#any water is holy if youre wretched enough

[shimomcdragon]

sunlight proof wretched vampire

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Deity - Altar

tw: yandere behaviour, possessive/obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, diety uses he/him pronouns, gaslighting, yandere using his abilities to mess with reader’s perception of reality

“Haven’t you come to worship at my altar?”

•A lone Deity part of a forgotten pantheon, lost to the sands of time. What once was a bountiful temple; filled with offerings and gifts of fruits, meats, candles, with sounds of prayers and hymns of worship ringing through the halls, people streaming in to sing his praise, is now nothing but an empty ruin.

•He’s so very lonely. Nary a person has come to visit him in centuries. Years pass by and he has nothing, no one. Until you. A fateful eve when you happen upon the temple. Hidden away in the heart of a lush jungle, you, an archaeologist, find your El Dorado, your city of gold. You’d long since heard tales of a lost civilization, an Atlantis on land. Yet, here the remnants lay in front of your eyes.

•At the heart of the ruins lays a temple, grand and golden. Although time has chipped away at its’ grandeur, it’s still glorious, in your opinion. It’s a testament to humanity’s evolution. You don’t notice him though, no one does. But he’s noticed you. Nosy little thing, aren’t you? Impudent, little mortal wretch. He ought to kill you for your audacity. Daring to defile his sacred temple, you deserve nothing but the most painful end,

•But, you’re not actually defiling it, are you? You’re so respectful, treating every artifact as though it were the Holy Grail. You revere his temple, it’s a wonder, a marvel to you. It, you treatment, you reverence— you make him feel something new, something foreign. The attention you give him is intoxicating. He’s been forgotten, left behind. Yet, you’re here now. And he isn’t going to let you go.

•So, when a series of natural disasters occurs and suddenly your team is halved, some leaving after the first incident, others meeting fates you don’t want to recall. The others are slowly losing hope, they’ve lost friends, money, time to your passion project. This is your life’s work, you can’t just give up, can you? You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you’re smart enough to know when to cut your losses.

•Then, another freak accident hits. This time is more devastating. Nobody escaped unscathed, nobody escapes at all. Nobody is except for you. You slip in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re in the rubble amongst your dead coworkers and friends, and suddenly you’re in a bed, soft and warm. You’re delirious, unable to actually make out anything. But you’re certain there’s someone taking care of you. A man. A beautiful man, something, someone, divine. His touch is soft and gentle. Caring even. He placates you with sweet platitudes you can’t quite comprehend in this state, but the smooth baritone of his voice makes your heart soar.

•When you fully regain consciousness, you’re able to see your surroundings. You’re in a room filled with luxury. Ornate decor, golden furniture, the whole nine yards. It’s impressive, if not a little, a lot, off-putting. How did you get here? Who was the man taking care of you? Thousands of questions and thoughts flood your mind. It’s interrupted by him, the man.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

•You blink in confusion. It’s—he’s— everything is too much. Too overwhelming. He chuckles, it’s a rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. He reassures you, slowly and gently placing a strong hand of on your shoulder. There’s something commanding in his soft tone, something compelling you to swallow the lump in your throat and obey. He laughs again and you blush.

•He introduces himself as the one who’s been taking care of you. Doesn’t offer you any explanation as to why, but you ought to be grateful. After all, you could have been left out to die. He offers you food and water. You eat like a man starved and drink the water as though it were the sweetest ambrosia. He offers to let you stay here— where is here?— with him.

“You may leave whenever you decide to leave.”

•He promises, even escorts you out of the room, down halls that moves and shift, and spin around. You’re dizzy, delirious, unable to care for yourself. He carries you back to the room. How embarrassing. Your apologies when you regain your composure are shrugged off. It’s fine, he insists. You’re sick, vulnerable. He reiterates his offer, stay until you get better— you could’ve sworn he said stay forever— and are able to fend for yourself. You nod your head in agreement. It’s the logical choice, really. You’d probably die on your own.

•He smiles a brilliant smile at you, swears he’ll care for you diligently. And he has been, hasn’t he? You’re beginning to trust him, have faith— why?— in him. He stays true to his word. Working tirelessly to care for not only your body but your mind as well. Sleepless nights are spent with him by your side, telling you folktales and myths, singing soft lullabies to lull you to sleep, or even merely conversing with you. Days are spent improving your health. He feeds you by hand sometimes when you are too weak to do it yourself. When your health shows signs of improvement, you both go on walks, exploring the extensive gardens and many palace— temple, building, you’re not sure where you are— halls.

•He gifts you with many things too. Soft silk robes, shining jewels, ancient tomes and books, everything you desire you’re given. It’s not your fault, really, that you start to love him— do you?— especially not when’s he’s so kind. So handsome, beautiful really. He looks inhuman, like something divine. He’s attentive and nurturing. Your own prince charming. Your feelings grow as time progresses— how long has it been, you need to leave— until you can’t contain it.

•One day, as he presses a warm cloth to your forehead, you notice just how close he is. How he’s just out of touch. You greedily drink it in, unconsciously inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. The kiss is soft, chaste and you immediately pull away. Your stammering and feeble apologies are interrupted by his hand cupping your cheek. He leans in, your heart thumping in your chest, and kisses you again. This time, you don’t pull away.

•He, your lover, your heart loves you too. It’s surreal— too surreal— and your days spent together become all the more special. You’re utterly content with him, he’s become the air you breathe, the light of your life, you’re everything. It’s only natural for you to become consumed by him. By your life with your beloved— to forget you ever had a life before— spending eternity forever in his arms.

“We only have until forever, love.”

[just1alien]

Don't it taste like holy water? Ao3 version

Agatha Harkness x Female Reader

Warnings: Slow burn; Smut; Oral; Reader receiving.

Manthing and minors are DNI.

Hope you can enjoy it as much as I did while writing it.

Do you have suggestions? Requests? You can tell me everything, dear. But make no mistake, always be polite around here, understood?

...

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Agatha's eyes narrow, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

“You sound like you're implying you know me somehow?”

“Precisely. I was sent here to help you to control yourself. Recently, you made quite a mess with Wanda.”

“That woman is insane! Everything that happened was her fault! She scoffs. Wait! Sent here? I don't remember calling for help from anyone.”

“Oh, the coven sent me, darling.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Of course they did, I'm sure they're all so worried about me. The lot of them can shove it, especially the so-called, 'High Council'. I don't need any help, thank you very much.”

“I think you do, Agatha.”

“And what makes you such an expert, hm? Do you know anything that's happened? Or do you just want to judge the book by its cover?”

“Perhaps I am an expert, or a treat. What do you think?”

“A treat?”

She laughs, a small smirk forming on her lips.

“Are you trying to be a flirtatious little temptress, dear? If so, you're doing a quite terrible job.”

“So full of yourself.”

“Oh please, honey. In my over three hundred years of being a witch, I have never once not had someone pining over me. I know I'm beautiful, and I'm smart enough to know it. You're no different, you just won't admit it yet. How old are you again, love? Surely no more than mid-thirties, if I'm being generous.”

“Oh, trying to play the mentalist, charming. But make no mistake, I'm not here to flirt. As I said, I was sent by the coven. Check it if you want. Now, are we going to get out from this forest?”

She lets out an exaggerated groan, throwing her head back dramatically.

“It appears I have no choice but to get out of this wretched place, then. Let us go. But I have a few conditions.”

“What conditions, Agatha?”

“One, absolutely ZERO flirting from either side. Two, I don't do anything I deem beneath me. Three, my familiar, Señor Scratchy, is non-negotiable. Are we clear?”

“Very clear, 'miss zero flirting'. You were so certain that I was here to tempt you. Shame on you.”

“Shut it, smart ass.”

She turns around, walking towards the edge of the forest.

“Follow me and don't fall behind.”

“Yes, mistress.”

I pointed out the last word, just to see her reaction.

“You heard it. Now, can we please continue walking?”

“Oh, we'll be continuing, but first we're going to discuss your choice of words.”

She grabs you by the chin, bringing your face right up to hers.

“Let's get one thing straight here, darling: you do not call me, 'mistress' ever again. You hear me? Do I make myself clear on that one?”

I left a loud chuckle escape from my lips.

“Oh, Agatha. Very intimidating.”

She growls, letting go of your chin.

“Don't make me regret this decision to bring you along, darling.”

She resumes walking, looking back over her shoulder.

“You better keep up if you know what's good for you.”

“Sure.”

The forest begins to clear, a beautiful village appearing before you. A smile forms on Agatha's face, her eyes lighting up.

“Ah, I'd almost forgotten how pretty this place was.”

“Beautiful, indeed.”

I said, admiring not the village itself, but her smile.

“Come, let's pay my old cottage a visit.”

She starts walking down the cobble-paved road, admiring the scenery. Despite the fact she can look as young as she wants, you remember that she's likely three hundred years old. This village is likely the world she first lived in. Her hometown. And she's seeing it for the first time in centuries. It's no wonder she is so enamored by it.

“Please, lead the way.”

“Ah, that I will.”

Her cottage comes into view not too far down the road. It looks like a fairy tale house that could come right out of a story book. The outside is made entirely of dark oak, with a thatched roof. A small herb garden is in the front of the cottage, with many plants and flowers you don't even recognize. The porch has two cozy rocking chairs, and a hammock sits idly hanging to the side by the front door.

I came closer to the herbs, analyzing them.

“Interesting...”

Agatha comes to stand beside you, a prideful smile on her face.

“Ah, my collection of ingredients. I have a few that are my finest, such as the Devil's Ivy, or the Deadly Nightshade. I also grow things on a less... Deadly side. Such as the Basil, Lavender and Catnip.”

“Catnip? Are you a cat person, Agatha?”

My tone was playful.

She rolls her eyes, but you can see a small smile on her lips.

“No, I actually like rabbits the best. Speaking of which, you've yet to meet my familiar, Señor Scratchy.”

A little rabbit comes hopping over to you, circling your feet curiously and sniffing you.

“Hello, little one!”

I said, touching his fur.

Señor Scratchy tilts his head up and makes a soft grunt, rubbing up against your leg.

“See, according to him, you can trust on me.”

I gave her my best smile.

“Don't think that little move won me over yet, love.”

She kneels down to Scratchy, petting his head and scratching behind his ears.

“Such a sweet little boy, yes? Oh, who's a good bunny, yes you are, yes you are! Hmm? Should mommy give you a little snack? Yes? You deserve it, dear.”

She opens the door as Scratchy runs in, and gestures for you to follow her inside.

“Thank you.”

I entered, watching my steps.

The inside of her cottage is just as beautiful and magical as the outside. The furniture looks old, but well taken care of. A small fire is lit in the fireplace, and the smell of herbs hangs in the air. Everything about the cottage is homely and comforting. Despite being 300 years old, Agatha clearly takes great pride in her home. In one armchair by the fireplace, Señor Scratchy has curled up into a little ball. He is clearly not used to getting visitors.

“Cozy, for a murderer witch.”

She smiles, sitting down on her old-fashioned chair, putting her feet up.

“Of course, darling. Just because I enjoy a good hex and curse doesn't mean I don't also like a comfortable home. I enjoy the finer things in life.”

Agatha's eyes roam over to you, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.

“I'm guessing you wouldn't know about that. You clearly don't enjoy the finer things.”

“Where is that coming from? Trying to push my buttons?”

I seated on the other chair, waiting for her to answer me.

“And if I am, what are you going to do about it?”

Agatha leans back, resting her head on her interlocked fingers. She's clearly enjoying teasing you.

“What a teaser. Some may say you're desperate for attention.”

I locked my eyes on her.

She laughs, letting her head roll back against the back of the chair

“What then? Does it excite you? Does it bother you? Hmm?”

She looks back over at you, her eyes raking over your body, slowly.

“Unbelievable, Agatha. Anyway, now that you're having me around, I need a place to rest.”

She raises an eyebrow, a devilish look in her eyes.

“Oh? So you'll be staying with me? My, my, how intriguing. Perhaps you won't be too much of a bother after all, darling.”

She stands up.

“Come along, I'll show you the guest room. I'm sure you've had a long journey.”

“Thank you very much, Agatha.”

I followed her.

“No need to thank me, it's my pleasure, doll.”

She leads you down a small hallway past a bathroom and down to the guest bedroom.

“Here we are. This should have everything you need to freshen up, and the bed is plenty big too. I'll be in the kitchen, should you need anything.”

She smiles politely, but you sense that she is hiding another motive.

“Doll? Do you like using pet names on strangers?”

“Ah, it's a bad habit. What can I say? I enjoy giving attention.”

She steps closer to you, bringing her arm up to gently stroke your cheek. She gazes at you intently.

“And besides, you are quite the cutie-pie. Those luscious lips are just so... Biteable.”

“I thought you were the one who said 'no flirting either side'. Can't control yourself near me?”

She brings her mouth up to your ear, her breath brushing your lobe.

“Darling, I've never been able to control myself when I see something I like. I take what I want, and you are looking rather... Delicious at the moment.”

I tried to control my breath with her proximity, her perfume filling my nostrils.

“So demanding, Agatha.”

She gently brings your chin up towards her face, her lips inches from your own. She murmurs slowly.

“I can see your heart is beating fast, my love. Are you nervous, hmm? Or perhaps... Excited?”

“Or bothered by your boldness.”

“Oh, I'm sure you are.”

She moves a finger up to your lips, trailing lightly over them.

“I can feel how soft those lips are, how tender. It would be such a shame if no one got to taste them.”

She leans in closer, and you can feel her breath gently tickling your skin. It's clear she is about to kiss you. Your body and mind are screaming at you to stop her, but in your heart you know you want it.

“Back off, Agatha. I'm not one of your girls.”

I said harshly, entering her guest room.

“I'll see you on the kitchen, ok?”

She frowns.

“I was so close to having a taste, how disappointing.”

With a resigned huff, she turns away and starts to walk towards the kitchen.

“Suit yourself. I'll be in the kitchen, doll.”

I gave her an annoyed look before shutting the door.

After I changed myself to something comfortable, I met her on the kitchen.

Agatha is stirring a pot of stew over a blazing fire, wearing a simple black dress that's quite flattering on her. Her hair is tied up into a loose ponytail, and her feet are bare.

“Well, look at you, doll. Getting changed into something, comfy, were you? Is that a hint from you, perhaps?”

Agatha smirks, raising a suggestive eyebrow at you.

“What are you doing?”

I asked, ignoring her teasing.

“Oh, I'm just making a little something for dinner, that's all.”

She grabs a ladle from a nearby shelf, scooping the stew into two bowls. Handing you one, she takes her own and sits down at a small, round wooden table in the kitchen.

“Come my love, let's eat.”

The stew looks absolutely divine, smelling of beef and vegetables. She eats quite elegantly, a trait of her upbringing, no doubt.

“So you like to cook.”

“Hm? Oh, yes I do. I find cooking quite enjoyable, it relaxes me. I don't do it very often, but I can hold my own when it comes to making a good meal. You should taste this stew. I guarantee you'll find it delicious. It's quite the recipe, I learnt it from a very kind witch about... Oh, a hundred years ago now.”

