golden taunt

Children of the Gods: Helios, Greek Personification of the Sun

Where one feels the warmth of the sun’s rays, one can be sure that a child of the Greek Titan Helios won’t be far. Like their father, these demigods are sunshine manifest. Glowing with inner light, they illuminate an otherwise gloomy world, bringing golden life. Yet, if taunted beware, for they can just as easily burn. 

anonymous asked:

In the latest chapter I feel like Pitch is just waiting for Jack to be snarky during a session so he can be mean and it's the greatest thing ever. Awesome chapter as always <3

Oh yeah, like Pitch doesn’t need an excuse to be mean but he sure likes having one. :D 

(But he’s that dude who could turn anything into an excuse if he really wanted to. Jack’s snark just makes it super easy (and probably more fun for him :D )).

deafening perceptions you have of me

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For those either lucky or unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of Nightwing swinging between skyscrapers or hurdling over rooftops, there seems to be something almost dejected about the usually cheerful, yet snarky vigilante.

It’s nothing that Nightwing necessarily says; he’s still pleasant and charmingly courteous as ever to those who deserve it, but the petty criminals who’ve either had previous run-ins, or simply know him through word of mouth, start noticing when their bruises have bruises.

Nightwing is…meaner than usual. His punches carry a heavier weight, almost like it’s personal. The chatty bird doesn’t talk much when he’s kicking ass; it makes the men and women who gossip in the dank alley ways of Bludhaven swallow down their trepidation, makes them glimpse up at roof ledges with caution, their curiosity almost morbid when looking for that agile yet unmistakable silhouette cutting across the horizon.

The older ones—the ones with impressive criminal backgrounds—are wearier of Nightwing than the younger, cockier crowds who think they’ll never serve hard time. They laugh, jeer, and tease because they believe nothing could be as worse than running into the big bat, but there’s truth in what the middle-aged man in charge of supervising the cocaine shipment says one foggy night.

“If you take the Bat out of the equation, everyone thinks Hood is the guy you need to watch for—” the man takes a long drag from his cigarette, scratching at his salt and pepper beard lazily with his thumb—“but I think differently.”

The old man holds the attention of everyone in hearing distance. They’re captivated; the scene reminiscent of when some of them were kids telling ghost stories around a camp fire. It’s also rare that the old man ever talks, and whenever he starts speaking, be about football or how corrupt the politicians are, it’s hard not to listen.

“When the kid’s completely quiet—when he’s pissed, and uses his body to express it—he reminds me most of that damned demon Bat.”

The man finishes his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a gradual billow above his head. He watches for patterns before he tosses the butt carelessly onto the ground. His expression is thoughtful as he murmurs, “I pity the poor bastard who pissed him off, but I pity us more, gentlemen.”

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The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 88: Artemis, Olympian of the Wild, the Hunt; Protector of Animals, Young Girls and Leader of the Dance [1/6]

When She runs, there is no noise. She flits to and fro, stalking Her pray with effortless grace as if dancing. A buck, antlers large and complex like winding tree roots stands still and looks sensing predator but seeing nothing. She pulls Her golden bow back, string taunt and arrow sharp. A gasp from the target and a sigh from the forest as the arrow hits true and the beast falls as gracefully as Her running. That’s when Her girls come, like lovely vaporous flowers springing to life in the moonlight. They have wood, knives and lye to prepare the feast, the hide and honor the fallen.

Greek Mythology Meme

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Nine! Feeling a little better about this chapter! The relationship only becomes more complicated from here on out. Hope you all enjoy! Smut has to make up for last time, right?

@captain-princess-rose @bookishdorito @supernatural508 @faegal04 @kelincihutan @1967-wayward @impossible-box

Warnings: Very little plot, Smut, Little editing

Previously: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Word Count: Roughly 3400

“Sam!” You shrieked.

You’d finally broke. It took three weeks. Three long weeks. But, he did it.

He’d put the snake in the toilet first, remembering your suggestion. A large spider under your pillow. Crickets all over your room. Your favorite pair of shoes were super glued to the floor to ensure you fell when you slipped them on, or just got annoyed when you couldn’t lift them- you’d face planted. Your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were filled with food coloring. You had purple skin even after scrubbing until the water was like ice. And those were only a few of his tricks.

