#and powerful who is revered like a god but never seen as someone that was thrust into this role when he was barely an adult

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 8th. tom — somno / free use kink.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom riddle is a god at many things. you’ve never felt more alive than when you’ve reduced him to something lesser.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, free use, sleeping kink, a lot of reverence for more biblical tom riddle that i genuinely need to choke me unconscious, PIV, fingering, multiorgasm, overstim, slight bondage, dubcon but not really i mean this fic speaks for itself. tom is kinda soft here???? what happened to me??

Tom Riddle, you'd determined, was obsessive before he was anything else. You saw it long before you knew him—intimately, at least—his compulsions, the meticulous way in which he carved out his time, handpicking what fit his ambitions best before pouring himself into them until he was empty.

Tom never moved with half-measures, a man that brilliant does nothing halfhearted.

You didn't expect to become his fixation—didn't know what it meant to be seen by someone who never stopped searching—never stopped dissecting—until the moment when his eyes lingered just a second too long and his hands followed suit—the moment he taught you the meaning in the only way he knew how.

Benevolently.

Tom Riddles need is tempered but there's always something burning underneath, something that flickers to life when his breath catches against your neck—when his fingers trace delicate lines along your skin—something that feels a lot like a thank you. The magical world gave him power—dominion—but in you, he found control. The kind you give freely, without even knowing it, the kind that he takes with the same reverence in his hands he applies to everything he touches.

There’s always been a mutal give and take between you—one formed without words and you solemnize this unspoken vow because he leaves you no other choice.

And it's not by force, not by demand, but by the sheer intensity of his regard, that sacred hunger in the way he looks at you, like you were made for this. For him. To be unmade, piece by piece, worshipped in the ruins of what you once were and stitched back together by his grace alone. When he kneels at your feet after a day that's worn him thin, his eyes sharp with exhaustion— when he spreads you open as though you're a book of scripture, when his hands steady you and his mouth finds its way between your thighs—there's nothing left for you to do but hold onto him. Your fingers in his hair, letting him take—letting him consume you in ways only he can.

He is both salvation and sin. Saviour and ruin. You're not sure how it's possible but he ensures you believe it.

And it started with secret moments—stolen glances, brushes of fingers, impromptu study sessions. But it grew into something more, and then something more still, until one day he's slipping into your flat as though it's his own, finding you before you even realize he's there.

You'll be cooking dinner and without a word, he'll flick off the stove with a twitch of his fingers—a breath of magic—his appetite insatiable but not for any caloric substance. You pretend, for his sake, to be surprised by his power, the way he moves without moving, but he knows better now—knows that nothing he does surprises you anymore, not after the way he loosens the strings of your corset with just a blink, how his teeth scrape your ear in a smile as he works a spell between your thighs. Not after he waits until you're thoroughly ruined by his magic—malleable just the way he likes you before he's merciful, allowing you the honour of his touch—allowing himself the honour of breaking you further.

There's no shock left in it because you've already accepted that whatever you think he's capable of—there's more.

There will always be more with Tom—a knowledge that is a sweet, endless ache. He is reasoning made lucid. You could never define all that he is capable of.

And foolishly you thought after all these years you'd have come to understand him, but Tom Riddle is not easily deciphered—he's a mystery even to himself, a disposition of contradictions. He doesn't need to be understood; he only needs to feel as if he is, to which you do your best. But when you're finally asleep after a long day and feel the bed dipping behind you in the quiet hours—a large, rough hand grazing timidly up your thigh, comprehension of Tom Riddle becomes even more of a distant accomplishment.

There is no logic in him when it comes to you, just instinct. No explanations, just need.

Tom has always had his compulsions, but you are his favourite fixation, and so you give. There's hunger, and there's devotion. There's desire, and then there's worship. You let him choose which ones he wants from you.

On this night you stir, half-conscious yet not quite aware of what's happening as his fingers move slowly, finding the heat between your legs and spreading you gently. There's never any urgency in his movements, though the fervour is palpable—a kind of feverish desperation thrumming beneath the surface, a pulse you can feel in his flesh, in the way his breath catches as if this is the only way he knows how to breathe.

Perhaps the only certainty about Tom is that you know he wouldn't be here if it weren't a necessity.

And he does this often, though sometimes it's more—the plush of his lips, the slick slide of his tongue—but this time, he chooses to wake you to the steady push of his fingers inside you, two of them stretching you, deliberate in their rhythm, curling deep, coaxing you open. It's his mercy, his crafted version of tenderness—you know he could easily just cast a lubing charm and press right in—but he doesn’t. He paces, he savours.

It’s a patience he continually allows himself which you know he doesn't have to give.

And some nights, when you wake to his touch—he whispers for you to sleep, to let him have you quietly, other times he'll make it clear that's the last thing he wants.

Tonight—

You shift against him, instinct guiding your body, but he hushes you, gentle, soft—a tut of warning, a shushing breath against your ear. You don't know how long he's been inside you, how long his need has burned quietly beside you, but by the time you realize, it's the wet sounds, obscene, that draw you from the haze of sleep, drowning out the sharpness of his breath. You're half-gone, face pressed into the pillow, drooling— and your lips part on a moan that never fully forms.

When your hand reaches instinctively for his wrist, his growl curls low in your ear—

"Sleep," if the command was a weapon it'd be a feather—he casts a binding spell on your wrists, drawing them above your head. "I've got you."

You swallow another moan, throat dry, choking on air as you fight to rip free from whatever remnants of slumber you're clinging to. His fingers are slow, pumping in and out of you, dragging you deeper into his need—and you're shaking in a way that is as involuntary as it is habitual. You know from experience just how much he loves this— the way he reduces you to fragments, the way he breaks you apart until there's nothing left but the shattered pieces of your pleasure—the mess he can make of you in minutes, even absentmindedly.

He slips an arm under your head, pulling you closer, impossibly close. The room is dark, and though you can't see him, you imagine his face—the hunger in his eyes as his skin sticks to yours, the hard evidence of his need against your ass.

"T-Tom—" your voice stumbles, a choked whisper of his name. His hand curls over your mouth, silencing you.

"Quiet," he mutters. "It's just a dream."

His breath ghosts over your neck, and your back arches in response. Wherever he was earlier, he came back starving, and this is part of it—sometimes he wants you silent, sometimes he wants you loud. Tonight, he wants you like this.

"Stay still," he murmurs again, and you shudder, your climax pulled from the edges of sleep by the slow drag of his fingers inside you. "Just a dream..."

A dream, he says—somewhere inside you, buried under a fog of grog you know it isn't, and he knows you know, he's not trying to trick you but it's all part of the game—coaxing—the way he devours you a little more each time, not just physically but mentally too.

With your lips muffled by his hand and his fingers buried deep, you do what you always do—you let him.

"T-Tom—" you whimper through the cracks in his digits. Your body is soft, boneless, melting into his touch, aching for more. "Please—"

As much as he wants you quiet he wants his name broken in your mouth all the same. He rewards you with a bitten-off moan, a crack in his control, a slight hitch in his breath—you clench around his fingers and his palm tightens over your mouth just a little too hard before he realizes and eases up.

You did say Tom's need was tempered—but sometimes, there are exceptions.

"I said quiet." His hips rut against your ass, fingers slow dragging at your walls, scissoring in your slick. "Let me give you this."

You push back into him, desperate, needy. "But—"

"Take it." His fingers on your mouth slide past your lips and over your tongue, reaching toward the back of your throat. Tears spring to your eyes as you gag, the sound smothered by the moan you make as a spell, swirling and tightening, pulses against your clit. "With the way I'm going to fuck you, you need this...you'll thank me later for it..."

Tom doesn't waste words. His tone may be soft but it's also sharp, which tells you everything you need to know—that he's had a wretched day and you're the only thing that can make it better. That he's going to fuck out his frustrations on you.

You moan around his fingers at the thought.

"You'll want to be nice and stretched for me, won't you?" A statement, not a question. "You don't want it to hurt. You know I don't want to hurt you."

Though he'll deny it, he's not as emotionless or as lacking in empathy as he'd like to believe. It's one of the many things you've come to know about him—or should you say, one of the many things you've struggled to understand about him—but the way he says it, like he's reminding himself not to be cruel—it's all very Tom Riddle.

"I don't want to hurt you.." he repeats in a murmur, as if he's trying to convince himself. You can't speak, though you're not sure you could find the words even if you could; the only indication you give him that you understand—that you hear him—is the quiet whimper that slips past his fingers. "Just need you."

The spell on your clit is as overwhelming as the drag of his fingers against your walls and it's only moments until you're cumming hard around him and he's groaning hard in return—you know his eyes are closed and you know he's inhaling every single sound you make as though he could house them in his lungs. The darkness clings to you like a second skin but Tom clings to you worse—not relenting even as you're twitching and whimpering with aftershocks.

"There we go." You're squirming and Tom fucking loves it. "Good girl."

Overstimulation is charging in—you have no where to run from it. You bite down on his digits in your mouth and he punishes you by intensifying the spell on your clit. "T-Tom—Tom—"

All he offers is a shush. His fingers curl deep.

"I need...I need you...need this.." he's mumbling, mantra-like, almost like a prayer and perhaps that's the closest he's come to one. You can count on one hand the amount of times you've heard him say it but you know there's no one else he'd be saying it to—no one else he'd want to. "You know, I thought of this all day...having you, like this..."

You sob around his fingers in your mouth as he rips another climax from you—you think you're seeing stars and you know if you are, they were hung there by him.

"Couldn't focus.." his teeth find your jaw, just under your ear, biting just a little harder than he usually does. "No matter what I did, I just kept thinking of this...of you...of you like this for me.."

Tom Riddle is a greedy man—in all ways—but he's not only greedy in the way he takes from you, he's greedy in the way he gives to you too, and though he would never admit it—he'd rather die first—this moment feels as close to worship as he'll ever come.

As you said, there's reverence in everything he fucking touches—you know you're lucky you get to experience it.

"You have this effect." He swallows hard, you feel it against your shoulder. "You have this effect on me...I—I can't stop wanting you-“

—and he's just a man, after all. No matter how well versed in dark spells and manipulation, no matter how cold and calculating he's able to be, beneath it all he's so very mortal. He tells you he was never made for love but when he buries his face in your neck and talks this talk it sure feels like maybe he was.

And all it does is make you want him that much more—knowing that you do this to him—you make him weak. You make him want and need and yearn.

"I don't even know what you've done to me," his voice is destroyed—his thoughts cut off by the evidence of your desperation for him, the lewd sounds coming from your pussy as you suck on the fingers in your mouth. "Fuck, you're so wet."

You groan, helpless and needy as a whore. Tom digs his teeth into your shoulder. It's all too much. There are many ways to come apart and this is Tom's only true undoing—in the aftermath of the destruction he causes, and you are—his collateral.

"Fuck—oh, fuck—" you're garbling, the words don't sound like words. "T-Tom—"

You're not sure how long you've been awake or how many times you've cum—how much oxygen you've inhaled since this all started but the one certainty is that you know Tom has very little patience left—if any.

"Fuck." He shifts, grinding against you. "Can you take me? Can you take me right now?"

All you can do is nod—your eagerness evident in the pace of it—drool dribbling down your chin and instantly the spell fades from your clit, his fingers pull out of your cunt and he's lifting your thigh up toward your head, fingers still hooked in your mouth. There's a moment of movement—trousers and boxers pulled down and then he's there—thick and heavy and warm between your thighs. You tense.

You'll never get used to the size of him. His ego made flesh. Though perhaps the greatest pleasure is in knowing he'll never get used to you, either.

"Gonna—gonna fuck you." He mutters against your neck as he glides along your slit—you're soaked, slick coating your thighs and the sheets and him but it never matters much because it always stings when he takes you. Especially like this. "It won't be soft."

You moan and he finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, dragging them down to your throat, nails against your skin that feel more like claws because for all the human Tom Riddle is he's just as much animal.

He's never known soft—only with you—but you wouldn't have him if not for all his jagged lines and sharp edges. You let him take.

"Please, Tom-" words fail you, they always do when he's like this. "Please, gods—fuck me-"

Tom growls and it vibrates up your spine. You rarely curse when you can help it—so when you do, when you can't do anything to stop the pathetic vulgarities—he likes it too goddamn much and you know he's going to give you what you want because you give him what he needs.

A mutual give and take, as all the best things are.

"No god could compare to me." He doesn't say it with arrogance, just with certainty, like a letter he's written a thousand times. Then, he's flipping you onto your stomach, wrists still bound above your head as he lines up and presses inside you—all at once, deep and full and breathtaking. "Oh, yes—"

You cry out but it's muffled by the pillow, your cunt trying hard to adjust to the stretch—Tom is never cruel, but he is brutal, and perhaps the two get confused. There is a difference, though you know he would prefer to remain ambivalent on his own harshness, it’s the only way he's managed to survive this long—but here, with you, he thinks he can allow for a bit of mercy.

