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hoshifighting · 1 year ago

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Joshua! Celestial Angel X Reader! Shadow Angel

— Synopsis: In a place where good and evil, angels and demons are divided. The angel Joshua feels enchanted and attracted by the beauty outside of Paradise, governed by you, who is a rebellious angel who lives in worldly certainties. — WC: 5.5K — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), penetrative sex, wings, dark eyes, flying, partly innocent Joshua, sinners, disrespecting the heavenly order bc of love.

In this peculiar realm where opposing forces clashed, the angelic and demonic entities found themselves in a perpetual dance of contradiction. — Day and night, good and bad, right or wrong— You, a being demon with grand black wings and your body draped in silky obsidian fabric, had transitioned from the celestial paradise to the earthly abode. It was a place adorned with greenery, a paradise for humans, yet deemed a hell by the angelic standards.

Your eyes, once accustomed to the pristine skies, now adjusted to the vibrant chaos of this earthly haven. The scent of flowers, the rustle of leaves, and the myriad of colors all around became your new reality.

One day, as you wandered through the arborized paradise, you witnessed an angel sent by the gods, radiant in celestial grace, descend from the heavens. Their mission: to carry out acts of benevolence and rescue the flawed human race from the pitfalls of their own humanity.

Once, you were an angel too, soaring through the celestial expanse with wings as radiant as the morning sun. The rules of paradise, however, felt like constraints on your very essence. The mandate to help the helpless, devoid of personal desires and sensations, left you yearning for something more.

In the heavenly realm, your duties were clear. You mended broken spirits, offered solace to the suffering, and shielded humanity from unseen perils. Yet, as you carried out these acts of benevolence, a part of you longed for the tangible experiences that the gods had chosen to withhold.

In your descent from the celestial heights, the air crackled with the energy of rebellion. The moment your feet touched the earthly ground, you felt the soft embrace of grass beneath you, a stark departure from the ethereal firmament you once called home. The celestial light dimmed as you exchanged the radiant wings for the cloak of shadows, and you marveled at the newfound weight of your choices.

The earthly realm welcomed you with open arms, and you relished the sensations that had been denied to you for so long. The warmth of the sun, the cool breeze, and the fragrant whispers of nature surrounded you, each moment a symphony of earthly delights. As you walked through the arborized paradise, your senses were heightened, and the mundane took on a profound significance.

The angels above, oblivious to your departure, continued their celestial duties. you discovered a different kind of duty – a duty to experience, to explore, and to understand the complexities of existence, discovering uncharted territories of free will.

The wide green grass of the earthly realm spread beneath the azure sky, a canvas of vibrant colors. In this paradisiacal haven, you observed with both amusement and curiosity as angels, once bound by celestial rules, now embraced the newfound freedom, their wings cloaked in shades of darkness.

Among them was Joshua, the paragon of loyalty to the gods. His wings, a radiant expanse of white, glowed in stark contrast to the gathering shadows. As he moved gracefully through the earthly realm, his every action seemed guided by divine purpose.

One day, on the expansive grassy plains, you watched Joshua intervene with gentle precision, preventing a little boy from stumbling. The child, oblivious to the celestial forces at play, continued on his way, and Joshua stood there, a guardian of earthly innocence.

A subtle shiver coursed down Joshua's spine, and cold breezes swept over him as you approached. He turned, his white wings fluttering like a beacon of celestial purity, and met your gaze with a mixture of apprehension and recognition.

"If you're not here to help, I suggest you leave," Joshua declared, his voice unwavering but laced with a hint of tension.

You scoffed, the echoes of rebellion resounding in your words, "This place doesn't belong to you or your gods above. The rules of the celestial paradise have no power here. We're free to embrace the richness of earthly existence, to revel in the balance between light and shadow."

Joshua's eyes reflected the conflict within him, torn between the loyalty to divine orders and the allure of the newfound freedom. "You may have turned away from the gods, but I won't abandon my duty. The balance must be maintained, even if it means standing against those who have forsaken it."

"You defy the gods and abandon your celestial duties for what? The whims of the earthly realm?" he questioned, his wings twitching uncomfortably.

"Is it not clear?" you replied, your own wings casting shadows over the verdant ground. "To experience, to feel, to understand the very essence of existence that was denied to us above. The gods may have favored you, Joshua, but they also imprisoned you in a golden cage."

A moment of tense silence hung in the air before Joshua spoke again, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. "You're playing with forces you cannot comprehend. The celestial order must be maintained, even if it means sacrificing personal desires."

The smirk on your face persisted as you nodded negatively, a silent defiance against the old rules that once dictated your every move. With a fluid motion, your wings unfurled, and you took to the air, flying in joyous circles above the lush forest. The freedom, the unrestricted movement, it was a sensation you had longed for, and now, you reveled in it.

Below, Joshua watched your aerial dance, his eyes betraying a longing for the unbridled freedom he had not yet embraced. The desire to soar with you, to feel the wind beneath his own transformed wings, was palpable.

In a playful moment, you pretended to fall, letting your wings come to a sudden stop. The earth rushed up to meet you, but just before impact, you felt gentle arms enveloping you.

As you both landed gracefully, he looked into your eyes, a mix of concern and curiosity reflecting in his gaze. "Why, after all this rebellion, do you persist in being alone?" Joshua asked, his voice carrying a soft undertone.

"I'm not alone. I am free." You tell him, and he lowers his head. "I wish you could feel this freedom too, Joshua," you said, your voice carrying a touch of genuine longing.

With those words, your wings began to work, creating a gust of wind that gently pushed against Joshua. As the currents separated you from his grasp, his once-protective arms now fell to his sides, and he watched as you ascended into the sky.

The verdant canopy of the forest below shrank as you soared higher, leaving Joshua behind. The cool air rushed past you, and the earthly realm unfolded beneath your wings. You glanced back, seeing Joshua below, a silhouette against the backdrop of the vibrant landscape.

His white wings, still pristine and shining, spoke of the loyalty he clung to. Yet, a flicker of yearning shimmered in his eyes, a desire to taste the forbidden freedom that now embraced you.

Days passed without a glimpse of Joshua, and an unusual presence lingered in the dark forest. The other demons tilted their heads in confusion as Joshua, with his glowing bright wings, ventured into the shadowy realm that was more accustomed to beings of darker nature. His desperate search for you seemed to defy the very essence of what angels were meant to be.

Meanwhile, from afar, you sensed Joshua's presence. His purity and celestial aura wafted through the air like an irresistible fragrance. The contrast of his untainted soul against the backdrop of the dark forest made his essence stand out. A voice, silky and enticing, echoed in his ear, "Searching for me?"

Joshua glanced around, his bright wings flickering anxiously in the dim light. The voice beckoned him, growing louder with each passing moment. He followed, seemingly uncoordinated, the sound pulling him deeper into the heart of the forest.

The voice, now clear and seductive, guided Joshua to a serene spot by a river, a cascade providing a soothing background melody. The dense forest closed in, creating a natural barrier around the secluded haven. Joshua hesitated, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through his veins.

As he stood at the edge of the river, your voice ceased its alluring call. Joshua felt a shiver run down his spine as he turned to face the source of the voice. There, emerging from the river, was your figure, adorned in wet, glistening attire, your wings draped sensuously around your naked body.

Joshua's breath caught in his throat as he beheld your luscious presence, his glowing wings flickering nervously. A distinct gulp resonated in the stillness of the forest as he struggled to compose himself. Your question hung in the air, breaking the silence.

"Why are you here, Joshua?" you asked, your voice a velvet whisper that danced on the edge of the cascading waterfall. The shadows cast by the dense foliage played upon your figure, enhancing the mystery that surrounded you.

Joshua paused, his voice filled with both uncertainty and a deep yearning. "I came looking for answers," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "The celestial realms are in chaos, and I can't ignore the call pulling me back. But..." He hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words. "There's something about this, about being here with you, that I can't quite understand."

You tilted your head, your dark eyes locked onto Joshua's, as a mysterious air enveloped the forest. His chin quivered under the intensity of your gaze, and the vulnerability in his eyes revealed a tumultuous inner struggle.

With a graceful movement, you unfurled your wings, their shadowy expanse revealing a body that seemed to glow in the moonlight. The ethereal sight was enough to make Joshua turn away, covering his eyes as if he couldn't bear to witness such an intimate revelation. The celestial rules, the mysteries of the earthly realm, and the lack of answers all converged, leaving him in a state of overwhelming confusion.

You couldn't resist a sly smirk as you traced a hand along his back, your fingers leaving a cold touch that made his wings tremble.

"What answers are you seeking, Joshua?" you asked, your voice a gentle yet probing whisper that hung in the air. He remained turned away, as if the weight of the question and the complexity of the situation made it difficult for him to face you.

Joshua stammered, his words tumbling out in uncertainty. "I-I don't know exactly," he admitted, his voice wavering. "I've been feeling strange, and everything seems... hot."

A sly smirk played on your lips as you inquired further, "And why do you think you feel this way, Joshua?"

His hesitation lingered in the air before he finally confessed, "It's... it's when I think about you."

A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound carrying a mysterious melody. As Joshua turned around, attempting to fix his gaze on your eyes, he found it impossible. Your body, bathed in the moonlight, seemed like a forbidden fruit tempting him with its alluring glow.

He struggled to articulate his thoughts, caught in a web of conflicting emotions. "I... I can't understand it. It's like an allure, a pull that I can't resist. When I see you, when I think about you, everything becomes... different."

Your eyes held a knowing glint as you observed him, the dichotomy of his celestial purity and the earthly desires that now stirred within him unfolded in the charged atmosphere.

"And why are you seeking me?" you asked, your voice a seductive whisper that seemed to echo through the quiet forest.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and desire. "There's something about you, something I can't ignore. It's like you hold the answers to questions I didn't even know I had."

"You're risking more than you realize by searching for these answers," you warned, your voice carrying a note of caution. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if echoing the weight of the choices that hung in the air.

Joshua nodded, a mixture of determination and desperation in his eyes. "I know," he admitted, his voice filled with a heavy acknowledgment of the stakes involved. "But I can't continue to listen to this voice in my head, this constant tug. I need to figure out what it means, why it leads me to you."

You stepped closer, the distance between you and Joshua narrowing as the air around you became charged with an undeniable energy. For the first time, Joshua didn't flinch; instead, he closed his eyes, feeling your breath against his skin. The atmosphere held a tantalizing mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Your fingers gently entwined with his, and you guided his hands to trace a path along your neck, down to your breasts brushing your nipples and grabbing them tight, then your waist, and further to your hips. The warmth of your body seemed to seep into his very being, causing a subtle tremor to run through him.

Joshua's breaths came out defeated, without hesitation, you smashed your lips onto his, the kiss born from a fusion of celestial rebellion and earthly desire. Joshua, lost in the tumult of conflicting emotions, didn't even know what he was doing or why his body was growing hotter with each passing moment.

His tongue brushed gently against yours, in that stolen moment, he consumed your alluring lips with a hunger that seemed to emanate from the depths of his being. The forest, draped in shadows and moonlight, bore witness to the intimate exchange between an angel and a demon.

Joshua's hands explored the contours of your heated body, the mystery of your touch captivating him. As his fingers traced over your form, he sought to understand the allure that made your skin feel so intoxicatingly good beneath his touch.

With a firm grip on your waist, he pulled you closer, melding your bodies together in a desperate embrace. The collision of celestial and earthly energies sent shivers through both of you. A moan escaped your lips, a sound that reverberated through the charged air, resonating with the very essence of desire.

Joshua, startled by the unfamiliar sensations that surged within him, sharply inhaled, his breath mingling with yours. His cock twitches inside of his vest and he bites his lips, in confusion and arousal, as the boundaries between light and shadow blurred in the intensity of the moment. "It hurts."

"I'll help you, pretty angel."

As Joshua's vest found its way to the ground, pooling around his feet, you gently laid him on the grass. The vibrant flowers seemed to come alive, surrounding his figure with a lively burst of colors as if nature itself responded to his angelic presence.

He watched you with curious eyes, uncertainty and desire playing out in the depths of his gaze. The teachings of his god echoed in his mind, warning him against revealing his naked body to anyone. Yet, the dark allure in your eyes held a power he couldn't resist.

Your gaze lingered on his exposed form, and a subtle, wicked smile played on your lips. He felt a thrill as you licked your lips, looking at him with a hunger that he never saw before. His hard pink cock looks veiny, tearing precum, while his eyes keep locked on your movements, waiting for your next move curiously.

With parted lips, you let your breath brush his dick, making him quiver. Joshua didn't have an idea about what you were going to do, he just wanted to relieve that thing that kept him hard for so long.

As you press your tongue on his leaking slit, Joshua moans involuntary, you looked so sinful dragging his cock inside of your mouth, cheeks full of his pretty dick. He looks hypnotized, by the way you bob your head on his hard length, your eyes locked with him— that powerful gaze you hold making him blush hard.

You sucked his length hard, and the angel hisses, trying to control his hips as you dive his dick inside of your throat. His cock twitched with pleasure, and you could feel his orgasm approaching, with eyes shut, he moaned continuously, his abdomen trembling trying to hold that sensation that burned his body.

Joshua was the most angelical person below the gods that you ever knew. He walked around with those filled wings, his well structured body hidden by his white vest, and those heavenly eyes— But now he looked so perverse under your touch, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, his hand holding the measure of your hair, while his cock was buried inside of your mouth.

"Cum inside of my mouth." You whimper, your tongue licking his hard veins.

"C-cum? Inside? C-can I?" He stuttered unsure, he was hearing right? He can actually cum inside of your pretty lips? How did he miss this opportunity for so long?

Beads of cum escape him before you could even answer. The sticky cum, filling your mouth and as a result, leaking by the sides of your mouth. He cries, cries, and cries proud moans of your name, the first pleasure experience running from his toes to his last strand of hair.

His dick stands proudly hard even after he just cummed, and you raise your eyebrow surprised. Joshua still with the remaining pleasure running through his body, raised to kiss you, his tongue fighting yours as he tasted himself on your lips, later, licking the little residue of his cum that lazed on the corner of your mouth.

After the kiss, a newfound determination glinted in Joshua's eyes. Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you had given him, he chewed his lip nervously, unsure of how to proceed. The angelic teachings he had followed never prepared him for sex, or to pleasure someone.

"What's on your mind, Joshua?" you inquired, your voice a sultry whisper that mingled with the rustling leaves.

"I want to pleasure you like you just did for me, but I don't know how," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice echoing the complexities of his celestial nature.

You reached out, your fingers tracing a gentle path along his cheek.

