk, waiting to be interrogated.

If they hadn’t called you, you would have forced your way into the police department anyway, regulations be damned. But they were smart, or maybe they just remembered the last time you were kept from the end of your case – either way, you had been writing up a very particular, very private report when your phone began to ring. You nearly didn’t answer it, too determined to finish off the last paragraph of the page before someone could interrupt, but it buzzed once, twice, thrice, and then you grabbed the thing and pressed the call button. Your mouth hung open at the half-way point of a cursing out when the officer who called you spurted out the very words that kept ringing through your head like a church bell.

They got him.

They had captured the Serotonin Serial Killer, and he was waiting in interrogation room C to be questioned by a detective. You made the forty-five-minute drive into twenty, flashed your badge at the receptionist, and didn’t say a word to anyone as you dashed through the hallways of the bustling building. Officers pressed themselves against the wall to avoid being barreled into, knowing you were on the warpath just from the look on your face. Though, it was no secret where you were headed. Your little stint with the man of the hour was kept between the two of you, but people had picked up on your sudden determination to solve the cases. When you worked sixteen-hour shifts, whispers took your place in leaving your office building and returning to your apartment. Rumors spread, some nice, some rude, all patents of the news agency; apparently one of his victims was your sister or uncle or second cousin thrice removed, because it gave you a motive and you were obviously the most important in the case to grant one. Never mind the guy slitting the public’s throats, the detective who was doing their job had to have a personal reason.

But your gripes with the press and other detectives were nothing you were focused on; distantly, you heard the taps of your shoes against the clean tiles towards the room, the times new-roman C blazing against the white wallpaper outside of a locked door.

You opened it without a second thought.

“It’s you.”

“You sound surprised, sweetheart.”

Murdock sat there, as you expected, chained, as you expected, grinning from ear to ear, as you expected. You imagined he was the first to be smiling so wide in the cold steel of a police chair, bound to the table in front of him. He was still adorned in his usual outfit, a red turtleneck and black trench coat, with blood splatters barely noticeable even in the scrutinous glaring of energy-efficient lights. The only thing that put you ill at ease was the crack in his sunglasses. It brewed a pit in the bottom of your stomach as your thoughts fled to assumptions that only helped to deepen it.

But you didn’t verbalize your suspicions that someone had put a hand on the man before you, the only indication that it crossed your mind being the heightening of your shoulders and an overtaking scowl. Instead, you simply locked the door behind you and dropped into the chair across from him. “You got caught,” you stated bluntly, his eyes following your descent, and it felt wrong to be able to see part of his iris.

“I did,” Murdock admitted. “Well done, you cuffed me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

You couldn’t keep the venom out of your tone, but you didn’t entirely want to. What you wanted to do was find the officer who caught him, ask them how they did it, and then find out exactly how his glasses got shattered so you could repay the favor. You assumed the plan came from your innate distaste of the police force and the rest of the detectives – you relied on the idea so that the thought could pass your mind without worry for the real sentiment behind it. And it almost did.

Murdock, helpfully, brought it back. “Jealous that you’re not the only detective in my life?”

“And if I am?”

“I’d appreciate it.” Damn his charming smile. He leaned forward in his seat, balancing his head on one of his hands, and flashed his grin at you like some kind of reward. It made you tense up, aided by the chill of the metal chair but by no means outweighed by it. You didn’t like this. The uncertainty of your emotions. In your last encounter, you were so certain of your anger towards him and his constant evading of capture, and yet there you were, with the man himself in front of you and definitely captured, fighting a losing battle against your own mind to convince yourself you weren’t swayed by him.

“Good thing I’m not, then.” You ignored the spark in Murdock’s eyes that hinted at his doubt. “How’d you get caught?”

“I killed somebody.” You almost laughed. It wasn’t as though he would be in the same room as you for shoplifting given his track record, but you let him continue without interruption, “Jemimah Pims. Fraud. I got spotted going into her office by a receptionist.”

You knew the name. Pims was big in public service chains that weren’t fast-food; she’d always hated the things, so she pulled a complete 180 and threw herself into high-class wine bars and five-star restaurants. Go figure, she didn’t start those businesses with legal money in her pocket, and that was where Murdock came in. The issue was that you didn’t believe that was his place. You’d seen him take revenge for affairs, prejudiced, miscarriages of justice – not money laundering. And getting a witness?

He must have misinterpreted your skeptical expression, because he followed himself up with, “She’s perfectly fine. Probably clearing up a couple of meetings that are going to go unattended.”

That didn’t help quell your suspicions. Of course, the receptionist was indeed alive, she had been the one to report him, after all, but that wasn’t the part you doubted.

“Let me rephrase that; why’d you get caught?”

You hit the nail on the head. The missing shard of his glasses was enough for you to see his iris, and that was enough for you to see his true feelings. That must have been why he kept them on so much, but they weren’t helping him now. Any excuse he might have made was wiped off the drawing board, and he knew that, too.

Almost reluctantly, he answered, “You’ve been awfully busy lately.”

“You can’t just kill someone because you want attention.” You interrupted a useless continuation that he didn’t even get to start. Of course, you had been busy in recent weeks, but that meant you had enough on your plate already without him piling it sky high.

A few days after your interaction on the roof of the theater, you were handed a case file from the higher-ups. Manila folder, top secret stamp, the whole cliché that made you want to bash your head into your desk. Your actual desk, mind you, the one that had been slightly bloodied by James Pratt. Everything was cleared up relatively fast, the funeral was scheduled for two months’ time, and you were back to work like it had never happened, like there was never a body of a friend draining into the floorboards. That folder, though, pushed it further back into the recesses of your mind; it was a political assassination attempt that you were shocked it landed on your task list. However, it was definitely there, and it was definitely high up on the list, so much so that you barely had time for yourself, let alone the serial killer watching you from another office building’s fourth floor. You supposed that Murdock reached his boiling point quicker than you.

One of your hands leapt to the bridge of your nose while the other ran through your hair. This job was pure stress without a serial killer giving you bodies because he wanted you to look at him.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He stretched out his hands in an attempt at a shrug, but the cuffs limited how far his dramatics could go. To compensate, he brought his ankles up to cross them over the table. You could already feel the headache brewing, and the incompetence of the cops around you was certainly not helping. Hadn’t they read a single guidebook or, hell, watched a crime movie? It didn’t have to be one of the good ones, either, for them to figure it out that the criminal needed to be chained by the arms and legs to the table. You were so, so close to wringing someone’s neck – whether that was Murdock or the incompetent police. Really, anyone within a twenty-foot radius was at risk.

But you couldn’t, no matter how much your hands itched at the thought. Instead, you took a long, deep breath, in and out and in and out. A pitiful chuckle bubbled up in your throat. “Jealous that you’re not the only serial killer in my life?” you asked, somewhere between sarcastic and genuine.

“Yes.”

Too bad.

“So, what now?” you asked, to which you only got a raised eyebrow in response. “You’re in a police station, Serotonin.” His pout became more noticeable. “How do you plan to get out of this one?”

“Who says I plan to get out of it?”

“You wouldn’t sacrifice your entire career to get some one-on-one time with me. You’re not stupid.”

There was a glint of pride peeking out from the edge of the sunglasses. The rest reflected back onto him, but it was enough for you to see, notice, and feel the rush of blood to your cheeks and ears. Your moral compass told you it was wrong, behind wrong, to be happy with his silent praise, but that thing was long since broken. You wouldn’t trust it to tell you the ethics of kicking a child into the road to stop a wayward fruit cart.

“Hmm, well, as much as I’d like to, you’re right; I can’t just abandon it all for one person, no matter how gorgeous they are.” You had half a mind to find an ice bucket to dunk yourself in. If only to yourself, you would admit you didn’t get complimented often – on your work or otherwise. It wasn’t for a lack of anything, but the general verdict wherever you went was to never initiate conversation unless someone didn’t like the look of their head on their shoulders. It happened often in the detective department, and that was where you spent the majority of your time – the rest was in your apartment, alone and whiling away hours until you got back to work.

But you weren’t allowed to dwell on that depressing thought for much long, before Murdock started talking again, leaning as far back into his chair as the cuffs let him go. “There are moles in the police, sweetheart,” he teased, “you said it yourself. Not one person here can’t be bought or blackmailed. The boys standing outside this two-way mirror, for example.” He turned to smile in the direction of that very mirror. You couldn’t see the officers outside, obviously, but you could imagine them sweating through their blue jackets, not only because they were caught but because Murdock had that look. The one that told whoever he was staring at that this would be their last day, like making eye contact with the grim reaper. Except instead of a bleached skull and hollow pits, he was a beautiful masterpiece come to coax you into the ‘sweet embrace of death’, as the saying went.

“I can taste the corruption from here. It didn’t take long to find out about the affairs and gambling.”

“I thought your whole thing was indiscriminatory vigilante justice. Moles don’t count?”

Vividly, the body of Pratt sprang to your mind. Still warm on the floor of your office. Head turned so that his check was mashed into against the grain. Eyes glassy like a frosted window.

Even though his gaze returned to you, you felt his words pierce the air as knives thrown to the mirror. “Oh, they do. I’ll kill them when I’m done here.”