And he gives it, in his own way, only because you gave it first. It's as close as he'll come to offering himself without asking anything in return. To you, it's still a pretty close second.

"I'm going to make you feel this," he murmurs, lips against your shoulder, teeth against skin and if you had any tears left, this would be when they fell. "You'll think of this all day tomorrow. You'll think of me all day tomorrow."

He pauses inside you—he's taking it slow and the implications of that fact are far out of reach right now.

"I'll think of you anyway, Tom," you grit through your teeth, voice cracking on his name as he pulls out—only halfway—ensuring you feel that emptiness before he presses back in. "I'm—ohh—a-always thinking of you."

He makes a sound, a broken sort of sound, the same one you've heard him make only a handful of times—a raw, vulnerable, almost pathetic sound and all it does is make you want him that much more. He's still moving too slow, too methodically, drawing pleasure out from deep under your skin.

You clench around him because you know he doesn't want you to—he warns you against it with a cervix-piercing thrust.

"You're always thinking of me." His hand snakes around your throat, his lips to your ear—"and are you proud of that?"

You know that's a loaded question, the answer to which he doesn't truly care to know. But it's one you'll answer truthfully, regardless—because you know it'll affect him either way.

You nod, just once—and the grip on your neck tightens, cutting off an almost sob. His hips piston faster now, as though you've chipped off another piece of his control.

"Proud enough, then," he growls, his pace unforgiving, and that's enough to tear another broken sound from you—from the both of you. His fingers twist painfully around your throat, digging into your skin like a man possessed, and you know that means he's done holding back. His mouth is next to your ear, you can feel his smirk. "M'sorry—I'm—sorry—"

He says he's sorry but you know he's not. Not with the way he's groaning into your ear, not with the way he's driving his cock fast and deep. He is a manmade monster and a self-made god trapped inside a mortal man who needs so much to feel human. He knows to be nothing but intense. It's a wonder how the three can exist in him all at once.

"T-tom-" your voice fractures around his name, the only word you know now. "F-fuck—s'deep—ohh-"

His teeth sink into your neck as he cranks your head back with a pull of your hair, bared teeth on preyish flesh and you hardly have time to worry how deep he might devour because you feel his magic on your clit and you see those stars again—distant yet creeping closer, drawn down to your orbit by his power alone.

"M'sorry—" he mutters again, as though he was saying it to your cervix. "Fuck—"

You scream out again as the spell on your clit swirls faster—the sensation unfathomable each and every time—he's fucking you so hard you're burning underneath him and though the pleasure is as white hot as the flames that now cover every inch of you, you don't fear burning as much as you fear it's passing.

He's a fire in your veins, in your blood, and if he stops now you'll die of the cold.

"So good for me," he says, as soft as he can muster for being so lustdrunk— "so—perfect. You're perfect."

Perfect. You whinge and squeeze your eyes shut—choking on your breath. The words are more painful than his thrusts because time and time again you’ve failed to decipher their meaning—you know he doesn't believe in perfection, the concept too weak and foolish for his sake—but he's said it before, always in times like this—you are perfect.

You're perfect under his hands. You're perfect when you shatter apart for him, in the darkness, under the light of those stars he dragged down for you. 

"Ohh—fuck—Tom—" another climax wracks you, splitting you at the seams. "I'm—I'm—"

It feels like an earthquake and you're the epicenter, all the power and destruction Tom thrusts into you radiating from within you outward. His hand moves from your throat to your jaw, tilting your face back so he can kiss you, messily, open-mouthed and with teeth. But it's still a kiss. Something he rarely does.

"Yeah, yeah. Good—" he grunts into your mouth. "Mmfff—fuck—tight—“

A second later, he's cumming, a broken string of profanity tumbling from his chest into your mouth, release spilling deep inside you, warm and thick and he holds you tighter for it as you whimper and throb around him. Tom has always had his reservations. Always had his long list of fixations—and like you said, he pours himself empty into the ones he's chosen. It's in moments like these where you feel it more than ever—as his hips slow and his cock stops twitching inside you—the way that he's made you part of that list.

And when he's done moving through you—when he's done taking what he needs—he pulls away, yet he's still there. Freeing your wrists and rubbing them gently, curling you against him as you both descend.

"Thank you." He murmurs, face in your hair.

You tell him he doesn't need to thank you but you know it makes no difference. After all, he's still a man. A man with something to prove, even under a sky full of stars he dragged down for you.

Tom is a god at many things. You've never felt more alive than when you've reduced him to something lesser.

[shadykazama]

Hello! Your headcanons on Wukong/Destined One had me giggling so much 😊 they're so great, couldn't stop rereading.

Um, if it's alright, can I ask for some Wukong/Destined One x Reader with their baby? Feral daddy monkey in his nesting phase with his mate and baby is so— 🤭

Absolutely! I have a lot of thoughts and the people demand more monkey business- so let's get down to it.

❤ Wukong

Starting with the pregnancy~

He is ELATED.

The idea of a proper heir had never crossed his mind because well- he's immortal. He doesn't need one. But that doesn't mean the idea of his own flesh and blood isn't positively exciting.

There's a chance he knows you're pregnant before you do. What with all of his special powers and heightened senses.

Celebrates privately with you of course but it becomes a mountain-wide event very quickly.

You are showered with praise and blessings by all the monkeys.

He will never miss a chance to brag that he's going to have a baby. And he's definitely smug about it too, thinks your child is going to surpass even his power.

When you start showing he gets more smothering.

Don't forget our king's fatal flaw! He thinks he knows what's best.

Will limit how much you travel and makes sure you always have at least two attendants by your side while he's gone.

Which, once you get further along, isn't often. There were plenty of superstitions about pregnancy in ancient China, as well as a high infant mortality rate- and that's not even counting what complications could happen due to the magical nature of your child. So he'd be stressed.

He expresses stress through aggression (canon), though it's never pointed at you. He'd be fiercely protective over the mountain, but especially any of the areas you regularly stay in. He'd be very snappy at everyone for the entire second half of the pregnancy, except you of course, who he'd be showering with praise and reverence.

Likes holding your stomach while you rest and tells your baby about the great lineage they're being born into, recounting his titles and strength and promising them they'd be greater.

He's hoping for a boy, but he's assured his child will be spectacular regardless of the gender.

When you give birth he will be extremely focused. He can't afford to be weak in a moment when you need him most. (Though your cries of pain and effort will certainly make his heart ache.)

As you're holding your baby for the first time, his teasing, smug attitude is nowhere to be seen. He just looks at you as if you'd given him the universe itself.

Cutest baby ever might I add 👆.

It's a Chinese tradition that only immediate family is allowed to meet the baby for the first 100 days after it's born, so it'd just be you and him for a majority of three months unless you invite your family to meet them.

In traditional fashion, on the 100th day a banquet is held to officially introduce the baby to everyone. And MY GOD would it be an event...

Besides all of the monkeys on the mountain who want to celebrate their new prince/princess, I can't even imagine how many celestials and demons would come to pay their respects and blessings- be it out of fear or respect.

Either way, expect a very long day and a LOT of gifts.

^ Wukong doesn't leave your side for the entire day. I dare someone to try and pull something.

You'd expect with his trickster personality that he'd be a very lenient dad, but Wukong is surprisingly dutiful in making sure your child doesn't turn out lazy or ignorant.

That by no means is to say he wouldn't be a wonderfully playful father. He'd have a wonderful connection with his child, and his most important lesson to them would be to respect their mother ;)

More of a one kid kind of guy, so he'd probably stop after the first, unless you had twins or triplets.

As protective as he was with you when you were pregnant, he's pretty chill with the actual kid. He knows they're durable and will let them get roughed up doing dumb stuff.

Carries them around hanging off his tail and will pretend like he doesn't know where they went.

It's like how cats will let their babies 'sneak up on them' to encourage them to keep trying. He does the same thing with your kid when they try to trick him.

Your baby would be the most respectful little shit ever. A little shit nonetheless, but would do anything for you or their father.

All the monkeys on the mountain help keep an eye on the little sage so you'll never feel lost or alone in parenting. It's very much a joined effort and your baby will see the other monkeys as their family as well!

This wonderful piece of Sun Wukong was done by @kanade-howl here on tumblr! They post their work on Twitter as well at @kanaade_ and @_liehuzuo please support them!

💙 The Destined One

Give him a bunch of babies I beg you.

He'd get addicted, he wants a big family for SURE.

When you first tell him you're pregnant he'll probably take some time to fully soak it in.

You'll be used to being patient with him at this point, but I imagine something like this is really nerve wracking so don't feel bad if you rush him for a response.

He'll put a hand on your stomach as if he's checking for himself before picking you up and smothering you with love.

He's not a chatty guy but he'll let you know how happy he is!

^ That being said, during your pregnancies is the most talkative he'll ever be.

He doesn't want you to stress about communicating and knows your body is going through a lot so he pushes himself to talk more to make sure you get everything you need.

That doesn't mean he'll be a chatterbox by any means. More than nothing is still very slim :')

Expect a lot of one word questions.

Trusts you more than he trusts his own instincts. His instincts tell him you shouldn't be climbing or moving around much- but if you want to, who's he to tell you what to do? He's not the one pregnant 🤷‍♀️

Follows you around like a guard dog when you do though, doesn't matter what you're doing.

Somehow even more physically affectionate than normal. Will insist on holding your hand when you walk so you can lean your weight on him.

When you start showing he'll be amazed. It's not that he's never seen a pregnant person before but like... That's his baby in there and he can't believe it.

His favorite thing to do is lay his head against your stomach while you're resting. Will kiss your skin and adore the life you're making.

You can catch him whispering things to your baby while he's resting his head on your stomach.

Your body is going to ache and he is more than happy to massage it for you. He doesn't even need an excuse to touch you, but he'll find them anyway.

Once you get further along and it gets harder for you to get around, he'll pick you up and take your wherever you want to go- within reasonable distance from your home of course. Not because he can't take you further, he just doesn't want to in case something happens.

But he wants to make sure you get fresh air and still see the beauty outside of your bed.

Doesn't trust anyone to watch you. It's him or nothing.

Makes offerings and prays to the goddess of childbirth. He does this a few times before you catch him and start helping.

He's a bundle of nerves when you're giving birth. If you weren't preoccupied, it'd probably be painfully obvious how nervous he was.

Holds you while you hold your baby and will not stop telling you how much he loves you and how perfect the baby is.

Gets baby fever bad.

Baby will be spoiled, and so will any other baby after that.

Huge advocate for carrying the baby. If you're not opposed to it, he probably carries them more than you.

Has the most deadpan look on his face as he looks at this baby but he has so much adoration for his little miracle.

Stressing over your baby crying in the middle of the night? Not with him! He's at that babies beck and call.

Watching a nearly mute man deal with a curious child is definitely amusing and you get a front row seat.

Your children kind of just accept that their dad doesn't talk much, but he'll always tell them he loves them if they say it to him.

Takes them everywhere with him so he can teach them. Is SO proud when the oldest starts helping teach the younger ones.

He's proud of them in general honestly.

Your kids are going to be super loving and curious. I think he'd foster really healthy relationships between all of them.

You'd have a whole team taking care of you if you ever got sick.

[nestastits]

You know Nesta really is HER.

She laughed at the children of the blessed.

She can see through Fae glamours and magic.

She told the human queens they were cowards.

She stole from the Cauldron.

She had the Cauldron, the most revered artifact of the fae that has the ability to create life and destroy everything by basically being the womb of the Mother, terrified of her to the point it went after anyone else but her.

She slapped her sister’s toxic fiancé in the face and told him he never deserved her anyway after he insulted her.

She scared off her baby sister’s toxic ex, told him off for his treatment of her sister, pointed her finger at him, and told him she’d rip his head off if he told anyone they were in spring.

She changed the entire trajectory of the books bc Sarah just couldn’t hate her

Sarah’s original plan was to have her with Lucien but the moment Nesta and Cassian saw each other it was a done deal and Sarah (basically the real life mother/cauldron) had to rewrite the books.

She did the math on how many ships the human lands would need in order to evacuate from the war.

She scared a death lord with her Made Sword

She can willed all three dread troves and has a special connection with them to the point of being able to portal them to her

She has a special connection to THE MOTHER. And a bargain with the Cauldron.

She’s been called a Death God, Kingslayer, Lady Death, Queen of Queens, Witch, Pillager of Death, Witch from Oorid, and Death Herself.

She is a Valkyrie and Oristian.

She encouraged some of the priestesses from the library (ones who have spent centuries in there without leaving) to join training by showing them there was nothing to fear.

She got a a usually disdainful blacksmith to smile with her inquisitiveness.

She marked the king with a death promise then beheaded him in the war when she got the chance. And held up his head in victory of her promise being acomplished.

She killed the first Kelpie seen in hundreds of years. Beheaded it and held it’s head in the same way.