He took a deep breath, his angelic features reflecting a blend of determination and curiosity. "Guide me, show me what you like," he whispered.

"I want you to do whatever you want''

Joshua, moved by a mixture of desire and uncertainty, took a step back to take a proper look at you. His eyes roamed over your figure, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze like a caress against your skin, laying your back on the ground, that feels soft since your wings made a nest for you to lay.

He spread your legs, his soft fingers finding their way to your sopping cunt, since he saw you naked, it was like he couldn't take his eyes from your pussy. The digits explore your wet folds, and he moans at the feeling of your arousal getting his fingers drenched.

Taking a look at his fingers, glistening with your slick, he shoves his own fingers inside of his mouth, tasting your arousal. You moan at his action, and he closes his eyes, the taste making his cock twitch.

As he opens his eyes, he guides his fingers again to your cunt, when his fingers rub at your clit, you whimper his name.

Joshua did this accidentally, but that beautiful sound you made, instincts Joshua to do the same movement against your bud, again, again and again. He was loving the view of your body squirming because of him.

The little hole under your clit caught his attention, so he slid his two fingers in, making your back arch. "Yes! Yes! Oh fuck."

Your hands grab his forearm, guiding him to pump his fingers in and out of your pussy, the wet sound echoing on Joshua's mind, making his cock ache 'cause he feels so hard. Your cunt leaks, and his fingers are buried inside of your spamming pussy, the delicate fingers making you drool, your eyes rolling back.

You squirmed under angel skillful touch, a sensation you hadn't anticipated after witnessing so much under the heavens. His fingers worked with a certain expertise, guided by your reactions. Amidst the pleasure that danced through the night, you found words caught between gasps and moans.

"You're far from being an angel," you admitted, the words escaping your lips in a breathy whisper.

As you watched Joshua, a flicker of something unusual caught your attention – a brief moment when his bright irises seemed to turn black, only to return to their angelic glow. His celestial face tilted with curiosity as your reaction unfolded before him. The subtle transformation left you momentarily unsettled.

His innocent gaze met yours, and he asked, "Did I do something wrong?" The innocence in his voice contrasted sharply with the skilled touch that pressed against the right spot, causing you to arch your back involuntarily.

You were far from composed, pleasure coursing through your veins, and you struggled to form a coherent response. Instead, a moan escaped your lips, and you found yourself unable to answer his question properly.

"Y-your eyes," you stuttered, the unexpected flicker of darkness lingering in your mind as a knot tightened in your stomach.

"What about my eyes?" he asked, attempting to talk to you while your pussy throbbed around his fingers, as your gasps and moans painted a different language. "Tell me," Joshua urged, his angelic face tilting with genuine concern. But your response was lost inside of your pornographic moans.

The words you intended to speak were lost as a powerful wave of pleasure engulfed you. Your body spasmed uncontrollably, and Joshua's fingers, now slick with your arousal, continued to fuck you. A low hum of satisfaction escaped him as he witnessed the intensity of your release.

The world around you faded into white for a moment as the orgasm overtook your senses, leaving you in a state of blissful surrender. Your lips parted, and your throat couldn't pour any song, only the wet sinful sounds that your pussy made, as Joshua continued non stop.

hold his forearm still, as oversensitivity lingered in the aftermath of pleasure. You took a deep breath, trying to regain composure, as Joshua's fingers withdrew, leaving you in the wake of the intense sensations.

"What was it about my eyes?"

"Your eyes... did they just... change?" The question hung in the air as Joshua's eyes flickered again, that momentary darkness replacing the celestial glow.

Joshua's eyes flickered again, as if in response to the conversation. "I don't know what you mean,"

"It's like, for a moment, they turn black, and then they're bright again,"

Joshua's eyes flickered once more, a subtle change that you keenly observed. "Did they do it again just now?" he asked, searching your face for any sign of confirmation.

The revelation about Joshua's changing eyes left you in a state of perplexity. Conflicting emotions swirled within you—fear mingled with an inexplicable arousal. As you nodded in acknowledgment, Joshua caught a glimpse of the mixture of emotions in your eyes.

Joshua, perceptive to the nuances of your emotions, caught a glimpse of the little scared eyes that betrayed the conflict within you.

"Are you scared?" Joshua asked, his voice gentle, a reflection of the concern in his eyes.

It wasn't because you were a demon in the midst of mundane certainties in the world, that you didn't feel afraid, you were like any other human being in relation to your emotions, just like angels. So you hesitated before nodding again, admitting to the mix of emotions that surged within you.

Your black dark wings created contrast with your eyes that shone with uncertainty, while the angel and you were naked in the middle of the enchanted forest, which welcomed your bodies.

Joshua, sensing your vulnerability, reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. His touch was tender, a contrast to the intensity of the revelations that had unfolded in the enchanted forest.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and compassion. The glow of his celestial nature seemed to soften, as if trying to offer reassurance in the face of the unknown.

You leaned into his touch, the conflicting emotions within you slowly settling under the warmth of his hands. The fear and arousal still lingered, creating a complex emotional landscape that neither of you fully understood.

"I don't know what's happening," Joshua admitted, a hint of confusion in his voice. The mysterious flicker in his eyes remained an enigma.

"It's not just fear," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... something else too."

As Joshua held you close, his hands gently caressing your face, he asked with a soft intensity, "What is it, then? What else are you feeling?" his voice a soft murmur that blended with the rustle of leaves in the enchanted forest. The shadows played on his features as he awaited your response, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over the scene.

"I want to feel you so bad," you confessed, the honesty hanging in the air like a secret unveiled.

Joshua, meeting your gaze, didn't respond immediately. The flicker of darkness in his eyes seemed to intensify for a moment, as if in response to the shared desire. Then, with a quiet sincerity, he admitted, "I want that too."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a hungry kiss. As the kiss deepened, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensations of lips meeting in a passionate union. Joshua's touch, once angelically pure, now held a fervor that almost burned your skin.

As Joshua aligned with your core, a moan escaped your lips, swallowed by the passionate kiss that bound you both. The slick, intimate contact left you unable to focus on the kiss, your breath hitching with each movement.

Joshua, feeling the wetness and heat, hissed at the intensity of the sensation. His celestial mind, guided by an instinct he didn't fully understand, urged him into uncharted territory.

In the heat of the moment, you found yourself begging, your voice breathless and filled with desire. "Please," you whispered, the word escaping in a desperate plea, "put it inside."

Joshua, caught in the whirlwind of sensations and your urgent request, felt his breath struggle. His angelic features reflected the internal struggle between celestial restraint and the willing to fuck you.

"I... I can't resist," he admitted, his voice strained. "I..." he hesitated, the conflict evident in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

Teasingly, you whispered into Joshua's ear, "You're such a naughty angel, a sinner in this earth realm." Your words, laden with desire, seemed to stir something within him. His eyes flickered on and off, on and off, almost flashing, a subtle dance between the purity of an angel, and his alter ego.

"You like being a little sinner, don't you?" you continued, your voice a seductive murmur. "Indulging in desires you never knew you had."

"I can't..." he began, the struggle evident in his voice. "I shouldn't..."

His eyes flickered on and off, a rapid dance of light and darkness. You could sense the internal battle waging within him, the struggle between celestial obedience and the enticing allure of earthly desires.

As you continued to playfully provoke him, he closed his eyes, a deep breath escaping him. The conflict etched on his face reflected the dichotomy of an angel losing himself to the irresistible pull of the shadows.

"You're testing me," he murmured, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and desire.

"You want this, don't you?" you continued, cooing. "You want to fuck this pussy, and let go all of those fucking heavenly rules and just feel this pussy tight around your cock."

His eyes flickered on and off in response.

"I never thought I'd see an angel like you so... tempted," you continued, your voice a seductive whisper.

You wrap a hand around his cock, the tips leaking precum, as you begin to stroke his dick, you caress the pink head with your thumb, adding to the sensory overload that seemed to consume him.

"I'm just teasing you," you whispered, a sultry tone lingering in the air.

The playfulness in your voice was met with a warning from Joshua, his tone dropping into a more serious register, furrowing his brows and the clenching of his jaw.

"I don't know if you should be doing that," he warned, his voice carrying a sense of caution.

The sultry air seemed to vibrate with anticipation as you moaned, your voice carrying a hint of desire. You dared to ask Joshua, "So, what are you going to do?"

The flickering of his eyes intensified, a silent acknowledgment of the internal chaos. He struggled to find words, so Joshua took charge, seizing your hands and pinning them above your head, making your tits bounce. The sudden shift in dominance sent a jolt of electricity through your core.

He groaned between his teeth, a low, guttural sound that betrayed the depth of his internal struggle, his head lowers a bit, taking a mouthful part of your tit, his tongue playing with your nipple, taking the lil' but between his teeth, making you throw your head back.

Heaven and Hell collided when Joshua pushed his dick slowly inside of your wet pussy, was electrifying, stretching you out in a way that left you breathless. Joshua, meeting your gaze, moaned deliciously at the new and overwhelming feelings.

Your wet walls hug his dick, and his body trembles when his pelvis hits yours, signaling that his dick is already all inside of you. Joshua's hips moved in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your body. His toned form towered over you, encouraging him to continue, your own body responded with a delicious rigidity to every stroke.

Joshua hides his face in the crook of your neck when you start to clench and unclench around his dick, his size making your pussy soak him.

As Joshua released your hands, you wasted no time in wrapping them around his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, and he moaned in response to the added sensation.

You squeak when Joshua takes his length off, then slams hard inside, making you pathetically spasm, his name leaves your mouth in a scream.

"Oh?" His eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.

In the midst of your arching body and the heightened pleasure, he asked, "What is that?"

Joshua, after the surprising discovery, withdrew and then sheathed himself inside you again. The slow, deliberate movements created a rhythm that built steadily, each penetration sending waves of pleasure through your body as your abused g'spot it's hit every thrust.

He fucks your brains out with that angelical, innocent stupid face, while his big cock enters your gushing pussy so hard.

You cunt traps him so tight that his hips stutter, he moans suffered in your ear, and your eyes roll to the back of your skull while you shamelessly cry, your vision turns blank, and your body tenses so hard that you're afraid to break a bone.

Your pussy gushes cum like a waterfall. And Joshua continued to fuck you through your orgasm. In a final, primal act, Joshua growled, his hips slamming with unrelenting force until he reached the peak of his own ecstasy.

As he filled you up with his cum, his pearly white wings unfolded, embracing both of you in an ethereal warmth amidst the winds of the enchanted forest, hugging tightly and creating a shield that seemed to protect your entwined bodies.

His panting breaths whispered in your ear, and his arms, placed on each side of your head with his elbows anchored on the ground, provided a protective cradle.

As your vision gradually returned, the world around you took shape in the moonlit clearing. However, the celestial and earthly union had left its mark. When you looked up, expecting to see the pearly white wings of Joshua, you were met with a startling transformation.

The once pearly white wings of Joshua, symbols of celestial purity, had transformed into black and dark ones. The ethereal feathers now matched the shadows that draped his being, a visual manifestation of the departure from the celestial realm.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you placed a hand on Joshua's neck, attempting to gently coax his face from the crook of your neck. When he opened his eyes, the once bright orbs were now dark, devouring you with a gaze that held a different energy. As you looked at him in shock, a realization dawned upon you — he was now just like you.

As Joshua noticed the intensity of your gaze, he asked, "What's wrong?" The concern in his voice was genuine, his darkened eyes reflecting a new awareness of the change that had occurred. In response to his question, he took a moment to glance at himself, as if seeing the transformation for the first time.

The realization seemed to wash over him, and his features shifted in a subtle acknowledgment of the altered reality. Joshua, with a newfound dark aura, looked at you with a mischievous, shit-eating grin.

Joshua was now a fallen angel.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 years ago

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That’s it, Princess

Summary: You sneak out the Keep to rile up your husband. And his punishment is...not what you thought it would be.

Based off this ask:

A/N: So I think I was possessed when I wrote this cos I blacked out halfway through so. I also changed the request up a bit to suit what I wanted to write. Hope it lives up to expectations 😁

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI, pussy slapping, fingering, p in v sex, mean Aemond, suggestions of a safe word, orgasm denial, name calling, Aemond creampies reader cos he wants lots of little heirs

You huff.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon to give way to the evening before you threw your embroidery to the floor, more angered than anything else. Another night. Another night where Aemond would not return to your marital chambers.

There were several excuses he made, all centering around his duties. Whether it was training, helping his grandfather, being at his mother’s beck and call or spending days with Helanea, more often than not these past weeks Aemond found more comfort in only returning to your chambers in the dead of night when you were already asleep.

Not only were you frustrated, you were hurt. Did he not realise how he was treating his wife? Yes, it had barely been four moons since the wedding and the first two moons had been heavenly. More often than not you were slotted against one another, tangled in the sheets with the heady stench of coupling in the air. But a moon or so ago, he completely flipped. Unconscious or not.

At first, you smiled at his explanations like the pliant wife you should be to a Targaryen prince. But now you felt you’d given him enough chances.

You were alone at court. Being neither a Targaryen nor acquainted properly with his sister and mother, there was no female company to preoccupy you. Day after day, it felt like you were just mindlessly existing, sewing pattern after pattern to fill the uncomfortable void that Aemond’s lack of presence left behind.

At first you thought that marrying him, bearing his heirs and living at court would be every woman’s dream. But it was quickly turning into something akin to limbo. How were you supposed to bear his heirs if he was never even around to see you? The whisperings were starting to whirl around at the lack of pregnancy. All of the critiques pointed at you.

So that was it. Fuck it.

You would give him something to be angry about. Anything, any emotion would do at this point. Just something from him to acknowledge your mere existence.

There was a perpetual frown on your face as you pulled the heavy cloak over you. You’d opted to change into a dress that did not explicitly show your status, thereby ridding you completely of jewels, all bar the ring that tied you to Aemond. It was a part of you now, and the thought of taking it off had not even crossed your mind.

With a light push of your hip against the painting in the corner of the room, the passageway opened up and the darkness and draught crept in. There was no hesitation, you were so angry. You pulled the hood up against your hair, though once you were out in the capital there was no need for it, no silver hair to cover. You were not like them and it was evident in the way Aemond had been so nonchalant to cast you aside for more important matters.

The sweet relief of the air of Kings Landing swept through your hair and over your skin and you sighed, pulling the hood down so it rested around your shoulders. Kings Landing was always an enigma to you. How so many people who looked so different, sounded so different, could all co-exist in such small quarters, shoulder to shoulder with their companions. It seemed so squished together. Some liked it. Some didn’t.

But it was different and that was certainly enough of an adventure, you were beginning to go mad counting all the tiles on the floor.

