#Feast of Divine Mercy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

farfromstrange · 1 month ago

Text

Fictober Day 13: Lingerie

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Lingerie (✨)

Summary: You buy red lingerie just for Matt, and he enjoys it to the fullest.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral fem!receiving, mentions of p in v, lingerie, face-sitting

Word Count: 951

A/n: Matt would go feral if you surprised him with lingerie, and that's a fact.

Read Me On AO3!

You bought this piece just for him—this red, silken piece of sin you paid a fortune for. The fabric is incredibly soft to the touch, running through fingers like water.

Matt rests his hand on your chest, over your heart. His fingers dig into the silk that covers the body he worships, and he has to bite into the flesh of his cheek to stop himself from moaning. You did this for him.

He likes you naked. He likes you spread out for him. He likes the feel of your skin against his, but God, you’re wearing lingerie made of the softest fabric the earth has ever seen, and his cock is already so fucking hard against his stomach.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands roaming over you so he can paint a picture of you in his head. A picture of you wearing this.

You gently take his other hand and place it on your upper thigh. “Here,” you say.

His heart pounds against his ribcage like a chainsaw. “Fuck,” he grunts.

You’re wearing a fucking garter belt, too.

He’s sure he must have died sometime tonight and gone to heaven. You can’t possibly be real. So beautiful, so hot, and you are all his. His to touch, command, and take until you are begging for mercy.

You did this for him.

“I love you,” he says, bringing his lips to where the fabric has ridden up above your belly button. “I love you so much.”

His breath is warm against your skin—warm and wet, and desperate.

“I want you to ride my face.”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

Matt lifts his unfocused gaze toward the sound of your voice. “I want you to ride my face. Right here,” he pulls you into his lap, “wearing this.”

Oh.

He has had you in all sorts of compromising positions, but this… this is something else. The thought of him lapping at your pussy as you’re kneeling above him is both incredibly arousing and absolutely terrifying, but if there is anyone you would trust with your life, it’s him.

He falls back against the mattress, taking you down with him. His lips taste like home, the kiss he presses to your lips so full of love that you forget for a moment what this is even about.

Greedy hands roam the silky lingerie, and your pussy starts to ache for him. For his fingers, for his cock, and his lips on you. You need him to touch you, to drive you to the brink of death just to pull you back with nothing but his magical tongue. You need him.

Matt pulls you higher, your legs now resting on either side of his head. You must look divine like this. He can smell you through the thin fabric of those sheer panties, soaked through and ready for him. He wants to dig his finger into you, to drink from you like a spring carved by God himself.

The panties are the easiest to get out of the way; they barely cover you as is, and it makes him wonder if you would let him keep them for the nights you’re not there and he needs something of yours to keep him company—to jerk off to.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m okay.”

And ready, though the words die on your tongue before you can utter them.

His hands soothe your shaky muscles, tangling in the garter belt around the plump flesh of your thigh, and without a warning, he pulls you down.

You cry out into the quiet of the room. His mouth covers your pussy as he feasts, tongue darting between your folds and to your clit. The moan he breathes into your core is utterly guttural.

“Ride me,” he begs, the silk now bundled in his fist. “C’mon.”

Hesitantly, you bury your fingers in his hair, and you start to rock your hips in sync with the desperate drag of his tongue. You chase that high, the pleasure that is curling in the pit of your stomach and spreading through your pussy like a wildfire.

Matt pulls at the lingerie, knuckles white with his flailing self-restraint. He’s telling you to move faster, to lock your legs around his head and ride his face until he suffocates. He wants your orgasm. He wants to drink your essence like a fine glass of wine. If he could, he would even drown in you.

He cups your breast, feeling your heart race underneath. It’s silk, silk all over. You feel like a cloud—a fucking cloud.

“Matthew,” you breathe.

He’s still fisting the garter belt, teeth dragging over your flesh and soothing it with the tip of his tongue. The pleasure tightens its noose around you.

He tugs, and tugs, and tugs. Your orgasm keeps building, reaching the crescendo of the symphony you’re playing. You’re so close.

You don’t know where to put your hands anymore, and he’s so immersed in eating you out, the sight alone is enough to set fire to the rain; the fabric snaps, suddenly and without warning, and with it, the wave finally crashes into you.

You couldn’t have seen this coming, couldn’t have anticipated what only a piece of fabric could do to him. He rocked your world. He always does, but tonight, it felt different; it felt different and you loved it.

You slowly come back to yourself, lying there completely boneless as he pries himself away from you.

Matt props himself up on his elbow beside you. You look over at him, the content expression on his face, and it makes you smile. “Lingerie, huh?” you say.

He hums in agreement, “Lingerie.”

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #pwp #lizzi's fictober 2024 #charlie cox

217 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

Text

Some French Loans in Middle English

Loan Word - vocabulary borrowings

Borrow - to introduce a word (or some other linguistic feature) from one language or dialect into another

Administration authority, bailiff, baron, chamberlain, chancellor, constable, coroner, council, court, crown, duke, empire, exchequer, government, liberty, majesty, manor, mayor, messenger, minister, noble, palace, parliament, peasant, prince, realm, reign, revenue, royal, servant, sir, sovereign, squire, statute, tax, traitor, treason, treasurer, treaty, tyrant, vassal, warden

Law accuse, adultery, advocate, arrest, arson, assault, assize, attorney, bail, bar, blame, chattels, convict, crime, decree, depose, estate, evidence, executor, felon, fine, fraud, heir, indictment, inquest, jail, judge, jury, justice, larceny, legacy, libel, pardon, perjury, plaintiff, plea, prison, punishment, sue, summons, trespass, verdict, warrant

Religion abbey, anoint, baptism, cardinal, cathedral, chant, chaplain, charity, clergy, communion, confess, convent, creator, crucifix, divine, faith, friar, heresy, homily, immortality, incense, mercy, miracle, novice, ordain, parson, penance, prayer, prelate, priory, religion, repent, sacrament, sacrilege, saint, salvation, saviour, schism, sermon, solemn, temptation, theology, trinity, vicar, virgin, virtue

Military ambush, archer, army, barbican, battle, besiege, captain, combat, defend, enemy, garrison, guard, hauberk, lance, lieutenant, moat, navy, peace, portcullis, retreat, sergeant, siege, soldier, spy, vanquish

Food and drink appetite, bacon, beef, biscuit, clove, confection, cream, cruet, date, dinner, feast, fig, fruit, fry, grape, gravy, gruel, herb, jelly, lemon, lettuce, mackerel, mince, mustard, mutton, olive, orange, oyster, pigeon, plate, pork, poultry, raisin, repast, roast, salad, salmon, sardine, saucer, sausage, sole, spice, stew, sturgeon, sugar, supper, tart, taste, toast, treacle, tripe, veal, venison, vinegar

Fashion apparel, attire, boots, brooch, buckle, button, cape, chemise, cloak, collar, diamond, dress, embroidery, emerald, ermine, fashion, frock, fur, garment, garter, gown, jewel, lace, mitten, ornament, pearl, petticoat, pleat, robe, satin, taffeta, tassel, train, veil, wardrobe

part 1/2 ⚜ Source ⚜ Word Lists ⚜ Notes & References

144 notes · View notes

mothiir · 3 months ago

Text

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it.