She gives a chuckle, as if the span of a hundred years are only the blink of an eye to her.

She was beautiful and interesting. When you were assigned to take notes by her actions, you were aware it would be difficult not to get drawned by her.

"Hmm, the stew tastes marvelous!”

I said, eating with content.

As good as the stew was, her smile was even more enticing. You found yourself entranced by everything she did, from the way she picked up the bowl with her slender fingers, up to how she brought every spoonful to her plump lips. Her tongue would always dart out in the briefest of moments, licking away every stray drop. It was driving you mad.

“I'm so very glad you enjoy it, love. Perhaps I might just have to give you more of my cooking. We can make a great team, you and I.”

“Now you're ok with my company? What changed your mind?”

She lets out a chuckle, shaking her head.

“I never said I wasn't. You're quite charming, even if you've got that sharp tongue. I've grown quite fond of talking with you. Even if you try to deny it, I know you've been enjoying my company.”

She shoots a sly wink at you, her spoon dipping back in for more stew.

...

After we ended the meal, I found myself looking around her book colection.

“Fascinating.”

I said quietly to myself, unaware of her presence in the room.

She lets out a small hum of approval, placing a hand on her hip.

“Ah, my beloved library. This is where I spent most of my time whilst I lived here. This room is... Well, for a lack of a better word, magical.”

She comes up beside you, running a finger delicately across your back and making her way up to your shoulder. She leans down until her lips are at your ear, her voice lowering just slightly.

“Tell me... What do you like to read, darling?”

“What are you trying to get from me with this teasing, hun? I'm not so easy, Agatha.”

“Of course you're not, love. But I can make you so very easy if I so wanted.”

She steps closer behind you, her front pressing up against your back. Her hand traces a path up your shoulder and into your hair, stroking gently. Her voice drops even lower, the words practically whispered in your ear.

“I could have you begging for my touch, darling. One flick of my wrist and all your resistance would be gone. Oh you would look so very pretty beneath me, begging for every little mercy...”

“A-Agatha. Stop it!”

“Oh please, I know you want it.”

She tugs your hair lightly, pulling your head back to rest against her shoulder.

“That's it, love... You know that if you let me, I could have you screaming my name in no time... Begging me to go harder...”

I felt my knees going weak. It was hard to breathe.

She chuckles softly, tracing a finger down the line of your neck and onto your shoulder.

“That's it, darling... Relax for me... Give into it... Give into me... You know you want to... Your heart is beating so fast, your knees so weak... Your body knows what it wants...”

“From my point of view, you're the one begging, Agatha.”

She laughs lightly, bringing her hands down to rest on your hips. She begins to gently roll her abdomen along the small of your back, her breath hot in your ear.

“Is that so, love? Maybe I am the one begging, but you're the one practically melting in my hands."

She presses kisses along your jawline, leaving her mark on your skin.

“I know I'll have you begging much louder soon.”

I turned back to face her, feeling my desire along my inner thighs. She was evil.

She smiles, holding your chin with her fingers to make you look at her. Her thumb brushes gently across your bottom lip, her eyes searching yours

“Darling... What naughty things are you thinking about? I can see it in your eyes... Such sinful, beautiful thoughts...”

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, her fingers tracing down the side of you face and gently cupping your cheek. Her voice is low and silky, so smooth to the ear.

That's it, she's on my mind. Falling into her game, I started to tease her too.

“I see you're still hungry, Agatha. Perhaps you wanna taste some dessert.”

I pushed my dark green nightgown up just a bit.

She lets out a chuckle, her eyes hungrily devouring your exposed skin.

“Oh darling... You're so very naughty. Showing me a glimpse of your body... You're trying to tempt me, aren't you? You're craving my touch, aren't you darling?”

She takes hold of your hips, pulling you close and pressing her body against you. You can see the want in her eyes, the desire within her starting to spark just from the sight of your skin.

“I want your warm tongue elsewhere, Agatha. I want to see the great witch on her knees.”

“Oh, you are so very bad aren't you love?”

She purrs, her mouth moving to kiss at your neck. She starts to trace a path down, her lips working along your skin and leaving small red marks.

“Me, bad? Perhaps you'll see...”

“That is what I love about you, darling... You're so naughty and so very sexy...”

She continues leaving marks on your skin, her mouth eventually reaching the hem of your night gown. Her hands come up to play with the smooth, silken fabric, rubbing it between her fingers and teasing your sensitive hips.

I was using her book shelf to keep me from falling.

She presses you up against the bookshelf, pulling away from your skin for a brief moment to look up at you. There's nothing but pure desire in her dark, lusting eyes.

“Darling, you're not going to last very long if you keep standing... Let me help you.”

“No...

I walked to her couch, feeling her eyes on me.

“You're are the one to kneel, remember?”

“Well I'll be... Who knew you had such a dominant side, doll?”

She smiles, sauntering over to the couch and kneeling down by your legs. Her hands gently come to rest on your knees, beginning to move up your legs under your night gown.

“Are you going to treat me well, love? Or am I at you mercy?”

She smirks, her eyes gleaming with dark desire.

“Oh, sometimes you like to give in, hun? Wonderful. Now, taste me.”

Her smirk turns to a seductive grin, her hands moving up your inner thighs.

"You really are a bad girl... But then again... So am I.”

She gently presses her head against your thigh, leaving a small bite. Her mouth works its way up your leg, eventually reaching your heat and pressing her hot lips against you, giving you a few soft kisses.

I intertwined my fingers between her hair. Her soft, messy hair.

I arched my back with her move...moaning softly.

She begins to move her tongue deeper between your folds, moaning softly herself from the taste of your dripping heat. Her hands begin to move up your body, gently caressing your quivering abdomen and eventually reaching your sensitive, needy breasts.

“You're so very beautiful... So very... Perfect..."

“I want you between my legs until I be satisfied. Are we clear, Agatha?”

“Well, when put that way darling, how could I ever say no?”

She laughs, gently biting at your inner thigh.

“Don't worry love... There will be more than enough of me left to please you tonight...”

“Finish your job down there, darling. Hush.”

“Oh, so very demanding... Let me have a little more fun first. I want to worship your body, darling.... You deserve it.”

She places a delicate kiss on your belly, working her way up up your body and eventually reaching your mouth.

"Oh darling... Your mouth.... Your body... So very delivshous...”

I felt my own taste on her mouth. It made me gone mad.

“Stop teasing me, now. Go back down and do it, Agatha. I can't take it anymore.”

She gives a smirk, looking into your eyes with a dangerous lust

“I see... So you're desperate for me...”

She begins to pull down your night gown, removing your underwear slowly and giving you a few more kisses.

“Very well... As you wish, my love...”

She lowers herself down, her breath tickling your heat.

“Ready, darling...?"

“Please, Agatha. Just...d-do it.”

She smiles, her voice a seductive whisper

“As you ask darling... Enjoy....”

Her lips meet your heat, and she begins to devour you with hunger. Every inch of you is consumed with her attention, her every movement being dedicated to giving you the most pleasure... It's almost overwhelming just how skillful her mouth is.

“You taste so very good love...”

“I'm...close...keep...doing it....”

My naked body was on fire, desperate to release myself on her mouth.

She moans at your words, knowing that you're right there on the edge. Her mouth works even harder than before, pushing your ever closer to the sweet release.

“You're almost there, love... Almost there....”

I rolled my hips, feeling her tongue work harder unti I came all over her face.

She works you through every wave of pleasure, lapping up ever drop that you give her. When the last of your orgasm has faded, she sits up, a huge smile on her face and her chin glistening with your juices. She gives you a satisfied smile.

“God, darling... You have no idea how delicious you are....”

“Oh, yes, I know. That's why you were on the ground, praising me.”

“That you did, love. My my, you're very demanding...”

She wipes her mouth with her arm, gently sitting up beside you and bringing a hand to your face.

“Are you happy now? Did I give you enough pleasure, darling?”

“Oh, Agatha...you can be so sweet, hun? I need to rest now.”

I picked up my nightgown and panties, walking to the guest room, still naked. I turned back to watch her following me.

“Have sweet dreams.”

She smiles, watching your retreating form as you walk towards the guest room and admiring the way your behind moves with your steps.

“Rest well, love. I hope you dream of me.”

“Oh, I will.”

She gives you a smirk, biting her lip as you close the door behind you. The moment you're out of sight, she lets out a small laugh, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair.

“And oh what dreams they will be....”

[sinsandguilt]

Stain Me (Loki x Female Reader Drabble)