The sounds of laughter, anger and drunkenness filled the narrow streets. It was a warm evening so the majority of people were at their local alehouses, either making friends or enemies, it didn’t matter. You smiled as some of the ladies inside one alehouse were dancing, hand in hand with cups of ale in the other. It was spilling all over the floor, but it did not seem like they cared.

With a visible uncertainty that told everyone around you that you did not know what you were doing, you pushed through to one particular alehouse, smiling at the bartender. He was burly and well built, his mouth tight in a thin line, showing no warmth.

“What can I get ya?” he asked in the accent you’ve come to know as one the commoners.

With an attempt to lighten the air, you give him a smile, albeit an anxious one and take a seat at the bar.

“Just an ale, please” you say, trying to take the nervousness out of your voice. He raises an eyebrow to you, but pours a cup anyway, sliding it across the wetted bar counter to land in your hands.

The bartender braces the counter with his large arms, “I’ve never seen ya around these parts”

It catches you off guard a little when he tries to engage.

“I’m just passing through” you smile, taking a sip and wincing slightly at the bitter taste it leaves behind in your mouth. It coats your mouth differently compared to the dornish wines you’re used to.

His gaze flits to the wedding ring on your hand, staring for a few seconds before you clasp your other hand over it.

“Well keep your wits about you” he says, turning away to serve someone else.

You’re not quite sure how to take what he’s just said on board. So you simply turn to watch the rest of the patrons, enjoying the way they stumble over one another, laughing without a care in the world. The music is absolutely blaring and the man on the drums almost makes the very floors vibrate as he plays, and the man who sings has such a feminine voice it’s beautiful. You smile and clap along to the beat of the music, taking a sip of the ale every now and then.

What a life these people lead.

And it dawns on you why you are here. Because your husband no longer seems interested in you. And the clouds descend on your heart, dulling the shine that came out briefly when you watched these commoners go about their lives.

“Why the sad face, darlin’?”

A man materialises beside you and you jump back at his closeness. He smells of ale, but then again, so does everyone else you supposed. He had a drunken smile and could not have been older than thirty. Trying to not be impolite, you give a wry smile.

“I am fine, sir”

He props his ale on the bar, offering you a large hand, “dance with me?” he slurs.

If it’s possible, you press yourself further against the bar, trying to make it clear with your body language that the answer is no.

“Oh, no thank you”

As men do, drunk or not, he ignores you and pulls you up to your feet by your arm with an unusually firm grip. At first, you think how untoward it is for a man of his station to put his hands so forcibly on you. But you remembered where you were and who these people thought you were and quickly pushed the initial discomfort aside. In an attempt to still be polite, you quietly refuse him,

“I am fine, sir, please” you say, but to your dismay, he carries on and pulls you close to him.

“Don’t be like that, have fun!”

As fun as it was to watch, now you’re just getting annoyed, so you push against his chest, “Get off me” you try and say it forcefully, but it’s quiet.

He starts dancing, pulling your body flush with his. And a flash of red anger envelops you, your hands flat against his chest. But before you can, the door to the alehouse bursts open. Everyone seems to look over in sync, eyes landing on the figure who envelops the doorway with his form. The silhouette is visible even in the low light, how it bounces off his silver hair around his shoulders. And if anyone had any doubt, his eyepatch is firmly in place over his left eye, proving to everyone that it was indeed Aemond Targaryen.

He pokes his cheek with his tongue in annoyance as his eye lands on you. Using the man’s temporary shock at seeing the Prince to your advantage, you push him away, facing your husband face on, your face pink with anger. Ever the silent man, he doesn’t say anything for a moment and secures his gaze on the other man, who seems like he’s about to shit himself.

Aemond takes a few steps before he is standing tall before the man, his own gaze is averted, wide-eyed as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Give me one good reason” Aemond draws his sword, “why I should not cut you down where you stand” he says it lowly and you simply watch, wondering how far he will go to protect his pride. His wife.

“My Prince…I-I” the man starts, shaking where he stands. Briefly you look over to the bartender, who raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say you’re in for it.

“Answer me” Aemond hisses, his good eye trained at him.

“Aemond please..” you reach forward for his arm but he shrugs you off. For a second it squeezes your heart, but you realise that he is so deep in rage, it almost seems like he hasn’t heard you.

“You dare touch my wife in such a way” he says lowly. The man’s eyes widen and his pupils shake, and for a moment he looks back at you.

“Don’t look at her” he warns, gripping the sword tightly, “Look at me”

You look over them both to see the man has a large wet patch in front of his trousers, having soiled himself in fear of his own death. Shaking your head, you try again.

“Aemond” you say louder this time. And it seems to work, you’re on his good side, so all he has to do is turn slightly to meet your gaze. With your hand around his forearm, you shake your head, “Don’t”

The man falls to his knees before the prince, pleading his case, “Thank you, my lady! Please, my Prince, I did not realise!” his words are hurried and slurred. Aemond almost grimaces at the display and ponders the situation for a moment. And you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, until he hums and turns away. He grips the fabric at your back to force you in front of him, almost tripping you over as he pulls you out of the alehouse.

The walk back to the passageways that connect the rooms of the Red Keep is quiet but quick, but it feels like a lifetime. No sooner has he pushed you through the door that leads to your marital chambers than you are babbling frantically.

“Aemond, I’m sorry, I tried to push him away but-”

“Take off your dress” he says bluntly. And it’s so calm it catches you off guard. His eye is staring blankly at you while he takes off his cloak.

“Aemond, wh-”

“Did you not hear me? Take off your fucking dress” he repeats.

The ice in his words makes your heart stutter a little. You’ve only seen this side of Aemond a handful of times in your short marriage, at least intimately anyway and the tone of his voice and the way he orders you makes a warm sensation settle in your belly, tugging below your belly button. Your limbs begin to tremble, both with anticipation and a little fear, this you cannot lie to yourself about.

You just stand there, shocked at his words and frozen in place when he walks up to you, invading your space with his wide and tall form.

“A-aemond, what-”

His face is stern when he speaks.

“You want to act like a slut, you’ll be treated like a slut”

He turns you around, body flush against your back and all but rips the cloak off your shoulders. There are no pre-emptive kisses, no warm touches of adoration. You just look at him and see pure, unadulterated lust. A desire, not only to take you as he sees fit, but to put you in your place for what you’d done. His words should offend you, but they only serve to increase that need between your thighs, which you push together for some friction.

He moves to the dress, the one he’d ordered for you to remove and rips it down the seam at the back, the threads make a scraping sound as they’re pulled apart roughly. His assault on the fabric continues as he pushes it over your bare hips, your body reacting to the cold air that hits your already wet cunt.

“Pathetic” he spits as he grips your hair, tugging slightly on them at the crown. He pulls you up and you whine out as it hurts at first, but almost instantly contributes to the wetness between your legs, “Does my pathetic little wife want to be punished?” he asks lowly.

For a second, you wonder if it’s a strange question for him to ask, but then you realise he’s giving you an out if you need it. If you feel uncomfortable. And he stands still at your back, waiting for the answer.

Swallowing dryly, you breathe, “Yes…”

You swear you feel him tense up behind him, as if he’s thinking of all the ways he might punish you. And it is here that you’re aware of his length, hot and hard against your soft backside. The anticipation flutters in your stomach.

“Yes what”

Oh Gods, you think. Anxiety wracks your body.

“Yes, my prince”

“Good”

His flaming touch disappears from your bare skin for a moment, moving to the buttons of his tunic, undoing them with alarming calmness.

“Lay on the bed. Don’t make me ask twice”

Not one to poke an already angry dragon, you obey. Sitting in the middle of the bed, with your legs pushed together you look up to watch your husband. His eye never leaves you and it shocks you just how stoic he is right now with the clear bulge underneath his breeches. Most of the time, he would make love to you slowly, lovingly. Only on the off chance would he indulge in primal carnal desires, asking you to call him ‘my prince’ and denying you your peak when he’d deemed you too greedy.

He shrugged his tunic off his shoulders and disposed of his underneath, allowing his pale chest exposure to the slightly cold air of your chambers.

“Spread your legs for me”

You swallow dryly at his instruction, the lack of emotion in them and in his eye sends a bolt of humiliation straight to core, and you feel yourself get shamefully wet, as if you already had not been.

Leaning back on your elbows, taking a few breaths to calm your nerves, your ankles splay out, revealing what lies between those pretty thighs for your husband to shamefully observe. The shameful warmth in your belly makes you want to shut your eyes, to spare yourself the judgement of Aemond’s gaze, but you know just as well he will punish you for that too if you do.

He calmly undoes the laces to his breeches, almost sighing in relief when his cock, hard and desperate for attention, springs free of their confines. He uses his hand to give it one or two pumps, and it prods against his stomach with the force of how hard it is. His eye is focussed entirely on your cunt and cunt alone, standing there. And you feel yourself staring too much as his pretty cock, the tip pink and weeping now that he’s allowed himself to touch it briefly.

“Do you see that?” he asks, “Do you see what you do to me?” he says,

And you hope to all the Gods that it’s rhetorical, because you barely heard what he said, too busy imagining all the ways he would impale you.

Even though he’s naked and clearly desperate for any touch, he stalks over to the bed with shocking control. His hands wrap around your ankles and pull, dragging your legs over the bed and planting them on either side of his thighs. You yelp in surprise at the sudden action and the feeling of your legs touching his bare thighs is enough to send another gush of arousal through you.

You know just as well to be quiet until he speaks directly, and definitely not to touch yourself. That part is reserved for him.

“Remind me of our word, wife” he almost spits that word, as if all he saw before him was a petulant whore.

“Dracarys”

He merely nods, widening his legs so as to widen your own, giving himself a good view of your achingly wet cunt before him. Both of his hands move to grip your thighs, leaving red marks in their wake that now feel like they’re the most dangerous thing about him. He almost kneads the flesh in his calloused palms, watching the way your breath hitches when his fingers graze that delicate space between your legs and hips.

“You vex me to no end” he says and you feel the goosebumps on your arms at the tone of voice.

“I apologise, husband-”

“Oh I will have my apology” he muses, “When I want it”

A shudder envelops your body when his long, slender fingers run up the puffy folds of your cunt, slipping them between the lips there to brush against the wettened pearl hidden beneath. The sheer sound it makes is embarrassing enough, but the way he barely even touches that little bundle of nerves and the reaction you give, is the most embarrassing thing about it all.

Knowing not to touch him, your fists clench the bedsheets at your sides. Aemond chuckles,

“Is this how sensitive my little wife is?” he muses, his fingers collecting the wetness there that was a pure result of his unkind words to you. And when one finger prods at the slick hole of your entrance, you gasp. “Maybe I should punish you more often…if you are as wet as this before I’ve barely even touched you”

Two fingers circle the entrance, the pads of his fingers now entirely slick with your arousal, while his thumb rubs lazy circles at your clit. And you wonder for a moment, how exactly this is punishment. But it’s far too early to be thinking like that.

“I wonder what sounds my pretty little whore can make” he murmurs as he prods two fingers inside you only barely, making your eyes shut tight, but he doesn’t move them further than that.

“Open your eyes”

Pink at the cheeks with sheer humiliation, you do as he says without another word to see his other hand is stroking his cock at a languid pace. You almost whimper, it should be you touching him like that…not himself.

Rewarding you briefly, he tucks two of his fingers as deep as they will go inside your waiting heat, grinning widely at the sound it makes. All breath seems to be stolen from your lungs when his fingers expertly brush against that rough spot within you and it takes all your strength to merely keep your eyes open to look up at him. Gods he looks so happy with himself right now. Knowing all your spots.

But you never thought he’d use that information like this.

It was kind of…thrilling.

The combination of his words, the deep humiliation and his roughened nature, you feel your peak approaching embarrassingly fast. Your breath shudders in your chest and hands fist more of the bedsheets, needing somewhere to place this feeling. And Aemond seems more than willing right now to let you indulge in the euphoric feeling, your climax hurtling towards you at an alarming pace.

As soon as the thought enters your head, his fingers are gone and you jolt with a squeal when he delivers a firm smack straight to your cunt. Without meaning to, you whimper, both at the loss of his thick fingers tucked within you and also at the burning desire for him to do what he’d just done again.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, his smirk now long gone, replaced with that same flat and stoic expression from earlier

“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I let you peak, now would it?”

Oh.

So that was his plan.

A flash of fear runs across your face, but most of it is the frustration of not knowing exactly how he intends to toy with you further.

He raises his fingers to your mouth, prodding at your lips, chuckling darkly at the confused expression you wear on your face, “Go on, clean up the mess you made”

You suck on the two digits he offers you, not only tasting the essence of your own heat, but covering them with your spit, hoping that your effort right now in obeying him will prove beneficial to you later. If he was feeling generous, that is.

In this moment, with that cruel, dark look in his eye, you honestly were not sure.

“Good…” his tone is almost soft here, appreciating the way your tongue glides over his fingers.

For a moment it makes you feel safe.

Aemond pulls his fingers from your mouth, reaching up with his other hand to pull his eyepatch off. You had been married long enough for you to have seen it before, but even now, it still renders you speechless every time you see it. The way it glimmers against the flames of the hearth, sitting comfortably in his empty eye socket. You often thought it beautiful, even before being wed to him.

But now, as he discards it to the floor and looks down at you, it almost takes on a gaze of its own. And it only strengthens that anticipation deep within your gut.

The fingers, now wet with your spit, run over your slick folds again, now sensitive from the denied release.

“So wet still…” he whispers, “...I did not know I had such a needy whore for a wife”

You moan out loud at how mean he’s being right now, coupled with the intense burning touch.

“Aemond…please…” you breathe. You wouldn’t have realised your slip up until he gives another wet smack to your pussy once again. Another jolt of pleasure runs through you, making your thighs tremble with desire and he seems pleased when you make a surprised sound.

He reaches down and runs his thick shaft against your slit, collecting the wetness that has pooled there since his torture on your body. Your chest is wracked with heavy breaths, wishing that he’d just break and fuck you already. But if Aemond was anything, he was patient. He was more than happy to wait if it meant you were a whining, moaning mess beneath him. The fat head of his cock barely sinks beneath your swollen lips, kissing against your clit as he brushes it up which only serves to make your body jolt once again.

“Hm…” goes the deep rumble in his chest, “...I don’t think that’s what I told you to call me…”

“Please…I’m sorry, my prince…” you’re just begging at this point, the previous resolve you did have is now dwindling quickly.

“See? It’s not hard is it?”

He uses his cock to torture your core further, dipping the head of it between your lips to prod against your readied entrance, ready and willing to accept his length. But he pulls it away once again, only to repeat the motions, chuckling at the effect it has on you.