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience.

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen.

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath.

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean.

And you doubt you will see it.

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort.

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live.

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before.

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements.

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size.

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place.

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap.

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah.

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor.

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication.

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different.

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety.

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world.

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them.

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence.

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity.

Fascinating.

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks.

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge.

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean.

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all.

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs.

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive His mercy.

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap.

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you.

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal.

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up.

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well.

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside.

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book.

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around.

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him.

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin.

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns.

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery.

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

#Black templars/reader #moth writes #my writing

172 notes · View notes

raz-writes-the-thing · 1 year ago

Text

Last Meal

Crowley x GN!Reader (AFAB anatomy)

18 Plus ONLY / Requests are OPEN

Summary: Crowley really, really, likes to eat you out.

CW: smut, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, light praise, overstim, oral sex

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Overstimulation is poking at your nerves like a tingling, hot iron. You’ve cum three times already, and Crowley is desperate to get you a fourth, or maybe even a fifth- if you didn’t just give out before that point.

The first time had been soft and loving, his tongue laving over your clit and fingers buried deep inside your sopping cunt until you fell apart over him. You’d been stressed out, what with all of the nonsense happening at work and with the fact that the world had almost descended into chaos. It was no wonder you were stressed. Good thing Crowley knew a thing or two about how to distract you.

He’d brought you into his office, sat you down on the desk and him in his chair, and pushed your legs open to take a load off of that stress for you, so to speak. Soft circles brushed into your thigh and little breaths of cold air on your clit to make you needy. He didn’t keep you waiting long before he was tracing blasphemous prayers into your clit.

You came like that once, and after that, he’d added another finger and held you down by the tummy to wring another orgasm out of you- you whined and jerked against his hold as he talked you through it. Telling you how good you were, and how much he loved to see you come apart for him. All for him.

You’d came hard and fast, gasping and arching your back off the desk. He’d given you one of those signature grins and pressed kisses down your tummy, down your hip and towards the inside of your thighs, forcing you to open them up for him.

The third time he’d made you cum took a little longer, the overstimulation taking longer to get over. You were gasping and writhing on the desk as he wrapped his lips over your clit and sucked it into his mouth, split tongue flicking hard and fast against your sensitive bundle of nerves. He didn’t let up until you cried out in pleasure and yanked hard at his hair, keeping him there in that spot as you rode his face and worked yourself through your bordering-on-painful orgasm.

And now he had his tongue buried inside you, long and flexible, licking at your walls and shooting pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck, Crowley- I- I don’t think I can,” you cry, trying your best to squirm away from his tongue.

He chuckles and pulls you closer by the hips, practically mashing his nose into your clit. You mewl, arching away. Of course, this only proved to bump his nose against you again.

His tongue starts moving inside you as if possessed, Crowley trying to stick the forked appendage inside you as far as possible. He eats you as if it’s his last meal on Earth, and he brings a thumb down over your hip to rub back and forth over your clit without mercy.

You cry out louder this time, unable to contain the noises that were escaping you as he forced you closer and closer to that edge. Fuck, you might actually be able to cum again. No, scratch that, you were definitely going to cum again.

“F-fuck, Crowley, I- nngh, oh-”

Hips wriggle on the desk, slick and spit trailing down your folds to stain the table. You pant and moan as he works you like a master pianist- knowing exactly which keys to tap to wring out the most divine music from you.

You manage to lean yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at Crowley, and that’s what pushes you over the edge. Those yellow-slitted eyes looking up at you so hungrily, so unabashedly. He looks ravenous, feasting at you like if he doesn’t make you cum right now he might simply pass away.

Waves of pleasure take you all at once, roiling inside like crashing waves in a storm. You’re vaguely aware of the fact that your head hits the desk again with a soft thud. You’re also vaguely aware of the way your entire body is convulsing with the pleasure of your fourth orgasm.

He works you through it, tongue raking every single modicum of pleasure from you. The stimulation grows to be too much, and you press your foot to his shoulder to force him off you.

He chuckles deeply, pussy drunk on the taste of your spend. He nuzzles against your thigh, trailing a finger down your slit and revelling in the whimper it draws from you.

He giggles- actually giggles- and gives your thigh a light slap.

“Mmn,” he says, licking his lips. “Always so good for me.”

“Always,” you pant back with a giggle.

843 notes · View notes

portraitsofsaints · 2 months ago

Text

Happy Feast Day

Saint Faustina

Feast day: October 5

Patron of Mercy

St. Maria Faustina Kowalska was born in Glogowiec, Poland in 1905. The third of ten children from a poor family, she had little formal education. After applying to various convents in Warsaw, she was finally accepted by the Congregation of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy in 1925. For years Saint Faustina received revelations and visits from Christ. On Good Friday 1937, Christ appeared to her and dictated to her the prayers that He wished her to pray in a novena from Good Friday through the Octave of Easter, now known as Divine Mercy Sunday. Saint Faustina died in 1938, in Krakow, Poland, of tuberculosis.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase. (website)

#SaintFaustina #DivineMercy #catholic art #artist on tumblr #catholic faith #catholic women

58 notes · View notes

whumpy-wyrms · 9 months ago

Text

Blood Runs Cold #1: You’re All Mine

masterlist | next

content: death, gore, dead bodies, blood drinking, cannibalism, cold whump, claustrophobia, nonsexual nudity, begging, manhandling, invasion of privacy, drugging, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy possessive vampire whumper

NEW SERIES!! very excited about this :D i explained a bit about it here if you wanna read that, but you don’t have to!