She awoke a House and made it sentimental by befriending it with her magic.

She stabbed a man’s dick in the Blood Rite.

She led her team through the Blood Rite. Like any good General would do.

She held the line, giving up the chance of the win, so her found sisters could survive.

She spoke about becoming the leader of the first complete female fighting group in Prythian after five hundred years.

She had actual Death Gods speaking highly of her. Fearing her too.

The most powerful high lord in prythian feared her.

She unmade someone to avenge her mate. Her power stopped time when she unleashed it fully. She saved her sister, nephew, and brother-in-law all in the same morning after completing the blood rite. Gave up a fraction of her power for it, but made a bargain with the cauldron and spoke with the mother. Told her baby sister “I love you” for the first time, this was also the first time Nesta had ever said ily out loud to anyone. Decided that she wanted to have a mating ceremony. Hugged her brother-in-law after his mate and babe almost died even though they had some issues. Again all of this happened in the same morning.

She gave her Mask to an untrustworthy friend and by doing so saved both Prythian and Midgard. Perhaps other worlds and universes too.

She has infinite range👏👏👏

Please add anything that I left out! My girl has done so much I forget to list them all.

[calisources]

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on this meme have been taking from different media and sources. They all touch on the topics of romance, difficult and forbidden love, mostly setting in the political schemes of war and peace and royal court. Change names, locations and nouns and you see fit. Some lines might have foul language.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, but hurting ourselves to avoid it doesn’t make it better.

Could someone treat you badly and still love you? 

Even so, in the midst of this complicated love, there is a holy union.

Love is complicated. It’s sticky. It’s bliss and it’s a mix of emotions. It’s not easy.

I hated him now because I has loved him then.

 I'm not like you. I can't afford to be reckless.

When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?

Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact I'm an heir to the fucking throne? 

You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family.

She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

Your wish is my command, my queen.

You can always leave my service.

Don’t you see, Diana? If I did that, I’d break not one but two hearts. For I know you love me, though you haven’t said it yet.

You do know me. I love you so much, it sometimes terrifies me.

You are going to regret that, Your Magical Regalness.

Just because I am  a prince doesn’t make my life a fairy tale.

So kiss the others for all I care, but don’t hold back with me.

You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.

He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.

I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.

 I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.

You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king.

Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.

There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.

You can't treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires.

We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.

...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.

I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man.

You're the most important person I've ever met.  And I should have never met you at all.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

I find that happiness can always be recollected in tranquillity, Ma’am.

It's almost impossible for those who have had an intimate relationship to return to a formal one.

I question if within you is any magic.

You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.

The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.

For kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.

A king deserves reverence when being addressed.

Yes, she had abused her title and station before, but for minor stuff, not to steal a warship.

You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.

When God calls you into His Kingdom, your way of life will reflect royalty if you serve Him with loyalty.

My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.

You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.

I have to be seen to be believed.

Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.

That is your very own myth. The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.

I know that names have power. That is why I cannot let her forget hers. 

You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.

A bad king revels in his importance. A good one hates his office. 

Crowns belong to those that serve.

She was their witch queen, and they adored her.

Beatrice is going to be queen someday.

Kings are only kings because one ancestor was quicker than another to place a crown on his own head.

Queen, do not allow a commoner to dethrone you. Own that throne. You are royalty.

A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.

My mother once told me that everything is fuelled by either money or sex, because both lead to power.

Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.

She holds a nation’s fate within her shaking hands. She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?

Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky.

Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.

Climb up the family tree of any of them high enough and you’ll find a commoner who dared to take a chance.

Am I forbidden to do what all may do?

My arrival saved the kingdom, while his only reiterated that his blood would fill the throne one day.

Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?

So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them?

If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.

I’d decided that I was going to stop dressing like a princess and start dressing like a queen.

Don’t touch me. Don’t tell me how beautiful my eyes are, how soft my hair is, how you love to hear my voice. Don’t. Don’t pretend you are falling in love with me. 

I know you are lying, and every word you say hurts even more. 

Before the wedding, and the bedding, when I will have to take you as my lord and husband?

I may not be a king or a queen, but I'll be damned if I'm not treated like royalty.

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass.

It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.

Men only treat women like princesses when they want to use them like prostitutes.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you're a woman.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him.

Anyone can attract a man. The trick is to keep him.

To save my son, I would plot with the devil himself.

Only fools wait when their enemies are coming, to see if they may prove to be friends.

When a man wants a mystery, it is generally better to leave him mystified. Nobody loves a clever woman.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust.

I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for your touch.

And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons.

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

Can you do a one shot where male reader feels like hc and xl don’t really need him and starts distancing himself from them. He thinks they are perfect for each other and that he is a nuisance ruining the relationship between them. He takes comfort to a friend who has liked the male reader for a really long time. Hc and xl see this and get jealous. Wondering if the reader doesn’t like them anymore and feels sad. Seeing the reader looking happy in the comfort of someone else.

Creating Space

Hua Cheng x M!reader x Xie Lian

Ugh I love angst so much. It hurts so good 😭

Ignore grammar mistakes

Slight OOC

____________________________________

Some people may say being in the presence of the two strongest and revered people creates a lot of pressure. It's never been a problem for you. You've always enjoyed being in the presence of your two lovers. Xie Lian, a powerful and elegant martial god. While His Cheng is a powerful and suave ghost.

You love them very much.

But you lied, it is kind of pressuring. There's nothing wrong with your lovers of course! It's just that they're so strong and popular on their own. You aren't a very powerful god and you aren't a very powerful ghost. People don't know you. Most times your name is "That's the crown prince's lover, or that's crimson rain's lover"

You could live with this, it's not like you had a desire to be seen by the world. People just tend to forget about you. A lot of people don't like you exist so most of the time they accidentally exclude you from your own relationship. It just seems like an impossible place to reach. What could you do to seem important as well?

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng say you do plenty of important things by loving and taking care of them but it doesn't feel like that. You don't really do anything for them either. Neither of them needs protecting. They can protect themselves and each other just fine, and they go out of their way to protect you too.

Xie Lian is kind and keeps you and Hua Cheng calm. Assuring the both of you, and making sure everyone feels loved. The level headed of the three of you. Hua Cheng is very protective, and goes out his way to do things out of devotion or love. You can't do anything to compete.

Your relationship doesn't go as deep with them either. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are just so wrapped up in each other it doesn't seem like there's room for three. They're already perfect by themselves and it doesn't look like they need you at all. You don't have a clue on why they even love you.

You've tried to make yourself more outgoing in the relationship? Trying to help them on missions or, help them with daily activities. You've tried taking over household chores like cleaning or cooking and yet it seems fruitless.

They always tell you that it isn't necessary. Someone else will take care of it. Hua Cheng has other people clean the manor, and Xie Lian would gladly cook by himself. They obviously don't need your help in missions, you'd probably just get in the way more than help.

You don't have a very outgoing presence in bed either. Very often Hua Cheng and Xie Lian do everything for you. Sometimes you try to give them pleasure instead. It doesn't matter if it's something little or big, your lovers shake their heads and say that it's a silly thought. You don't need to do anything they'll do it for you. Your lovers give you pleasure, they give each other pleasure. You want to give them pleasure too though.

These thoughts have been at the back of your mind for a while. That Xie Lian and Hua Cheng don't need you. These thoughts make you a little more clingy, a little more desperate. They haven't changed how they act towards you though. You just don't want to feel useless.

🦊🪷

"A-Lian please, let me tag along. All three of us can go on the mission together. Like uh, like a date or something!" You follow Xie Lian around the kitchen, trying to persuade him into changing his mind. It isn't working, it never does.

"A-n, me and San Lang can do it. We won't be long, promise. Just stay here" Xie Lian smiles at you and kisses your head. But you don't want to take this for an answer. You want to help! With something. Anything! It feels awful to just sit around while your lovers do every little thing for you.

You huff softly, watching your lovers get ready without you. "A-Lang you don't agree do you? Please tell A-Lian to let me tag along. I'll make sure not to get in the way!" You try persuading your ghost lover instead, gripping onto his arm to make him look at you.

You already feel humiliated. Begging like a child to join your lovers in something even though you're a grown man. San Lang shakes his head, " Getting in the way isn't our concern baobei. Gege is right we'll take care of it and be back home soon." He kisses your cheek.

You're left in Paradise Manor alone while your lovers leave off somewhere. You should be happy, you feel selfish actually. Anyone would be happy that their lovers do everything for them. Anyone would be happy to be taken care of all the time for the rest of their lives. You just can't...

Soooo you decide instead of sitting at home why not just follow your lovers out! It's not like you would be harming anything, maybe they'd even be delighted to see you. It's a better idea than sitting here doing nothing.

That's exactly what you do, you follow your lovers. With quite a bit of distance and making sure to be careful. You eventually find them, of course not in a good situation. They're busy fighting off wrathful ghosts and you make sure to stay far back. You don't want them to get hurt or anything so you'll just wait over here until they're finished.

That doesn't go well either. One of the ghosts notices you. It strays from the fight without notice from Xie Lian or Hua Cheng. Instead it comes for you, it's not like you're weak! You yelp from the surprise attack from the ghost, but otherwise you easily slay it down. All you were left with was a few deep scratches on your face. Whoo, It nearly got your eye!

You're feeling pretty proud of yourself until a pair of hands are gripping your face, and you notice Hua Cheng looking over your wounds. Even though you have some deep scratches you're smiling anyways. You just killed a ghost! A wrathful one at that!

Before you can exclaim your celebrations Xie Lian is dabbing medicine on your wounds with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing here y/n! We told you to stay home!"

Your smile falls, as your lovers both frown at you. You don't understand you did great! It was only a wound, everyone gets wounds sometimes! "I-I wanted to help" the word mumble from your lips, and Xie Lian finishes dressing your wound.

"How did that fair for you? We were doing just fine without you y/n, but now you're hurt" Xie Lian exclaims, flushed by nervousness and frustration. He had only wanted to keep you safe. He didn't mean to say it like that. It was a slip of the tongue. He hadn't meant it in hostility but you take it as such anyways.

"You two do seem just fine without me" you purse your lips, and back up. You're just upset, obviously Xie Lian would never mean such a thing but right now you can't help but take it as such. You've been suffering with these thoughts for weeks!

You quickly use what powers you do have to make a quick pathway and teleport away. Running away? Classic move but it feels better than sitting in front of your lovers disappointed faces. You just need time to get your feelings together so you decide to visit a friend's place.

You and Mu Qing know each other pretty well and you're great friends! Even though Mu Qing won't admit that. He's actually loved you for a while but you love Xie Lian and Hua Cheng and Mu Qing would never break up your happiness. He's been working on moving on so of course you can still come over and complain to him.

This time you just lie in his arms for a while. You spent some time just getting your thoughts together and stop crying. Then you tell Mu Qing what happened. He calls Hua Cheng stupid and says Xie Lian is oblivious with an eye roll. Mu Qing is actually good at advice and comforting you.

On the other end your lovers are very upset with themselves. Hua Cheng wanted to immediately come find you but Xie Lian told him it was better to give you space. They know you inside and out and Xie Lian knows you need time to get your emotions in order.

After a few hours Hua Cheng decides time is up though and breaks into the heavens again. Just because. Does it count as breaking in if Xie Lian let him in? Nah. They know where you are, unfortunately. They know you're with Mu Qing. Hua Cheng doesn't like that one bit. He's very capable of jumping to the conclusion that Mu Qing is trying to manipulate you while you're vulnerable but Xie Lian assures him otherwise.

Xie Lian makes Hua Cheng wait outside of Mu Qing's palace. Things would only blow off the hinges if Hua Cheng and Mu Qing fought. Xie Lian goes in by himself. He eventually finds you, not like it was hard. He isn't too happy to find you in Mu Qing's arms. Happy and comfortable. He hasn't seen a smile like that on your face in a long time.

Xie Lian ignores the lingering prickles of jealousy and walks into Mu Qing's room without invitation or notice. "A-n t's getting late, let's go home? Please?" He's relieved when you take his hand. Honestly it's nerve-racking. He hadn't meant to say such a harsh thing and then you went to someone else who is obviously much more capable at making you happier than they are.

Xie Lian and you join up with Hua Cheng again. You spend most of the journey back staring at the ground. You're ashamed, you feel like you overreacted. You were being dumb. Maybe they're angry at you and yet all three of you still hold hands. And yet when you get back to Paradise Manor, you all get ready for bed. And yet Xie Lian helps you disrobe and Hua Cheng checks your wounds before you lie down. And yet all three of you end up in the same bed, entangled in each other's limbs. Just like every night.

You all talk about it, words mumbling quietly in the dark room. It's a long conversation of "I'm sorry" and "I love you". You want to talk about your feelings more. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng want to make sure you don't feel left out or they're being distinct. The night ends with kisses and cuddles.

