…The stormy blast of Hell With restless fury drives the spirits on, Whirl’d round and dash’d amain with sore annoy. When they arrive before the ruinous sweep, There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans, And blasphemies ’gainst the good Power in Heaven. I understood, that to this torment sad The carnal sinners are condemn’d, in whom Reason by lust is sway’d.
I LOVE Your monster headcanons for the overwatch crew! Got anymore for Werewolf!Jesse, Fujin!Hanzo, Raiju!Genji and Cadejo!Reaper being called back from their senses by their s/o. (I have this headcanon that when monsters go into their natural feral form they revert back to instincts. But they can be pulled back to reality by their s/o voice or someone that grounds them. Then once they're back to reality, lots of fluff happens cause their physically/emotionally drained and needing love)
When McCree was still a young pup running with the Deadlock Pack, being feral was just a way of life; it was kill or be killed, or having your alpha on your ass for not committing massacres every hunt. McCree recalls those moments just before the wolf takes over, the agony of the skin being ripped and torn as bones reshape and grow, the pain that made his vision go red and turned everything else into vague black shapes. He would attack anyone near him, it was just a way of protecting himself – and returning into a human being had the same effects, the visceral fear of being overpowered made McCree do nasty things to anyone stupid enough to hang around him.
So as a grown man, he doesn’t worry about going feral. Not until meeting you and watching a hunter pierce your shoulder with a rifle. Everything is painted crimson; the hunter becomes a featureless black mass McCree must kill. It’s easier to kill somebody when you can’t see their face, easier still if they’ve attacked a precious mate. McCree doesn’t feel bad about the kill, just the bad taste that lingers in his mouth as he swerves trying to catch the stragglers. Than there’s another shadow, smaller than him moving cautiously. McCree growls at it, crouching low. Then there’s pressure on his face, familiar hands stroking his cheeks and a soft voice. Colour bleeds back into the world, and there you are. McCree ashamed for only a moment, hunching over you as the last of the bloodlust wears off.
“My hero.” You murmur with a soft laugh. “You did great, Jesse. We’re both fine now. Good job.”
Hanzo does not lose control often, if at all. As a lord of winds, he must always be careful in how he chooses to let loose his anger. From his palace of clouds in the sky, he watches over humankind as a sort of benevolent father figure, sending down small breezes to dislodge kites from trees or push lovers together with whirlwinds, open the clouds for the rain on barren gardens. And yet, perhaps the one thing that irks him more than he’d like is seeing you in service to amoral emperors, forcing you about the country on missions that endanger you more than Hanzo would like. And it is only fitting that seeing you in danger is what calls down the god’s wrath.
You already know the signs of disaster, the air grows cold and the winds swirl and wail like a thousand damned souls, screaming and agonized as tornados wield enough force to sever tree and cut down mountains. But the wind never touches you. Hanzo appears like a figure of mist, cocooning you safely within the folds of his kimono as he destroys your foes. He does not speak.
The winds whip the earth, tearing it apart.
“I’m alright, you have to calm down. Please.”
An immense shockwave of air slams against the ground and it occurs to you that your attackers have nary made a sound.
You turn awkwardly and gently place a hand on his face, guiding his attention down to you. Hanzo sighs and the winds drops, he moves backwards and allows you a chance to see the destruction but you already know what it looks like.
“My apologies,” he murmurs but his voice is still hard and unfeeling.
“What offerings can I make to a being so powerful?”
“I would ask nothing of you.” He breathes, his face fair, his face almost human enough.
“Surely there is something, my lord, that you require?” Tiptoe carefully, his eyes are untamed squalls still.
The kiss is what frees him of anger, he laughs and twirls a hand, arranging the world around him into some semblance of order. The skies clear up again and he throws the remains of his enemies into a westerly wind far away.
“We really must stop meeting like this.” You sigh.
“A good idea, mortal.”
