#I'M IN IT DEEP BRETHREN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aritsukemo · 2 months ago

Note

I don’t know if your requests are open, but I simply love your writing! May I have a Zhongli/Venti/Xiao Prompt with a reader who’s secretly a god from another world?

Finding out you're secretly a god | Genshin Impact

( @scar8o )

Summary: After your powers are revealed in a heat of the moment decision, you and your partner have a much needed conversation..

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, and Venti

Warnings: Nothing much. Mentions of reader facing discrimination in Xiao's and slight tears towards the end of Xiao's as well.

A/N: AGHHHH this took months to finally write, but I'm glad I finally got the push I needed to finish this! I'm sorry you had to wait so long and I hope you enjoy this little collection of drabbles I put together! :D

A yellowish-orange shade was cast over Teyvat just like it would any other evening. Nothing had changed; the wind was still blowing, wildlife was as and as wild as ever, and the grass was still the same old greenish tinge.

Well, today, Xiao supposes that something has changed. For the first time in years, there was complete silence between you two. Being the chatterbox that you were, it was never like this since you're always rambling on about whatever popped into your head—whether that'd be how your day went, what you should do tommorow, or even the most trivial things like which colored cloth you should use to wipe off your weapons.

But that particular evening, you didn't utter a word. You simply sat there, knees to your chest as you gazed at the sun slowly setting upon the horizon. It felt odd for Xiao—awkward if he were to be so mundane. At the same time, he had no way of relieving this odd, awkward tension from the air. He had so many question stirring in his head that could at least fill the air with something of substance, and yet, he felt hesitant to voice any of them.

But he has to say something. If he doesn't, he fears that he'll never get his questions answered. So, without looking your way, he asks, "Who..are you really?"

You don't answer immediately and for a moment, Xiao thought you didn't hear him at all. Before he can repeat himself, however, he hears your voice, low and uncharacteristically sullen as you tell him, "Someone who doesn't belong here.."

He doesn't realize it, but upon hearing your response and looking over at you, his eyes softened—and just like the snow he used to munch down to prevent himself from starving to death, his golden hues glistened in the light of the setting sun. He didn't know what to say to that. Or rather, he couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting to your ears.

That's one the things about you that he's fond of, but is also envious of. You always knew the right thing to say even when he thought you didn't. It's one of his favorite things about you..

"Look, I'm sorry for lying to you for so long.." You said before heaving a long, tired sigh. One that sounded as if you've been holding it for ages, "In my own world, people despised me and this power so much so that they tried everything they could to make my life miserable.."

"Adults, kids, girls, boys, women, and men.. Even when they were more different than the glaxies above, the one thing that was always the same was the way they looked at me.. That deep swirl of hatred in their eyes as they stared at me..like I was some kind of monster.. No matter what I did for them, it never changed," Xiao chooses to ignore the way your voice cracks midway through your sentence—the signal that the glass dam inside you was beginning to crack..

"When I got here, I saw this as my brethren relieving me of that pain..like a fresh start. I was so happy..and so, so scared. I was terrified of the past happening again so I swore to do everything in my power to keep that part of me hidden for as long as I was able.."

At this point, he could see those crystal tears rolling down your face, the translucent trail they left glimmering in the sun's glow. He's never seen them before. You never allowed him to and now, he's grateful that you never did because the sight of you crying made his chest feel heavy and empty, causing it to ache. The sight was painful. It felt wrong associating this feeling with something so..human, but it's the only thing to describe this black hole forming where his heart's supposed to be..

And in attempt to fill that feeling, he finally asks, "Do you think this power of yours will bring harm to the people of Liyue?" You finally glance at him, confusion written all over that tear-stricken face of yours. He merely looks at you with expectancy, so you eventually croak out a small, "No.."

"Do you ever think that you'll try to take over Liyue and force it's people under your thumb?" He threw another question at you, and this time, you answered quickly, blurting out an offended sounding, "Of course not! Do you think I would?"

"No," He answered immediately, "But as the protector of this land, I had to make sure we were on the same page before I said anything else," And he gets up. Your crystalized eyes follow after him, confusion beginning to swirl along with a headache—the result caused by your near-breakdown just now.

"Wha.." You begin, but your voice dies in your throat as he offers you a hand and looks you in the eyes like he would any other day—as if everything was normal.

"You said before that after all of this was over, you'd drag me off somewhere to 'wind down', didn't you? Well, I'm allowing you this once to do so without having any resistance on my end," He clarifies, and that's when it finally clicks in your mind; nothing has changed. The world is still spinning, the once clear, orange sky has turned blue and starry. Xiao is still willing to reach out to you, still willing to stare at you with adoration and love, and be around you. He still sees you as simply Y/n.

And you find yourself brought to tears all over again. Yet this time, it's due to sheer relief instead of anxiety and agony. It's because of the happiness you feel as you reach out your hand and let yourself be helped up like some damsel..

..And it's all becase of Xiao, who's kind enough to see you as something other than a monster. Something lesser than a divine god or goddess, but as simply another person of the land who he should protect.

"So when did you figure it out?" You asked to the man who sat across from you at the table—although to others it seemed as though you were talking to your tea from how your eyes were trained on it the entire time you spoke, pupils following every ripple it made with every slight of your hand.

The man across from you—who you've called many endearments over the years of knowing him—simply hummed at your question, taking the time to grab his own tea cup before answering just as casually, "Some time ago. I've had some theories of my own for a while now, but..outside assistance helped to point me in the right direction."

"So the traveler told you," You stated, your tone leaving no room for him to lie or say otherwise—a silent testament that it was futile to try and deny something you already seen as a fact, but he attempted anyways.

"Not exactly," He said, "It was a slip of the tongue on Paimon's part, a small one at that, I barely noticed it myself." And this time, you hum, closing your eyes as you at last take a sip of your tea—which has long since gotten cold since it arrived at your table.

You take a long, slow sip, as if you were buying time, or maybe, simply trying to collect all the thoughts swirling in your head and condense them in a coherent, civil sentence. Whatever it is, Zhongli allows you that time and patiently waits for you to finally set your cup down again..

"So? What do you plan to do with me now that you know?" The question comes off blunt—slightly threatening to the unintelligent ears, but it doesn't phase Zhongli. After all, he knows that you weren't threatening him, but more rather felt threatened. Similar to a cornered bunny who's only defense weapons are its fluffy, dull nubs.

"Nothing at all," He says, and at last your eyes cross the table to look him in the eyes. He does the same, granting you the same favor.

There's a moment of silence between you two in that moment. You silently demand an answer to his previous answer and the light thrumming of your fingers against the smooth, expensive wood gave away your impatience, your growing anxiety, and most importantly your fear. It's a discomforting sight to see of his usually calm lover, and so, he's quicker to respond to you in hopes of relieving your tension.

"You hold me in such high regard, dear. And while I'm flatter, may I remind you that I'm simply a consultant. I have no power to do anything other than grant you a comfortable resting place to lay your head when you pass," He closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with you to bless you with a small, polite smile, "A question like that would be more fit for the Tianquan, would it not?"

"In my humble opinion, though, I think it best if you didn't stir a pot that has already settled. Going to Lady Ningguang over something she knows nothing about is not needed, don't you agree?"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, only having the luxury to catch the tail end of your reaction to him deciding to sweep this under the rug before your expression smoothens out and a smile eases onto your face and your fingers move to lace around your cup once again..

"I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything then."

"Who knew my windblume could be even more extraordinary than I once thought?" He told you under that massive oak tree—The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero—after sneaking away with you, who was just praised the entire evening for your heroic deeds.

"You flatter me," You said before letting out a chuckle. Venti chose not to comment on how it sounded drier than how the fruits up in Celestia look, "Really, I don't deserve such praise.."

"On the contrary! You were Mondstadt's savior today! Not to mention mines!" He said cheerily, "If it weren't for you, Mondstadt would've been robbed of this bard's melodious melodies!"

You found yourself huffing at the absurdity of his words before you can stop yourself. Making up for the slip-up with a half-hearted, agreeing hum.

"You're a fool.. Having a dangerous being such as myself leisurely lay on you like this.." You whisper into his thigh as you turn on your side, your voice muffling due to half of your face being smothered by the puff of his shorts. Your comment was heard nonetheless and earned a chuckle from the bard.

"Love makes one do foolish things," He simply replies, before you feel something cold and smooth against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open and out of the corner of your eyes you see the familar red hue that you would only see plastered on one of the delicious treats the Cuihua Trees so graciously gift Teyvat.

You take the apple from his grasp, once again laying flat on your back as you hold the apple above you as if to tantalize yourself.

"I'm serious. You shouldn't be this nice to me anymore, Barbatos," Another slip of the tongue—one promptly ignored and immediately pushed to back of both of your minds, "I'm nothing but a weapon of destruction."

"That you may have been in the past, but as of now, you're simply a bartender at Angel's Share who's fallen head over heels for a skillful bard; me," He replies after swallowing the chewed, sweet chunks in his mouth that came from his apple—which has already been half-eaten at this point.

And you find yourself huffing again. This time at the realization that he was right—at least the part about being hopelessly in love with him anyways..

"You had a long day, so why not you rest after you eat? I'll strum you a gentle tune that'll carry you away to pleasant dreams, ehehe~!" He suddenly suggest—an obvious attempt at deading the conversation where it stands before you say something too depressing to brush off easily. You pretend to not notice, deciding to accept your defeat for now, as you nod, finally bringing the apple down to your lips and taking a bite, being careful to chew the bite thoroughly before swallowing..

"That sounds nice.. Maybe resting my eyes wouldn't be so bad."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

271 notes · View notes

crying-fantasies · 1 month ago

Text

Filming/photographing

Masterlist

Featuring Cyberverse! Soundwave, smut/angst, CW: fingering, kissing with tongue, denied orgasm (from SW’s part), mentions of war.

Humans tend to be so insecure about themselves.

It's sickening, how their psyche has been twisted to never be sole enough, always pursuing the example of others, reaching levels of bad health and stupid dress codes to fit right in their own unnourished culture, fed by idiots and narcissism-centered idealism.

His tanks are heavy with worry when he catches you once again listening to the lies of your brethren, almost believing them when it is all you can hear.

He knows what the lies of others can do to the ones simply unfortunate enough to listen, and Soundwave would never let you be poisoned by them again as he captures your interest in him, dragging his servos over your soft, giving body as it yields and bends, skin moving like ripping waves as your weak electromagnetic field pulses along with his.

Maybe it's low, most likely degenerated, he is a mech on a mission when his knee makes contact with yours, legs falling apart to give him way as you follow his frame and lay on the mattress, the light on his visor, a furious invigorated red that burns with the passion only a lover could achieve.

A lover who with enough of the self-hatred stares you give yourself in a mirror.

He pauses and inquires, “Do you know how I see you?”, there is no broken contact between your eyes and his optics if only his visor is the only thing separating you both as his helm looms over you, “do you realize how I see you? Do you understand how I want you?”.

There is no answer, it pains him, to see you like this.

Is it so hard to let you know?

The answer, Soundwave realizes, isn't complicated at all.

“Would you want to see yourself through my optics?”, you squirm under him, fingers over his audial receptors making an effort to get him closer, but he wants a direct affirmation before he flashes the recorder inside his optics.

Soundwave, as a skilled negotiator, can make you see the positive outcomes of the deal, he begins to enlist them, numbering one after the other with his battle mask pressed over your sweet, little port and making you shudder against him, weakly trying to close your legs and stop him, he is sure that is the last thing you want, eliminating any doubts you may have about previous experience, but as a lover, he can hardly contain himself from creeping his digits over your body, making you sing and dance on his servos, you're already smiling nervously, arm over your eyes in an attempt to cover yourself before him, the smile only makes itself tighter as he can't contain himself anymore and the music spills from his frame, the deep bass of his growl and the music makes you vibrate, being so close to him, a sweet symphony fills your mouth, moans and whispers, his spark shines with affection and he can feel his modesty panel quickly being more of a hassle than a necessity, but alas, he can only do so much.

Primus condemns the fact he can not ruin you as desired.

Your affirmation, coming in between moans, finally reaches him, no second is wasted as his optics flicker again, a recording engraved in the deepest parts of his databanks, starting with your eagerness to discharge the fabrics and enticing him with bedroom eyes, fluid movements as he once again presses a digit where you want him, his whole servo manhandles you and pressed over pliable flesh, his digits leave a path that makes him repeat the action as many times he desires. “My spark, you will understand your magic once I'm done”

In between ragged breathing, the realization made you laugh and look at him, perplexed, “Did you just rephrase The Police?!”, Soundwave hums, pleased by your good taste, as always, as his forehelm presses against your head to make you lay relaxed over the mattress once again, digit dangerously playing with your port, coating himself in your desire before he is sure to make it as comfortable as possible.

You sing for him, a lustful symphony as he pumps into your body, every fraction and movement engraved in his memory, every fall and rise of your chest, every tremble streaming across your body from head to toe, the warmth is enough to suffocate as Soundwave presses his battle mask once again over your middle, optics capturing every detail and keeping it for his own, a pleased grin is all you can see as he tunes up more vibration in his voice, his sole digit still mimicking what he could do to you if the opportunity to get his servos over a mass displacement mod were real, but he can't, so all he has to do is make reach your limit with passion overwhelming your incipient electric field, make you fall apart, sing a designation taught to you after long nights of the shared company as he can only grit denta and snarl a deep growl by the pressure over his spike as his valve can only clench over nothing as your little hands come to hold him in place as tremors take over and he indulges you if only a little more, if only a little longer, as his battle mask finally recesses and gives you full access to kiss him all you desire as his designation blooms breathlessly from your lips and dies with his derma over your now frail body, a perfect angle to show your exhausted yet pleased face that makes his engines purr at the sight, trying to snuggle you with the side of his helm as he can hear the thundering of your little heart.

You fall apart, and Soundwave shows you later on, how beautifully you did so, he has just cleaned your body of any body fluid in excess and your breathing is only increasing once again as he projects the recording, the way you unravel in his hold, leaves you speechless, and your face reaches a new level of glow and warmth, it makes him feel proud, finally able to silence the lies in your head, showing you the most obvious and beautiful truth.

As you walked over to him, there was no need for words, he lowered himself to your level, gently tracing fingers over his audial receptor, prompting him to sing, your smile and the warmth in your body signaled another intimate moment.

You brought him close before whispering, "It's time to wake up, big guy."

Back on Cybertron, the planet nearly conquered by invaders, Soundwave is jolted back to reality, away from the recording of a better time, a happy memory, as he takes in the devastation, a moment passes before he fully comprehends the gravity of the situation, and overwhelmed by a mix of sorrow and anger he admonishes himself to pull it together before focusing on the task at hand as Hot Rod calls out to him.

Yeah, hand me the prompt of Kinktober and, somehow, I'll make it steamy and sad at the same time, make it longer than I wished for but still believe it's good.

Also, finally settled into working with different continuities.

@tf-kinktober2024

#tf kinktober 2024 #transformers fanfiction #transformers soundwave #soundwave x human reader #soundwave x reader #transformers #x reader #transformers x reader #transformers x human reader #tf cyberverse

156 notes · View notes

ice-cream-writes-stuff · 24 days ago

Note

Girlie pop, to say im obsessed with ur LADS self aware mc au would be AN UNDERSTATEMENT!!! There's so many things that could happen in this universe with our oblivious non mc mc. Like imagine them trying to ask out like one of their "sidekicks" on a date and the LAD boys are like "no". And MC being a lobe interest to?!??! My bi little heart is melting. I love it so much!!!! I hope you will continue this serious (that's if u want to that is) keep up the good work honey ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Aw! Thank You! Here's a little something for your kind words]

{ERroR} - Side Story Featuring: MC, (Y/N) and Xavier and Rafayel

Rushing into the quaint little flower shop, you inhale a deep breath. Twirling around through the shop as if it was a dance club, eagerly taking in the sights of different flowers left and right. Including the soft fragrances gracing your senses!

"U-Um... May I help you?" A small voice pipes up by the register.

Turning your gaze to the red-head, a sharp grin breaks out on your face.

After chatting it up while snooping and buy a few things, you walk to the checkout counter.

"...So that's a dozen and.... Half of the stock..." He gapes at the giant bundle of flowers in your arms, a few wayward blossoms on your scalp as you gleefully hand him the amount to pay.

"You seem to really like flowers?" He puts away the cash in the register and heads to the entrance door. Opening it for you as shrug, walking carefully to the exit. "It's a gift, there's this guy... He's so..."

"So your buying him flowers?" "Kinda? There's also this one guy that lives by place, oh! And this girl that stops by my work! You might know her!"

"I... Doubt that."

You wink, grabbing a random flower from your strange bouquet, placing it on his curly locks.

"Hmm- Well, ya' never know!"

Waving you out, he watches you giggle, strutting out of Philo eagerly. The young man sighs, locking up shop once your figure went further.

After stuffing Rafayel's mailbox full of flowers, you head on your merry way. A few still stuck on your clothes and strewn about petals lingering in your hair.

"Hi Xavier,~!" You say cheerily, seeing his body in the distant. Going further, you block out the alarm from the city as people fled the opposite direction. The blonde didn't seem to hear you though, so you marched onwards.

Blinking at a Wander stuck in your path, you frown, eyeing it blankly as it seemed frightened by you. It sounds of fear becoming louder as you walk closer, alerting it's brethren. Yet none seemed to help their comrade, focused on their own battles.

"!esimORP I ,yako-o-o-o S'Ti"

You spoke in kind as it shuffles back, sighing. You walk through the mass, ignoring the sounds it made. The small Protocore drops into you palms. Stuffing into your shirt, you keep pace.

"Miss Bodyguard!" Rafayel whined with a huff, toying with the one of the flowers you had left the other day. The female in question rolls her eyes at the painter, begrudgingly giving her attention to him.

"Yes-"

"Where is that cafe?! Please!" He begged, his cheeks a light red at having to beg at this point. Putting his pride aside, eyes hugs the few flowers that weren't placed into vases or folded into books. Maybe he could use them for his next piece...