So maybe nothing was really ever wrong, and it would all turn out just fine. Because they've always loved you and you always loved them. Something like this isn't a big enough obstacle to take you away from them.

[monocaelia]

atlas.

- he could only hold the world for so long, it was about time his body caved in ; aka, the two times you're reminded of his humanity. feat. gojo satoru & gn!reader genre : hurt/comfort , happy ending w.c. : 1.8k

warnings: spoilers for jjk s2 ep5 note : i hate goe joe satoru.

gojo satoru.

you didn't even need to see him to know who he is; he is the revered member of the gojo clan blessed enough to be born with both the six eyes and the infinity cursed technique and is a one in a lifetime miracle.

from the beginning of his life, gojo had been the strongest sorcerer in existence. with both blessed techniques at his will, he was near unstoppable and was worthy of shouldering the problems of jujustu society from a young age, as decided by the gojo clan.

and, for someone as blessed and impenetrable as he is, gojo had never felt the emotional strife of losing someone dear to him.

there are two times that you recall ever witnessing gojo satoru lose his composure, where you have seen the blessed one who holds the power of the gods in the palm of his hands and is always one step ahead of everyone else fall to his knees as the weight of the world finally takes its toll on his poor soul.

the first time was when getou suguru had betrayed jujutsu tech. you weren't sure of the details; you were in the middle of a mission and had returned to the news of your classmate and friend becoming a wanted criminal.

honestly, hearing it firsthand did not feel real to you. getou suguru was someone you had always admired. he was someone who not only had a powerful cursed technique, but was also a skilled fighter and knew how to use his technique to the fullest despite coming from a normal family rather than one of the prestigious families that were well-known in jujustu society.

you had shared smiles with him, stories of the crazy memories made while exorcising curses and the near-death experiences shared while on missions together.

and you knew gojo and getou were near inseparable during their time at jujutsu tech; you couldn't imagine the pain gojo was going through with the news of his one and only becoming a murderer wanted in all of jujutsu society.

you find gojo satoru alone in getou's old dorm room. it's empty; the once neat, but lived in dorm now completely void of any evidence of being lived in with the exception of a framed picture of your class left on the nightstand.

getou and gojo tower over you and ieri, but it's all smiles from the four of you. because of the small frame and the number of people in the photo, you're all squished together. though, it's not like any of you minded.

a perfect picture of youth; the most beautiful moment in life.

the frame is held in gojo's hand as he sits on getou's dorm bed. you can see his fingers clench the frame as frustration settles into his bones, before he relaxes once more.

"it's not your fault, you know," you say gently, breaking the silence and hopefully through the roaring storm that you know is brewing within gojo's head. you step into the room and join gojo on the bed; he doesn't move and he doesn't face you.

"no one saw it coming." you try to reassure him, but you know any attempts at this point are futile. gojo does not respond, a flood of memories flying by crystalline eyes as he tries to figure out when it went so wrong.

the silence is permeable as reality settles into gojo. his lips part, a shaky breath, and he's speaking again.

"i should've seen it coming," he whispers. there's a clear anger in his voice, though you know full well exactly who it's directed at. "i was his friend and i didn't even realize he was hurting alone." His voice cracks.

"i didn't even do anything to save him."

it is then that you begin to see gojo as who he is. he isn't an untouchable god who feared nothing, who had enemies that couldn't even lift a finger to hurt him if they even dared. this gojo beside you isn't an omnipotent god, he's just a kid like you; he's human. he's vulnerable, even if the elders believe otherwise, for his friends are his one and only achilles' heel and the key to his humanity.

not quite knowing the words to comfort him, you reach over to hold his hand. it isn't much, but you know firsthand that just having someone beside you to help support your pain is better than shouldering everything alone.

the tight squeeze of your hand and the quite sniffles beside you are all you need as a reminder that gojo satoru is not a god; he is only gojo satoru.

the second time gojo felt genuine fear was when he nearly lost you.

as a result of a curse that was underestimated for second-class sorcerors to take, you had become collateral for a simple mistake from the higher ups. of course, mistakes could just be that, but everyone knows better.

this was set up so they could easily dispose of you and rule your death as a mere 'accident.' the higher ups needed you gone as the deemed your existence a hinderance to gojo's full potential, a dam in the middle of the river.

lucky for you, you made quick work of the curse before collapsing with the only words you heard being a shout of your name.

the bright lights of the jujutsu high infirmary are the first thing you see when your eyes slowly flutter open. your vision is blurry and the world is still spinning as you regain consciousness. with hesitance, you slowly sit up despite your body aching and telling you to lay back down.

it is only when a firm hand presses against your chest and pushes you down do you actually do so.

crystalline blue meets your gaze. they're playful and full of youth, a pair of blue eyes that you're most familiar with. but theres a shadow of solemnity behind those bright irises and you know exactly why.

"about time you woke up," gojo speaks up, ruffling your hair with his hand. they're roughened from years of training and fighting, but there are no other blemishes that stain the purity of his hands. "i thought you finally had enough of me and decided to kick the bucket, dear." there's a light, jesting tone to his voice as he speaks. he's laughing, though you can see the redness underneath his eyes as he brushes off your near death experience as a joke.

"and leave you alone to torment the students? as if," you jab back with a smile of your own. "i wouldn't ever want to wish that on your students. fushiguro would drag me back from the dead if i left him alone with you."

gojo's bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow in a pout as you say this and you can't help but laugh a little on your own.

"but i know you'll miss me, so i won't die just yet," you reassure your white haired companion. your hand reaches over to hold his own and gives it a gentle squeeze, a reminder that you're alive and still breathing beside him as your pulse and your warmth bleed onto his own.

his hand squeezes yours tightly, as he did years ago, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he bites down onto the plush skin. his eyes aren't focused on you anymore and instead focus on anywhere but you as the reality of the situation settles into his bones.

"promise?" gojo asks, his voice a mere whisper.

he already lost one of his closest friends years ago and you witnessed that heartbreak with your own eyes as you had comforted gojo when he needed it most. you couldn't imagine how his fragile heart would break again if he had lost you just now.

despite being the strongest, you know that not being able to fully protect the ones he held close was one of gojo's biggest weaknesses as much as he tried to hide it.

but you know that you couldn't give him any empty promises knowing the work you're doing. it would only give him false hope and the both of you know that better than anyone else.

you don't answer him and instead pull his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss onto his skin. with a gentle tug, the hand held by gojo is pulled into his chest as he cradles your palm. his fingers intertwine with yours and your heart swells at the small action.

it is then that you meet crystalline blue once more, though this time they are unwavering as they firmly stand their ground against the hands of fate that, at any moment, could cruelly tear the two of you apart.

"don't leave me," gojo begs. "you can't leave me until the world has turned for the better, for us and for the youth of jujutsu society. i'll make it happen so..."

the once invincible sorcerer brings your hand up to his lips and he presses a kiss along your knuckles, reciprocating the act you did before.

"please, don't leave me."

gojo leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. it's soft and hesitant, but you know at this point his fear of your life nearly slipping through his fingers has caught up to him. he pulls away, only to lean down again to kiss you.

your heart flutters feeling his lips kiss yours and you can tell from the way his lips barely ghost of yours that gojo is scared you'll disappear from him if he moves the wrong way. like a warm wave easing the worries that burrow into his entire being, your hand that's free from the one held in gojo's reaches up to cup his face. your thumb caresses his cheek and bring him closer to you, reassuring him that you won't slip away from him should he kiss you too hard.

gojo pulls away from the kiss with cheeks warm and his eyes, now a calming blue that held the stars you love so much, glint with satisfaction and relief.

though, the sweet and tender moment shared between lovers is ruined the moment gojo opens his mouth again.

"don't break my promise, okay? i don't care if you die, i'll die with you and haunt you forever as punishment for dying first, okay?" your white haired boyfriend urges as he leans his forehead against you, blue now an annoyance to you as he forces you to make eye contact with him.

your hand pushes his face away with a snort, ignoring his whining complaints as you do so.

though, it's not like you would ever willingly die first. you couldn't leave gojo satoru alone, your soul couldn't bear the burden of knowing you would shatter the glass that makes gojo's heart.

[c0smiclatt3]

SATORU GOJO: where the heart lies.- part 1

don't want money, just someone who wants my company.

the weapon of jujutsu to be used until his final breath. the political pawn born to restore her family glory, already spent and her purpose fulfilled but a now empty life left to fill. when two souls raised in solitude find their duties entwined, might they finally learn what it means to want something for themselves?

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: arranged marriage, clan leader!gojo, gojo never went to jjt and continued to be raised into the gojo clan head, slow burn, 16+

It was an open and shut arrangement.

Once upon a time your family was one of the closest advisors to the higher-ups of Jujutsu society. Then your predecessors drank and gambled away their riches leaving them with dirt and a sad excuse for an estate out on the countryside, far away from the very families they used to advise. As wives and concubines deserted the disgraced family for more affluent husbands over the generations leaving no heirs, your direct family line stepped into the head seat - the last fringes of a dying dynasty. Your father could only hope that you were a boy - and one with great power.

Your first sin was being born a girl.

Your earliest memories were of his scorn, of the grotesque way his features twisted when he sneered down at you, a girl who constantly wondered why her father seemed so angry with her. The only love you felt came from the arms of your mother, who reassured you that you had done nothing wrong.

Your second sin was manifesting tremendous power. Power that would no longer belong to your family after you were wed. And other Jujutsu families were quick to take note, sending assassin after assassin for your life, or spy after spy to weasel their way into your family's good graces. With so little left, they had neither the resources nor the manpower to protect your gift, and you quickly turned into dead weight. Tremendous dead weight.

Recognizing the need to safeguard your power - not to mention it's potential strategic importance - the higher-ups presented your family with an offer they could not refuse: to wed you to the head of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society.

It would be a cage nonetheless, but one with shining golden bars. You knew the responsibility was too great to turn it down.

And so it was that you arrived at the Gojo clan estate donned in the best (and only) kimono you had: your bridal kimono - a pure white.

You knew little about Jujutsu politics - you were thrown into that world after your first abduction attempt. Rifling through what scarce information your family bookshelves had on Jujutsu clans, their powers and ranks, you knew this much: that the Gojo family was revered and feared, and the current clan head beheld that terrifying power that made it so.

Looking up at the main hall of the estate, even the buildings themselves radiated regality, majesty, might. Stepping out from the transport car you almost wanted to fall to your knees right there in the building's shadow. Coming from your life in a humble courtyard in the countryside you had never seen something quite so terrifying in it's presence, your palms squeezing open and shut as your sandals scuffed the cobblestone as you walked, as gracefully as you could, up the steps.

When you stepped inside you saw nothing, the main hall dim. Then, like a dragon inspecting it's next meal, two piercing blue eyes from the shadows. He didn't even have to introduce himself. You already knew.

Keep your head down and he may show you mercy, your mother said before you left home. So you knelt. You knelt and prayed to the gods that you would be spared this man's wrath. That you'd shut up and take whatever was thrown at you - so long as your family got the money. So long as they would be kept safe.

He stepped forward. You kept your head down.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Satoru Gojo was raised untouchable.

Yes, the only real tenderness he likely had ever known to date was the warmth of his mother's arms the day he was born, the gentle way in which she swaddled him in his blanket before he was promptly whisked away from her care.

From the moment he Six Eyes gazed upon him, he was sentenced to solitude. He was the chosen one, the honoured one, the strongest, the ultimate trump card of Jujutsu society. He held the power of the universe itself in his hands, bending matter to his will. He was creation, he was destruction; he was birth and he was death. With a power like that he was strung up like a puppet on high, a Gods-eye view of the world itself, but that power wound around him like a noose, and the higher he seemed to rise, the tighter it seemed to wind around his neck until he choked. And choked. And choked.

And so he ran. He ran when he could, disappearing as a child into the city to watch. Simply watch. So those eyes that made men tremble since he could remember could finally look upon the world with gentleness, watch the people pass.

All this to say is he never knew kindness - not the politeness that was just a mask for fear, at least - never knew friendship, never knew love.

And yet here he was, thrown a woman and expected to love her like a husband.

She knelt before him, head low, hair spilling down her shoulders and back. He looked down at her like he looked at everyone he knew: a sort of disinterest, like a lion pawing at it's dying meal. Satoru knew little about love, yes, but he knew enough to know: wives do not bow to their husbands out of love.

And it was a sight that left him with a sour taste in his mouth, watching the entourage backlit by the sunset behind her. Shadowy figures and the bride, wrapped in her bridal kimono, bowed before him like a ritualistic offering to appease a god. This was far from a wedding. It was a sacrifice.

Maybe he didn't have to love her. He knew that was something you couldn't force anyway. But at the very least he wished that someone wouldn't look at him in horror, like the harbinger of death.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Get up," he says finally. "Don't degrade yourself like that."

