#Feast of Divine Mercy

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (October 5)

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

St. 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 St. John Paul II wrote.

On 30 April 2000, Pope John Paul II canonized St. 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.

[foreverpraying]

Today is the Feast of the Divine Mercy

Source of picture: www.havenlight.com

Source of picture: https://theraccolta.tumblr.com

[myremnantarmy]

"𝘞𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴..."

[fictionadventurer]

Mary, mother of the unborn, pray for us.

Holy Innocents, pray for us.

[catholicdailyreflections]

A Whole Ocean of Graces

A Whole Ocean of Graces - Daily Gospel Reflection for Sunday, April 16, 2023

April 16, 2023 Divine Mercy Sunday (Year A) The Eighth Day in the Octave of Easter Readings for Today Saint Faustina reports in her Diary what Jesus told her about Divine Mercy Sunday:  “My daughter, tell the whole world about My inconceivable mercy. I desire that the Feast of Mercy be a refuge and shelter for all souls, and especially for poor sinners. On that day the very depths of My…

[bmgmaru]

[mothiir]

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.”

[raz-writes-the-thing]

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.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

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

[whumpy-wyrms]

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 :)

[pianocat939]

Ok so I'm hyper fixating on vampires right now-

Its totally fine if you don't but what about vamp yan turtles?

I'm gonna assume rise since that's what most ppl request-

I've already written about Jiang Shi Donnie so vampires aren't terribly hard-

Tw: mention of guilt-tripping, glorification and religious themes, brief mention of murder

(I'm not sure what to write exactly...? Like I could easily write more I just don't know what- so I kinda just went with the basic thing of all haha- I'll happily answer any other possible scenarios since this one's so short)

Would they ever suck blood from MC?

Leo yes, definitely. He whines about it to the point it's basically guilt-tripping. He'll act like he's become weak for not feasting for a week, saying he's trying to keep himself from biting so many people (when really he drinks every other day). "Can't you give me just some of your blood~? It doesn't have to be a lot, just enough to keep me stable~"

Raph will only do so if he absolutely needs blood. He's very hesitant because he's scared he might hurt you or make you fatigued. He's like this with any of his victims, but especially you. You'll have to reassure him a few times before he bites, and when he does, he takes as little as he can without risking his own exhaustion. "You sure you're ok with this? I don't want you to pass out from blood loss or something!"

Donnie- never. The only possibility I can see is if he's in a dire situation and you're literally telling him to bite because he's so weak. "Ugh- I'm only doing this because you insist." But other than that kind of situation, he wouldn't dare to bite you. He's too protective to do such a thing- but he will maul other victims like crazy with no mercy.

My opinion might be a bit surprising with Mikey, but I think he would bite you often. He won't do it enough to make you feel weak or fatigued, but he does it at least weekly. He believes you're his divinity right? Well, he thinks your blood is sacred too. He'll be praising you over and over again for your blood, saying how he's so grateful. "Oh, my dearest divinity! Your blood is so divine, I'm blessed to be able to even taste a drop!"

——————————————————

I had some ideas but I wasn't sure if it was exactly what was asked of so idk give me a bit more detail just cuz I'm a bit cautious on what I write- (so whoever requested I'll happily answer a 2nd time just idk give me questions lmao)

- Celina

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (October 5)

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

St. 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 St. John Paul II wrote.

On 30 April 2000, Pope John Paul II canonized St. 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.

[scekrex]

Hello! Can I request episode 8!Adam x Cannibal!Riader, where he is one of the ones protecting the hotel (Primarily to eat, obviously). At that moment, when Nifty pierces Adam with a dagger, Reader takes him to himself, first to eat him, but then, imbued with this angel, decides that a living Adam is better for him than a dead one. At the same time, Reader himself continues to joke about how one day he will eat his flesh :)

(I would like to apologize in advance for my English, I am still learning and therefore use a translator)

Okay first of all: you don't need to apologize for your english sweetface, you're doing great okay? And second I'd like to apologize that it took me so long to write it.

A kingdom of torment that never dies

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, canon typical violence, cannibalism

note: not beta read bc fuck you

The smell of divine blood hung in the air, a smell you surely would not be able to forget. The golden liquid had painted the ground and while the corpses on the ground were tasting so much better than sinner flesh, it wasn’t giving you the rush you had expected to get out of it.