Murdock was happy with himself. Proud of his work that rewarded him with this scene – two police officers paling from behind a wall, a detective sitting across him wearing a blush and a scowl, and himself haphazardly chained to the table. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything else. He sometimes, on the days when things were, the days when he was positioning old bodies or stalking new ones, when he had time to himself, he wondered what it the outcome would have been had it not been you assigned to his case. He couldn’t imagine the boredom; he didn’t give a damn about the press or the public, whether they were scared of him or in awe. When he first started this whole thing, he hadn’t even cared about the people chasing him, and, mostly, he still didn’t. But then there was you. A grizzled detective with a chip on their shoulder and enough experience with the law to sate thirty juniors. Murdock loved his job, but you made it that little bit more interesting.

Only, he could have done without your next question.

“Do I count?”

His head shifted to stare directly at you, his shattered focus pulled into one place, your expression of curiosity, doubt, a tinge of daring.

You continued, that tell-me-I’m-wrong look overtaking the rest of the emotions, “I let you get away with de Gaille and Lochlin. Doesn’t that make me a killer by association?”

Technically, he supposed it did. After all, he’d killed people for less. However, that wasn’t meant to be your ending. You weren’t supposed to be a pig on a hook in the butcher’s backroom.

“You’re a special case, love.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to help me get out.”

Your immediate thought was to resist. Mouth open to tell him a stern no and legs ready to storm from the room, you were sure Murdock saw, but he didn’t act. He just watched as your shoulders heightened and your grimace deepened. He just watched as you stayed seated, though the discomfort showed. 

“Your boys can’t do that?” you asked.

He shook his head. “They’re at the window because two officers have to be. They won’t go near me with a ten-foot pole, or without a foot of concrete between us.” A light chuckle bled into his words, accompanied by the flash of an eye and the corner of his lip perking up. “You, though, have been much, much closer. And you have nothing for me to play on, except for a little bit of affection.”

“Affection, is that what it is?” the scoff escaped you before you processed his words, and it was just as well. You didn’t want a serial killer to know he was – on the most basic level and not even that much and only if you wanted to actually define it and you certainly didn’t – correct. You did feel something for the man sitting before you, leaning casually back in the steel chair of the interrogation room, but you wouldn’t admit it aloud.

“Romantic, sexual, aesthetic, whatever your attraction is. It stops you from letting me fry, as you like to put it.”

“It stops me from letting you die, but that’s where it ends. Locking you up, I’m fine with that.” You were getting faster, pitifully desperate to prove to him, to yourself, to the two officers standing outside that you were not tied to him in any way. You had no reservations about keeping him behind bars. Despite that, it wasn’t the thought at the forefront of your mind – pride and place belonged to the reassurance that it wasn’t that simple. For one second, you assumed that you did enjoy his company and looking at him and his charismatic whisperings that set something aflame in your heart. You still couldn’t abandon everything to run after this maniac. You couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Are you?”

Were you?

A horrible feeling of dread washed over you, thrown to-and-fro in the rush of the river Styx, your lungs filled with water, and you struggled to keep afloat. It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. There were so many other factors at play. Your life, his life, his job, shit, your job. You were a detective sent to wrap the handcuffs around Murdock’s wrists.

As if he sensed your crumbling façade of calm, he pushed, “You’ll have to pick a side, of course.” You hated to admit it, but the choice would be easy, if you could convince yourself to acknowledge that you did have a choice. Left or right. You didn’t have to consider the nuance of it all, no matter how much you wanted to. The answer your heart made for you blazed in your mind, but trails of fog tried to cover it with questions and consequences.

“Sitting on the fence isn’t an option.” His tone was strangely gentle, like coaxing an injured animal from their hiding place. “If you let me out or if you lug me to a cell yourself, I’ll know where you stand. Hell, I’ll even give you a week to change your mind. But you can’t just leave and wash your hands of it all.”

Responsibility. That was the thing at the crux of his decisions. Who lived and who died all depended on responsibility. The corrupt decided their own sentences when they played both sides off against each other. Police and aristocracy, politicians and the church. The hypocrites were the ones with their necks on the block, and Murdock wielded the axe. He hoped that you would see that, and maybe, if you wanted to, find a handle for yourself.

The distance between the two of you seemed to close. The desk turned to mist. The walls around you felt as though they’d constricted without you noticing.

“Think about it, love.” You didn’t need to think, that was the worst part. “You can go back to your boring job where you aren’t respected or cared about, and you can file reports about a teenager’s accidental arson while the bigger cases are picked off by fat cats who just want the reputation and money.” You didn’t need to be convinced. “Or you can come with me and use justice how it should be used. How you want to use it.”

Heart thundering in your chest so loud you thought it might burst – but then you wouldn’t have to make a decision so maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad – the rest of your body stayed paralyzed with fear. Not of Murdock, of course not, but of the fact that you wanted to go with him. In a split second, you’d made your choice, and you didn’t need his fancy words to encourage it. You weren’t some injured animal, you were a detective who had lost faith in the system, leaving only a struggle with your morals and upbringing to contest with, two things that were fading fast from your mind.

Meanwhile, Murdock struggled with the twitch of his hand that compelled him to comfort you. He had never been a sympathetic person – most murderers weren’t – but he didn’t like this look on you. At least, he liked it much less than the vivid rage you so often sported, particularly when it was for him. This was a distressed look that he didn’t mean to cause. Give him the fireworks and the explosions and the sparks, not the earthquakes that rocked the very place he stood and threatened to knock him off his feet entirely. Deep in his chest, he wanted to exchange that expression for anything else, but he found him options vastly limited by the cuffs. His mouth dropped open, seconds away from offering kind words, but they had done enough.

Luckily, that enough was in the direction that he wanted.

You didn’t speak as you got up from your chair and walked to the door. You lifted your hand but switched courses quickly, aiming not for the handle but for the ring of keys hanging on the wall next to it. One of them would unlock the handcuffs. One of them would set Murdock free and damn you to a life of crime in one movement. You had witnesses, after all, and your own conscience wouldn’t let you be a traitor to either side.

When you were close enough, he reached out to you. A hand caressed down your arm as far as the metal would let him go. His contact sparked against your skin while the clang of the cuffs hitting the table rang out in the room like a church bell. When he was free, he did the most unexpected thing you would ever believe he chose to do.

Murdock wrapped an arm around your waist and shifted the hand that was on your arm around your shoulder. He was surprisingly cozy, like a warm-blooded animal, in the din of the interrogation room. As you stood frozen, half from his action and half from the reality of your own setting in, he tightened his grip and dipped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, words muted by his closeness to you, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. In fact, slowly, you drew your arms around him, too. 

“When we get home, we’re talking about this.”

He pulled back at that, barely enough for you to properly hear his question of, “Home?”

It went unanswered, but he had already gotten a sentence out of you, and that was much more than he could had ever expected. You propped your hands against his chest to subtly move him further from you, eyes cast down and expression downcast.

“Stay here.”

He followed your order easily, considering it was just him standing in the room while you left into the hallway. Both of you knew it would take just one turn of the key to lock him inside, a couple of steps to tell someone that he needed to be locked up as soon as possible, a quick course of action that would relieve you of all your guilt. Murdock wouldn’t hold you to it, because you still chose a side. It just wouldn’t be the one he wanted.

When you returned with a hat and jacket – and, unbeknownst to him, the image of those two officers paralyzed with fear seared into your mind’s eye – he felt his shoulders relax and a pleasant smile take over his lips. Pleasant wasn’t a word often used to describe anything to do with Murdock, but you had a strange way of breaking the norms, and he didn’t mind it one bit. He even let you manipulate his arms like a doll into the flimsy material before you dropped the cap onto his head. It dipped over his forehead slightly, so you adjusted it until you could just see his eyes out of the shadow.

“You don’t say a word until we’re out of this building and into my car,” you ordered, and Murdock thought it best to acquiesce. It was the least he could do after this whole situation that he put you in.

Briefly, he nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He had.

But the next course of action was simple; you left the keys on the hook as you opened the door, unceremoniously shoved Murdock by the shoulder into the hallway, and lead him into the entrance. You had never been more appreciative of the other officers’ reactions to you. Seeing them jump out of your direct path like they’d been set on fire was good for you, if not practically – given you were escorting a serial killer out of the precinct – then emotionally. Nobody tried to look at the man in step by your side, mostly because they were too afraid to cast their gaze anywhere near you. Before, you might have felt disappointed at the reaction, but, if Murdock was right, they were no better than you.

You really hoped he was right.

You made it to your car promptly, and he was soon to round the hood to get into the passenger seat while you swung the driver’s door open. You almost drove off without looking in your back seat, your hand still on the keys in your ignition when you noticed the pile of equipment in the middle of the bench. Duct-tape, zip-ties and lo-and-behold, your original gun. It was as clean as the day Murdock had taken it from you.

Speaking of – you turned to look at the man next to you, who wore the most sheepish expression you would have imagined fit on him.

 “Seriously?” you asked.

“I wanted to be prepared in case you put up a fight.”

“You were going to kidnap me?”

“Only for a day or two.” Your eyes narrowed, and he took that as a sign to rush to his own defense. “Just long enough for you to come around. I would never kill you.”

How comforting. It was weird that the thought was half-genuine; you were indeed glad that he had never planned on ending your life.

Sarcastic or not, you muttered a, “thanks,” as you pulled out from your parking space and started the journey home.