"No, not telling." MC crossed her arms, not wanting him to intrude on HER go-to pick-me up spot.

"Why not?" He groaned, flopping beside the female hunter as she stood up from the spot. Watching her gaze fondly at a specific flower, tracing over the green petals.

"I'm sure my admirer would love to have their cute gesture returned in ten-fold..." He states proudly. His eyes re-reading over the note that came with, silly and sappy to his delight. Holding up the card to the light, grinning at the faint print of your fingertips.

MC stiffens as he continues his daydream, "they'll happily jump into my arms at such a present."

"Not if I get them something nicer." She teases bluntly, seeing his haughty smirk drop in a matter of seconds. The two smile at one another, the challenging looks shared did not go unnoticed by his manager.

Ugly sobs leave you, hugging the blonde to your body tightly. He shivers at the buzzing his gave at the contact. Letting his head rest to the crook of your neck. Gaze sharp at those who wished to witness the action. "Xavier! You're okay!"

"I... Yes."

He tries to ignore the thoughts of you, wishing he could focus on this moment. Though the trail of Protocore's behind you...

[Another side story! Who knew? Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed it! Thought's if I should include the event stories? Maybe?? I wanted to expand a little on Non-MC for this AU snippet. Just a little- I wanted add MORE detail. But ya'll will figure it out anyway! Thanks for reading!]

102 notes · View notes

idwt-money · 8 months ago

Text

I See Through You.

MDNI 18+

3.2k words

Satan!Noah sebastian x Lost soul!Y/n

Christian/Religious themes, Satanic themes, Corruption kink, Mentions of death, Wax play, Oral sex (male and fem rec), Unprotected sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, Mentions of breeding kink

“The Devil is real. And he's not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful. Because he's a fallen angel, and he used to be God's favorite.”

—

Noah's pov.

Fuck. It should be ME. I'm the fucking king.

—

Third person's pov.

He had been banished from the holy scene. His mind had been corrupted. He was God's favorite. The closest thing to becoming a god he would have ever gotten. Until…

His mind would run amuck at night. After the sun had set on the sacred land, laying in bed with his brethren just rooms away.

Day after day he had gotten sick of bowing down for the divinity. Growing like a disease. Growing and rooting itself deep within his bones, the veins that allowed his suborn blood to flow. Spreading deepest in the soul his God had granted him eternal life with.

Submitting himself to his almighty had become a tiring, weakening agenda. His hunger for power burned deep within his mind.

His position as the anointed cherub no longer satisfied his starvation for authority.

His attempt at dethroning God led him to be thrown, tossed, banished from the pearly gates every mortal soul had prayed to enter.

—

One of his now ex-brethren, bestowed a script to him. Curled together like an ancient pirate's map. On the scroll before him was one final message to the unholy individual from the Lord.

“Oh, my poor Samael. Where had I gone wrong? Pride, greed, envy. For how could you let them engulf your intelligence? To cause such rebellion? You, a lost soul, can no longer hold a position in my holy land.”

As he finished the script, he felt his soul burn and shrivel into complete nothingness. Nothing but a black void leaving him falling out of the sacred heaven he yearned to be the king of.

Falling through each layer of the Earth, he could feel his skin burning and aching as he did so. He landed in an unbeknownst hole, passing out on impact with rubble and dust falling upon him. On that cursed day, the eternal fire was born.

—

If you are cast out, what's your next move going to be? Will you return cold? Or will you turn up the heat?

Last thing I sold them, had been my dignity. But, the truth is the devil sold his soul to me.

To me.

To ME.

—

Noah's pov.

I had awoken in a displaced land. A funnel shaped cavern. Aggression and insanity ran cold through my veins. An inferno I was placed in.

If I wouldn't have an opportunity to rule the heavenly kingdom, I shall make my own. For lost souls, for sinners and those of who act upon blasphemy. For those who will not succumb to God. I will be the king of the mountain of purgatory.

For I will create a kingdom, not as its jailer, but as its healer. I will heal every soul that is not worthy of being in heaven. I will create an army, one so powerful that it can take down God and his disciples.

—

Third person's pov.

Noah, as he had renamed himself, had spent years stacked upon years building and crafting his domain. A safe place to heal broken souls that were undeserving of heaven.

He had now accumulated centuries worth of individuals who lost their spot in the promised land. They were all dependent on him as their ruler, their king.

He had rediscovered himself. He no longer was a spirit of God, rather the opposite.

He no longer had soft, white, pure feathered wings. Instead his back was adorned with a set of deep black wings. They were covered with coarse fur, rough to the touch. His once dark honey colored eyes were now pitch black. He had grown fangs that looked perfect to sink into a soft, flawless neck.

He had all he could ever imagine…except a love to sit beside his throne, to rule his domain with him.

His heart desired and thirsted for a true love. Although he had millions of souls in his kingdom, he hadn't met a single one that could give him what he needed.

They were all too much like him. He wanted someone he had coax upon him. Someone he could play a game with.

He hadn't taken a leave of absence since the day he decided to create his own space. Maybe it was time to change that. A trip to the mortal world.

—

Y/n's pov.

I sat upon a bench in the midst of a forest, taking in a deep breath of the midnight cool air. I had no place to go.

Parts of my soul, broken and seemingly unfixable. I was cursed to spend my days roaming the Earth as nothing but lonesome in my own purgatory. I would spend my day and night praying, atoning for my sins. Seemingly little, insignificant sins to anyone else were the reason I was stuck in this temporary state.

My Lord had promised if I could atone for my sins, I would be allowed into the promised land. I wanted nothing more, but my Earthborn body had long turned to dust, my hope slowly diminishing.

—

If God came down from his kingdom, he came down from his throne and we asked him if he'd take us back, he would surely tell us no.

We live and die in vain like treasure on a sinking ship. All in the name of a God we'd just abandoned and forget.

—

Third person's pov.

He had his eyes set on her. A lost soul, set in purgatory. Oh, how easy it would be to convince her to bestow her gift upon him.

She seemed perfect. Her skin having a soft glow to it. He knew if an Earth bound body could see her, they too would fall in love with the sight. Her glow gave off as a blue-ish tone, telling him all he needed to know.

As he moved through the trees, he watched as her panic became prominent.

“No one knows I'm here…unless?”

A small glimmer of hope shone through her sadness at the idea that her Lord had finally decided she was able to step foot into the holy divinity.

Her blood ran cold as a jagged finger ran across her skin.

She was so soft, the panic in her eyes set his body on flames. Her pure mind was one he could imagine 100 different ways to ruin.

—

Noah's pov.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, angel?” My voice came out rough and coarse, while hers was much flowy, softer than mine could ever be.

I took a stand of her hair, taking in her delicious scent.

“Wh-wha-! Who are you!?” Her chest was rising and falling like a scared little bunny, her eyes darting back and forth across my features.

“I know you've heard of me. The Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, The Antichrist. Baby, I'm you're one and only-” I was cut off, her screech throwing her into a fit of madness.

“THE DEVIL!?” Her cry must have been heard for miles, to any other lost soul or angel that was Earthbound at the moment.

I pulled her to my chest, covering her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. I'm here to make a deal.”

A deal with the Devil.

“I see through you, angel. I know exactly what you are. A lost soul, hoping to atone for your sins. Am I close?” I spoke my words slowly and calmly, not needing a miscommunication.

Her head weakly nodded against my heaving chest.

“I'm going to take my hand away, and you're going to let me talk. Do you understand?”

Another nod was given.

Removing my hand oh so cautiously, I let her sit back down, holding my finger up to my mouth, indicating she needed to be quiet.

“He won't let you in there, baby.”

“You don't know that.” Her words flew out of her mouth, cold and harsh.

“Oh, but I do.” My index finger softly gliding down her cheek. She must have been previously crying.

“I was his favorite, you know? I had more power than any other angel. I was second below God himself.” My hands now placed behind my back as I paced back and forth. I didn't miss the way she watched me like a hawk.

“I wanted more. I needed more. He was far too greedy. He casted me out, sending me falling through Earth's layers, down into the deepest parts of the plane. His sacred, holy land was too much to bear. So, I created my own. My own kingdom.” I watched the starry night sky, all the stars twinkling as I explained my story.

Looking down at her, her face was painted with many emotions. Confusion, anger. I smirked to myself, knowing I had her questioning the almighty spirit.

“B-but God is…is good. He's purity and kindness.”

I scoffed.

“Come with me, my sweet angel. Rule with me. You will have power and you can be your own divinity. I can give you everything he could and more.” I whispered the last part into her ear, letting myself smile against her skin.

“Why…why are you beautiful? I thought-”

“Thought I was red? With horns and an outdated tail?” My eyebrows furrowed together as I spoke.

—

I see through you, I know what you are. I see the devil more than I see God.

—

Y/n's pov.

He was beautiful. Gorgeously put together, with a black suit, dress shoes and tattoos staining his skin. He was so enticing.

My head was dizzy and I could feel my core slowly weakening. This was absolute insanity.

I had no idea why I felt the need to say yes to his offer. His words were smooth like fresh honey floating through my ears.

Although tempting, I had to be strong. He could be lying. I had read the bible 5 times before passing to know this is what he does.

He's seducing, he tempts your faith, your religion. He gets in your head. He tempts you with bad decisions. He had powers beyond man. He was the reason Eve sunk her teeth into the forbidden fruit. He was the snake that left hissing in your ears after you had committed a sin.

“Come with me, I can make all your dreams come true, little one. I can make you belong.”

Belong? Your soul ached and yearned to belong somewhere.

“You can give in to your sins, free of guilt. Free of shame. No worries of fear of punishment.” He made a tempting debate.

Is this what you wanted for yourself?

“He'll leave you alone, you won't see him like you'll see me. Is that what you would like? He'll send messengers to talk through. You won't catch even a glimpse of him.”

I couldn't stand the thought. My mouth spoke before my brain could speak.

“Okay. I'll come with you.”

—

Third person's pov.

A sinister smile spread across his lips.

“This will hurt a little.” He muttered as he tilted her head to the side. He sunk his teeth into her neck, covering her mouth as to muffle her cries. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt their minds morphing into one.

Giving her a mark. A mark to tell everyone how easily he had corrupted her mind. How she was now his.

Noah pulled away, licking away the blood that resided on his lips.

As for Y/n, she felt her body burn hot. Aching pain spread through her body, her soft blue glow now turning orange.

She watched as he cleaned up the mess, licking the blood away on her neck.

“Oh, my sweet angel. You've made the right decision.”

—

As the pair now made their way into the kingdom, innumerable souls congratulated their king on his new found love.

They soon after found themselves in the Devil's bedroom. She hadn't taken Satan for one to sleep much.

“It isn't for sleeping, I promise that, baby.” He chuckled at his own comment.

As soon as she took a spot on the bed, covered in soft, red sheets, he was attacking her lips.

—

Y/n's pov.

You weren't complaining. He had promised you an eternal life, free of guilt. What would be the point in worrying about it now.

You let his lips venture your body, his fangs gliding across your skin every once in a while.

He had started leaving purple marks across your neck, close to the freshly marked wound he had given you previously. A way to say you were his.

“Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm going to corrupt your precious little mind. Fill it full with sinful thoughts about me.”

He took your hand, moving it down his shirt, down to where his cock was painfully straining against his pants.

It caused you to ache beneath your own. Your mind went dizzy with the thought of him. He was gorgeous and was about to give you everything you could ever want.

You had taken some initiative and unzipped his pants while he took his tie off, throwing it somewhere unbeknownst to you. He undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt and you, quite frankly, gawked over his body.

He was toned. He had tattoos littering his skin everywhere. His dark eyes watched as you took a long once over of his body.

“Fuck, you're beautiful. Truly.” Your words were quiet, seemingly scared that God would somehow hear or see the activities the two of you were getting up to.

“As are you. You'll be perfect at my side. For the rest of forever.” His hand caressed your face. He did truly find you breathtaking.

Your big doe eyes were something he could find himself staring into forever.

You were now something the holy trinity could never take away from him.

You pulled his pants down, causing his cock to be set free. Something roared in you.

You licked your lips before devouring him.

You swallowed his cock, slowly taking more each time your head bobbed up and down. Soon, he was reaching the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.

His hands were placed at either side of your hand, using it as leverage to fuck into your throat. You took it so well that he could lose himself in your touch. The way your arms were wrapped around his thighs, helping him go deeper into your throat made him weak and want to crumble.

You felt your cunt wetten for him. The sight of his hair falling out of place and his chest heaving through your teary eyes made you need him. You wanted him to enter your temple and destroy it.

His thrusts became sloppy, faltering here and there. You pulled away from his cock, muttering filthy sins as you stroked him.

“Let me taste you. Give it to me, baby.”

You were forced down onto him once more as he let his seed spray down your throat. Letting it coat your insides felt like bliss.

It was mere seconds before he led you to lay on your back. His hands were clawing and scraping against you, in such need and hurry to remove you of your clothes.

The second your panties hit the floor Noah was nose deep in your pussy, taking in your taste and smell.

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth was left gaped. A hand flew into his hair, pulling and tugging at it, causing his once perfect hair to now be disheveled.

“Oh- oh fuck-” You gasped as he licked and slurped along your clit. No man had ever pleased you as Noah was right now.

He wasn't a man. He was a fucking demon.

His middle and ring finger slid across your wetness before plunging into you.

Something in Noah felt like this is what he had been waiting for. This is what he was made for. He was made for you.

His fingers quickly found the right way to please you. The calloused pads of his fingers rubbing the right spot.

You bit your bottom lip and he somehow knew you were close to toppling over the edge.

“Do it. Let yourself go. Let yourself be mine.” His voice came out as a growl against your cunt as his fingers quickened.

“No- I can't I'm gonna-” You couldn't finish your sentence before your orgasm took over your mind.

Your orgasm left a mess everywhere. You hadn't known until you heard the wet sloshes against Noah's palm.

“Oh my- I've never done that before. How-how did you…?”

“Done what? Squirt? Fuck, angel. I'm Satan himself. Did you doubt me?” He had an shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Shut the hell up and fuck me.” Something took over you, all you could think about was his cock ramming into you. Destroying every thought you'd ever had of God and those “precious” pearly white gates.

“Look at you, mere moments ago you were trembling with fear. Now you're begging for my fucking cock.” He chuckled and crawled up your body, kissing and licking at your skin.

It didn't take long for him to position your legs over his shoulders, feeling his cock stretch you out as he entered you.

“Your body is a temple. And I'm here to fucking destroy it. I'm here to get in your pretty little head. Corrupt those holy thoughts with distasteful, nasty, sinful thoughts.” His words were venom digging into your brain, making your mind their home.

His thrusts were becoming faster, now that your pussy had gotten used to his size.

He had grabbed a candle that was permanently lit by his bed and watched the wax drip onto your skin. You hissed as each droplet made its spot on your skin.

Slowly but surely, Noah had made an upside down cross upon your stomach. You couldn't care for the dull burn the wax drips had left as they dried.

You could feel Noah's cock pushing its way into your fucking stomach. He was so inhumanly big, you almost forgot where you were and who you were getting fucked by.

Once the wax had set, you pulled Noah into you, clawing your nails deep into his skin. He growled over the feeling of your nails making dents so deep into his immoral skin.

Before you knew it, Noah's shoulders were bleeding and you were both merging into one.

“Noah, please, please harder!” Your words were barely decipherable as your second orgasm was approaching.

“Now. Give it to me now.” His words were enough to send you into a spiral.

As you had your own orgasm, Noah shot hot strings of seed deep into your womb.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna put a baby here one day.” Noah said as he rubbed your stomach.

He took the blood from his bruised shoulder onto his thumb, placing it onto your tongue.

"Forever, we are one."

He finally had a respective queen to be by his side for the rest of eternity.

—

Woke up in the light convinced my life had made it to its end. Burning up beneath the sun, while my father drained of blood.

If he's there, I've got a message for the man that's up above.

Fuck. You.

Taglist: @vinyardmauro @missduffsblog @lma1986 @embracethereaper42 @skulliecadaver-blog @mrscevans @viofcrows @gipsonnikki @philomenie @bloody-delusion-expert @bloodymug @millyhelp @fuckyouimstillstanding @cookiesupplier @concreteangel92 @bruisedleftknee @sprokat @itsafullmoon @darling-millicent-aubrey @eclipseeetop

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noahsebastian #bad omens band #badomens #badomenscult #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #nick folio #noah bad omens #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian smut

281 notes · View notes

thelostgirl21 · 2 months ago

Text

So, you are telling me that Jaskier used to wear outfits the color of the sea in Season 1...

That he constantly complains about his feet hurting, or struggling with keeping his footing while having to wear boots (is the problem his actual boots or a lack of early practice in life?!)...

That he got all excited at the thought that Geralt might catch him a fish to eat...

That a huge part of his identity and the pride he takes in himself is tied to his singing voice and abilities...

That his songs have been described as having the power to sing a king off his clothes...

That helping his best friend in the whole wide world bathe after rubbing soothing chamomile onto his lovely bottom is typical friendship behavior to him...

That he vulnerably asked for Geralt to get away for a while with him, and head to the (west?) coast, in the hopes that he might be able to prove himself a worthy [travel] companion (works whether you interpret the interest as romantic or queerplatonic).

And then he basically implied that (returning home with Geralt?) might be what would please him most.

That the very first thing he did after Geralt returned to him and got him out of his cell in Season 2, is take off his top and jump into the freaking nearest body of water!

That he's hypersensitive to the way people on land start stinking after a while (including himself), and will openly suggest they should bathe (or downright bathe them himself)!

That he talks with animals...

That you had him fall in love with a human prince in Season 3...

... then had him sing a song about a human prince that falls in love with a siren to Ciri right before you had him go meet with said prince, share his first kiss with him, and make love to him in a woodshed!

... only to show a clip from "Sirens of the Deep" revealing that the Netflix version of Jaskier is from

Bremervoord

a.k.a. The vassal state of Cidaris and one of the places that goes the furthest west into the sea on the Continent!

Bremervoord, with an economy running primarily on pearls fishing.