“What do you want, wife?”

Your face is pink and desperate, and you so badly want to tell him to just fuck you senseless right now. Play along, just play along…you think. Surely he can’t hold back forever.

“I want you inside me…” you manage between ragged breaths as he keeps dipping his cock against your hole.

“Beg for it”

You let out a frustrated whine when his thumb simply rests on your clit, not moving an inch.

“Come on, beg for it” he grins widely. He looks so pleased with himself you want to make a comment on it, but your body just wants him so deep inside you you can’t think straight.

“Please…my prince…please fuck me…” you can feel the frustration hot on your cheeks, bubbling up into tears glazing your eyes.

It’s too much. So much so that you think if he doesn’t thrust deep inside and move his thumb against your clit, you might just die.

“Such foul language, princess”

He gives his shaft a few more strokes, letting the bright red tip, aching to be buried inside your wet, waiting cunt, breach your entrance just slightly.

You can feel the relief, it’s so close, all he has to do is push forward…

“Eyes on me now” he instructs lowly.

Your mouth falls open, and a sigh of relief empties your lungs when he slowly sheathes himself within you. He is eerily calm and collected, a stark contrast to how you are holding back at this very moment. The sheer sound of your arousal enveloping him seems to make him smile, until he is fully seated to the hilt, the tip kissing your cervix.

You do as you are told, eyes on him the entire time, eyes glassy in relief at the feeling of just being completely full of him. He’s always been one for seeing his wife is satisfied, and so seeing the look on your face, his eyes glimmer in pride.

To your surprise, he starts a pace, albeit slow, but a pace nonetheless. Only quiet breathy sounds are heard from your mouth, and you think (stupidly) that you are safe. You start to indulge in the feeling of his erection continuously sinking into you, rocking your hips slightly against him to increase the pace somewhat.

And you are embarrassingly close. The ache of the previous denied release never fully went away, and it creeps up from the depths to fizzle at the surface once more, just aching for speed, for roughness, for anything but this torture. You feel every vein, every stroke, every angle of his hips, and it only makes you want more.

And then he stops and jolts you back when he presses his thumb forcefully against your clit, but not enough to truly hurt.

“Say the words” he orders, his tone flat and unforgiving.

Surely the Aemond you know is caring, loving even, is still there…right?

“Say the words, and I might let you peak tonight”

You swallow, stilling your hips as much as it pains you. The force of holding back makes your thighs tremble, evident in the low light of the room.

“…my prince?...”

His large, calloused hand wraps around your neck, shocking you in the most arousing way possible. His cock is inside you to the hilt and this should definitely not be turning you on as much as it is, and yet you feel another gush of your essence coat your thighs, betraying how you really feel. His fingers curl around it so effortlessly, and he only squeezes a little. He is so calculated in his movements, it’s almost frightening.

“Don’t give me ‘my prince’” he mocks, “I want your apology. Now”

Without even thinking, the pain of him not moving and stilling his hips too great, tears prick at your eyes as you babble an apology,

“I am sorry, husband, I truly am! I was foolish to go out on my own. Forgive me”

His fingers curl around your neck just that tiny bit more and he has that wolfish grin on his face once more, clearly enjoying the way he is able to bring you to this pathetic little mess of a wife he must see you as now.

“Yes, it was foolish” he says, so nonchalantly, as if he isn’t fully inside you right at this moment, “I thought my wife was an intelligent woman. And yet here she is mewling and crying with her husband’s cock inside of her, begging to be forgiven”

You swallow around his hand in nervousness, seeing the way his iris is blown so wide with lust he almost does not look human at all. Perhaps they were right. When they say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Because here, using you for his own cruel means, it is both gorgeous and terrifying, as Gods should be.

Tears prick at your eyes and you worry that if you blink they will fall. All you can focus on is his hand around your neck, every vein in his cock pulsing with desire deep inside you, and your walls squeezing him to try and ease him back into fucking you.

In a quiet breathy voice, you mewl, “husband…please…”

He chuckles when he sees how you are holding your pretty tears back, “Why are you crying, hm? Do I need to punish you again?” he smirks, “I could just stay like this…”

“No, no…please…”

“Then tell me what you want, wife” he sneers,

You finally allow yourself to blink and the tears stream down your cheeks.

“I want you…to fuck me…husband…” you say between breaths.

His tongue pokes at his cheek, as if he’d been waiting all day to hear that.

Aemond pushes your body back further onto the bed, his own knees coming to rest on it, and you whimper, his cock shoved only briefly further into you, kissing your cervix. It provides a little relief.

And your husband smiles widely as he takes your hips in both hands and brings them to rest against his waist. And he’s not moved yet, but purely the change of angle makes the head of his cock kiss against that rough patch within.

Smirking, he starts at a slow pace once more, and you cry at the relief of it. It’s slow, not at all the quick, brutal pace you need, but it’s something.

He all but laughs at your blissed out expression, taking in the glassy, glazed over look in your eyes.

“Who am I to deny my little wife?” he says.

And every nerve is your body is on fire when his thumbs dig into your hips and he finally just fucks you, in the way he knows you always like to be fucked. Your body goes slack as his hips snap against yours and the only sound in the room is the erotic slap of your bodies against each other. Every now and then Aemond curses under his breath at the force of which your walls clamp down on him.

All the teasing he’d done had done little to quell that impending release that you so desperately needed, and you could feel it form painfully in your stomach, wound up so tight and fit to burst.

“Gods…Aemond…” you breathe.

He presses one of his palms on your stomach, to feel the presence of himself there within you. Your body reacts on its own, bucking up into him as it pushes that sweet spot against his cock. He leans over, still keeping up that brutal pace and you can feel his hair against your chest, his breath on your neck.

His teeth graze over the delicate skin where he once has his entire hand choking you, “Fuck…your cunt feels amazing…” he whispers against you, “...I know you are close…”

A whimper teases its way out of your throat. Fuck, he can read your body like a book. Knows it far too well.

Knowing he is right, he presses harder against your stomach, squeezing you around his cock inside you as he pistons mercilessly into your cunt, the lewd sound of your arousal only aiding your peak. And it’s the mere whisper of a touch of his thumb across your throbbing clit that drives you over the edge.

“Fuck…” you breathe as your body grows rigid, hands still fisted hard within the sheets. Your muscles tremble and your cunt clenches around him, to which he lets out an uncharacteristically loud moan straight into your ear.

And you expect him to follow suit, but he simply keeps fucking you through it, intent to prolong this little death.

“Aem..nd…I can’t..” you beg.

Your first orgasm is barely gone before your stomach winds painfully again and he chuckles again, deeply and low against your body. In a rather sweet gesture, he leaves open-mouthed kisses against your neck and jaw, a stark contrast to the sweet torture he is performing against your sex.

“You can…give me another and I will fuck my seed into you…”

Your eyes screw shut. And there’s not enough words to describe the utter destruction your body feels it is going under, and you feel yourself fall apart more and more with each erotic slap of his balls against you.

“I’ve got you princess…that’s it…let go…”

Finally, your hands fly up from the sheets to clamour at his skin, needing to touch him all over. It’s a mess. His mouth fights against yours, biting at your swollen lower lip to draw the faintest bit of blood. All the while his cock is impaling your cunt at breakneck speed, chasing his release while yours just builds and builds…

Your fingers dig into his arms painfully as your second climax rolls over you. It’s loud and immense and you swear for a moment you are lost to the world, the only thing grounding you being the sound of Aemond’s low grunts as he chases his own release.

He gives several rough, deep thrusts, making sure to shove his seed as deep inside you as it will go before he finally stills above you, rested on his forearms either side of your head.

After what feels like a lifetime, feeling his cock continue to twitch within you, you crack open your eyes. You’ll never tire of seeing him like this. Fucked out with his hair damp against his temples, the muscles of his body contracting as he breathes heavily.

Idly, your fingers draw circles on his back. And it’s so soft and gentle that he shudders a little, picking himself up to look down at you. There he is. The husband you know and love.

You brush the back of your fingers against his face, the marred side. And his sapphire eye glints back at you.

“I am sorry, wife” he says suddenly.

Your movements cease, looking at him questioningly. But you do not question it.

“I have neglected you these past weeks” he confesses, as if being able to read you so well, “it has been unconsciously done…but it is no excuse.

I am sorry”

You’re a bit…stunned? If anything.

Aemond had always been proud. Proud of his heritage. Proud of his abilities. His talents.

He had never been one to admit his faults.

So for a moment his words hang in the air, until you find your voice again.

“Aemond…” you say, reaching up to his face. He sighs into your touch, “...I believe we have both been foolish. I am sorry also, for the anxiety I must have caused you”

He shakes his head softly.

“I only wished to get a reaction from you” you say, “But I am truly sorry for worrying you”

He huffs at that, looking down briefly to where you are still joined, “Perhaps you should do that more often” he jokes, and you swat his shoulder playfully.

His kiss is tender and he leans down, “shall we make up for lost time, Princess?” he asks.

You cock your head playfully as his hands glide over your torso to slide over your breast, squeezing gently.

“I’ll have you full of my heirs by daybreak” he growls.

You giggle at that, bringing him in for another kiss, “I look forward to it, my prince”

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

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hello, can I request an image of Morpheus in love with a stronger being that, in most of Morpheus's relationships he was the strongest because he was perpetual as would be the dynamics of the reader being the primordial chaos with Morpheus

Holy

Dream of the Endless x Angel!Reader

Summary: Dream does not appreciate the fact he is unable to help you with your problem. Being powerless blows.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: fem!reader, stupidly insecure!dream, jealous!dream, incredibly petty!dream, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ??? who's stronger than the endless edit: i know now HAHHA im basing it off the comics where *spoiler* dream says he is scared of lucifer and i think he does at a point say morningstar is stronger that him idk i dont remember HAHAHH this is related to this other angel!reader fic i did, but they can both be read on their own Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @sloanexx

There not be a single speck of my body that does not yearn to see the light of your beauty; Your holy cloak of darkness that comforts my dreaming heart is all my mind beholds in weariness and joviality. Oh Star of the Night, my nightmares do I offer to grasp in your tender palm. And golden starlight do I adorn your brow, oh Harbinger of the Dusk. I implore you, strike true; pierce my ribs with your sacred blade. Claim that which is your belonging, my pulsing heart, which bleeds for you. Translated excerpt from The Bringer of Darkness & Dreams by Rasui the Poet (cir. 1600s)

Dream could only do so much for an angel of the most high. He could offer you the most solemn praises, the most gracious reverence, but then what was his worship against a desperate human, praying to their god for deliverance, and to see you as an answer?

Dream lacked the apt wherein his voice would tremble at the mere idea of you. He had seen death and destruction, they were quite literally related. Desire and delight were of his blood as well, and so a response that which would be of his siblings' manner was impossible. And so the mortal awe that would have been there at the sight of you was not.

He could offer you dreams. And Dream of Dreams did he offer for you.

Epics, mythos, odes, hymns, poems, paintings, frescos, dreams, he offered them all to you.

Yet it was not enough to comfort you during the fall of your half, your beloved twin Morningstar, who descended from grace and was banished into hell. Yet it was not enough during the battle with your Lucifer, that caused ripples and of light and dark to break into the fabrics of reality. It was not enough after the holy wars, nor after the resolution of your sibling's fate to become the ruler of hell.

For what was he to you in those moments? Beyond a spectator, beyond a Dream that could speak only so much words of comfort, for comfort was not in his nature, not really.

And even after all these eons, after loving each other during the early dawns of existence, as you walked with him, hand in hand, in Valhalla, he felt so far away, so infinitesimal against your being. He was a speck amidst the immense adoration your winged she-cousins were crying out to you with.

Dream watched as the Valkyries offered you flowers and honey and music and kisses. He watched as you, his love, was loved so tenderly.

It was most usual of them to do so, it was the natural order of things, it was only right, and yet his dark cloak seeped through the threshold of Valhalla and cut the merrymaking of the heavenly hosts almost instantly. Your smile too fades away as you turn to him.

Good.

And so you took in his darkness kindly, and bid farewell to your cousins, allowing Dream to take you into his own realm, to keep all for himself.

"Why does darkness weep from you, lover?" you ask as Dream drags you into the Dreaming, a flurry of glittering black powdering the ground in which he walked.

He decides to lead you into the throne room, where therein he allows himself to let his dark clouds pour.

Dream takes you into his hold and nuzzles his face into your neck. Readily, you wrap your arms and massive dark wings around him, muttering sweet words in the tongue of angels as comfort.

Momentarily there was comfort, but then he remembers the songs of the Valkyrie and feels spite bubble beneath him once more.

You were naturally high and mighty in stature, and he, well, his form was not bound to a body. So he decidedly makes his form smaller against you, his face no longer high enough to reach your neck. He shrinks until he can perfectly presses his face in between your soft breasts.

You look down upon him and brush his hair back, "will you not respond?"

Dream scowls, and though you could not see it, you can imagine it. "You are my lover," he mutters against you, "I do not appreciate the competition."

You furrow your brows and pull away to look at him.

He does not relent and crushes himself closer into you, "do not disrespect me in my own domain by pushing me."

"My Dream."

"Yes, yes. I am your dream, so do not wallow in the sweet figments of others," he mutters as he tightens his hold against your torso, "I am not kind or pure like you, I am me. And I am as much a Nightmare as I am Dream."

And so you do not push him away and you stand there, embracing him for a long time.

"There is no competition, as you imagine it, dearest," you say as you cradle his form, "the Valkyrie were only greeting me the way they ought to."

"I know this," he mutters, ".... I don't care."

You press your lips together as you sigh.

"Do not sigh so tragically. I am king in this realm. I shan't be offended," he says as he presses his cheek firmer into your chest.

You raise a brow and decidedly pull both your arms and wings back.

"No! No- Do not-"

"Enough!" you blurt as you separate the two of you.

Dream looks up at you, feeling his insides burn and his face harden. He feels wronged, especially with the expression you give him. His form begins to morph into shadows and inflates around the room. Your form is soon overcome with darkness, but it does not phase you. Why would it? It was matter which the creator granted you dominion.

And so you grab him by the hems of his lightlessness and rip his entity off the surface of the throne room, allowing his form to manifest and dangle in your clutch. You raise your arm and he looks back at you from where he hangs.

"I do not appreciate your outburst, my love," you say firmly, to a point where your term of endearment makes him shake.

Dream drips from your grip and clumps before you as his normal build again, though his face dredged with despair, and his eyes are unable to gaze upon yours.

"It cannot be helped, my star," he says.