Murdock was a surprisingly quiet travelling companion. You expected him to be chatting your ear off about his latest kills, their crimes, their lives, their deaths, etcetera, etcetera. The only thing noise he made, though, was his humming along to the radio’s soft rock. Some instrumental had him tapping his fingers along the window’s edge in its rhythm. If you hadn’t been driving away from a police interrogation, it might have been sweet. And even if you were…

But the magic didn’t last forever. You pulled into your apartment’s parking lot, the three scuffed paint lines amongst those alleyway dumpsters and loose beer cans constituting for one, and you turned off the engine. You didn’t live in a nice part of town, you knew that, and you weren’t ashamed. Sure, you spent most of your time in your office, but that wasn’t because you were embarrassed to live in the building. It was just easier for you, to the point that your apartment was more of a second home, like the grandparents’ that you used to spend every second Wednesday at.

You locked your car door when you were out, then made your way to Murdock’s side.

“This is your place?” he asked, shutting his own door behind him.

“What, you’ve never seen it before?”

“I steered clear of your intimate life.”

The image of the equipment that was still in your backseat had you raising an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s where you draw the line?”

“I didn’t want to rush it.” You didn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, nor did you stop yourself from grabbing Murdock’s hand and tugging him towards the front of the building. From the outside, it looked like your standard run-down-rat-dream, but you’d taken the liberty of sprucing up your own rooms. It lessened the fear in your heart about showing your new partner – in crime.

Said man shot a look down to your hands. “No, I much prefer you doing this out of your own volition.”

The lobby of your building served its purpose. It had a reception table, a door to the breaker box and other things up-keep, and a staircase that led to the rest of the floors. There was only one other door on this level, which was for the owner’s place, but he was either hardly ever there or rotting on his couch, based on how little you saw of him. Another plus was that there were no cameras, but that was only a positive for right now. You would certainly be more worried about smuggling in a murderer had there been sufficient security measures.

So, with the ease of this mission, you took Murdock up to your apartment relatively easily. The other occupants of the building stayed put in their rooms as you went up the steps, before you stopped on the fifth floor. It took a second for you to fish your keys out of your pocket, but, when you had and you’d twisted them into the lock, Murdock let out a little whistle.

You were proud of the work you’d done to fix the place up. When you had first bought it, it was more of a trash dump than a living space – you hadn’t made it three steps without tripping on a bunch of tied up newspapers, which got you into the immediate mindset for clearing it up. The cleaning was over by the first day, the repairs by the third, and the refurbishment by the end of the week. All on your dime, mind you, but you were fine with that. It just meant that if and when you moved out, you would take everything with you.

Now, it was made into an actual home with crimson wallpaper, a plush couch, a bookcase in the corner and, the thing that Murdock took most notice of, an empty fish tank.

You closed the door behind Murdock as he sashayed to the centre of your front room.

“I didn’t see you as a fish owner,” he commented.

“I’m not.” You hung your jacket on the rack beside you. “Never spent enough time here to look after them.”

It was a sad tale you never liked to tell. Three betta fish and two weeks at the office was the most you let slip when people asked.

But, instead of asking, Murdock flopped back onto the cushions behind him and tucked his hands underneath his head. “Cozy.”

You were able to see his closed eyes when you sat on the coffee table. He looked peaceful, if you could ever call him peaceful. For a moment, you thought he might have checked out early and fell asleep.

His voice nearly startled you, but it only made you squint your eyes and cross your arms on your knees. “You wanted to talk,” he prompted.

“What’s the arrangement now?”

“I assume this is a one-bedroom and I don’t like sleeping on the couch.” He opened his eyes only to wink with the one you could see between the cracks of the glass.

You admonished him firmly. “Murdock.” For you, this was a turning point in your entire life. You didn’t believe in that second chance after death – not that you imagined you would get a good one after this – so you needed to make this count.

“There we go,” he whispered, a smug tone made by you finally saying his real name aloud.

As much as you’d like to continue his banter, easier now that you could actually talk to him in the privacy of your own home, you needed to be secure in your thought process. “Am I quitting my job?”

“Yes.” Blunt, but effective. That was better for you. “But you still have a week to mull it over. Not that I think you’ve made the wrong choice—” His hand jumped back to where it had once been in yours, “—You can do more work out here than you ever could as a detective.”

Whether that was true or not, you both believed it. Murdock had since his first kill, and you were steadily getting further and further from the fence.

“So, I’m joining you.”

“If you feel so inclined.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you like.”

“You’re being vague.”

“Sweetheart, this is your life.” As if to punctuate his point, he brought you closer by your hand. Your heart thudded in your chest while the memories from your first one-on-one flooded back. “You can come out stalking with me or go off on your own.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. He was right. You assured yourself that, yes, this was your life. And you’d chosen to spend it taking the law into your own hands.

Now, your questions were for the simple act of asking questions. You needed time to process it, and listening to Murdock talk was surprisingly helpful. “Then why pull me off the force?”

“I saw what they were doing with you. You told me. I certainly won’t take credit for your work, and you’re not restrained by paperwork or legalities. I just wanted to open you up to more effective opportunities.” He leaned closer, almost out of his seat. “And, as much as I’ve loved our game of cat and mouse, it’s hard to carry on a relationship when you run the risk of shooting me anytime we meet. Although, I do love the danger. Complicated, isn’t it?”

“Not really.”

When you’d first become a detective, you would have never imagined that your career would end like this. Shot in the line of duty, punched a higher up, retired at a nice, old age to a farm in the countryside. Those were the scenarios you’d thought up all those years ago. And yet, you liked this outcome. It filled you with some kind of excitement when you thought about finally dealing with the other detectives you’d seen. And Murdock, oh, Murdock, he was your favorite part.

That was why you didn’t need any encouragement to dive forward and connect your lips with his. He was immediately receptive to the kiss, using his hand to pull you towards him. All the stress of joining a murderer melted away with the contact. Sparks danced along your skin where he drew his other hand from your arm to your shoulder to your neck. Undoubtably, you were touch-starved, you’d known that for a while, and that made the fire grow quicker than you thought it would. The dance you’d been doing with each other for months was nothing in comparison to the dance of your lips. It was less infuriating for you, and more prideful for Murdock. The little sounds that escaped your mouth as you shifted to get more comfortable gave him a boost to his ego that he really didn’t need. Still, he smiled while you pushed deeper. 

This was his prize. You would never admit it, but Murdock knew that you knew that he won. He wasn’t sitting pretty in a cell, he was sitting pretty on your couch, with a view, not of iron bars, but of a gorgeous detective who had practically pledged their life to him. He leaned back just an inch to breath, letting you do the same, in order to get a good look at you.

The breath was worth nothing when you knocked it out of him, anyway. Disheveled was a good look on you.

“I’ve made my choice,” you muttered, “and I don’t intend on going back on it now.” That statement made his heart quicken, more than fleeing any crime scene could ever cause.

His curiosity was piqued when you straightened your back and looked towards the bookcase.

You got to your feet as you said, “Oh, that means I can show you something.”

Murdock watched you rush to where you were looking. You grazed a hand across the dusty surface, eyes skipping through the spines to find the thing you were searching for. When you turned around again, Murdock saw not a book, as he would have guessed, but a manilla folder.

After your rooftop meeting, you had done some research. You used to tell yourself it was to keep tabs on the other detectives, so that you could possibly guess who Murdock would go after first. Now, you admitted that it was just to dig up some dirt.

You fell back next to Murdock on the couch, bringing a foot onto the coffee table. The folder was tossed open in your hands by the weight of the papers inside, and there were a lot of them, each separated with a tab. One name, one last name, was written per tab.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what this was.

“Oh, I love you,” he sighed as he flipped through some of the documents. It was a dream come true for him. The background check was the most boring part of the process, he much preferred the chase. With you, he had gotten all of his information from talking to you, and he only stayed entertained because it was you. In your hands was the golden ticket to avoid all of that messy business.

Murdock was so happy that you chased him.

“I love you, too,” you replied, bringing a hand up to grab at his jawline. If it were any other moment, he might have teased you, but he was too busy falling in love with you, as if the cat and mouse schtick hadn’t been enough for him already. He was looking forward to getting your claws back. 

“So,” he whispered into the minimal gap between you, “Pierce or Vanderbilt first?”

You dropped your head, hitting his lips with a light laugh. It was the first time that you wondered what your life had become in a grateful sense.

[I don't actually think that this was a request, but I also think of Murdock way too much to only have one fic about him. Hence... you get this. I hope you enjoyed <3!]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #markiplier egos #writing #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier #one shots #x reader #murdock x reader #murdock #iswm #iswm murdock #also guess who just remembered they have an inbox #detective x criminal

[acknowledge-reigns]

34+35 (Roman Reigns x Fem!OC) SMUT! 18+

Summary: Movie night with Roman turns steamy.

Warnings: Teasing, Dom/sub dynamic, oral (fem receiving), pet names (babygirl, sweetheart), Praise kink (Good girl), daddy kink.

Note: Lilah is a character originally featured in another fic of mine Jealous. You do not have to read it to understand this one at all, but you can if you'd like!

As Roman and Lilah settle down on the couch for a relaxing movie night, the atmosphere is filled with a sense of romance and anticipation. The room is dimly lit, with the flickering glow of the television screen casting a warm ambiance as she snuggled into his side.

Roman places his hand on her thigh, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She leans into him, her body responding to his touch with a mixture of excitement and longing. Their eyes meet, filled with an intense desire that cannot be ignored.

As the movie plays in the background, They slowly lose ourselves in the moment. Roman's hand begins to trail higher up her thigh, his fingers gently caressing her soft skin, the sensation makes her gasp softly, her breath hitching with anticipation.