Just a quick drabble inspired by the song Holy Water by Zippermouth. This is only my second time ever posting any writing on Tumblr so sorry if it’s kind of bad or rubbish 😅

~~~~~~

Loki looked up at the woman hovering above him, her fingertips caressing and tracing every line, ever scar, every shadow of muscular definition on his bare torso. She inspected his form like he was a priceless art piece, with her gaze so fond and warm he thought he could burn up in her eyes. He felt so overwhelmed with emotion, to be doted upon and admired so earnestly, that he would surely be punished for it. It had to be some kind of sin, for someone as marred and dirty as him, to have won the affections of one so pure.

“Don’t…” he uttered softly, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly as he reached for his lover’s wrists, halting her movements.

Her eyes snapped to his, filled with confusion and concern. Concern. Concern for one so unredeemable as him. It was too much to bear.

“What?” she questioned. The fear that she had overstepped some sort of boundary shone plain as day on her features. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

He let out a shaking breath, tense shoulders shuddering as he exhaled. “You don’t want this,” he told her. “You do not want me.”

She cocked her head innocently, signalling she did not understand. The God could read her like a book, and he could virtually see the thoughts that would be whirring through her mind at that moment. Have I not shown you otherwise? Is this not enough? How can I love you more? How can I prove my love to you? Silly girl, if only she knew of the wretched acts he had wrought in his time, the pain and suffering he had caused, she would see the error in choosing him to love.

Of course, Loki knew she was aware of his past transgressions. There were few who had not heard tale of his evil deeds. But surely she did not truly comprehend the magnitude of his blackened past. For if she did, there was no way she would have given her heart to him as she had chosen.

“My dear heart,” he continued, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on the inner side of her wrists, “I am not a creature you wish to align yourself with. I am…” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am damaged, corrupted. You, who are nothing but kind and good, should not dirty yourself with the likes of me. If you are the holiest, most crystal clear of waters, then I am not but a murky, muddy pool, stained with the blood of my sins. You should not-” his words were silenced as she placed her lips upon his in a kiss that was hard and urgent, one which she did not pull away from for several seconds.

When she finally released his lips, her eyes were dark, swirling with something Loki could not quite place. For the first time, she was unreadable. “Do not preach to me of what I should or should not do, O God of Mischief,” she told him firmly, her voice deep and sultry with a passion the God had never before seen. She placed her hands upon his face, delicate fingertips caressing his sharp cheekbones. “I have chosen with which waters I wish to bathe. I would rather drown within your pool than dare to swim in any other.”

He took pause to gaze into her eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, even the smallest of embers that would suggest she was not strong in her conviction. He found none.

“You may never be clean again,” he warned her in a husky timbre.

She merely smiled, her lips ghosting over his as she uttered two words. “Stain me.”

Loki was stunned into silence, his lover taking the moment to kiss him again with heated fervency, a kiss that led into a long night of irrepressible need and unbridled passion.

Perhaps if he were destined to burn within her love, then she was destined to drown in his.

[firecrackerhh]

I watched an interview with Raph once and they said that they personally apologized to the person they were being inappropriate towards. Get the fuck over yourselves.

“Vivziepop is borderline evil” Bitch shut the fuck up. The only behavior that looks anyway evil to me right now is yours.

I don’t think you’re evil, but you definitely are a fucking retard being used by evil people trying to actively make the fucking world worse.

Fucking slipping into conservative ideology out of some horrifically misplaced sense of “justice” as if being on the fucking fascist side (sorry, that’s the side you’re on, hate to tell you) actually will lead to anything good for anyone makes me wonder how tf you graduated elementary school.

“Vivzie pop is evil!!!” Yeah and you’re a retarded bitch with the IQ of a rotting corpse who legit believes censoring adult media will somehow get rid of every bad thing in the fucking universe because you clearly haven’t emotionally matured past the age of 5.

Viv is nowhere near as harmful as you and your shit friends (if you can even call them that) constant harassment and bullshit accusations of pedophilia towards someone who has never hurt an actual fucking child in their life but maybe made a couple iffy drawings in their teen years.

Watering down the definition of pedophilia only helps pedophiles actually, I can’t fucking believe you’re this stupid.

“Hi, I’m antivivziepopparade. Don’t look at my old blog, that was before I was put on medication.”

I’m gonna keep it 100 with y’all, I don’t see a fucking difference.

You think Viv is evil, you think she’s a danger to society, you think she’s a fucking pedo for Christ sakes! If you want the bitch dead, I would prefer you just be fucking honest and say that!

Christ at least I don’t bullshit other people into thinking I’m a good person, at least I’m fucking honest, at least I’m fucking intelligent enough to not fall for pseudo-conservative horseshit!

I don’t think the schizophrenia has shit to do with your opinions on any media. I have a strong feeling you were dumber than a sack of bricks long before you decided to jump on this hazbin hate train. The schizophrenia doesn’t help for sure, but no, I think you’re just like this, no possible excuses.

“Vivziepop is evil!” Nah bitch, if anything your fucking ideology is evil, but you have your head so far up your ass you don’t even realize it.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Your ‘good intentions’ are fucking worthless when facing the reality of what your ideology creates.

Morally reprehensible authoritarian pieces of shit.

You don’t give a shit about other people, you just want an excuse to be a fucking asshole, you just want to bully people because you think doing so is actually helping anyone when all it does is make like worse for everyone, including yourself! People like this aren’t happy, folks!

As human beings, we are all equal, but holy fucking shit I know for a fucking fact that morally speaking I’m way better than any fucking anti on this wretched site. Christ above I’m surprised any of you can read past a 3rd grade level at best!

For the record, it’s not like I’m saying all this shit cuz I wanna defend Viv necessarily, nah, regardless of what these fucking losers want, Viv is probably gonna keep winning, they are beyond welcome to die mad about it.

I just can’t stand stupidity going unchecked.

🧨🔥~Firecracker out~🧨🔥

[fuzzydreamin]

What The Companions Say About... Feral Ghouls!

I'm posting these just because I find the companions in-game reactions to things rather interesting. You might be surprised by what some of them have to say about certain things.

These are just their dialogues for during combat, and after combat or walking through areas inhabited by this enemy type. It does not include anything from specific areas, quests, or other dialogue.

⌨ Ada

⌨: It's difficult to fathom that these ferals were once human. ⌨: Be certain to check every feral corpse, they tend to carry items useful to humans. ⌨: Radiation exposure can have an astonishing effect on human flesh…. oh, forgive me… I tend to forget the company I keep. ⌨: Perhaps one day you'll discover how to communicate with these feral ghouls. ⌨: {an attempt at humour} Ferals feast on human flesh, yet leave each other alone. A bit overcooked perhaps?

☘ Cait

☘: Shamblers! Take 'em down! ☘: Come on, you rad-spittin' zombies!

☘: Damn, these things reek! ☘: Shamblers! I hate these wretched things. ☘: Best thing about killin' a shambler is that dry sound they make when ya snap off their limbs. ☘: Good, I've been itchin' to bust some shambler heads. ☘: Goddamn shamblers. Only thing they're good for is torchin'.

⚙ Codsworth

⚙: Feral Ghouls! ⚙: {Neutral} Let's put these poor creatures out of their misery.

⚙: {a sincere sentiment} Feral Ghouls, a sorry lot, indeed. To lose one's mind slowly like that. ⚙: {with some bravado / Concerned} Be wary of Feral Ghouls, mum. ⚙: {a sincere sentiment} One ought remember the folly of man created these Feral Ghouls. ⚙: {talking to cover his nervousness} I imagine the scent of Feral Ghouls is most unpleasant. ⚙: {talking to cover his nervousness} What irony that radiation heals the Feral Ghoul.

⚕ Curie

⚕: Monsieur Platt predicted this condition. It appears he was correct. ⚕: A "ghoul." Most intriguing. Starting recording. ⚕: Detecting an increase in radiation. ⚕: One must wonder, what causes the deterioration of this ghoul condition?

⚕: Some "ghouls" are in possession of their mental faculties. Others are not. Why? ⚕: Should ghouls be considered a new species? ⚕: I wonder if my oaths apply to ghouls, as well? ⚕: If you find any scientific journal articles on ghouls, I would be much obliged. ⚕: I should give a ghoul a full physical. I am certain the data would be very interesting.

♞ Danse

♞: Die, you godless heathen! Die! ♞: No mercy! Blow it's goddamn head off! ♞: Exterminate the heathens! ♞: Godless bastard! To hell with you!

♞: Skinwalkers, ferals, shamblers… call them whatever you like, but they're not human. ♞: Ferals might have been human once, but now they're scavengers of human flesh. ♞: If it was up to me, I'd make it my life's work to wipe these things off the face of the planet. ♞: Extermination is the best these ferals deserve. ♞: The only things ferals are good for is scraping the mud off of my boots.

🕶 Deacon

🕶: We got ferals. 🕶: Anyone got some holy water? I always wanted to try that on them.

🕶: I avoid ferals if I can help it. 🕶: Glory came up with the bright idea of putting ferals in the catacombs. Not a fan. 🕶: More ferals. Great. 🕶: Some jackasses call ferals "ghouls". Like ghouls don't have enough problems. 🕶: Bet you crapped your pants the first time you saw a feral. I know I did.

☠ Gage

☠: I'm doing you a favour here, slimeball. ☠: Keep your irradiated ass away from me!

☠: I ever start looking anything like that, I hope someone puts me down fast. ☠: Being a ghoul's a fate worse than death. ☠: They look like shit, but damn if they can't move. Watch yourself. ☠: God I hate ghouls. Never know when one is gonna pop out at you.

☣ Hancock

☣: {Apologetic} Sorry, pal. ☣: {A tad remorseful / Neutral} Had to be Ferals.

☣: {Question} Ghouls, huh? You lookin' to fix me up? ☣: {Neutral} Least Raiders and Mutants have the politeness to know when to die. ☣: {Neutral} Ferals sure make it easy to forget they were ever people. ☣: {Amused} Lotta good lookin' faces around here. You gonna introduce me? ☣: {Question} Wonder how close I came to going feral. Or maybe I did? ☣: {Neutral} Poor bastards. ☣: {Neutral} Hate to put down a fellow Ghoul. ☣: {Neutral} Shame. There were some lookers in that group.

☸ Longfellow

(All of Longfellow's lines have the {You're disgusted by ghouls and a little afraid of the idea of becoming one} note) ☸: Don't you worry, if I see you turnin' into a ghoul, I'll put a bullet in you quick. ☸: Damn… can't think of a worse fate than turnin' into a ghoul. ☸: Way I see it, killin' a ghoul's an act o' mercy. ☸: A ghoul's lost every shred of what once made 'em human. I'd rather be dead than one of them. ☸: They might look like shamblin' corpses, but ghouls are lightnin' quick. Don't let 'em flank ya.

⨁ MacCready

⨁: Feral over here! ⨁: {Mimic (mocking) zombie grunt noise} Eeeeehhhh! Shut up!

⨁: Oh good, ferals. Like shooting ghouls in a barrel. ⨁: I can't believe these things move so fast. ⨁: If too much radiation leads to looking like that, I think I'd rather die. ⨁: Yeah, they were people once. But trust me, their humanity vanished the moment they changed. ⨁: Oh god, not these walking piles of flesh again.

♥ Nick

♥: {Stern} Sorry, folks. Won't be chewing on us. ♥: {Stern} Nasty cannibals.

♥: {Neutral} Wandered into College Square on my own once. Never seen so many Ghouls in one place. ♥: {Neutral} Sometimes you can still make out the person in there. ♥: {Neutral} First time I met a Feral, I hoped it would ignore me because I wasn't made of meat. Guess they'll eat anything. ♥: {Neutral} Keep your distance. Ferals hit hard. ♥: {Sombre} Poor bastards.

✉ Piper

✉: {Neutral} Watch your digits, Blue. Ferals. ✉: {Neutral} Poor Ghoul bastards.

✉: {Question} Nasty cannibals… wait, are Ghouls cannibals? They don't eat each other, right? ✉: {Stern} These things stopped being people a long time ago. ✉: {Neutral} Mayor McDonough chased all the Ghouls out of Diamond City. I wonder if any of them ended up out here. ✉: {Neutral} Ghouls love to play peek-a-boo. Keep your eyes open. ✉: {Playful / Amused} I don't have to outrun the Ghouls, Blue. I just have to outrun you.

☀ Preston

☀: Ferals! Don't let them get behind you! ☀: Oh, dammit. Ferals. ☀: Come on, you zombie bastard.

☀: Those things are the worst menace in the Commonwealth. ☀: When I was a kid, these things gave me nightmares. ☀: The scariest thing about ferals is they used to be people like us. ☀: If I ever turn into one of these things, you have my permission to put two in my skull. ☀: You can smell these ferals a mile away, if you're down wind. ☀: Nobody seems to know exactly what makes a normal ghoul turn feral. Kind of scary.

☢ Strong

☢: Ghouls not worthy foes. Bad warriors. ☢: Human, shoot ghouls. Don't let ghouls get close. ☢: Watch for glow. Ghouls with glow are bad. ☢: Ghoul flesh taste bad. ☢: Worthless glowy ghouls.

☾ X6-88

☾: {Emphasis on "they"... disapproval} Ghouls... without the Institute, they'd be the future of humanity. ☾: {Urging caution} Careful, ma'am. Ghouls are quicker than they look. ☾: {Disgust} That smell... should have brought a breath mask. ☾: {Urging caution} Don't let the shamblers surround you. ☾: {Almost sympathetic} If you ask me, ma'am, killing a ghoul isn't murder. It's more like mercy.

-----

So, interesting stuff right? Some things I found noteworthy:

Deacon doesn't call ferals 'ghouls' and tries to seperate the two, as a kindness to non-feral ghouls. Hancock does not make this seperation.

Both Cait and Preston use what can be considered slurs against ferals, such as 'zombie'. The word 'shambler' also comes up a few times with Cait and others.

Danse's issues with ghouls seem to have some religious untertones. Not all that surprising seeing as he is from the Capital, where both pre and post-war religion is popular.

Ghouls do not ignore Nick and will try to eat him.

Gage, Longfellow, Mac, and Preston all claim that they would rather die than become a ghoul.

Longfellow even says he will shoot you if you become one. (I didn't include dialogue from quests and the like, but Danse also has a line saying he will kill you if you turn into a ghoul.)

[deathblightprince]

(duskborn ending!)

The erdtree still shines bright through the fog. Burning with flames instead of its holy light. At the entrance, sat upon the throne was Nouma. Exhausted from the battling god. Pieces of armour chipped. Her eyes exposed to the natural light. It doesn't bother her at the moment due to the fog.

"He should know by now. Your sacrifice is not in vain, Lady Fia..."

She spoke to herself. Fia being the one to truly repair the rune of death. Before meeting her end by D's twin brother. Nouma only placed it where it rightfully belongs. The Elden Ring...

She was dead, but it was already done.

The giant mangled corpse of the Prince, once ever still began to writhe within his tangled tomb. The arms and fingers twitched as his disfigured face began to bubble and tear. The sounds of a deep gurgling mass, dripping with blood and puss began to fill the tomb before a violent rip and rushing fluid deafens it.

The maw of the Prince's corpse opens like a clam, tangled muted golden locks stretch and rip apart as amniotic fluid floods out of the maw, going from a steady stream to a raging waterfall before something large is expelled from its mouth. Then as quickly as the Prince's corpse had time to wretch out what lay inside its deformed maw, it dies observing its freshly made body.

Godwyn wakes up gasping, unfurling himself from a fetal position to lift himself from the puddle of murky purple water and adjust himself. A violent coughing fit quickly takes over, to spit up any water and amniotic fluid he inhaled. Wet coughs echoed throughout the area as fluid dripped from his mouth and body, his body tensing from the force of the coughs. Once the fit was over he gasped for air, taking the same air that his corpse and the flies shared for so many years. If he wasn't already soaked he would be sweating.

He pushed the hair out of his face to the side, wiping the fluid out of his eyes before he cracks them open. Stripped of his grace, his dark grey cloudy eyes gaze upon his corpse. Its maw agape and dripping with blood, it was truly dead.

His gaze then shifts to his deathbed companion. She lay in a pool of her own blood in a heap that screamed of foul play. Then he sees the corpse of her murderer not too far behind. It appears she already received justice, and the Rune of Death had been taken.

His eyes trail up to the Erdtree roots far above his head, seeing the charred marks and embers that gently fall into the depths. His Deathroot is spreading rapidly, taking whatever Erdtree root it finds and wrapping around it to spread its corruption far and wide. Soon enough, the Erdtree will die and be consumed by the Deathroot itself. The tree itself will be nothing but a husk by the end of it, and the Prince will finally take his righteous place in the heart of it all.

He sighs. It is done.

[torahtantra]

Parsha 22. Vayakhel. “The Fortunate.” From Exodus 35:1–38:20.

Vaya= power

Khel= assembly

In Parsha 21 we learn once again God does not want good and corrupt men to mix. When the wretched and rotten surface, He tells His devoted servants to take up their swords and cull the herd. He’s said to do this a few times.

Moses argues with the Most High claiming human nature is here to stay and God insists. In tandem with giving the future Kingdom of Israel a hemorrhoidectomy God insists the youngest men, those the least tainted by the wiles of the former generations are groomed within the Temple in order to lead mankind on the outside.

God says if the fathers sin they have to be removed from their positions and separated from their lives so the sons can prosper. So be it! We will keep trying till we get it right. 

