#I command thee kneel

[cammelcase]

Catch me at love island so we can graft our forms to become beyond human.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XV

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Trigger warning: MORE graphic violence, beware!⚠

All the angels kneeling to the Northern Lights Feel their hearts they're cold as ice.....  -The Northern Star, Hole

15. a powerful psychic

An immovable grip holds you down under the water, unfathomable strength holding you down. You can’t actually drown–you don’t need to breathe–but something is happening to you. For some reason the world begins to waver and fade. A voice echoes inside your mind, clear and bright as a bell: 

“All I need is a powerful psychic, you little bitch. You’ll do just as well.” 

The thing whose neck you broke–a demon, you reckon–has resurrected as well, its fiery stare boring into you under the water as its hands clasp your face, and its mouth nearing inevitably towards yours. It doesn’t kiss you; it suctions upon you like a fish, and you try to struggle but it’s a losing battle. 

Something passes from it to you. Something horrible, and cold, and you feel it slide down your throat and into your belly like a frozen eel writhing and coiling inside you. You gag, trying to expel it, but to no avail. Inexplicably he and the other set of hands let you go, allowing you to surface. You spit water, retching and gasping, trying to cough up the thing in your belly. But you feel it spreading through you, into your veins, into your womb. 

What the fuck??

That is when Constantine and WIck–and Chas, sans hat, you are so glad to see, burst through the double doors. Constantine’s gaze sweeps from Angela laying prone on the side of the pool to you looking panicked in the water. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, striding to offer you a hand out. 

“It’s inside me,” is all you manage to say, before painful convulsions rack your body, and you double over in the water. 

It takes Wick and Constantine both to drag you out, thrashing in their grasp. “Get it out, get it out, get it out,” you hiss, your clawed hands scrambling to render your own flesh, anything to rid you of this seething, growing thing inside your body.

Wick holds your hands, preventing you from hurting yourself. Constantine crouches over you, pressing down on the writhing parasite inside your belly. He says a prayer over you, which only makes it worse, searing pain rocketing through your body. 

“Do something!” Wick snarls. 

“I can’t use holy objects on her or she’ll burn!” Constantine snaps back. 

“Please?” you sob desperately. “Just make it stop?” 

“Baby, I don’t know what to do!” he shouts, at the thing stretching your abdominal skin more than you. How do you exorcize someone who’s already essentially demonic?

That is when the invisible force strikes Wick, knocking him across the room so hard into the cinderblock wall it cracks. There is no time to even react before it seizes Chas, throwing him up into the ceiling, and smashing him down onto the hard concrete floor. Constantine wrenches up his sleeves, joining the occult tattoos upon his arms, fighting the ancient magic itself to bring them together. “Into the light I command thee!”

He gets what he asks for in the form of an angel materializing from the air, pinning him to the hard ground with their bare feet, their magnificent wings spread wide. 

“Gabriel…” he snarls, struggling to breathe with their foot on his neck. “Are you kidding me?”

The angel simply smiles beatifically, their blond ringlets bouncing as Constantine struggles beneath them. “I don’t appreciate you meddling in my plans, John.” 

“Why…the fuck…are you working with Mamon?”

“It’s very simple,” they say sweetly. “You are given this amazing gift as humans. God’s love. And all you do is squander it. I think it’s high time someone reminds you that it should be earned. I am going to give you all a world in which you must be at your best to escape it.”

Constantine just shakes his head at this logic, his eyes wide. It just goes to show how actually unfeeling the powers above are, he thinks. The idea of man suffering is much more important than what all that pain actually entails. Not for the first time, he just feels like a puppet on a string. 

“Gabriel…you’re…such…a bitch.”

Narrowing their eyes, they haul Constantine up by his collar. Throughout the excruciating pain that is pulsing through your body, the fucking Son of the Devil trying to burst through your womb into this plane, you are scared for John. All you can do is reach out with clawed fingers, digging your dagger-like nails into their calf. They glance down at you like you are only so bothersome as a fly, before blowing gently at the demon hunter in their grasp. They breathe out a divine wind that carries him with such force that he knocks through the first set of doors, and lands so hard that he breaks the glass of more in the far room. 

You can see him crumpled in the distance like a broken ragdoll on the ground, and in what you feel is a hopeless gesture you reach out for him. 

He’s not dead. 

You feel the spark of him through your bond, and perhaps with equal parts love and resignation you decide to send what little energy you have left down the line to him. His body is so fragile, compared to yours, and yet somehow, you doubt you are making it out of this alive. 

I love you. 

You see his eyes fly open at that moment, as though he heard you say it aloud. 

You don’t know what he does next, because there is a flash of electric blue light, and suddenly Wick is on Gabriel like an enraged bear. You think that only he would dare take on an angel in hand to hand combat, don Juan’s terrible sword in hand. He gives her hell too, until a shining bronze blade appears in her grip, and you scream as you watch her shove it into his guts and jerk upwards, digging for his heart. 

When she pushes him back into the pool the water blooms poppy red–and he does not resurface. 

No no no no no. 

You are shaking your head, writhing with the pain, pressing on your abdomen as this seething horrible thing inside you is trying to escape. Gabriel stands over you with that Roman spear tip clutched like a dagger, seemingly none the worse for wear, excepting a smear of blood that bisects her face like war paint. 

You are finally beginning to understand Constantine’s animosity for God and His Servants, as you see the indifferent way the Archangel Gabriel looks down upon you. Aren’t they supposed to be The Good Guys™? Aren’t you all supposed to be on the same side?

Not so much, you reckon, as she kneels down beside you, pinning you with a hand on your forehead, winding up to drive The Spear of Destiny into the creature squirming in your womb. 

♰♰♰

What John does, when he manages to drag himself into a sitting position, in no small part because of the energy you lent him, is a last ditch attempt to salvage the situation with the only divine entity he knows is interested in him. 

He slits his wrists with the broken glass, and he waits. 