That was until your hand grabbed a hold of one of the flying angel’s ankles, a firm yank brought the woman crashing onto the ground. Your body was running on autopilot, high off the smell of divine blood and the sight of your next meal. The angel was screaming, trying to kick you. Her weapon was out of her reach, she had dropped it before her face had met the ground due to the surprise and shock your attack had caused. She flapped her wings, desperate to get away from you, but none of it worked out.

Fear had filled the creature’s eyes, but there was no mercy left inside of you, not when you felt so hungry. Your body’s instincts were strong, too strong for you to fight them off so the only thing you found yourself able to do was to give into them and feast. Your teeths unk down into the angel’s flesh, the scream that tore from her throat and sounded like her vocal cords were ripping apart sounded dull to you, muffled even. Every sound that was made sounded like your ears were filled with cotton, the only clear thought in your mind was that your body craved food more than anything. You were hungry, oh so desperately hungry and the taste that filled your mouth as you bit a chunk of flesh out of the angel’s leg which you had pulled up close to your face, leaving the winged creature dangling upside down, was truly something different. The angelic corpses tasted delicious already but feasting on one of them while she was still alive? That truly was somethíng different, it gave you the rush you had hoped for, made you feel like the king of the world.

But then her foot met your face, the impact was hard and sudden which caused you to stumble backwards a little. Your hand slipped from her ankle and she managed to escape - oh what a shame that your food got away. It was only then that you realized that the angels were not reforming, they were leaving. The portal to heaven shone bright on the blood red sky and you watched as your new favorite meal seemed to retreat. Your eyes drank in your surroundings. The hotel was destroyed, when did that happen? The angelic corpses on the ground were slowly dragged away by the other cannibals and just as you were about to grab one yourself and leave, you spotted the gleaming golden wings of their leader - so that was why they suddenly had been eager to leave Hell. Charlie and her friends had managed to take down their leader, without him the army seemed rather useless.

So before any of your friends was able to claim the first man, you made your way over to the golden winged creature to claim him as yours. You were aware that a cold corpse would taste less good than a warm one, yet you wanted to enjoy the taste and pride that came with eating the first man and therefore you decided to take him with you.

His blood smelled different from the others - no matter if dead or alive. He smelled tainted, impure and yet still angelic and divine enough to be roaming Heaven’s realms. Something about their leader was different, not only his smell but also the fact that his heart was still beating, you were able to hear it like a drum.

Beat - silence - silence - silence - beat - silence - silence - silence - beat.

It was slow, weak and struggled with pumping blood through Adam’s body due to the amount of wounds his body suffered from. If he would continue to bleed in the way he did, the tall angel would bleed out in no time. You knew that those pure creatures tasted better alive so you made sure to press fabric to his wounds in order to stop the bleeding - and surprisingly that worked better than you had thought it would. The bleeding stopped rather quickly despite the fact that a dagger had been pierced through his chest multiple times - a thing that made you wonder if the angelic healing process worked any different from the sinners’.

-

Dragging this gigantic creature home had been quite the struggle but you had managed it nonetheless and now he was resting in your bed, fogging the air inside your apartment - and probably the air outside of the building you were living in too - with the delicious smell of his blood. Oh how you craved to eat this man right then and there. But alive this man would be worth more - maybe enough to get you noticed and seen. He was the first man after all - he surely would attract attention and with attention a higher status would follow. So keeping him alive was the smarter decision long term wise.

A grunt came from the brunette - it was almost inaudible but your ears had picked the sound up despite that. Your head snapped to the side, eyeing as the first man slowly sat up in the bed he was resting in his hand reached up to hold his head in pain, he was seemingly feeling dizzy, not that you were able to blame him, he had lost quite a lot of blood.

“What the fuck?” the angel asked quietly, talking to himself, as his palm covered his chest. His chest, which was still covered in blood. A deep and hungry sounding chuckle vibrated through your body as you leaned towards the first man, making yourself noticeable, “A creature as fucking sweet as you might end up eaten after all.”

[portraitsofsaints]

Blessed Michael Sopocko

November 1,1888-February 15, 1975

Feast Day: February 15

Patronage: Bialystok

Blessed Michael Sopocko was a Polish priest best known as St. Faustina’s spiritual director and promoter of the message of Divine Mercy. In 1933, he became Sister Faustina’s confessor and commissioned the Divine Mercy image to be painted. In 1947 he formed the Congregation of Sisters of the Merciful Jesus. In 1959 the Divine Mercy message was suppressed by the Vatican due to incorrect translations of the Diary, causing Fr. Sopocko much suffering. After his death, the ban was eventually reversed by Pope John Paul II in 1979

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

[leonanette]

The Man in the Pearl Mask Masterlist

Summary

The Valryan gods foresee what destruction Lucerys Velaryon’s death will bring and decide to intervene. They cannot stop the dragons from dancing but they can change the tune.