Parsha 21 is named the “Fortunate” after the survivors of the latest onslaught of the disobedient. The rest are being sent across the desert for 40 years, the result of God's vote of no confidence in the people... a ruthless plan to make sure most of them don’t make it. 

Sabbath Regulations

35 Moses assembled the whole Israelite community and said to them, “These are the things the Lord has commanded you to do: 2 For six days, work is to be done, but the seventh day shall be your holy day, a day of sabbath rest to the Lord. Whoever does any work on it is to be put to death. 3 Do not light a fire in any of your dwellings on the Sabbath day.”

-> Most authorities agree the six days in the light and the seventh in the darkness does not mean we sit in the darkness and do nothing but sweat in our clothes. Sabbath Day is an inversion of the formula we normally think of when we hear the Creation Myth which ranges from birth to Sentience but that is not enough, we have to return to God completely unbiased by manifold experience: 

From the Book of Genesis: 

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

Everyone who goes to Temple, Church or Mosque is probably scared shitless, hearing repeatedly that sin and salvation exist in an indelicate balance with each other, as with life and death, suffering and happiness, infirmity and eternity. 

Only for a brief moment during the service do we hear God has different intentions for us. After all the singing and reading intended to employ God to turn His wrath away, does someone in a strange outfit try to convince you things aren’t so bad. 

Except they are bad, aren’t they and the magic words are losing their sparkle...how, when there are signs all around the world just as there were in Egypt? What is going wrong? 

Just as before we have a Golden Calf. 

In Egypt and afterwards, Moses and God, all by themselves bust their asses trying to convince the people there are alternatives to all this worry. They are generous with their time and efforts, which result in a spectacular display of loyalty for the suffering. 

The second Moses instructs them to purge themselves of all bad habits so their slavery does not recur- they refuse. They have an orgy, reinstate their love of money, overindulge in food and booze. Their enemies were closing, and it was all going to start again. Only the Talking Cloud convinced the enemies of Israel not to trifle with them. 

The habits of these persons were surely going to compound into the customs of the nation. At the personal and civic level, their refusal to disbelieve in their disastrous habits in the past left them vulnerable to enslavement to them once again. 

God says “Never again.” 

Persons who idolize evil must be put to death. The rest must continually see how their reflections change as they pursue, as the Most High, what is good in all their days while they continue their retreat from this present darkness.

Thus begins the Parsha. 

Materials for the Tabernacle

4 Moses said to the whole Israelite community, “This is what the Lord has commanded: 5 From what you have, take an offering for the Lord. Everyone who is willing is to bring to the Lord an offering of gold, silver and bronze; 6 blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen; goat hair; 7 ram skins dyed red and another type of durable leather[a]; acacia wood; 8 olive oil for the light; spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense; 9 and onyx stones and other gems to be mounted on the ephod and breastpiece.

10 “All who are skilled among you are to come and make everything the Lord has commanded: 11 the tabernacle with its tent and its covering, clasps, frames, crossbars, posts and bases; 12 the ark with its poles and the atonement cover and the curtain that shields it; 

13 the table with its poles and all its articles and the bread of the Presence; 

14 the lampstand that is for light with its accessories, lamps and oil for the light; 

15 the altar of incense with its poles, the anointing oil and the fragrant incense; the curtain for the doorway at the entrance to the tabernacle; 

16 the altar of burnt offering with its bronze grating, its poles and all its utensils; the bronze basin with its stand; 

17 the curtains of the courtyard with its posts and bases, and the curtain for the entrance to the courtyard; 

18 the tent pegs for the tabernacle and for the courtyard, and their ropes; 19 the woven garments worn for ministering in the sanctuary—both the sacred garments for Aaron the priest and the garments for his sons when they serve as priests.”

20 Then the whole Israelite community withdrew from Moses’ presence, 21 and everyone who was willing and whose heart moved them came and brought an offering to the Lord for the work on the tent of meeting, for all its service, and for the sacred garments. 

22 All who were willing, men and women alike, came and brought gold jewelry of all kinds: brooches, earrings, rings and ornaments. They all presented their gold as a wave offering to the Lord. 

23 Everyone who had blue, purple or scarlet yarn or fine linen, or goat hair, ram skins dyed red or the other durable leather brought them. 

24 Those presenting an offering of silver or bronze brought it as an offering to the Lord, and everyone who had acacia wood for any part of the work brought it. 

25 Every skilled woman spun with her hands and brought what she had spun—blue, purple or scarlet yarn or fine linen. 

26 And all the women who were willing and had the skill spun the goat hair. 

27 The leaders brought onyx stones and other gems to be mounted on the ephod and breastpiece. 

28 They also brought spices and olive oil for the light and for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense. 29 All the Israelite men and women who were willing brought to the Lord freewill offerings for all the work the Lord through Moses had commanded them to do.

-> Everyone brought Aaron their muckety muck for the making of the Golden Calf, this time the people bring their Attributes and the Ephod, the sum total of the Golden Qualities of the people are aggregated in the temple. 

Notice also how we are engaging in Theme and Variations with Parsha Kitessa.

Bezalel and Oholiab

30 Then Moses said to the Israelites, “See, the Lord has chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, 31 and he has filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills— 

32 to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, 33 to cut and set stones, to work in wood and to engage in all kinds of artistic crafts. 

34 And he has given both him and Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, the ability to teach others. 

35 He has filled them with skill to do all kinds of work as engravers, designers, embroiderers in blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen, and weavers—all of them skilled workers and designers.

36 1 So Bezalel, Oholiab and every skilled person to whom the Lord has given skill and ability to know how to carry out all the work of constructing the sanctuary are to do the work just as the Lord has commanded.”

From Kitessa:

31 Then the Lord said to Moses, 2 “See, I have chosen Bezalel (protection) son of Uri “the fire”,  the son of Hur “purity”, of the tribe of Judah “the most praised”, 3 and I have filled him with the Spirit of God.

What's different now: We are surely revisiting the Mantra,

“Refuge is conferred by the Most Praiseworthy, those who bind themselves to the fire and are pure of the causes of slavery.” 

6 Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab “the Father’s House”,  son of Ahisamak, “Who listens”  of the tribe of Dan, ”Superior judgement”  to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you: 

7 the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law with the atonement cover on it, and all the other furnishings of the tent— 8 the table and its articles, the pure gold lampstand and all its accessories, the altar of incense, 9 the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, the basin with its stand— 10 and also the woven garments, both the sacred garments for Aaron the priest and the garments for his sons when they serve as priests, 11 and the anointing oil and fragrant incense for the Holy Place. They are to make them just as I commanded you.”

"The House of Refuge is populous with those who listen, exercise superior judgement and have the ability to make everything I have commanded of you."

2 Then Moses summoned Bezalel and Oholiab and every skilled person to whom the Lord had given ability and who was willing to come and do the work. 

3 They received from Moses all the offerings the Israelites had brought to carry out the work of constructing the sanctuary. And the people continued to bring freewill offerings morning after morning. 

4 So all the skilled workers who were doing all the work on the sanctuary left what they were doing 5 and said to Moses, “The people are bringing more than enough for doing the work the Lord commanded to be done.”

6 Then Moses gave an order and they sent this word throughout the camp: “No man or woman is to make anything else as an offering for the sanctuary.” And so the people were restrained from bringing more, 7 because what they already had was more than enough to do all the work.

We have covered everything so far but the actual practice of Judaism. I have said it is a tradition, a duty, an heirloom, a scientific sociological political and spiritual system. God says once it is known and practiced competently, and Sanctuary is secure, guess what will happen? Goats. Yes! Goats will happen. And someone will need to make the curtains...

So why do we have to make curtains out of all those bulls ramboys, donkeys and doves?

Once one's goat is discovered after the final stage after the Sacrifices have concluded and the goat boy knows himself inwardly, the Temple enters a stage of readiness.

The curtains are suspended in layers around a kind of a Hub. They vault the Light of the Inner Sanctum from the outer world which as we know is not sanctimonious and does not confer the same sanctuary Judaism purports to instill within the Self.

The work, having been done to create the light under the skin of the person and persons must then affect history. It must do this without ceasing, without the ability to measure so little should actually be going wrong.

The Tabernacle

8 All those who were skilled among the workers made the tabernacle with ten curtains of finely twisted linen and blue, purple and scarlet yarn, with cherubim woven into them by expert hands. 9 All the curtains were the same size—twenty-eight cubits long and four cubits wide.[b]

10 They joined five of the curtains together and did the same with the other five. 11 Then they made loops of blue material along the edge of the end curtain in one set, and the same was done with the end curtain in the other set.

 12 They also made fifty loops on one curtain and fifty loops on the end curtain of the other set, with the loops opposite each other. 13 Then they made fifty gold clasps and used them to fasten the two sets of curtains together so that the tabernacle was a unit.

14 They made curtains of goat hair for the tent over the tabernacle—eleven altogether. 15 All eleven curtains were the same size—thirty cubits long and four cubits wide.[c]16 They joined five of the curtains into one set and the other six into another set. 

17 Then they made fifty loops along the edge of the end curtain in one set and also along the edge of the end curtain in the other set. 18 They made fifty bronze clasps to fasten the tent together as a unit. 

19 Then they made for the tent a covering of ram skins dyed red, and over that a covering of the other durable leather.[d]

20 They made upright frames of acacia wood for the tabernacle. 21 Each frame was ten cubits long and a cubit and a half wide,[e]22 with two projections set parallel to each other. They made all the frames of the tabernacle in this way. 

23 They made twenty frames for the south side of the tabernacle 24 and made forty silver bases to go under them—two bases for each frame, one under each projection.

 25 For the other side, the north side of the tabernacle, they made twenty frames 26 and forty silver bases—two under each frame. 27 They made six frames for the far end, that is, the west end of the tabernacle, 

28 and two frames were made for the corners of the tabernacle at the far end. 29 At these two corners the frames were double from the bottom all the way to the top and fitted into a single ring; both were made alike. 30 So there were eight frames and sixteen silver bases—two under each frame.

31 They also made crossbars of acacia wood: five for the frames on one side of the tabernacle, 32 five for those on the other side, and five for the frames on the west, at the far end of the tabernacle.

 33 They made the center crossbar so that it extended from end to end at the middle of the frames. 34 They overlaid the frames with gold and made gold rings to hold the crossbars. They also overlaid the crossbars with gold.

35 They made the curtain of blue, purple and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen, with cherubim woven into it by a skilled worker. 

36 They made four posts of acacia wood for it and overlaid them with gold. They made gold hooks for them and cast their four silver bases. 

37 For the entrance to the tent they made a curtain of blue, purple and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen—the work of an embroiderer; 

38 and they made five posts with hooks for them. They overlaid the tops of the posts and their bands with gold and made their five bases of bronze.

-> Each of these elements in the Temple and their materials symbolize the making of the Man of God. 

The Ten Purple Curtains woven with Cherubim- they protect the senses from idolatry. Each sense has two eyes and two ears and two nostrils, two mouths with two tongues in it. The Curtains produce the darkness that empties them of all that propaganda and bullshit from Egypt, prevents their re-entry. 

There are 10 of these, the same number as the nodes on the Kabbalah.

The “blue material and “gold clasps” unites the senses; there must be 50 precepts in the Torah that prevent the dissonances confronting faculties from decoupling the person from the people. 

Blue and Gold, are the sky and the sun, and these represent the activities of God as He said let there be light and made a vault, remember God wanted to Vault things together and yet be able to discern them. 

Leather and Goat Hair Curtains: over the internal lattice work of the mind and its intuition comes skin and hair, and these are also supposed to be Vaulted together with a sentient self-concept. 

I THINK there are eleven of these because the 11th character in the Hebrew alphabet symbolizes life- there are ten faculties and One Supreme Intelligence = all living things, but man especially covered in skin and hair and the Crown. 

Bronze Loops signify the Law which binds living things together, similar to how the Gold of the Sun binds life to the sky. 

Twenty Frames/Forty Silver Bases etc. 

Pure silver, is the most powerful conductor of heat, electricity and most importantly to our discussions of Torah, has the most reflectivity. There are suggestions that the 40 silver bases are the same as 40 days or forty years, “time, not place” frames the House of God, 

But really, truly, the number adds up to the # of Parshiot, which is 54: 

20 frames N

20 frames S

then 6 W

And two frames were made for the corners of the tabernacle at the far end. 29 At these two corners the frames were double

46+ 8 = 54.

Crossbars of Gold: I am pretty sure these are Rabbis, the learned ones. 

The Final Curtain: the work of the Embroiderer is either a Magus, or a King who unites the rest within the Temple aka the Kingdom. 

37 For the entrance to the tent they made a curtain of blue, purple and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen—the work of an embroiderer; 38 and they made five posts with hooks for them. They overlaid the tops of the posts and their bands with gold and made their five bases of bronze. “

The Ark

37 Bezalel made the ark of acacia wood—two and a half cubits long, a cubit and a half wide, and a cubit and a half high.[f]2 He overlaid it with pure gold, both inside and out, and made a gold molding around it. 

3 He cast four gold rings for it and fastened them to its four feet, with two rings on one side and two rings on the other. 4 Then he made poles of acacia wood and overlaid them with gold. 5 And he inserted the poles into the rings on the sides of the ark to carry it.

6 He made the atonement cover of pure gold—two and a half cubits long and a cubit and a half wide. 7 Then he made two cherubim out of hammered gold at the ends of the cover. 

8 He made one cherub on one end and the second cherub on the other; at the two ends he made them of one piece with the cover. 9 The cherubim had their wings spread upward, overshadowing the cover with them. The cherubim faced each other, looking toward the cover.

Lest ye repent and leave Egypt- thine act of Atonement, the Torah is not available to thee. 

The Table

10 They[g] made the table of acacia wood—two cubits long, a cubit wide and a cubit and a half high.[h]11 Then they overlaid it with pure gold and made a gold molding around it. 12 They also made around it a rim a handbreadth[i] wide and put a gold molding on the rim. 13 They cast four gold rings for the table and fastened them to the four corners, where the four legs were. 14 The rings were put close to the rim to hold the poles used in carrying the table. 15 The poles for carrying the table were made of acacia wood and were overlaid with gold. 16 And they made from pure gold the articles for the table—its plates and dishes and bowls and its pitchers for the pouring out of drink offerings.

--> within the Temple, lay prosperity, only those willing and of pure and good hearts are permitted entrance. And verily that can only thineself and one other, the ahead and forthcoming, who bears the Ark, one willing to uncover it after the Atonement. To him alone is prosperity allowed. 

The Lampstand

17 They made the lampstand of pure gold. They hammered out its base and shaft, and made its flowerlike cups, buds and blossoms of one piece with them. 18 Six branches extended from the sides of the lampstand—three on one side and three on the other. 

19 Three cups shaped like almond flowers with buds and blossoms were on one branch, three on the next branch and the same for all six branches extending from the lampstand. 

20 And on the lampstand were four cups shaped like almond flowers with buds and blossoms. 21 One bud was under the first pair of branches extending from the lampstand, a second bud under the second pair, and a third bud under the third pair—six branches in all. 

22 The buds and the branches were all of one piece with the lampstand, hammered out of pure gold.

23 They made its seven lamps, as well as its wick trimmers and trays, of pure gold. 24 They made the lampstand and all its accessories from one talent[j] of pure gold....