Bremervoord, the place where the story of Jaskier's Season 3 song, "A Little Sacrifice" takes place...

A place where a prince (though I think it's a duke in the actual short story) meets a siren, falls in love with her, and willingly leaves his human life behind to follow her at sea.*

*according to the song, at least! And I'm not sure it ends well for the prince of the song, because that part about him sinking to darkest night sounds a bit ominous if you ask me... The book's short story has a different conclusion.

You're basically telling me that Jaskier comes from a place on the coast that goes far into the sea to the west, a place where merpeople and humans occasionally interact, and that he didn't really feel like talking about where he's from, because he felt like the only way for him to ever be able to "become himself" was to leave his home behind...

... AND YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO LATCH ONTO THAT POPULAR MERMAN!JASKIER THEORY?!

OR INSTINCTIVELY START DEVELOPING A BUNCH OF HEADCANONS ABOUT IT?

For example :

What if Jaskier keeps repeating that "he's just a bard" not because he's actually dismissing how good, influential, or powerful he is...

... but because he chose to give up his tail to permanently become a human, and he doesn't like to be reminded that he doesn't quite "fully belong" with humanity, because there's something a bit different and "unique" about his singing.

What if, growing up as a merboy, he'd kept feeling like he was born in the wrong body and with the wrong species given his brethren's attitude about singing as an artform.

What if when merpeople sing, they typically rely on pure melodies without lyrics, and argue that only humans and other species of the land - with their inferior vocal capabilities - must rely on something as primitive as words and lyrics to inspire emotions and make ideas take root into other people's minds.

What if they do have a singing speech pattern, but when it comes to artistic expression, the songs are purely melodic.

But Jaskier, after listening to some of the folk songs that the local bards enjoy singing by the fire at the beach, often accompanied by a lute or other instruments, fell in love with the way the words of those songs flow and sound.

Perhaps he revealed himself to Essi then, and that, instead of being scared of him, she agreed to show him how to play the lute, speak her language, and sing the way humans do.

And when he did fully grasp the beauty and the power of using verbal poetry into songs, he knew he could never look back.

What if Essi was the first person to ever really see him for who he was and treat him as family, hence why he loves her like a little sister.

Maybe "the Lettenhoves" are basically a group of merpeople with no actual blood relation, that lost their own families and were rejected by them when they chose to make the full transition from merperson to human.

By pretending to be blood relatives, they've managed, however, to realistically pass as a large human noble family, acquire a bunch of lands and estates over the years that is passed to each new generation that wants them, and each new member is given a certain amount of money when they become one of the Lettenhoves to begin their new life on land!

They aren't extremely close, because they each have their own lives and personal ventures (very few go into singing careers), but they are still people that understand what being a human born at sea feels like, and that will be there to offer each other help and support if need be!

And so, Jaskier was able to go study at the University of Oxenfurt and learn as much of the human world and its arts as he could!

But, while his voice remains a bit more powerful and influential than most humans that were born on land, that influence comes with a "curse"...

Most people that instinctively fall under the charm of his melodies (note: Jaskier can use his voice to make an audience more susceptible to anger and annoyance when he sings, too. An especially useful skill to have when you're relying on food being thrown at you to eat... Hence why Geralt's lack of emotional response to his singing when they met was so intriguing!) will typically only care about how they make them feel, rather than how Jaskier himself was feeling when he wrote his songs.

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri are all immune to his siren charms - and dwarves appear to be more resistant as well - but, while his songs inspire people, and hearing him sing them "live" with his actual voice tends to make people become instantly infatuated with him (or immediately hate him, should Jaskier wish to repel rather than attract them)...

... they rarely ever see him or seemingly attempt to connect with him on an intimate, emotional level, like they would with another human being.

And so, every time Jaskier is reminded of how much influence he appears to have over how people see the world when he uses his voice, Jaskier's tendency to remind them that he's "just a bard" is because he wishes people would connect with his humanity, too, rather than what he can do.

Regardless of him being able to pass as someone that was born on land and started his life in a fully human body, he knows that his voice will always carry some remnant of his siren abilities.

And that this difference appears to be preventing him from emotionally and physically connecting with other human beings that weren't born at sea like him, the way he wishes he could.

And so, that's why he was initially hesitant to sing for Radovid, and he kept insisting that he wasn't in a "singing mood" that day.

Because he knew that, the moment Radovid heard his singing voice, he might stop listening to him and trying to connect.

But there was something in the way Radovid insisted - while asking for Jaskier to pick his favorite song and showing a sincere curiosity about listening to what pleased him most - that made Jaskier ultimately choose to risk it.

And, while Radovid was obviously affected by the sound of his voice (to the point where he felt the need to pretend his speechlessness was caused by drunkenness), it was also very clear that he'd been listening.

Not only was his gaze very sharp and his eyes clear and bright while Jaskier was singing - seemingly attempting to analyse every note and word - but, for once, the things Radovid was complimenting him about weren't related to his ability to make people feel and experience things...

For once, what Radovid was claiming made Jaskier so special wasn't the beauty or power of his voice, or how catchy the melodies of the songs he'd sang to him were.

It wasn't even about how Jaskier's lyrics had made him feel.

He'd told Jaskier that what made him so special was his ability to see people for who they really are rather than who they pretend to be.

He'd essentially told him that his ability to truly comprehend those around him was his gift - that he had a unique ability to connect with them at the core... the very thing Jaskier had always felt that he was lacking.

And when Jaskier pushed him for more, all Radovid told him was that he didn't know yet, but was determined to figure it out.

"You connect strongly with others and my desire is to understand and connect with you."

That is what Radovid had taken away from who he was, even after having heard him sing, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel like he'd found a kindred spirit in that human.

Someone stuck in a world and a birth family that simply couldn't understand and accept him as he was - constantly hiding parts of himself to survive.

Radovid had then agreed to help him with the whole situation with Rience - despite the fact that Jaskier hadn't used any song to attempt to suggest he should, just genuinely asked for his help.

And - if that hadn't been enough - that prince had gone one step even further by asking him if Geralt knew how lucky he was to have him, after Jaskier had been singing about his self-worth issues when it came to relationships and his fear of never being good enough - or human enough - for a fellow human (or mutated human) partner.

He'd been listening to him.

He might have been born on land, and he might not have been immune to Jaskier's siren abilities, but Radovid still hadn't lost sight of who he was, nor been tempted to start obsessing about owning him or treating him like a prized possession.

And so, Jaskier tentatively begins to allow himself to hope...

Until Radovid does something truly unexpected that none of his prior human, elven or dwarven suitors or lovers had ever done before...

Learn his song.

Sirens are typically immune to the power that another siren's voices carry... until they fall in love.

One of the ways to know if a fellow merperson is alterously or romantically drawn to you is to sing back one of their own melodies to them, and see how they will respond.

Should they feel that instinctive, near irresistible pull towards the melody, and vice versa, then the two sirens will often start trying to discover and explore different ways they can learn to harmonize and use their voices to complement each other's, and create new shared melodies that will resound through the sea.

And, for the very first time in his life, Jaskier finally understands how people feel when they listen to him sing.

Despite the fact that the "siren's melody" being sung back to him is a human song he wrote, with human lyrics, accompanied by human instruments...

Despite the fact that Radovid himself is most definitely not a siren but very much human - fumbling a bit with Jaskier's lute, visibly nervous, too shy to allow his voice to rise above a whisper...

To Jaskier, it's the most beautifully mesmerizing "siren's melody" he's ever heard in his existence! It's filled with warmth, love, understanding, a promise of unconditional acceptance and safety...

It's absolutely intoxicating, he can barely breathe, feels like he's on the very edge of losing his sanity, and it takes all the power he has to avoid launching himself right at him!

And if a human can make him feel this way singing back to him a song filled with poetry and lyrics - rather than a classic, traditional siren's melody - then maybe there's never been anything wrong with Jaskier or the way he's always preferred to sing!

His people made him feel unwanted, but the sea never did! It probably would have been welcoming to a lute-playing merman singing like a bard, if his people hadn't been such close-minded arses!

Jaskier feels at home on land and has never once regretted his choice, but maybe he still has a right to also be a child of the sea, regardless of him having ultimately chosen a pair of legs over his fins!

And maybe Radovid would love to see parts of his old home some day - even if they can only access the surface of it, rather than go explore everything hidden in the water's depths (unless Yennefer has a spell that would allow Radovid to breathe under water as he does. Because Jaskier would never trust a sea witch with Radovid's life!).

And if Jaskier himself can be mesmerized by Radovid's song and feel like he would let that man lead him anywhere and do whatever he wants with him, without any desire to own and control him; maybe he'd simply been trying to connect with the wrong people.

Radovid is the first person he's ever met that seems to be able to connect with both the human and the siren part of him. And when Jaskier offers to help him work on his lute playing and singing, what he's truly saying is that he wants them to learn to harmonize their voices together and create their own melodies...

It's an intimate need Jaskier still has, and he's finally found himself a mate that appears to fully get him, and be able to fulfil those needs.

Of course, then the whole mess with Cirilla happens, and for a moment there Jaskier loses faith that any of it was ever real!

Who was he kidding!? The Redanian Intelligence kept insisting that they knew everything about everyone! Maybe they'd figured out Jaskier used to be a merman, done their research, noticed that Jaskier "fancied" the prince, and instructed him to surprise him and trick him into lowering his defenses, by courting him the way a fellow merman would!

He really should have known!

But then, when he finds Radovid alone, lost, and hiding, he realizes that Radovid had never meant to trick or hurt him.

Radovid had just been genuinely afraid, and trying to deal with the threat of a looming war as best he could by seeking Ciri's help.

And now, the war he'd attempted preventing from happening had begun, he'd clearly internalized Jaskier's earlier blame, and that spoon of a man was sufficiently bonded to him by now that he might just allow himself to be captured and killed if he doesn't do something about it!

And then, Jaskier himself might end up symbolically 'washing ashore' somewhere and letting himself die of heartbreak, for fuck's sake!

Because merpeople are dramatic as fuck and they feel the loss of friends and family in a way that's devastatingly sharp. Being rejected by a queerplatonic or romantic partner - or having them die on them - is the worst type of injury one could inflict upon them!

When he'd sung about having also survived, no thanks to Geralt, he'd fully meant it! That loss had nearly killed him!

If he wants to survive this, he needs to figure out a way to keep Radovid safe, and then make sure that Geralt and the rest of his family are safe also, because he doesn't know how he'd manage to continue to live in this world if the war ends up taking everything from him in a way where all hope would be lost of ever getting any of them back!

#Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #Geraskier #Merman!Jaskier #My Posts #My Thoughts #Seriously Netflix why did you do this to me!#I'm supposed to be trying to get shit done right now to prepare for the new dance session starting next week #And finishing writing those WIP fics #And answering to a bunch of stuff (haven't forgotten about you #@my-jokes-are-my-armour #I swear!)#NOT having a little merman!Jaskier gleefully swimming and running around my brain hijacking everything and ensuring nothing else get done!!#Fucking hell!#Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!

106 notes · View notes

grison-in-space · 8 months ago

Text

You know, I've been reading things written by people on the internet for my whole life, or at least my whole life after I was about ten. I'm thirty three now. That means there are people whose words I read on the internet twenty years ago who are presumably still around and occupying the internet—sometimes using names I can recognize from back then, too. (hat tip to my fellow "changing usernames is unnatural actually" brethren; I've only changed one myself twice in the whole world since I was about fourteen or fifteen.)

Sometimes I think about a person I see around occasionally on the internet. That person wrote a story about a character in a rather silly fandom we shared, and I read it as a child just beginning to conceptualize being someone whose opinions might matter. And I remember reading that story at some point, because at that age I had a hyperfixation on that character in that fandom at that time and I read pretty much everything in the genre. I never really got to talk to anyone but the inside of my head about it. My friends didn't read fanfiction, and my parents viewed my reading fanfiction as some kind of depraved, shameful secret. Anyway, I read that story and I remember having some kind of deep realization about how adult humans work while I was reading it.

I learned something about the world from that story. (It was one of those insights that are now so molten alongside my core that it's difficult for me to disentangle them from myself, like "people outside you have their own perspective on your behaviors, but that doesn't mean they have to be right.") And I remember that they know it, because they taught it to me, without meaning to. One of the anonymous impacts on readers that writers never see unless they're extraordinarily lucky.

And I smile, because it's lovely to see them again, and they showed me a skill I still use today. We don't have a relationship of any kind—it would be very difficult to recognize me, I think—but they did me a favor a long time ago. And I remember. Now I get to be reminded that this person still exists, and is still a pretty cool human to be around today, at least for the specific circumstance of internet neighbor. Well, and our modern level of concern about once beloved elders from the distant past going terrifyingly cult-addled and bigoted on short notice.

That has not happened in the slightest. They're just still a pretty nice fandom person who is a bit older than me, who is recognizably the same person they have always been, but more intensely and thoughtfully—like a distilled brandy, not a sour vinegar left out on a countertop too long.

Weirdly, that's a thing I find comforting: this tiny, one way, invisible affection. Every so often I feel this intense affection for a person I've never spoken to or about, because I see them and I love them intensely for a moment and then we both go about our days.

Think about how many interactions you have with people as you go about your day. Wouldn't it be nice to imagine that other people feel like that about you?

I think I'm going to imagine that there's one person that read something I said and thinks that about me. I don't need to ever actually know if it's true: I can just imagine someone who happened to be at a formative moment when they learned something against the background of my words. We'll never know each other as our screennames are lost along the years and we move in and out of touch with parts of ourselves, but we still have that little fond impact on one another, those fingerprints in one another's clay.

It's a nicer world to imagine than the one where no one is paying attention to me, or the only people paying attention to me are mean. And there's really no way to ever know for sure, so why not inhabit the pleasant end of the imaginatory pool if you can?

356 notes · View notes

gravehags · 6 months ago

Text

unholy, unholy, unholy

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: the ministry being the catholic church's evil twin, manipulation, masturbation, confession, copia lowkey being a desperate little sex freak my beloved

Words: 5,153

Summary: You really walked right into this, you tell yourself. You can't even be mad at Copia for suggesting it.

a/n: can't believe the last thing i wrote for these losers was at christmas...damn. anyway you know how i like my non-chronological shit so this takes place somewhere in between take me apart and satan baby. i'm not done making these two dance around their feelings just yet.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.”

You slam your office door shut with your hip and Cardinal Copia turns to look at you from his seat.

“Need help?”

With a grunt and a shake of your head you walk past him and set the bag of food down on your desk, heaving a deep sigh.

“Had to go on a fucking scavenger hunt because the goddamn DoorDash driver left the bag with a maintenance worker, who gave it to one of Terzo’s ghouls, who left it in a stairwell for some reason…don’t ask me how I managed to find it because fuck if I know.”

Dramatically you flop into your desk chair and give your lunch companion a look as he begins to sort out your meals with a smile.

“You know you eh…take the Lord’s name in vain quite a bit for someone who wasn’t raised in religion.”

When he passes your container of Pad see ew to you, you grin.

“Ehhh you know, the perils of being raised in a predominantly Christian society. It’s funny, the first time I said ‘Jesus Christ’ I was maybe…I don’t know nine? Ten? And my mom tersely told me ‘don’t say that’ to which I replied ‘why not?’ I don’t think she knew how to answer that question in a way that would make me care, you know? I had gone all my little life not giving a shit about Jesus, why would I now?”

Copia chuckles and cracks open his own takeaway box.

“Ah cara, you continue to stray further and further from God’s light every day. Thank Sathanas for that, hmm?”

With a smile, you clink your soda can against his and dig into your meal.

“You ever think about how fascinating your religion is, Copia?”

You prop your feet up on your desk as Copia delicately picks noodles out of his box with chopsticks.

“Eh, how do you mean?”

“Like…you’re a Satanic cardinal. You’ve sworn your life to uphold the tenets of Satanism. You…we live at a massive complex dedicated to Satan. One of many complexes throughout the world, apparently. And yet, barely anyone knows of the Ministry’s existence. It’s wild, really.”

He makes a thoughtful noise as he chews on a particularly crunchy piece of bok choy.

“Ah, well,” he begins, setting his chopsticks down and reaching for the soda resting on the desk, “we’re trying to change that. In…subtle ways.”

“Mmm, the Ghost project.”

“Sì, the idea is we use Papa to spread our message through music - something that is accessible to many people.”

“With the hopes that you and your evil brethren can dominate the globe?” you say, scrunching your nose playfully and giving him a big wink.

“Something like that,” he smiles wryly.

“Well I’ve listened to some of the project’s music and I gotta say…big fan. I think your sinister subliminal messaging is working on me.”

“Oh?” he asks, setting down his food in order to cross his legs and give you a curious stare. “Tell me more, cara. Do I have a future sister of sin on my hands?”

You close your eyes and laugh, missing the hungry way the Cardinal watches the line of your throat as your head tilts back.

“Maybe…let’s just say I’m intrigued. How could I not be when I’m surrounded by it all the time?”

He nods, resting a gloved hand on his knee and straightening his cassock.

“Perhaps…”

You fix him with a look you know will make him lose his train of thought for a moment. Positively wicked.

“Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps,” he clears his throat, eyes darting away from yours, “you would like to attend one of our services?”

You nod gamely.

“Is a super cool and hip youth pastor going to tell me about the ways the Devil cares about me unconditionally?”

He rolls his eyes and fixes you with an unamused stare.

“Very funny, dolcezza. Would you prefer that I have you sit with Papa Nihil while he explains the history of the Emeritus bloodline?”

You balk. The wizened Papa had a distinct dislike of you for some odd reason. You often wonder how he manages to give you such dirty looks through his cloudy eyes. You didn’t particularly care, however, as you saw the way he constantly brushed off and mistreated Copia during staff meetings. Nihil irked you to no end, no matter how much Sister Imperator liked him.

“Alright, fine, sorry. I only jest to get a rise out of you, I know how important your religion is to you. And hey, anything that has the drama and aesthetics of the Catholic Church without all the guilt and trauma has my full attention. Please don’t be mad.”