In response, Lilah's fingers find their way to Roman's chest, tracing the contours of his muscular physique beneath his shirt. The warmth of their bodies pressed against each other intensifies, creating an intoxicating heat between them.

Their kisses become more urgent, their lips moving in perfect synchronization. The taste of each other becomes addictive, fueling their hunger for one another.

As the movie continues to play on the television, its dialogue and soundtrack blending with their moans of pleasure, they find themselves fully immersed in their own intimate world.

Feeling the warmth of Roman's hand against her skin, Lilah's heart races with anticipation. Roman's hand slips under the fabric of Lilah's shirt, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Suddenly he removes his hand, a playful smirk on his face. "W-Why'd you stop?" Lilah whined in frustration causing Roman to quirk a brow.

"Because" He stated simply.

"That's not fair, Ro! You got me all worked up." Lilah protested.

"Where did you get the impression I had to play fair, babygirl? I'm the tribal chief, sweetheart, life isn't fair." Roman responds teasingly.

Lilah glares at him semi-playfully. How dare he?!

"Aw, is someone all frustrated? be a good girl, lose the attitude and finish the movie, then you get your reward." Roman promised her.

Lilah pretended to pay attention to the movie, lost in her own filthy thoughts of what Roman might do when it was over.

Eventually, the movie reaches its end, the credits rolling on the screen. Roman grinned before begining to pull her clothes off, pushing her back onto the couch he parts her legs and settles between them placing teasing kisses on her inner thighs. With no warning his mouth latches onto her clit, flicking his tongue teasingly eliciting moans of pure bliss. "You taste like fucking candy, babygirl." Roman growled as he went back to eating her out like it was his last meal. "Mmm you're such a good girl for me." He says, "You gon cum babygirl? cum for daddy."

By the end of the night he'd made her cum at least three times before he'd carried her effortlessly from their living room to their bedroom, his beard still glistening with her juices.

After he finishes getting them both all cleaned up, they laid snuggled together, their bodies still humming with satisfaction. "I love you, Ro." Lilah said.

"I love you too, babygirl." Roman responded.

#roman reigns #the tribal chief #wwe roman reigns #head of the table #the head of the table #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #Spotify

[helix-studios117]

Halo Reloaded - Spartan-II Training Schedule

I've wanted to flesh this out for while, but here we go. Note: this seems impossible... it's because it is.

General Information:

From Monday through Friday (except Wednesday), they start every morning with stretching, then they do 50 jumping jacks; after a quick breather, they do the following routine below.

100 total squats, push-ups, chin-ups, crunches and sit-ups. 50 of these every morning after the jumping jacks, then they do another 50 before bed.

Go to class, listen to a lecture on tactics used by the Spartans of Greece and the Roman Empire. This goes from 1000 to 1200 (Lunch Break), from 1300 to 1500 is recess at the obstacle-course where parkour and acrobatics are to be practiced, then class resumes from 1600 to 1800.

Night-Routine, then bed.

Monday:

After a one hour break from the morning routine, they go on a one kilometer run with small sand-bags tied to every Spartan-cadet's ankles. (A work-out routine inspired by Rocky Marciano.)

They practice swimming for an hour from 1900 to 2000 shortly after class.

Tuesday:

After a one hour break from the morning routine, they step into a VR-simulator that trains them to eject from drop-pods.

At 1900 to 2000, they spar with each other; two per circle (every pair gets an individual circle). The art is a martial-art native only to the Spartans called "Spartan-Kata"; it's heavily influenced by four martial-arts: Krav Maga, Collegiate Wrestling, Judo and Kali. One is armed with tonfas and is on the offensive, the other is unarmed and on the defensive; the unarmed opponent gets a turn to be on the offense while the armed opponent learns to be defensive. They switch offensive/defensive positions at 30 minutes into the sparring session.

Wednesday:

Break on both the morning and evenings. It's just lessons for the entire day. They don't even do the morning/night routines, they just wake up, recover, go to class and return to bed.

Thursday:

In the morning, they play a game of CTF in the Zero-Grav Chamber using laser-guns that respond to their Zero-Grav Suits' sensors. (It's just Ender's Game.)

In the evening, they learn to disassemble, clean and reassemble their guns (don't worry, they're not loaded) for the first 30 minutes; in the last 30 minutes, they go to the targeting range to practice their aim. From ages 8 - 11, they use laser-guns (similar ones seen in the Zero-Grav Chamer); they are taught fire-arm safety and how to properly use guns, then from ages 12 - 16, they're taught to practice with real-gunloaded with live-rounds.

Friday:

They do their usual morning and night routine, though they go to class for the first half of the day; after lunch, they don't go to recess. For the rest of the day onward, they do a group "survival-activity" that they must complete before the day is over. If any Spartan fails to complete the exercise and return to the training-facility, ONI personnel will personally collect them and return them back to base with the usual penalty for failure/coming-in-last being no dinner.

Saturday:

Rest & Recovery Day. No class or training, obstacle-course is always open.

Sunday:

Rest & Recovery Day. No class or training, obstacle-course is always open.

Meal-Time:

Breakfast: Lots of organic-eggs (either scrambled or over-easy, depends on what the cadet wants) and scalloped potatoes, a slice of ham with a side of plain-crackers. Drinks are a glass of water.

Lunch: Fried-Chicken and fish with brown rice and a side of mashed-potatoes slathered in gravy. Drinks are orange-juice.

Dinner: Turkey slathered with gravy and ice-cream covered in hot-fudge syrup. Drinks are a glass of milk.

Class-Snacks: Plain-Crackers with a glass of milk and a side of Vitamin-Gummy packs.

Additional Information:

Every night, the Spartans sleep to white-noise.

After getting themselves in bed, they are first treated with story-time as they fall asleep; Deja, the AI that teaches the Spartans in Halsey's absence, reads them stories from ancient Greece, namely the stories from Classical Mythology, but sometimes real events thay transpired then, too. Deja swaps over to white-noise once everyone has fallen asleep.

All of this was done from ages 8 to 16. In John's case, due to him being the youngest by two years, 6 to 14.

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #halo headcanon #halo au #halo reloaded #helix studios117 #spartans #spartan #spartan ii #spartan ii training is cutthroat

[deathnguts]

My current Roman Empire is my natural headcanon that Sirius is unknowingly exactly like his father.

How can one be that way without knowing? Well, I feel like the Black family dynamic is reliant on Walburga for more proactive abuse while Orion is a bystander. Not an innocent one, mind you, he just prefers to ignore that he even has a family altogether since he never wanted this life and hates his wife and finds his children to be annoying nails in his coffin. He throws himself into work just to have an excuse to be away from them and it works. Sirius probably doesn’t even remember the last time he as much as saw his father, so how could he say he knows him enough to compare himself to him? And in terms of those similarities, I feel like a lot of them aren’t even glaring in their eyes. They’re just completely blind to them because they rarely interact.

Like they look exactly the same, if you went back in time you would just see a more cleaned up Sirius in Slytherin robes roaming the halls of Hogwarts. If the other marauders ever saw Orion their first thought would be ‘Sirius but older.’ And their physical similarities run bone deep. They have the same dramatically annoyed (like everything around them is below them) air about them when forced to do something they don’t want to, their eyes look exactly the same when wielding furious glares that settle within and fester until they explode, when drunk and angry Orion even stands the same as Sirius with his shoulders back and head at the same regally rebellious tilt he’d perfected in his own teen years, they roll their eyes the same way and scoff an identical sound in Walburga’s face when being reminded of their ‘duties,’ and the way they carry themselves when they talk to Regulus with guilt over something or other (reproachful and not willing to apologize but letting speaking to him at all be atonement) gives the youngest Black the same eternally small feeling.

But like neither of them know that at all while that’s all anyone around them can see. Orion’s closer family tease that Sirius is just him a second time (same brooding teenager) and he thinks they’re just insulting him. Walburga is the first to notice they share the tendency to say the same sort of stabbing words when agitated and looking for a fight, and Regulus is the first to notice they wear the same like caniving shit eating grin while wielding their knivish tongues. Regulus had always been more partial to his father when Sirius was away because he could see his favorite person behind the veil of age. Walburga jumped to fight with either and both her husband and oldest sun almost back to back with one another because it’s the same face frowning at her and the same voice biting back at her and she can’t properly control either of them.

And the more tragic half of it all, I mainly mentioned their similarities when angry because Orion is just always angry. He’s always stewing in emotion and never relaxed enough to be happy enough to parallel that side of Sirius. Orion used to be the same angry boy from the same angry house with the same angry parents and grew up with the same stupid duties and the same stupid expectations, but he molded to them eventually. He never got out. He stayed regal and he stayed angry. He never had anyone to pull him out. (There’s the lingering threads wounding into a tragic cloak for Regulus to wear in that.)

There’s no way of knowing how truly tightly the knotted the tie between the father and the son is when the father doesn’t have a smile for the son to mirror. There’s no way for the son to see history repeating within himself when he can’t make out his father well enough to witness their edges blurring together.