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Of Twisted Emotions - Chapter Two: Strange Familiarity

You decide to focus on the dust.

The spring day is hot, the sky unbearably blue and full of puffy, white clouds. You notice birds flitting from tree to tree, tittering as the people passing by disturb them. There’s laughter in the ranks, boisterous and loud as the soldiers approach their home, their city. They let out a joyous cheer as the first sight of the palace rises on the horizon, as golden as the sun itself.

It’s an absolutely beautiful afternoon that does not match your mood.

And so you focus on the dust. It billows around the marching army, the dry spell making every footstep kick up an earthen cloud. There are many feet on this path, and the dust sits in your nose as a result. You can taste it, you blink it from your eyes, and it is the only negative thing you try to dwell on.

Because the other is looming in the distance, glinting in the light; a golden taunt, already loud in your ears, although you’ve yet to look upon it. You focus on the feet, the taste of earth in your mouth. On the dust.

“Where will you go?” Bjorn asks.

You glance over at the soldier, whose brown eyes are locked on the palace ahead. You look back to trees and the complaining birds. “The ceremony’s at the guild. So, guess I’ll be at the back of the palace grounds.”

“Would you mind awfully if I accompanied you?” the man asks, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword – a nervous habit. “I require a break from this crowd, and they’re all that’ll be awaiting me in the barracks.”

You understand why it is that he asks. Bjorn is a foreigner, too; he has no one to visit once he returns to the city. His family does not reside in Asgard, although he’s told you he sends a fair amount of gold back to them. Back to his home.

Why haven’t you come home?

A past echo of a prince’s voice, and still it makes you grimace. These things always get worse when you have to return to the city. Bjorn sees the expression that crosses your features and immediately jumps to apologize. “I don’t mean to impose, of course. I can always walk the market.”

“No, it’s fine,” you state, waving your hand dismissively. “It just might bore you is all. I’m meeting up with a friend for a bit, and it’s a ceremony, so it’ll just be all of us standing silently in a crowd. Not the most exciting time.”

Bjorn chuckles, white teeth flashing as he smiles over at you. “I do not fear boredom or silence, my friend. But I shan’t come if you do not wish me to.”

You return his smile. “If you want to, I wont stop you.”

“Very well,” Bjorn states, nodding as he returns his gaze to the city ahead. “Quite a sight though, isn’t it? Never do get used to it.”

You finally allow yourself to lay eyes upon the golden city of Asgard. It is now stunning once more, the restorations completed, the city whole again.

One would never have guessed that a little more than a year ago, most of the grand houses and buildings had fallen as Asgard’s foes laid waste to the city. No, now its previously destroyed buildings were raised up from their ashes, as if they had never burned. By all appearances, everything is as it should be.

But you know better.

“Never do,” you agree with Bjorn, focusing again on the dust.

Sigrid is worried about leaving Brenna home alone. Asmund’s mother is unwell, although Sigrid notes that her mind is slowly healing. There are many days that the woman lives in the past, acting almost as her normal self. She works her shop, socializes with customers, speaks of her sorcerer son and his talent. And there are other days where she is aware, too aware of what has happened to her family.

It’s usually in the dead of night. Her cries of panic and confusion always send Sigrid down the hall with comforting words and care. These nights are usually followed by long days of needlework, of the woman sitting in a chair by her hearth. The sewing keeps her hands busy, keeps her fragile mind occupied. Sigrid sits with her when she can, silently embroidering her commissions from the shop, so that Brenna does not have to be alone.

But today, Sigrid leaves the poor woman to her own devices. Brenna sits by the hearth as she always does, needle in hand, and she wishes Sigrid a good day as the girl locks the door.

Brenna did not want to attend the ceremony, even when Sigrid had pled, had said that it would greatly please Asmund. Brenna had smiled, but the girl could see panic building in her blue eyes.

And so Sigrid had gone on her own.

There is already a crowd gathered outside of the sorcerer’s guild. A small platform has been erected, with seven pillars of gold lining the back. The Asgardian palace grounds are as green as ever, the foliage blossoming with life and beauty. On either side of the stage are small swathes of calla lilies, and the sight makes Sigrid smile.

Asmund still thinks of her.