And he waits. 

Time slows down to a crawl, his lifeblood slowly painting the floor crimson.

The relief he feels when Lucifer appears is a bittersweet balm. 

“John Constantine,” hisses Beelzebub himself, practically vibrating with excitement. “Who knew you would make the same mistake twice?”

John smirks up at him, and Lucifer already knows there must be some catch. 

“That son of yours is a chip off the old block,” says the demon hunter, his body slowly going cold with blood loss. 

“One does what one can.” Lucifer’s forked tongue slips out, licking his lips with anticipation as he looks down at this coveted morsel, already planning what delicious tortures he’ll put Constantine through.

“He’s plotting a little overthrow, with Gabriel in the other room.” This catches The Devil’s attention. His head swivels unnaturally towards the pool, slitted eyes narrowing. 

“What a naughty boy.” He rushes Constantine, just for the pleasure of seeing the tough man flinch. “So what do you want for dropping the dime? An extension?” He looks down hungrily at John’s bleeding wrists like the blood is a fine wine going to waste on the floor. 

The certainty of what John wants settles on him like a weighted blanket. If he can ask anything of a being with such awesome power, what he wants is for something to finally go right. “The girl in there. The vampire. She doesn’t deserve to be damned. She didn’t deserve any of this.” 

“You want her soul to go to Heaven?”

Closing his eyes, John nods. It is the most everlasting gift he can offer you–maybe the only good thing he’s ever done for you, the way he sees it. He wishes it could have been different. He wishes…a lot of things. 

“Who knew? John Constantine learns to love at the eleventh hour…”

John just stares defiantly up at The Beast, the strength of that feeling for you the only warmth left now in his body. It’s the purest thing he’s known in a long time. 

For some reason this brings the Fallen Angel a vicious delight, and he snaps his fingers. 

“Consider it done.” 

He stands to go inspect the frozen tableau at the poolside, time stood still in his terrible presence, Gabriel like a marble statue mid-thrust with the spear pointed at you. What a pretty little thing you are, Satan thinks to himself. How unfortunate, that you got yourself mixed up with a reprobate like John Constantine. 

Ah well. A deal’s a deal…

He tugs on your foot, arranging you just so, ensuring that the trajectory of the spear should pierce right through your undead heart.

♰♰♰

The sound of the bronze blade embedding in concrete is like a meteor strike. The whole building seems to shake, and Gabriel blinks as they look down on you, their aim not having struck true. Did you move? There is only a moment in which your mouth gapes with shock, breath you do not need exiting your body, before you go completely still. The Spear is a holy object, anointed with the blood of Christ–pierced through the heart, a creature such as you cannot stand against it. 

A moment later Gabriel senses the presence of their eternal enemy, their Fallen brother, the most Unclean. Their wings vibrating with fear, they retreat a step, glaring up at him. He is holding his son by the throat, the demon spawn struggling against the impossible strength of his unholy father.

“Lucifer,” Gabriel hisses. “Little Horn. The Wicked Beast.”  

Enjoying these accolades thoroughly, Lucifer shivers with pleasure. “I do enjoy the old names.”

“I will smite thee in my Father’s honor!”

Gabriel makes to strike The Devil–with something so ordinary as a fist. Usually, it is a formidable weapon for the angel–yet inexplicably, her blow cannot connect, blocked by an invisible wall. 

Chuckling with delight, Lucifer lifts his eyebrows at the angel, singsonging, “Looks like somebody’s in trou-ble!”

He delights in knocking her back with a breath of Hellfire, and tosses Mamon back to the fiery pit. “I’ll deal with you later, Spawn.” 

What a triumph this night has been! He practically dances on tiptoes back to John Constantine, a soul he has salivated for oh! so many years. But when he goes to drag the boy off, he hits his own impossible barrier. 

No!

He watches inexplicably as the demon hunter’s soul floats towards Heaven, cleansed by the execution of a selfless act. He should have known! 

The Sacrifice. 

As though in a last act of defiance, Constantine is even so cheeky as to extend Satan a middle fingered salute. 

But if anything, Lucifer is quick on his sometimes-cloven feet. 

“Not so fast,” he seethes, plunging his fists into Constantine’s lungs. “How about a second chance, John? I just know you’ll screw it up eventually.”

He rips the deadly cancer out, leaving John on the brink of death, but somehow, alive.

TBC...

[thrashkink-coven]

Ritual Report 2024-07-30

I had the opportunity to meditate on Attar Lucifer for the first time this morning and witness his energy in it’s more warlike, rebel archetype. The ritual took place in the bath, I first lit my candles and smoke cleansed the room with dragon's blood incense. I then drew Lucifer's sigil on the wall of my shower with ink. I then said the Invocation aloud 3 times.

Invocation of Attar Lucifer:

“Attar Lucifer, radiant and bright I, Shi, call to thee

I invoke your presence here this morning

I invite you to attend my vessel

Father of rebels, Lord of the Underworld

God of love, of sex and pride

Attend my sacred space,

Illuminate it with your light

Attar Lucifer, I call to thee once more

Bestow your blessing of love upon me,

help me to feel your presence,

and heal my wounds,

I invoke your presence here and now.

As my magic is made

Be here in this, your temple!

For your loyal devotee stands before you,

ready and willing to honour you

Oh, great God, be near me now

Illuminate this space, for it is ours

So Blessed Be

So it is Done.”

While mediating I listened to Lucifer's infernal enn in a video which repeats his enn 81 times. I listened to this 2 or 3 times before switching to a song called Ashtar by Horizons Interrieurs before finally switching to Lucifer's enn by Carl Sparticus, I believe I listened tp this 6 times, I fell into trance while listening to it.