The Tree of Life in Eden is generally considered to be an almond tree, and also another reference to how the Golden Sun God made during Genesis produced life and but most importantly for us- some of it is sentient. 

The Golden Sun Lamp illuminating sentience, achieved by the balancing of good and evil using the Attributes etc. is why the Lamp is explained in this manner. 

The Seven Lamps are the light of these attributes which are balanced within the self during the Seven Stages of Evolution and are off the surfaces of the Seven Wells, which are also known as the Seven Oaths into the world.

The Altar of Incense

25 They made the altar of incense out of acacia wood. It was square, a cubit long and a cubit wide and two cubits high[k]—its horns of one piece with it. 26 They overlaid the top and all the sides and the horns with pure gold, and made a gold molding around it.

 27 They made two gold rings below the molding—two on each of the opposite sides—to hold the poles used to carry it. 28 They made the poles of acacia wood and overlaid them with gold.

29 They also made the sacred anointing oil and the pure, fragrant incense—the work of a perfumer.

A perfumer is a Rabbi experienced in expelling the perfume of the Script into the atmosphere of the Temple, filling the minds of pilgrims who have prepared themselves for their weekly re-discovery of the Goodness of God. 

The Altar of Burnt Offering

38 They[l] built the altar of burnt offering of acacia wood, three cubits[m] high; it was square, five cubits long and five cubits wide.[n]2 They made a horn at each of the four corners, so that the horns and the altar were of one piece, and they overlaid the altar with bronze.

 3 They made all its utensils of bronze—its pots, shovels, sprinkling bowls, meat forks and firepans. 4 They made a grating for the altar, a bronze network, to be under its ledge, halfway up the altar. 5 They cast bronze rings to hold the poles for the four corners of the bronze grating. 

6 They made the poles of acacia wood and overlaid them with bronze. 7 They inserted the poles into the rings so they would be on the sides of the altar for carrying it. They made it hollow, out of boards.

The Basin for Washing

8 They made the bronze basin and its bronze stand from the mirrors of the women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting.

The Courtyard

9 Next they made the courtyard. The south side was a hundred cubits[o] long and had curtains of finely twisted linen, 10 with twenty posts and twenty bronze bases, and with silver hooks and bands on the posts. 11 The north side was also a hundred cubits long and had twenty posts and twenty bronze bases, with silver hooks and bands on the posts.

12 The west end was fifty cubits[p] wide and had curtains, with ten posts and ten bases, with silver hooks and bands on the posts. 13 The east end, toward the sunrise, was also fifty cubits wide. 

14 Curtains fifteen cubits[q] long were on one side of the entrance, with three posts and three bases, 15 and curtains fifteen cubits long were on the other side of the entrance to the courtyard, with three posts and three bases.

 16 All the curtains around the courtyard were of finely twisted linen. 17 The bases for the posts were bronze. The hooks and bands on the posts were silver, and their tops were overlaid with silver; so all the posts of the courtyard had silver bands.

18 The curtain for the entrance to the courtyard was made of blue, purple and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen—the work of an embroiderer. It was twenty cubits[r] long and, like the curtains of the courtyard, five cubits[s] high,

 19 with four posts and four bronze bases. Their hooks and bands were silver, and their tops were overlaid with silver. 20 All the tent pegs of the tabernacle and of the surrounding courtyard were bronze.

Finally we return to the Bronze Age - around the temple, anchoring it to the temporal life is the Law. It is the basis for work, play, worship, for all success for self and selves. 

Thus ends Parsha Vayakhel, "the Fortunate" numbered 22 of 54 contained in the Holy Torah.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei X (Chapter 43)

"Septa." Cersei sat beneath the Iron Throne, clad in green silk and golden lace. "Tell his High Holiness that we are vexed with him. He presumes too much." Emeralds glimmered on her fingers and in her golden hair. The eyes of court and city were upon her, and she meant for them to see Lord Tywin's daughter. By the time this mummer's farce was done they would know they had but one true queen. But first we must dance the dance and never miss a step.

Dress the part, Jaime.

We start the chapter in silk, lace, and emeralds.

+.+.+

"Ser Osney is young and lusty, I will grant you," the queen said, "but a faithful knight for all that. If he says that he was part of this . . . no, it cannot be. Margaery is a maiden!"

"She is not. I examined her myself, at the behest of His High Holiness. Her maidenhead is not intact. Septa Aglantine and Septa Melicent will say the same, as will Queen Margaery's own septa, Nysterica, who has been confined to a penitent's cell for her part in the queen's shame. Lady Megga and Lady Elinor were examined as well. Both were found to have been broken."

The wasps were growing so loud that the queen could hardly hear herself think. I do hope the little queen and her cousins enjoyed those rides of theirs.

A lord's daughter was more like to give her maidenhead to a horse than a husband, it was said, and Margaery had been riding since she was old enough to walk. - Cersei VI, AFFC

Cersei is all over the place. In her previous chapter she believed Margaery had a lover. Now, in this chapter, she acknowledges it's the horseback riding that's broken her hymen.

Sometimes George is effortless when reminding the reader of something, and other times it's a bit more forced.

+.+.+

"We insist that His High Holiness allow our own maesters to examine my good-daughter, to determine if there is any shred of truth to these slanders. Grand Maester Pycelle, you shall accompany Septa Moelle back to Beloved Baelor's Sept, and return to us with the truth about our Margaery's maidenhead."

Pycelle had gone the color of curdled white. At council meetings the wretched old fool cannot say enough, but now that I need a few words from him he has lost the power of speech, the queen thought, before the old man finally came out with, "There is no need for me to examine her . . . her privy parts." His voice was a quaver. "I grieve to say . . . Queen Margaery is no maiden. She has required me to make her moon tea, not once, but many times."

There's the little weasel I know and loathe. Welcome back!

While reading commentary on this chapter, I noticed a lot of people missed that Pycelle was forced to say this.

+.+.+

Her white knights fell in around her as she made her exit through the king's door behind the Iron Throne; Boros Blount, Meryn Trant, and Osmund Kettleblack, the last of the Kingsguard still remaining in the city.

There's lots of attention being paid to which Kingsguard remain in the city, because of the possibility of a trial by combat. I'm wondering if it's also being emphasized for other reasons.

+.+.+

Maggy the Frog should have been in motley too, for all she knew about the morrow. Cersei prayed the old fraud was screaming down in hell. The younger queen whose coming she'd foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last.

You won't believe what happens next!

+.+.+

"Lord Merryweather is right," said Lord Waters. "If it please Your Grace, I will launch the rest of our new dromonds. The sight of them upon the Blackwater with King Tommen's banner flying from their masts will remind the city who rules here, and keep them safe should the mobs decide to run riot again."

He left the rest unspoken; once on the Blackwater, his dromonds could stop Mace Tyrell from bringing his army back across the river, just as Tyrion had once stopped Stannis. Highgarden had no sea power of its own this side of Westeros. They relied upon the Redwyne fleet, presently on its way back to the Arbor.

"A prudent measure," the queen announced. "Until this storm has passed, I want your ships crewed and on the water."

Spoiler alert: The crown will be left with no ships.

Meaning, Blackwater Bay is open and vulnerable. That's a big problem. Two queens desperately need a fleet.

+.+.+

"Aye," said Merryweather, "but this High Septon may want to try the queen himself, as the Faith once tried men of old."

I hope so, Cersei thought. 

Be careful what you wish for.

+.+.+

For the king's sake, the queen had left the names off the arrest warrants. Tommen signed them blank, and pressed his seal into the warm wax happily, as he always did. Afterward she sent him off with Jocelyn Swyft.

Ser Osfryd Kettleblack arrived as the ink was drying. Cersei had written in the names herself: Ser Tallad the Tall, Jalabhar Xho, Hamish the Harper, Hugh Clifton, Mark Mullendore, Bayard Norcross, Lambert Turnberry, Horas Redwyne, Hobber Redwyne, and a certain churl named Wat, who called himself the Blue Bard.

A few new names.

"Who were they?" the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers. - Cersei IX, AFFC

Hamish the Harper, Mark Mullendore, and Bayard Norcross weren't originally part of the plan. Might be nothing, might be something.

+.+.+

"Nothing too rich or colorful," she said. "Something suitably devout and drab for the High Septon. He's like to make me pray with him."

In the end, she chose a soft woolen dress that covered her from throat to ankle, with only a few small vines embroidered on the bodice and the sleeves in golden thread to soften the severity of its lines. Even better, brown would help conceal the dirt if she was made to kneel. 

Dress the part, Jaime.

We're transitioning to drab, modest clothing.

+.+.+

As they made their way across King's Landing, Taena had a sudden doubt. "This trial," she said, in a quiet voice, "what if Margaery demands that her guilt or innocence be determined by wager of battle?"

A smile brushed Cersei's lips. "As queen, her honor must be defended by a knight of the Kingsguard. Why, every child in Westeros knows how Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championed his sister Queen Naerys against Ser Morghil's accusations. With Ser Loras so gravely wounded, though, I fear Prince Aemon's part must fall to one of his Sworn Brothers." She shrugged. "Who, though? Ser Arys and Ser Balon are far away in Dorne, Jaime is off at Riverrun, and Ser Osmund is the brother of the man accusing her, which leaves only . . . oh, dear . . ."

"Boros Blount and Meryn Trant." Lady Taena laughed.

I'm sure having all these Kingsguard outside of the city won't backfire.

+.+.+

"He will not even let me see them," fumed Margaery. "He keeps each of us apart from the others. Until you came, I was allowed no visitors but septas. One comes every hour to ask if I wish to confess my fornications. They will not even let me sleep. They wake me to demand confessions. Last night I confessed to Septa Unella that I wished to scratch her eyes out."

A shame you did not do it, Cersei thought. Blinding some poor old septa would certainly persuade the High Sparrow of your guilt. 

Hold this.

+.+.+

"Damn them, then," said Margaery. "Damn them all to seven hells. Alla is gentle and shy, how can they do this to her? And Megga . . . she laughs as loud as a dockside whore, I know, but inside she's still just a little girl. I love them all, and they love me. If this sparrow thinks to make them lie about me . . ."

"They stand accused as well, I fear. All three."

"My cousins?" Margaery paled. "Alla and Megga are hardly more than children. Your Grace, this . . . this is obscene. Will you take us out of here?"

Margaery seems troubled.

+.+.+

"Ser Garlan is not a member of the Kingsguard," the queen said. "When the queen's honor is at issue, law and custom require that her champion be one of the king's sworn seven. The High Septon will insist, I fear." I will make certain of it.

Margaery did not answer at once, but her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Blount or Trant," she said at last. "It would have to be one of them. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Osney Kettleblack would cut either one to pieces."

Seven hells. Cersei donned a look of hurt. "You wrong me, daughter. All I want—"

"—is your son, all for yourself. He will never have a wife that you don't hate. And I am not your daughter, thank the gods. Leave me."

"You are being foolish. I am only here to help you."

"To help me to my grave. I asked for you to leave. Will you make me call my gaolers and have you dragged away, you vile, scheming, evil bitch?"

+.+.+

"Win Alla if you can, but be careful what you say. The gods may not be the only ones listening."

x

Cersei gathered up her skirts and dignity. "This must be very frightening for you. I shall forgive those words." Here, as at court, one never knew who might be listening.

Someone is listening. Even here, even now, she dare not speak freely. - Cersei I, ADWD

People listening through the the walls is already well established, I'm not sure why he keeps stressing it.

+.+.+

"Perhaps she is innocent."

"She is not. Holy septas have examined her, and testify that her maidenhead is broken. She has drunk of moon tea, to murder the fruit of her fornications in her womb. An anointed knight has sworn upon his sword to having carnal knowledge of her and two of her three cousins. Others have lain with her as well, he says, and names many names of men both great and humble."

What is wrong with this man? He knows there's more than one way to break a hymen, and he knows the anointed knight was lying. Is he seriously trusting Pycelle's words?

He deserves to go boom.

+.+.+

"Tommen loves his little queen so much, Your Holiness, I fear it might be hard for him or his lords to judge her justly. Perhaps the Faith should conduct the trial?"

The High Sparrow steepled his thin hands. "I have had the selfsame thought, Your Grace. Just as Maegor the Cruel once took the swords from the Faith, so Jaehaerys the Conciliator deprived us of the scales of judgment. Yet who is truly fit to judge a queen, save the Seven Above and the godsworn below? A sacred court of seven judges shall sit upon this case. Three shall be of your female sex. A maiden, a mother, and a crone. Who could be more suited to judge the wickedness of women?"

Who will be the Seven? Who will be the Stranger? Him?

+.+.+

"I must return to the castle. With your leave, I will take Ser Osney Kettleblack back with me. The small council will want to question him, and hear his accusations for themselves."

"No," said the High Septon.

It was only a word, one little word, but to Cersei it felt like a splash of icy water in the face.

+.+.+

"He is held securely here. Come. I will show you."

Cersei could feel the eyes of the Seven staring at her, eyes of jade and malachite and onyx, and a sudden shiver of fear went through her, cold as ice. I am the queen, she told herself. Lord Tywin's daughter. Reluctantly, she followed.

+.+.+

Within, Osney Kettleblack hung naked from the ceiling, swinging from a pair of heavy iron chains. He had been whipped. His back and shoulders been laid almost bare, and cuts and welts crisscrossed his legs and arse as well.

The queen could hardly stand to look at him. She turned back to the High Septon. "What have you done?"

Hilarious when you consider what she just had done to the Blue Bard.

+.+.+

"He told you the truth. He came to you of his own free will and confessed his sins."

"Aye. He did that. I have heard many men confess, Your Grace, but seldom have I heard a man so pleased to be so guilty."

+.+.+

"You whipped him!"

"There can be no penance without pain. No man should spare himself the scourge, as I told Ser Osney. I seldom feel so close to god as when I am being whipped for mine own wickedness, though my darkest sins are no wise near as black as his."

He has a kink! No judgment.

+.+.+

He is just a priest, he cannot do this. "It is not for the Faith to condemn a man to death, whatever his offense."

"Whatever his offense." The High Septon repeated the words slowly, weighing them. "Strange to say, Your Grace, the more diligently we applied the scourge, the more Ser Osney's offenses seemed to change. He would now have us believe that he never touched Margaery Tyrell. Is that not so, Ser Osney?"

Osney Kettleblack opened his eyes. When he saw the queen standing there before him he ran his tongue across his swollen lips, and said, "The Wall. You promised me the Wall."

[...]

"Aye." The chains rattled softly as Osney twisted in his shackles. "That one there. She's the queen I fucked, the one sent me to kill the old High Septon. He never had no guards. I just come in when he was sleeping and pushed a pillow down across his face."

Cersei whirled, and ran.

Took you long enough.

+.+.+

The High Septon tried to seize her, but he was some old sparrow and she was a lioness of the Rock. She pushed him aside and burst through the door, slamming it behind her with a clang. The Kettleblacks, I need the Kettleblacks, I will send in Osfryd with the gold cloaks and Osmund with the Kingsguard, Osney will deny it all once they cut him free, and I'll rid myself of this High Septon just as I did the other.

I believe her.

+.+.+

The four old septas blocked her way and clutched at her with wrinkled hands. She knocked one to the floor and clawed another across the face, and gained the steps. Halfway up, she remembered Taena Merryweather. It made her stumble, panting. Seven save me, she prayed. Taena knows it all. If they take her too, and whip her . . .

Blinding some poor old septa would certainly persuade the High Sparrow of your guilt. 

Lol.

The Taena Merryweather thing is interesting, because we'll later learn she had no trouble leaving the Great Sept.

"They let Taena go." That was the best thing she had heard since the High Sparrow had said no. Taena could have doomed her.

I wonder why. Things rarely work out in Cersei's favour.

+.+.+

Inside the cell three silent sisters held her down as a septa named Scolera stripped her bare. She even took her smallclothes. Another septa tossed a roughspun shift at her. 

Dress the part, Jaime.

We finish naked, and defeated.

+.+.+

She was not meek Margaery Tyrell, to don her little shift and submit to such captivity. I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage, Cersei thought.

I believe her.

+.+.+

The woman rose. "Your Grace. I will be back in an hour. Mayhaps by then you will be ready to confess."

An hour and an hour and an hour. So passed the longest night that Cersei Lannister had ever known, save for the night of Joffrey's wedding. Her throat was so raw from shouting that she could hardly swallow. The cell turned freezing cold. She had smashed the chamber pot, so she had to squat in a corner to make her water and watch it trickle across the floor. Every time she closed her eyes, Unella was looming over her again, shaking her and asking her if she wanted to confess her sins.