—

It was just another normal night at the morgue for Silas. There must’ve been an accident earlier, leaving two humans dead and transported straight to his doorstep, lifeless and completely at his mercy.

Two humans. One male, one female, both seemingly in their early 20s with no obvious signs of death. Their clothes and possessions were tossed to the side, discarded and unneeded. Silas began his work, filling the air with the sounds of pens on clipboards and scalpels on skin. His work was meticulous, practiced, quick. The causes of death was something he had never cared to ponder over; just an observation, just another thing to write down in the reports.

No, there was something else about this work that captivated Silas, something that was only reinforced by these two humans. The work was morbid, dark, disturbing. He wasn’t in it for the money, or for some strange fascination he had with the human body, no. He was in it for the blood, and these humans would provide him with more than enough.

Two perfect humans. They had been delivered by the hospital, but there was nobody here to claim them, to name them. These bodies were without a family, without anyone to identify them, or plan a burial for them. These bodies had been abandoned by their own kind. And that’d only meant they were free for the taking.

Two corpses: flesh, guts, bones and all. Nobody would come looking for these poor souls. They were all for him.

Just like every time he had finished the proper paperwork and preparations, Silas dug into his new meal. In ravaging hunger, the vampire teared through the flesh of the corpses, savoring every moment. His glowing red eyes turned to slits, wild and monstrous as he fed, losing every sense of humanity he had left. Nothing about this was clean, tidy, proper. Silas was a vampire– a monster– and he would feast like one.

As he sucked both of the corpses dry of their sweet blood, he couldn’t help but savor the shorter one’s taste. It was delicious. It was divine. He couldn’t imagine what it would've tasted like when they were alive. But it was too late now, he supposed.

Silas picked up the smaller human’s body, brushing his hand over the other’s cold, unmoving face. The thing’s eyes were wide and lifeless, but full of color in this dull place. Silas stared for a moment, noticing something unique about this human; that one eye was green, the other blue. What fascinating, yet helpless creatures, they never ceased to surprise him. He laid the bloody body in one of the mortuary freezers, gently shutting their eyelids closed, and did the same with the other.

Silas licked his lips, relishing the last of his free meal. Sure, the blood of all the corpses that came here was always stale, old, dead. But it was far safer than hunting for humans in town and risking getting killed by the vampire hunters that lurked in the shadows. Of course, Silas couldn’t always hold back his yearn for fresh blood or the thrill of the hunt, but the corpses here held him off and kept him safe.

Silas, well fed for the night, went to sleep as the sun rose over his graveyard.

. . .

Aspen woke to dead silence. And cold. His limbs felt frozen, numb, hard to even move from their position. He was so cold that he felt like it was a miracle he was even alive.

The next thing Aspen noticed was that he was laying flat on a hard surface, which was also ice cold to the touch. He blinked his eyes, but found nothing but complete darkness all around him. Trying to sit up, Aspen bumped his head on a surface only inches above him.

Aspen’s heart started racing. He felt around with his arms, and realized his entire body was completely enclosed, metal walls surrounding every side of him. He was trapped.

“H-hey!” Aspen called out, his voice feeling strained with disuse, but loud and echoey in the quiet air. “Help! L-Let me out! Is anybody there? Hello?” Aspen’s pleads were met with nothing but an eerie silence.

Tears pricked in Aspen’s eyes when he realized nobody was coming to help. His chest heaved rapidly, breath hitching in his throat. He needed to get out of here. Aspen panicky kicked and scratched against his cold prison, but nothing budged. His heartbeat quickened when he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

He was covered in nothing but a thin white sheet that was draped over his head and ran all the way down to his ankles. It did nothing to drown out the chill, so all he had left was to weep in despair. “Let me out! Anybody! Lyle! Please!” Aspen continued to kick and struggle, but it was no use.

Nobody answered his calls. Nobody answered his pleads for help. Aspen was all alone.

. . .

Silas woke to blood-curdling screaming. And living in a morgue that was always filled with lifeless, decaying corpses, this was a bad sign. Silas made sure nothing ever made any noises in this place because he preferred the dead silence. Nobody else was even supposed to be here.

Silas slowly climbed out of his coffin, covering his ears from that annoying, incessant screaming. He pointed his nose upward and sniffed through the air. Human.

Well, whatever poor soul that had happened to wander into this place after hours was fair game to him. It was the vampire’s dinner, now. Silas licked his lips and began making his way down the stairs.

Once he reached the main floor, Silas could hear the human’s rapid heart, beating through his ears. He could practically smell their fear, but they were nowhere to be seen. Surveying his surroundings, Silas realized the banging and scratching was coming from one of the freezer cabinets, the ones that stored corpses.

But whatever was in there was alive.

Well, that wasn’t right. The two humans from last night were long dead, and Silas had made sure to bleed them both dry. There was no possible way for another human to get in here without alerting him, especially since those freezers were locked shut.

Silas walked through the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. The vampire couldn’t help but smile; the soft whimpering and cries for help sounded like music to his ears, he almost wanted to leave the human locked in there for a little while longer. It wasn’t often he had live prey.

Silas plucked his keys from the wall, and walked lazily to the freezers. The human’s helpless little noises came to a stop, as if whoever was in there noticed there was someone else in the room and was waiting patiently to be let out. Now standing right outside his little accidental captive, Silas recognised their scent as a corpse from the night prior.

Silas was a few hundred years old. He’d seen the undead– he was the undead– something like this wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. But he’d usually be able to tell if someone was a supernatural creature like him. They looked human, smelled human, tasted human, but may have just cheated death itself. Something strange was happening here, and Silas was thrilled to get to the bottom of it.

He clicked the key in place, unlocking the freezer and hearing the human’s heartbeat speed up in anticipation. Silas quickly pulled out the drawer with a whoosh, the sudden motion causing the human to shriek in surprise, falling out of the shelf and landing roughly on the floor.

Silas tilted his head, intrigued. This was the human from last night, without a doubt. But their body was completely intact, to the looks of it. Their heart was still pumping, blood flowing through their body and eyes filled with more life than Silas had ever seen. His little snack really had come back from the dead.