#fuck jkr #sorry I know this is a technically unspoken Kurogiri blog #but also not sorry because it’s mine and I get to talk about what I want #marauders era #sirius black #regulus black #orion black #walburga black #father son and holy spirit

[analoceits]

raven wings chapter one: spiraling smoke

A03 Link

note: ahh im super excited this is finally out!! massive and i mean massive thanks to Oatmeal_Archive, also known as @oatmeat-stans-the-trash-rat on tumblr and ChaosIsMyName, both of my beta readers for this fic!! they were both AMAZING moral support and oatmeal is a grammar wizard tbh. check out their stuff, they’re great writers!!

tags: Wings, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Winged Logic | Logan Sanders, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Minor Body Horror, Minor Gore, Religious Guilt, Morally Neutral Morality | Patton Sanders (hes well intentioned just.. a bit messy), Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides) (they care about eachother sm)

-

The wings shot out of his back like spiraling towers of smoke, and in the blurry bathroom mirror - they might as well have been. Logan carefully traced his fingers to where they poked out of his back, right under his shoulder blades and felt the muscles. They were real.

He didn’t hesitate before raising them in the air, arching over his head like a deep shadow in the dark light. He bit his tongue to stop himself from gasping out loud with his shock. It looked like a biblical portrait.

He ran his fingers over the dark feathers while thinking back to what could’ve caused this - to be fair, he didn’t have many leads. When he had woken up like this, he didn’t even realize he had wings at first. He could’ve sworn it was one of Virgil’s thick weighted blankets he often borrowed (not that he needed it), but he realized when he sat up.

They were real, that was at least proven - considering how as he stumbled to the bathroom, one of the wings dragging behind him knocked into the table and one of Patton's favorite plants smashed to the floor. He was lucky it was easy to clean up, and the pot was only a little cracked.

He let the wings fall back down to his sides, slightly rocking with their sheer weight. They were much more dense and strong then he had previously imagined. He hadn’t previously thought he could actually fly with them, but with this realization - there was a possibility.

He gripped as tightly as he could along the edge of the counter, and started to flap them as strongly as he could. The muscles themselves were young, and therefor weak. Despite this, after a second he was barely putting weight on his feet, and next thing he knew he was in the air.

He levitated just briefly, not breathing at all for that silent second. Then the wings gave out. He crashed back to the tile floor, scrambling to hoist himself up with the bathroom counter. It definitely bruised his ribs in the process (ow), but facing himself in the mirror - he couldn’t stand to count it as a disappointment.

He set himself back up right and let his thoughts flow. These were not.. particularly planned for, mayhaps, but they weren’t the worst possible change in the Mindscape. Really, the sheer convenience of them was worth their existence all on its own.

He also spared a thought for the possibility of the other sides’ reaction. Despite how emotionless he was, the thought of their wonder made something deep in his chest burn like a lit candle. He could imagine Patton awwing and oohing over the wings, while Roman insisting it was good potential for ‘adventuring’, and even perhaps Virgil finding solace in the thought that it was a safety net for Logan.

Though, for all he knew, these were an impermanent change. The mindscape did not often pull stunts like this. Despite the fact that the sides had small varieties, in the end, they all mostly resembled Thomas. Did any side even have any changes this significant, like animal features- oh.

Oh.

How had he forgotten?

(Thomas was young at the time. Patton and Janus were in charge, but it was more arbitrary then anything - they were all the same age in the end. King had seemed older, seemed more in charge, but now it was just the twins - with big eyes and little hands just like the rest of them. 

There was distant yelling, and despite how far the voices were, there was no question who it was. Logan put his book down on his lap and looked up. Roman stared at him from across the room and frowned with concern. Jan and Pat had been arguing more recently. Logan nodded at the implicit question, getting up and taking Roman by the hand as they wondered down the hall.

The words became clearer as they became closer.

“I’ve told you that lying isn’t worth it, Jan.. Thomathy’s in trouble and I don’t know how long it’s gonna last!” Patton practically wailed, throwing his arms out through his distress and desperation. He was always emotional in these scenarios.

“You’re acting like I pushed it over myself. It is not that serious of an infraction, Patton. His parents will get over it!” Janus snapped back, arms tucked over his chest and face furrowed with his anger.

Thomas had knocked it over earlier while they were playing. Their mother had valued it a lot, but Thomas thought he could hide it by cleaning it up, with the encouragement of Janus. He got a shard stuck in his hand in the process, and their parents were now worried and furious.

Patton hadn’t coped well. Any time when they were in trouble, or needed to get treatment, he was the most upset. Thus, the intersection was the worst possible scenario. It made sense as he was the center for Morality and Emotions; he was prone to being upset. Nobody blamed him for that. The main issue was that he projected that onto Janus.

Logan turned to face Roman, who gave a steady nod as the argument droned on around them. Despite being the most ‘mature’, and therefor heads of house (so to speak). Janus and Pattons’ arguments could get ugly, fast. The other sides luckily had learned how to separate them in these scenarios and avoid such problems.

Logan motioned that he would take Janus and Roman could take Patton, their usual arrangement. Roman nodded in agreement. Logan was about to step in so they could object to this, but then he stopped. No. Something was wrong.

“Why are you acting so cold-blooded-” Patton yelled, his eyes welling up with angry tears, and Janus’s expression dropped. Despite everything - he hated such insults to a special degree. As if he didn’t care, as if he didn’t try, he would say every time.

Then, it happened. Scales tore through the skin under his eye and seemed to envelops half his face one quick go. His right eye was like a snakes, gold with a thin black slit. His teeth sharpened to little blades in his mouth. 

The silence was overwhelming, and the tension in the air was so palpable Logan could barely breath. He felt Roman’s hand tighten in his, and he gripped back the best he could. Patton clamped his hands over his mouth and slowly paced back, hovering over Roman and Logan protectively in the process.

Janus’s expression went from pure single-minded anger and to confusion, then fear just as the rest of them. He spun his head around behind him for a second, clearly looking for the threat, before he put a hand on his own face. Then, he felt the scales.

He opened his mouth, and even now Logan wondered what he had planned to say - an apology? An explanation? Maybe he was planning to beg with Patton, or maybe he would of never been able say anything at all. It didn’t matter, of course, because Patton cut him off.

Patton clasped his hands together in front of his face, turned his head down and started to pray. He prayed quietly, as always. Once Logan asked him to explain why, and he said that he already had God in his heart - he didn’t need to speak anywhere else. Logan thought it cowardice, but he didn’t say so. Of course, that didn’t matter now - it didn’t take a genius to guess which prayer he was saying.

I come to Your refuge with joy for You shelter me against the attack of the Devil. Protect me, O Lord, from the craftiness of the enemy, and save me from his evil plots.

It was one of Patton's favorite prayers.

Janus stared, and Logan knew he wasn’t the only one to guess the prayer correctly then. Soft anger rested upon his expression. He hissed something under his breath - Logan couldn’t hear it, but Patton must have, because he turned his head up and stopped praying. The look was indecipherable.

Then Janus walked out, hands in fists but head held as high as always. Patton paced back to his room without even seeming to have seen Logan or Roman, and they both ran to their room after. Virgil, Janus, and Remus’s rooms were gone the next morning.)

.. Maybe these weren’t an act of the mindscape. These types of events, with the context of the incident with Janus, seemed to be after negative events. Nothing had occurred. (It was nothing.) This was simply just an accident, or glitch, possibly. 

It was nothing that adjusting his form couldn’t fix. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tracing his fingers along where the wings poked out of his skin. His flesh seemed to crackle as he tried to push the wings back into himself, letting the bones and muscle nestle into his back. 

After a long, awkward moment of this, his skin wrapped back over itself and he placed a palm where the wing once sprouted from. Nothing.

He opened his eyes again and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he still was faced with nothing. He took a few deep breaths, glad that the problem was resolved. He shoved it back into the far corners of his memory. It was noth-

Then he felt it. Burning fire under his skin as bones and feathers reformed into one, with no care or consideration for the rest of his body, tearing muscles apart and shoving his ribs to the side. He covered his mouth, and when that wasn’t enough, he dragged his blunt nails against his cheeks in a desperate attempt to stay silent.

He tried his best to focus and attempted to disperse the wings once more, stop them from reforming desperately, lest they break through his skin. His entire back burned with pain at the attempt. He was sent careening downwards, gripping onto the counter for dear life.

He bit his bottom lip and before he knew it, blood was welling up in his mouth. Every attempt to try and calm himself, breath deeply or count, eventually just made it worse. He gasped and choked on air, while his lungs desperately strained to keep function. The pain was unbearable. 

Virgil - Virgil had told him that after the incident, but before they left the Lightscape, Janus tried to get rid of the scales. Only once. Only once because the first time taught him to not try again, then Virgil had refuse to elaborate farther. Logan understood what he meant now.

The black wings finally broke through his skin and it took everything in Logan’s body to not scream at the top of his lungs. The world swam around him as he felt blood well up around the wings and drip down his back. He spit blood into the sink, and his entire body shook.

The pain slowly eased off of him until he could think again. He propped his head up in his hands and looked up, facing himself in the mirror. The wings were limp against his back, but now he could see the blood on them. They felt more like the burnt and charred wings of a fallen angel instead of anything biblical. He could practically hear Patton’s response, telling him he had fallen from grace. But.. maybe he didn’t have to be aware.

He cleaned the rest of the blood off of himself as gently as he could, before heading back to his room through the dark. He tucked the wings tight against his back and made a point to not spare the cracked flowerpot a guilty glance. After a few achingly long minutes of shuffling through his possessions as the sun rose, he got what he needed and returned to the bathroom.