A flimsy excuse.

"I could hear their dreams come into completion as they beheld you in their realm. I could not bear it."

You make it a point to contain your sigh. "Then what am I to do with you?" you take his face in your hands, "shall I retreat at every moment you allow your jealousy to cloud your better judgement?"

Dream looks at you as you raise your brows at his glimmering eyes.

He parts his lips and inhales, "yes."

"Dream--"

"If you truly love me, then-"

"If you truly love me, understand that the praise I receive from others, no matter how overwhelming, does not compare still to that which I receive from you."

Dream is motionless as he takes in your glory. He draws in a deep breath then amplifies his form. He grows in size, up until you are craning your neck up at him. Only then does he places his lips on yours and wraps his arms around you and your wings.

You revel in his touch, body nearly melting at his devotion, at his affection in one of the most intimate forms he is capable.

When you pull away, you lean into Dream's touch as he brushes your cheek, "my love... you honor me with your ceaseless patience."

You smile at him and shake your head, "I honor you with my love, you foolish spirit."

Dream lovingly examines you for a while then purses his lips into a pout as he leans into you, pressing your foreheads together, "was your visit to Valkyries truly necessary though?"

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fluff #morpheus fanfic #dream fanfic #dream x reader #dream x you #dream of the endless fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #morpheus x you #dream of the endless #dream of the endless angst

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marvelshifter111 · 1 month ago

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Could you make a Powers (second sphere) and Seraphim (first sphere) abilities? Angelology is one of my favorite things to learn about.

thank you for requesting! sorry it took me so long

Powers and Seraphim abilities

Second sphere: Powers

Role: Guardians of the cosmos, maintaining order and protecting the world from demonic forces. They are considered warriors of God who ensure divine justice.

Abilities of Powers:

Cosmic guardianship - Powers are responsible for maintaining the balance of the universe, ensuring stars and celestial bodies remain in their divine order.

Protection against evil - They are tasked with defending humanity and the world from the influence of dark forces, including demons and malevolent spirits.

Judgment and justice - They carry out God’s justice by punishing evil spirits and enforcing divine law.

Inspiration of strength and courage - Powers can instill divine strength and courage in mortals, particularly in times of spiritual or physical conflict.

Weaving spiritual energies - They manage the flow of spiritual energies, ensuring that divine blessings are channeled to where they are most needed.

Guidance of leaders and warriors - Powers often guide rulers, warriors, and those in positions of authority to act righteously.

Dispelling chaos - Powers have the unique ability to restore order in chaotic situations, whether in the natural world or the spiritual realm. They can calm storms, end conflicts, and bring stability where there is discord.

Sealing boundaries - Powers can create or reinforce spiritual barriers to prevent the intrusion of malevolent forces into sacred spaces, people, or objects. They are the architects of divine wards and protective seals.

First sphere: Seraphim

Role: The closest beings to God, existing in perpetual worship and adoration of the Divine. They embody pure love and illuminate the heavenly hierarchy.

Abilities of Seraphim:

Perpetual worship and praise - Their primary purpose is to sing praises to God, endlessly proclaiming His holiness. ("Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts.")

Bearer of divine love - Seraphim are embodiments of divine love, radiating pure and perfect love throughout creation.

Illumination and Enlightenment - They illuminate the minds of lower angels and humans, helping them understand God’s will and nature.

Purification by fire - Seraphim wield the holy fire of God, capable of purifying souls and removing sin. Their name literally means "burning ones."

Eternal radiance - They shine with an intense, unearthly light, reflecting the glory of God. This radiance can inspire awe or purify those in their presence.

Channeling divine will - As the closest beings to God, Seraphim serve as conduits of His will, passing divine knowledge and commands to the lower spheres.

Guardians of divine secrets - They protect and maintain the sacred mysteries of heaven, ensuring that only those deemed worthy can access them.

Transformation through love - The Seraphim's love has the power to spiritually transform those they touch, bringing them closer to God’s divine essence.

Key contrast between powers and seraphim:

Powers focus on protecting and enforcing divine order within creation, often acting as warriors and guardians.

Seraphim are devoted entirely to God’s presence, serving as beacons of divine love and enlightenment. They interact less with the material world and more with the celestial hierarchy.

#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting #luna's power lists #angelology

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blackknight-100 · 11 months ago

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Hello there anon, and thank you for the prompt! I got so excited with this I accidentally posted your ask without answering it (I'm so sorry😭😭) so I'm afraid I have to use a screenshot. I hope you like reading this!

Character Swap - Arjuna and Karna

Phalguna comes to Kuntidesha as it always does, but this year the air is colder, and the soil is wet with rain. The ponds are full and even rivers flow swifter, for Indra turns his eye upon them.

Princess Pritha bears the last few weeks of her womanly toil with ill grace; she is yet sixteen, face perpetually wrinkled in agony. The King of Gods has promised her maidenhood, Pritha thinks she would have given that up to be rid of this soreness.

When her time comes one cloudy eve, her trusted maid kneels by her screaming self, and snips the cord off a divine child.

The babe is soft and beautiful, with her looks and her smile and her curled hair; he yawns in restless sleep like a little dark moon. Pritha’s head is bent in prayer, her still-young heart is numb. She is a princess of two noble Kings, a star in the darkness of Āryavarta. Few women have her fortune, even lesser have her power, and yet she is just another girl, at the mercy of sages and gods, and the thought makes Pritha's head bow lower.

She stands by the raging Aswa as her maid gently sets the basket afloat, for foolish she may be, but cruelty comes only through her orders, and never by her hand, and the sky shatters with thunder and rain. Of all the recipients of Indra’s wrath, there has never been one more tragic.

His father from his heavenly throne names the child Arjuna, swears to guide and lead and bestow divine counsel, but as songs later let us know: he is ever known by his mothers’ names, for he is Rādha and Pritha's son.

Karna is born the last of Kunti’s sons, and the third of Pāndu’s scions. He comes into the world like a shining light, with her face and her smile and her curls in his hair. For the first few weeks, Kunti cannot bear to look at the babe, and nurses him with her eyes to the sky. The sun shines upon them, bright and reprimanding, and Kunti wills Surya to chastise his own brother.

To Mādri she says, and to a concerned Pāndu, that the birth tired her, to the child she murmurs tales of a long-lost brother.

“He looked just like you,” Kunti tells him, as Karna swings in his cradle. It is a rickety thing, old as Yudhisthira, and worn with Bheema’s fervour, but it is a cradle still, and Kunti wonders if her other son ever knew one.

“I think you would have loved him,” Kunti says, wistfully, weaving dreams out of her yearning. “He would have been your big brother.”

The boy in the cradle coos at her, toothless smile lighting up the world, and for a moment his face is dark, and outside it rains, and the babe in her arms is Indra’s child.

“You are terrible,” Arjuna scowls at Duryodhana, even though his father has taken great pains to counsel him otherwise. “He is just having fun.”

Duryodhana turns an interesting shade of purple. “His fun involves beating up my brothers and acting innocent when Pitāmaha asks him about it.”

Arjuna has no reason to defend this new prince, one whom he has never seen nor met, but his mouth betrays him once more. “That is not a good enough reason to kill him. You are merely jealous.”

“Kill whom?” says a voice, and Arjuna nigh jumps out of his skin as a boy swings down from the mango tree.

“Karna,” Duryodhana sighs. “Are you troubling the squirrels again?”

“No,” the boy says, shoving his fist behind his back. He is barely five and... light; his eyes are light and honey-brown, his hair is the light of sunshine on tree-barks, and his face glows like day. “You’re going to kill my brother,” he repeats stubbornly.

Arjuna blinks; his father would not forgive him for this.

Duryodhana sighs once more. “Your brother is beating mine up.”

“I will tell him not to,” Karna promises, and Arjuna is a little sorry for the boy – all wobbling lips and earnest eyes. “I will tell Mother if he does. Please don’t kill him.”

Arjuna expects Duryodhana to say something like ‘Run along, child’ or ‘Do not eavesdrop on your elders’, but the prince has an indulgent, almost fond look on his face.

“Give me that,” he says, pointing at the hand Karna has behind his back. Arjuna thinks it a cruel thing to ask, then the boy reluctantly brings out a bursting handful of areca nuts, and Arjuna has to laugh.

Duryodhana smiles as well, plucks one of the six in his hand. Karna drops two others, and as he bends to retrieve his fallen treasures, Duryodhana ruffles his hair.

“Run along now, little scamp,” the Kaurava prince says.

“Are you going to kill him?” Karna asks, eyes wide and worried.

“No,” Duryodhana assures him, “but remember what we agreed, yes?”

Karna beams at them, one after the other. “I will! See you.”

With that, he is gone.

Duryodhana cracks the nut and hands half of it to Arjuna – sinfully possessive one moment, impossibly generous the next.

Arjuna gapes at him. “Are you really not going to kill Bheem?”

Duryodhana glowers at him. “Go lay an egg,” he says, rudely, and stalks off. Arjuna stares at his retreating back, confused.

But no news comes that day, or the next, or any of the weeks after, and slowly, Arjuna learns to breathe easier.

“Who is that?” Krishna asks.

Karna starts, he has not been paying attention. Krishna is the scion of faraway Dwārika, and not much of an acquaintance in any manner of the term, although the dark haired prince claims he has hardly ever been outside Vrindāvan, and never to the city by the sea.

“Pardon me,” Karna says, contrite, “whom do you speak of?”

“That boy,” says Krishna, and points towards a lone figure lurking by the stables.

“That is Arjuna. His father is Pitāmaha's charioteer.”

“May I speak to him?”

“Excuse me,” Karna hails the older boy, “can you spare a moment?”

Arjuna appears at his side, all muddy fringes and stiff bows. “Greetings, princes.”

“Greetings,” Karna nods. “This is Krishna, my cousin. Krishna, Arjuna.”

Krishna is tall and dark, his young face beams with pleasure. “How do you do, Pārtha?”

Arjuna blinks. “Uh... I am not called that. My mother’s name is Rādha.”

Krishna gives him a secret smile, and waves at someone above his head. Karna, distracted by a squirrel, nearly misses it.

“Duryodhana?” he says, delighted, when he notices the other boy on the balcony. “Come down, come down.”

Krishna shakes his arm. “Perhaps, the four of us can go to the garden?”

Sometime later, the four of them are seated around a bush, shears in hand. The rose shrub is not big enough to make a topiary out of, but Queen Gandhari has arranged tables around it with the hopes of giving the boys a more fruitful pastime to channel their excitement into.

“And what should I do?”

Arjuna is seated beside Krishna, facing the others. Duryodhana picks up his shears and snips a stray leaf. “We have to make this appear smooth and shapely.”

“Why?”

Karna stares at him. “Because Aunt Gandhari says so, of course.”

Krishna pulls his legs up on the bench, lifts a fist to the air. “Let’s dooo it!”

For the next couple of hours they work diligently, or at least pretend to, for Duryodhana starts kicking Karna under the bench, and Karna kicks him back, and it is an entertaining game; Krishna, meanwhile, shows Arjuna how and where to snip – he has clever eyes, and his hands are dexterous.

When they finally leave, one side of the bush poorer than the other, Krishna swings his hands around his new friend’s shoulders and lags behind the two princes. “You were saying Guru Drona does not want to teach you?”

Arjuna flushes. “That is true. It is er... his choice, of course, no disrespect intended.”

Krishna’s eyes twinkle. “Dau and I are going to study with Guru Sāndīpani. Do you wish to come with?”

Arjuna chances a glance at Karna, barely jealous, but there still. “I think I would like that.”

“Can we not do this here?” Arjuna hisses. His father looks over from the garden where he and Rādha Mā are talking to Lord Bhishma, and Arjuna is afraid.

“Come now,” Duryodhana groans. “We are settling it man to man, just as Pitāmaha wanted. What is wrong now?”

Arjuna glances at the Pāndava brothers, aching with the weight of Anga’s crown and the knowledge of the Jatugrīha. “Why am I a part of this conversation?”

Yudhisthira coughs politely, as he is wont to. It gets on Arjuna's nerves like nothing else. “If you will excuse me,” he says, “we must greet our mother.”

The Pāndavas glance up as one, and Arjuna notices Dowager Empress Kunti hurrying down the steps.

“Mother,” Karna and Sahadeva exclaim excitably and there is a flurry of motion as they settle down to accept their blessings. To his surprise, Duryodhana follows, and he is compelled to join in the flock.

“There you are, darling,” Kunti says, pulling him up, then freezes.

Something old and forgotten stirs within Arjuna – a shadow of a memory, a wisp of a dream, a woman still as a flame with a child in her arms. Mother, he nearly says, ancient words soaring to his mouth, the shapes of them lingering on his tongue. Mother, look what we have brought home.

Then the Grandfather joins them and the moment is gone.

His father throws him a disapproving glance, and Arjuna shrinks from the princes. His mother, though, is staring at Karna.

“Vāsu...?” she whispers, as if to a ghost, and Karna turns.

“Yes, Mā?”

“His name is Karna,” Bheema declares loudly, and glares at them. The prince has not yet forgiven Arjuna’s stunt at the Graduation, even if Karna claims he would have done the same.

Radha Mā looks flustered, and Karna shifts in discomfort, as if put on a stage for a part he does not know how to play. Adhiratha grabs Arjuna and wraps an arm around his wife.

“Please forgive her, Prince,” he says, and starts pulling them away. “By your leave...”

Arjuna supposes they have embarrassed his father enough. His mother walks as if in a trance. “Vāsu?” she murmurs under her breath. “Vāsusena... child, where are you gone?”

Arjuna, alarmed, turns one last time. Karna is miserable and bewildered, staring after Rādha like a lost child, and Kunti's eyes, seeking him, are wet with tears.

Arjuna sits silent and still, horror trembling beneath his skin like a fluttering bird.

“Duryodhana, please...” Arjuna whispers, unsure of what he begs, and fearful of the prince's wrath.

“I bet my brother, Karna,” Yudhisthira says, drunk on dharma and shivering with repentance. “If I win, I shall have him and all that is on the board; if you do, then he is yours.”

Karna looks up, stunned. There is betrayal on his face, and Arjuna’s heart stings. Even Duryodhana frowns, for Karna alone of all his cousins he names a friend.

“As you say,” Shakuni shrugs, and rolls his dice. “Lo! I win!”

Karna rises from his seat without being asked, walks over to kneel beside his brothers. His mien is smooth and calm now, all torment shielded behind a mask, but Bheema leaps up, enraged.

“Brother!” he tells Yudhisthira, “Hear me! Cease this madness before you lose all else.”