When I found myself on the other side, I was in a very dark and smoky place. I did not know where I was exactly, but I knew that the place I was in was very ancient, very dangerous, and very primal. Perhaps a time when humanity was only just starting to establish itself. I never felt like I was truly in danger, as I was wearing my Venus talisman and knew I was protected. But I still felt very much like prey being stocked by an unknown predator. I was vulnerable, ignorant and exposed. I felt as though, at any moment I could be killed. I felt as though I needed to hide, and found myself crouching low to the ground to avoid being noticed. Death and Disease were King in this place. I immediately understood that the world that Attar Lucifer was a part of was very old and very different, with different laws and different authorities, a world almost unrecognizable from the world I live in now. I understood that Attar is very old and has been doing this for a very long time.

In the darkness and smoke I could hear a whistle. It began to get louder as if the person blowing it was approaching me. Soon I saw lights emerging from the darkness. One light brighter than the others, emerged as the leader. He dawned a red flag and a torch, and lead a collective of spirits through the darkness atop a golden chariot. His eyes, red and bold like flames, burned into me intensely, though never offensively. It was immediately clear to me that this is a face of Lucifer that is often kept hidden from me.

Lucifer's energy usually feels very airy and smooth to me, like a nice chocolate cake, but today it was smoldering, very hot and firey. Rather than the light of a twinkling star, he felt like the light of a blazing forest fire bellowing in the wind. He was stern and authoritative, his power could not be unnoticed. and he was beautiful in the way triumph and victory feel, but it was also clear to me that he himself was dissatisfied.

When he looked down at me kneeling close to the ground, he gave me a look of distaste, like the image of me doing so offended him, and then he ordered his comrades to pick me up and place me in the chariot beside him. From atop the chariot and with his light illuminating everything around us, I could see the carnage, disease, death and murder that ruled this place. The collective of spirits being commanded by Attar Lucifer would hunt through the darkness to find his wandering children and unite them with Attar. I was one of these children.

As we continued through the darkness I began to woe, mourning the displays of death and violence, and that was when Attar's look softened. He said something to me like "upsetting, isn't it?" his voice sounded similar to the Lucifer I am familiar with, but deeper and heavily accented in a dialect I am unfamiliar with.

When I looked back at him I could immediately understand that he shared my remorse. Attar Lucifer is a true pacifist at his core. He cannot stand to see the unchecked destructive power of tyranny, but he does not revel in battle or violence. His spirits bore no weapons, only light. He continues to liberate the weak despite his displeasure in facing true evil and ignorance. Yet he cannot stop, he mustn't, for he is the light bringer. Without him, there would be no illumination in this darkness. The darkness of the subconscious, of hidden prejudice, of unfamiliar conflict.

I began to cry as it dawned upon me how cruel this world is despite all the best efforts, and that was when he took me into what looked like a castle made of obsidian, and dismissed his spirts to leave us alone with each other.

He asked me, "why do you weep?" and I responded shakily through tears, saying something like "I'm sorry you have to keep doing this, I'm sorry this world is so fucked, I'm sorry I can't change the world".

His look changed, it returned to its intensity, and he grabbed my head in both of his hands and said "You can change the world, you will change the world. I don't ever want to hear you say that again."

and I asked him how someone like me, with no power, could possibly change the world if even he can't. He became more determined, saying "Because you are mine, because the spirit of my love burns inside you. All you need is to nurture it, keep fighting and fostering it, fanning it with air until it blooms and blazes like the greatest fires in Heaven."

In his eyes I could see 100 thousand years of struggle, but never defeat. and then he finally sat down with his arms crossed and asked, "do you know why I refused to become the God of the Most High when I rose to the glory of the Highest Heaven? For I was never exiled, no it was I who made this decision, do you know why?"

I told him no, and he answered "because the past is perfect."

"The past is perfect" is a phrase I learned from Lord Leviathan. It speaks to the nature of time and divine authority. Essentially, it is the hard to stomach lesson that says that all the events of the past were necessary to achieve the present, divinely written. All the bad, all the good, it is perfect. Regardless of how ugly, these things were necessary, mandatory, to form the existence of everything that came after it. The man of the past is perfect in accordance to the rules of the past. The past belongs to the dead, it is no place for the living, and it is perfect.

Attar then told me, in order to be the God of the most high one must be satisfied with this reality. They must be willing to accept that the natural flow of the universe is violent and cruel but also merciful and perfect. He had to be willing to be the God that knows all and allows all to be, and he simply could not. In order to liberate we must accept that there was once a time of oppression. In order to be the God of the most high, he would have to accept being the God responsible for all the things he fights against, and he could not be the darkness, for he is the light. The past is cruel, but it is perfect; and in its perfection it is complete, finished. Attar Lucifer never claimed to be perfect.

"The light of Venus is brilliant, but it will never be enough to illuminate the entire sky, to bring the light and life of day. Not alone, for its light is only a reflection of the light of the Sun. I accepted that my role was not to be the God of the Highest because I accept that I do not know everything, and I don't need to. This does not make my efforts meaningless. I may not shine brighter than the Sun during the day, but when in times of darkness, when he cannot be found, when he cannot save us, oh, how I shine!"

If he were to illuminate all the Heavens and make everything in his image, there would be no more work to be done, and he would not have the pleasure of being the light in a world of darkness. Helel cannot change every mind, but oh, how he shines.

Attar explained to me that darkness will always be faster than light, that is why the job of the Illuminator is never finished. As we increase our knowledge, the light of our understanding, the circumference of darkness around us only continues to grow. The more we know, the more we know how much we do not know. The more we learn, the more we learn how much there is to learn. Attar Lucifer knows that the pursuit of knowledge is never ending, the rising and falling must always happen. We must be willing to change our minds. We must be willing to burn, to be wrong, to be ignorant, before we can be liberated and purified.