His voice is neither stern nor gentle, but somewhere in between. His words read as a command, but he lets out a short exhale as he says it. Neither a huff nor a sigh. Fearing you'd done something wrong you lift your head to meet his eyes, finding no answers in his expression-

And that face. If his eyes had struck you first his face delivered the second blow. The only men you ever knew were your father and your uncles, for any women who bore sons deserted the clan. Their faces were twisted and baked with age, hard creases pressed into their foreheads and cheeks from years of scowls and sneers.

Gojo's face was like a winter morning breeze, the deceptively gentle whisper that followed the blizzard that reminded you that anything that came before him hadn't made it out alive. It was beautiful and it was terrifying.

"I'm sure this kind of entourage must be new for you," he says, noting the people behind you. After your first abductions you certainly were protected, but not to this degree. And the men of your family felt a woman must care for herself lest she become complacent, so they didn't have anyone waiting on you.

"I will admit it's different, yes," you say, your head tilted down ever so slightly in a gentle bow, as if still afraid to be so bold as to stand up straight in his presence.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Again, not a statement, not a question. Somewhere in between.

"... A little-"

His head turns to one of the servants behind you. "You heard her. Leave."

And so they were gone.

He paces to a window. Your body felt rigid as he walked away, unsure if you were meant to follow. Your instincts told you not to. But you were his wife - weren't you? Is a wife not meant to follow her husband-

"I imagine we're past introductions," he leans against an open window and turns his head away from you to overlook the estate grounds. "We both know why we're here."

"... We're married, yes," you feel a little stupid. You don't think you've said anything yet that isn't obvious and you feel like a dithering idiot.

His face is half lit by the golden sun, the dying sunlight that begins to creep it's way across the floorboards and illuminate you like a spotlight. Would you live in this spotlight forever, under the deferent whispers of those guards, guarded at all times, living with a target on your back? You suddenly wish you could have let yourself run through the countryside one last time. The air in here felt suffocating. His presence felt suffocating.

"I don't want to lie to you," he drums his fingers pensively on the windowsill. "I cannot promise you love. I'm not sure what kinds of stories you hear about marriage and true love, but this isn't going to be one of them."

It was your turn to speak. "I never expected love from this union." He lifts his head, mildly intrigued. His left eyebrow quirks, encouraging you to continue. "I was wed to you out of necessity, convenience, and strategy. It's me the higher ups arranged this for: for their purposes, for my family's benefit, and for my protection. I cannot imagine there is much I bring to the table for you. And so I want no pity for being in a loveless union, nor do I expect or even wish for you to try. I know what I signed up for."

"Tell me then," he strides back towards you. "what will this arrangement look like, since you've decided to spare me the trouble of forcing affection where there is none?"

"I will stay out of your way," you speak slowly. He stands still before you but the way he looks at you almost makes it feel as if he's encircling you. "I will be no more intrusive to your life than one of your servants, if you so wish. You can call upon me for your... Amusement," the word tastes like bile in your mouth, but you force it past your lips anyway, "if you so wish. So long as I am protected, the higher-ups placated, and my family safe, I can be nothing but a passing whisper if that's what you want."

"Really?" he almost seems to chuckle now, voice tinged with amusement. He leans in closer, as if studying your face, drinking in your features. "I didn't expect a young woman like you to be so... Nonchalant about the prospect of a loveless union."

"I've restored the reputation of my dying family line by bringing them back into the good graces of the most powerful in Jujutsu society." As you speak the words you begin to wonder if this is what you will be telling yourself for the rest of your lonely nights under this roof. "I am already satisfied."

"Noble," he says, crossing his arms, and you are suddenly aware of just how much he seems to tower over you. His eyes flicker with interest. "But I ask you this: since you've already served your purpose, what more is there to do with yourself?"

You blink. A thousand words sit on your tongue like pearls taking shape that you can't quite string into a sentence because when you thought about it you were done. All that was effectively left was to live the rest of your days just like this - to live for the sake of living. And that prospect terrified you. This whole encounter you moved mechanically, according to orders. According to expectations. But here he threw you a curveball - what did you want?

You hadn't expected a question like that and you couldn't quite understand why he would ask you such a thing, nor why when you fumbled for an answer he seemed to hum, a low, reverberating sound. He tilted his head, and for a brief moment you wonder if you noticed his lips curl into a cryptic smile.

"Interesting."

He turns and walks down the hall until he disappears, not beckoning for you to follow. As he walks his footsteps seem to punctuate sentences that you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Questions you didn't yet have any answers to.

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: based on the c.ai bot i published the other day! this is part 1 in a series and so if you want to be tagged for future parts just let me know in the tags or comments and/or drop your @ in my ask + the name of this fic so i know this is the one you want tags for :) i hope you liked it though~

[glossamerfaerie]

One aspect of Gwynriel that really excites me is religion. The other protagonists don’t seem to take religion or rituals very seriously? Everyone respects the Mother and acknowledges her power (and the Cauldron), but we haven’t explored faith among the fae. Feyre has a terrible experience with Ianthe (a sadly accurate depiction of corruption within organized religion). But we know that not all priestesses are like power-hungry Ianthe. Nesta is understandably indifferent even though she later has an experience with the Mother during Nyx’s birth. Rhys and Cassian seem respectful but we’ve never seen them pray or attend services. It’s giving “only attending church during Christmas” level of religious commitment.

Azriel, on the other hand… we haven’t had much canon insight in his head, but I firmly believe that Azriel is more religious than his brothers. Like he’s not the type to attend temple services, but he probably thinks about faith and the Mother regularly. Clearly he has contemplated mating bonds and who creates them — maybe he’s prayed for a mating bond? Maybe his mother raised him to be more religious. In HOFAS, after Nesta takes the mask off in a close call, Az’s very first instinct is to thank the Mother. Possibly that is meaningless (like how an atheist can say “thank god”) but idk. Az seems to have more faith than his brothers.

“The Mask fell from Nesta’s face, clattering on the stone.

Nesta swayed, but Azriel was there, catching her, bringing her to his chest, scarred hands stroking her hair. “Thank the Mother,” he breathed. “Thank the Mother.”

A few chapters later, Az describes the Cauldron and what happens after death.

“Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?”

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.”

Later in the conversation, Az explains what happens to souls after death.

“When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.

But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.”

The way Az talks about the Mother, with reverence and confidence, makes me certain that he’s more religious than his brothers.

Then, of course, we have Gwyn — a literal priestess who was raised in a temple. She still attends daily services and sings for the choir. I’ve wondered if what happened in Sangravah shook Gwyn’s faith. Maybe she thinks the Mother exists but isn’t a benevolent deity. Maybe she’s bitter that the Mother didn’t save her servants from Hybern attacks. She definitely feels shame and unworthiness — Gwyn no longer feels like she has a right to wear the Invoking Stone. Working through those feelings will be a major aspect of Gwyn’s arc.

“You asked me once why I don’t wear the hood or the Invoking Stone. That stone is a sign of holiness. How can someone like me wear it?”

Within the temple, Gwyn also faces prejudice and discrimination from her fellow sisters. Ianthe isn’t the only asshole within the organization (cough Merrill cough). I’m sure that some people in Sangravah were cruel to Gwyn’s family because of their nymph heritage. I don’t know what SJM has planned, but I feel that religion will play a major role in the Gwynriel book. I wouldn’t be surprised that, like Nesta, Gwyn has a firsthand experience with the Mother. She will definitely use the blue invoking stone for healing (a nice parallel to Az’s blue siphons).

“It’s an Invoking Stone.” Gwyn unfurled her fingers, revealing the gem within her hand. “Similar to the Siphons of the Illyrians, except that the power of the Mother flows through it. We cannot use it for harm, only healing and protection. It was shielding us.”

I’m also curious to see Gwyn and Az discuss their religious beliefs together. Maybe Az gets permission to join the dawn and dusk services. The man barely sleeps, he might as well watch Gwyn during her religious commitments. The shadows are NOT going to pass a chance to hear their girl sing (or watch her glow). Maybe Nesta can talk Az into singing with the choir. 🥹

Nesta could only gape at the lovely melody, the voices from the front of the cavern leading it, lifting higher than the others. Gwyn sang, chin high, a faint glow seeming to radiate from her. The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth.

Idk, maybe I’m wrong about Az being religious. But it feels like such a wasted opportunity if we don’t learn more about the Mother! At the very least, I do see Az attending the dawn and dusk services if he’s not on a mission. 🎼🩵🎶

[fluffypotatey]

AYO HOLD UP WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT

A Thought:

As Emrys, Merlin is a very powerful sorcerer.

However, his utter lack of any formal training means Merlin is not a very good sorcerer.

The magic he does should be theoretically impossible, but he's got enough raw fucking power to just make it work. Infant demigod smashing blocks together and creating a Lego Death Star.

Merlin: *does magic that Should Not Work*

Other sorcerers:

AND THEY ARE RIGHT TO FEEL UPSET

IMAGINE YOU'RE A SORCERER. YOU'VE BEEN PRACTICING YOUR CRAFT, SHOOTING THE SHIT, LAYING LOW, PLOTTING PLANNING.....THEN THIS FARMY BOY TWINK SHOWS UP AND NUKES THE FUCKING PRIESTESS OF THE LAKE OF AVALON

I'D FEEL PISSED TOO

like, bro, you meet him, you're apprehensive of him bc 'shit that's emrys'. the emrys. the dude that's said to be the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. you meet him. you can feel his magic and like holy shit, what the fuck was that??? you ask him how the fuck he gained so much power by the age of 21????

merlin: you mean....y'all don't also just have magic doing shit when you're a toddler

you, the sorcerer who has had to spend years getting control to fucking heat up a teapot: .........no.......no our magic doesn't do that

goddamn do you wanna just chuck this adult child into the lake and be done with it. better yet, you wish for the sprites to just pick you up and use your body as a sacrifice for entrance into Avalon.

and then, and then

you see how this motherfucker fights against bandits and "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU JUST PUSHING THEM AWAY??? WHERE'S THE SHOWMANSHIP??? THE PIZZAZZ??? HOW MANY SPELLS DO YOU KNOW???"

merlin, who forgot he can freeze time and space and can launch lightning bolts at people: uh....3???

it takes the triple goddess to restrain you from murking the prophesized warlock right then and there.

"NO, NO, FUCK THAT, FUCK THIS, FUCK ALL O' Y'ALL!" you scream as you jump on a ship and move to a place that doesn't have op young adult children who didn't study shit and yet still get an A+

[thevoidscreams]

Request prompt for mating press March for you!

You have recently been assigned as a chapter serf for the black templars and have been trying your best but it’s tiring work and during one of your late shifts you have fallen asleep! You thought you’d gotten away with it and no one had noticed but the next day you are told the chaplain has asked for you. Turns out he spotted you whilst you were sleeping on the job when you should have been attending your sacred duties. Perhaps big stern dom chaplain will teach you a lesson to reaffirm your faith…

Day 19

Pairing: Chaplin Soren (oc)x reader

Warnings: mentions of religion, spanking, bondage, cumming inside, power imbalance (if you squint)

My head snapped up, and I shook it as I looked around, confused. I clenched a soft rag in my hand, and brushed a stray bit of drool from my lip. What was I doing here?

It came back to me as I smelled the smoke from the censer. I had been polishing the steps leading up to the altar inside one of the ship's many chapel.

I looked around in a panic. No one was around. How long had I drifted off for? A few minutes, a few hours.

Throne preserve me, I'd fallen asleep on the job. This was sure not to go over so well if I was seen. Hopefully, I could finish up quickly and be on my way. I didn't see anyone, and surely I would have been chastised for falling asleep in a place of worship. The chapel wasn't for napping. It was for giving praise and worship to the god emperor. I bowed my head and continued on with my task, ashamed. Finishing the task as swiftly as I could I hurried out. At least no one saw me.

Dark eyes watched from behind the visor of the skull. Disappointment and disapproval swelled in Soren's hearts. He had liked you as much as it was possible for an astartes of his station to like a serf. You'd done excellent work up until this point, so diligent, completing tasks without complaint. And your work in this very room meant that you'd built a good report. It was a shame you'd likely never see him the same after he decided your punishment.

His hands twitched as he reminded himself that you are only a human. You do not have his endurance. But still sleeping in the chapel could not be allowed to go without some form of penance being served.

He felt his body stirring at the idea. He'd have to punish you so you didn't do this again. He'd have to be..very thorough.

The next day I was assigned to the chapel again on orders of Soren, one of the kinder and more personable chaplins. I thought about him and the odd request as I ran my rag over the stone steps again. I wondered if there was a reason I was to clean it again at night. Probably as not to interfere with the worship during the day.

The sound of ceramite on stone made me look up sharply. I was almost done.

"Good evening, my lord." I spoke reverently, not looking up past his greaves. I knew who he was without having to look past that point.

I'd cleaned his armor enough times to know it by heart.

"It is rather late, little one." His rich voice greeted me from behind the skull.