His greatest challenge yet. Can the author make you pity Cersei Lannister?

+.+.+

Why has no one come to pry me out of here? She could not believe that the Kettleblacks would abandon their brother. What was her council doing? Cravens and traitors. When I get out of here I will have the lot of them beheaded and find better men to take their place.

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery's name that the mob was calling, not hers.

Make no mistake, I enjoy Cersei as a character far more than Margaery, but this is beautiful.

+.+.+

"Qyburn," she whispered, "oh, gods, I am so glad to see your face. Take me home."

"That will not be allowed. You are to be tried before a holy court of seven, for murder, treason, and fornication."

[...]

"What of Margaery?"

"She is to be tried as well, by the same court that conducts your trial. 

Are you saying they'll be tried on the same day? Cool, cool.

+.+.+

"Tommen. Tell me of my son. Is he still king?"

"He is, Your Grace. He is safe and well, secure within the walls of Maegor's Holdfast, protected by the Kingsguard. He is lonely, though. Fretful. He asks for you, and for his little queen. As yet, no one has told him of your . . . your . . ."

Don't worry, Tommen's protected by the Kingsguard. Huge relief.

With Balon Swann hunting the rogue knight Darkstar down in Dorne, Loras Tyrell gravely wounded on Dragonstone, and Jaime vanished in the riverlands, only four of the White Swords remained in King's Landing, and Ser Kevan had thrown Osmund Kettleblack (and his brother Osfryd) into the dungeon within hours of Cersei's confessing that she had taken both men as lovers. That left only Trant, the feeble Boros Blount, and Qyburn's mute monster Robert Strong to protect the young king and royal family. - Epilogue, ADWD

+.+.+

"Osfryd Kettleblack no longer commands the City Watch. The king has removed him from office and raised the captain of the Dragon Gate in his place, a certain Humfrey Waters."

I have no idea who Humfrey Waters is, or who put him in this role.

+.+.+

"The boy is not to blame. When his council puts a decree in front of him, he signs his name and stamps it with his seal."

"My council . . . who? Who would do that? Not you?"

"Alas, I have been dismissed from the council, although for the nonce they allow me to continue my work with the eunuch's whisperers. The realm is being ruled by Ser Harys Swyft and Grand Maester Pycelle. They have dispatched a raven to Casterly Rock, inviting your uncle to return to court and assume the regency. If he means to accept, he had best make haste. Mace Tyrell has abandoned his siege of Storm's End and is marching back to the city with his army, and Randyll Tarly is reported on his way down from Maidenpool as well."

This is such a stretch, George.

Qyburn is dismissed, but is still allowed to continue his work in the cells and with the eunuch's whisperers. Sure, whatever.

+.+.+

"As soon as word of Your Grace's present troubles reached the river, Lord Waters raised sail, unshipped his oars, and took his fleet to sea. Ser Harys fears he means to join Lord Stannis. Pycelle believes that he is sailing to the Stepstones, to set himself up as a pirate."

He doesn't only look like Rhaegar, he's as useless as him too.

+.+.+

"I am lost, Qyburn."

"No." He took her hand. "Hope remains. Your Grace has the right to prove your innocence by battle. My queen, your champion stands ready. There is no man in all the Seven Kingdoms who can hope to stand against him. If you will only give the command . . ."

This time she did laugh. It was funny, terribly funny, hideously funny. "The gods make japes of all our hopes and plans. I have a champion no man can defeat, but I am forbidden to make use of him. I am the queen, Qyburn. My honor can only be defended by a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard."

Spoiler alert: They'll learn Arys Oakheart died, and dead!Gregor will be elevated to the Kingsguard.

Not that it matters. Do you anticipate another trial by combat featuring dead!Gregor? I don't. Do you anticipate Cersei will actually allow herself to be tried? I don't.

I wonder how she gets herself out of this.

+.+.+

There is no other way. "Qyburn, for the love you bear me, I beg you, send a message for me. A raven if you can. A rider, if not. You must send to Riverrun, to my brother. Tell him what has happened, and write . . . write . . ."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

She licked her lips, shivering. "Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once."

"As you command. 'I love you' thrice?"

"Thrice." She had to reach him. "He will come. I know he will. He must. Jaime is my only hope."

A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. "No," he said. "Put this in the fire." - Jaime VII, AFFC

Great moment for Jaime, right? Except I doubt the author agrees.

Whatever you may think of Cersei doesn't matter, his son is now in desperate need of him as well, and is probably going to kill himself with Jaime nowhere to be found. Round of applause.

Family before duty and honour, Jaime.

+.+.+

"My queen," said Qyburn, "have you . . . forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose . . ."

We will leave this world together, as we once came into it. "He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake."

You sure will. It's repeated enough.

Final thoughts:

Ten chapters of pure unhinged comedy. How can you not love this woman?

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[blahkugo]

𝟑 ༒ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔳𝔞𝔦𝔫

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

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tōru oikawa — dirty talk

a/n: tōru “steal ur bitch” oikawa. i apologize for yet another cucking fic (no i don’t) <3 thank you to @theygottheircages for that last line ( ˘ ³˘)♡

wc: 1.4k

cw: adultery, degradation, slapping, oinks being a bastard

Your fall from heaven began with a glance. It was nothing more than an accident, a stare held one second too long to be anything other than romantic. But the moment you laid eyes on him—batted fluffy lashes up towards this divine bringer of light—you knew it was much too late to avoid being blinded.

He feeds you the apple in slices.

A smirk, the graze of his knuckles on your bare skin, an effortless tick of his jaw that keeps you pondering for days to come; Oikawa is a master manipulator. It’s so sweet, so innocent, when he swipes a thumb across your cheek to retrieve a lost eyelash, but those same fingers send shivers down your spine.

It was manageable—harmless fun, even. Your relationship suffered naught from the temptations, because, if anything, it made you more eager for Issei. The little traipses with temptation only urged you to kiss your fiancée harder, to love more passionately, to grip him with a ferocity each and every time he held you in that unwavering grasp of his.

But the snip was inevitable, wings torn off in a haze of lust and immorality.

You should have seen it coming, should have bitten the hand that fed you. Because once that wretched apple was gone, he had nothing more to give you. But you asked for more, practically begged for the precarious situation you now find yourself in—Ambrosia-soaked fingertips pressed against your eager tongue.

“You’re slobbering all over me,” he smirks, pressing deeper, “it’s disgusting.” The Devil has a way of making the crudest remarks sound regal, alluring and utterly irresistible even as he promises eternal damnation.

You mewl around his digits, pleading for the mercy of sweet release; Oikawa only laughs, nudging your legs apart with his free hand and diving straight for your pretty lace panties. He doesn’t have to check to know you’re drenched, a patch of slick soaking through the skimpy article and trailing your thighs. Any lesser reaction would be a disservice to his sanctity.

“What should I do with you?” He questions, expectant, though his fingers remain lodged inside your mouth. A knuckle curls and unfurls against your clothed slit—teasing, maddening. “Hm?”

“Fuck me,” your words are garbled around him, “please.”

The plea doesn’t sway him, finger still lazily circling your bud. He seems to be contemplating his next move, deciding how to debauch you further. Your room feels small, held captive by the dizzying scent of pink pepper and rum—his cologne.

Oikawa has never been an entity that sits by the sidelines. No, like water in any container, wherever he is he fills with himself. He is too grand not to be the center of attention, too illustrious to ignore. You can swear up and down that you were already much too enamored to take heed of his presence, but it’d be a lie all the same.

“Don’t get all dazed on me now,” he snaps, slapping at your clit. The whine that leaves you should be illegal, a high-pitched huff of air that makes you sound depraved. “Why should I bother with Mattsun’s leftovers?” He tilts his head ever-so slightly, soft brunette locks tousling with the movement. It’s an action wholly unsuitable for someone so wretched.

The mention of your poor, sweet fiancé sends a rush of guilt through you—at the weight of what you’re about to take part in. Leftovers. That’s all you are to the Devil before you, all you’ll ever be. And yet, the shame brings with it a new wave of heat to your core.

As humiliating as it may be, you have no choice but to heed the warning. You may have been able to refuse him, had you been stronger, more sound in your principles. But too much of your soul belongs to him already, too many nights spent yearning and aching for this very moment.

That’s why—with a trembling voice, body ablaze with greed—you begin your oblation,

“Tōru.” You attempt to call as sweetly as possible, stretching his name even as your voice remains muffled around his digits. Though his face stays steady, arrogant smirk sitting proudly, you swear you feel a slight twitch in his fingers. “Need you inside me,” a pout, paired with a soft graze of his bare bicep, “m’so wet for you, p-please.”

It’s enough to set him off.

Oikawa doesn’t bother stretching you out; whether it’s because he’s well aware how most of your nights with Issei end—panting beneath the sheets—or because he simply doesn’t care to, you’re unsure. But instead of nudging his fingers into you, he simply sinks his cock in, fast and heavy, digits of his left hand still hooked onto your pliant tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses sharply, “how are you this fucking tight?” Tears cloud your vision, your lower half bursting with pain as you instinctually attempt to scramble away, but Tōru’s free hand now rests at your waist, clutching you tightly against him.

“Tōru!” The tears flow freely down your cheeks now. “Shlow– ah, slow down!” Even as you cry out, you know the words are meaningless. Every twinge of pain makes you drool, every slap of heavy balls against your slit urges you to wrap your legs around his middle and pull him closer. It seems Oikawa knows it, too.

“Cute.” It’s his favorite word for you, a compliment that used to make your eyes grow wide and your skin prickle with pride. Now, it sounds like nothing more than a sneer—praise for a favorite pet.

Despite your pleas, the pace Oikawa sets is relentless. When he finally frees your mouth, it’s only to slather slick fingers across your face. There’s a tap at your cheek—once, twice—the palm of his hand slapping softly before gripping at your jaw. He bends to meet the shell of your ear, nipping at it with sharp canines before whispering,

“Mattsun told us all about how much you love to play the good girl.” You draw a sharp breath, but Tōru only snickers. “It ‘hurts so bad,’ right?” A sharp thrust, a mewl from you. “I’d play along,” he grunts when your nails dig into his back, “but I want to see that look on your face.”

There’s a throbbing now, a wrench in your gut that has nothing to do with how hard Oikawa pounds into you. Issei—sweet and doting, the perfect man to settle down with—has shared your most intimate moments with this bastard? It’s wrong, to criticize an angel’s minor sin while (quite literally) in bed with the devil, but you can’t help the hurt.

“There’s that face,” he declares proudly, lips quirking into a sly smile. “Now, I want to hear it. Why are you panting like a bitch in heat?” His fingers press bruises into your waist. “Why are you pulling me closer?” Sweat drips off your bodies, the heat and humidity clouding your brain. “You beg and you cry, but really, you love being fucked like this.” When your eyes roll back, he slaps your cheek once more. “Don’t you?”

The fingers at your waist move all at once, grazing your thighs before circling rapidly at your bundle of nerves. You don’t think you can speak, want nothing more than to deny the goading, but the pleasure makes your head foggy and your tongue loose.

“I-I do! I do!” The irony of the those two words—of the fact that you’ll be whispering them to your beloved in only a few days, isn’t lost on you. “Fuck- Tōru, I love being f-fucked like this.”

“Atta girl!” Oikawa laughs louder now, a bellowing that rumbles his chest, sweat-soaked skin strained tightly against your own.

You once thought yourself Eve, led awry by the temptations of a fallen angel. You thought yourself holy and misplaced in your naive trust of the figure before you. But what of Lilith? What of the demoness, the woman disgraced long before the Devil could dishevel her?

“Now, why don’t we call up Mattsun and let him know just how much of a slut you are?”

Angels of a feather fall together.

[childofchrist1983]

In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink. He that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water. - John 7:37-38 KJV

Whatever your worries and stresses, Jesus Christ is the answer. He makes the hardest affliction lighter. He carries the weight with you (Matthew 11:30). Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life (John 14:6). You need water to live, but Jesus is better than water. He and His Holy Word fills up and makes us full. He fills our cup so it overflows with joy and gladness (Psalm 23:5). He is great, kind, and fulfilling to our soul.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time daily to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Word daily, May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in the Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

Heavenly Father God, Lord Jesus, You relieve my worries. You are better than water, because You are the way, the Truth and the Life. You, Jesus, quench my thirst. You fill me. You fill my heart. Give me peace and overwhelming joy for You. You are greater than all my needs, desires, and worries. You are a great God, and I am faithfully and humbly glad to serve You.

You and Your Holy Word and Spirit give us hope, peace, salvation, and so much more! Let our relationship with You be the foundation and pleasing in Your eyes, so that we may hear Your praise as we gaze upon Your face and enter Your Kingdom. Lift our spirits and our hearts. Light up our lives, O Lord. May we abide in You for all our days and beyond!

You are Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End! We know Your promises are true and we place our hope in You! May we continue to pray and seek You. Present us with daily opportunities to go to others with Your message of eternal salvation. May we live our lives with a spirit of thankfulness and may we always magnify You, O Lord. Allow our praises to You encourage others to seek Your face. Help us all to be humble and obedient to You. And help us to be courageous enough to seek You daily and to humbly and faithfully do our duty to You, spreading the truth of Your Gospel to all in all nations, as You commanded before You ascended back to Heaven (Mark 16:15-16). May our lives show the world Your light and Truth and that You are a loving God and Heavenly Father who delights in showing love and mercy. May we all be humbly and faithfully honored and excited to worship, glorify and serve You daily and to do Your will. You have been so good to us, far more than we as wretched sinners deserve. You are so good! So wonderful! Forever and always!

Thank you for keeping me and helping me in times where I am tempted to go astray. Praise be to You today and every day of my life and let me never forget all of the blessings that are given me by You. As much as the enemy will try, he will never be able to successful breed doubt about who You are, in the minds of anyone who truly believes and follows You. And I will follow and serve You all the days of my life and beyond! Thank you for the connection with You that we are given through Your Holy Word and Spirit. Thank you, O Lord, for all Your creation and Your miraculous ways. Thank you for being our stronghold and my refuge. Thank you for seeing us as worth the sacrifice. Thank you for sustaining us, loving us and defining us according to Your will and love for us. Thank you for making sure we are taken care of. Thank you for being the best friend we could ever have! Thank you for Your endless mercy and love that has saved us. Thank you for always protecting us and providing for us and for Your Spirit to help us when we are in need. Thank you for abiding within me and may I abide with You, my Lord. Thank you for giving us a chance to be saved from our sin and spend eternity with You. Thank you for adopting us as part of Your family in Heaven and making us one of Your own. Thank you for being our present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). Thank you for always being near and for loving us. Thank you for giving us a reason to love others and so many more reasons to love, praise, serve and follow You. Thank you for Your selfless and sinless sacrifice. Thank you for Your guidance and protection. Thank you for Your Truth and light. Thank you for Your wisdom and strength and grace. Thank you for giving life to the world and to us. You give and take away – And we thank you for it. Thank you for everything! Your will be done! Blessed be Your mighty name! To You and Your Kingdom be the glory forevermore! In Your name we humbly pray, Amen and amen

[jadequeen88]

Crimson Canopy

The last thing you thought you’d be doing that day was seducing a god-like, mythical creature... 

PAIRING: Harpy!Hawks x Female!Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: oral/penetrative sex, praise kink (if you squint), wing kink, (it’s all pretty vanilla)

AS WITH ALL MY WORK THIS IS NSFW. ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS PLS

This is an AU with no quirks. Humans live a long side mythical races and creatures that they abuse for the most part. You’re part of a secret organization that saves and protects them. 