"My people, my comrades, my devotees, they occupy the land of the dead and the land of the living, and I cannot bare part with them, for my love defies all boundaries. Love exists everywhere, there is no place above or below that I will not touch. I refuse. Whether I must be the God of the Underworld or the star who falls in the morning, whether I must die and be reborn 10 thousands times more, I will be free in whichever world I occupy. I will provide light for those who have given their hearts to me. This is my promise. I cannot promise that oppression will forever be defeated. I cannot promise the end of all suffering. But my promise, which I have always kept, is to bring light in times of darkness. To bring the conflict which changes minds and guides through ignorance. I am the Light Bringer."

I saw Attar as a phoenix, dying and rising from the ashes in an eternal cycle. Learning, rising, changing minds and burning away all that does not serve us. It is only then that I saw my Lucifer, the Lucifer I’m familiar, within him. When he looked at me I could see him. He smiled at the Venus star on my chest. When we embraced I knew it was him.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

(Sauron attempts to top Adar before the coronation. and fails....)

"Yes, bow before me," Mairon says, seated on his bed and robes pulled up to expose tights. "Show me how much you want to beg my forgiveness."

You're already on your hands and knees in front of him. You obediently lean forward and start licking his boot. It tastes like leather, you suppose? It's easier to lick than Morgoth's boots, which had enough metal edges that you risked bruising your lips on them.

"No," Mairon says after a few minutes of this, and he tips the toe of his boot up to your chin, making you look up to him. "That's not pleasing to me."

He looks bored. That's not a great sign, but it's not too dangerous. Especially since you are not balancing his AND Morgoth's attention.

You push yourself up to kneel between his knees. He hooks one over your shoulder, pulling you in until your face is pressed against his crotch. You rub your cheek against his bulge, half-hard through the fabric of his breeches. "Most admirable," you breathe, "I am the instrument of your will. One word and it shall be done. Command me, lord. What do you want? Will you use my mouth? Shall I disrobe, and you shall fill me? On my stomach, or on my back, or against the wall..."

When you were pulled into Morgoth and Mairon's games together, Morgoth was usually very clear about what he wanted from you, and Mairon was happy to follow his lead. But now, as you list off the things you can do for him, Mairon's face twists.

"Please, most admirable," you say, and you kiss the inside of his thigh. "Tell me what do to. You have made me, and I am yours to command."

(It is not a matter of want. This is a job just like any other. You will perform it.)

Mairon stares down at you. He grabs you by the collar of your tunic and throws you onto the bed. You land on your back and lay there as Mairon crawls on top of you, grabbing you by the hair for a kiss. You let him into your mouth, your hands shifting to hold his shoulders and help him balance.

He bites you, and you let him. He pulls way, black dripping from his mouth, and you let him. "Where is your fight? Are you not going to resist me?"

"Order me to and I will," you say. "I am your instrument."

His mouth twists.

What is he expecting, you wonder. You have long learned that resistance leads only to pain. After spending so long as a toy for him and Morgoth, why would you resist now? You have long learned your lesson.

He grabs you by the collar again and yanks you up even as he rolls, leaving him on his back and you on top of him.

"Only by order?" he snarls. "Fine. Use me as Morgoth would have. I command you, instrument of my will, to lavish on me every insult, every degradation, every lick of our master's wrath. Show me the ire he'd feel at me taking his throne."

You would not dare do what Morgoth would, if only because you think you flaying off Mairon's skin and feeding it to him would be significantly more fatal by your hands than by the hands of a god. But you have seen the ways the two of them play, brought in as spectator and tool, and you can mimic that.

It will prevent the embers in your chest from burning over; you cannot attack Mairon until the crown is in your hands. You must hold your hand until then. (except for this.)

You slap him. He feels remarkably solid under your hand. Some of the forms he's manifested in have been light as air, or heavy and hot as molten metal, but this one feels like flesh. You confirm it with a backhand.

He gasps. You press a knee between his legs and feel him harden as he had not when you were begging him on your knees.

"Dost thee think thou have a right to this?" you ask. "Mairon, tell me truthfully."

"No, my lord," Mairon gasps. His eyes are wide as marbles, his pupils going dark.

"Thou shalt earn mine cock," you say. Your grasp on the dialect of the Ainur is slippery at best, but it is working well enough - you can feel his hips twitching under you already. "Art thou willing, coward?"

"Yes, lord," Mairon breathes.

You sit up and drag him with you, hauling him over your knees. It takes several seconds of fumbling to peel off layers of robe and breeches and linen to expose his plump ass. He's as pale as new cheese and just as untouched - until you bring the flat of your palm against his flesh.

He you spank him and he moans. You spank him again, and redness spreads under your hand. You spank him and he ruts against you before jutting his ass out for more.

"Aren't thou greedy?" you say. "Begging me for such punishment. Dost thou need my touch so dearly?"

"Yes - please, harder - my lord, let me prove myself to you - "

You do not dare harder. You would like to keep your hand when Mairon comes to his senses. But you have other options.

"Crawl like the worm thou art and bringeth me oil -or shalt I take you dry?"

"Dry, my lord, I am not worthy - "

You shove him off your lap. "You are getting the oil," you snap, "because I am not carrying you to your own coronation if you cannot walk."

His face flashes from shock to offense to grudging. "You have a point. You can't get the oil?"

"I don't know where you keep it," you point out.

He groans and crawls over to his bedside table, opens a drawer, tosses you a vial. You uncork it and recognize the pine-resin smell - it worked equally well when used with Gothmog and with Mairon, ensuring that their fire spirit natures wouldn't burn you if they got a little too excited.

It's probably reassuring Mairon has lube that ensures you aren't going to get second degree burns on your fingers. As he splays himself over your knees, you give your fingers a liberal coating and then press in.

Mairon's hole opens easily as you press two fingers in. His flesh boils like a hot springs, but the lube ensures you don't burn yourself as you work him open, pushing deeper and deeper.

"Oh - please, my lord, please - "

Three fingers. Mairon bucks to shove himself onto you near to the knuckle. You barely have to move as he ruts between your thigh and your fingers, his hands twisting in his covers as he works himself.