“Agh! H-hey…” The human stammered, holding the white sheet tightly over their body. They looked around the room with a wary expression, eyes wide and alert. Using the wall for support, they stumbled up on shaking legs and slowly started backing away from Silas. “Wh-what’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?” The human asked in their soft, shaky voice.

Silas ignored their questions and started slowly creeping towards them. The human’s breath hitched and they scurried away in fear, sheet dragging behind them. Despite it being mid-day, the room was completely dark; windows covered in thick curtains to keep out the sunlight, but Silas could see everything just fine. The human ran blindly through the room until seemingly tripping over their own feet.

Silas smiled as his captive gasped in pain, landing roughly on the cold floor. He flicked on the light, and watched their wandering eyes land on a small piece of paper attached to their foot. They ripped it off, looking it over in their hands confusingly. It was a tag. Silas could almost see the gears turning in the poor thing’s little head as their eyes went wide in horrified realization.

Once the human had noticed Silas stalking towards them, it was too late; they were already cornered. They pulled the sheet tighter over their body and curled up in a trembling ball.

Silas loomed over his prey, taking in their shivering form, and they looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What’s a little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Silas teased, face filled with mock sympathy, already knowing the answer.

The human cowered under the vampire’s predatory gaze. “I– I don’t… I just woke up in there…” They whispered. “What’s going on? Wh-Where are my clothes? It’s– It’s freezing in here.”

Silas smiled and crouched down in front of them, making his prey squirm under his stare. “Aww, you don’t remember? I ripped you to shreds last night.” Silas hummed, smiling menacingly. “I tore your body inside out. You should not be alive right now.”

“What–”

Faster than the human could comprehend, Silas ripped the sheet away, needing to get a look at their body. To his surprise, they were completely healed. No wounds, dried blood, or scar in sight. It was as if they had never been dead in the first place.

“Hey!” The human exclaimed, horrified, and yanked that flimsy thing back– as if that would keep them safe. “What the fuck?!”

Silas smirked. “Feisty one, aren't you?”

“What– just stop! Tell me what’s going on!” The human looked around the room in a panic, seemingly searching for something– or someone. “And where’s– where’s Lyle?”

“Who?”

“My friend.” They seethed, but their anger couldn’t hide their fear. “S-Something happened. I don’t… Just– tell me why I’m here! I wanna go home. Tell me what’s happening!”

The human let out a gasp as they felt a sudden sharp sting on their cheek. Silas had slapped them. “Shut up.”

The human brought their hand to their cheek, fresh tears forming in their eyes. “B-But–”

Silas wrenched his fist in the other’s hair, yanking their head back. “You want me to tell you what happened? You died, human,” The vampire hissed. “You’re in a morgue. You were brought here yesterday by the hospital. Nobody identified you, nobody claimed your body, nobody came to pay respects. So I drained your blood like I do to every corpse.”

Silas smiled and poked his captive in the stomach playfully. “As well as take a bit more than what I normally do. It was the most delicious blood I've ever tasted, and it smells even better now that you’re alive. I can’t imagine what it tastes like now.”

“Wait, y-you… You’re a–”

“Yes. I’m a vampire. Took you long enough.” Silas grinned, showing his fangs. “And you wanna know what? I can hear your little heart racing, human. I know how terrified you are of me right now, and that fear is intoxicating.”

“You– You’re lying. This isn’t real, I didn’t die. Just leave m-me alone.”

“Oh, human, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Silas said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “This is as real as it can be. You came back from the dead, and I am going to savor every moment of draining the life back out of you.”

Silas crawled closer, gaze turning predatory and deadly. Despite being locked in a cold freezer all day and night, the little thing’s heart was still pumping warm blood through their veins. All for him. Silas couldn’t wait to get another taste.

His prey scrambled backwards, wincing as they backed themself against the wall. “St-Stay away from me.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, little one. I can do whatever I want with you. You’re all mine.” Then, the vampire pounced, eyes wild and animalistic. Silas dug his nails into the human’s back, holding them close and making them scream in agony. With his other hand, he gripped onto their hair and wretched their pale neck to the side.

Being this close to a live human, it was hard to resist the warmth that radiated off of them. Silas’ usual prey was cold, dead corpses, and he’d never had enough time to relish in the warmth of the human body while hunting outside. But this? This was a real treat. And hearing the little thing’s heart flutter in terror was always the best part of the hunt.

His human struggled against Silas’ grip, kicking and scratching in a futile attempt to get away. That only made this feast more thrilling. Silas clamped his fangs into their neck, tearing into their flesh as if they were nothing but a piece of meat made to be eaten.

His prey screamed in excruciating pain, pushing their weak arms against Silas’ body, fighting with everything they had. Which, unfortunately for them, wasn’t even close to enough. Silas yanked his hand from their back, licking the blood from his fingers and using that hand to muffle the human’s screams.

Silas bit down again, sucking more blood from the human’s veins. They were sobbing into his hand, salty tears running down their chin. This only made Silas squeeze harder, his nails breaking their skin and drawing more blood.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it was time to dig in. Silas pushed the human flat on their back and crawled over them. He clawed into their chest cavity with superhuman strength, tearing through flesh and muscle and bones until he got to the heart. Silas paid no mind to the human’s sputtering breath as he reached into the viscera and pulled out their beating heart. He slowly squeezed the life out of it, watching the light fade from the human’s wide eyes, and took a bite.

After a while, Silas stood, panting, and wiped the blood from his face with his equally bloody sleeve. He laughed softly to himself, it had been a long time since he’d experienced a feeding that exhilarating. He needed more.

Silas left the corpse slumped against the wall as he fetched the little thing’s belongings, the sound of blood splashing under his boots echoing through the room. Only a couple things arrived with them the day prior; their phone, wallet, glasses, and of course the clothes on their back. Silas grabbed their phone and walked back to the corpse. He held their head up with their hair, and unlocked their phone using face ID. Silas smiled; he was in. This human was making this so easy for him.

Silas had usually never cared about the bodies that were transported here, and the lives that they had lived. They were nothing but food to him. But this was a special case. Silas wanted to learn as much information about this human as possible, and what better way to start than their name?

Aspen. Aspen Marlow. Cute.

Looking through Aspen’s phone, Silas found no new messages or calls, nobody checking in to see if they were okay despite being gone for well over two days now. In fact, the poor thing only seemed to have one close friend; a girl named Lyle Berkley. Neither of their names supposedly reflected the names on their legal documents, but that didn’t matter. Looking through Aspen’s photos, Silas found that the two of them did everything together.