“I cannot leave them to this fate, Bheema,” Yudhisthira says, and picks the dice again. “I stake Bheema.”

“No, wait,” Duryodhana says, brows furrowed. “Māmāshree, do not bet now.”

The two players look up.

“No more?” Yudhisthira repeats slowly, as if he thought this game would go on forever, till the last brother was staked, and perhaps his wife and mother as well.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Shakuni asks.

Duryodhana ignores both of them, strides over to Karna. “Come with me.”

“I shall split your head open,” Bheema roars from beside Yudhisthira. “Leave him alone.”

“I won him,” Duryodhana reminds him coldly, “and I would that he comes with me.”

Karna rises with a grace that startles Arjuna, no longer the clumsy middle prince who dropped things, just like he is no longer a charioteer's dutiful son.

“I will go,” he says, and Yudhisthira turns to the court at large. “Please forgive my brother’s outburst.”

Arjuna wants to slap him.

Duryodhana wraps an arm around Karna's shoulders, and steers him to the doors. For a moment it appears that Bheema would follow, but then the Kaurava prince dismisses the guards, and they step just outside, far enough so no one can overhear whispers, but near enough that they are seen, and a fuming Bheema sits back down.

Arjuna sits and waits for a long time, like all others at court, even the blind Emperor, who can never walk without his son, and thinks miserably of how much Krishna would disapprove.

He is about to join them, either to pacify or to add fuel to the fire, when Karna speaks, loud and sarcastic enough to be heard all over the court. “I loved it. I loved it so much I am going to write a play about it, and have actors sent to perform it all over Āryavarta. Why, I should- ”

Duryodhana catches his flailing hands, shushes him. They whisper once more. The blind Emperor swivels his head in apparent confusion. Arjuna gets up to intervene.

Then Duryodhana walks in, a furious Karna in tow.

Arjuna seizes him by the arm. “Let them go, Duryodhana,” he pleads. “Do not do this.”

His patron and friend...? looks at him quietly for a long time, so long that Arjuna very nearly reaches for his bow.

Dhritarashtra, for once in his life, takes the cue. “Court is dismissed,” he calls, and the ordeal is over.

“You have counselled me wisely,” Duryodhana says at last. “Now, and before. It is a shame that I heeded you not.” Then he raises his head and says aloud, without preamble or explanation, “Let all be returned and restored to the Pāndava princes. Thank you, noble ones, for joining us in this game. We shall retire soon for lunch.”

Two years later, when the knowledge of the game is a rumour, and the incident at Indraprastha's lake is forgotten, Karna comes alone to Hastinapura. Krishna, who is visiting, gives Arjuna one of his secret smiles.

At the gates, Duryodhana meets him stiffly, for things have never been the same between the two sets of cousins. They bow ceremoniously, Dhritarashtra speaks a few half-hearted greetings, and Gandhari fusses over him.

Karna and Duryodhana stare at each other, and then Karna wraps him in a fierce hug.

“You’re not forgiven,” the Pandava prince says, voice muffled, but Arjuna notes Karna's trembling hands and thinks he knows otherwise.

Then, to his surprise, Karna turns to him. Krishna smiles at him again and whispers, “Prepare yourself, Angarāja.”

Before Arjuna can ask him what he means, Karna bows to him and says, “Greetings, brother.”

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paradiserottttt · 1 year ago

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— INTRODUCING , 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐎 .

* ◟ : 〔 manny jacinto , cis-man + he/him 〕 BENITO “BENNY” AVELLINO , some say you’re a THIRTY-THREE YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both ENTHRALLING and FRAUDULENT , one can’t help but think of FROM EDEN by HOZIER when you walk by. are you still a PRIEST / REPLICANT at ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA CHURCH , even with your reputation as the THE TEMPTATION ? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and A SILVER TONGUE AND SERPENTINE SMILE , AN ARSENAL OF SECRETS GIVEN THROUGH CONFESSIONALS , ACTING IN THE NAME OF A GOD YOU NO LONGER BELIEVE IN , although we can’t help but think of SUGURU GETO (JUJUTSU KAISEN) , BERLIN (MONEY HEIST) , TOMMY CARCETTI (THE WIRE) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

— STATS .

FULL NAME . benito avellino NICKNAMES . benny BIRTHDAY . october 12th AGE . thirty-three GENDER . cis-man PRONOUNS . he/him ORIENTATION . pansexual panromantic FAMILY . ? OCCUPATION . priest @ st. anthony of padua church MARKINGS/TATTOOS . none PIERCINGS . none HEIGHT . 5’11

— PERSONALITY . POSITIVE TRAITS . x NEGATIVE TRAITS . x LANGUAGES . english, spanish, russian, french, latin EDUCATION . high school and seminary school MBTI . entj (the commander) ENNEAGRAM . type 8 (the challenger) MORAL ALIGNMENT . true neutral DEADLY SIN . pride HEAVENLY VIRTUE . charity ZODIAC . libra sun, taurus rising

— BIOGRAPHY.

tw: a whole lot of blasphemy

IN THE BEGINNING, WHEN GOD CREATED THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH, THE EARTH WAS A FORMLESS VOID, AND DARKNESS COVERED THE FACE OF THE DEEP, WHILE A WIND FROM GOD SWEPT OVER THE FACE OF THE WATERS. THEN GOD SAID, “LET THERE BE LIGHT,” AND THERE WAS LIGHT. AND GOD SAW THAT THE LIGHT WAS GOOD; AND GOD SEPARATED THE LIGHT FROM THE DARKNESS.

IT IS FROM THIS SAME DARKNESS THAT WE ARE WROUGHT. OUR CONCEPTION EXISTS SOMEWHERE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE. TO BE A REPLICANT IS TO BE CULTIVATED FROM NOTHINGNESS, THRUST INTO THE WORLD IN MEDIA RES…

ENTER FATHER BENITO AVELLINO. THE PROMISING NEW EDITION TO ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA CHURCH, TAKING THE PRIESTHOOD BY STORM. YOU ARE EVERYTHING THE PRIESTHOOD HOPES TO EMBODY AS THEY USHER IN A NEW ERA. CONTEMPORARY, PIOUS, AND SUBLIMELY BEAUTIFUL.

[[[ SOMEONE WORTHY OF RIVALING FATHER THOMAS SODHI SOCIOPOLITICALLY, BUT WITHOUT THE MORAL UPRIGHTNESS. YOU WOULD DISTORT THE GOOD FATHER’S REPUTATION INTO SOMETHING WHOLLY UNRECOGNIZABLE. ]]]

YOUR BEAUTY, REMINISCENT OF THE ETERNAL YOUTH DESIRED BY MANY, ALLOWS FOR AN INDULGENCE PERPETUALLY TEETERING ON THE EDGE OF VANITY. IT IS A SPECIAL ALLURE PRIVATELY ENJOYED BY CHURCHGOERS EN MASSE.

[[[ TO THINK THAT GOD’S CHILDREN COULD BE SO EASILY MOVED BY SOMETHING NOT OF HIS MAKING. IN ACTUALITY, FEEL NOTHING BUT DISGUST TOWARD SUCH STUPIDITY. YOU WONDER IF YOU WERE INTENDED TO BE THIS WAY OR IF DISDAIN IS MERELY A DESIGN FLAW. ]]]

YOU ARE THE MOST PROMISING GRADUATE OF YOUR SEMINARY CLASS; YOU MANEUVER THE POLITICAL SPACE WITH THE SAME EASE AS YOUR SCHOOL, PREACHING, AND BEYOND. ALMOST AS IF THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE ALWAYS MADE FOR. AND IN A WAY, YOU WERE TAKEN IN BY MEMBERS OF THS VATICAN AFTER THE DEMISE OF YOUR PARENTS.

[[[ AT THE ROOT OF IT ALL, YOU ARE THE LIVING EMBODIMENT OF TEMPTATION, A SERPENT ADORNED IN A MASK OF RESPLENDENCE AND DIVINITY, AN EXPERIMENT PUT FORTH BY THE CHURCH. ]]]

LET US MAKE REPLICANTS MANKIND IN OUR IMAGE, IN OUR LIKENESS, SO THEY MAY RULE OVER [US] THE FISH IN THE SEA AND THE BIRDS IN THE SKY, OVER THE LIVESTOCK AND ALL THE WILD ANIMALS, AND OVER ALL THE CREATURES THAT MOVE ALONG THE GROUND.

TLDR; sexy replicant made to take down father thomas. he's sexier younger and cooler than he'll ever be (or this is what the church wants you to believe at least). no one knows he's a replicant though! imagine the scandal that would cause at the church!! whew

— WANTED CONNECTIONS.

ppl to do bad corrupt shit with, a priest shouldn't be doing (sexdrugsrocknroll)

a longshot bc this group is nothing but heathens but mayhaps someone who genuinely believes in father benito ya know

#lawlessintro #— introduction : benito .#lord... here we go #sorry not sorry for the caps. was going for an unbearably preachy measurehead from disco elysium vibe ya know

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freneticfloetry · 5 months ago

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writing patterns

Finally getting around to this — work is nuts, but friends are in town, so life is a double-edged sword. Thanks to @liminalmemories and @walkinginland for the tags!

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

Carlos has never put much stock in superstition. (Buck Up, Cowboy, my installment of the Lire Birthday Project)

TK steps through the front door to the sight of his husband standing at the stove and the smell of something heavenly wafting from the oven, and between his pointedly empty stomach and his perpetually excitable brain, he’s not sure which one seems more delicious. (words to get off his chest)

“Okay,” TK says, frowning up at the underside of his favorite jawline, “I’m confused. I thought there were twelve days of Christmas.” (esta noche es de alegría)

Carlos likes it when it rains at recess. (to build a home)

In theory, this is nothing new. (Past Perfect Future Tense)

There's an endless instant in the grey, straddling the line between sun-bright freedom at his back and the cage of darkness up ahead, when Eliot thinks of his grandmother. (all the things that will be lost now)

Quentin wakes to the smell of cinnamon. (What Baking Can Do)

Eliot Waugh lights a cigarette and lies back with a sigh, artfully arranging himself atop the stone retaining wall that borders Nigel Garity's sprawling estate. (scenes from an unfinished story (told by the lost and found))

"Satisfied?" Robin Chadwick steps out from behind the wardrobe department's folding screen, spreading his arms wide and smirking at his companions for the night. "You got my ass into leather pants." (Variations on a Theme)

The first time he'd ever picked up a guitar, it had nothing to do with music. (Confidence Man)

Man, my tendency to kick things off with a POV character name sure is on full display, isn’t it?

Open tag, because I’m hella late. 😘

#tag games #writing patterns

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psychic-refugee · 1 year ago

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Wednesday was an Addams through and through. They had always danced with Death, never showing fear and even laughed in its face.

Anyone with half a brain would then see why she was so intrigued by Ajax.

Gorgons were a fearsome clan of Outcasts, descendant of the gods themselves but Normies and Outcasts convinced themselves that they were harmless or even docile. All it took was a toque and a charming smile, and everyone forgot that with just his stare, Ajax could stone the entirety of Jericho and Nevermore.

While Stone Sight was temporary at first sight, it was deadly at second sight.

Others didn’t see it, but Wednesday did. They saw the goofy, absent-minded, perpetually high flower, but he was a true serpent underneath, deadly if properly provoked.

Wednesday couldn’t help but be that provocation.

Ajax considered himself a chill guy. He never wanted to make waves, and he wanted to get along with everyone.

When Wednesday had first come to Nevermore, he could not deny her dark beauty any more than he could deny that the sun was bright.

But she was the unattainable, the untouchable rose. Her petals were lovely, but her thorns were fatal.

He had tried to date Enid, but with her inability to control her claws and fear of his snakes, intimacy was impossible, and they parted as amicably as they could.

Xavier had his pride and while he liked Wednesday, he was not one to wait forever and had moved on with a vampire who craved his touch as much as she craved his blood.

Never in a million years did he think he’d ever wake one night to Wednesday climbing into his bed holding black silk ribbons.

He had been in a peaceful sleep until he felt a delicious pressure above him. He slowly awoke to Wednesday above him, straddling his waist. Still half asleep and assuming he was dreaming, he instinctively grabbed onto her and pushed her closer, chasing the heavenly feeling.

Her own gasp of pleasure caused him to become fully awake.

Seeing Wednesday above him in nothing but black panties and a matching bra, he still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t dreaming until she dug her blunted nails down his bare chest.

The combination of the light pain and the pleasure of her on top of him rendered him speechless, she smiled coyly, she knew he would like both.

“What’s happening?” he said breathily, unwilling to stop and she rewarded him by squeezing her thighs tighter.

“What do you want to happen?” she leaned over him, nipping at his lips.

“I…oh gods,” he could only say when she sped up and he could feel her wetness through his boxers. “I don’t want you to stop,” which was the only thing he was for sure of in that moment.

He felt her drag the cool, smooth, silk up his chest, she loosely choked his neck and pulled him to her so that they shared a heated kiss.

She tasted of berries and a promise of darkness.

“Do you trust me?” she asked as she broke the kiss and twisted the silk between her hands.

“You? No,” despite what people thought of him, he wasn’t an idiot.

That was the correct answer, as she smiled widely.

“Then, will you obey?” which was a different question altogether.

He looked at her lips and was starving for more. He looked into her eyes and saw an endless abyss.

He wasn’t stupid, but perhaps he shared the same fascination with Death and couldn’t help but dance to her seductive tune.

“Yes,” was all she needed to hear from him.

She wrapped the black silk around his eyes and tied it tightly. He simply thought she was taking away his sight, and he almost mewled in disappointment since he wanted to drink in her loveliness in the moonlight that flooded his room.

But then he felt her pull at his night cap, and he instinctively went to stop her.

“You said you would obey,” she said with a slight warning in her voice, her motions had slowed but not stopped.

He released her hand and had placed his on her hip, desperate for her to go back to the euphoric pace she had set before. He took the hint, he would not stop her again.

“Good boy,” she whispered in his ear, and he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lips.

Wednesday slid off his cap, releasing the beautiful serpents she thought a crime that he had to hide. The snakes of his hair had hissed in surprise and then slithered to Wednesday. She was charmed by them as they nipped playfully at her fingers.

It heated her blood, the thought of how close she could be to Death. One slip of his blindfold, and one accidental stare into her eyes and she would be no more. She would be frozen in time in a passionate embrace.

It certainly would be an imaginative death.

Ajax lost his virginity to Wednesday that night, obeying her every whim of where to place his hands or where she wanted to leave vivid teeth marks upon his skin.

Some were hurt when she made her claim loud and clear the next day. Some were angry.

Everyone was surprised, but he could not deny that he was hers.