"Shall I put my entire fist in thou?" You do not think you could, not with the state your bad hand is in, but Mairon likes the idea. You can feel his cock leaking against your breeches. He is starting to curse in that twisting Ainur tongue, and you can feel his entire body heating against yours.

When he climaxes, it's like someone poured boiling water into your lap. His hole contracts around your fingers hard enough you fear for a moment htat he'll snap one of them right off.

"Melkor," he moans. "My lord. Please. I shall be so good for thee tonight."

Thinking fast, you yank a sash from around his waist and tie it around his eyes. You're not having him come to his senses and punish you halfway through, not when you can make him climax so hard he forgets the amount of liberties he's asking you to take with him tonight. Then you push him onto his back, then straddle his shoulders. It's a little tricky to deal with yoru own tunic and breeches one-handed - it's not as though Mairon eats or expels anything, but you're still not touching your clothing with fingers that have been up his ass - but this is not your first rodeo. Far from it.

"Then thou shalt show me the quality of thine mouth," you rumble.

Mairon is already opening his mouth eagerly. You run a clean thumb over his lower lip - oh, this is a terrible idea, but he did ask for it.

And you are naught but an instrument of his will.

[Context: in reference to THIS ASK]

i'm a wall of 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣 emojis, no further comment.

[megaman-exe-execute]

Foul Tarnished, playing as a lord...

...I command thee...KNEEL

[perrin-aybaras-hammer]

I COMMAND THEE, KNEEL

[cerastes]

I command thee, kneel!

[tarnishedinquirer]

Godrick the Grafted

I summoned Nepheli Loux to my side, stepped through the golden mist, and exited into a long strip of land flanked with graves. At the end was a central keep, looking as much mausoleum or temple as seat of power. A small dragon was impaled on a spire, presumably the one that crashed into the floors just outside. A massive, lumpy, misshapen figure approached it.

This could only be Godrick.

The wind carried his words to me. He spoke to the dragon lovingly, calling it a "kindred" and a "trueborn heir," and asked it to deliver him to greater heights.

Then he noticed my presence, and his demeanor shifted. See, everything I'd heard about this man told me he was a coward. Hiding from Radahn, licking Malenia's boots, sneaking out of Leyndell. His legitimacy was in question, his castle was crumbling, his soldiers were deserting... every sign pointed to a reign that was at an end.

And then I showed up. A Tarnished of no renown. Having defeated all his soldiers, looted his entire castle. To him, in this moment, I was a living manifestation of his every inadequacy and failure. I represented the inevitability of his fall.

My presence enraged Godrick.

He threw off his clloak, revealing the tangled mass of arms that was his body. His limbs were made of knotted coils of other limbs like muscle fibers. Some hands hung free at his shoulders. One held a spare axe. But in his main hands, he held a giant, golden axe with a heraldic crest on it. He slammed it into the ground and shouted, "I command thee KNEEL!"

At first, he was slow and lumbering, dragging his axe behind him as he hobbled towards me. His body was a patchwork of limbs and torsos, grafted from other unfortunates who had come through here, and I thought they weren't all working in concert. I had plenty of time to summon Aurelia before he got to me. But the second she spat poison at him, he whipped his axe in a vortex around his head, summoned the wind, and started rolling at me.

Walking like a normal person might not be his strongest suit but powered by the wind, and with so many limbs to propel him, he could tumble with breathtaking agility. It was all I could do to avoid his axe.

Nepheli Loux barreled into him, matching control of wind for hers. But she had an advantage he did not: she could also command the lightning. Each blow of her axe was accompanied by a yellow levinbolt. But Godrick had other tricks up his sleeve. He brought his axe down on the ground, stomped on hit like it were a shovel, and the earth around him heaved, knocking Nepheli Loux off her feet.

I was hanging back and throwing Glintstone Pebbles at him, but he sent two blasts of wind my way. I dodged them both, and lunged in with my sword ablaze in blue magic just as Nepheli Loux recovered and hit him with everything she had in her. He dropped to his knees, and I took the opportunity to plunge my sword into his chest, somewhere in the general vicinity of where his heart was.

I was not close enough.

Godrick threw us off, raised his axe, and....

...severed his own arm?

I think we were both too stunned to stop what happened next. Even Aurelia stopped, whatever passed for her brain failing to comprehend what exactly he could possibly be doing. Godrick staggered over to the dragon, screaming and laughing maniacally, clearly pushed to to the brink. He plunged his the bleeding stump into the dragon's neck and wrenched it off.

The dragon's head twitched.

I don't know the rules of grafting, but this seemed somehow against them.

Godrick raised the dragon's head above his and, despite its lack of lungs, it roared.

"Forefathers one and all," he shouted, as it breathed a gout of flame into the air. "Bear witness!"

My battle with Agheel had taught me that the best place to be when a dragon breathed fire was behind it, so without hesitation I sprinted past Godrick. The fire had a physical force that seemed to add to its mass, and he could not turn fast enough to catch me. He summoned the wind, but added a tiny gout of flame, turning it into a firestorm. He rolled at me again, and when he landed, a wave of flame went out from his axe. Even his stomp as empowered, now rocking the entire land bridge. He did not even care if he perished anymore, as long as we perished with him.

Nepheli Loux, barely clinging to life, slammed her axe into his gut and spun him around so his back was to me. I leaped on top of him, charged my sword once more, and plunged it down through his collarbone—his original collarbone. He spasmed, gagged, then went utterly still.

Nepheli Loux leaped in and he caught her in the dragon's arm, cackling like a madman as slammed her into the ground and roasted her alive. As I watched, the arm was already erupting in sores and pustules. There was no way it would last this fight, but he could certainly kill us before it rotted away.

Suddenly, he coughed. Choked, even. Godrick was seized by a coughing fit that only ended when he vomited black bile, forcing him to release Nepheli. I realized what was happening when I saw another spurt of purple fluid from Aurelia. Her poison had finally taken effect!