**************************************************************

Sweat dripped into your eyes as you reached the top of the trail. Panting, you wiped it away with the back of your hand. Wishing (not for the first time today) you’d gotten your ass out of bed earlier so you’d be out of the afternoon heat, you take a long drink from your insulated water bottle. You knew you had patrol duty today, but you still thought it was a good idea to stay up trying to drown your depression with bourbon.

As your breathing slowed, you pull out your phone to see a new message.

Bre: “Done yet? It’s really hot out! Did you find anyone/thing that was injured?”

You: “Not done yet. Got a late start. No sign of any traps set off so far. I’ll text when I’m done.”

Bre: “Good news! Stay safe :)”

You slide your phone back into the pocket of your cargo pants and sit on a nearby stump. From this vantage point, you could use your binoculars to scan the wooded valley below for anyone who needed help.

As you scanned the area, a thought you’d had a million times before flirted through your brain. “I really am disgusted by my own species most days.” If humans weren’t so ruthless, greedy, and arrogant, you wouldn’t have to be out here in the first place.

You were part of a secret rescue agency that saved endangered mythical creatures and races of humanoids from poachers. Whether it was unicorns murdered for their horns and blood, wood elves captured for horrific genetic experiments, or griffins murdered just for existing, humans were relentless. Although, most of the human population grouped elves and other intelligent humanoids into basically being animals themselves. Despite the fact that these races had their own languages, customs, art, and social hierarchy just like humans. The lack of empathy on the part of your race made your stomach turn and your blood boil.

It didn’t take long to spot your first victim. But this seemed... different. The cries were not fully human, not fully animal, but completely full of rage. And the wind! It was as if a small cyclone had suddenly rose from the ground and threatened to swallow the small patch of forest in the valley. You had no idea what could be causing the commotion, but you did know it was caught and needed help. It needed help fast. A lot of poachers had cameras or alarm systems to alert them when a trap was set off. You knew you had a small window or time before things got dire.

You expertly navigated your way down the hillside, having made a crude path over time on your patrols. Within a couple of minutes, you approached the ring of trees that were being violently shaken by the forceful wind.

When you looked into the chaos, you could see enormous, crimson feathers beating wildly into the air. Your eyes widened in wonder and horror when realization washed over you.

“Holy shit.... A Harpy....”

They were so rare and so removed from human society that many believed them to be fairy tales. But what you saw in front of you was definitely real. The creature beat their wings so furiously you couldn’t even make out the rest of their body. The growls and cries of rage still pierced the air as the wretched creature thrashed against its metal wire trappings.

It never got easier seeing just how brutal these traps were. A simple bear trap would be a mercy in some cases.

Not knowing a better way to get the creature’s attention, you let out a loud, high whistle.

The massive wings froze and you were able to see flesh between them. The harpy’s skin was crisscrossed with thin, metal wires that began to dig angry, bleeding cuts all over. A pang of despair rang through your chest. You noticed a golden blonde head slowly turn to face you.

For the second time today, you were absolutely astounded by what you saw in front of you.

A MALE Harpy! You knew enough about the creatures to know that only about 1 in 20 babies born were male. You’d never in a million years expect to come face to face with a Harpy. Let alone a male.

Once the shock wore off, another realization fell over you. He was absolutely, drop dead, gorgeous.

His long golden tresses hung wild around his face and his amber colored eyes burned through you. He had the chiseled jaw line of a Greek god and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

You quickly snapped out of it when you realized why you were there. You had to save him.

You slowly circled around to face him, palms out showing you weren’t a threat to him. He wasn’t buying it, though. You knew if he wasn’t bound by metal wires, he’d be eating away at your throat right this second.

Once you were face to face with him, you were able to appreciate the full extent of his terrifying beauty.

His perfectly sculpted chest was bare and bleeding from struggling against the wires of the trap. His mouth was pulled into a snarl, baring sharp canines and you were absolutely sure they could slice through you in a second. The only article of clothing he wore were a pair of woven cropped pants. They were made in an intricate pattern. The anthropologist in you wanted to ask what the material was made of and how it was woven... until a half growl, half whimper brought you back to the reality of the situation.

Your eyes trailed back up to meet the Harpy’s honey-golden irises. The pain in them made your chest ache.

“H-help.... p-pl-please...”

You froze, shocked that this mythical creature was actually able to communicate with you. Most elves you came in contact didn’t speak English. How could a Harpy, an even rarer species, speak it?

You didn’t have time right now. Questions could wait until later. You quickly swung your bag off your shoulder and pulled out your wire cutters.

The closer you got to the creature, you could notice tremors through his body. Especially at the base of his large wings. His right one was bound in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

You held the wire cutters out in front of you and made eye contact with him.

“These will cut the wires. Okay? This will help.”

You made sure to use the word “help” since he seemed to understand that.

You received a curt nod, his golden, feathery hair flopping into his eyes a bit more.

After snapping ten of the vicious wires loose, he was able to remove himself from the rest. You noticed his hands had long, black nails that were reminiscent of talons. You looked curiously at his feet to see if he had talons. You always heard that Harpy’s had long, nasty talons for feet that they’d gut their prey with. You were slightly (pleasantly) surprised to see perfectly normal feet wearing plain, deerskin moccasins.

You heard a deep, rumbling chuckle and looked up to see him laughing at you while rubbing at his sore biceps.

“You expected horrible talons that I’d use to gut you with, no?” His eyes widened and he exposed his sharp canines when he said “gut you”. Something stirred in the pit of your stomach and you stiffened with surprise.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry! I’ve just... I’ve never met a Harpy, much less a MALE Harpy and you know, we hear so many rumors. I’m just fascinated by your species and culture and-“ you were silenced when he clasped one of his large hands over your mouth. He looked around, obviously sensing something you couldn’t.

He pulled you into a bear hug. You barely had time to register what was happening when the Harpy growled “Hold” into your ear.

With one thrust of his powerful, crimson wings, you were above the tree line. That’s when you heard a gunshot. The Harpy shot forward with incredible speed and didn’t slow down his speed until you were over the next mountain. When you were well away from the danger of the poachers, his wings flapped a little lazier and you were gliding along the air currents at a more relaxing speed.

After the initial shock wore off, you became more aware of your surroundings. You clung to the male like a koala hanging onto a tree. Your arms wrapped around his back tightly and legs around his waist, linking your ankles so you wouldn’t fall.

You immediately blushed as you noticed how hot the flesh of his arms were around you. One arm was positioned under you grabbing your outer right thigh. The other arm gripped your upper back, his strong fingers digging into your ribs right under your breast. You stiffened, embarrassed at the warmth growing between your legs. It’s not like you could really pull away.

You shift your hips nervously, hoping to make your position less awkward. The Harpy caught on to this subtle gesture and you felt his chest rumble against yours. Was he... laughing at you?!

“Excuse me... umm, Harpy... sir. Is something funny?” you ask, growing redder in the face by the second.

“Hawks” he purred in your ear. This did not help the growing heat your body was producing.

“What?”

“Name. Call me by Hawks. It is easier for a human to say than my birth name.” his voice was deep and he spoke with a musical lilt to his voice that was hypnotizing to you.

“Oh...” you trailed off, losing the train of thought you’d had.

There was a long pause before he continued speaking, as if he were pondering the right way to frame his thought.

“Amusing... it is.. amusing to me how easily a human female is....” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Aroused” the last word was purred directly into your ear.

A shudder went through you and just as you were about to unleash a flurry of curses on him, you felt a jolt as his feet landed on wooden planks.

Hawks leaned forward and let you down gently. You could see you were on a balcony in the top of a massive tree. Branches concealed any evidence that there was a structure built into the tree. You followed the Harpy (or “Hawks” as you now knew him) into a small cabin like structure. Inside was one open room set up like a studio loft. You were amazed at how human everything felt. One wall was lined with bookshelves (guess that’s how he can speak English). There was a small kitchen area and on the opposite wall, a neatly made bed. You didn’t know what to expect a Harpy’s home to look like, but it wasn’t this.

You had so many questions to ask, but didn’t know where to start.

Any questions you had fell silent as the angelic Hawks turned to face you. Two slow steps forward and he was inches away from your face. You froze as his inquisitive eyes trailed your face. From your hairline down to your collarbone. He looked very serious; like he was studying a text book.

Hawks held up one of his hands and gently ran the tip of his index finger down the bridge of your nose. His soft touch ghosted over your lips causing you to involuntarily part them slightly. This caught his attention and his head cocked slightly to the right. He leaned in and you thought he would kiss you, but his face found the crook of your neck and he buried his nose into your warm flesh. You felt him breathe your scent in and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“You do not stink, human.” Hawks spoke into your skin.

“Umm. Thank you?” You questioned, not knowing if you should be offended or not.

“As children... we learn that humans are vile and evil. But you...” hawks trailed off, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "You are my savior”

Warmth spread through your chest and without thinking, you tangled your hands into his golden mop of hair and massaged his scalp. You felt his hands gently touch your hips and his beautiful wings encircle you both.

“Most of us are vile and evil, Hawks,” you whisper into his hair, breathing in his woodsy scent. “But some of us try to do better.”

As you continued to massage his scalp, you could feel a humming against your neck and a slight vibration running through his chest. Was he... purring?

Now was your turn to giggle. His face met yours with an embarrassed expression this time. He pulled away and his wings drooped slightly.

You cupped his face in your hands and touched his forehead to yours to ease his discomfort.

“That was a beautiful sound...” you whisper against his lips.

His liquid gold eyes met yours and you froze wondering what would come next.

Slowly, Hawks nuzzled his cheek against yours in a tender gesture. The purring noise quietly started back up and you returned his soft nuzzling gesture.

The earthy, warm smell of his skin was hypnotic. You sighed, wondering what his lips would taste like under your tongue. As your thoughts started spiraling further into your fantasies, Hawks froze.

“Taste...” he whispered, “May I taste you, human?”

Your eyes met again.

“Yes...” you whispered, mere centimeters from his face.

Hawks planted his lips onto your collarbone. After a soft kiss, you felt a long, languid lick trail all the way up to your shoulder. You bit your lip to stifle a moan.

Hawks was obviously not concerned with you hearing his reactions, because a low growl/moan escaped his lips as contact broke and he licked up your neck just as slowly.

The second lick made you shudder and your voice escaped before you could bite it back.

The purring sound got louder and he nuzzled your ear with his nose. The grip he held on your hips tightened and he pulled you in to meet his body. You gasped as you felt the bulge rubbing against your thigh.

“CHRIST he’s huge...”

“Hawks...” you choked out his name in a whisper.

He met your gaze. He was smiling sweetly and his eyes were wide with excitement. You paused and looked from his bookshelf to his face. Then, your eyes traveled around his walls. They were littered with paintings of humans (mostly women) and a lightbulb clicked on.

You grinned slyly and he looked confused.

“You have a human fetish....” you growled seductively.

His eyes widened and his cheeks turned red. His embarrassment only turned you on more. Realizing you had an advantage over the god-like being gave you an abundance of confidence.

“Please sit,” you gesture towards his bed. Slightly confused, he follows your direction.

You walk over and stand in front of him. You hold his hands and look into his eyes.

“First thing’s first. My name is Y/N. You should probably know my name before we begin.” He returns your soft smile.

“Y/N.... I like it.” Hawks says softly.

You melt hearing your name on his lips. Still holding his hands, you place them at the hem of your shirt.

You tremble slightly, in complete disbelief. Seducing a rare, mythical being wasn’t even close to on your mind when you awoke this morning.

“You can undress me if you’d like” your voice cracks and he senses the nervousness in your voice.

Hawks grabs you around the waist and gives you a reassuring hug, burying his face in your stomach.

He pulls away and stands to face you. You raise your arms to make it easier for him to remove your shirt. First your shirt, then bra, then pants are removed. You’re standing face to face with Hawks in nothing but your panties.

He sits back on the bed studying you then kneels in front of you on the floor. Your heart does a somersault in your chest as he grabs your ass.

Hawks plunges his face between your thighs and breathes in deeply. You shudder and moan as you feel his sharp nails dig in to your flesh.

He looks up at you, pupils so dilated you barely see the gold irises.

“I will try to be gentle... human” he pauses and smiles showing canines “Y/N”

Hearing him growl your name causes your knees to weaken and Hawks is quick to hold you up in his firm grasp.

With speed and precision, he takes your panties in his mouth and rips them off, tossing them to the side. Before you register what happened, you’re tossed onto the bed and have you legs draped over Hawk’s broad shoulders.

The Harpy’s wings fly open blocking almost all the light in the small room then slowly descend to tuck behind his back. You watch, hypnotized by the beauty of them. He notices and sports a prideful smile.

“Maybe this is part of their mating ritual? Remember to ask him later...”

Your inquisitive thoughts were ripped from your mind as you felt Hawks’ tongue enter your sopping wet hole. Your hips bucked into his face as a guttural moan escaped your throat.

He begins lapping at you gently, drinking you in. Then he pulls away meeting your gaze.

He takes a finger and experimentally rubs your swollen clit. You throw your head back and nearly scream out with pleasure.

“This... is a human female’s pleasure point. Yes?” He smiles, knowing the answer by your reaction.

“Shit, FUCK, yes... ahh, yes it is. But it’s very sensitive and has to be handled gently” you try to talk while he’s still rubbing small circles around your clit.

“Mmmm...” he hums removing his finger. You feel his arms wrap around your thighs then his soft lips wrapping around the sensitive nub.

Your body rolls upward to meet his mouth. This causes Hawks to resume the involuntary purring from earlier. Feeling the vibrations from it nearly sends you over the edge. His speed gradually increases as you reach your climax.

“Hawks!” You scream out his name as you come, tightening your thighs around his face.

He looks up at you, your slick glistening all over the lower half of his face. A wide grin showing sharp canines spreads across his face.

“That was.. orgasm?” He asked, massaging your thighs.

“Yes. Oh fuck yes it was...” you pant.

Hawks licks his lips proudly then pounces on top of you enveloping you in a strong embrace. You bury your hands in his hair and giggle as he peppers your neck with kisses.

You gently grind your thigh into his his crotch eliciting an animalistic growl.

“When a human female orgasms,” you purr into his ear, “it means her body is ready to take the male,” another slow grind into his bulge, “inside her...”

This sent Hawks completely over the edge. His pants were off with lightning speed and you felt the head of his swollen member at your entrance. His wings flex out again in another impressive display. As he slowly enters you, his wings draped over your bodies forming a cocoon of crimson feathers.

You writhe and moan as he plunges into you, inch by delicious inch. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him into you. This awakens something in Hawks. He growls and plunges into you.

As he ruts into you mercilessly, you feel sharp canines begin to bite into your shoulder. The mixture of pleasure and pain causes you to cry out.

“OH FUCK, Hawks... yes!” You scream, clawing into his shoulders.

This causes him to bite hard enough to draw blood and his pace quickens. Without thinking, your hands trail inward to pet the downy feathers at the base of his wings. This set Hawks over the edge.

Throwing his head back, he growls and you notice a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. You take it as a good sign and begin massaging the base of his wings. A shudder runs through his body and his eyes roll back into his head.

Feathers trembling, Hawks cries out as he releases inside of you. Your hips roll into his as you ride the wave of your second orgasm. Your walls clamping around his cock causes him to whimper and sink into your chest.

Once you both even out your breath, you wrap your arms tenderly around his waist and massage his muscles.

“So...” you pant looking into Hawk’s golden gaze, “ your wings?”

He turns red and grins sheepishly.

“A Harpy’s pleasure point.” he whispers, gently touching his lips to yours. You realize this it the first time you actually kissed him and close your eyes relishing his velvety, plump lips.