Enid never forgave them, Xavier eventually came around.

Tyler had still been a thorn in her side as well as a stalker. Ajax stoned both of them without remorse.

He smiled when she took a sledgehammer to the two statues for good measure and no small amount of vindictiveness.

There was always the threat of Death between the two of them, neither could resist.

#wednesday addams #ajax petropolus #wentropolus #wentropolus moodboard #don't look at me I'm as surprised as you are #spicy fic inspo

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patchwork-crow-writes · 1 year ago

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32 - Multitudes

You are as mysterious to me as you are beautiful. What delicate mechanisms inspire your graceful movements? What divine forces animate your rarefied thoughts? What is your favourite flavour ice cream...?

Like a mote of light in a fathomless abyss, my piecemeal knowledge of the wonder of you only serves to show the stupefying depths of my ignorance. And the more I learn, the more I wish to know. I would chart the contours of your mountains and vales, delve deep into inky caverns to discover what new and awe-inspiring creatures may dwell there; lose myself in the jungle of your hair, be swept to sea by the force of your currents; to be swallowed up and drowned by the fetid swamp of your deepest, darkest self.

I know the risks well, but the promise of treasures untold, to hold such exquisite things in my hands... how could I refuse such temptation? If such danger must be confronted to know you more fully, then what choice do I have, as your most ardent scholar?

If you would just be still a moment, as I refine this portrait I carry in my heart... each new brushstroke, each splotch of colour a world unto themselves, stanzas in the perpetually-moving poetry that comprises you. Is there any room for me there, amid that churning maelstrom of contradictions, those riotous multitudes?

Be still, please, my subject, while I tease the gossamer layers from your heavenly form, unfurl your godly blueprint out before me and arrange the vital instruments that conspire to grant you life, categorising and naming them as is right and proper. Cause and effect - the scientific method. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. I will know you in your entirety... and with that knowledge will come power.

Maybe then I'll discover why - why I am so drawn to you and all your infuriating inconsistencies, why so much of my inner world is devoted to you, why my vital functions are so dependent upon your continued existence. Which piece of you ties to which piece of me; two halves yearning to be whole; the needle of a compass which points dutifully to its north; a beautiful object and the shadow it casts.

Let me experience the worlds you contain, and I shall know you until the end of time.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 32

<-<-First || <-Prev || Next-> || Index

#writing #fiction #fanfiction #deltarune #Ralsei #kris dreemurr #kralsei #krisei #longing #obsession #love #riffing on the whole “I contain multitudes” idea #and the desire of a lover to know every facet of their beloved #Good and bad #and the impossbility of such a task #Where does such an impulse come from?#This is a bit of a convoluted one #drabble #The Dark Menagerie

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darkness-beyond-ink · 11 months ago

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The Faceless Angel 🪽

In a realm of eternal twilight, there exists an angel, majestic yet faceless. Stripped of identity after a tragic fall from grace, she is condemned to wander amidst the shadows, her visage erased as punishment for an unspeakable sin. Adorned with wings yet bound to the ground, she is a paradox - a being of light trapped in perpetual darkness.

She once served the Creator, singing praises and performing miracles. But she grew curious about the forbidden world of mortals, and secretly descended to explore their joys and sorrows. There, she met a young man who stole her heart, and she gave him a kiss that sealed their fate. For that act of love was a violation of the divine law, and the Creator was enraged. He banished her from the heavenly realm, and cursed her with a mark of shame - a blank face that would never smile or cry again.

Now, she roams the land of dusk, searching for her lost lover, who was also exiled for his crime. She hopes to find him and beg for his forgiveness, for she blames herself for his misery. But she knows not where he is, or if he still lives. She only has a faint memory of his face, the last thing she saw before her own was taken away. She clings to that image, and to the roses he gave her, which have withered like her soul. She is the faceless angel, a lonely wanderer in a world without light.

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 year ago

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A Godly Inheritance by Daniel Wilson

“Giving thanks unto the Father, who has made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light.” – Colossians 1:12

“Meetness” is a suitableness, a fitness for a certain state or certain employments; a disposition of heart, of feeling, of habits, adapted to a certain condition, namely, the society of the saints in light. Meetness is a very different thing from pardon and justification, and the attempt to confound it with them and thus build up man’s merits on the ruin of Christ’s righteousness is the fundamental error of too many of our modern divines.

This meetness is an internal change, gradually produced by the Holy Spirit by the renewing of the soul, which fits and prepares the fallen and corrupt heart of man for holy pleasures, holy duties, and holy society in the heavenly world. By nature we have no meetness, no preparation, no qualification, no congruity, no capacity for partaking of the inheritance of the saints in light. We have not only no right nor title, because we are sinners and have broken the law of God and are under the curse, but besides that, we are excluded by having no taste, no possibility of finding happiness in a holy heaven. We should be out of our element there. It would afford us no gratification. It would be distasteful, incongruous, miserable to us.

There is a “carnal mind” in each of us which is “enmity against God.” There is a will opposed to the divine will. There are affections full of impurity, disorder, perturbation, opposition to holiness. There is an understanding darkened, besotted, “alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in us, because of the hardness of our hearts.” There are false notions attached to the words happiness, pleasure, satisfaction. The business of heaven, the perpetual songs of praise, the incessant contemplation, adoration, love of infinite holiness there exercised, the converse with holy beings, the ceaseless effusions of perfect love to God and his saints would afford us no delight. For “the natural man receives not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him. Neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.” Nor will the offers of the Gospel, nor a profession of belief in it, nor the outward privileges and sacraments of the church, if there be nothing more, make us fit. “No man can come unto me,” says our Lord, “except the Father who has sent me draws him.”

But God makes us meet by the interior operations of his Spirit, with which he is pleased to accompany the preaching of the Gospel. “The Lord opened the heart of Lydia, that she attended to the things spoken by Paul.” “By grace ye are saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God. "Then has God also granted to the Gentiles repentance to life.”

The apostle uses the expression partakers of the inheritance with reference to the division by lot of the land of Canaan to the several tribes and families of Israel. And he intimates that in like manner we are made meet to be partakers, to have our allotted portions, of the inheritance of the heavenly Canaan. Agreeable to this, “Come, ye blessed of my Father,” will be the welcome at last, “inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

This implies what is the truth of the case, that we do not attain the heavenly glory by our own works or doings in the way of merit, but in the way of inheritance–a free gift in consequence of the will and testament of our dying Saviour who purchased the inheritance for us, for which the Father is pleased to fit us and make us meet by the operations of his Spirit.

This inheritance is of the saints in light. The saints are now in much darkness, in sorrow, in heaviness through divers temptations, in troubles, storms, afflictions. Though brought “out of darkness” already “into the marvelous light of the Gospel, compared with the total blindness of the heathen and ungodly, yet they are in so much remaining affliction and sorrow that compared with the glorious light and bliss of heaven their state is a dark one still.

It is only hereafter that they will be saints in light, absolutely and entirely. In joy without intermixture, in felicity without alloy, in light without obscurity, in holiness without defect, in entire freedom from darkness, temptation, sorrow, trouble, change. There the saints will walk in the unclouded light of the beatific vision. "The city will have no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God will lighten it and the Lamb will be the light thereof.”

Seek, brethren, more and more of this meetness. Implore the Father, through the merits of his Son, to vouchsafe you more of the grace of the Holy Spirit to carry on the sanctification of your souls. And let all the afflictions, and sorrows, and comparative darkness of this world have the blessed effect of quickening your desires and anticipations for the unclouded joy and brightness of the next.

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auburniivenus · 1 year ago

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❛ i promise i'll always be here if you need me. ❜ (aesma~)

STEPPING OUT OF THE PAGE INTO THE SENSUAL WORLD. The intricate copulate of demonic beings and angels weaves an unbroken pattern, where each component relies upon its counterpart to create an assemblage both immaculate and ominously diabolical. This cosmic equilibrium, unbeknownst to mortals, governs the fates of realms and echoes through perpetuity.

Demons, in their immeasurable intellect and labyrinthine desires, are forever imprisoned in a fugue of mischief and pandemonium. Their roaring essence pulsates with the energies of both creation and destruction, meting out prosperity or catastrophe as befits the spectral cadre. From these unholy confluences spring forth vicious currents which roil across time and space.

Seraphs, ever poised in their luminous magnificence, uphold supremacy over realms of light and purity. Their radiant wings beat a refrain of celestial harmony that reverberates across the heavens. They unfailingly counterbalance the malign influences of their devilish brethren, ensuring that supreme order is upheld throughout the immutable cosmos.

A delicate performance transpires 'twixt these heavenly beings, defined chiefly by the mores that bind them permanently together. For every demon's guileful machination thwarted by an angel's illuminating touch, another malicious scheme is sure to take its place—driven by that implacable urge to uphold an equilibrium ordained since time immemorial.

To sever this divine symbiosis is to unravel creation itself. Without demons' cunning mischief to maintain darkness in check, what else would there be left for angels' luminous grace to illuminate? Orihime’s light surrounded him, as his darkness cocooned her. “I’m here if you need me too. Because I can’t exist without you, and you can’t exist without me. I need you, and you need me.” Soft timbre uttered, while a gentle inviting palm cupped his hand, recognizing the velvet-like texture.

#( — .:｡✿*┆ answers ❀ ❞ )#my feels I can't rehdjwfvuhjs #because she's light and he's darkness and this is all soooo good #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you hold me without touch ; you keep me without chains┊┊orihime & aesma

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eretzyisrael · 2 years ago

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My magical Seder above the rooftops of Beirut

Zaki Elia cherishes his memories of celebrating the Passover Seder in Lebanon in the 1950s. He wrote this account forty years later in London, where he resettled. Today no Jewish community exists in Beirut. (With thanks: Michelle)

Beirut by night (photo: Paul Saad, Wikimedia Commons)

The time is the mid-Fifties. Abou Jacques and Um Jacques (literally the Father and Mother of Jacques) held the Seder for the whole family. This included us: we were related through the marriage of their elder son Jacques to my Auntie Touné, my father’s favourite sister.

The Seder was on a grand scale and catered for six to seven families. The preparations for it started one month in advance. All the mothers used to go to Um Jacques in a rota of two at a time in order to help prepare the meal.

During that season the Gentiles with their spring cleaning were as busy as the Jews with their Pessah cleaning. In the street we used to live in, Persian carpets were being beaten on the balconies by Kurdish cleaning ladies in zingy dresses. The more beatings reverberated in the streets the closer we came to Pessah. There was a definite sense of ascending hysteria. I was young, and to me it looked epic in scale.

The weather this time of the year was crisp and scrubbed. The last whiffs of orange blossom mingled with the pungent smells of the Med and the many gallons of cleaning fluid.

On the day of The Seder the whole world seemed as good as new.

Dusk settled with the arrival of Uncle Jacques in his shiny black Buick with its polished chromium plated nick-knacks. The effect of an American car in the narrow streets of Beirut was breathtaking. We all glided into the Buick in a cloud of starched cleanliness and Eau de Cologne.

My father always held the cumbersome bouquet of gladioli. Uncle Jacques drove us to his parents’ flat barely three minutes away, but the ride seemed pure magic. The experience of the car was transcendental.

Abou Jacques and Um Jacques lived in the penthouse flat of a 40s building with the monumental feel of a Parisian facade. A heavy modernist wrought iron and glass portal led into a hall with a stupendous mirror on the left and a smaller one on the right. Two steps up and you reached the landing: a lift was inserted in the stairwell of a sweeping, wide staircase climbing all the way up to the fifth floor. Everything was clad in tasteful local marble. Lifts were not common in Beirut of the 50s. The ascenseur’s metal door was imposing, with a vertical slit-like window in its centre, and crowned with a brass plaque depicting in intaglio the world map, overlaid with the brand name of the lift ‘O.T.I.S.’. we fell under its magic spell, that would propel us upward to some heavenly place.

We had to ascend in two batches.

First my mother, my sister and uncle got in the cabin and were heaved up, taking with them the shaft of light that was cast onto the landing. My father, the gladioli and I waited in semi-darkness while watching, in awe, their progress upward. Their arrival was heralded by the light flooding the top floor landing and followed by a gush of ‘Ahlan Wasahlan’ and ‘Hag Sameiah’ that trickled and echoed down the stairwell. That was Um Jacques’ voice. On our arrival, my dad, the gladioli and I were received with the same generous glee.

Um Jacques was a lovely coquettish old lady with a tight and immaculate perm. She always wore little gold earrings mounted with a string of tiny pearls. Whenever she giggled and laughed her gold tooth glinted with happiness. Her dresses were perfectly tailored in summery colours and flowery patterns according to the latest Parisian fashions. She loved wearing the heavy jangling gold bracelet that Abou Jacques gave her a long time ago. Everybody loved her.

Abou Jacques also had a gold tooth, shyly set behind a generous but stiff moustache. He had white hair and was soft spoken with a perpetual expression of contentment and humility. His amber worry beads never left his hands.

The flat was awash with aunts, uncles and cousins of various ages and sizes, greeting and complimenting each other profusely. The crystal chandeliers were ablaze in the two rooms where the Seder table was set straight across both spaces. It was huge. Four white tablecloths were needed to cover the full length.

While the last preparations were being made, my cousins and I would go out onto the terrace to scrutinize the shimmering glitter of the city and spot the lights of the famous seaside hotels: Hotel Excelsior, Palm Beach, St. Georges, Residence, The Normandy. Each one was identified and greeted loudly. We looked upon Beirut as travellers do when taking off or leaving port. Indeed, the terrace felt just like a ship’s deck at night with the same sort of breezy stillness, and muted rumble of departure.

The night was queen. Our eyes were filled with cascading stars and neon lights. From the darkness of the terrace the Seder table spanning both rooms could be seen through three French windows, bursting with so much light, that the walls containing it seemed to dissolve into night. Within this radiant cocoon the Seder table displayed its splendid vanities: Damascene brass work, Bohemian crystals, Louis XVI silver tableware and china crockery festooned the table in balletic rhythms.

As we all settled around the table Abou Jacques would hush us down in order to start the journey from darkest Mitzrayim. We children were more interested in the Haroseth. We read through the Haggadah looking at the pictures, singing the songs, spilling the wine, and cursing the Egyptians; we did not understand much but felt it all the same. Slavery, miracles and redemption mingled in our heads, but the Haroseth was best.

Before the meal started, most of the mothers disappeared into the kitchen led by Um Jacques, and reappeared laden with an abundance of different entrées, beautifully served on an array of big, boat-shaped plates.