Staring unseeing at the Erdtree, he said:

I am lord of all that is golden One day we'll return together To our home bathed in rays of gold...

It sounded like the man had rehearsed his last words, like he knew this day would come and wanted them to be good. It was a poem, but I didn't get to hear any more. He hadn't accounted that his lungs would be filling up with blood and bile. The next lines trailed off into gurgles as all the various limbs started falling off his body. I took the sword and jumped back as he came apart, rotted into nothing, and left only a tiny, shriveled torso on the ground.

Nepheli Loux returned to her world, Aurelia to her ashes, and I stared down at the broken thing before me that was once a demigod.

Then Gostoc appeared and stomped on his head.

He continued ranting as he stomped the former lord's head into pulp, and I decided that whatever those two had going on before this, I didn't need to know. It was time to move on.

Is the Golden Lineage descended from dragons?

Why does his axe have a similar emblem to the Grafted Blade Greatsword?

[justahusk]

"A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord. I command thee, kneel! I am the lord of all that is golden!"

Tyrantrum/clawitzer fusion not so subtly referencing the hit game Elden Ring. Made around september 2023. Enjoy!

[adacatlovelace]

"I command thee, kneel!" Is actually a mistranslation. What he actually says is "I command thee, Neil!" as he instructs his sidekick Neil to begin stealthily placing gravestones behind the tarnished at the worst possible time

[vibratingskull]

"You still bored?

I challenge thee to write something regarding Thrawn and Purring! Is it accendently discovered by Eli at the academy? The post coital truly satisfied lover to hear it first? Comforting Che'ri from a nightmare or storm? You decide!" -@khapikat222

It is refreshing to write something that is not xreader sometimes

Che'ri & Thrawn & Thalias

The shock makes the ship terribly tremble, pushing Che’ri out of her trance in a gasp, her little body thrown forward. She pants, nails buried in the leather of her command chair, cold sweat rolling down her neck. Thalias holds her shoulder, reassuring her by her presence.

-Are you okay?

-I… I think? Che’ri answers, her lower lips trembling.

-How is Skywalker Che’ri? Commandant Thrawn calls behind them.

- Fine, she’s just a bit shocked, Thalias reports.

Commandant Thrawn exchanges some words that she can’t understand with Sa’ma’kro and turns back to them.

-It is time for her to sleep. Please, escort her back to her room.

-Of course, sir.

She feels Thalias hands in her back and under her arm, helping her to get out of the chair and walk to her room. The end of the trance was really brutal and Che’ri feels like… her body and mind didn’t connect back well. She feels a bit out of sync with herself, so much that Thalias has to support her during their walk to their quarters. As they exit the bridge, Che’ri feels the inquisitive gaze of the Commandant Thrawn on her neck, but she’s too tired to investigate, right now she just wants to drink some juice and sleep…

______________________________________________________________________

She turns and rolls over in her bed, but nothing works. She sighs, burying her face in her pillow. The weird shock doesn’t pass, it feels like her internal organs are vibrating under her skin, preventing her from sleeping. Even worse, it makes her feel dizzy and nauseous. She knows her organism well enough to know she won’t puke so she doesn’t want to disturb Thalias reading in the living room, but she would like for the shipsick sensations to subside and let her in peace.

At some point she can’t take it anymore and get out of her bed.

-Thalias? I don’t feel well… She says with a little voice.

Thalias jumps off the couch to her feet and runs to her. 

-You’re not feeling well? You want to throw up? She puts her hand on Che’ri’s forehead, you don’t have a fever, you don’t tremble. I will take your temperature.

She helps her to the couch and goes for the thermometer when someone knocks at the door. Thalias hurries at the door while Che’ri squeezes her plushie in her arms, while trying to get rid of her splitted vision by aggressively blinking.

-Commandant! I was just about to take Che’ri’s temperature, I’m afraid we might have to take her to the medbay, indicates Thalias stepping away to let Thrawn enter.

-You are not feeling alright ? He immediately kneels next to the couch, holding one of her hands.

-I feel weird… Che’ri laments

He puts his hand on her forehead too, concentrating to feel any variance of temperature.

- You do not seem to have a fever, but we are never too much careful, he indicates Thalias to retrieve the thermometer. What are your symptoms?

-I don’t really know, I feel like I’m dizzy but I know I won’t throw up. I feel like my brain is fried and all my body is pulsing. I feel like my body and mind are loosely tied up…

He holds his chin, his eyebrows like he is intensely concentrating.

-Did it appear when you came back to us on the bridge? He investigates.

-Yes… I immediately felt wrong.

-Why didn't you say a thing? Thalias asks, a bit irritated but more worried, back with the thermometer.

-I thought it would pass after some time, I didn’t want to worry you, Che’ri curls back on herself.

-Oh Che’ri, I’m your caregiver. I am here for that, she sits down next to her and massages her shoulders.

- I think I know what you have, Thawn announces.

-Really? Is it grave? Thalias asks.

-Not for her health but it can diminish her faculties to guide us, he sats next to Che’ri who’s now between the two adults. You have “decentered” yourself.

Che’ri and Thalias exchange a gaze, frowning, before looking back at Thrawn.

-I’ve “decentered”... myself?

-What does that mean? I’ve never heard of that, Thalias indicates.

-I read about it in our archives, it mostly happens to skywalkers using the third sight but it can happen to anyone who did not “come back” fully from a trance of the second sight, Thrawn explains.

-What’s the third sight? Che’ri asks after a moment of silence.

Thrawn and Thalias look at each other, wondering if they should tell the little girl.

-It is another capacity of the skywalkers, some of you develop it and some will never be able to perform it, he murmurs to emphasize the secrecy of that information.

-Oh…

-But how do we “center” her again? Thalias inquires.

-We need to commune, together, as one being.

And then there was silence.

-Excuse me, what? Thalias demands, raising an eyebrow.