Sigrid scans the area and almost immediately spots you. You’re already in the crowd, hovering at the back as if you’re uncomfortable being present.

She draws closer, and when you meet her golden gaze, a true smile breaks across her face.

Seeing you is an almost-relief. You are alive, for one. You sport a new, thin scar across your left cheek, but she knows it will vanish within the next few days. Your leathers are in need of repair, which she’ll offer to do once the ceremony has reached its conclusion. You’ve seen battle recently, but you are alive and well, and that is what matters.

“You came,” Sigrid says, her gratefulness apparent in her tone.

“I did,” you tell her, giving her a warm smile. You jab a thumb towards your fellow solider. “Bjorn came along as well this time.”

“Pleasure to officially meet you,” Sigrid states, realizing that you do indeed have a companion standing beside you.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss,” the man answers respectfully.

Bjorn looks exactly as you’ve described him to her. She wonders why he wanted to attend a ceremony for a young man he does not know.

Regardless, there is no time to ask. The ceremony begins as the masters of the guild step up onto the platform. The crowd claps politely, Bjorn following suit, but you and the girl do not.

The both of you watch as Asmund walks up and stands before the guild masters. You haven’t seen him in months, and you’re almost taken aback by how he’s grown. He’s not such a half-pint anymore. His shaggy, brown hair is pulled back away from his face, allowing all to see that his determined blue gaze is locked onto the man in charge of the guild.

This man should be Loki, Prince of Sorcery. Instead, it is the Master Hammond, a familiar face that sends a pang of loss through your chest. It is how you feel when you see Asgard, when you walk the palace grounds, when you see those Loki once held company with. It makes the loss of the prince even more apparent. It makes you sick.

How different it is now, since the last time you stood here.

Hammond is speaking, but you do not hear. You are present for Sigrid and her half-pint, Asmund, not the ceremony itself. It passes in a blur, the words, the vows. Asmund is finally presented with sorcerers’ robes of gold, to match the color of his magic. The crowd claps happily, some cheering the young man as he takes his place among the masters.

You know Sigrid is tense at your side, watching the proceedings with a mask of bravery. This change means her beloved will see less of his family, of her, and more of war. It is a powerful position to hold, but the exchange is time and danger.

You reach out and take her hand.

She’s a girl much too young to be holding such responsibility. She reminds you of yourself. The worlds were cruel to you, and you pray to whatever is listening that she will not suffer the same fate.

She clasps your hand tightly, her face impassive as she watches Asmund bow to the crowd.

He wears a similar expression.

You, Bjorn, and Sigrid have made it around the front of the palace, politely chatting as you avoid the dispersing crowd. You’ve decided to walk the market after all, and invite your companions to join you. It will be good to buy food before night falls and you retire to the barracks. Bjorn reminds you of the feast hall, of the celebration tonight in honor of the soldiers’ return.

“I’d rather not,” you state, successfully keeping the tightness from your voice. “I’m not really into the whole ‘feast’ thing.”

Bjorn purses his lips, nodding his head and opening his mouth to speak.

“Warrior!”

The three of you turn, surprised by the interruption. Sigrid and Bjorn immediately dip into bows as the god of thunder approaches. He looks ever the same, blond and brawny, although you’d wager that his beard has grown longer. You grin weakly at Thor Odinson, your gaze taking in his smile, his regal attire… and the ornate eyepatch that covers his left eye.

You still feel guilty every time you see it.

“Hey, Thor,” you say, raising your hand in greeting. “Good to see you!”

“Aye, likewise,” Thor comments. “It is good that I caught you, warrior. We’ve servants out at the barracks to fetch you. You’ve been asked to the throne room.”

“Ah,” you say, for lack of anything better. “Alright, then. Wonder what it’ll be this time.”

“I know not,” Thor answers, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I’d only overheard that they search for you.”

“Huh. Thanks, then. You coming, too?” you ask him, nodding your head towards the grand entrance of the golden palace.

“Not today,” Thor states. “I’ve other business.” The god of thunder seems exhausted, and yet still he manages to give you another smile. “Perhaps we’ll work together again, should my father will it.”

“Maybe so,” you say. “See you around, then.”

“Stay safe,” Thor Odinson tells you, and he briefly rests a heavy hand on your shoulder before he walks away.