He spread the items out on the counter, assessing them all equally. A typical black collar shirt of his, a tie, and a laced corset that Roman had left him. He picked up the corset. This could work.

He sinched the corset around himself with steady hands, tucking the wings underneath. Pain flared up and burst through the bloody things, which objected to being tucked so tightly. He bit his lip raw in the process, but by the end the wings were tucked sturdy against his back, if a bit painfully.

Then, he dawned the shirt and tie, and tried his best to see through all angles in the mirror.

It wasn’t the best disguise, that was to be sure. The wings poked out a little, harsh little spikes of bone against his shirt, but that was just because he knew what he was looking for. The other sides, even if they noticed the odd shape, would be unlikely to comment on it. At least, he hoped.

He barely registered the noise of Roman sitting up, and taking his usual morning stretch with an average amount of dramatic flourish. It was his turn to make breakfast, after all. Biting back his reservations, he fled to the kitchen.

////

“Popstar Padre - is it really worth it to give Janus a ‘fair place at our table’?” Roman ranted between thick bites of waffle, waving his fork like any weapon. “No offense, but the snake isn’t exactly the fair and friendly type that I want influencing Thomas.”

Patton wrung his hands, staring to the side, then down, then at the table. Anywhere but at Roman. Virgil looked between the two, with semi-wide eyes waiting for movement, before sighing deeply like he realized the task at hand.

“Sorry Ro- actually, not sorry at all, but got to agree with Pat on this one.” Roman’s face practically dropped to the core of the earth, looking like the world’s most kicked puppy, but Virgil continued without a hitch. “Janus can be.. the worst, definitely, but he’s getting better. We got to.. ugh, give him a chance, like you gave me.” Virgil’s face curled up like he was being forced to eat dirt with every word he spoke.

Roman snapped out a response, pointing his fork with an accusatory glare. Logan happily tuned out the words, for once content to fade into the background of a debate. The wings continuously shuffled underneath the corset, so having less eyes on him was for the better.

The argument droned on around him, like he was a rock in a river. Silently, for once, he ate his breakfast. Nobody noticed him and that was for the best. With luck, these would simply disappear in a week or two, and nobody would ever know-

“Lo?” The voice was thick with concern, and he nearly bit his tongue off attempting to not flinch. He hesitated, and then very carefully drew his attention back up to Virgil. His heart dropped at the mix of worry and suspicion that rested on his face.

“Yes?” He asked, after choking down a quick bite of pancake. The wings shuffled under the corset, and he cursed his stupid fleshform. Then Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, directly above the wings. He cursed existence, trying to keep the new muscles locked still.

“You’re quiet. You aren’t usually quiet. What’s wrong?” The words made Logan spare Patton and Roman a glance - knowing if they even got the slightest hint he was in any way, shape or form, wrong they’d get worried too. For once, seeing them continue on with their bickering was a blessing.

“I was making up for a small error in Thomas’s editing schedule last night and stayed up a little later than intended. I am simply tired from such activities.” The lie slipped out of his throat like honey. He was sure, with his luck, that Janus was about to pop up behind him.

There was a moment of silence, with Virgil practically glaring into his very soul. Thankfully, he oh so slowly he let go, suspicion still written on his face nonetheless. “Take a nap later. I mean it too, Lo. You aren’t Remy - you can’t do all nighters like that.” His expression softened slightly, and he turned to take a bite of pancake - instead ending up butting into Patton and Roman’s debate once more.

Logan practically breathed all of his lungs out and then some with his relief. His heart was pounding like a war drum. The wings shuffled awkwardly under the corset, trying to find a comfortable resting position again.

It was alright, he reminded himself with the logical part of his brain; Virgil was unaware. Realistically, Virgil would be the one of the light sides to care the least about his.. er, sudden change, but he’d rather not risk it either way, considering that the other option would be him caring the most.

(“You’re just like that fucking snake.”)

He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his skull, and the wings awkwardly ruffled once more under the leather. He was honestly shocked he hadn’t accidentally cramped one of them at this rate.

And then he felt a pair of eyes burning into his back. He didn’t dare look up, because he knew it was Virgil; he knew looking up would just make things worst for him.

Virgil slowly spoke, not like Logan couldn’t understand, but as if he struggled to form words. “Did-,” he hissed and Logan thanked God it was quiet, “did something just move under your shirt?” Fear laced his tone like a thick blanket, and Logan’s muscles tightened slightly.

He turned to face Virgil, carefully angling himself so the wings could fold behind his back and Virgil couldn’t see them. “Nothing moved under my shirt,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows in his best concerned expression. He felt like Janus with this much lying, “Virgil, how much did you sleep last night?”

Virgil scrunched up his face, making it very clear he didn’t believe a word that came out of Logan’s mouth. “No, no no nope,” he popped the ‘P’ for extra effect, “listen, Lo, I’ve already gone down the whole ‘did you sleep enough last night’ she-bang with Janus. That doesn’t work on me.” He insisted.

“It isn’t a trick,” he insisted as calmly as he could, putting his hands up and leaning back slightly for the best kindly demeanor he could give off, “I’m just saying that insomnia, or lack of sleep, can cause minor visual hallucinations - such as seeing something move under ones shirt, and I am aware you’ve struggled with such in the past.”

Virgil stared at him as hard as he could. Logan’s heart twisted with guilt as he watched Virgil’s expression drop, and he seemed to convinced himself that Logan was right and he was just seeing things. “Sorry,” he muttered, and turned back to his dish.

“It’s quite alright.” Logan insisted, turning back to his food himself just as quickly. It was for the best, he reasoned. No reason to tell Virgil and have him in charge of such a big secret, considering his anxiety. 

They ate in silence for what felt like an infinite eternity. Though, Logan knew logically it could’ve only been five, ten minutes more. The argument between Patton and Roman slowly fizzled out, neither of them none the wiser to Logan and Virgil’s.. disagreement.

He finished his plate and got up, calmly announcing as he headed to the sink, “I believe the chore chart indicates that it’s Virgil turn to do the dishes, correct?” He asked, quickly rinsing off his plate.

Virgil nodded and said, “Yeah. I’ll get them once I’m done.” His voice was still the barest bit somber, and Logan could feel the way his eyes traced Logan’s back. 

Logan gave him one last acknowledging glance and ducked down, before crumbling back to his bed. He automatically snapped his shirt and the corset off in one moment. The wings splayed out, exhausted and sore. He covered his face while they stretched.

He turned over and put his arms out. He counted each glow-in-the-dark star on his ceiling and felt every single feather already out of angle. The agitation was unbearable, and he could only pray this was a temporary curse. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

#sanders sides #tss #ts sides #sasi #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #ts logan #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton

[justadeadreaper]

WARNING THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY MODERN WARFARE THREE.

PLEASE IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILT PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE READING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I was thinking about the ending scene for Modern Warfare Three as it has been rupturing my soul into enough shards that the grains of sand in the Sahara Desert look like an hourglass compared to it.

Now this is my headcanon from being a Ghost X Soap shipper so if this is not for you please do not continue reading but instead scroll away as I will not accept hate just because you disagree with my idea due to the ship I like. Just please ignore and move along so you can spend your energy doing something better than arguing with me over text over fictional characters.

This headcanon is my idea on why the task force had Soap's ashes instead of his family as it is mixed in with a heavy amount of angst.

My reason for believing why Soap's ashes were not given to his biological family is because I believe that Soap doesn't technically have one a family. You may be wondering why I say this as most of you know the fandom headcanon Soap to have a large and loving family. While I may agree with that, today I want to give you a taste of angst that you'll see in my later works and also because I believe he only has a family like that when he fits into the box.

I've always believed that Soap is the fourth of six children which includes three other brothers and two sisters. From a young age Soap was a trouble maker but also the loudest of his family who had some queer tendencies which somewhat made him a black sheep. To counteract this I suggest that Soap's father or grandfather would punish him with corporal punishments that ranged from spankings to cleaning the house house to the point of spotlessness otherwise he'd get more spankings.

This is relevant as it gives you a bit of context as to how I view his family as I believe that the new Soap is Roman Catholic as the original Soap before the reboot was also a Roman Catholic. Which makes me guess that his family would most likely be traditional, especially his parents depending on their age as I expect them to be a bit older due to the amount of kids they have.

Coming from a family that's a mixture of Christianity and going to a Roman Catholic school I can say that traditional Roman Catholics tend to be homophobic due to the bible and believing it is unnatural as it apparently makes men "sissies" or "puffy". A lot of people will not like this as they headcanon Soap's family to be accepting but based on my own experience I believe that it's the opposite. Especially due to his parents being older they would have been raised with many misconceptions and stereotypes around gay people which makes them view it as horrid to be gay and as if it's the worst sin in the world.

This all cumulated when Soap was in his late teens. One of his cousins or siblings discovered he was bisexual or gay due to snooping in his room and finding something they weren't supposed to. Due to having a grudge against Soap for one of his pranks they decided to tell everyone.

This went over as well as it could have gone.At first they tried the pray the gay away, just by themselves but then with the pastor, and toughen him up, which was mostly punishments, approach before finding landing on the easiest option of shaming and degrading Soap until he cracked under the pressure. Of course Soap was still gay but stayed in the closet until someone realised that it didn't work. After that realisation he was kicked out and disowned.