He grunts but you see the way his mustache twitches as he fights back a smile. You flutter your eyelashes a little and in a moment of boldness, take your lower lip between your teeth. The way his mismatched eyes dart to your mouth and his jaw hangs open makes you giddy.

“I’m–,” his voice comes out as a hoarse rasp, “I forgive you, cara.”

“Thank you for absolving me of my sins, Your Eminence.”

He has to know you’re doing this on purpose at this point. You’re not sure what has gotten into you today but something about the way he stares at you now makes you want to grab him by his pellegrina and haul him over your desk for a sloppy kiss. There’s a heavy tension between the two of you, not for the first time, as if all one of you needs to do is take a step forward and all hell would break loose.

“So, you want me to go to a service? What like black mass? Unholy baptism? Virgin sacrifice?”

The spell is broken and briefly your swagger flickers, wondering if you’ve crossed a line.

“Eh, maybe someday but your statement about sin made me think…perhaps confession would be more suited to you?”

Now your jaw falls open and you can feel your cheeks light up as he watches you with a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. The tables have turned and now you’re the one left speechless.

“O-oh?” you ask, voice a little higher than normal, “so if Catholic confession is about getting your sins forgiven, then Satanic confession is…having your sins…celebrated?”

“Corretto,” he says with a generous nod, “we’ll go through each one in ah…intimate detail.”

“We?” you squeak out, stomach dropping severely, “I hadn’t realized that you would be presiding.”

“Oh sì,” he says, the smirk on his face positively devilish, “although if you’d prefer someone else…”

“No,” you say just a little too quickly, your heart pounding, “I…I don’t know how much sinning I really get up to. I’ll probably bore you to tears.”

“You might be surprised, dolcezza,” Christ the nickname sounds devious on his lips right now, “What is it they say? ‘Still waters run deep’?”

Your laugh comes out just a little too loud and unnatural and you kick yourself.

“Ha…right. We…we should probably get back to this cataloging or Sister Imperator is going to publicly execute me.”

The rest of the afternoon proceeds normally, with the two of you diligently organizing the abbey’s collection of illuminated manuscripts. When you finally part, he gives you the date, time, and directions to the chapel where the confession booth is located.

“Cara,” he murmurs as you begin to walk away, “you don’t have to do this.”

You give him a half-smile and shake your head.

“I think it will be good for me,” you say, hands behind your back as you rock onto your heels, “and besides, how could I say no to spending an evening with you?”

You make sure not to turn away until you see the full breadth of his dazed expression and by the time your back is to him and you’re walking away, there’s a loopy grin on your face. It’s not til you turn the corner and reach the staircase to your quarters the full realization of what you’ve agreed to dawns upon you.

Oh fuck.

You don’t see Copia the next two days between his duties and your own and for that you’re extremely thankful. The date of your confession has arrived and you’re equal parts nauseated and exhilarated. Having never gone to confession of any sort before, you’re not entirely sure what to expect. You’re not ignorant - you’ve seen confession scenes in the media and have heard from friends raised in Catholicism - but what little you do know doesn’t assuage your anxiety. This was Satanic confession. A whole different beast. Your mind conjures images of blood rituals and sacrifices and being on your knees before Copia…his gloved hand tilting your chin upwards to look at him…

Christ Almighty, get your shit together.

You desperately try to, as you sternly told yourself, get your shit together but your mind is clouded the rest of your workday with positively sinful scenes of the two of you. You’re particularly fond of the one where he’s got you in his office, your skirt hiked up over your hips as you bend over his desk and he pushes himself inside you from behind. The thought of his voice in your head, calling you his sweet little nicknames as he fucks into you, makes you practically drip. The final two hours in your office are torture before you’re able to skitter back to your rooms. You’re not meeting with Copia for another few hours and you need to do something about the ache between your thighs. Impatiently, you fumble for the buttons on your blouse with one hand while pushing your skirt off with another. You must look a sight, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere on the floor, but all you can think about now is getting to your bed. You almost trip twice in the journey to your room, blindly stumbling over and flinging yourself on the mattress. What has gotten into you? You’ve been horny before, about Copia sure, but this? The way you’re practically whining when your hands meet your bare breasts? You feel positively feral.

“Copia,” you breathe, fingers pinching at your nipples. You imagine his hands on you, the way the leather would warm as he strokes your soft skin.

Dolcezza.

Fuck, you can hear it perfectly and it makes you sigh, one of your hands slowly sliding down your body to cup the heat of you. You’re sopping and time feels like it slows as you spread yourself open and slide two fingers against your engorged clit. All of your frantic rushing from earlier ceases as you twitch under your own touch, his name on your lips. You’re so sensitive right now it barely takes anything to bring you over the edge, but, you think as your orgasm wanes, it’s not quite enough. Taking a slow exhale in you slip your fingers lower and tease at your entrance. The digits glide in easily enough with the abundance of slick coming from you and languorously you begin to pump them in and out. Your eyes slide shut and you imagine it’s his dexterous fingers instead, curling inside you so you can feel every stitch and groove of his glove.

Cara mia, he’d murmur into your ear, so wet for me. So sweet for your Cardinal, eh? You honor me.

The whimpers crawling out of your mouth are getting more frequent and higher in pitch - you know you’re close. You bring your palm flat against yourself to push on your clit as your hips continue to make little circles, driving your fingers deeper in. Your hand is aching but it doesn’t stop you from pulling another orgasm out of yourself, chanting his name. Tears pool in your eyes and slide down your temples as you sob aloud and all of a sudden it’s too much. Your body spasms on the duvet, breath coming in harsh pants as you attempt to slow the thundering of your heart. It’s not the first time you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, by any means, but something feels…different. More charged. You’re exhausted, bone tired as you try to organize your feelings. Reaching a hand up to rub your face you turn over and look at the clock.

5:32 PM

Your eyelids are heavy but you manage to lean over the side of your bed and locate your phone to set an alarm. Some sleep would do you good. Clear your head.

You don’t dream.

—------

Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo.

Copia paces back and forth in the small, dimly lit (romantically lit, some would say) chapel. The last sibling of the evening just left and now all that remains is…you. He barely heard what the siblings were telling him this evening, so anxious was he and caught up in the thought of you soon being in their position. More than once his vision went blurry as he imagined you a breath away, separated only by the decorative wooden screen.

He was so eager for you to walk through that door, now he’s not sure. With a heavy sigh through his nose he looks down at his watch.

6:58 PM

You’re always punctual and he counts on tonight being no different. Resigned to his fate, he shuffles over to the confession booth and opens the door, slotting himself inside. Shit, his ass hurts from the hard bench, why in fuck’s name had they not added a cushion to this side like there was on the other? He’s grumbling to himself in Italian when he hears the chapel door squeak open and firmly shut. Your soft footsteps approach - you must be wearing your sneakers and not your boots for the distinct clacking sound he usually hears from you has vanished. He sucks in a breath when he hears you open your side of the booth and quietly shut it. There’s a silence between the two of you so profound that when you finally speak he jumps.

“Hey. You’re in there right?”

He makes a loud, vague noise and sees your shoulders drop through the screen. He can’t get a read on your expression but the anxiety in the air has softened with your posture.

“Good evening,” he begins, a little stiffly. “Eh, welcome.”

You breathe out heavy through your nose.

“Copia, is this a good idea?”

He pauses and looks down to pull at a loose thread on his cuff.

“Are…are you nervous, cara?”

You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fucking nervous! I’ve never even been to a regular confession let alone…this.”

“Well, we begin with the ceremonial bloodletting and–”

“Oh fuck off,” you grouse, flicking the screen that separates you. You fall silent after a moment.

“Cara, are you truly that anxious? Because we don’t have to do any–”

“I’m fine, Copia. Really. I don’t know why I'm so worked up. Fear of the unknown, I suppose,” you clear your throat and hears you crack your neck.

“Bene. Shall I go over the process with you? And remember this is a celebration. No shaming. No guilt. No wrong answers.”

You take a deep breath in and he sees you nod.

“I will start with the blessing and then we will go through the seven cardinal sins one by one. You may describe yours as briefly or lengthy as you like and we will venerate them. Once we have finished, I will close with a blessing. Then we will part. Nothing to be nervous about, eh? Are you ready?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very good,” he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “In nomine Padre, et Filio, et lo Spiritus Malum…we welcome this most sacred sinner into your embrace that she may revel in her transgressions against God.”

When he addresses you by name, he sees you jump.

“Let us begin with the Original Sin - pride.”

“Okay. Yeah. Pride.” There’s a few seconds of silence before he hears you softly curse. “Sorry, I should have made a list or something.”

“Take your time,” he says with a smile, simply content to be in your presence, “I have nowhere to be, cara. I am right here, ready when you are.”

He can see your eyelashes flutter as you look down and your cheeks bunch in a soft smile. Although mostly obscured, the sight still makes his heart soar. After a minute or so of silence you speak.

“Oh! Okay, uh pride. Well I was going to tell you about this anyway but…you know that little write-up I did of Satanic art in the time of the Counter-Reformation?”

“Naturalmente, it was superb.”

“Thank you. Well I thought it was too so I submitted it to a journal for publishing…and they accepted it.”

He can practically hear your grin and it makes him beam in return.

“Cara mia! Congratulazioni! You deserve nothing less! Although I hope you do not consider it a sin to rightfully celebrate an occasion such as this?”

You sigh.

“Ah, I don’t know. I may have bragged a bit too much to other people in the field. Felt a little too self-satisfied about it. So I think that would count, right?”

He scoffs.

“To Papa Frankie, maybe. To us it is a well-deserved acknowledgement of your hard work and something you have every right to be proud of. Dolcezza, even if you hesitate to celebrate yourself, know that I always will do so for you. Published in a journal, well done cara.”

He may not be able to see it in the low light of the confessional but he can picture your flushed cheeks perfectly in his mind.

“Anything else you would like to say on the matter?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Are you ready for the next?”

“Yes,” you say, with greater confidence, “let’s continue.”

“Onto the next. Envy.”

“Ah,” you seem to deflate a little and his brows knit together, “well about that. This…wow this is embarrassing.”

“No such thing as embarrassing at this moment. It’s a safe space, remember?”

“Right,” you huff, “okay well here it goes then. I see the sisters of sin every day walking around the corridors, working in the library, in the dining hall and…I envy them. I envy their bold confidence in their appearance and their sexuality.”

He’s silent for a moment, weighing whether or not he should say what he’s thinking. But you deserve to hear this.

“Confidence is not only represented by eh, wearing short skirts and high heels. I see you exude it every day when you’re bossing me around, no?”

You bark out a laugh and it lightens his heart.

“Truth be told,” he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m not the best person to be taking advice on confidence from. But I know how to recognize it and I see it in you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur so softly he thinks he might have made it up, “can we move on?”

“Si,” he says before clearing his throat, “next one is wrath.”

He hears you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, I’ve got a good one for this. Well…not good. It wasn’t my best moment. But it definitely fits the bill.”

He makes a noise prompting you to continue.

“You know that new painting that Sister Imperator got at auction? The one of Lilith and Faust? It arrived last week and she asked me to oversee its unboxing. I told all the siblings working with me that once the box was open the painting was to be handled with archival gloves. I had to step out of the room for a second to talk to the head librarian and when I came back…not a glove to be found and the painting was halfway out of its crate. Copia I…I lost my shit. You know me I-I don’t get mad. But the fact that they had disregarded my instruction and got their bare fingers on that canvas, then acted ignorant about the whole thing…Christ, Copia I saw red. I don’t even remember half of what I yelled at them. I had to walk out before I did something I would regret. God, I already regretted raising my voice. I didn’t report them to Sister Imperator but she found out somehow…maybe the librarian? I don’t know what their punishment was but I haven’t seen them since. Copia, it was awful. I was awful.”

“With good reason,” he replies promptly, “they should have respected your authority as a professional in the field and by not doing so not only did they potentially damage Ministry property, but they also embarrassed themselves. Idioti. Though I would have liked to have seen you all riled up.” A confession of his own - Sathanas would he have loved to see you flying at them like a demon, your claws sharp and your words sharper. The thought sends a shiver of arousal down his spine and he takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again.

“Is that all you wish to say?”

“Yes. Can we please move on?”

“Very well. Next is sloth.”

You’re silent for a moment and his heart sinks, hoping you’re not dwelling too much on your last confession. He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Sloth, yeah. I, uh,” you let out a giggle and he’s relieved to hear it, “none of these can get me in trouble with Sister Imperator, right?”

“No,” he says slowly, a grin curling his lips, “this is just between us.”

“Okay good. Do you remember a couple weeks back when I texted you that I wasn’t coming in because I was having a migraine?”

“Sì…”

“I was lying,” the words blurt out of you in a rush but you sound almost gleeful about it, “I was so fucking tired and so cozy in bed and it was raining outside…I just couldn’t do it. Stayed under the covers all day watching Ghost Adventures.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he playfully chides, and he can see your shoulders shake with laughter, “Signorina I am stunned. Horrified, even–”

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“Horrified…that you didn’t tell me so I could join you. I love those ghost hunting shows.”

Your laugh makes him smile in return, “Next time we’ll play hooky together, I promise.”

He sighs deeply. “Please. I could use it.”

“I know,” you murmur, “no one in this abbey works as hard as you do.”

“Grazie, tesoro. I appreciate your kindness.”

You make a warm noise of affirmation before speaking, “What’s next?”

“Gluttony.”

“Oh Christ,” you cringe, head falling forward, “Maybe…about a month ago? Primo came by my rooms and handed me a Tupperware container of brownies. Told me to eat one per sitting with a sweet old man smile on his face. I’m not an idiot, I heard what he grows in the abbey gardens but my God the stink that came off of these things. I knew I was about to get my shit rocked. So I ate my designated brownie and just puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen. All of a sudden, I’m flat on the floor in front of my fan having an out of body experience. I don’t know how long I was lying there for but by the time I hauled myself up I was so hungry I thought I was losing it. Went through a box of cereal, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and the next thing I knew I was in the papas’ kitchen making a bag of popcorn. Don’t remember getting there and don’t remember coming back up to my rooms but the next morning I was tucked in bed. So weird.”

He chuckles nervously as if he wasn’t the one to find you wandering the kitchens stoned out of your gourd and put you there.

“Ha yes…weird. That’s…that’s all you remember?”

“Mmhmm. Talk about the devil’s lettuce. Was pissed I didn’t have any cereal the next morning, though.”

“Let’s move onto the next, hmm?” He’s a little louder than necessary but you don’t question his suspicious behavior.

“Yeah sure. Hit me.”

“Eh, greed.”

“Hmm,” you ponder and he hears the back of your head thunk against the wood of the booth. “Damn, this is a hard one.”

“It usually is, funnily enough. You can always skip it, if you like.”

“No, no, no,” you say, leaning forward, “I’m trying to get the full set, let me cook.”

That actually makes him laugh out loud. How he adores you so.

“Greed, greed, greed,” you mutter to yourself, “Ah…greed would include covetousness, yeah?”

“Mmm, is there something or perhaps…someone you have been coveting?”

It’s a leading question and he knows this as he hears your breath quicken. It’s at this point in his fantasies where you confess your adoration for him, where he flees the confines of his side of the booth to fall to his knees before you and worship you as Sathanas intended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he tastes the bitter tang of his paints which distracts him for a moment when he hears you say–

“Yes. There is someone.”

The silence is deafening between the two of you and his heart thuds against his ribcage, desperate for you reach over and tear it from his chest. He flexes his hands, the leather squeaking as the both of you sit with the words.

“O-oh?” he finally manages to stutter. He can see your eyes are shut and hears you loudly swallow.

“I, um,” you begin, “yeah. There is someone I’ve wanted for…a long time. I…I think he–I mean they–might reciprocate but…”

Tell her, you fool.

“Can we do the next one, actually?” your voice is so painfully soft and his stomach drops. She is doing you a kindness, his brain cruelly provides, by not telling you of who she truly wants. A sibling, perhaps. Or perhaps…one of your fratelli. The thought pains him so he nearly doubles over on himself as if being punched in the gut. Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed.

Lust.

He’s startled by the sound of his own voice and you are too judging from the way you twitch. From his obscured view you look positively horrified, as if you had forgotten about this one.

“I haven’t been with anyone,” you blurt out, sounding both panicked and deeply embarrassed. He hardly recognizes his own voice as he responds with uncharacteristic calmness.

“Lustful acts…do not always have to involve another person.”

Now why the fuck would he say that? He can see your eyes widen and even in the dim light of the confessional he registers the violent blush on your cheeks.

“Oh I…oh.”

You raise a hand up to rub aggressively at your face, breathing deep.

“In that case, yes,” you finally say and his gut clenches, “I have indulged in the sin of lust.”

“A-about the person you covet?” He’s pushing it but he can’t help himself, can’t help the hope that simmers in his belly and makes his pants tighten.

“Mmm…mhmm,” you respond and you open your mouth to speak but hesitate. When you finally do, there’s a new tone to your voice - something low. Sensual.

“It’s…good. Fuck it’s good. When I think about them I-I go a little insane. I want them so fucking badly and it’s so easy to think about them and what they could do to me. What I would let them do to me.”

His fist flies to his mouth to stifle the whine that threatens to escape from him and his cock throbs underneath his cassock. He can feel your eyes on him, see your lips parted and it makes him lightheaded. Focus. Focus. Go over there and fuck her against this goddamned confessional. Focus.

“Sathanas bless you, tesoro,” he finally ekes out, his voice hoarse, “in celebrating your body a-and your desire you have made Him proud. Well done.”

A beat passes until you clear your throat. He thinks if he doesn’t tend to his dick soon he’s going to pass out.

“That’s all of them then, right? Got the full set?”

“Mmhmm. You can go if you like.”

“Didn’t you say there’s another blessing at the end?”

Satan damn your ability to vex him when he needs relief…and you…the most.

“Eh, yes. In nomine Padre, et Filio, e-et lo Spiritus Malum,” Cazzo what was the rest of it? “Ah…Sathanas bless this most sacred sinner for reveling in her transgressions against God. Nema.”