"Yes, I am almost finished. This is the last step, it took me a bit longer last night as well. There’s much to do." I replied, heart beating a bit faster than normal. I liked the Chaplin, Soren. I found him insightful and he was often good company to have while I worked. He would tell me stories.

"Perhaps you would have finished sooner had you not been sleeping."

My body went cold, not like the room was chilly, but as if my blood had spontaneously frozen in my veins. My hand stopped over the step and my limbs locked up, tense as if readying to make a run for it.

"It would seem you understand just how unacceptable this action is. Perhaps it was merely a mistake. I wouldn't have taken you for someone who disrespects the god Emperor. But then again, I am no psyker, I cannot see a person's soul."

"It was an accident my lord. My body was weak, there was so much work...forgive me..." My voice came out quiet, like a mouse.

“That is no excuse. If you are not fit for the rigors of your station then perhaps you might better serve in another form.”

My chest tightened and I found tears of fright blurring my eyes.

“It will not happen again, I promise. Please my Lord. I do not wish to serve as a servitor.”

Soren laughed, it was a deep rolling sound that flowed over the stones around me and despite my fear I found the sound lifting my soul ever so slightly.

“Dry your tears serf. I will not tell anyone. You have served well until now and I, unlike many of my brothers, understand that your body has limits that you can not always fight.” So he’d been jesting, just to see me squirm. He wasn’t going to have me turned into a mindless robotic slave.

He grabbed my arm, I was going to drop to my knees and kiss his ceramite clad feet in thanks but I found myself up on my feet, his free hand tilting my face back to face his helm.

“But you will need to face some punishment for this. You have allowed yourself to falter in your duties to our Emperor. You must confess and repent for these sins. I will handle you and this event will stay between us. If I deem it satisfactory then no one else will need to know.”

I nodded, fresh tears of relief streaked down my cheeks.

“Thank you my lord. I am so very sorry.”

Soren still held my arm and forced me, much more gently than I had expected towards a room towards the back where I had never been before.

The door was heavy, an ornate carved wooden door. My body was pressed firmly against it by him as he reached for the knob. I felt a familiar heat in my belly as he grunted softly and forced it open on creaky hinges.

The room was dim, lit only by the candles on a desk.

“I will remove my armor and hear your confession.”

I tilted my head in confusion as he let me go. Take his armor off, why would he need to do that?

He began to pull away pieces of his plate, placing them carefully, almost lovingly on a stand. I averted my gaze as he began to remove his body glove, my cheeks were probably very pink.

His helm was the final thing he pulled away and I found myself mesmerized by him. He was younger than I’d thought. His hair was a deep brown, cut short and neat. His skin was pale and his features were sharp. Throne he was beautiful, I found myself unable to look away. His eyes were dark, so deep I’d thought they were black till he lit a match off one candle to light several more. The depth of that blue was entrancing. The blueness of his eyes grew more apparent.

I felt as though I could dive into those blue pools and never resurface.

Soren came towards me, I hadn’t realized that I’d been backing up until my back hit the wall. He looked good in nothing but light pants and a tabard.

“You will confess to me now.” His deep voice sounded so clear and precise without the filter of a helmet. It sent pleasant shivers through my body.

“Yes, my lord.”

He guided me to my knees and I bowed my head in shame. Remembering why I was here.

“Tell me. What have you done?”

“I fell asleep in the middle of my duties to the Emperor. Leaving them unfinished while I rested. And I did so in the chapel. I slept in a holy place of worship.”

“Good. You have made a good confession. Is there anything else you would like to confess?”

I shook my head earnestly, I was sure that that was all.

“Very well, I will administer your penance, and you will repent.”

He made a motion for me to stand. I did, he took my arm in his and slapped a black iron cuff around it.

I flinched in surprise, he only chuckled. “Do not fight me. And this will go quickly.”

He took another cuff and locked it around my other wrist.

They were heavy and linked with a thick iron chain just as dark in color.

“For your penance,” he began as he dragged me to the wall and hung my chain on a hook just high up enough that I had to stand on the tips of my toes. “You will have one lash for every ten minutes you lay on the emperor's steps.”

One for every ten minutes. How long had I slept, two hours? That was twelve! Twelve lashes!

I craned my head to try and get a look at whatever implement he'd chosen and was surprised again to see not a flail or whip, but a paddle.

His bulky hand gripped the hem of my light gown and lifted it until the dress was over my head.

I wiggle my face free of the fabric and gasped as his fingers tugged my panties down as well. Leaving me with no layers between myself and the lather paddle.

Soren moved to a place where I couldn't turn my head and see him.

Soren admired the soft skin of your ass as he looked for just the right spot to begin. Throne you were a stunning creature. He felt his own excitement at having you chained and helpless under him.

He ought to be the one on his knees confessing. He was a Chaplin after all. But the way you whined in discomfort as you tapped around on the tips of your toes and looked so meek made his body hot.

He ran calloused fingers over the leather and then reached out to touch your warm supple skin.

Beautiful. Magnificent. Gorgeous. All failed to express how perfect you looked right then.

Drawing the paddle along your rump he felt his manhood twitch at your gasp.

You were enjoying this too much, he decided. He came to your side, paddle in hand and pulled it back to deliver a hardy thwack against your skin and he drank in your cry with a stifled groan of his own.

The pain was sudden and hot. My right cheek stung as the paddle made contact. It hurt, so why did I not cry out in pain. And why was there a deep and sudden urge to feel more of that burn?

“Count.”

Soren demanded.

I drew in a shaky breath. “One.”

“Good.”

He brought the paddle down on the other cheek.

“Two.” I squeaked the number.

I felt strange, a certain anticipation for the next blow growing. I gasped as his next blow went a bit lower and I heard Soren grunt in satisfaction at something.

“Three.” I mewed.

It was much the same for four and five.

I felt something warm trickle down my thighs and thought for a moment that I was bleeding.

Soren brought the paddle down for six, his manhood was rock hard now. The sight of your excitement dripping down your thighs was simply splendid. “Six~”

He hung the paddle on the hook next to the one you were chained to.

He needed this, his rough hands brushed your rump.

“Chaplin?”

Your voice, your body, your everything. It drove him mad.

His hand came down causing an audible mewl of pleasure to pour from your lips.

He licked his parched lips.

“Number?” He growled.

“Seven.”

“Good..” He almost called you a good girl. “Five more.”

I nodded at his words.

His free hand held my hip as he brought the other down to clap against my ass.

“Mmm!~ E-eight!” This was meant to be a punishment, I shouldn't have been enjoying it.

His hand seemed to linger before he drew it away.

Bringing it back down, alternating which cheek he struck.

Soren was practically panting as you moaned the word “nine” . He looked down at your soaked thighs, licking his lips and closing his eyes as he took a steadying breath.

It only served to fill his nose with your heady and feminine scent.

The Chaplin swallowed and raised his hand, bringing it down again, you counted out and he watched a trickle of slick fluids course down from your wet lower lips.

My ass was on fire, but I'd never felt so high.

Only two more, I whined at the thought. After these next two he'd send me away. I didn't want that, I didn't want him to send me off into the world never to speak of this again.

I'd just have to savor this.

His hand came down, I gasped, and wantonly moaned the next number. “Eleven.”

Soren came around to my back again, I could hear his quiet panting. Was he as affected by this as I was?

“Just one more.”

“Yes, my lord. Give me my just punishment.” The words seemed to pour forth unbidden.

Soren tensed, his hand on the verge of delivering the final blow.

He gave it, in the center of your ass. His hands came away wet, a splotch of your juices on his fingers.

He barely registered your count as he raised his fingers to his lips, he needed this, but it was wrong. Wasn't it?

His tongue darted out and his cock jumped as your salty musk coated his tongue.

His eyes slid shut, it was a moment of pure indulgence. The flavor was unlike anything he'd ever tasted. Fertile with the promise of your body.

Soren could bear it no longer and dropped to his knees. His hands gripping your thighs, just as taste, it was all he needed. A taste.

I was shocked by his actions, my voice failing me as I waited for whatever it was he was going to do.

I felt his thumbs brush the softness of my lower lips as he pulled them apart. I moaned softly into the fabric that had been pulled up and over my neck.

“My lord? What-” My question died on my lips as his tongue ran up my thigh. Collecting the warm sticky fluids I'd been spilling since we began.

He stopped just below my cunt and I whimpered. His tongue then made the slow torturously slow path up my other thigh.

Throne I needed more, I needed him to do this properly.

Was this part of the punishment, teasing me with that hot muscle till I was half mad with need? I already felt close to that anyway. But I doubted it, none of this felt like it was calculated. A spur of the moment decision to indulge in a forbidden fruit.

I could feel his breath, hot and wet as he rubbed at the outer edges of my cunt. His fingers dug into the meat of my thighs and I felt him lean in, silently urging him to do it.

Soren's mind raced, his thoughts a jumble. The sweetness called to him. He watched as a fresh gush of arousal wetted your entrance, and his breathing hitched as he felt the desire to lap it up with his tongue.

He shook his head, his knees felt shaky aashe stood. It was an alien sensation, uncertainty.

“Your punishment has absolved you of your sins… but you still lack the strength you need to finish your tasks. I will..” He swallowed. “I will fill you with the strength you need.”

The raw excitement that I felt was like nothing I'd experienced before.

“Yes, please my Lord. I am weak.” I gasped, submitting to his will and judgment.

I felt something warm and solid hit my back and jolted in place. His hand grasped the thing and his fingers grazed against my back as he stroked himself.

“Beg.”

It was all he had to say.

“Please my Lord, I am so weak. So frail, I need you to lend me your strength, your certainty. So I may serve the emperor with the same fervor and will as you.”

I felt the tip of his cock catch at my entrance and shivered. Then there was a terrible burning as he pressed in his length, made only a fraction easier by my wetness. He was big, so, so big.

He filled me, leaving me breathless as I felt his tip somewhere near my stomach.

Soren leaned over me, a groan welling up from his lips as his hands found the walls for support.

Soren's eyes practically rolled back in his skull as he pushed in as far as he could go. Breathing a few words of adoration as he regained his senses.

His right hand remained on the wall as his left arm grabbed you around the waist. Lifting you just a bit off the floor as your hands grasped the chain making it rattle

“I will give you all that you need, you need only ask.” His hips pulled back, his cock slipping out a fraction, a groan of satisfaction at finally tending to his more human needs accompanied the action.

He wasn't going to stop till he was fully satisfied.

He set a hard even pace, his hips clapping against your tender backside.

I whined, the pain hadn’t lasted, as soon as he began his cock touched all the empty places inside me that I hadn’t known were there.

I cried out for him, begging, pleading, my desperation for his cock was almost shameful. But my shame was the farthest thing from my mind at that moment. I just wanted to cum on him, and feel him cum in me in return.

It was a greedy feeling. Wanting more than he was already giving me. His chest was a persistent heat on my back and he panted out each breath.

Though I knew his transhuman form was not winded.

“Does my body please my lord?”

He groaned, and I felt a smattering of drool hit my shoulder blade as his face lowered down to press into my neck.

“It is..” He grunted, “an excellent vessel to receive the grace of the emperor. I should keep you filled, so that you may never falter. I will have to see to this task.. personally.” He moaned the last word and I clenched around him involuntarily as I understood his meaning.

“I would be honored by my lord’s offer. I would cherish the feeling of being filled by his strength and light. Please my Lord.” I squeaked, pressing my cheek against him. “Please never let me be empty of you.”

He groaned, and picked up his pace, lifting me further till my chain came off the hook. Soren held me as he stumbled back into a chair with me in his lap. He grunted and the sudden change in position forced me down on his cock further. Soren fucked me with an almost mindless need. Mumbling under his breath as if he was praying.

“Never let you be empty. Keep you full of the light. Keep you.. full.”

His left hand went to my stomach and he touched it with such love. It made me shiver and made my head spin.

“Yes.. full.” I gasped and finally came undone on his cock.

Soren fucked me through it, his pace increasing unevenly as he worked his way up to his climax.

He held me down on his cock as he let loose all of his seed.

I felt the heat with every pulse of his cock as he continued to fill my womb with rope after rope.

It felt like he came forever, but really it could only have been a few seconds. Yet I was full by the time he was done.

Just as he promised.

Soren undid the cuff, setting them on his desk and fixing my dress.

Then he took me to a cot I hadn't noticed before, he sat us down and laid me across his lap. Picking up a small bottle from a box next to his bed.

I wasn't sure what he was doing until he lifted the dress again and poured a generous amount of oil onto my still reddened ass.

He set the bottle aside and his calloused hands set to work, massaging the oil into my sore cheeks.

“Thank you.” I broke the silence and he hummed.

“I.. I will not say that I am sorry for all that had transpired here. You took your punishment well..but afterwards.. I did not intend for that. You must forgive me.”

He urged and I did something I didn't expect. I laughed.

It was such an absurd circumstance I just couldn't help it.