They were inseparable, even up until their mysterious deaths, the two of them never left each other’s sides. It was obvious now that Lyle had been the other body transported here with Aspen. But unlike Aspen, she had never woken up.

Silas sauntered over to Lyle’s body, but before he even arrived, he could tell just from the smell that she was still dead. Ah, no matter. Silas only needed the one human anyway. He locked the taller corpse away in a freezer and went back to the main attraction.

Silas sat and observed Aspen’s corpse for hours, watching in morbid curiosity as their body began to heal itself. The blood eventually dried over his wounds, and the flesh mended itself back together. It took all day, but when all the scars but one faded, the human looked good as new.

Aspen was still dead, though. Silas picked up the body and moved it away from the puddle of blood. He retrieved their clothes— a green dinosaur hoodie and baggy blue jeans— and put them on Aspen.

Then, Silas continued scrolling through their phone, waiting for his little human to wake up.

. . .

After only a few more hours, the human began to stir. Silas dropped everything he was doing and kneeled beside Aspen, staring at the boy intently. His heart had started beating, slowly and faintly at first, hardly noticeable. But now, the little thing’s heart was racing.

Aspen turned over in his sleep, groaning in pain and mumbling to himself. Silas scoffed and roughly shook the human awake, watching him blink up at him with those weird eyes of his.

Aspen immediately flinched back, eyes going wide in the terror Silas loved. “Y-You! Get away from me!”

Silas only inched closer, the maniacal look on his face filling Aspen with dread. The vampire was giddy with excitement. “You’re awake. You’re alive!”

“Y-yeah, I am! So- so just leave me alone! Please! I don’t know what you want from me!” Aspen had barely been awake for a minute and he already wished he could disappear. His head ached, his memories felt foggy and far away. Thinking back, all he could recall was pain and agony. And…

Death. He had died.

Aspen blinked. His death hurt to think about, so he didn’t. He’d also rather ignore the vampire’s ecstatic expression and blood red eyes piercing into him.

Looking past the vampire, Aspen realized he was still in the same room, just stuffed in a different corner. He was thankful to have his clothes back, though. Aspen pulled his hoodie strings tight, relishing in the small comfort it gave him. Though, nothing could beat the cold.

“Aspen,” Silas hummed. “You’re not going to just ignore me and expect to get away with it.”

“Huh?” Aspen mumbled into his hoodie. “How do you even know my name?”

The vampire chuckled deeply. “I know everything about you, Aspen.”

Aspen looked up. “What? H-How?”

Silas smiled mischievously and pulled out Aspen’s phone from his pocket. “I’ve seen what you post on social media, human. And I have your wallet.” Silas’ smile widened as Aspen’s face warped in horror. “Aspen Marlow. Age twenty, born and raised here in Toronto Canada. You were born July 25–”

“Hey!” Aspen exclaimed with a shaky voice, sitting up. “That’s private! Give it back! It’s mine!” Silas stood, towering over him.

“--And you died yesterday, October first. You’re supposed to be dead, Aspen,” The vampire said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Dead people don’t have possessions.”

“Please just give it–” Aspen tried to grab his phone, and Silas swiped his hand away, lazily walking around behind him. Aspen turned, glaring at the vampire in a fiery anger. Silas looked the human up and down in consideration. “Still have some spark left in you, do you now?”

“I– Just give me back my stuff!”

Silas tapped Aspen’s phone with his nails, and continued talking in his smooth tone. “Your entire life’s in this thing, huh? Seems so. I know all about you now. All your darkest secrets, all your deepest desires. Your hobbies, your dreams, what you love, what you hate.” Silas smirked wickedly. “Your nightmares, your weaknesses, your fears…”

Aspen’s voice wobbled. “Hey–”

“You wanna know what else I know, Aspen? You’re a nobody. A complete fucking nobody. Nobody’s looking for you. Nobody cares that you’re dead. I’m surprised you managed to have such a close friendship with, ah, who was it? Lyle? I feel bad for her for–”

“Stop!” Aspen shouted, attempting to push Silas to the ground. The vampire didn’t even budge.

Silas blinked. “Wow. Okay. Here you go.” Silas held out the human’s phone in his hand lazily. As Aspen reached out for it, the vampire swiftly snapped the thing in half before Aspen could grab it, dropping the pieces to the ground.

“Hey!” Aspen cried. Silas smirked as the human dropped to his knees, picking up the remains of his phone. “No! Why did you do that?!” The human babbled incomprehensible nonsense about his friend, looking up at Silas with tears in his eyes as the vampire circled him. It was pathetic.

Silas sighed and knelt down, cupping the human’s face in his hands. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“What– what happened to Lyle? Where is she? What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” Silas cooed, patting Aspen’s cheek. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t worry about her.”

“Just let me go. What do you even w-want with me?”

Silas grinned. “Don’t you see, Aspen? I finally have a solution to all of my problems. You can’t die! No matter how much blood I take, you’ll just keep coming back and giving me more.”

Aspen’s face fell in despair. “N-No. You can’t.”

“I won’t have to drink the disgusting blood from the corpses anymore, or hunt and risk being killed by those incessant hunters. I have an infinite source of the most fresh, tastiest blood I’ve ever had right in the palm of my hands. Nobody will be coming to look for you because you’re dead, Aspen. I will never let you go.”

“No, p-please,” Aspen cried. “You can’t do this. I wanna go home.”

“Shhh,” Silas cooed. “You’re mine. This is your home now.” Silas chuckled deeply, voice getting darker. “And you’ll learn to like it here.”

Silas grabbed the human’s wrist and yanked him forward. Aspen whimpered, feeling a deep sense of dread in his stomach. Silas considered him a moment, and gently sunk his teeth into his veins. But this feeding felt different to Aspen. His neck started to feel numb where he had been bitten, and that feeling slowly spread to the rest of his body. After a moment, Aspen slumped forward against Silas’ body, mumbling broken pleas under his breath.

“Wh… what’s happening to me?” Aspen whimpered, eyelids drooping. He pushed weakly against the vampire, but he was far too cold and sleepy to fight back.

“Don’t struggle, Aspen. Let me enjoy this.”

“P-please…”

“You like it, don’t you? I told you you would. Just relax, Aspen. Let the venom do its work.”