Lucerys comes back from the dead thanks to Balerion’s intervention and decides that, since he failed to help his mother’s cause as himself, he should become someone different - the masked, mute, mystery dragonrider known only as Lord Velaryon.

The gods aren’t content with intervening in just one person’s fate, however. Other gods set their eyes on Aemond and work to set him on a different path.

One day, Lucerys and Aemond’s paths will cross again and, when they do, they will be very different people.

Main Fic Chapters:

Divine Intervention

Spectre at the Feast

Death Denied

Tessarion's Work

Brothers Reunited

Grounded by a Ghost

Death to the Greens

The Return

Becoming Indispensable

The First Battle

Blood and Cheese

The Bridge Again

Storm's End Again

The Papers

Syrax's Best Work

Chaos in King's Landing

The Morning After

The Road to Battle

The Miracle at Duskendale

Facing the Music

Many Councils

The Night Ghouls

The Red Fork

A Plot is Hatched

Madness and Mutiny

Rhaena Rises

The Mercies

The War Sept

Changing Course

The Trap and the Lance

Tumbleton

The Negotiations

A Secret Meeting

Larys Returns

A Debt Repaid

Shipbreaker Bay Again

The White Worm and the Woodswitch

A Letter from an Enemy

The Princess Returns

The Chase

Cloak of Gold and Cloak of Silver

The Search

The Awful Truth

The Punishment

The Highgarden Ball 

Silence and Defiance 

Family in Name Only

The Deep Breath

Harrenhal's Revenge 

Ride of the Golden Dread

The Last Few Miles

Night at Acorn Hall

High Heart

Harrenhal Again

The Golden Tooth

A Storm Passing

No Way Out 

The Trial

Meleys' Best Work

Plots and Counterplots

Ultimatum

The Last Battle

Epilogue

The Valyrian Gods

Character Profiles

Syrax

Balerion

Tessarion

Vermax

Vhagar

Meleys

Family Tree and Creation Myth

Spin Offs, Deleted Scenes and More

Portrait of Lord Velaryon by hrgves

The Blue Poppy Dreams

Vermax used the last of the blue death poppy to allow the dead to contact Aemond through dreams. This is the counsel they have to offer him.

Deleted Scenes

Stuff and nonsense too good not to write but not good enough to make the fic.

How Vermax Won His Wager

Alternative title: Valyrian Gods Behaving Badly

There's nothing more dangerous than a bored Valyrian god and Vermax is getting very bored in King's Landing indeed. So, when his friend, Gaelithox, offers up a friendly wager, he can't resist the opportunity to cause chaos among the greens.

Be prepared for a maiden made of clouds, a King getting turned into a horse for five minutes and all sorts of other godly hijinks.

Policy of Truth

Alternative title: What would have happened if I wrote the fic after watching Episode 1 of Season 2.

An AU within the 'Man in the Pearl Mask' AU, taking place around Chapter 15.

The Valyrian Gods are working to turn Aemond against his family by showing him the ugly truth about them. But, Vermax is saving the ugliest truth until last because he knows that seeing his mother and the man he once admired having a sordid affair would break him. And, Vermax also knows that he can use that to his advantage...

Playlist

This is an ever-growing playlist made up of my ideas and suggestions from my lovely commenters. I'll always open for more suggestions so please don't hesitate to comment with yours!

Fire and Ice by Nerdout (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

Back from the Dead by Skillet (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

The Dominoes Fall by Dario Marianelli

Mirage by OneRepublic (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)

Firestarter by The Prodigy

(spoilers for Chapter 19 incoming) No Bullets Fly by Sabaton

Night Witches by Sabaton

Molossus by James Newton Howard

No Light, No Light by Florence and the Machine (suggested by cryptid_corvid)

Silly Tumblr posts

Just a collection of stuff and nonsense.