“Mmm...” he hums before breaking the kiss, “Y/N... you are the most...” he stops to run his tongue along your lower lip, “delicious creature...”

Your smile widens as you kiss him again. This time, your mouths part and tongues touch gently.

“Hawks, you’re amazing,” you whisper, relishing the taste of him lingering on your lips.

Hawks nuzzles back into the crook of your neck and resumes his hypnotic purring.

“My... savior...” he breathes. Your hand strokes his golden locks as you feel him drift off to sleep.

A smile lingers on your lips as you drift into sleep under a canopy of crimson feathers

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades�� position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[ninacarstairss]

Golden

Just some self indulgent fluff for the herongraystairs week where Jem is well and never became a silent brother, Tessa never had to let go of half of her heart and Will has the two loves of his life by his side but still keeps on biting vampires

“You cannot possibly tell me you bit another vampire, Will!”

Will and Jem had just came back from a patrol night that had taken a turn for the worst. There seemed to be some peculiar demon activity in some parts of Soho that turned out to be a rogue clan of vampires wreaking havoc in taverns and clubs, attacking when people were most drunk or tired from a long night. Charlotte had sent out Will and Jem to try and neutralize the problem, together with Gideon and Gabriel. When they found themselves in the den of this clan, outnumbered and unprepared to fight them with proper weapons, they'd tested one of Henry's latest inventions to even their odds: Henry had manage to produce a device that radiated light as bright as sunlight but with different components. It might have worked well with demons, but it did very little to vampires, since it was artificial light. Even so, it was their only chance, so Will had lit the device and the searing light caused the vampires to back away for a moment. They had soon realized it couldn't hurt them, but a second's hesitation was all the Shadowhunters needed. Gabriel shot his arrows and covered for the others as they lunged for the rogues. The place went dark again in a few moments but they succeeded nonetheless.

As they came back to the institute to check on their injuries and update Charlotte on the night, Will had slipped away to look for Bridget and ask for a bucket of holy water to be delivered to him without fussing anyone else, but Jem had of course found him.

“I knew you'd do that, you nitwit!” Jem says as he comes up behind Will. “This is the fourth time in six years, I'm starting to think you enjoy drenching yourself in holy water.”

“I certainly do not,” Will replies, a playful spark in his tone. “It was necessary, that vampire was sneaking up on you!”

Jem heaves a sigh. “Thank you for your heroic gesture, my dearest Will” he mocks, “but I'm certain you're aware that you had weapons on your gear for a reason, aren't you?”

“I– well, I had to think fast.”

Jem throws his head back and laughs. “You surely weighed the options carefully,” he says. He throws an arm around Will and heads for the corridor where their rooms are. “Come on, we need to get you out of that gear and get you drunk on holy water,” a ritual, Jem thinks, they were probably too accustomed to by now.

Will smiles and follows him. “Find Tessa on your way up to the attic. And ask for books. I'm going to need a distraction.”

“Are you implying,” Jem frowns, “that Tessa and I aren't a fitting enough company?”

Will grins a plants a kiss on Jem's mouth. “I think you know the answer to that question quite well.” He flashs a dazzling smirk at Jem before he makes for his room to change out of the gear.

 – – – – – – –

“So, did this one taste particularly good?” asks Tessa as soon as she comes into the attic, a tray of pastries balanced on her hands for the long night ahead of them. Both Jem and Will laugh.

“Yes, my darling, quite salty and bloody. There was something missing, though”

“Let me guess, your senses?”

“Why, has he ever had any? Did I miss that?” asks Jem.

“Ah” Will heaves a dramatic sigh. “Betrayed by the ones I love the most. You should be thankful.”

“And you should be drinking buckets of holy water instead of bathing yourself in it,” Tessa shoots back. “But thank you for saving our dearest Jem,” she says, her tone softening on the name. She leans in and gives him a featherlight kiss.

Tessa lays down next to Jem on the floor and lets her head rest on his legs. “What happened, then?” she asks, looking up at Jem's clear eyes.

“We ran into some ill-mannered vampires.”

“Meaning that they were quite happily calling us their dinner,” intervenes Will.

“Yes,” Jem concedes. “It was a rogue clan. They must have been newly turned because no other clan had ever heard of them. However, we tried using Henry's new invention to gain some time.”

“Did it work?”

“Better than his last invention,” says Will. “This one didn't almost deafened us all.”

“It was actually very helpful,” confesses Jem. “It gave us time to even the numbers. Then it stopped working, everything went dark again and, as we were fighting, Will apparently bit yet another vampire.”

“You know, Will, you are becoming quite predictable” Tessa says, chuckling.

“Oh! How– ” cries Will.

“Yes,” Jem cuts him off, “my love, you should try some new moves sometimes–”

A splash of water comes at them. Jem and Tessa hear Will laugh as they shake droplets of water from their faces and hair. Jem's half-drenched clothes cling to his body and Tessa's dress feels twice as heavy soaked in holy water. Their gazes meet and a laugh escapes them as they watch Will grab a soaked pastry from the tray with a rather satisfied look on his face.

There is still a dramatic frown on Will's face when he turns back to look at them and Tessa and Jem exchange a brief glance, their eyes gleaming, smiling at what they both are thinking.

Jem's grin widens even more when his eyes return on the dark haired boy. “Have I ever told you how cute you look when you're angry?”

That earns Jem another bucketful of water but this time he dodges most of it, as he lets out a bark of laughter. The shadow of the scowl on Will’s face vanishes with a chuckle and Jem notices his gaze soften as it lays on him and Tessa and the smiles on their faces.

Time seems to stretch out for a moment as their gazes intertwine and lock. An always inexplicable quietness settles in the air between them as they take in the sight of each other in the soft gleam of sunrise. Jem catches Tessa's grey eyes washed in the golden light and Will's tousled wet hair sticking to his forehead. Driven by a desire he cannot silence, he raises a hand and cups the nape of Will's neck, running his lean fingers through the silky curls, and Will revels in the touch. Jem's other hand seeks Tessa's and she closes the distance between them to kiss him. In the familiarity of the moment Jem thinks of hundred others like this, when the warmth in his chest rises to a steady flame, a sure certainty often bigger than himself, a warm embrace in which he would gladly lose himself over and over again.

And he does; savouring the love gleaming in Will's impossibly blue eyes and Tessa's soft lips, welcoming this marvelous feeling he never thought he'd have the chance to experience.

They sit still for an infinite amount of time, the golden light pooling in the room, the stinging smell of holy water still dampening the air around them.

After a while, Will smiles and grabs another one of the pastries, a spark crossing his eyes. “So,” he asks, a mischievous undertone again in his voice, “did you bring me any real entertainment?”

His eyes meet Tessa's as she takes out a book from behind her back. The cover, Jem knows without having to see it, reads A Tale of Two Cities. He rolls his eyes as Will smiles. “Ah, you know me well, my beautiful Tess,” he says as he reaches his hand to the tray to grab some more food. “You know,” he adds, taking a bite, “holy water tastes much better with these things.”

Jem grins as Tessa opens the book and starts reading aloud. Will's eyes lay on Jem for a moment and he looses himself in that immensely deep blue and the gentle expression in it.

In the warm light of sunrise Jem finds himself thinking that if their wretched pasts, if the pain they'd endured and the people they'd lost were what it needed for the three them to be together on the floor of an attic, drenched with holy water and surrounded by pastries and a good book, it was all worth it.

Tag list: @cordaisya

(let me know if you want to be added!)

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[vapid-slut]

A Dove Reborn; Ch.1

Warning[s]: Character death, Mentions of violence, murder, demonic possession [kinda, eh yea]

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Reader, a catholic schoolgirl, is brought in as a sacrifice. It isn’t until she’s payed a visit in hell that she’s given a second chance at life and vengeance

A/N: This is my first michael fic so enjoy my shitty excuse for writing I’ve been think about writing this for awhile so I really you like it. Whoever you may be [this blog is a ghost town]. Also there may be some typos because it’s late and a bitch is lazy. xoxo, go piss girl

Darkness.

That's all you saw as your limp body dragged across what felt like wood. You cried out, hoping someone would have the heart to help you. Instead, they laughed at your naiveness. Before you could think any longer, a voice interrupted your thoughts. "This is y/n she has devoted her entire life to being a good little christian. Pathetic." The woman spoke with hatred in her voice as you heard others make noises of disapproval and disdain. Your breath was shaking, you knew there was little hope for you, they didn't care about you or your life, and why should they? After all, you were just a shy little girl whose own family sent her away to a convent to get rid of her.

The skin on your body crawled as you felt the burning stares of everyone gawking at your practically naked form. The woman continued to go on about how silly you were for choosing to believe in a god who couldn't even protect you now, her voice overlapping with your screams and pleas. "Well, let's not waste any more time. The honor of tonight's sacrifice shall go to one of our newest members, Jim." If you were uncertain of your fate before, this solidified it. Tonight was the night you were doing to die.

You pleaded for your life though it was ineffective, your body tensed as you felt a hand across your face remove a few stray hairs. Before you knew it, the blade held along your neck glided with ease, your eyes began to tear as you took what would be your last few breaths. There, on the floor, your once pure body laid lifeless, upper half drenched in your blood.

Eventually, the group of heinous worshippers dispersed, some going off to eat, others making their way home. All of them seemingly unbothered by the presence of your corpse. Having your body on display for everyone to see was truly humiliating. You were to be gawked at, mocked, and then forgotten. The story of your life, no one had ever taken you seriously. Your mother hated you the moment she birthed you. Your father never stayed long enough for you to remember him. With all the time you had spent laying there, your body began releasing a foul odor, making it clear that you had to go.

The blue-eyed boy towered over your figure, his head turning slightly to face the much shorter woman with hair like that of a raven. "What would you like me to do with her, Michael?" The woman named Ms.Mead asked with a calmness to her voice, almost as if she did this often. Michael sighed, letting his shoulders fall slightly. "It's such a shame she would've made a great pet." He paused, taking a breath. "Bury her or throw her in the river for all I care, whichever is easiest." He said sternly as the woman nodded, the blonde turned on his heels to exit the once full room. 

-----

You woke up from felt like an eternal sleep. Rubbing your eyes to look around the room, it all felt familiar. The soft lilac walls and crisply made bed, this was your home. Albeit one you hadn't seen in a long time. It had been almost seven years since your mother dropped you off at a convent. You observed the room with confusion, wondering why you were here.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing your strung-out mother. Your head tilted in confusion. "M-mom?" You reached to touch her, but out of nowhere, she raised the back of her hand to strike you across the face. You brought your hand to your cheek, eyes welling up with tears until suddenly she froze. 

Everything was happening so suddenly that you cowered in fear as another woman entered the room, dressed in white, she flashed you a smile. The girl reached to hold your hand, but you immediately flinched. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." She said, her voice soft and calming. You rubbed the tears away from your eyes and took hold of her warm hand. "Who are you. W-where am I?" The girl helped you to your feet. "My name is Mallory, right now you're in hell. But I'm here to take you back t-" Before she could finish, a dark figure walked in. "Ah, ah, ah. You don't get to break satans rules, my love."  The man appeared with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.

"Asclepius, this isn't any of your concern," Mallory said, letting go of my hand as she inched closer to the man. "It is actually, I too have been tasked with bringing Y/N back to the mortal realm." You watched as the two bickered as if you weren't in their presence, tired of sitting around like a church mouse, you decided to speak up. "Okay, what the fuck are you talking about?!" The two turned to look at you, almost shocked that you had interrupted them. Asclepius sighed before stepping closer to you. "This might seem hard for you to comprehend, but you're dead. Your purity made you a viable sacrifice for satan." He paused for a moment, reading the confusion on your face. "This place is hell."

You scoffed, finding his comment ridiculous. That was until you remembered the darkness, the voice of that wretched woman, and the coldness of the knife. "Holy shit." You said, your head falling as you realize your predicament. "So, what do you two want from me?" Mallory turned on her heels. "Well, I was sent to retrieve your soul and bring it back to your mortal body until he showed up." Asclepius rolled his eyes at the brunette, annoyed by her response. "My boss, satan, has been displeased with his son's work. He thinks you'd be a fine companion, someone to give him a push to bring about the end times."

All of this sounded insane. It was simply too much to process. Mallory could sense the fear coming off of you. "Good thing is that won't happen, so long as I have a say in it." She reached to hold your face as a form of comfort. But before you could react,  her body fell limp as the red-haired man retrieved his arm from her back, her heart in his hand as you shrieked in terror. "Shhh Y/N, there is no need to fear me, soon you'll be back to normal soon." His voice overlapped with the hissing of snakes as they slithered towards you.

There was no place to run, so instead you back into one of the four corners of the room, even then, you knew it was useless. Pain pierced through your skin as the vipers sank their teeth into your skin, venom mixing with your blood. You tried to scream, but nothing left your throat, your mind slowly fading in and out of consciousness. The man gave you a half-hearted smile. "Send Michael my regards." And with that, your world faded to black once again.

-----

The skin on your body began to prune, given the countless days you had spent floating in the river. Suddenly your heart began to beat as blood rushed through your veins, your eyes opened, the water starting to irritate them. You mustered up what little strength you had left and made your way to the surface, gasping for air.

Swimming was never your strong suit, but you noticed that there was land nearby, so used your bit of energy to make sure you got there. Once you reached the dry land, your body fell, your back making contact with the soil. You wanted nothing more than to sleep. But something caught your attention, a scent. One you weren't all that accustomed to, you felt something within, almost as if your body was fighting itself.

Your body acted against you as you stood, drawing closer to the smell. As you crept, the voices become much more vivid. One, in particular, was much too familiar. "This sacrifice is much more special than anyone we've done before." You thought for a moment, and your mind brought you back to the night you lost your life, your cries and pleas ignored just like the unlucky girl they had chosen tonight. 

You yearned to do something, but you were no match for them. That was until you watched as your skin went pale, bits of it turned to scales. Part of you was horrified, but part of you relished in this new power. Before you made a move, you heard a much deeper voice speak. "I sense something, someone, a  powerful presence." Suddenly your body was completely taken over. Your once [y/e/c] eyes had now turned to a crimson red. Without thought, you suddenly appeared behind one of the cloaked figures, something you weren't aware you could do till now.

All the rage and bloodlust inside of you reached a boil. As your arm plunged into the woman's chest, you retrieved your hand to find her heart in it, and with no hesitation, you took a bite. The look of shock on everyone's face was pure bliss. You stood, wearing nothing but the underwear you had on the night of your death, covered in blood. Many of the cult members attempted to stop you, but it proved useless as you swiftly discarded them.

The few worshippers that remained had fled, hoping to keep their lives. All that was left were the corpses and Michael, along with Ms. Mead. The blonde boy gave a look of astonishment. Before anyone could break the silence, your skin reverted back to its previous form, the red in your eyes fading as your body fell to the ground. Michael approached you, kneeling to be closer to your face, cupping your chin, now drenched in blood. 

"Magnificent, my father must have sent you." His face formed a wicked smile. You were far too weak to respond and watched as he removed his cloak and placed it over your cold body. With that, he scooped you into his arms, continuing to burn into you with his gaze.

His voice was smooth and mellow as he whispered into your ear. "Let's get you home." You shook your head in disapproval and tried to push yourself off of him, but there was no point. It was clear who had the upper hand. Slowly your consciousness began to fade once again. It was clear how exhausted you were, and eventually, you drifted into a slumber. Your fate left in the hands of a man who watched you die.

----

okay wow can’t believe i actually finished a fic for the first time, this feels great! I hope you enjoyed, let me know if you wanna be tag okay toodles!