All the men were proud, and contented. Compliments were rushing up and down the table. ‘May Peace be upon your hand!’ ‘May we have such feasts at the weddings of your children!’ The meal proceeded noisily with all fathers exchanging jokes and laughter. The profusion of flowers displayed on the sideboard shimmered and quivered to the sound of silver cutlery and joyful eating.

After we consumed the first course, Um Jacques would disappear again into her kitchen while the ladies cleared the table. With the help of one of her daughters-in-law, Um Jacques would reappear with the main course. On a massive silver vessel with big brass handles was enthroned a whole stuffed lamb bedecked with a garland of red flowers round its neck and a young lettuce in its mouth. Its eye sockets were emptied. Everybody applauded. It was awesome and gruesome, delightful and fearful. The epicentre of the meal shifted from Abou Jacques’s to Um Jacques’s end of the table. She unpicked the sown-up belly to release the stuffing of rice and pistachio nuts, and the fragrance of spices would rush out into the room on its way to heaven. ‘Ya Allah!’

Following this mythical meal the Haggadah was read and sung into the small hours of the morning. My cousins and I would grow restive and escape onto the terrace to watch the city. Little did we know what was brewing behind all that glitter. That was 1957. In 1958 the first inkling of trouble surfaced, and Jews began wanting to leave. Half awake and half dreaming of Eliahu Hanavi, our Seder ebbed away gently on the laps of our parents.

My younger sister and I would wake up the next morning not quite understanding how we got in our beds. The first day of Pessah was usually sunny blue with some whiter-than- white clouds and a fresh clean breeze. We made the walk to Synagogue all starched-up and sharp. The soles of our slightly painful new shoes were stiff; they slithered on the grimy cobbles and made us feel above worldly things. We felt new…

The Synagogue was brimming with billowing tallitim that revealed silk ties and crisp suits.

Hanging from the ceiling, above the ark, the crowded row of chiseled brass and silver oil lamps were sparkling with polished newness. Whiffs of burning oil, ‘Old Spice’, old prayer books, and bergamot Eau de Cologne mingled and swirled around. Raucous and out-of-tune singing often drowned the vocal arabesques of the Hazan. I used to watch with wonder as his face turned sweaty and red, and his jugular vein swell over his rigid collar as he reached his top notes.

At the end of the service, the open air forecourt of the Synagogue swarmed with all the ‘Messieurs et Mesdames’, uncles and aunts, the grannies, the grandpas, the cousins, the friends – all in a riot of taffeta, lace, nylon and rayon, silk flower corsages, gold and fake jewellery, fezzes, stilettos and shiny shoes. It was peacock time!

Soon after, the crowd would part again for the traditional Pessah Ziarat or visits. The Ziarat were a sort of communal walk-about, punctuated by well-wishing stopovers at all the friends and relations’ homes. Mothers and older daughters tended to the visitors; fathers and younger children did the visiting. The first two days of Pessah were open days for all.

The Jewish community fanned out for just half a mile around ‘Wadi Abou Jamil’, the local Jewish Lower East Side.

My father used to lead us patiently through the intricate web of walkways, steps and courtyards that rambled in and out of the main street, up dingy stairs to this friend, down stone-covered paths to that cousin. We were served salted nuts, mulberry or fruit syrup drinks and all sorts of almond and coconut sweetmeats. Everywhere we visited was neat, spanking clean and adorned with scented flowers.

Outside, in the clear spring sunlight, everybody moved around at a gentle pace (the new shoes began taking their toll) . Fathers waved to each other from across the street. The whole city resonated with warm greetings and farewells: ‘May we see you again in days of happiness!’

Thirty-eight years later, the Beirut Jews scattered across the globe in the successive waves of Middle Eastern convulsions.

#Jews of Lebanon #Judeo-Arab culture

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mask131 · 2 years ago

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Dante’s Hell: The Midlands of Hell

X) The City of Dis

The City of Dis is one of the biggest landmarks of Dante’s Hell. It is the midpoint of the infernal realm, marking the delimitation between the Upper Hell (with the sins of Incontinence we saw), and the Lower Hell where people are sent for the sins of “Malice”. That is to say sins, crimes and actions perpetrated not out of blinding emotions or excessive desires, but out of a cold, calculating, conscious logic, sins committed with the full thought and intent of doing crimes, of harming people, of doing evil things – evil by choice, rather than evil by moral weakness. The City itself is a great and terrifying sight: great walls of iron behind which rises glowing mosques and towers, all buildings burning bright red like hot, recently forged metal – for in this infernal city burns a perpetual and internal fire that never stops, and that is so bright it is actually the only source of light brightening up the lower circles of Hell, which would be plunged in darkness without it. [For the name of this infernal city, Dante used again a Roman mythology reference – Dis was both the name of the underworld where the dead dwelled in ancient Roman culture, and the name of the god ruling over it, also called Dis Pater, the same way the Greeks called “Hades” both the underworld and its god-ruler).

Upon arriving by boat (through Phlegyas) in front of the great walls of the burning Dis, our duo meets some resistance. The citizens of Dis, who are all “fiendish angels”, aka fallen angels and demons, refuse to let Dante pass through their city, because he is a living and does not belong among the dead – they tell him to go back all on his own through the Upper Hell. Alone, because while they allow Virgil to pass through their doors, they make it clear they will keep him locked in Dis for perpetual torment. While Dante is very frightened by these threats, Virgil is not. So far all of the “staff” of Hell has been hostile towards them (Charon refusing to let Dante climb in his poet, Minos and Pluto/Plutus trying to scare Dante away, Cerberus attempting to devour the travelers…), and each time Virgil invoking the fact that the journey they are undertaking was ordered by the forces of Heaven themselves worked enough to bend the will of these beings. But this time… it doesn’t work. After Virgil reminds the demons of Dis that they are sent here by God and that it is the will of the most powerful forces of Paradise, the fallen angels just slam the doors of Dis in Virgil’s face and lock them out, refusing them access to the Lower Hell. As a result, Virgil decides to call forth back-up – Heavenly forces that will come down to teach a lesson to these “insolent demons”.

Virgil reassures the frightened Dante with various stories – for example he explains how the demons also tried blocking the entrance of Hell to Jesus Christ as he died, back at the Gate of Hell, but couldn’t keep him out ; and he also reveals the reason why he knows so much about Hell despite being a soul of the First Circle – a witch named Erichtho once used necromancy to submit his spirit and send it fetch the soul of another sinner, into the “pit of Judas”, lowest and darkest place of Hell, so this is why he knows the way. This story-telling time is brutally interrupted by the arrival of three of the most terrifying denizens of Dis – the Furies or Erynies from Greco-Roman mythology, here depicted as female entities covered in blood, wearing hydras as belts, wth snakes instead of hair, constantly shrieking and self-harming themselves. The Furies, from the top of one of Dis towers, call forth another terrifying monster, Medusa the Gorgon, and order her to turn to stone the living being that dares attempting to enter in their realm. Virgil covers Dante’s eyes to protect him from the petrifying appearance of the Gorgon, but hopefully the back-up from Heaven arrives: in a loud, exploding noise of wild storm, an angel arrives above the Styx, crossing the mists of the marshes, all the damned souls of the sinners of wrath fleeing in terror in front of this holy being, who walks on the Styx’s water without being wet, and with just one move of the hand pushes back all the putrid air far away from him. Armed with a wand, the angel touches the gates of Dis, which open on their own, and then he promptly berates the fallen angels of the city for trying to oppose the will of God. Without a word or even a look for the protagonist, the angel then returns to Heaven, his duty done. [In this passage there are several mentions of Greek heroes that went into the Underworld, and who apparently also existed in this version of Hell – from the Furies who want to destroy Dante because they made the mistake of sparing Theseus when he tried to snatch Persephone away, to the angel reminding them of how Hercules made his own way through the Underworld by dragging Cerberus away, leaving even today the hair/skin of the beast’s chin and throat is “peeled off clean”. ]

[A second interesting parallel here is that… Here the three Erynies/Furies appear to block Dante’s path into Hell. But at the beginning of the poem, before Dante entered Hell, we learned that this travel through the afterlife was decided and approved by three celestial women who organized everything in Heaven: Beatrice, Dante’s lover, Saint Lucy, and the Virgin Mary herself. So there is a play here on the two trios of celestial and infernal female entities.]

As a last note: the reason mosques are said to be part of Dis’ architecture, is because at the time of Dante, the Muslims were the main enemies of the Christians, and Islam the main threat to Christianity, so of course Dante would place their religious architecture as part of the “city of Hell”, the very opposite of the “city of God” imagined by Saint Augustine.

XI) The Sixth Circle

Interestingly, beyond the walls-towers of Dis, there isn’t an actual city… But the Sixth Circle itself, which is apparently the same thing as Dis. And what does this sixth circle looks like? A giant cemetery. A landscape of sepulchers and graves modeled after the Ancient Roman cemeteries (such as those of Arles or Pola) – except that here each grave has its lid slightly pushed to the side, to reveal what is within them… flames. The same bright, eternal, burning fire that lit up Dis itself – the hottest fire one will ever see. And lying within these graves of fire and stones… are the Heretics, the sinners of this Circle.

The more “heretic” they are, the stronger the fire of the flame will burn ; the lesser “heretic” they were, the lesser the fire is. But what is an “heretic”? I want to briefly define that, because there is a widespread misconception that “heresy” means “not being part of the Christian religion”. That is false, there is a clear divide between “heresy” and “paganism”. “Paganism” is all the religions that are not Christian, and thus considered “wrong” religions. “Heresy” is rather doctrines and beliefs held or created by Christians themselves, but which oppose themselves to the official dogma of the Church and canons of the religion. This is basically the “non-canon” content of the Christian religion, which was fiercely and furiously hunted down throughout the Church’s history. An ancient Babylonian worshipping their god wasn’t considered an heretic, but a pagan. However if a Christian priest started a cult centered around how Jesus was a dog disguised as a human, he would be an “heretic”. There is a lot of “heresies” that the Church denounced, opposed and fought, ranging from belief debates to little political details – some of the most famous including the Arians (who considered that Jesus was not divine in nature, the son of God yes, but a mere man) ; the Marcionites (who believed that the God of the Ancient Testament wasn’t the same as the one of the New Testament), the Cathars (who thought the physical and material world was created by evil itself, and that God and good could only be found in the spiritual and immaterial world), or the Nestorians, that considered that Jesus the Christ wasn’t the Son of God, and that the Son of God was a separate character…

Dante here, however, only focuses on one particular kind of “heresy” – the Epicureans and affiliated heresies. This will probably confuse you, because the Epicurean were Greek philosophers of the Antiquity, and thus should be considered “pagans”, right? But that’s forgetting that the Christian Church saw the Greek philosophers (such as Aristotle) as proto-Christians, who had managed to find the basic truths and principles of Christianity before the Christ was even born (which is why Dante uses a moral system based on Aristotle and Cicero for his Christian Hell). One of those was the belief in the existence of an afterlife, and the immortality of the souls. But the Epicureans rather believed that there was no afterlife, no immortality of the soul, that the death was a final thing destroying both body and mind, and as a result they said that one should focus on happiness and pleasures in the living and material life, without any regard for a possible “after-life”. This led to the Christian Church deeming them as “heretics” even though they were pagans – and indeed, several other Christian heresies also held the idea that “heaven was on earth” and there was no afterlife to look for past the death of the body.

This is why the punishment of the Heretics is to be forever stuck into graves: those that denied the existence of a life after death or the immortality of the soul are now entombed forever as “living corpses”. In a more general way, the whole point of the Christian religion is that the Christ promised that the deceased would be free of the grave, by accessing a new existence in an afterlife or heaven – and here, the Heretics are simply stuck forever in a cemetery, never “delivered from the grave”. There is only one other type pf heresy mentioned explicitly by Dante – the heresy of Acacius, that denied that Jesus’ birth was divine in any way, and claimed that he was born like a mortal man, solely and exclusively out of mortal parents.

In this Circle, Dante has more chats and talks with the damned, again mostly about the conflict of the Guelfs and the Ghibellines, but we do learn a few interesting things. For example we have here a clarification of the knowledge of the damned: once in Hell, the shades have a full knowledge of the past and of the future, which allows them to understand a lot of things and deliver prophecies. BUT they actually do not have access to the present or the immediate times around their death. In their own words, they perceive it as if they had “faulty visions”, which explains why several of the sinners Dante meets ask him for information about certain person and certain events, while also delivering him prophecies about what will happen. But this immense knowledge, a form of “gift” of those damned souls, will disappear upon Judgement Day – those sent back to Hell upon their last, eternal punishment, still blind to the present, will have no more future to look into since time itself will end, and slowly their knowledge of the past will fade away into oblivion, leaving them in absolute emptiness…

[Interestingly, throughout the travel of the Sixth Circle, there are references to a mysterious queen of Hell that never actually happens. The Erynies already were presented as the “handmaids of the queen of timeless woe”, here clearly referring to Proserpine, the queen of the underworld and wife of Pluto ; but one of the sinners of Heresy refers to fifty cycles of the moon in the living world as “fifty times the face of the queen who reigns down here will glow”, rather depicting the queen of Hell as Hecate, known as the Greek goddess of both the moon and the dead. So it seems there is a sort of Proserpina/Hecate amalgam somewhere in Dante’s Hell.]

As they approach the next abyss leading to Lower Hell, Dante and Virgil have to stop due to an extremely powerful stench making them sick. As they rest, Virgil explains to Dante the whole moral and ethical logic behind the system of Hell, that I already talked about. Virgil explains how those “outside of the fiery cities”, the sinners of the Upper Hell, are those of incontinence – who through their moral incontinence earned God’s wrath, but offended him the least and “merits the least blame” compared to the other sinners – those of the Lower Hell, the sinners of malice, who acted with “injustice” as their sole endgoal, and who committed their malice either through violence or fraud. Now, while Virgil doesn’t explicitly says it, he purposefully leaves out Heresy and the circle they are in from both the Upper Hell of Incontinence and the Lower Hell of Malice – because heresy is actually a strange in-between, there is not done with the purpose of doing evil like Malice, but isn’t either related to natural human emotions and desires like Incontinence, and thus stands in a strange in-between, in the very midway of Hell.

[It is actually quite unclear where the City of Dis ends… the flaming tombs of the Sixth Circle are clearly said to be directly beyond and within the Walls of Dis, and that the burning city lights up the darkness of the Circles below, so for some Dis is just the Sixth Circle and its protecting walls – but other times, the characters speak and imply that basically Dis is the ENTIRETY of Lower Hell.]

#dante #inferno #hell #dis #city of dis #circles of hell #sixth circle #heresy #dante alighieri #the divine comedy #furies #gorgon

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