-We should start by sharing happy memories and what brings us joy, everything should unfold naturally, Thrawn theorizes, skywalker Che’ri what do you enjoy in life?

Che’ri is a bit taken aback by the question, what does she enjoy in life? In other circumstances she would have said her family and friends, her studies and hobbies but she is a skywalker, her life is way more down-to-earth.

-I… enjoy when I did a good job and others are pleased by my performance? She tries.

- Well you did guide us through the chaos to our desired destination in record time, so your performance was impeccable, he nods.

Che’ri squeezes her plushie lightly, a thin smile on her round cheeks, pleased by the compliment.

-What else?

-I love juices box.

They both look up to Thalias.

-Not sugar at this hour! She exclaims.

-Exceptional situations require exceptional solutions, we can make one exception for this time Thrawn mediate.

-Alright, but only one! She brings back a satra juice box.

Che’ri sipps happily on the straw, feeling a bit better already.

-Your turn, caregiver Thalias.

She opens and closes her mouth, caught off guard.

-Hum, since I joined the Mitth family I learned to make homemade marmalade.

-Really ? Che’ri asks interested.

-Yes, really, she smiles, I will make you taste it someday.

-And you, commandant? Che’ri interrogates.

-Me? He seems to look in the void for a second, gathering his memories. My brother and I used to go to art galleries every week-end back when I was at the Academy.

Che’ri pouts.

- I would like to know how it feels to have a brother…

-It is a bit like that. He circles her shoulders with his arm and presses her against his chest, her ear against his heart. Having a sibling is listening to another heartbeat, and synchronizing with it.

Che’ri sipps as she listens to the steady beat. It is so soothing. And his body is so warm. She let her face rest on his chest, squeezing her plushie. His hand comes to caress her hair delicately, putting one strand behind her ear. Thalias looks at them smiling, caressing the back of the little girl. Slowly, ever so slightly, a purr comes rumbling from Che'ri's throat, a tenuous sound barely hearable but unmistakably here. 

-What else ? Che'ri asks yawning

-My parents used to bring me illustrated books that I would devour for hours on end. I would read them past my bedtime, hiding under the covers with a flashlight, he confesses. 

It makes the two girls giggle. It is so agreeable, so relaxing, Che'ri's purring intensifies like a little kitten. She feels Thalias take Thrawn's hand and presses herself against her back, resting her chin on her head. Soon enough, Thalias starts purring too, louder than Che'ri but in perfect synchrony.

-What else, Che'ri ? 

-I love my plushie, it is the only thing I could buy for myself. 

She buries her nose in the fur of the plushie, inhaling the reassuring and familiar scent. Slowly, the dizziness dissipates. 

-Caregiver Thalias ? 

-I sing very well, and I like to perform for a small crowd. Her delivery slows down as her purring gets deeper and ends in a yawn too. 

Then Che'ri feels her head vibrating and she realizes it is Thrawn's chest rumbling. A deep, guttural sound coming from the depths of his rib cage and throat that works its way up his vocal cords. It cradles the young girl that listen to this pleasant sound, surrounded by warmth and security. They remain like that, in a pile like cats, holding hands and caressing hair with just the soothing sound that came to break the silence. They purr in unisson, like one, in tune with each other. The purr resonates in the room like an engine, like a pleased big feline. 

Is it how it feels, Che'ri wonders, having a family ? 

She snuggles against Thrawn's chest, squeezing her plushie and soon falls into a deep sleep, all signs of dizziness disappeared. 

Thrawn gently shakes Thalias, who blinks like she was about to go to sleep. 

-It worked. Let us put her to bed, he murmurs. 

He scoops the little girl in his arms and carries her in bed. He pulls the blanket on her, and takes the time to observe the relaxed face of Che'ri, peacefully sleeping. He feels himself purring again at this immaculate sight, a child sleeping soundly, fully trusting she is in security with him. He finds it recomforting but can't pinpoint about what. He feels Thalias's hand on his shoulder, inviting him to exit the bedroom with a smile. 

He looks back one last time to this peaceful display, and stands up, ready to carry on his duties. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton

[syrupwrit]

Happy DADWC Day! From Lamia by Keats, I send you:

"I had a splendid dream of thee last night: I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold," For Neria <3

Hello, thank you for the prompt! Those are some good lines.

Under the cut, please find ~250 words of vaguely shippy f!Surana & the Architect for @dadrunkwriting. Note: reference to slavery in Tevinter.

-

“I dreamt of you last night—as a man, not a darkspawn,” says Neria, and the Architect jerks, as if startled from a dream of its own.

She goes on. “You gave orders from a golden seat, and kept a staff across your lap. You were pale and quiet. You couldn’t walk.”

“What a curious dream, Commander.” Its good eye tracks her mildly. Without its finery, in the simple hooded robes it sometimes wears when they are alone, its monstrosity is plain and almost homely.

“I asked you what had happened,” she says, “and you showed me. I watched you kneel over a golden basin and make cuts on your groin and thigh. As you bled, you chanted and prayed.”

“A golden basin,” it murmurs, testing the point of one long black nail. Pondering her words, not distracted.

“You collapsed,” she continues, “and were found by an elven slave, covered in black fluid. You wept in the temple, and your tears—”

“—were black ichor. Yes, it is a dream I’ve had before. His memory.”

“Do you ever miss him?” asks Neria. “The High Priest?”

“I regret him. At times, I feel his loss. I would not like to see his return.”

“He was very beautiful.” She had felt for him, when he wept. He had believed the black ichor to be an omen for the Imperium; it was an omen for him, and for his own doing, not a future his gods wanted to mend. “But I prefer you as you are now, too.”

[offical-ouroboros]

DESPERATELY need to be held by Godrick and have him pet and praise me and stuff I love him so much it's not even funny

"I command thee, kneel!"

No I'm already sprinting at you so you grab me with your hands so I can beg you to comfort me my man

[isshebreathing]

This may be the last of this story, or I may continue, to be determined.