Lightning is a very difficult energy, wielding it takes much patience and control, even if its path is wayward and haphazard. So, for Genji to completely lose his mind and revert to his most primal stage, it must first build up. And when he lets loose, it is quick. Bolting down from the heavens, he receives your message for help and is more than a little peeved at the trio of oni dancing around you. The anger comes swiftly, three completely straight bolts of lightning later and the oni are little more than ash. But he is still incensed. He anticipated all manner of demons and spirts to come looking for you after his rescue, however, having these same deities stalk is something he never intended.
He should’ve been more prepared. What would his brother say?
Perhaps he ought to stay close by, for now at least; there are other Raiju to cover his sector.
“Oi, Genji. Kiss me.”
“Beg pardon?” He looks down at you and then finds your lips over his. Only too quickly does he forget all previous thought.
“I’m fine, OK? I have your robe after all.”
“It would have meant little to the oni. How did they find you?”
“I don’t know. I always walk home this way so…Hey, you don’t look so good.” Genji stumbles forward, cursing in some ancient tongue before sighing.
“I used much power in that attack, mortal, power I would have used more wisely over time.”
“…want to come home with me then?”
“To your human dwelling? You’d invite me there?”
“Uh, yeah. I owe you one.”
“I would love it. Now, mind yourself, I’m going to fall again.”
Reaper is inherently angry. Black Cadejo mistrust all travellers whether they want to or not, making snap judgements of people and carrying those judgements all their lives. He often leads those of poor character into forests with no exits, to witches with a hunger for human flesh, or even still to those darker ponds where creatures lurk and ruminate in cold darkness.
But you, dear you, at least try to get the bad people out of his forest before they meet untimely deaths. Doesn’t mean they care to listen to you, but you are nothing but determined. So when the vagabonds assume the forest is empty and you are as helpless as a mouse, Reaper makes his presence know. Wet shadows move from tree to tree, dripping noxious pus that burns the ground.
Clever thing that you are, you’ve removed yourself quietly as Reaper creeps along the forest floor as a flat mass that eventually blows up into a menacing black wolf the size of the average fire truck. His eyes are vermillion, his teeth jagged and ivory, and his mouth so large it could very well swallow the moon. (In comparison to the others, he has most control of his feral self). But he does not eat them, he lets them get hopelessly lost. Only when you started coughing does he realize he needs to simmer down and get a hold of himself. The shadows retract beneath his fur and he gathers the poisonous liquid in his paws, absorbing them back into his body.
“Lovely – work – dear.” You wheeze.
“Don’t you have a mask?”
“I…do.” You pluck a vial from your pouch and pull the cork off with your teeth, downing the draught with a sigh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be so dramatic.”
“As if they didn’t deserve it.” He snorts. “Nobody touches you without facing the consequences.”
Prompt: Molly gets her period and a Sherlock panics and thinks she's dying. Idk it's a little cracky I guess?
Ahem. Yes. Well. I blame this prompt and this book for what is about to follow…
timescale for habituation to adjustments necessary when co-habiting with a
female romantic partner – three weeks. Changes in furniture arrangements, food
storage habits and frequency of bathroom cleaning appear to be mandatory, but
can be quickly assimilated. [Useful for casework? Store under habits of
wandered through the halls of his mind palace; the thread of truthfulness lost
in the white lies of a fledgling love. Caught in the enchantment woven by the light
of the full moon the night before. Passionate kisses that bordered on
demanding, frustration released in the most positive of all expressions. But, reaching
out for his sorceress, he found himself alone.
Bundled up, white
cotton wrapping itself around his lithe frame, he barely noted the rusty stain
that spread its way around his leg.
That’s blood. What on earth have you done to yourself now?
Shut up, John!
You might need a doctor, you berk. THINK!
John, will you kindly
get out of my head? No dangerous cases since Molly moved in, therefore no
healing wounds to reopen. No injuries sustained in the past 24 hours. Gun shot
wound to the chest - fully healed. I don’t need a doctor, because I am not
Then who is, mate?
“Molly? Where are
you?” Tracking faint mumbles through the flat, horror raced up his spine as he
saw his girlfriend doubled up on the couch, one hand pressed to her abdomen. “Who
did this to you?”