Due to how close he originally was with his family he wanted to get back into their good graces. This is why I think he originally joined the military to make them proud as I believe he had other family members in the military, and to show that he isn't a "stereotypical" gay guy which they think is a "sissy". He wanted to desperately show that he can still be masculine and the "Johnny" they knew but they continued to turn a blind eye due to their strong religious beliefs and act as if he never existed.

The disownment led to him having a living biological family but no actual family. Of course he made family in his time in the military through meeting others which became most apparent when he joined the task force.

Each task force member was given a role by Soap based on who they were most similar to from his own family: Price as the older brother or father, Nikolai as the sketchy uncle or sketchy father, Laswell as the distant but caring and helpful aunt, Gaz as either the younger or older brother, and finally Ghost who was seen as the lover but also as the person Soap wanted to become. After all to Soap, Ghost is perfect, what his family would have wanted in a son; he wanted to be like Ghost to feel his family's love again as he didn't truly realise that he had already made a new one.

Johnny was nobody's son. Only Soap was.

Which is why they had his ashes as they were the only ones he could consider family as they were all he had.

All he requested for when he died was for his ashes to be spread in the Highlands of his home where his father always promised to take him but never did.

Now Johnny is nobody's son and nobody's lover.

Now Soap is nobody's son and nobody's lover.

His family will die and forget about him. His taskforce will die in effort to enact revenge for him. All that will be left of him will be a fading memory that slowly blows away like his ashes in the wind.

No family.

No name.

No life.

Johnny may have died when his family threw him out to the streets. But Johnny and Soap truly died on that cold floor, unbeknownst to him that three others died with him that day, especially the one he cared about most.

Simon.

Who would have guessed a life would have been lost over love?

-This is Ozzie signing out, and I hope one day that Soap gets the revenge and true ending he deserves.

#cod mw3 #call of duty mw3 #mw3 #mw3 spoilers #soap mw3 #cod mwiii #mwiii #modern warfare 3 #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soap cod #ghost x soap #soap mw2 #cod #mw2 #codmw2 #mwii #modern warfare 2 #john mactavish #johnny soap mactavish

[hiswordsarekisses]

Posted by Sebastian Shakes:

“The reasons why the Bible tells us that Jesus was no longer recognizable as a human being."

Most of the images of Jesus hanging on the cross are pretty clean. It looks like he stepped out of a shower, climbed up on the cross, and had some nails driven through his hands and feet…which hardly bled at all.

However, I think it is important for us to understand the physical suffering of Jesus as it shows us how much we are loved and what He Had to go through for us.

The cross was made of two parts the upright post the "Stipes" which was permanently fixed in the ground at the site of execution and the "Patibulum" it is the part the victim was made to carry, it weight around 110 pounds. Even carrying the patibulum proved to be too much for some men, especially after all the beating which many of them have received.

If the authorities wanted someone to die quickly, they would generally drive nails into the hands and feet of the victim. The nails were not driven into the palms of the hands as most pictures show. Rather, they were driven through the wrist near the hands. If the spikes were driven through the hands, the weight of the person would cause the nail to rip through the hands and the victim would fall off the cross. But when driven through the wrist, the set of bones which attach the wrist to the hand keep the hands from ripping free.

The crucified victim rarely died from blood loss. Most often, they died from asphyxiation, that is, the inability to breathe. Before the nail was driven through the victim’s feet, the legs were bent at the knee so that the bottom of one foot was flat against the vertical beam. One foot was placed on top of the other, and one long nail was driven through both feet. When the cross was erected, the weight of the body caused the victim to slump, putting all the weight of the body on the nails through the wrists, which caused a huge compression on the lungs. And that kept the victim from inhaling. As long as he was slumped down, he could not take in breath.

To take a breath, the victim would have to stand up on the nail through his feet, causing excruciating pain in the feet, but enabling him to take a breathe. But when that became too painful, he would slump back down, putting all his weight on his wrists, and also returning to the condition of not being able to breathe. Eventually, the victim would become weak and tired and could no longer lift themselves up on their feet to take a breath, and they would die from asphyxiation.

The first physical trauma for YeShua was inflicted with a soldier striking Him across the face for remaining silent when questioned by Caiaphas. Then He was blind folded and taunted asking Him to identify them as they were beating Him. They spit on Him, struck Him on the face repeatedly and pulled the hair out of His beard. Spitting on someone was the lowest form of disgrace to a person in that time and still is.

Although we do not know exactly how many guards participated, however we do know from history that the palace guard consisted of 900-1200 soldiers, so even if only ten percent participated, in this "Heinous" criminal act we see that Jesus endured a lot of beating, full fisted blows, shame, disgrace, and much devastation to His physical appearance at the hands of these soldiers.

They bared and stretched Jesus tight, at that time a Roman legionnaire steps forward with the flagrum "sometimes it is called a flagellum or cat-of-nine-tails" in his hand. It is a short whip consisting of nine heavy leather thongs, each with small lead balls, embedded with bits of glass, stone, or bone attached near the ends.

In the beginning the heavy thongs cut through the skin only. Then, as the blows continue, they cut deeper into the subcutaneous tissue, producing first an oozing of blood from the capillaries and veins of the skin, and finally spurting arterial bleeding from vessels in the underlying muscles, to the point where

eventually, the skin on the back hangs in long ribbons, and the entire area is an unrecognizable mass of torn bleeding tissue.

As the flagging continues and the flagellum is quickly pulled back, violently ripping and tearing the flesh off the body, in the process, a victim may have several ribs broken. Then they took a small bundle of flexible branches covered with long thorns woven into the shape of a crown and pressed into His scalp. Since head wounds always bleed a lot, the blood runs down His face and into His eyes.

Then they handed him a "scepter” beating and mocking Him, making a big joke out of it. They then struck Him on the head with the scepter causing to bleeding perfusely from His Head. The soldiers then take a heavy patibulum, and tied it roughly to Jesus’ shoulders. The procession leads down the Via Dolerosa. With Jesus are the two thieves who will be crucified with Him, and the execution detail of Roman soldiers.

Friends, Jesus Had gone through this pain, suffering, and humiliation to offer us redemption, and eternal life with the complete confidence of a full pardon to Our sins.

He offer us reconciliation and a free and complete accommodations at a beautiful resort In Heaven called Paradise, that He Has prepared for us with His own Hands in its appropriate time.

Amen.

[theblackdahliaemporium]

Offerings in Hellenic Polytheism

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

i. Introduction

ii. Animal Sacrifice

iii. First Fruits

iv. Dedications

v. Libations

vi. Conclusion

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TW: Animal Sacrifice

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Disclaimer

While I have read about this subject and have tried to provide accurate information, I do not have any sort of post-secondary education on the subject. I encourage those reading this post to also do their own research, books cited in my sources are a good place to start. I also encourage people reading to correct me if I make any mistakes.

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Introduction

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Offerings and sacrifice are one of the central religious acts of Hellenic Polytheism. It is how we build kharis (reciprocity, grace, and favour) with the gods. It is important to know how and what to offer to the gods.

Offering and sacrifice almost always involved two things other than the offering; an altar and fire. There were two categories of altar for different purposes. The bômos, a high stone altar with a flat surface for ouranic deities, and the bothros, a shallow pit, dug into the earth for khthonic deities.

Fire is something that is found in almost every offering and cult activity in ancient Greece. It is important to note that because of the association with hearths and altars, Hestia takes part in all sacrifices and offerings. This is noted in the Homeric Hymn To Aphrodite:

Hestia rests at the hearth, the highest honor.

All people revere her in every temple,

Hestia, the most august of the gods.

- Homeric Hymn 5, translated by Diane J Rayor

Offering and sacrifices made towards ouranic deities were made preferably before noon in daylight, while offerings made for khthonic deities were done at night.

When making sacrifices and offerings, worshipers would wash themselves, dress in white, clean clothing, and adorn their heads in wreaths and garland.

Offerings always were accompanied by a request. This request could be for health, crop growth, ect. or just for the god(s) to accept the offering. My blog on Prayer in Hellenic Polytheism discusses this in more detail.

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Hestia Giustiniani, Marble, Second Century C.E. Roman Copy

Image Source

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Animal Sacrifice

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Animal sacrifice was one of the most common forms of offering found in ancient Greece. Many types of animals were sacrificed. Sheep were the most common, with goats and pigs in second and third place. The second most expensive were pigs, while piglets were the cheapest. Oxen, notably bulls, were considered the most honourable and the most expensive. Poultry also had a common place in sacrifice as well.

Domesticated animals were a part of animal sacrifice exponentially more than wild animals were. In the case of the sanctuary of Artemis at Kalapodi, there have been bones of deer and boars found.

It was important that the animal being sacrificed was healthy, well taken care of, and undamaged. The only place in ancient Greece that we know of that commonly had cheaper, smaller, and mutilated sacrificial animals was Sparta. The head and stomach of the sacrificial animal was decorated in garlands and ribbons. In some cases, the horns of bulls were covered in gold.

The colour of the animal was another important aspect of sacrifice. In the case of ouranic deities, the animal(s) would be white, and for khthonic deities, they would be black. The sex of the animal was also lined up with the gender of the god or goddess, though there have been exceptions.

There was a sequence of events when sacrificing an animal. This sequence starts with the procession that escorts the animal to the altar, the pompê. The pompê was headed by an aristocratic girl who carries a basket on her head, filled with barley groats and cakes that cover a sacrificial knife. The animal was guided by adolescent boys. A piper, who could be male or female, played music alongside the procession. Following behind were adult men and women. A vessel containing lustral water is brought along, and sometimes an incense burner.