Aspen struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking rapidly through tears. He shivered against the vampire’s cold body. Then, the poor thing finally succumbed to the venom, all the fight left in him completely drained. His head slowly lolled to the side as he lost consciousness. Silas continued drinking, basking in his sweet blood, until he felt Aspen’s little heart beating no more.

Silas smiled, licked the wound closed, and ruffled the corpse’s hair. He had almost never used venom on his prey, but playing with his food was all part of the fun.

Silas hauled Aspen over his shoulder and walked across the room. He wrenched the door to the basement open, and shoved the corpse inside. The thing toppled down the stairs like a stack of bricks, blood painting its path. The corpse landed on the concrete floor, pale and lifeless.

The vampire shut the door. The sound of a lock clicking shut echoed through the room, and Silas once again trapped Aspen somewhere cold and dark, all alone.

—

hope everyone likes the first chapter!! i have sooo much planned for this series so stay tuned :) i don’t mind being sent requests about what you wanna see with these characters either!

Taglist: nonexistent so far, let me know if you wanna be added :)

104 notes · View notes

thepastisalreadywritten · 2 months ago

Text

SAINT OF THE DAY (October 5)

On October 5, the church celebrates the Memorial of St. Mary Faustina Kowalska, virgin.

Faustina was born Helena Kowalska on 25 August 1905 to a poor but devout Polish family in 1905.

At the age of 20, with very little education, and having been rejected from several other convents because of her poverty and lack of education, Helen entered the Congregation of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy.

There, she took the name Sr. Faustina and spent time in convents in both Poland and Lithuania.

Throughout her life, Jesus appeared to Sr. Faustina.

He asked her to become an apostle and secretary of his mercy by writing down his messages of Divine Mercy for the world in her diary.

Jesus also asked Sr. Faustina to have an image painted of his Divine Mercy, with red and white rays issuing from his heart, and to spread devotion to the Divine Mercy Novena.

Even before her death on 5 October 1938, devotion to Divine Mercy began to spread throughout Poland.

This little nun and Jesus’ message of Divine Mercy impacted Karol Wojtyla greatly, which became obvious to the world when he was elected Pope.

“It is truly marvelous how her devotion to the merciful Jesus is spreading in our contemporary world and gaining so many human hearts!

This is doubtlessly a sign of the times — a sign of our twentieth century.

The balance of this century, which is now ending, in addition to the advances which have often surpassed those of preceding eras, presents a deep restlessness and fear of the future.

Where, if not in the Divine Mercy, can the world find refuge and the light of hope? Believers understand that perfectly,” Pope John Paul II wrote.

On 30 April 2000, Pope John Paul II canonized Faustina in what he was widely reported as saying was “the happiest day of my life.”

“Today, my joy is truly great in presenting the life and witness of Sr. Faustina Kowalska to the whole Church as a gift of God for our time.

By divine Providence, the life of this humble daughter of Poland was completely linked with the history of the 20th century, the century we have just left behind.

In fact, it was between the First and Second World Wars that Christ entrusted his message of mercy to her.

Those who remember, who were witnesses and participants in the events of those years and the horrible sufferings they caused for millions of people, know well how necessary was the message of mercy,” the Pope said in his homily that day.

It was also on this day, the Sunday after Easter, that Pope John Paul II instituted the Feast of Divine Mercy, which Jesus had asked for in his messages to Sr. Faustina.

#Saint of the Day #St. Mary Faustina Kowalska #Feast of Divine Mercy #Helena Kowalska #Divine Mercy #Karol Wojtyla #Pope John Paul II #Pope St. John Paul II

0 notes

cirilla-fiona-riannon · 7 months ago

Text

Act 4 Prologue (Azel Radwan)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

At the same time, in Tanzanite--

The throne room located on the palace's top floor was filled with the joy and excitement of the people.

Amongst the clamor surrounding the night, the immense full moon enveloped the people as if protecting them.

Azel: "Silence."

With just one word from the deity atop the throne, the people immediately fell silent, looking up at the god with awe.

His mystical eyes, filled with stars that seemed to belong to the night sky rather than a human, scanned the people with compassion.

Azel: "The divinations have revealed your fate. Under the divine will, you need to formulate a policy as soon as possible."

Azel: "It's up to you whether you want to utilize or disregard the mercy of the gods. Just don't disappoint me, for the heavenly moon is always watching over you."

As the current deity rose, the people who seemed lost in a daydream all kneeled and bowed their heads simultaneously.

Among them was a man wearing a crown.

King of Tanzanite: "We've prepared a banquet for you. Please, do join us."

Azel: "I appreciate the offer, but with a God present, you may find it impossible to indulge in wine."

Azel: "I shall take my leave, so do not concern yourselves. Ah, and a farewell is unnecessary. I dislike unnecessary fuss."

Azel: "Well, then, have a good night. May the divine grace be upon all the people."

As the fervor waned, the natural tranquility of the night returned.

The deity, walking with resolute steps, suddenly halted when a woman, a dancer, blocked his path.

Woman: "Greetings, esteemed deity."

Azel: "I've just said that your concerns are unnecessary."

The woman held a variety of banquet dishes, their enticing aroma filling the hallway.

Woman: "I apologize for misunderstanding the divine will. However, I thought perhaps you might not attend the feast tonight."

Woman: "This is a modest offering from me. If you would be so kind, may I serve you?"

Azel: "I appreciate your dedication. However, it's unnecessary."

Azel: "I'm in a hurry, so could you please step aside?"

Woman: "Please don't say that. After the lengthy divination, I'm sure you must be hungry."

Azel: "No, it's fine."

A rumble suddenly came from his stomach, momentarily disrupting the sanctity.

Azel: "Anyway, it's okay. Leave me be and go to the feast."

Woman: "Please wait!"

The woman attempted to block his path again as he tried to move forward forcefully.

Azel: "Ah, these clueless folks who just don't get it, no matter what you tell them."

Unaware of his muttered words, the woman stumbled over his foot while trying to approach and fell to the floor along with the dishes.

He looked down at the scattered food and the groaning woman without even offering a hand.

Azel: "Poor thing."

Woman: "Esteemed deity?"

Azel: "I feel sorry for the food that was wasted."

Despite smiling gently, his mysterious eyes seemed completely unconcerned about the events that had taken place.

Azel: "Lick it up."

Woman: "Eh?"