“Don’t worry about
anything. I’m calling an ambulance, and Lestrade. You’ll be okay.”
“What are you… hang
on, don’t call an ambulance! Give me that phone and tell me what in God’s name
you are talking about.”
“Look - blood,
you’re clearly in pain, but you were fine last night. Whoever did this to you
is going to… why are you laughing?”
fine. It’s just… that time of the month.”
“Y’know… aunt Flo
is here? The painters are in?” At his bewildered stare, she huffed out a sigh.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Molly, while at
most times I find your rambling discourse charming, it is infinitely less
endearing when I am afraid for your life. Will you please just tell me what is
“Fine! My period
started this morning. Happy?”
“I fail to
understand what that has to do with anything –“
Molly! Women are subject to monthly changes in disposition, characterised by
inability to make rational decisions, rapidly shifting moods and increased food
consumption; commonly known as ‘a period’ – I assume, of time? Something to do
with hormones, I recall? But that fails to explain all of this…”
Moved to laughter
again, Molly heaved to her feet, crossing the room to pull down her copy of
‘Human Anatomy and Physiology’ before throwing it at her clueless partner.
sexist as that behavioural description was, love, you seem to have deleted some
basic biology. Look it up, under m for menstruation.”
As he read, she pulled
the blanket down from the back of the chair to wrap, shawl-style, around her
arms, stilling on the sofa once more. Her
body craving the sleep cut short by the panicked outburst.
“Oh… Oh! But… every
month? It does that? And… how much?! Molly… you stay here and rest. You need…
things.” And with that, he pulled on the shirt and trousers strewn casually
around the room the night before. “I won’t be long, just… Tescos.”
Molly shook her
head, part affection, part bemusement, at her whirlwind lover, spinning chaos
in his wake with every new thing he learned. But as the silence fell heavy
around Baker Street in moment left behind him, twirling dust motes in a beam of
light the only movement, she found a new peace. Withdrawn from this mundane
moment, yes, but without any negativity. In his fumbling care, she found a sense
of acceptance, for once truly fitting into her place in the world.
contemplation, she was jolted back to her home as the tornado touched down once
more, dropping handfuls of carrier bags at her feet. Curious as to what
‘things’ Sherlock would deem necessary with his newfound biological knowledge,
she nudged the closest bag open. Enough sanitary products to open up her own
chemists - fairly predictable. A hot water bottle in a whimsical owl cover - less
so. Spinach? For iron, maybe? But the scarf would definitely need an
Observation – three
week timescale insufficient for fully understanding how women work. However,
smile received for appropriate behaviour? The best reward…
Martha Hunt Weighs in on Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston Being ‘Happy in Love'
It’s official: the squad approves!
Tom Hiddleston and Taylor Swift have only been dating for a few weeks – but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t already met all the important people in her life.
After stopping in Nashville to meet Swift’s parents and then setting off to England to spend time with Hiddleston’s mom, the whirlwind lovers kept it stateside to celebrate the 4th of July with just a few of her very famous friends.
And although it seems like Hiddleston is already acing the new boyfriend test with romantic trips to Rome and Australia, it’s the approval of Swift’s ever-growing squad that really matters.
Luckily for him, principal squad member and Victoria’s Secret Model Martha Hunt talked to PEOPLE about why she thinks Swift and Hiddleston make a great couple.
“I love that they’re both happy and free together,” the supermodel said at a Pepsi event celebrating World Emoji Day. “It’s amazing, I’m all about people being happy in love.”
In fact, they’re so happy that Hunt would use the emoji “with the biggest smile” to best represent the couple.
She also revealed that Hiddleston got along “wonderfully” with the famous group of friends during the Independence Day celebrations, adding that the British actor is “very charming.”
Hiddleston echoed Hunt’s comments about his relationship with Swift in a recent interview with MTV, during he said that the pair is “very happy.”
The actor also cleared up any rumors on his latest relationship Thursday, saying in an interview that it “is not a publicity stunt.”