You turn back to your two companions, apologies already on your lips. You’re met instead with Sigrid wrapping her arms around you. The contact shocks you, but you quickly shake it and return the gesture. You miss the girl. You miss a lot of people.

“Listen to Thor,” Sigrid advises you as she pulls away. “Stay safe. And if you aren’t required to leave right away, come by the shop so that I can mend your leathers.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll see you soon,” you acquiesce, a small smile on your face.

The girl makes her departure, and you turn to your fellow soldier. “Don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Don’t worry,” Bjorn insists, thumb hooking around his belt. He nods his head towards the Asgardian palace. “Go on. Best not keep the Allfather waiting.”

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a half-smile as you turn to go.

The palace is a daunting, golden monstrosity that threatens to swallow you whole. You walk through its wide maw and into the belly of the beast, down its throat to familiar marble halls.

The palace leaves you feeling lost, your memories chasing ghosts that no longer reside in the grand building.

The throne room is large, with banners and archways and torches and golden columns positioned around the walls. Intricate metalwork laces across the throne, crafting geometric patterns and swirls, some of which are repeated in the etchings of the marble floor. It is a grandeur that no longer impresses you. You’ve never understood the necessity of ornate Asgardian design.

Your eyes go immediately to the throne, where you expect to find the Allfather and his guards. The golden seat, however, is quite empty. There is a sole person standing to its side, her gray eyes watching you expectantly.

You complete your walk down the throne room and stand before Frigga Allmother, taking a knee at once. She is one you do not mind showing respect to. “Queen Frigga.”

“My lady,” she replies, her voice softer than you had been expecting.

There is something wrong, you can tell. The queen guards her emotions well, remains poised and regal, but her hands clench together, her mouth drawn tight. You rise and take a hesitant step forward, worry filling your gaze. “What is it?” you ask.

Frigga searches for a way to explain, to begin to say what she has brought you here to tell you. She finally chooses the same two words that Heimdall had stated to Odin Allfather. The two words that Odin had then whispered to his wife. She tells them now, to you.

“He lives.”

Loki sits alone in the dark apartment, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the bland wall across the room. The golden scepter lies across his lap, the gem glowing slightly and illuminating the empty room in a cool blue. He is tired – exhausted even – but the odd meditation is undeniably preferable to sleep. Sleep brings dreams, visions and threats hissed from across worlds, which leaves him awakening more tired still. But a god does not need rest every night, and so he makes do.

His underground “lab” of sorts is nearby, although Loki does not wish to reside among those he’s taken hold of. He needs to be alone, to clear his mind and think… plan. The little room was not hard to acquire, and he has a man standing guard in the hall. As for the others, he’s left Agent Barton in charge. The man seems more than capable of leading, and his knowledge of S.H.I.E.L.D. is invaluable. Your little friend helps him and Selvig with whatever they require.

The doctor works on the tesseract. He’s making grand progress, but it is not fast enough for Loki’s taste. And the Other. He always speaks of making haste, lest everything fall through. Loki has no qualms about this urgency. He’s always hated latency.

And yet, he reminds himself; it won’t be long, now.

And he smiles.




Jeezums, it’s been a hot minute since I published a chapter.
I apologize. I had to wrangle my mental health and anxiety these past few weeks, so thanks for being patient with me. <3
And as always, I’ve got to get through the setup before we get to the good stuff! Bear with me. :P

Tag List:

@littlemisssyreid @thedoctorlivesthroughbooks @imthinkingaboutthis @verryfuckingpunny


Also: I mentioned this in my blog description, but I’ll add it here as well. This is the third part of a series! :)

Part One: Of Softer Emotions

Part Two: Of Darker Emotions

Part Three: Of Twisted Emotions


Masterlist

Got a Mouth on You

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Reader
Word Count: 1873
Warnings: Smut, oral sex, cursing (?)
Author’s Note: I’m super bad at warnings but I had a lot of fun with this one. @darcia22 said she’d pay for soulless!sam smut so here you go sweetheart. Enjoy ;)

Originally posted by deanskitten

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9

Why do i love this series so much again?