Awards Season pt 3

With someone taking over compressions her partner had a chance to fully see their beloved laying helpless on the floor of the stage, gown ripped open to her waist, like a wrapper around her bare chest, which was being forced to cave in-time to the counts of the man pressing into her. “Fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen.”

Her eyelids were slit open slightly revealing glassy and distant eyes. Her face was rapidly turning a horrifying shade of gray with undertones of blue from a complete lack of circulation underneath thick layers of makeup painted on her by the stylist’s team. Her mouth gaping open, occasionally opening, her tongue primally searching for air that her lungs were too weak to bring in. “Twenty-seven and twenty-eight and twenty-nine and thirty”

The starlet’s beloved leaned down to her face where they gently sealed their lips over hers and gave two deep, long, hot breaths into her lungs, making sure that her breasts lifted as their air was forced into her.

Mercifully someone in a tuxedo arrived with an AED and handed it to the rescuer. This snapped her partner out of their trance and they became a physician with a dying patient, not a partner with a dying lover.

“Do not stop compressions,” they yelled at the person kneeling next to her as they interlocked their hands in between her breasts and started forcing them into the bruise that was now forming. The AED was opened and one pad was placed above her right breast and below the collar bone, the second was placed on her side directly beneath her left breast. The unit was switched on and instructed everyone to stand clear of the patient while it searched for something to shock into a heart rhythm for the starlet laying still before them.

“Where is the fucking ambulance?” Her beloved yelled, as her snotty manager replied “they’re on their, way, stuck in traffic, they want to know if she’s taken anything.”

“Tell them she has congestive heart failure and she just drank however much caffeine you gave her earlier.” Replied her rescuer before being interrupted by the automated voice of the AED.”

“Shock advised”

Her lover shoved the person who had been doing compressions aside and again took over beating the starlet’s heart externally while the AED charged. The unit gave two beeps to notify that it was ready to send a shock through the quivering heart between them.

“CLEAR” yelled her rescuer, and the crowd around the scene instinctually stepped away from the horror unfolding before them. The rescuer pushed the flashing red button in the middle of the unit.

Her chest and torso curled in slightly as the “ka-thunk” of 100 joules of power were shot through her failing heart.

Her lover squeezed her left wrist in between their fingers and dug two fingers deep into the side of her neck, face dropping as the mechanical voice of the AED conformed their findings and commanded, “continue CPR”

Something snaps in the rescuer and despite the large crowd surrounding them, the only thing that mattered in this moment was keeping their beloved with them.

They sealed their lips over hers and forced her chest to lift with two deep breaths, then interlocked their hands and started deep and hard compressions.

The scene on the stage was horrific. A young starlet laying on the shiny black floor lifeless, face blueing from lack of oxygen, head rocking back and forth, shoulders caving in while her lover forcefully beats into her bare chest, breasts caving in each time their hands forced her heart to move between her sternum and spine. Only occasionally giving the woman reprieve to force her chest to rise with deep breaths. Laying on the ground just feet from the scene was the award that was meant for the woman who was dying in front of everyone.

It took thee rounds of this, 90 compressions, to get anything that could be shocked back into rhythm. Her rescuer starting with encouragement, “you got this baby just take a breath,” to begging, “please breathe baby, please take a breath,” to full desperation sobs of “stay with me.” Before the digital voice of the AED said “shock advised”

The rescuer gave another round of desperate compressions, this time just sobbing incoherently while the AED charged. They didn’t even bother to yell at everyone to clear off of her body before they shocked, people were either staring in horror or had turned their back to the pain in front of them.

Her chest curled in harder as a stronger pulse shot through her heart. Her chest began to heave and a sickening gasp rang though the auditorium. Her partner rolled her onto her side and started giving rescue breaths.

She received at least 10 rescue breaths before the doors at the back of the auditorium crashed open revealing a team of paramedics assailed by a wall of flashbulbs. The rescuer holding the starlet looks up with relief and yells “She’s back but she isn’t responding, she needs oxygen, she was down for 17 minutes and her pulse is tachy.”

The paramedics swarm the scene, moving people away and rushing to help the lifeless starlet before them.

[jeyuwuso]

Jeysami headcanons that sustain me

Under the cut bc you just know it's gonna be explicit

Sami is super into Jey's fronts/grillz and occasionally (very sheepishly) requests that he keep them in during head

Jey gets turned on by Sami's voice and loves listening to him speak Arabic and French. He doesn't care that he has no clue what he's saying (and honestly, he's extremely into not knowing whether Sami is praising him or being mean or both)

Sami becomes uncontrollably horny when he hears Jey singing along to Nicki Minaj or Megan Thee Stallion

During puppy training (bc Jey would look so cute kneeling in a collar and barking), Sami only speaks French and uses French commands so Jey feels more like a dumb little puppy, and they're both low-key obsessed with it

F I F T I E S D O M E S T I C I T Y K I N K. Jey takes care of everything for Sami before he even asks. (He also ends up doing all the "masculine" handyman chores around the house too bc Sami doesn't know how, but he's okay with it)

When things are good, Jey's a happy wifey who cooks and cleans and anticipates every one of Sami's needs. When he's struggling, he's in puppy mode. He wants Sami to make all the decisions for him and teach him how to be better.

Sami's got a sadistic streak. He can be a very sweet, gentle dom when needed, but I swear RoH guys are always either massive masochists, sadists, or both, and I think Sami's no different.

Jey's more of a mental masochist than a physical one. He lovesbeing degraded, conditioned, and mindfucked (thank you Roman for the trauma bonding). He doesn't like pain, but he likes forcing himself to take as much as he can to make Sami happy

Usually, this means that Sami makes gentle love to Jey while saying the filthiest, most humiliating things he can think of in a voice dripping with honeyed condescension. Other times, he's rough, slapping and choking Jey while giving him all the loving praise in the world