Azel: "It would be a pity if the food went to waste, wouldn't it?"

Azel: "Look, this soup still looks edible."

Azel: "If you crawl like a dog and lick it up, it won't be wasted."

Woman: "What are you…?"

Azel: "Of course, I'm a kind god, so I won't force you to do anything."

Azel: "You're free to follow or defy God's will."

Woman: "........."

Her hesitation lasted only a moment.

She lowered her face to the floor and began licking the spilled soup with her tongue.

As she repeated this several times, something suddenly happened.

The woman's skin gradually flushed, emitting a scent suitable for the night, and her heated gaze met his impassive expression.

Azel: "So you really did slip in an aphrodisiac. Your fortune for today seems to be very unlucky, doesn't it?"

Azel: "Ah, no. Perhaps it's actually very fortunate."

Azel: "Since your beloved god didn't taste it."

Woman: "Please have mercy."

He turned his back, keeping his distance from the woman who reached out to him.

Azel: "Feel free to please yourself all you want. Well then, I'll take my leave."

Azel: "It's already past my working hours, and working overtime is just out of the question."

Woman: "I like you! I'd do anything for you!"

Woman: "Would it be a sin for me to love you?"

Azel: "Let me tell you one thing."

Azel: "Gods don't love people because love is worthless."

Azel: "If you are willing to give me a fortune equivalent to Prince Silvio's, then I might consider it."

Azel: "But if not, it's unpleasant to even have you in my sight."

Woman: "........."

Azel: "Since it looks like you're not getting what I'm saying, let me make it clear."

Azel: "It's time for you to disappear. Get out of my sight, slut."

Woman: "Eeek!"

As if it were all a dream, his face lost all compassion.

With a coldness rivaling that of the desert night, he stared at the woman as if she were a bug.

Azel: "Your feelings are neither love nor anything of the sort. It was just the prattle of a depraved slut drowning in filthy desires."

This time, there was no one to stop his stride.

The god laughed and smiled under the divine glow of the full moon, devoid of mercy or compassion.

Azel: "This nation under the protection of gods is still living in a happy dream."

Azel: "Even though the day when this eternal dream shatters is approaching, I wonder if I'll ever be able to laugh at it."

☆ Ikepri Masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikepri spoilers #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #azel radwan #ikepri azel

126 notes · View notes

catholicsapphic · 2 months ago

Text

Happy feast day to the one and only apostle of the Divine Mercy. May Faustina Kowalska always open our eyes to the immense Love God feels towards all and each of us 🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

#oh Blood and Water which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a fount of Mercy for us #I trust in you <3333 #my post

46 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I request Master/Slave & Dubious Consent for Prince Nuada?

Here you go anon!

“The price for another’s mistake”

Pairing: Prince Nuada/AFAB Reader

Rating: E

Themes: NSFT | Smut

Warnings: Master/Slave aspects | Imbalance of power | Dubious consent | Kissing | Oral sex

Wordcount: 2k words

Summary: After a mortal chieftain insults King Balor, his daughter is sent to Bethmoora to serve its Crown Prince as his slave.

Minors DNI | 18+

“Is this her?” Nuada asked, standing in the entryway to his chambers. “Is this the mortal father sent for my own particular use?”

The elven handmaidens all turned to face him. “She is indeed, my lord,” Nóinín, the chief handmaiden, said. “We have had her bathed and dressed, just as you commanded. She is now prepared for you.”

“Will she obey without question?” Nuada said, his curiosity piqued.

“Indeed, my prince,” the handmaiden said. “You will be well pleased with her, I think.”

“Good,” Nuada replied, stepping into the receiving hall. “You may all leave us now.”

Nóinín leaned in to whisper to you. “Do all that the prince says,” she urged, though not unkindly, “and prove yourself obedient, just like you were obedient with us. Life with him will go all the easier for you if you do.”

The advice was welcomed, and it would be well heeded. “Of course, my lady,” you told her. “I will do all that the prince asks of me.”

The chief handmaiden nodded in approval. She curtsied to the prince. Her ladies curtsied to him also. They rose in unison and departed the chamber in a rustling stream of silk and fur and glittering jewels. Nuada looked at you when the great oak doors leading into his rooms closed behind him, his golden-yellow eyes ablaze.

“I trust I do not need to tell you your position here?” He said, coming even closer.

“You do not, my prince,” you said, daring to lift your gaze for a moment. Nuada was garbed in black velvet robes bound by a heavy crimson velvet sash. A golden pin held it together. His onyx chestplate was adorned with golden inlay that took the shape of the Tree of Life, the sigil of King Balor, and all those he claimed as kin. And he was uncommonly fair to look upon, like one of the divine made flesh. “I have been sent to Bethmoora to serve your family until death or mercy free me.” The prince narrowed his eyes; it reminded you of your proper place and compelled you to lower yours once again. “It is part of my father’s punishment, for he dared to insult your father, the king.”

“Your father forgot himself when in the presence of his betters,” Nuada said, circling you like a wolf circling his prey. He approved of what he saw. Your hair had been bound into delicate plaits adorned with gold, and your robes were of the softest silk to be found. Nóinín and her attendants had done their work well. “And now it is you, his shining heir, who must pay the price for his mistake. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Y/n, my lord,” you said, trembling. The prince was right beside you; you could feel his breath fanning against your cheek, his fingers toying with your hair. The sweet smell of wild clary clung to his garments and armor like perfume. It made your head swim. “Pray what must I do now?”

Nuada regarded you silently before turning sharply on his heel. He strode toward his sleeping chamber, the steel of his boots clicking against the polished basalt floor. “Come with me,” he ordered at length. “It is time I put your willingness to serve to the test.”

You followed him down a wide passageway, silently taking in the splendor all around you. Gilded basalt columns hewn to mimic the twisting boughs of ancient trees rose toward a vaulted ceiling dotted with lamps glittering as brilliantly as the stars in the night sky. They were studded with rubies and emeralds and sapphires that burned like red and blue and green flames against the light. Tapestries depicting the history of the elves adorned the walls. Some held the images of great battles. Others were of peace and feasting, and friendships struck with the old gods. They were all very beautiful, and none of them were beheld by the eyes of a mortal until now.