“Cool, well uh. Goodnight Copia. This has been…enlightening.”

“It certainly has,” he mutters under his breath, fingers itching to adjust his bulge. He’s not sure if you heard him or not because in an instant you’ve opened the booth and skittered down the nave to the door. He doesn’t breathe again until he hears you firmly shut it behind you and within seconds he’s fumbling for the hem of his cassock. He knows the likelihood that you were talking about him is slim but simply entertaining the thought that it could be has him unzipping his pants with vicious determination. When his cock finally, blessedly meets leather he could cry with relief. He knows he’s dribbling pre on himself but he doesn’t care - all that matters is the way you sounded confessing your lustful actions to him and how it drives his fist back and forth. Oh, how sweet you were. Tempting even when you weren’t trying to be. How he would revel in ruining you. The thought makes him double over, his unoccupied hand pressed against the wall of the booth in an attempt to stabilize himself. When he thinks of you eagerly spreading yourself open for him a broken moan escapes his lips, hips rutting upwards into his grip. What sweet little noises you would make - right there, Copia, please, that’s it - your body eager to yield to his touch.

“Dolcezza,” he grits out, “ragazza perfetta mia. S-so good–ah–for y-your Cardinal.”

His hand is a blur as it rockets along his shaft and he grunts into the silent chapel. He thinks of you looking up at him with that heart-shatteringly kind look on your face, your lips in a soft smile and he cries out, his seed painting his grucifix in desperate spurts. His mind is fuzzy but his hand doesn’t slow, determined to wrench every last drop out of himself until his head falls back and hits the wood of the booth. Groggily, he puts himself away and lowers his cassock before stumbling out of the confessional. His spend drips onto the stone floor but it matters little - surely it’s not the first that floor has seen. All of a sudden he’s exhausted - feeling every second of his five decades - as he blows out candle after candle. When his task is complete he trudges to the door and rests his forehead on the wood for a moment.

He thinks of your smile once more.

#cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

162 notes · View notes

myherobkg · 1 month ago

Text

THE ROLE OF A LIFETIME; dungeons & dragons au

Katsuki was born a half-giant and bred to roam the plains with his barbarian brethren. He was a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, reckless brute adorned in fur and armor with his mighty mace hanging over his back. He was born to rule them all.

But fate had other plans, and his tribe was wiped off the face of the Earth after the King of the skies razed hellfire on them. Returning from a hunt, Katsuki arrived at his decimated home, ruined to ash and rubble.

His family—his people—were there one moment and gone the next, reduced to charred statues. After that, Katsuki wandered aimlessly until he became enthralled by the allure of alcohol.

A young half-giant, the last of his tribe, turned to mercenary work to fund his gluttony.

Katsuki's last payment came from a clean-up job, clearing out a small wooded area infested with monsters. The small village on the outskirts of the wood sent for him, requesting his help for a large sum.

It was an easy feat for a warrior of his stature, and his success wrought fruitful results—a free room at the pub and all the drinks he could ask for.

However, the offer had its contingencies, and Katsuki was forced to enjoy his pints amidst the celebration held for the village people. That's where he met the Businessman.

The Businessman kept two men at his side as he sat down with Katsuki. His companions remained standing behind him.

"Enjoying the festivities, Warrior?" The man started the conversation cryptically.

Katsuki doesn't look up from his pint. The party raged around him, but no one dared touch him in passing. "No."

Clearing his throat, the man decided to skip the niceties. "I have a job for you."

"Not interested," Katsuki gruffs out before touching his lips to the rim.

"I will pay you 100 gold," the Businessman bid.

"I want 300." Katsuki slammed his glass on the table and signaled for another. The man's jaw dropped.

"300 is outrageous. It's a simple delivery to the Earl." He laughed pathetically. "I'm sure the Earl will reward you handsomely for your efficiency."

"You pay me 300 now. I'll have the Earl pay me 500 when I get there."

"So, you'll take the job?" The Businessman clenched his hands into fists with a broad smile before remembering Katsuki's rate. "If you come with us, we can pay for the cargo. However, you must leave tonight."

Katsuki froze, lifting his topped-off drink. "Make it 400."

The man choked mid-breath. "Warrior, I implore you to reconsider your price. Think of the honor you'd receive for escorting such an important gift for nobility."

Katsuki lugged half of his drink down, spilling some down the sides of his face and neck. "It's 400, or you shut the hell up and quit bothering me." His ruby-red eyes glimmered dangerously in the lamp-light.

The Businessman shrank in his seat and waved his hand for his men. The guard on his right went off to get the payment.

"If you wouldn't mind following us as quickly as you can," the Businessman murmured nervously, avoiding direct eye contact. "We can settle you with the cargo, and you can be on your way."

Katsuki looked at the weak man standing behind his employer. It wouldn't take any effort to throw that man through the ceiling, but it somehow felt appealing for the Businessman to bring security.

With this in mind, Katsuki didn't expect any issues from a little side quest for money. Perhaps he was tired from his last battle, but the adrenaline and deep, crippling fear of loneliness kept pushing him to suppress it.

"Let's get this over with." He grumbled, disregarding his last sip of beer and pushing away from the table.

The Businessman and his guard led Katsuki outside to a barn on the edge of the village. The night was calm, and the skies were clear—a good omen for this task.

"The cargo is just inside here," the Businessman murmured, sharing an uneasy expression with his guard, which alerted a few alarms in Katsuki's head. As he led Katsuki in, the guard stayed outside the entrance.

The first thing Katsuki noticed was that there was no "cargo." Two more guards were standing inside, and you were chained to the floor. Your hair and face were dirty, and your clothes were covered in dirt and cow shit.

When you looked up at him, he took note of your cat-like eyes and pointed ears. The chains around your wrists had runes etched into them.

Magic?

"Is this a goddamn joke?" Katsuki asked loudly, making one of the guards flinch. "What do you goddamn hicks take me for?"

He turns on his heel and starts walking out when the Businessman shouts out for him.

Katsuki falters in his step, and something compels him to turn to turn around. He sees the Businessman sweating profusely—he must be desperate to get you off his hands, Katsuki thinks. He catches the two guards adjusting their grips on their weapons: a spear and a bow. The sight of them shaking in fear and regret almost makes Katsuki laugh.

He licks his lips and pulls out a dagger—decides it's expendable. When he winds his arm back, all three adversaries flinch, fearful of being the target. The knife flies through the air between their shoulders, aimed for the floor where your cuffs come together.

Katsuki's taken by surprise when you slam your wrist against the ground, breaking the cuff on your right in one attempt. You tear off the other cuff with ease. He stands back and watches you jump between each man, slaughtering them with your clumsy, desperate hands.

After the men are dead, you're left standing over their bodies with blood on your hands, panting heavily.

With his arms crossed, exuding confidence, Katsuki whistles for your attention. He knows he has it when your head turns, angling your ear to him.

"How did men like them get their hands on a magic-wielding elf?" He questions, sincerely curious.

You turn to face him fully, blood and hay falling from your tunic.

"Auction houses," you answer breathlessly, with sweat matting hair to your forehead. Wiping it out of your face, you trip on your shaky legs to the barn post and release a heavy sigh. "You would've delivered me to my sixth owner. You looked like a good one when you walked in, too."

You were still breathing heavily. Katsuki recognized it as panic.

"I'm not going back," you say quickly as he approaches you. Your eyes are wild, and your appearance makes you look hysterical.

"You aren't going back," he promises quietly, raising his hand for you. Your arm shakes when you reach for him.

When he brings his fur around your shoulders, you bat it away, spitefully refusing it.

"I want to leave," you whisper anxiously, pushing against Katsuki's arms.

"Then cover yourself," Katsuki orders firmly, wrapping his fur tightly around you. His fur, which drapes over his shoulder like a garment, wraps around you like a blanket. "There are still folk wandering everywhere."

"Where are we right now?" You ask as he ushers you out of the barn.

"A village. Heldenfaire," Katsuki answers.

"There's a town in this land. I wish for you to take me there."

"We can discuss the details of our arrangement later." Katsuki threw his cloak over his shoulders and pulled his hood over his head before steering you toward the nearby stables. "Let's first focus on getting a horse."

—please reblog & comment if you like it! do not copy or repost ©

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #barbarian katsuki #dungeons and dragons au #half-giant mercenary au #mha fantasy au #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki #barbarian bakugou #barbarian bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #mercenary bakugo #half giant bakugo #goliath!bakugo

88 notes · View notes

sad-sweet-cowboah · 1 year ago

Text

The Heart of Your Home Pt 1

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing in this chapter, eventual canon-typical violence, eventual smut.

Word Count: 6,250

A/N: I have been working on this on the wayside for the past few months. I'm excited to continue working on this, so please sit tight!

The steady trot of the beast was all that filled Arthur’s ears. Bright sunshine warmed the otherwise cool air that blanketed northern New Hanover. His stallion’s hooves kicked up slight clouds of dust as they traveled the well-beaten path stretching out before them. The swaying trees of Cumberland Forest waited up ahead, teeming with life.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d last come up here; originally traveling up this way to clear out a group of O’Driscolls, like flushing foxes out of a den. He intentionally kept away in case any stragglers decided to return in revenge of their fallen brethren. Not that a man like him would have trouble disposing them just as well as the former assault, however, his goal was different today. Pearson needed meat, and the northern forest was rich with elk.

A strong gust of wind swirled around him, sending a chill down his spine and reminding him of those bitter weeks in Colter. God forbid they’d be driven into the snow again.

As the wind calmed, a different sound carried across the terrain. An unmistakable chorus of wolves howled. Arthur tensed, knowing that was their signal of easy prey, and he glanced around while his horse’s head shot up and began to squirm apprehensively.

No pack in sight, the haunting melody seemingly originating from the plateau to his right. It would take any man or animal more effort than it was worth to stagger down the jagged path to even reach him. He was safe, sliding his gloved hand along the stallion’s neck to soothe.

“Easy, boy,” he cooed. “You’re alright.”

No sooner did those words leave his mouth, a shrill scream pierced the otherwise still air. A scream of pure, utter terror. The scream of a woman. The desperate cry for help.

He knew better than to meddle in other’s affairs. Why should he care if some stranger became a predator’s next meal?

Perhaps he cared more than he liked to admit.

Turning his horse toward the nearest pathway up, he snapped out a command to go, his steed jolting forward despite its previous anxiety. The stallion expertly navigated the steep, rocky terrain until the land smoothed out, peaking to a flat expanse that seemingly went for miles with the cloudless azure sky.

Another sharp wail. His head turned, spotting the culprit just a few yards away. A pack of three timber wolves, all facing away and slowly stalking toward their prey beneath a large tree.

Arthur had no time to waste. He whistled loudly, catching the attention of the closest. It spun around and stared at Arthur with fierce amber eyes, lips curled back to bear a hungry, toothy grin.

A deft hand was on his revolver in a split second, drawing it from his holster and landed a bullet right between its eyes. The gunshot alerted the other two, turning away from their original prey to now target him as well.

He didn’t give them a chance. Expertly wielding his firearm to dispatch them, their now lifeless bodies falling limp to the grass, the surrounding forage painted a deep scarlet. The gun slotted back to its home.

The air was silenced again, barren of songbirds and woodland creatures, undoubtedly frightened by his interception. His eyes shifted, scanning the open area for any additional threats.

There was a squeak, as timid and frightened as a mouse. His gaze settled upon its origin, the woman that was just seconds away from being mauled to death.

Dressed in a simple button-up blouse and a vibrant skirt and hair tied back into a neat bun, you were more out of place than a rancher was in the city. Your eyes were wide with terror, hands up in attempt to defend yourself, though one fist clenched and full of what appeared to be leafy sprigs.

“Are you okay, miss?” Arthur quietly asked.

He watched as you slowly lowered your hands, your gaze fixated on the dead wolves. “I...” you started, before taking a shaky breath and looking to him directly. “I-I'm okay...thank you.”

He nodded in response. With the deed done, he should be on his way, but the curiosity was beginning to gnaw. It wasn't his business why you were out here, and he should just leave it at that. He should turn and continue along his path.

However, the thought of a woman alone and defenseless out in the wilderness didn’t exactly sit right with him. “This ain’t exactly the safest place to be,” he commented. “Why’re you out here?”

Your eyes averted immediately, and your head hung, reminding him of a child being scolded. “Looking for herbs,” you say rather quietly, your left fist opening to reveal more of the leafy stems laden in your palm, before tucking them into a small leather satchel attached around your waist. “I don’t normally venture so far from home, but—”

The glint of a silver ring on your finger caught Arthur’s attention. “Your husband don’t help?” he guessed, leaning onto the horn of his saddle.

“My husband? Hah!” your demeanor changed immediately, tilting your head back in a scoff. “Please, my husband doesn’t know a dandelion from a daffodil! No,” you sighed, shaking your head in disappointment. “As the dutiful wife, I keep the house clean and our bellies full.”

“So...you came out here jus’ to look for ingredients?” Arthur asked. “With no proper protection?”

Your brow furrowed into a scowl, the corners of your lips wrinkling. “Had I known there were wolves out here, I wouldn’t have bothered. Like I said, I don’t usually venture from home. But our herb garden died after last week’s frost.”

“There's supplies right in Valentine,” Arthur pointed out. “Would be much less dangerous than bein’ out here.”

“Ah yes, that muddy little farming town,” your nose wrinkled in disgust. “We arrived there by train when we first moved out here...” you shook your head and sighed, turning to gaze across the plateau. “Guess I have no choice now...” you glanced around wildly and frowned. “Those damn wolves scared away my horse!”

Arthur held back a sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was to traipse around New Hanover in search of a frightened steed. Poor thing is probably halfway to Ambarino by now or got cornered by something else.

That didn’t solve the matter at hand, however. To leave you alone even after killing those mongrels would fill him with unnecessary guilt. He didn’t have to continue, but that small part of his conscience convinced him otherwise. “Would you, uh, like a ride back to town?” he offered.

Your gaze fell to him immediately, your expression brightening. “If you would, please.”

Arthur nodded and held his hand out, and you stepped forward to grab it, using the freed stirrup to hoist yourself onto the back of his Andalusian. As you settled behind him, Arthur took a glance at the wolf carcasses, making a mental note to return here later. Pearson surely would appreciate having some extra pelts on hand.

He turned the horse around, spurring it into an easy lope back toward the pathway.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, mister,” you say. “I can’t imagine the thought of having to hoof it to Valentine on foot after that ordeal. My poor horse…I hope she’s okay.”

“Jus’ don’t make it a habit of makin’ trips out here, at least without somethin’ to protect yourself with,” Arthur pointed out. “It’s more dangerous than you’d think.”

“I think I got plenty of that in one day,” you sighed. “You might see me as some foolish woman, and I know I am. My husband and I have been out here for two months, and I still haven’t completely adjusted,” you laughed dryly. “See, we’re from out East, him and I.”

Arthur didn’t respond. Easterners, civilized folk that had no business being out here. Businessmen led out West with the promise of opportunities, reaping the land of its riches.

“Was all his idea to move out this way,” you continued over his silence. “I tried to make the best of it. It’s not like back at home, some days I do miss my cozy apartment...but as my husband said, there’s no point in returning when there’s something better out here for us.”

From the tone of your voice, Arthur could tell you rolled your eyes. “That’s what a lot of folk say,” Arthur mumbled. “In the end, it don’t always work out and they go back, tails tucked between their legs.”

“You don’t know my husband then,” you respond with a dry laugh. “Ambition is his game, and he’s one smart gambler.”

“For your sake, I’d hope so,” Arthur said, peering ahead to see Valentine’s rooftops appear in the distance.

The remainder of the trip fell silent. Arthur was thankful you hadn’t strayed too far from town, since this minor detour would still allow him ample time to return to his original trip.

The offending scent of the stockyards was the first to hit his nose to announce their arrival into Valentine. Mud slopped around the horse’s hooves as they trotted further into town, sidling along the edge to clear the path for the stagecoaches rolling past. He turned right, facing the bustling street. He stopped at the nearest post, avoiding the rest of the traffic.

You slid off and landed delicately, smoothing your skirt out before looking back up to him. “Thank you, mister,” you say with a smile. “Um...would you mind if you took me home too? I don’t live too far from here.”

Well, shit. Seems like this detour would take longer than he’d anticipated. He’d already done enough and removed you from any immediate danger. “Sure,” he answered, waving his hand with a half-hearted flourish.

Your smile only widened. “Thank you again, I won’t be long!” You hurried along, excitedly popping up onto the wooden walkway and disappeared into one of the shops.

Arthur sighed, dragging a palm across his face. He truly had no business escorting folk, especially someone who seemed so out of her element. However, he felt the need to at least carry through, provide you with safe passage home to your foolish husband. Perhaps today may be a lesson for you to stay safer, or even compel the two of you to move back East.

Just as you promised, your venture into the shop did not take long at all. A mere five minutes passed before the door creaked open and you reappeared, making a beeline toward him. The relief was plain on your face.

“Find what you needed?” Arthur asked.

“And much more!” You exclaim. “I think I’ll be set for the week.”

Arthur nodded in approval and held his hand out for you to take. Instead, you placed your hands along his horse’s rump and hoisted yourself up with one smooth motion.

You settled behind him once again and pointed westward. “We live that way, couple miles out of town.”

He didn’t hesitate to follow your direction, wasting no time to leave Valentine in his wake. The buildings gave way to an open field with trees in the distance, leading off to the mountains of West Elizabeth further out. It’d only taken an extra twenty minutes at a steady trot along the path until you instructed him to veer off into the trees, following a much narrower path. Up ahead, the forage began to thin out to a small field with what appeared to be a small house, and an even smaller barn sitting quaintly behind it.

He emerged from the tree line, allowing full sight of what he presumed was your home. The outside seemed to be kept neat and orderly, with an immaculate fence offset from the porch full of greenery. As he approached closer, he realized they were half-wilted.

“Home sweet home,” you sighed as you slid off the horse, stepping toward the house. Only to pause and look back at him. “Thank you so much, again. You’re the kindest person I’ve met out here so far.”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly at your comment. “Ah, I don’t know about that, ma’am.”