Bonus: Alternate Titles
KH1
-*&&X% means heart
-Long Live the Beast!
-You will get lost in atlantica, this is a fact
-Enjoy Deep Jungle while it lasts
-Hero needs cure badly
-Never leave at midnight while favoring the wand and yielding the shield, you’ll regret this
-Sephiroth, Kicking your butt since 1997
-Mickey Mouse, Sir Not-appearing-in-this-game
-Get ready for the Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeees
-Saying Goodbye to Myself, an autobiography written by Winnie the Pooh

Chains of Memories
-Marluxia is a dude?!
-Forget HP, Obtain Card Points and Sleighs
-The glory of a barrel spider
-You’ll miss 3D by the time you get to the Fat Bodies
-DAMMIT VEXEN!
-Sora becomes a jerk

KH2
-Emotionless beings showcasing Emotion
-Are you a bad enough dude to get the golden crown?
-And the taunting puzzle pieces
-ANTI FORM!!!!!!! *shakes fist*
-Dance Water, Dance!
-Do you know the rules?
-Jack Sparrow and Donald Duck, they fight crime
-Considering future games’ revelations, this one becomes pointless
-Tifa appears, there was much rejoicing
-Vivi appears, there was even more rejoicing
-Setzer appears, there was much disappointment
-Yuna appears, the shippers are now enraged
-Press Triangle to not Die
-Earth Shaker: We thought Shadow of the Colossus was cool
-Want Ultima Weapon? Sing under the sea

Coded
-Because Jimminy is suddenly relevant
-The matrix wants it’s gimmick back
-Riku is here for the fanservice
-Glorified cellphone games
-Yes, even the cellphone spin-off is canon
-Single Small Sinister Shadow Showcases Scary Scheme
-Tron would have been perfect here

Days
-So…was Xion a dude or a girl?
-Xion: Tragic Romance or Black Hole Mary-sue? You decide.
-The same worlds as always
-It’s the same cutscene, but with different purple prose
-Angst, Angst, Angst
-Axel tries to be a big brother figure and fails horribly
-At least you get Xemnas’ amazing voice for a big chunk of the game

Birth by Sleep
-It’s a small world after all!
-Firaga + Aerora = Fission Firaga, Firaga + Slow = Crawling Fire, Mix both = Mega Flare, you’re welcome.
-Grinding made Gameplay Mechanic
-Two keys, a blade and some glue = strongest weapon ever
-Vanitas: Original the character, do not steal
-What was the point of bringing zack in again?
-Ice Cream Keyblade = Always Critical Hit, seems legit
-You get a keyblade! You get a keyblade! You get a keyblade! Everyone got a keyblade!
-Who even uses D-Links anyway? (Snow White’s kicks butt)
-You could have prevented all of this had you only asked questions

Dream Drop Distance
-We had pokémon amie before it was cool
-Shiki, eat a burger!
-Donald and Goofy do nothing for 24 hours straight
-Hardcore parkour!
-Seriously, where’s TWEWY 2
-Axel gets a keyblade, fans flip out.

To the 900 messages I got on Steam, I’m going to bed so I’m not responding to them all individually, so here you go: Tex rant, 

1. No, I don’t think TF2 is turning into CSGO. I think they’re doing something that’s popular in another game, because they’re a game company and that’s what game companies do.

They are going to appeal to the people who’re playing now or just getting into TF2, while also try to keep their current players interested and entertained.

“They are just trying to make money”. Hello?  they’re a company. Of course they’re tying to make money - the game is free. Look at all the free stuff they give us. Seriously, come on.

 If you’re bored because you’ve been playing for 8 years, that’s fine. Do something else, but don’t try to ruin it for everyone who’s just getting into it, or the people who still like the game. Like me. Leave me alone. 

2. No, it is not going to effect how I play TF2. As usual, I will be going into my usual maps and playing my usual game types. 

3. Yes, I am cutting my feet off over the mini-sentry thing. The one thing I’d like Valve to do is stopping messing with what we’ve already got. Give me back my tide turner, Valve… Give it back.

4. Be grateful Valve’s still throwing new, awesome things at us. From new taunts to golden guns,  awesome movies to the comic, it’s been 8 years - TF2′s still stronger than ever.

5. TF2 isn’t dead. If you think it is, get over it and play something else. Or suck it up and keep playing if you want. Y’all are reminding me of the whole ‘Technology is bad, Thomas Edison was a witch’ thing.