The prince’s sleeping chamber was at the far end of the passageway. He threw open the door and went in first. “There is white rose cordial in that pitcher over there,” he said, gesturing to an ornate chest in front of a large, canopied bed. A glass pitcher full of a milky-white liquid rested on top of it. Golden goblets and little bowls full of wild strawberries, elderberries, and blackcurrants sat all around it. “Pour some for me.”

“No wine, my prince?”

“Wine dulls the senses. I would much rather keep my wits about me this night.”

You swallowed, but did as you were bid. Nuada did not speak to you. He crossed over to his velvet-canopied bed and sat on the edge. Nevertheless, you perceived his eyes fixed on you intently, following your every move. Here was a warrior who saw much and missed very little, you told yourself.

“Your libation, my prince,” you said, going to Nuada’s side. He accepted the goblet you pressed into his hand. “What would you desire me to do now?”

“Put this away,” the prince said. He drained the goblet in three deep swallows and gave it to you to take. “And bolt that door. I will tell you what I desire from you after you return to me.”

Again, you did as you were told. When you returned to the prince, he held up his hand, a gesture for you to stand where you are. You halted before his outspread legs without hesitation, lowered your head, and clasped your hands before you.

“Nóinín was right,” Nuada murmured, pleased. “You are very obedient. Now y/n, prove yourself to be of further use. Unburden me of my boots and my armor.”

What he expected of you was becoming plainer by the moment. Still, you had little choice but to comply. To do anything else meant punishment befitting one who would dare to disobey an elf of Bethmoora. And Nuada could mete out any punishment he could think of. Thanks to your father and his insult against Balor’s person, the crown prince could treat you however he wished.

The first item to be removed was his chest plate. “Stay still, my prince,” you said softly, your hands shaking as if they were nothing but disjointed thumbs. They fumbled while dealing with satin and steel. Even so, you managed to loosen and undo them all, and the prince sighed in relief when you lifted it over his raised arms and set it down on the ground beside you with a soft thud. “May I remove your boots now?” you inquired, trying not to linger on the dull throb you felt in your wrists. The chest plate was heavy. You were beginning to understand why Nuada was grateful to be free of it.

“You may.”

You sank to your knees as gracefully as you could. Nuada leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. He watched you while you set yourself to the task of lifting his feet one by one and divesting them of the boots that shielded them from dirt and mud and worse. They slipped off his legs with ease. You regarded them discretely. The leather possessed a softness you had never felt before; it felt like butter against your palm. It was another aspect, simple as it was, that set elves apart from mortals. No mortal hand had the skill to produce such fineness in anything.

“It is done, my prince,” you said, placing the boots beside the armor. You looked up at him, your tasks completed, your hands folded neatly on your lap, and you added, “What duty must I perform now?”

Nuada’s lips curled up at the corners. “Take off my sash,” he husked and sat up straight. His hands moved to the sides of his knees. They gripped at the edge of the featherbed, a visible sign of his anticipation over what was about to take place. “And come even closer. It is time we found another use for that pretty mouth of yours.”

A flash of heat crept up your throat. “Of course, my prince,” you said, reaching out to remove the golden pin resting against his sash. It was large and unwieldy, but you managed to unfasten it all the same, and the sash besides. They joined the pile of raiment beside you. Then you paused, hesitated. There would be no going back after this, no undoing of what took place between you and the prince. The notion frightened you and made you forget your vow to obey.

The prince, sensing your uncertainty, bent down and gripped your chin. “You think this is too much,” he began sweetly, brushing his thumb over your lips. It forced its way between them, making you gasp. The prince smiled. It was as if he enjoyed it. “Perhaps you hope to sway me into letting you be. That will never be, y/n. You are my slave now. You belong to me. I can take you right there on the floor, and there is nothing you can do to hinder me. Spare yourself this fate. Pleasure me as I ask and when I ask, and you will not be subjected to my wrath. Is that understood?”

He did not have to resort to further threats; what he said was more than enough already. “I will make myself more amenable to your pleasure,” you promised meekly. Anything was preferable to being taken wholly against your will. “And I will pleasure you just as you have asked me, my prince.”

Nuada, satisfied, signaled for you to continue. You drew back the folds of his robes, exposing well honed flesh marred by much violence, and undid the clasps going down his breeches. The prince muttered a soft curse when his erection was freed from the confines of his clothes. He looked at you almost in affection when you girded yourself and took his length to hand.

Knowledge of the act was not unknown to you. You had heard much and even seen more than you should, when a feast full of revelers deep in their cups went too far. And you put what you knew to good use, tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing. The prince moaned softly. He threw his head back, baring his throat. His hair fell down past his waist and onto the furs beneath him. It gleamed like a waterfall of molten silver against the light.

“You are familiar with the arts of love,” Nuada whispered, his voice already thick and coarse with need. “But your touch alone is not enough. Do more, y/n. Do what I asked you to do. Use your mouth, and your tongue. Go on.”

The sound of his pleasure spilled rich and golden into the air when you clutched onto what courage you had left and sank your mouth down his cock. And all that you felt took some getting used to: the heaviness pressing against your tongue, the little ridges that brushed against your lips, the hollowing of your cheeks, your hands moving in rhythm with your mouth. Milky white beads formed at his tip. They tasted bitter when you kissed them away.

“Does this please you, my prince?” You stopped long enough to speak. “Am I doing well?”

“Very well,” Nuada said. He said no more after that. Then again, no more words were needed. He brushed his hand over your hair, letting your braids slip around his fingers. Then he pushed your head back down, forcing you to swallow him to the hilt. A strangled sound rose at the back of your throat. It so unraveled the prince that he shuddered and climaxed without warning, and spurt after spurt of his seed filled your mouth.

“Swallow it all,” Nuada growled. He struggled to regain his bearings and open his eyes. “Swallow my seed. Then you may stand.”

It was an unpleasant thing, swallowing his spend. It was bitterer than what you tasted before, and it felt unpleasant as it flowed down your throat. Still, you did as he asked of you, and rose to your feet. “What would you have me do now, my prince?”

Nuada rose also. He gathered you into his arms and kissed you deeply. It was far from tender, more for his pleasure than yours, but the heat from his mouth and the sweetness clinging to his tongue left you more than a little breathless all the same.

“Undress me fully,” he said. “Then you will undress yourself and join me in bed. As my slave, you must be by my side at all times.”

#kinktober #dead dove do not eat #nsft #prince nuada #prince nuada x reader #prince nuada smut #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request

34 notes · View notes