“Nonsense,” you brush away his refute. “You showed up at just the right time, I’m sure anyone else would have left me to the wolves, all for some stupid plants...” you glanced back toward the garden with a grimace before turning your attention back to him. “Hey, won’t you join me for dinner? I’d like to repay you.”

Arthur hadn’t expected that. Heading back out would be ideal, at least to try and hunt before evening settled in. He also hadn’t eaten since breakfast back at camp. Even though he had some fruit in his back, it would not be enough to satiate him for the next few hours.

Another thought crossed his mind. “Your husband won’t mind the company?” he carefully asked, knowing a face like his appearing in a comfortable homestead may be unsettling.

“Oh, he’s not home tonight, out doing business as usual,” you sighed. “I always make more than enough, just in case, but I’m tired of letting some of my hard work go to waste.”

Something about that statement irked Arthur. From the information you’ve told him so far, it seemed your husband was painfully oblivious to what life really was like out here, most likely having no inkling of his wife ignorantly exploring the wilderness just to make a tasty meal.

The rumble of his stomach cut his thoughts short, and he pressed a hand to his abdomen. It’d been at least a half-day since breakfast, and with the past hour or so spent on a detour, the opportunity for a hot meal was difficult to pass.

“Sure, why not?” he finally said. “I’ll have a plate.”

You flashed a beaming smile at him. “Excellent. Here...” You pointed to the small barn behind the house. “You can put your horse in there for a bit, I’m sure he’s just as hungry as you are. You can come in when you’re done.”

You turned on your heel, bounding up the porch steps to disappear behind a door. Arthur did as he was told, dismounting his horse and leading him toward the barn. He shoved the door open, peering into the tiny, two-stall building. One stall stood completely clean, devoid of any sign of use, while the other had a mess of half-eaten hay, most likely from the horse you’d claimed ran off earlier. He led the stallion into this stall, and the horse immediately dove into the hay.

Arthur patted the horse’s neck with a small smile. It wasn’t too often that a stranger’s hospitality also extended toward his steed as well. He left the stallion to enjoy the hay, stepping back out and heading toward the house.

He stepped onto the porch, panels creaking beneath his weight. The door opened easily, and he stepped inside, greeted by the cozy, bright interior. It was almost as if he stepped inside a dollhouse.

You were at the stove directly opposite him, leaning over a large pot, sprinkling a few leaves into what seemed to be a sort of stew. Upon his entrance, you turned and gave him another smile. “Won’t be much longer. If you’d like to wash up, there’s a wash basin in the next room,” you gestured with a flick of your head towards the right.

Arthur once again wordlessly followed your direction, setting his sights toward a door standing ajar in the corner. He absorbed the scenery before him as he moved. If he hadn’t known you were in the middle of the woods, he would have guessed he was somewhere like Blackwater. It was evident you were not ready to transition from your previous life, as almost every surface seemed to be meticulously kept and covered with décor.

He pushed the door open to reveal a bedroom that was oddly plain compared to what he’d just witnessed in the kitchen. The bed was neatly made, an oak armoire sitting directly across from it. In the corner next to him sat a small porcelain and golden wash basin, already filled with water.

He took caution when washing up, not to spill any dirty water upon the swept floors. Though he supposed it didn’t matter, given how much dust coated his worn leather boots. Once finished he made his way back into the kitchen, just in time to witness you ladle stew into two bowls. The small table was the only thing separating the two of you, and Arthur took a seat.

Placing a bowl in front of him, you moved to sit opposite. “It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it.”

The savory aroma only made his stomach gurgle again. He peered down to observe the dish. The browned liquid swimming with a medley of vegetables and meat, with speckles of whichever herbs you’d added. He took a spoonful and placed it in his mouth, his tongue delightfully greeted with rich flavor.

Enjoying it was an understatement. He would have shoveled the whole damn thing into his mouth if maintaining politeness wasn’t a factor. “No complaints here, ma’am,” he said after swallowing. “This may be the best stew I’ve ever had.”

Your smile was bashful, but the light in your eyes told him how you appreciated the praise. “Glad to know my husband doesn’t lie to me when he says he likes my cooking,” you giggled lightly. “I appreciate it, Mister...” you trailed off, giving him a hopeful look for a proper introduction.

“Arthur,” he answered.

You nodded and gave him your name in response. “Thank you for not letting this go to waste.”

Offering a small smile, Arthur then took another bite. It was tempting to ask for the recipe to pass along to Pearson for ideas. “It’d be a shame, especially after almost gettin’ eaten.”

You giggled again, your voice ringing melodically. “Well Arthur, I’m glad you could join me for dinner after that nonsense. It gets quite lonely living out here sometimes.”

“Your husband often leaves you alone like this?” Arthur asked.

There was a pause. The open and friendly demeanor you possessed suddenly vanished as you sat up straight, giving him a cautious stare. “Don’t mistake my hospitality as vulnerability, Arthur. My husband may be away, but I promise you my intentions are not what you're assuming.”

Arthur was taken aback by this, having not realized his words might’ve had another meaning. “Oh no, ma’am!” He dropped his spoon and held his hands up defensively. “That ain’t what I meant at all, believe me. My intentions ain’t nothin’ of the sort.”

You seemed to be satisfied by his answer as the rigidity of your body eased, though the look of caution remained. “I’m no fool to the desires of men,” you say. “Doesn’t matter where I am, they’re almost always the same.”

As unfortunate as the statement was, Arthur had to agree with you. He’d witnessed it more times than he’d cared, though never taking part for himself. It was often those who held a position of power, abusing it as such to have their ways. He despised men of the sort. “You don’t have to worry, I swear I ain’t like that,” he responded.

The gaze you held on him was steady and scrutinizing, as if searching his face for any tale of a lie. Soon the lines of worry began to soften, your lips hinting the ghost of a smile. “I suppose I should believe you, otherwise you would’ve had me after taking care of the wolves. You’re a man of honor, Arthur.”

A dejected chuckle left his throat as he shook his head. He cared little to argue, as you’d only seen just a fraction of what he truly was. Had you known he was a wanted outlaw, your perspective would change in a heartbeat.

Still, he’d come across a myriad of people from different walks on his travels. Those who either welcomed him with open arms or pointed a gun to his face, most of which didn’t know his true identity, and they never had to, to determine what sort of person he was.

Without a reply, he settled into a comfortable silence to finish his meal. You simply followed suit, leaving the conversation to rest.

Arthur took his time with the stew, savoring every bite knowing he may not receive another one just as delicious. The sun settling through the west-facing window indicated just how much time has passed since this initial diversion. It had to be late afternoon now, had those last few hours flown by that quickly?

With the bowl empty and his once withering stomach now satisfyingly full, Arthur leaned back in his seat and gave a content sigh. “I suppose I should be gettin' back on the road,” he said to catch your attention.

You looked back up, and Arthur caught a flicker of emotion on your face, but you smiled before he could determine what it was exactly. “Of course, seems to be getting late,” you glanced at the window. “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

While it certainly took away a few hours' worth of hunting, he couldn’t readily admit that. You were kind enough to offer hospitality in return to his decided kindness, much different than a few billfolds or a piece of jewelry that would normally accompany these rare occasions. A full stomach and a rested horse, however, that was rare.

“Nothin’ too important,” Arthur assured you. While the camp’s coffer was low, there was no immediate need for fresh kill that same day. He could attempt to make it back up to Cumberland before nightfall and set up camp for a fresh start tomorrow.

You escorted him back to the barn where his horse was still working through the remnants of hay. The stallion left it rather reluctantly as Arthur pulled him back out into the open. As he mounted and glanced up at the sky, making a note of the time. It wasn’t quite sunset just yet; the bright blues were beginning to fade into a fiery orange.

“Thank you, again, Arthur,” your voice drew his attention. “Not just for helping me, but providing me with some company as well.”

Arthur nodded to you. “Try to stay outta trouble, miss.”

You giggled and shook your head bashfully. “I think today was enough trouble for a lifetime, I’ll be sticking to the safety of stores from now on.”

Arthur offered you a half-smile. “Good luck to you.” He bid his farewells and turned his horse away from the homestead, making his way back to the worn path.

---

The wooden shops and stands of Valentine were bathed in a slight golden glow, tale of the sunset to Arthur’s back by the time he’d reached the town again. He could travel just a little bit further and set up camp for the night for a fresh start tomorrow morning, but his mind had been elsewhere since he left your house.

The idea of a woman out of her element living away from civilization without protection didn’t sit right with him. He wondered how long it’d been since you settled out here, and how often your husband left you to your own devices. Had he not been there to rescue you today, how much time would have passed until your husband came home to an empty house, without a clue what happened?

How could that damn fool not know what he was getting himself into? A businessman had no business trying to adapt to the ways of the rugged.

Arthur shook his head to himself. The vulnerability you presented yourself with today would hopefully harden with more time spent out here, and preferably before you landed yourself into trouble again.

He sighed, skirting around the town rather than subjecting his horse to trot through that muck a second time. It was best to not worry about the affairs of strangers, especially those he may never even see again.

His thoughts occupied most of the remaining journey. The sky steadily darkened as the hour grew later, and the familiar reaches of the emerald pines that outlined Cumberland once again came into view. He considered taking the path back to those wolves, if scavengers hadn’t already begun to pick.

A yawn stopped that thought in his tracks. The day stretched longer than he intended, and the stew still sat heavy in his belly. It would be best to set up camp now.

He pulled away from the main path to disappear beneath the canopy of pine, locating just a clearing just large enough to hold a tent. He dismounted and immediately got to work, having his campsite completed just as the last of the daylight was swallowed by the mountains further West.

With his small tent set up and a meager campfire a striking amber against the inky landscape, fatigue began to settle in. The vestiges of stew finally departed his stomach, announcing its emptiness with a slight grumble. He wished he could have another bowl, but instead helped himself to a can of beans dug out of his satchel.

It was nowhere near as filling, but it was enough to draw out the tendrils of fatigue, and he turned in soon after to be lulled by nature’s melodies.

—-

Arthur awoke with an early start; the sky a pale gray with the hint of dawn. A perfect time for hunting, he thought, and with a quick helping of coffee, he grabbed his bow off his horse and set deeper into the woods.

He thanked Charles for the lessons in tracking; broken twigs and overturned leaf litter would have gone unnoticed by someone with an untrained eye. The trail was fairly fresh, and the wind carried the distinct echo of an elk’s call. He continued onward, ensuring his footfalls were light and as soundless as possible. It wasn’t much longer until he came upon a small clearing, a small herd of elk peacefully grazing and unaware of his presence.

Carefully removing the bow and an arrow from his back, he set it in place and drew the bowstring back, aiming for the closest. He had a clear shot straight to the head, and—

The elks’ heads suddenly shot up, ears pricked and eyes wide. At first Arthur thought he’d somehow startled them, but their attention was drawn in another direction. Within a heartbeat they turned and ran, heading deeper into the forest.

“Shit,” he hissed, standing up with frustration and regretted leaving his horse behind. He wondered if he could head back quickly to grab his stallion, perhaps he could pick up the trail again without the herd wandering too far ahead.

A flicker a movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head, opposite where the elk ran. With a start he expected a predator. Instead, it was a horse.

Wild horses were not an uncommon sighting, especially further away from civilization. As the beast trotted into the clearing, its head held high, and ears pricked forward in alert. Arthur spotted a saddle on its back, a bridle with broken reins dragging through the brush. Its black and white coat stained a cool brown with mud.

He wondered what happened, and what poor soul was out there looking for their steed, if they were even still alive. As the horse slowed to a stop and dipped its head to graze, Arthur caught a glimpse of what looked like bundles of drying plants hanging from each side.

Something pricked in his mind. It was a sense of familiarity about it, even though he’d never seen this horse before. Something about the plants it carried...

And then it hit him. His encounter with you yesterday, you were gathering herbs and you mentioned your horse ran off, frightened by the pack of wolves. The chance of it belonging to someone else would be slim.

It made sense to find the steed out here, but he was surprised it hadn’t been cornered by other predators. It’d only been a day, though it would not last much longer with the weight of the saddle and the reins dangling so dangerously low.

He sighed, silently cursing himself for what he was about to do. He should just ignore the thing and continue hunting, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Securing the bow to his torso, he slowly stepped into the open.

The horse must’ve sensed him, as its head shot back up, its wide blue eyes directly onto him. Nostrils flared, expelling a loud snort, almost as if it were a dragon from a story book.

“Easy there,” Arthur cooed, his voice low and even. He watched as every muscle tensed, ready to turn and sprint off. “Easy...” he repeated.

The horse stared unblinkingly as he approached, inch by inch, hands reaching up slowly. Arthur silently willed it not to run. He was just a few feet away, and he went to reach for one of the reins still on the ground.

The horse flinched, and Arthur froze, holding his breath. Thankfully, it didn’t take off.

“You’re alright...” he said softly, waiting for another second before moving again. With a stroke of luck, he swiftly grabbed the broken rein. The horse didn’t offer another reaction, though still watched with wide eyes as Arthur patted its sweaty neck. He took a cursory glance underneath, and said, “Good girl.”

The mare seemed to relax at his touch, and Arthur finally noted the sheen of sweat against her dirty coat. A layer of foam outlined the breast collar and the girth. It seemed the poor girl was running for a while and had only stopped just at the right moment.

He ran his fingers against her velvet muzzle, feeling her hot breath as she attempted to sniff him. “Why don’t I take you home?” he said to her. “I’m sure there’s someone that misses ya.”

—-

A gentle breeze stirred the surrounding treetops, filling the air with a soft rustle of leaves and branches. It was a crisp wind; something you had yet to get used to. The grip on the shawl upon your shoulders tightened. As beautiful as your home was, you wished it would just be a little warmer.

You stood up from the rocking chair perched upon your porch, itching for something to do. Boredom occupied most of your time since moving out here, between washing windowpanes and cooking with the same ingredients day in and day out. You insisted on possibly finding a job, a seamstress or a maid perhaps, but your husband Frederick detested this, adamantly reminding you he would earn more than enough to support the two of you.

Oftentimes you would cure your restlessness by taking a short ride with your mare, but even that was ripped away by yesterday’s escapades. Frederick paid a pretty penny for that Criollo coming from the beautiful livery in Saint Denis, stopping when only learning she was imported straight from South America. That mare had quickly bonded with you and became your only friend since the move.

But now she was gone, most likely enjoying her sudden freedom, or worse—

Slamming your hand onto a pillar severed that train of thought. You instead focused on the meager herb garden, once leafy green stalks now an ugly brown and wilted. You sighed; gardening was never your forte and prior to last week, you were quite proud of your crop. The adjustment from comfortable civilization to a homestead in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t a smooth transition. You longed for your old home, your old town, and your mundane yet comfortable life.

A shudder rocked through your body. Until recently, you’d been immune and willfully ignorant of the dangers lurking in the shadows, stalking in the trees, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. Though you often wished for something exciting to break the otherwise monotonous day-to-day, having nearly died at the salivating fangs of those wolves was enough excitement for a lifetime.

You were beyond thankful for that man, Arthur, for coming to your rescue. He had no business helping you the way he did, and you weren’t ignorant of that. You caught the hesitation in his voice, the flicker in his eyes, the judgmental tone he held when you explained the situation. He most likely saw you as an inconvenience. Regardless, the pity he bestowed on you was enough to ensure you were safe.

Although unlikely, you hoped you would see him again at least once. He was the first person to show you true kindness and didn’t dare to take advantage of yours. It was a true rarity to come across someone to possess such redeeming qualities.

The faint rustle of bushes caught your attention, but only for a brief second. Wildlife was plentiful around here, usually in the form of squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional deer or Pronghorn. The coyote yips and yowls often sounded off in the distance during the night, but you never once saw them cross the threshold of your property while you or Frederick were outside.

A flicker of movement swept your gaze to the side. Too large for a coyote or even a deer, your heart skipped a beat in apprehension. Was your husband home? Or worse, more wolves somehow tracked your scent?

From the tree line stepped out a horse, its dappled gray coat standing stark against the emerald shrubbery. Its rider was an unexpectedly welcome sight.

“Arthur?” you said in surprise, allowing yourself to relax. He seemed to have something in his hand, and what followed surprised you even more.

Your horse.

Your mouth fell open in pure shock. You blinked multiple times, as if the sight before you were a hallucination. But surely enough, Arthur gave you a small smile and stopped just a few feet before your porch steps.

“Hope you don't mind the intrusion,” he said. “Found this girl up in Cumberland Forest.”

You bounded down the steps wordlessly, your mouth still gaped. “What—” you took a sharp breath. “How did you know...” That was my horse? You finished the question without speaking.

Arthur shrugged, turning to look at the mare. “I saw her lookin’ a little distressed, like she’d been runnin’ all night. Then I saw the bundles of herbs on the saddle, could only guess who she belonged to,” he held out one of the leather reins, which you took instantly, running your shaking free hand along the mare’s painted coat.

You truly thought the worst for this poor creature, and if it hadn't yet again been for this kind stranger, your fears might as well have manifested one way or another. “T-thank you Arthur, thank you!” You gave him a wide smile. How could you repay him this time? The remaining stew from yesterday had been almost completely diminished throughout the bitterly cold night following, and you were sure he wasn't going to wait around for another batch, as much as you saw that he enjoyed the first.

Your eyes wandered to the now dried bundles of leaves still strapped on either side of your saddle. While the shop trip from yesterday was enough to replenish your pantry, this addition would keep you from venturing out again for a while. Yesterday’s events definitely gave you a more wary eye.

Eyes on him again, quickly observing the faded tan jacket and the even more worn hat concealing his gaze. A bow was strapped across his back, and the gleam of a silver revolver shone from the holster adorning his waist. This was a man well-traveled, well versed and not afraid of life’s dangers. A spike of envy roiled in your stomach, wishing you had half the nerve he did.

It then occurred to you that it’d been a moment since you last spoke, and as if Arthur read your mind, he cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder.

“I oughta start—”

“Wait!”