“Why are you laughing?” His hand clenched around my ass cheek and I could hear the hurt in his voice.

“There’s nothing to forgive my lord. I would happily do that with you again. And besides, I believe you said you would keep me full right?”

I peek over my shoulders to see his face darken with a blush. It was very cute.

“I would not force that on you.” He told me as he kept rubbing.

“I figured.. but, I enjoyed it. Very much so, that was the best I've ever had.”

“Truely?”

“Yeah, if anything, I feel I should be thanking you. It was fun, even if it was meant to be a punishment.”

Soren met my gaze and held it.

“I will have you assigned to this chapel then.. you will see to its care and when you do a good job… I will keep you filled.”

I smiled at his words. “Thank you my lord.”

He finished and I was going to get up but he pulled me into him, laying down.

“The stairs-” I began but he cut me off.

“Will be there in the morning. Rest now.”

I nodded and laid my head on his chest, sleep came easy.

Soren held you close for hours, just brushing his hands over your form and watching you as you slept. It was good that you rested so easily in his arms. You were going to need all the strength you could get because he was already planning on fulfilling his promise when you woke up.

[sweethoneyrose83]

Dark academy Dialogue Prompts

“Books are the only sanctuary left in this crumbling world.”

“There’s something beautifully tragic about knowing that we’re merely fleeting moments in history.”

“Do you ever wonder if the poets we revere died knowing they would never be understood?”

“Knowledge is both my salvation and my undoing. I fear I’ve crossed the line into madness.”

“What use is greatness if it comes at the cost of one's soul?”

“We study the dead, but have you ever wondered if they study us in return?”

“I don't fear death, I fear a life wasted without ever truly learning.”

“There is a certain romance in tragedy, don’t you think? In the knowledge that all things must end.”

“To be forgotten is the greatest tragedy of all, far worse than death.”

“There’s a peculiar thrill in defying the gods, in chasing knowledge they said we shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not the darkness that frightens me. It’s what I might find when the light returns.”

“The ivy that climbs these walls has seen more than we ever will. And yet, it remains silent.”

“Cemeteries are the true libraries of the world, and every grave a story.”

“We are merely echoes of those who came before us, destined to repeat the same mistakes.”

“What is it that draws us to the ancient and the decayed? Perhaps because we are both.”

"Do you ever wonder if we're merely characters in someone else's tragedy?"

"We are not made to live in the light. The shadows suit us far better."

"Books are the only sanctuary left. The rest of the world has become far too loud."

"If knowledge is power, then I fear what would happen should we uncover the truth."

"You talk of morality as if it's more than just a game we play in the dark."

"The walls of this library have seen more than any of us. They know secrets we'll never comprehend."

"I don’t fear death. I fear the endless boredom of living without purpose."

"Why chase the fleeting when eternity is so close at hand?"

"Do you think the ancient scholars were ever this lost in their pursuit of wisdom?"

"No amount of candlelight can chase away the darkness that lurks in our souls."

"We've studied history, philosophy, and art, yet the only lesson that remains is how little we truly understand."

"The stars you admire now are long dead, much like the ideals you cling to."

"What good is love when it’s always doomed to be nothing more than an elegy?"

"Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not being forgotten, but being remembered for all the wrong reasons."

"Some mysteries are not meant to be solved. They exist to remind us of our limitations."

"In the end, all we leave behind are ink stains and faded memories."

"It’s ironic, isn’t it? The pursuit of knowledge has only made us more uncertain."

"There is a certain beauty in destruction, a kind of poetry in watching things fall apart."

"We are scholars, not saints. To expect us to be anything else is to misunderstand the nature of our obsession."

"Is it madness to dream of a different world, or madness to think we could ever escape this one?"

[mdhwrites]

Owl House tries to be critical of religious thinking and thought processes but the ending unfortunately supports the notion as well as the writing do you have the same thoughts as well?

It's not the ending that ruins this. The WHOLE SHOW is terrible at this. The reason why is obvious as well: The show is too busy mocking modern society and late stage capitalism for its villains, if it's mocking anything, to have time or room to say anything about dystopians, puritans or religion.

Just to make this point quickly: The first time we EVER hear about the Titan in any sort of context that implies even reverence is the S1 FINALE. It is only first brought up as the reason how Belos came to power: His ability to hear the Titan. Before then, the Titan is maybe used to replace God in common expletives but that's it. It's just the place they live in so supposedly one of TOH's main critiques takes an ENTIRE. SEASON. to show up.

However, it's not just how long it takes for people to start even mentioning it that's the problem. It never gains a foothold. People don't do things for the Titan. They do things for Belos. There's like maybe a half dozen LINES in the entire show that have anything to do with religious allegory besides the fact that witch hunts were religiously motivated. Maybe closer to a dozen because of Hunter's ramblings during Hollow Mind but that is ONE episode for the majority of any talk about this.

And it's not just that she show fails to depict a religion. Allegory exists for a reason. But... What is the faith then? The Coven System is MUCH closer to a stratified class system, or a communist economic system, that it literally ever comes to being a religion. It's basis might be in that but no one treats it that way. It's just a job and what you decide to specialize in.

The wild witches being absent is another part of this that also explains why it's absent. Eda doesn't get bothered by... Anyone? In the entire show? about being a wanted criminal. Covention is the absolute closest the show ever comes to having anyone besides the EC give a shit. In that one, people at least squint at her but despite her suspicious behavior, they don't do more than that. That is actually pretty accurate to how someone in the US might act in the modern day... But not in a dystopia. Especially not a religiously motivated dystopia.

A common factor between religious zealots and dystopias is the CONSTANT PARANOIA. The fear that is put into them of the other. How they are directed to destroy ANYTHING that is against the doctrine. This is why Christianity has had SO MANY SCHISMS because a single question for the faith will cause some people to lose their minds! The witch trials, no matter where they were, were often motivated by fear of demons and empowerment of others and used to keep those who might be shaking things up down, using both genuinely held beliefs and those that could be manipulated to cause the masses to agree that the person had to die. Even from a less extreme perspective, these same ideas are used to discriminate, alienate and attack.

However... That doesn't happen. Just because Eda is nice, to a couple people, an entire mob of loyal citizens is able to be rallied to go against the ONE LAW of the Isles. There is no belief there. There is no indoctrination there. If the Isles actually cared about the Titan, Eda should be fucked. Luz should cast a glyph in front of Amity and TERRIFY her because, as Amity puts it, "I've never seen someone cast it like that."

And the funny thing is, this would have made Luz's character climax statement ACTUALLY WORK. If everyone was terrified of her simply because she chose a different path, had to do things differently and was just inherently different, she could be a great stand in for all the effort so many marginalized people have to put in. All this work just to be understood against held beliefs that don't reflect reality. Held beliefs that only exist to prop up the status quote.

But that would mean making the Isles an inherently hostile place. To make Luz have to work for EVERY. SINGLE. INCH that she gains. And, well, the writers weren't interested in that. They weren't interested in a struggle. Instead, they were interested in the story of a young bi teenager going to a fantasy world and living out her dreams.

So sure, her literally being blessed by God to enact his will against his enemies is AWFUL. It explicitly makes it so that she is actually just Belos but she actually DOES hear the Titan! So you know, just don't believe in false prophets but prophets do exist and you should follow them unquestionably.

However, the problem starts LONG before then. Like almost any problem with TOH honestly.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[thedarkdisgrace]

Here is my thread from twitter i wrote about my theory about Fyodor’s ability not working on ability users. I wanted to get this posted here before we learn even more about it than in the next chapter probably lol I’m probably wrong given how old Fyodor is there’s probably plenty we don’t know and haven’t seen yet. But I still think this is interesting to talk about :) (Also I had more images to add but I will have to wait till i have access to my PC to add more cause the mobile app won’t let me)

—

So what if Fyodor can’t use his ability on ability users? We haven’t really seen him use it on other gifted, we’ve seen him shoot/manipulate gifted but not use Crime & Punishment on them.

People he did use it on were normal people and the people who have touched him & lived are all ability users.

—

If Fyodor has used C&P on an ability user, please let me know but I can’t find a particular instance he does.

Either way, his ability is probably something he either is consciously controlling or the ability itself is selective in some way with normal people because this kid touches him with a cloth.

—

Meanwhile this agent has gloves on but Fyodor still kills him with C&P. So, clothes/cloth isn’t the difference on its own.

Like i said, it’s gotta either be he *does* have control in some capacity or Crime & Punishment is selective on its own, regardless if it affects gifted or not.

But even if it is selective or controlled why never use it on the gifted?

The people he claims to want gone the most? It would also make sense why he really wants the book to write ability users out of the world. If his ability doesn’t work on them, maybe that’s why he see them as sinners.

If Fyodor has an ability he believes is a blessing or something that’s “holy”, something bestowed upon him by god then him believing ability users are sin/sinners because that “holy” ability doesn’t work on them could make sense. It’s why he wants the book to completely erase them.

But also, a different extension of this is maybe Fyodor views the book as holy because of its power. Maybe someone say, stole the book to create ability users. Fyodor would want to correct that “sin”. And maybe his ability doesn’t work on anything made by the book, thus why it doesn’t work on ability users.

But that aside, either explanation could also explain Fyodor’s fascination with Dazai (aside with his intellect), Dazai’s a walking contradiction.

The ability user who cannot be unaffected by abilities. Fyodor may even see it as Dazai can’t be touched by their “sin” and maybe is tied to the book in some way. Of course such a thing would grab his attention.

It could also explain Fyodor’s reverence for Sigma, a being created by the book. He seems to hold the book in high regard & even Ranpo himself says the book was created by smth “greater”.

If Fyodor sees the book as a tool from god, he would think highly Sigma being born from it. Similar in the way he may view Dazai

I don’t believe Fyodor did anything to Sigma. (Addition to this repost: I still believe this. I still think it’s just information overload. That’s why he’s not waking up with skk. We were told about this for a reason and given Fyodor is old af it makes sense he as SO MUCH information to go through)

As Ango explained, you can pass out from too much information & Atsushi passed out from a small amount.

Sigma requested to know *everything*. I think Fyodor knew what he knows would fry Sigma’s brain. That said, I think Sigma will wake up.

(Again, addition to this repost: now that we know it’s like hundreds of years of information of course that would be hard for his brian to process)

(I will add to this next bit because we have more information from chapter 113.)

Whatever Sigma learned, he knew he had to tell the agency right away. He obviously knows more than just how Fyodor’s ability works but i’m sure he thinks the agency needs to know something *specific* he learned about Fyodor and/or his plans & ability.

(Addition: It’s interesting Sigma said this given he’s only *just now* going through Fyodor’s memories and seeing how old actually Fyodor is. I wonder if that is what he wants to tell them or if it’s *how* Fyodor is so old that he feels must be shared with the agency. I feel it’s definitely Sigma wants to tell them that he knows *how* Fyodor is that old. As he says “I know *what* Dostoyevsky really is. Not who, *what* he is. Interesting.)

—

Back to the main point, assuming his ability wasn’t used on Sigma (it wasn’t), Fyodor hasn’t used his ability to kill ability users.

He shot Dazai’s accomplice, he “shot” Katai as well. He manipulated Ace into killing himself. He wanted these people dead, why not use his ability?

Chuuya & Nikolai touched him without anything happening. Of course like I said, Fyodor can either control his ability or it’s selective on its own. So he could’ve chosen *not* to use it on Chuuya & Nikolai or for some reason his ability just didn’t care about them.

But still, why hasn’t he used it on other gifted? Like the first 3 i listed, he wanted dead right? He also choses to manipulate gifted like Mushitaro or mutilates them like Ivan & we’re not sure if he touched them or not. If he himself did the surgery on Ivan he had to have touched him.

Even with Shibusawa, Fyodor cuts his throat. He doesn’t try to use crime & punishment. Of course, Shibusawa was “dead” already so it could be a different case.

He also never went up against Natsume directly in untold origins, although in the novel Fyodor is only eluded to and we never see. But maybe Natsume is “that man” Fyodor refers to. (Though now it could be Bram given 113?).

You could also throw in Fyodor stabbing Mori instead of using his ability on him in there. But in this case Fyodor’s objective was to pit the ADA & PM against each other so they would take each other out. Though there’s an argument he still could have done that & kill Mori here.

But let’s just assume he didn’t want Mori dead because of his plan to pit the two organizations against each other. So, I won’t touch more on Mori other than he must’ve touched Mori when he stabbed him, but since Fyodor seems to have some control over C&P let’s also say he just didn’t activate it here.

No one knows how Fyodor’s ability works aside Fyodor himself (Sigma might know now, we’ll probably know in a chapter coming up).

Even Dazai, which is why Dazai hasn’t wanted to give him the opportunity to touch him. He’s see what we have, people touching him & dying. So until Dazai knows for sure how his ability works, why risk touching him.

That’s why Dazai was hoping Sigma would help (assuming we believe Dazai when he says he doesn’t know how Fyodor’s ability works).