Once they reached the altar, they stood in a semi-circle, with the altar in the front and the naos (temple) in the back. The basket and the water vessel are walked counterclockwise around the altar. The worshipers then have water poured over their hands, sprinkled on the altar, and sacrificial animal. This part is called the archesthai. It was important for the animal to be seen as willing, so the water sprinkled on its head created a nodding gesture, indicating acceptance. Everyone then grabs barley groats, called oulai, and while a prayer is recited, the barley is thrown at the altar and sacrificial animal. This part is called the katarchesthai.

Right before the animal is sacrificed, hairs are cut from its head and thrown into the fire. If it was an ox, it would be stunned with an axe. The animal's head is held up, and its throat cut. Once the animal bled, the women there would cry out. This part is called the ololygē. The blood was either directly poured on the altar in the case of smaller animals or collected in a bowl and then poured; none of it hit the ground. This part is called the haimassein.

The animal is skinned, which goes to the priest or sanctuary. The thigh bones are separated from the body, the meat is removed, and the bone is wrapped in fat. The thigh bones and small pieces from each limb placed on top are burned. The gallbladder and tail could also be a part of the sacrifice, though later they were specifically used for divination. The splanchna (kidneys, liver, spleen, and probably heart and lungs) is then roasted on the fire and are first to be eaten. A libation of mixed wine is then poured over the fire. Lastly, the meat is prepared, roasted or boiled, distributed, and eaten in a feast. The quality of the meat was distributed based on rank and social status.

In certain circumstances, the animal wasn’t eaten and instead burned whole. This was called a holocaust offering. The worshipers, in this case, would not partake in the sacrifice at all, so there is no feast. Holocaust sacrifices were specific to khthonic deities and the dead. Though still, there have been exceptions where a feast takes place.

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Marble Votive Relief, 340-320 B.C.E.

Image Source

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First Fruits

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First fruits referred to the offering of the first of the spoils acquired through hunting, fishing, gathering, and farming. This could be many things from figs, olives, and grapes to bread, milk, and wool. These offerings were placed at the altar, sacred site, or left in bodies of water, for the animals in the area. First fruit offerings gave what the season had to offer.

These types of offerings were popular with more rural deities such as Pan or the nymphai, as well as agricultural deities such as Demeter and Dionysos. The first fruits of many crops are given to corresponding deities when they are harvested.

Panspermia was a common type of first fruit offering found at many festivals. It was a mixture of different fruits and grains that were occasionally cooked in a pot.

These types of offerings in ancient Greece often accompanied animal sacrifice but were still at times done by themselves.

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Dedications

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There are two types of dedications that can be made: votive offerings and thank offerings. Votive offerings are any offerings made in the result of a vow, a dedication. Thank offerings were made in gratitude for help from a god in a worshipers life. Votive and thank offerings can include many things: first fruits, animal sacrifice, libations, but most interestingly statues, vases, clothing, tools, equipment, and even altars and temples.

Statues would have inscription on them documenting who gave the offering, and which god it was made too. Statue votives could also be bought or made by the worshipper themselves.

One form of votive was how, during wartime, soldiers would vow to dedicate the shields and weapons of their enemies for success in battle. An example of a thank offering is how when people reached old age and retired, they would dedicate their work tools and equipment to the related god's sanctuary.

Hair offerings were a form of dedication made during writes of passage. For boys, it was done when they reached adulthood and for girls when they got married. The cut hair was then offered to a god, river god, or hero.

Votive and thank offerings were commonly made to the god Asklepios in many of his temples. These offerings were sculpted body parts called anatomical votives. These were offered to give thanks or as a request for the god to heal the affliction affecting that part of the body.

Dedications were usually left in a sanctuary. Once these objects were dedicated to a god, they couldn't be taken back or leave the sanctuary. They are now property of the god or goddess.

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Bronze Votive Bull, Sanctuary of Zeus, Nemea, 400-350 BC

Image Source

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Libations

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Libations are liquid offerings poured for the gods and were the second most common forms of offerings in ancient Greece. They were typically poured out of a vessel called a phiale, which is a round bowl. Libations were shown on Athenian vases being poured with the right hand holding the phiale. Libations were directly poured onto the bômos or bothros.

There are two different types of libations found in ancient Greece: sponde and choe. Spondai were most commonly made to the Ouranic gods and had wine as the main liquid. The pouring of the sponde was done with a bowl or hand-held vessel, and the flow of the liquid was controlled. Choai were made for Khthonic deities and primarily had oil, milk, water, and honey as their main liquids. A choe was spilled and emptied from a large vessel into the earth; it was uncontrolled compared to a sponde libation.

Though wine was most common with sponde and milk, oil, and honey with choe, there were still instances where the liquids were used in the opposite type of libation.

Whenever people in ancient Greece would drink wine, a sponde was performed. In symposia, the first libation was offered to Zeus and the Olympians, the second to the heroes, and the third to Zeus Teleios (the finisher). The Agathos Daimon and Hermes were second and third libations in other instances. After, anyone can invoke and pour a libation to other gods.

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Attic red-figure cup, 480 B.C.E.

Image Source ]

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Conclusion

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Of course, animal sacrifice is often out of the question for most Hellenic Polytheists, whether that be due to circumstance or personal views. This means that when it comes to offerings made to deities, we must focus on other types that are more accessible to us.

I might also do a blog on why sacrifices and offerings are done as this blog explains more the act.

I think be doing a blog on altars and temples next. So, if you’re disappointed at the amount of information about altars here, there’ll be more coming soon.

Sources:

Greek Religion by Walter Burkert, 'Working Sacred Things' Animal Sacrifice and Gift Offerings and Libations

A Companion to Greek Religion by Daniel Ogden, Greek Normative Animal Sacrifice

Smokes Signals for the Gods by F. S. Naiden

Ancient Greek Religion by Jon D. Mikalson, An Overview: Greek Sanctuaries and Worship and Greek Gods, Heroes, and Polytheism

Theoi & Khlaire & Magpie

#witch #herbal magick #witch blog #kitchen witch #hearth witch #pagan #herbs #kitchen witchery #green witch #witchcraft #hellenic polytheist #hellenic polytheism #hellenic #hellenic community #hellenic witch #hellenic polytheistic #hellenism #hellenic deities #hellenistic #hestia #hestia goddess #greek deities #greek gods

[shepherds-of-haven]

How does the crew feel about baths? 1 being “ew never. medieval filth cauldron” and 10 being “I’m not getting out until the water is tepid and I look like a prune”

Well, the most common way for people to bathe in Blest is still by using baths (and the Shepherds' compound even features really big, Roman-style communal baths), so anyone eschewing baths on the basis of them being medieval filth cauldrons are likely filthy themselves! 😂 Showers do exist, but aren't as common, and the Shepherds' compound doesn't have them because it's an older building!

Anyway, to answer your question:

Blade: indifferent/neutral, they're just a means to an ends for him! actually would enjoy baths if he would allow himself to sit in one for any longer than was strictly necessary and perfunctory. He is very clean and fastidious about his hygiene, he just doesn't sit in them to ✨ relax ✨ and would have more positive feelings towards them if he did

Trouble: prefers showers for sure, he hates sitting in baths getting pruny and tends to take pretty fast ones, all while scrubbing his face really chaotically like in that distinct way some men just

Tallys: enjoys baths on like an 8/10 scale, she's not like OBSESSED but she definitely enjoys soaking her aching muscles and just sitting and relaxing, especially after a long hot day at the archery range!

Shery: likes baths a decent amount, like a 7/10? Sometimes she likes to wrap her hair in a towel and bring a book and just sit and relax, but it's not typically something she's really looking forward to throughout the day (that's usually a cup of tea or a good book)!

Riel: indifferent/neutral, baths are necessary because he must be CLEAN but it's not like he's sitting there genuinely enjoying the experience, he either gets it over with in a businesslike but seemly and dignified way, or it just affords him the opportunity to sit there in the hot water and think furiously about stuff until he gets dehydrated

Chase: indifferent/neutral, you can peak his interest more if the promise or potential of a partner/sex is involved...

Red: he really enjoys baths, probably the same amount or even a bit more than Tallys (8 or 9/10) - it's where he gets a lot of his best thinking done XD He can often sit in there for hours, gazing up at the ceiling and just thinking!

Ayla: naw, the sensation of just sitting in hot liquid feels kind of weird to her, like she's getting slowly cooked like a braised pig, so she's typically in and out as fast as possible! She actually prefers more tepid or cool water to really hot!

Briony: she likes the sensation of a bath for the first 5-10 minutes; then she starts to feel overheated and almost sweaty, even though she should be feeling clean and refreshed! So, like Ayla, she probably sticks around longer in 'warm' rather than scalding hot baths. Her enjoyment is probably a 6/10 and probably more so when it's a social/group experience!

Lavinet: she probably loves baths the most out of the whole gang, it's a 10/10 for her! A hot scented bath is one of life's greatest pleasures and luxuries, especially if she has time to use all of her accoutrements and scented oils and bath accessories! Of course, she's also used to having a servant on-hand to wash her hair and etc., so her concept of baths is inherently a bit different from everyone else's!

Halek: he actually likes baths quite a lot, probably a 7 to 8/10, but mostly because he can relax and fall asleep in them, and also because when he's in there, people will leave him alone for the most part 😂😂

#Shepherds of Haven #all characters #baths #bathing