Arthur froze, turning to look at you again. You surprised yourself, having uttered this word without even thinking. Quickly, you composed yourself and continued, “Thank you again, Arthur. You’ve done more than you realize...” you paused as your mare nudged you gently, as if pressing you on. “I...I don’t have any stew prepared, but you’re welcome to stop by anytime if you’re hungry. I can whip up something.”

His hand raised as if to wave away the offer, but you continued before he had the chance. “I insist,” you add. “Between saving my life and my horse’s, it’s the least I can do! And your horse...” you reached over to pat the gorgeous Andalusian. “Is welcome to take a rest in the barn as well. I don’t mind.”

Arthur looked as if he were going to argue, mouth opening, but paused. For a few long seconds he seemed thoughtful, and finally said, “That’s real kind of ya, thank you.”

You smiled widely at him. Shortly after he bid his goodbyes and turned around, you watching until the silvery swishing tail of his horse disappeared into the trees once again. You turned to your mare, relieved to have her back and simultaneously avoiding that awkward conversation for once your husband came back home as to why she was missing.

“We’re lucky Arthur came to our rescue, huh?” you say to her, running your hand along her velvet muzzle.

#Arthur Morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

158 notes · View notes

barracuda-shark-games · 1 month ago

Text

Larkin / he/him / 32 years old / gay

Notable traits: Calm, creative, passionate, kind, nurturing, scatterbrained

Description

The dark hue of his cool brown skin gives Brother Larkin away as a child of the Solar Plains, where worship of the Sun traces its roots. Like many of his brethren, Brother Larkin keeps his kinky dark brown hair shaved close to his scalp. He stands at 5’11 (180 cm) and has calming, dark brown eyes. His slender frame is usually draped by the signature clean white robes of the Sun Church. As head priest of the Sunrise Temple – the palace’s in-house temple – Brother Larkin wears a simple golden circlet with a minimalist emblem of the sun that rests on his forehead. His tranquil presence is as infectious as his warmth. During special events and ceremonies, sun priests and priestesses paint their eyelids with metallic gold makeup. The head cleric additionally paints a thick metallic band of makeup down the center of their lips. Brother Larkin is adorned in this way when he officiates the wedding between the MC and Wilmot.

Trivia

On sexuality and faith: In both the Dawn Empire and Arevikland, homosexuality is not illegal for those who are not of noble birth. As a priest, Brother Larkin performs marriage ceremonies for same-sex couples as well as opposite-sex couples. However, clerics for the Sun Church are expected to uphold an oath of celibacy, and as such, they cannot marry. This presents something of a struggle for Larkin, who is very devout and dedicated to his faith, but he is also a hopeless romantic.

Favorite food: Cheesy spinach quiche

Song: ‘Nara’ by alt-j

Soon I'm gonna marry a man like no other Light the fuse Hallelujah, hallelujah Love Love is the warmest colour Petrol blues Hallelujah, hallelujah Comes Saut dans le vide, my lover In my youth The greatest tide washed up my prize: you ... I've discovered a man like no other man I've found a love to love like no other can

Excerpt

Under the cut for chapter 1 spoilers! Keep in mind that this is a rough draft and, therefore, may be subject to change before chapter 1 releases.

“Brother Larkin awaits on your patio,” your bodyguard informs you, guiding you through the parlor of your quarters towards a double-door you can only assume leads to the patio. “He should be seated there now. And don’t worry, you’ll be afforded lots of privacy.”

When you reach the doors, your guardian opens one of them for you and gestures you through. You are immediately blinded by sun’s brightness, and you squint to allow your eyes to adjust. The first thing that catches your attention is the birch trees. You count five of them, adolescents in age, decorated with vibrant yellow leaves. You haven’t seen a birch tree since before the war… they are native to your homeland.

“Do you like them?” a deep voice gently interjects from your right. You turn towards it and find a slim man standing next to a table and pair of chairs. His black skin contrasts nicely with the white linen robes he dons and is complemented by the gold circlet atop his shaved head, giving him away as a cleric of the Sun. His lips are lifted in a soft, genuine smile that is matched by the sparkle in his deep brown eyes. When you look into his eyes, you feel a wave of warmth wash over you; your breathing slows and with it, your heart rate, which you now note had been elevated since you entered the city. You find yourself clinging to this feeling and the unfamiliar security it brings.

A sudden cough from behind breaks you from the spell, and you turn to see Amis has now closed the door behind him and shifts awkwardly on his feet. It suddenly dawns on you that the priest had asked you a question and you’d basically just gawked at him. You quickly turn back towards him to apologize and find that his expression is unchanged. If anything, his serene smile has somehow widened and softened all at once. He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of a response at all.

You clear your throat and say, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Forgive me, it is I who interrupted you as you took in the garden,” the priest answers kindly. “I noticed your eyes lingering on the birch trees and I wondered if you liked them.”

“Oh!” you say, dumbly. “I, yes, I do… I haven’t seen trees like this in a long time, I almost wondered if I was imagining it.”

The priest nods as if he expected the answer. “I confess, I’ve only been to Arevikland once,” he says. “But I could never forget those golden birches. I hoped that bringing some to your garden would maybe help you feel more at home, but I didn’t want to presume…”

“I like them,” you answer. “I just never expected to see them here.”

His smile brightens. “They don’t grow here naturally, and I admit this isn’t the best climate for them. These actually came from one of the royal greenhouses. I thought they’d be fine here temporarily, and if you like them then perhaps we can get you your own greenhouse.”

“That’s… very kind of you,” you say.

The priest bows his head subtly and steps forward with his hand stretched out to you. “My name is Larkin, and I am head priest of the Sunrise Temple located here in the palace.”

#bethroned if #if wip #brother larkin #bethroned sneak peeks #interactive fiction

33 notes · View notes

imabeautifulbutterfly · 1 month ago

Note

Heeeeey , thanks again for the two excellent fics you wrote for me for this beautiful event !💚

For my third resquest , I would like to send you this prompt : "I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were wandering in the dark, and so was I. We found each other. We found each other in the dark." It's from The Green Mile by Stephen King and I absolutely need to get te book , because I love the movie (I cry each time like a baby).

So I would like to ask this quote , with Maydayxreader , please and thank you💚💚💚

@griffedeloup I'm sorry love for taking so long to respond to the request. But I wanted to give Mayday the best. And I hope you like what I did.

Love oo

P.S. Don't worry I'm still working on the other ones.

We Found Each Other

Warnings: Fluff, kisses, anger at the Empire, lack of care for clones, anger, annoyance, reassurance, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List | AO3 Link | Quote Roulette

Mayday sat outside the base looking over the barren snow covered landscape. Why the hell the Empire needed them there guarding leftover crates, that everyone seemed to have forgotten, was beyond him.

It made him question, why was he still there? After all he could’ve gone anywhere, but then that would’ve meant leaving his men … and you. He wasn’t about to abandon anyone.

He took in a deep breath letting the fresh cold air wash away the fears that had begun learning in the corners of his mind. The fear that always seemed to be present now. A fear he hadn’t thought he’d have to actually face. It had become more prevalent ever since the Empire took over, an attitude amongst all the Imperial officers that were non-clones, that he and his brethren were considered less than human, if such a thing was even possible, even more so than before the end of the war. Truth was it was only a matter of time before they were all discarded.

He kept his eyes on the horizon, feeling your arms wrap around his waist, the curve of your head pressing against his back. He closed his eyes smiling as he gently rubbed your hands.

“Cyar’ika, what are you doing up?”

You hummed as you pressed closer to him, smiling, “Well, I reached over to cuddle with you, cause I was cold and you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He tried to glance over his shoulder to look at you.

“It’s okay.” You gently pressed a kiss to his back, “Bad dream?”

“No.”

“Did something happen today that didn’t allow you to sleep?”

“No.”

“Hmm… okay. Well, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He let out a sigh, turning to face you, the fingers of his right hand gently trailing up and down your neck, while the one on his left rested on your waist pulling you closer.

“Nothing’s wrong, love.”

“Okay fine, don’t tell me what’s wrong.” You pouted as you looked at him, giving him your best irritated face, even though in reality you could never be irritated by him. Especially since you loved him as strongly as you did.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he looked at you, resting his forehead against yours, “Maker, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You gently caressed his sides, wrapping your arms around his back and holding him closer. “What happened?” You looked into his eyes, “Tell me.”

He closed his eyes and nodded against your forehead, “They won’t be sending us any new winter gear.”

You pulled back as indignation and anger filled you, “I’M SORRY, WHAT!” Your voice echoed and carried across the barren wasteland. You closed your eyes and waved your hands as you tried to understand what Mayday was telling you.

Despite the fact he kept calling your name over and over, trying to calm you down, the anger you felt only seemed to grow.

Your eyes were full of fury when they opened again and looked at him, “You’re telling me… those …” you tried to think of the most appropriate term that didn’t involve cursing, “you’re telling me those mother-loving sister-marrying jackasses can’t even bother to send us some new gear. After looking after their piece of crap cargo!” You turned around and began to storm towards the communication room, “Oh. Just wait till I get on the comms with whoever made that decision. They’ll regret the day they were born.”

Mayday laughed as he reacted quickly, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you back holding you against him. “Calm down, my little fire-breathing krayt dragon.”

His nickname for you always managed to get you to at least listen, maybe not completely calm down, but stop you at the very least before you did something incredibly stupid. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You rushing over there and yelling at whoever answers the comm will only make things worse. Not better.”

You closed your eyes and nodded knowing he was right. Gods how you wished you could make everything better for him. For his brothers. For all of them.

“I know. I know. But it just … it feels like it’s a constant darkness that we’re walking through. If it’s not one thing it’s another. And even though the war is technically ‘over,’ it feels like we have to work twice as hard just to survive. All because you and your brothers are clones, and I’m someone who fell in love with a clone.” You held on to his arms as they tightened around you, “It’s not fair. Not to you. Not to your brothers. Not to anyone.”

Mayday closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Did you know I had a dream?”

“Did you dream you killed whoever was in charge?”

He chuckled, “No. Although that would’ve been a good dream too.” He teased, “No. I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were wandering in the dark, and so was I. We found each other. We found each other in the dark. So it’s okay that we constantly are in the darkness, because we found each other and we’ll continue to find each other. So let them throw anything at us, let them try and break us, but we’re strong and we won’t give in. As long as I have you in my arms, I can weather any storm.”

You let out a defeated sigh, turning to look at him, “You deserve better. You all do.”

“And so do you, cyare.” He gently traced your cheek, “We’ll get through this, and we can try and figure out ways of keeping the cold out of my and the boys’ armour. We’ll survive this too.”

You nodded, threading your fingers through his as you held his hand and guided him back to the quarters you both shared.

Main Master List | AO3 Link | Quote Roulette

Tag List:

@liadamerondjarin

@badbatch-simp24

@spicymcnuggies

@lady-ren

@firstofficerwiggles

@darkangel4121

@discofern

@kavecika

@monako-jinn-stories

@ladykatakuri

@avathebestx

@theroguesully

@furyhellfire66

@carodealmeida

@ciramaris

@sprout-fics

@twinkofthedink

@dindjarin-mandalorian

@ulchabhangorm

@littlemisspascal

@sprout-fics

@twinkofthedink

@clonethirstingisreal

@dragonrider9905reads

@dragonrider9905

@crosshair-is-the-superior-clone

@totallyunidentified

@griffedeloup

@leotawrites

@helenaslost

21 notes · View notes

jeeaark · 5 months ago

Note

You have inspired me greatly! I’ve made my own Half Orc and I think they’re probably going to romance Lae’zel as well but I’m not 100% sure yet. This is Ayban(they/them/theirs) the ranger!

In all seriousness I have such a deep love of Greygold and their shenanigans. Every time I see them on my dash I get all smiley. Thank you so much for sharing your amazing stories and art with us all!

Whhhhaaaaat???? ✨✨FELLOW HALF-ORC RANGER ✨✨ BRETHREN. HUNTER BUDDY. MY ✨DEAR ✨AYBAN ✨WELCOME✨

But also shucks, dude! Much appreciated! I'm glad you're enjoying the Greygold shenanigans and that they could inspire you, BWEH. MY HEART. MEANS A LOT. How ✨DELIGHTFUL✨

#GREYGOLD IS NOT THE ONLY HALF-ORC RANGER BWAH QAQ <3 #I AM HUMBLED I AM HONORED I DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH EXPRESSIONABLE WORDS #KICK BUTT AYBAN I BELIEVE IN YOU AND HOPE YOUR ROMANTIC PURSUITS GO SPECTACULAR WHOEVER YOU DO CHOOSE AAAHHHHH <33333 #✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨#just gonna drown this post in sparkles omg #✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

24 notes · View notes

jyeshindra · 11 months ago

Text

The Folly of a Water Sign

Hey folks. The Cancer Full Moon just passed and I'm feeling heavy and watery and emotional. What better way to process than to reflect on our aquatic feelers of the zodiac?

As a sidereal Pisces/Scorpio combo, I have a pretty good understanding of water energy and exactly how our energy gets so fucked up. Water is...formless. It's shifting, or being poured into, or being diluted, or being mixed with others. It is both infinite and deep. Both independent and exposed. We are everywhere, in everything, and connected to everyone. Scorpio is probably the best at hiding their softness and Pisces the least. I presume all three are a bit too raw for the world. Too aware of what dwells in their hearts. So what is our folly? I believe our karma has a lot to do with boundaries, emotional intelligence, and conflict resolution. We must learn about our own emotions and how we use those emotions to respond to situations or affect our path. What we deserve, like all humans, is to be happy, to experience joy, and to free ourselves from situations that do not serve us. It is the path to learning such things that we of water find our challenge and our lesson. For water, it's often a matter of emotional investment. Where is that emotional energy going? What you put your heart into will either serve you or hurt you tenfold. If discernment is not implemented, if there is no self-awareness, then you will remain stuck in harmful cycles. Scorpio can be so attached to an outcome, to success, and to achievement. Pisces can be indulgent and too forgiving. Too caught up in whims to lay two steady feet on the ground. Cancer is so attached to what they feel they won't make room for anything else. We're sentimental and emotional--liable to get stuck on feelings and people and moments and substances and habits. Our other achilles heel, victimhood is alive in the shadow of each water sign. We all at one point or another shout into the void and demand some sort of validation for our pain and misery. It must be something else. It must be them or that thing that happened four years ago or this person who never showed up for me. And what to say of Forgiveness? Pisces excels at this, to the detriment of their own soul. Contemplating forgiveness merely leads me down an equally challenging path and I fear for both myself and the water signs who don't learn this. What is forgiveness? Is it for me or for you? Do I need to know why I forgive you? Does forgiveness mean betraying myself? Is forgiveness even guaranteed? I don't know the answer to any of these questions. I'm trying to figure it out myself. And so, I release this letter into the ether. To my fellow water sign brethren and all those who are lost on their way home, I invite you to pray and reflect with me. There are years of questions, and years of answers. I await the answers.

-jyeshindra

#astro observations #astrology #natal chart #zodiac #astro notes #astrology signs #astro community #horoscope #water signs #scorpio #pisces #cancer #vedic astrology #astrologer #star signs #sun signs #moon signs #ascendant

58 notes · View notes

merlot-and-chardonnay · 11 months ago

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 11.5

Chapter 11

"Now you see the lengths I can go to in order to take back what belongs to me," Daemon says in triumph as Caraxes stared down Geralt, the look in the dragon's eyes mirroring the same triumph and anger in his rider's.

Back inside the keep, the other witchers could only stare in awe and terror at the sight of the blood wrym.

"That's the dragon?!" Jaskier exclaims in shock, "that's THE dragon that Daemon rides?" "Caraxes," you nod in confirmation.

"I did say he was big," Ciri points out. "Yes, but THAT big?!" Jaskier exasperates.

"I have to agree with the bard on this one," Vesemir speaks, "Even if there were a hundred of us, we may not stand a chance."

"We have a sorceress to help us," Ciri points out. "I appreciate the confidence," Triss speaks, "but dragons are near impervious to magic. Just as with witchers, it would take dozens, even hundreds of us to subdue such a beast."

You sigh, taking a deep breath, thinking about what needed to be done. You were the reason Daemon came all this way. You were the one who could stop this conflict and prevent the bloodshed that was going to ensue.

"You are outmatched, witcher," Daemon continues his triumphant speech, "even with your tricks and spins and your enhanced senses, you are one man. You cannot hope to defeat a dragon on your own. Surrender now. Produce me (y/n) and my child, and I will spare you the destruction of your home, and you the pain of a burning death."

Geralt stood his ground, refusing to back down.

Right at that moment, the doors to Kaer Morhen opened wide. The witchers, lead by Vesemir, run out with swords in hand, their eyes black and skin ashen from the potions they had just consumed. Geralt turns to see the wolves join him in the fight.

Daemon's eyes widen a bit, not having realized there were more of the witcher's kind.

Geralt turned his gaze back to the prince, potion vial in hand, "as you can see, prince, I'm not alone," he downs the potion, his own eyes turning black and skin turning ashen white, "but you are, even with a dragon by your side," he points his sword at Daemon, "turn back now. There is nothing here for you."

"So you will not surrender?" Daemon asks, looking to Geralt, and the other witchers, "you would put your own brethren in mortal danger just to defend the woman you love?"

"We will all defend (y/n) and her child to the last fucking breath if we must," Eskel speaks, "they are one of us."

"You think yourself the first to invade Kaer Morhen?" Vesemir states, "Men who possessed none of what you have tried to rid the world of the likes of us once before, yet here we stand. We've survived the last raid, we will do so again."

"Go back home to your comfy cushioned palace, you fucking spoiled princeling!" Lambert sneers, the other witchers shouting and jeering in agreement.

"...So be it," Daemon says in a rather calm yet threatening tone, looking to Caraxes, who seemed all too eager to obey his master's next command. Daemon turned to the witchers, a small smile on his face, "Dracarys."

Caraxes raised his head and a pillar of fire shot from his mouth. The witchers simultaneously cast the Quen sign to shield themselves from the dragon's flaming wrath. While the sign proved to be effective, it did little to conceal the heat of the flames.