Sigma should now know both Fyodor’s plans & his ability & i’m sure he’s going to wake up and tell skk. Then Dazai will know.

But what if Fyodor was secretive about his ability because it doesn’t actually work against gifted? He wants ability users gone & it only benefits him for people to believe he can kill anyone with a touch. So why wouldn’t he play into that assumption?

We also haven’t seen too much of his interaction with other DOA members (Addition: aside we now know Fyodor and Bram go way back and Bram may even know more about Fyodor's ability, but he might not). We've only seen Nikolai & Sigma & we only see Sigma touch him once, to get information & Nikolai holding his hands. Nikolai admitted he doesn’t know about Fyodor’s ability either, hence saving Sigma to help.

I believe Fyodor would want to use his ability on gifted if he could, like Ace or Katai etc. People he knew he wanted dead and wouldn’t serve another purpose. But he doesn’t seem to use it. (Again if we have seen him somewhere use it on an ability user please let me know). But since he doesn’t seem to use it on gifted, maybe he just *can’t*.

He could just be choosing not to for all those instances for one reason or another & it does work on gifted and we just haven’t seen it yet. We just don’t really know but I’m sure we will soon.

This is just a fun theory, one that will probably be proven wrong to be honest haha so take it as you will. Everyone has their own interpretations and we will find out in canon soon enough.

[universallychaoticpan]

OK! OK! ok! It's not a theory that Chuuya WILL be the next Mafia boss ( at least without Dazai in mafia) so for a change of pace it's now Chuuya's beloved Darling Tigress to take up as his right hand man🤭🪄

YES- hope you enjoy this one even if its more of a spillage of thoughts. I love tigress reader ;))

Anyone in the Port Mafia knew who you were by the sound of your heels on the cold floors- a distinctive and sharp series of click click clicks that had those beneath you up against the walls, standing at attention like troops ready for inspection. Your eye was sharp and your standards were high- you took your time everywhere you went, daring anyone to say a single thing to the Mafia's second in command.

You spoke little; your subordinates knew your moods from a simple purse of your lips, or a subtle cock of the head. You had them watching for the slightest flicker of your eyes to the right or left, knowing your satisfaction was all but paramount.

You kept yourself poised and confident while dripping in designer, but on the battlefield, you made sure everyone in the Mafia knew why you were so close to the top. You'd clawed your way there, and those claws were sharp. Wielding ability and weapons alike, you cut down your enemies as though your body was simply another well sharpened blade. When surrounded by gunfire, you seemed more at home than ever; you walked with power, like the smell and sounds of being so close to the edge woke up some dormant part of you aching to be freed.

The Tigress of the Port Mafia was as formidable as ever.

Since establishing your reputation in your late teens as someone to be revered, feared and respected in the city of Yokohama, you'd taken the banner and run with it. Now 22, the dark side of Yokohama buzzed with your name- a faceless and ruthless executive who formulated twenty ways to kill a man while shaking his hand.

Of course, it wasn't only your name in their mouths.

Chuuya Nakahara, the Mafia Boss since Mori Ogai's unfortunate passing. That was the only person who you answered to. And yours were the two names everyone in the city knew; the vessel of a god and a veritable angel of battle. Untouchable; that's what you two were.

And you were ready to enjoy it.

You were ready, hungry even, to have such power; even after years of being one third of the most deadly trio in Mafia history, it wasn't enough.

You wanted more.

You craved power, craved standing and respect since Mori had plucked you from the streets as a child. He had seen it in you then; your fury, your starving eyes. In some ways, you were grateful to him. He had opened up the world to you and you'd only had to prove you were ready to take what was yours. That was how you'd made your name for yourself. That was how you found yourself dripping in more finery than your child self ever could've imagined. Sure, he had opened the door for you, but it was you and you alone who had decided to risk life and limb in your endless pursuit of your goals. It was your wit and cunning that had kept you ahead of your enemies, that had kept you sharp. It was your endless drive that had drawn Chuuya to you; your intensity, always burning, never ceasing, as though you held your fingers above flames to see how long you could stand the pain. He'd admired you then; he was in awe of you now.

And you loved him.

He was the one with whom you wanted to share your power. You wanted to be at his side, fighting, climbing, proving to the world you were more than what everyone else had decided you could be. Like you, he wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. Like him, you admired power in all it's forms.

Everyone had expected the Mafia to fall into the hands of the deadliest trinity in the history of the organization.

But Dazai's departure left the weight of expectation and the delicious prospect of power to the two of you.

When he'd left, you'd been given a choice- you'd been given another opportunity to become even more The Tigress people said you were.

And you weren't one stupid enough to let opportunity pass you by.

[sapphic-woes]

Kingmaker - Female Eivor x Reader

A/N: I wrote this for no reason in like two hours sorry. Minors DNI

Word count: 1.2k. AO3 LINK

______

"They say the Queen had someone by her side when she first took Wessex back. Someone sworn to her flesh and bone."

You look up as you sweep the palace floor. The girls loved to chatter, but you couldn't blame them. There wasn't much else maids could do to pass the time. You weren't above joining in, but this was a topic you'd never heard before.

The queen was a person of reverence. She ruled righteously and was loved by all. However, she had sworn to never marry another. No matter what man or king came to win her heart, your queen stood firm…

"...because her heart already belongs to another. Her kingmaker." One girl whispers, dusting the walls.

"Are they dead?" Another asks empathetically, frowning at the thought of the queen mourning her dead lover.

"Apparently, the witan were against their love. My father said a plot was formed against them." The girl sweeping with you mutters. You perk up at that.

"A ploy?" Your question makes the girl dusting the walls (Was it Alfwood?) turn to look at you. 

"It was! My mother was in the crowd when it happened. She said the kingmaker always wore a hood, and their voice was hoarse. There, surrounded by the crowd, the witan raised their voices against a single person…

"How can you dare say you've stood with us, heathen? You are the enemy!" The head of the witan snarls, voice booming across the town square. It makes my mother jump, but the hooded figure in the midst of it all remains calm.

"Am I, Lord? The knights of Wessex know I have. I was with them from the Somerset marshes, to Edington, to all the battles that followed. Does that stand for nothing?" The hooded figure was right. My mother and everyone else knew Wessex would have fallen long ago if not for this person. So why were the witan against our savior staying?

"Yet you have tried to convert our Queen and make her worship your idols. I have seen it with my own eyes!" Another member of the witan cries, and the hooded figure pauses, as if stumped. 

The crowd fills with gasps. If the Queen turned away from God, surely Wessex would fall. My mother swallows nervously, glancing at the queen.

"She's heartbroken." Is what my mother said she thought the moment she did. She said the  young queen looked devastated.

The witan–

"Wait, devastated?" You interrupt much to everyone's annoyance. "Sorry, the queen is so stoic, and intimidating…I can't imagine her openly being sad…" Alfwood scoffs.

"Well of course, this was long before we were born. The queen now knows how to hide her emotions, but back then it was different. Anyways…"

The witan spewed insult after insult, and the crowd began to turn on the hooded figure–yet no one was interested in what the queen thought. Newly appointed, she had little power like she does now.

Her twisted expression of grief was clear as day. Surely, she did not want this. However, no one seemed to care, no one except…

"It's alright. We are bonded. You and I." Except for the hooded figure, who looked straight at the queen rather than anyone else.

"I do not apologize for following the faith of my lands. The gods have always guided me, and they shall continue to do so." Her words addressed to the witan cause a stir, yet somehow she remains focused on the queen, and her voice carries over all the other noise.

"You are the woman I could never be. Nor do I wish to be. But you are the only person who can lead this land. That is why I helped put you on the throne…because you are strong enough to stay, even when I'm gone." The queen's eyes shine, yet she doesn't cry.

"I have loved you. Despised you. Fought with and against you so many times over…" A light chuckle comes from the hooded figure. Their head twists up towards the queen, but my mother still can't see the entirety of the figure's face. She only catches vibrant blue eyes that gleam under the sun.

"But it was never less than an honor to serve you, my queen."

"…Then what happened? Did they die?" Alfwood shakes her head. 

"No, my mother said they were exiled from Wessex and never came back…but there are rumors." All the servant girls pause, including you, and Alfwood basks in the attention as she whispers.

"Like forbidden lovers, the kingmaker sneaks into the palace at night! Once a month, under the beautiful moon, with only heaven as their witness–"

"Girls! What did I say about slacking off on the job?" The head maid yells at the top of her lungs, and your little group immediately scatters. You scurry off to sweep another hall, thinking about the story you just heard.

"How romantic…" you whisper, focusing once again on your duties.

—

You arch your back with a soft groan. The head maid was so cruel, giving you extra work as punishment for gossiping on the job. Now you were off to put away the cleaning supplies, too lazy to light a candle as you walk the shadowy halls of the palace.

"...Please….the girls are already gossiping about it…getting caught will only add fuel to the fire–ah, Eivor!"  Your queen's voice makes you jump. What was going on? Why did she sound like that? Who was…oh.

You peek around the corner of the hallway, hands over your mouth. Your queen is pressed against her chamber's door, flushed and moaning as a hooded figure tenderly kisses her neck. Your eyes widen, blushing as you witness such intimacy…and in public nonetheless!

"Do they? Well then, why don't we give them some new material, hm?" A rough voice teasingly murmurs, and you queen laughs breathlessly. Your queen that you admired for her cool demeanor and poised manner was…smiling. She looked free, happy…and in love.

Could it be? 

The broom slips from your hand. The moment it hits the ground, blue eyes snap at you. You squeak, turning away quickly to dart down the way you came.

Blue eyes…a hoarse voice…a hooded figure…!!

— 

Eivor still stares at the end of the hallway, though you know she's just avoiding your gaze.

"...You're a greedy idiot." The Dane nods.

"I'm an opportunistic idiot. The child had no light with her, and she was as quiet as a mouse…" Her piercing gaze shifts back to you.

"...and I was focused on more important things." You can't help but smirk, wrapping your arms around Eivor's neck.

"That child will tell half the entire palace what she saw by tomorrow afternoon, and by night there will be about a hundred more rumors that follow." Eivor hums, lips tickling your jaw.

"My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to my queen?" You giggle as she peppers kisses across your body. Clumsily, you open the door of your chambers behind you, and the both of you stumble onto the bed.

"Then serve me, Eivor." You whisper as Eivor gently undresses you, gazing at the wetness between your legs. Her breaths are rugged, as are yours, and you reach up to caress the exile's face.

"Show me again why you're my kingmaker."

[legitimatesatanspawn]

I've realized why it bothers me so much when characters in fanfic use unusual terms in the same manner of "oh my God": it implies there is a religious worship in the style of gods/angels/saints of whoever or whatever they're talking about when often times the entities in question are either not that powerful or not that revered.

For the record: I'm not saying "so y'all stop doing it". I've just been wondering why it kept bugging me so much when I generally don't give a flying leap about religion in general.

I realize that most writers probably don't think too much on it beyond "I'm going to avoid using common religious-tone idioms with something that sounds more local to the setting". But the questions it poses are interesting to me.

Using Danny Phantom as an example? "Oh Ancients" / "Oh my Ancients" or specifically going with "Oh Clockwork!"

Considering how much chaos the Ghost Zone is, the idea that ghosts would swear by their names (or worse: by Pariah Dark's)... especially Danny. Canonically (or at least within the show) the Ancients were never identified but the common ones are characters like Undergrowth, Vortex, Nocturne, Clockwork, and sometimes also Pandora and Frostbite. Danny might respect (most of) them or at least their strength but he'd still beat their asses six ways to Sunday if the need arises and communication breaks down. But if the use of such language is common, does it paint ghost civilizations as factions? Would a character using all the Ancients be viewed as a worshiper of multiple faiths or hiding who they are aligned with?

Another example is with Hero Academia fanfics where you see Izuku cry out something to the effect of "Oh sweet All Might" before or after he gets mentored by All Might.

Izuku's a huge hero fan but would he place All Might on par with a god? (... well... maybe.) If characters use such language, is it common or just specifically with All Might given his sheer overwhelming power? Would eventually characters use similar language for AFO (Satan-style), Izuku, and the past OFA users (angels/saint-style) or would by the end of the series even All Might's praise gets tarnished with disillusionment in the hero industry as a whole?

And Undertale! I've seen people write Monsters using Asgore and occasionally Toriel's names like this.

This is a different situation given that while the king and queen known entities if long-lived due to their boss monster status... in the game the characters talk about how when the time comes Asgore will take into himself the Seven Human Souls and break the Barrier. Is it weird to place god-tier status on someone who will obtain god-like power in the future? Would it be isolating and make Asgore uncomfortable? And in the cases where they use it for Toriel as well when Asgore's on the throne (not to be confused with the Swap variants of AUs where Toriel has Asgore's role), does that mean they think she's dead or that Monsters are praising her as a god's bride?