Chapter 16 in GIFs

My Snarkiest Author's Notes (without context)

The Valyrian Gods during Chapter 35 of The Man in the Pearl Mask

Me being a Sabaton fan in ‘The Man in the Pearl Mask’ - Part 1

The Valyrian Gods betting on what Luke will do next

Details

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandoms:

House of the Dragon (TV)

A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Relationships:

Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen

Characters:

Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen ; Balerion the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire ; Syrax the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Valyrian Gods (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Aegon II Targaryen ; Alicent Hightower ; Helaena Targaryen; Daeron Targaryen (Son of Viserys I) ; Alys Rivers of House Strong ; Jacaerys Velaryon ; Cregan Stark ; Daemon Targaryen ; Otto Hightower ; Laenor Velaryon ; Rhaenyra Targaryen ; Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen ; Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon) ; Tyraxes the God (ASoIaF) ; Vermithor | Jaehaerys I Targaryen's Dragon ; Silverwing | Alysanne Targaryen's Dragon ; Corlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon ; Erryk Cargyll ; Floris Baratheon ; Borros Baratheon

Additional Tags:

Fix-It ; Secret Identity ; Ghosts ; Shakespeare References ; Slow Burn ; Eventual Romance ; Other Additional Tags to Be Added ; Body Horror ; Blood and Gore ; Vermax the Valyrian God ; Tessarion the Valyrian God ; Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) Lives ; Aged-Up Character(s) ; Not Beta Read ; Nightmares ; Minor Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Sabaton References ; Minor Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen

[smittenroses]

Hiii

If you have time could you write Hastur comforting (or helping in his own strange way, he's still an eldritch god lol) overstimulated reader.

Sensory overload has been kicking my ass recently </3

Your work makes me so happy, and motivated me to start learning how to write in my free time

— To Be Human

ask box open | commissions open | hit the tip jar | Patreon

Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Feaster | Hastur/reader (suggest this takes place in the same universe as the Mouse and the Cats) Summary — Hastur's knowledge of humans is still lacking. You constantly confuse him — he adores that. Content Warnings — mentions of Hastur eating people Word Count — 532 words Author's note — when I got this in my inbox my heart bloody melted, nonnie. To be the person that motivates you to learn how to write is such an honor and I do hope to be able to read your stuff sometime in the future 💕

Endless knowledge, endless power, and yet Hastur always found himself to be confused by you. So tiny, so frail against his mighty form, one that you had grown close to despite the knowledge he had feasted on mortals, feasted on the innocent and guilty alike, yet you always sought comfort in his endless robes.

“For what does my most devote follower need?” He asked one day as he felt your presence against the back of his robe, feeling the way your arms came to wrap around the vast colours of soiled yellows and whites of his sins, your face pressed against the fabric that smelt of the sea. When you did not reply, he allowed his body to shift ever so slightly to look down at you, seeing the way your hands trembled and shook. Though his form of slightly involved his body contorting in inhuman ways, his spine audibly growing and shaping in order to allow him to commit the impossible.

Like a rabbit or sheep ready for the dinner table, your soul smelled divine to him as the two of you stood in the manor’s library.

“I cannot aid you unless you speak up, mouse.” His hand came to cup itself under your chin, raising your face away from his clothes, tentacles appearing from the abyss to slowly stroke at your legs. “Ah, have you been crying, little one?” He muttered, his thumb coming to caress your cheek. “I can smell your sadness,” he muttered softly, even if his voice may boom like the mountains in your mind, “who did this to you?” To make a devotee cry, to sadden the one thing that did not fear him besides the snake wrench that wandered the halls, it was a notch on his soul, one that fanned the embers of rage that constantly welled in his heart.

“No one…” You finally muttered, your words soft and meek in reply, “the world is just too loud, lord.”

“Too loud?” he questioned as you buried your face back into his robes, escaping the merciful touch of the Lord in Yellow as you weeped. “What thing do I have to silence to bring you peace?” For you, he would send any animal, person, god to the abyss, to the eternal silence and madness that was where he crept, but yet your fingers clenched tighter on his cloak and he knew all at once something that made his soul ache and burn.

This was not something he could squash with the weight of madness. He could not even grasp it in his feeble hands. “Talk to me, dear mouse. What is it that makes you cry so?” As you began to talk about the sound of the wind in the trees, the texture of food you dislike, the feeling of cuts and bruises on your skin that would not fade; it all overwhelmed you so, caused for your mind to whirl and your senses to increase.

“Stay for as long as you need, mouse.”

Wrapping the edges of his coat around your shoulders, he did not let you leave until your heaves softened and your eyes dried, you were his most devoted follower after all.