Nevertheless, the wolves stood there ground.

Meanwhile Triss stood by the entrance to the keep, gathering her thoughts and her strength, focusing on the dragon.

She begin to mutter incantations in the Elder Speech, focusing the chaos around her to surround Caraxes.

It took some time, but the spell started to take effect. Right on time as the witchers were starting to feel the heat of the flames burn through their armor and into their skin. Their magic shields were starting to falter right when Caraxes stopped.

Daemon looked to his dragon, wondering what was going on.

Caraxes swayed and started to move about in a sluggish fashion, almost as if he were disoriented, until he faltered down.

The blood wrym was down, but he was not completely out.

Triss kept repeating the incantations that kept Caraxes sedated; it hadn't even been a minute and already the effects of the spell were starting to take its toll on the sorceress.

Many of the witchers were still recovering from the dragon flame.

Vesemir, Lambert, and Coen and two of the witchers rush up to subdue the dragon. Despite the heavy sedation spell, Caraxes could still push his weight around and knock the wolves about.

Eskel and Geralt take up their swords and charge at Daemon. The prince parried each of their blows from their swords. Valyrian steel was lighter then silver, which worked in Eskel and Geralt's favor as they begin to push the prince back.

While the fighting was going on you ran to your room and found your daughter still in your crib.

You had no doubt the Geralt and his brethren could take on Daemon (one would've been more then enough to suffice), but Caraxes was a different story.

You trusted Triss to be a capable and strong sorceress, but if what she said was true, she would not be able to subdue the beast for much longer.

You take Aemma from the crib and cradle her to your chest, giving her a kiss on the head. You feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

Aemma looked up to you, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. To her, you were her whole world at this moment, unknowing of the outside world like she's been since the day she was born.

You loved her, and this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you couldn't be responsible for the needless deaths of the men who had welcomed you into their home and allowed you to stay and care for your daughter.

This needed to be done before more blood was shed.

You walk out of your room and into the main hall of the keep, heading for the front entrance.

"Uh, (y/n), what are you doing?" you hear Jaskier question in confusion, "Where are you going with Aemma?" You look to your brother with a knowing gaze.

"No," the Bard shakes his head, "no, no, no, (y/n), don't you dare, I forbid it." You scoff lightly, heart not completely in it, "when has that ever worked?"

"(y/n), you can't," Jaskier insists, "you don't have to do this, we can figure something else out." "Wait, what is she doing?" you hear Ciri ask. "Daemon is hear for Aemma and me," you say, "If I go with him, he'll spare Geralt and the others. I need to do this."

"No, don't," Ciri grabs your wrist, "you can't do this. I swore I would not let anything happen to Aemma, and I won't. I'll protect you, the both of you."

You turn to Ciri, tears in your eyes, "Ciri, you're a brave and sweet girl," you say, placing a hand on her head, "but don't make this anymore difficult then it already is." "But (y/n)-" "this is my decision, Ciri," you say sternly, "I'll be okay. Daemon won't hurt me, not as long as I have Aemma in my arms."

Meanwhile, the fight continued.

Daemon was pushed to the ground by Eskel as he and Geralt have their swords pointed at the prince. Daemon looked towards the keep to see Triss was still focusing her spell on Caraxes. If Daemon could take out the sorceress, the dragon would be back under his command once more.

Daemon got on his knees, putting his hands up to signify his surrender.

Geralt and Eskel still kept their defenses up as they slowly approach the prince.

Noticing the dagger by Eskel's side, Daemon quickly stands and grabs it, stabbing the man in the side.

"Eskel!" Geralt rushes to his brother's side as Daemon makes a run for it. Geralt was about to go after the prince, but Eskel was doubled over in pain.

The white hair witcher looked to see exactly where Daemon was running towards.

"Vesemir!" Geralt calls out, getting the elder witcher's attention, "he's going after Triss!"

Vesemir stopped fighting the dragon and ran after the prince.

Triss' nose was starting to bleed at this point, but she stood her ground and kept focus on the spell.

"Triss!" she hears Vesemir calls out.

Sure enough, Triss looks up to see Daemon about to stab her. The sorceress quickly dodged, but the sword braised her side, forcing her to falter in pain.

Vesemir ran to Triss' side and helped her to her feet.

The spell quickly dissipated and Caraxes shook off the effects, almost as if he was never under the spell's influence.

"We might want to fucking run now," Coen suggests.

Too late.

Caraxes growled and went after the witchers. One got snapped up in the dragon's jaws while the rest ran for their lives.

Daemon stood in triumph as Caraxes approached Geralt and Eskel. The prince walked towards the dragon and stared into both the witchers' eyes, ready to finish it all.

"STOP!!!"

Daemon and Caraxes both turned around towards the keep to see you by the entrance, the baby in your arms.

Daemon stood there, speechless. He felt himself start to walk towards you.

Before you knew it, Daemon stood in front of you, staring in awe at the bundle in your arms. "Please stop this, Daemon," you say, voice broken as you fought back your tears, "This is the reason you came all this way, isn't it? You came for me...and for Aemma."

"Aemma?" Daemon looked into the bundle to see your daughter's face, "you...named our daughter after the late queen?"

You nod, fighting the urge to shove Daemon away as he reached a hand to touch Aemma, rubbing her back.

"She is mine," you hear the prince whisper, "the blood of the dragon courses through her veins."

You look up to Daemon, staring into his eyes with a hard look on your face.

"Spare the witchers," you sternly tell him, "and we'll go with you. Please, Daemon, swear to me no further harm will come to them, and I'll swear to go with you back to King's Landing, or Dragonstone, or wherever it is you wish to take us. Just please, stop this madness."

Daemon looked to his daughter, then turned his gaze back to you. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead, "you have my word, Little Lark. On the gods of Old Valyria."

You exhale, still annoyed by his pet name for you, but relieved that you were able to end this.

"(y/n)!" you hear Geralt call out, as he helps Eskel back to the keep, "what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," you say, letting a tear run down your cheek.

You feel Daemon place a hand on the small on your back and escort you towards Caraxes; the prince giving the witcher a knowing and triumphant look as he did so.

The witchers, Jaskier, and Triss could only stand and watch.

Ciri walked out of the keep, to see you and Daemon walking away.

"(y/n)!" she calls out, tears in her eyes, "don't do this!"

The young girl runs after you, but Geralt stops her, "Ciri!" he says. Ciri struggled, tears falling down as she watched Daemon help you up on Caraxes.

"No..." Ciri cries softly as Daemon mounts the beast behind you on the saddle.

"NO!!!!!"

The ground began to shake. Triss, Jaskier, and the witchers cover their ears from Ciri's screams. Caraxes roared in agony. You hold Aemma close to you for protection. Behind you, Daemon covered his own ears, looking to see where the source of this power was coming from.

For one reason or another, the chaos surrounding Ciri started to cause the witchers to pass out, the injured ones first.

Caraxes managed to protect you, Aemma, and Daemon by raising a wing to form in barrier in front of you.

"CIRI! STOP!!" you shout out, but it didn't do much good.

The keep was starting to crumble from the impact.

Triss stepped away from Vesemir, summoning what strength she had left to cast another spell to subdue Ciri.

It worked, but the spell also backfired, hitting Triss and Vesemir, causing them to pass out; the spell ricocheted towards Caraxes, who had lowered his wing, and hit you and Aemma.

To your surprise, you barely felt a thing. You look to Aemma, but it didn't seem anything different happened to her either.

Daemon leaned over your shoulder, concern for his daughter taking over.

Ciri, still disoriented from the impact of the spell, groggily got back on her feet. Seeing the everyone else was down, and the dragon had not yet taken off, she runs to you and Daemon.

Both you and Daemon could only stare at the young girl, shocked and speechless, even Caraxes seem to stare at her in shock as well.

"You want to take (y/n) and Aemma away from here, you're taking me too," Ciri states with authority.

---------------------------------------

Some time later, the witchers started to come to.

By the time Geralt regained consciousness he saw his brothers walk back to the keep, many of them exhausted and wounded.

Inside, Vesemir tended to Triss' wounds while Cone took care of Eskel.

Geralt walked in and approached the elder witcher, "Where are (y/n) and Aemma?" he asks. "...Gone," Vesemir says somberly, "as is Ciri."

"What?!" Geralt's eyes widen, "she...no, no, no," he shakes his head in denial.

He runs outside to calling out for Ciri, shouting into the mountain.

The witcher fell to his knees, not able to come to terms with the fact that not only was the women he loved taken away, but now his ward was taken from him as well.

Geralt turned his gaze to the west. He was going to do everything in his power to travel to Westeros, and bring you, Aemma, and Ciri back home.

Chapter 12

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x reader #ciri #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd #daemon #daemon targaryen #lambert #eskel #triss merigold #vesemir #caraxes #The Lady of Larks

46 notes · View notes

thevoiceofthebard · 10 days ago

Text

Chapter 1 - Ulfric I: Unbound

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed. 4E201 Early Morning

Ulfric Stormcloak

I am Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm. Student of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. Leader of the Revolution of the Sons of Skyrim.

And this is the day of my death.

Today, I leave the mortal plane behind, to join my brothers and sisters in Sovngarde. I can only hope the gods forgive the transgressions I have committed in pursuit of justice. But then the timing of the Imperial ambush that leads us now to our deaths was so perfect... Perhaps the gods have abandoned us. Although I find treachery a far more likely explanation.

Our carriage jumps around as we pass over a pothole, pulling me away from my thoughts. I look around, curiosity getting the better of me. From the multitude of pine trees around me, I know we're somewhere in the Hold of Falkreath. Nature flourishes in the south of Skyrim - mountain flowers, nightshade, and thistle abundant, deer grazing at the edge of the deep shade of the woods - but I confess it holds less grandeur for myself compared to some of my brethren. My childhood was filled with grand stone walls, surrounded by frozen tundras and volcanic fields. The Throat of the World towers above us, throwing dark shadows for miles, making the morning seem darker than it should. An ominous sign. No doubt the Greybeards still harbor resentment toward me for abandoning my studies at its peak. But no amount of meditation would cool the fire in my veins, could never satisfy my need to protect my homeland, when the call to battle came so long ago. I often wonder how the world would be had I remained a disciple of The Way of the Voice.

Another jolt. Poorly maintained roads. No doubt a result of Jarl Siddgeir diverting funds to the Empire, against me. A groan draws my attention in close to my fellow cart mates - and prisoners. Across from me, a man in rags. A thief by the look of him, and a coward. He's done naught but complain the last hour. Next to him sits a man in my own colors. Ralof, if I remember correctly. Yes... A passionate young man, though somewhat unremarkable. I want to speak, reassure him. But the cloth in my mouth prevents me from doing anything but breathe, and even that takes effort. Beside me is another man in rags. Unlike the thief, though, he has an aura of culture about him. Beneath the recent bruising and dirt, his face is angular, his hair groomed; even after being tossed unconscious into the cart with us. In the wrong place at the wrong time, and now the Empire will surely punish him for it. Bastards.

The three have been bickering while I mused. I hadn't noticed until Ralof mentioned my name, startling the others. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" I'm not sure to be flattered or insulted that the thief didn't recognize my face. Panic enters the man's voice as he realizes the severity of his situation; I doubt he will make it anywhere near the headsman's block. "But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

Ralof's words echo my thoughts. "I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

I lose interest as the soldier begins comforting the distraught thief. The other prisoner - a Breton by the name of Talao, I learn as Ralof asks - is handling the situation far better than I would have assumed, though he keeps glancing at me questioningly. Though something about his quiet confidence interests me, I ignore him in favor of watching the road ahead. All too soon, I see our destination. Helgen. Of course; there's an Imperial bastion here. I can hear the sounds of a bustling town slowly waning as our procession enters. Imperial archers line the walls, obviously dying to loose their arrows into any foolish enough to take off.

"Look at him," I hear Ralof spit, "General Tullius, the military governor." The military fop; he interests me not. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves." Though his words are heated, they turn the blood in my veins to ice. I turn, and sure enough, next to Tullius sits an Altmer in pitch black clothes. Elenwen, of all people.

Shor save us. What is that Thalmor bitch doing here?... Her presence can't possibly be coincidence. Have the Thalmor finally decided to clean up loose ends? Is she here to ensure my death, or are her machinations more devious? Through it all, I refuse to back down from her damned condescending sneer. I return her smug stare with venom. You don't own me, elf. You never have.

Finally, the carts come to a stop. The horse thief is hyperventilating now, and rambling in terror. I honestly want to punt the coward out of the cart, but it's beneath my dignity. My men look to me for composure. I must be above such pettiness. I notice the other prisoner tumble out of the cart with a cry of pain after me. I notice, as Ralof helps him up, that his leg seems oddly twisted, as if deformed. An old wound, then. Still, there is no time to reflect as the Imperials have already begun to open their lists. The names of every known dissident of the Empire are written on those lists. Surprisingly, I find the Imperial standing in front of me, condemning my soldiers, is a fellow Nord. Another traitor to his people. It disgusts me that one could renounce their ideals so freely, for mere politics.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!"

First to go, then. I shrug off the Imperial hand upon my shoulder, as he leads me away from my compatriots. Ralof calls to me, but I can barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears as I survey the scene. The headsman stands before us, his axe well-sharpened and gleaming, the chopping block lying at the ready. I should have known better; as if the Empire would bother with a trial. Seems they've given up even the pretense of justice now. All the better. If nothing else, more and more people will soon realize the justness of our cause and fly to our banner as the Empire slowly destroys everything it stands for. Even if the leader of that banner is not myself.

A scuffle reaches my ears behind me, and glance to see the horse thief burst through the line of Imperials. His flight is short-lived, though, and he nearly instantly drops to the ground in a flurry of limbs, numerous arrows buried in his back. I knew he'd never make it to the block. A coward to the end. To Oblivion with him; I've my own date to keep.

By the time all the names had been read, a sizable crowd had formed around the yard, clearly anticipating a spectacle. Nary a friendly face to be found. Tullius walks into the yard, and faces me directly. The esteemed general had obviously been dying to make a speech. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

A pitiful start. And false on several counts. A retort passes my tongue, but no further, as the gag restrains me. The coward refuses me any last words as he rambles on, addressing the crowd as much as myself, clearly wanting to make some kind of example of the situation. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" The crowd murmurs in assent, my Stormcloaks in disgust. Personally, I find the man's little speech dull beyond compare. He has no sense of eloquence, his words sounding rehearsed and flat. Even at half his age - perhaps even a third, given his graying hair - I could captivate a crowd with a few sentences, drive them into the heights of passion. I understand the souls of my fellow men, and how to inspire them.

Suddenly, a shriek pierces the mid-morning air. Everyone stirs uneasily, and I admit somewhere in the back of my mind, a twinge of primal fear appears. But it is gone as quickly as it came, and I dismiss the noise; the howl of the wind carving through the mountain pass, perhaps. The crowd swiftly settled as well; a Priestess of Arkay stepped forward to deliver our last rites. More Imperial custom than Nord, but decent of them. Or at least, it would be if their priests did not bow the whims of the Elves.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon..."

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

The Priestess sounds surprised and affronted as Bjarke - whose heart burns with a passion so great, I sometimes think it burned out his mind - interrupts her and steps fearlessly toward the headsman. I don't know why she reacted as such; one should expect vitriol when you slight a man's god, even a "heretic's." My heart fills with pride as Baldor taunts the Imperials even as they force him down upon the block. Such bravery. Bravery all my Stormcloaks possess. To die for their beliefs, fighting an unjust Empire, whether by sword or axe.

I don't look away or flinch as the axe finishes its deadly arc. I have seen far worse in my life than a body and head separated from each other. The crowd cries out as the body is unceremoniously shoved aside.

"Justice!"

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

I lock eyes with Tullius as the captain calls out, "Next, the Breton!" Of course. He wants me to go last. To watch as my men lay down their lives, knowing that I will share their fate. I would feel guilt for their deaths, but for the fact that they are not here following my banner; they are here because they followed their ideals.

Another shriek cuts through the air. Much louder than before. And much, much closer. My blood chills. There is no mistaking it for the wind this time. That howl was undeniably the call of an apex predator. Some creature that sits atop the pecking order, and knows it. But what? I've never heard anything like it in my life, though I feel an ancient part of me quail in fear before it. The crowd is visibly agitated now, but the Imperials push on. The Breton is walked to the block. Remarkably, he seems almost uninterested in his impending death, gazing around, as if curious about the sound. In my mind, I honor him. I remember Ralof's earlier words: A Nord's last thoughts should be of home. And so my own thoughts turn to Windhelm. The majesty of the Palace of Kings, where I spent my childhood, and it's storied history. The strength of its walls and its peoples, with whom I strove to make our world a better place.

As the Breton is brought painfully to his knees... I am not a man given to excessive prayer. I have always preferred to proclaim my faith through the truth of actions than through words that have no substance behind them. And yet for this man, whether fearless or foolhardy, I find myself speaking within me. Mighty Talos. I have sought in my life to honour you through battle and glory. I have fought to save your divine name from enemies who would have you struck from the annals of history, and defile all that for which you stand. Should this be my time to die, I embrace it willingly, knowing I have striven my best to achieve my goals, and knowing others will take up your banner in my absence. But I implore you; spare this innocent life before me, whose only guilt lies in poor fortune. He does not deserve to die a meaningless death by the treachery of this false Empire.

So engrossed am I, it is not until someone forces me to the ground that I notice anything wrong. The ground shakes beneath me, and all of Helgen is in an uproar. I look up and freeze from disbelief. Shock and awe bind my feet, but for a moment. Has Talos answered my prayer? Is this a blessing I have brought upon us, or a curse? Someone unties my hands, and I rip the gag from my mouth. I run from the great black beast without a second thought. I never understood the phrase "Discretion is the better part of valor" better than I have this very moment.

"DRAGON!"

Chapter 2 - Ralof I: Unbound

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #tesblr #ulfric stormcloak #dragonborn #gaming #fanfic #the voice of the bard #skyrim fanfiction

10 notes · View notes