#god almighty i spent so long on this.

[mekatrio]

feeling incredibly like sisyphus whenever a drawing i work on doesnt turn out good U_U💢

[f10werfae]

Daddy’s babies

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry x shy!mom!reader

summary: Daddy!Henry takes his babies to Disneyland and engages in some soft kissy sex with his baby bun (Dilf!Henry) (softdom!Henry)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated/Disclaimer 18+

Lumberjack Masterlist, Henry Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“P-please daddy, we want to g-go, don’t we lovebugs?” Y/n cooed sitting on the floor of their living, her baby girl Iris nursing soundly on her breast, the soft suckling sounds and baby gurgles filling the room. Henry sitting behind her, his fingers playing with the loose straps of her vest, peeking over at the sight of his baby princess so close to her momma, his baby boy Beau sat on his boppy across from them; clearly milk drunk from his feeding.

Y/n had spent the past few days begging and begging her husband for a trip to Disneyworld, wanting nothing more than to take hundreds of pictures of her tiny tots in their costumes, buying them all sorts of souvenirs and of course the family costumes. Henry would be lying if he said his attention was fully on her words right now, all he could think of was how huge her breasts had grown these past few months from breastfeeding. God almighty it took him an arm and a leg to keep from squeezing them like a stress ball, even being caught by Y/n herself.

“Sugar butt, they won’t even remember goin’ there, Beau over there doesn’t even remember who I am half the time” Henry chuckled looking to meet his wife’s eyes as she huffed and scooted out of his hold, shuffling over to her baby boy who was near enough asleep after being burped. “F-fine then, you don’t care about us” She whimpered giving him those big doe eyes of hers, even turning around her baby Iris, who she had now given a pacifier to. Her cute little mouth bopping up and down as she suckled on the Disney themed dummy, her big eyes she got from her momma staring right at her daddy. Henry swore his heart clenched right when he saw his baby princess looking at him.

“Y’all n’ your damn eyes, fine”

“H-hen look at the baby c-cots they’re old west themed!” Y/n giggled holding baby Iris to her hip whilst Henry carried Beau on his, sliding in the suitcases with his free arm. “Is it everythin’ ya wanted sugar cube?” He hummed finally locking the hotel room, his arm coming around her waist to bring his daughter and wife closer to his warm broad chest.

“W-we love it, it��s so cute and reminds me of our house” Y/n smiled tilting her head up to press a small wet kiss onto her man’s lips, both babies also reaching for each other cutely, they were absolutely inseparable so thankfully the cots were right by each other. Seeing both of their eyes start to lid, their small voices cooing tiredly, it only seemed right that they put their tots down for the night after a long day of driving and gas stops.

“C’mon over ‘ere momma, ya need your sleep n’ so does daddy” Henry whispered tugging on his wife’s belt loop, pulling her against his chest as they looked over their beautiful miracle gems. “Missed you today ya know” Inhaling her soft fresh scent deeply, he slowly waddled them both towards their huge king size saloon themed bed. “Y-you were with me the w-whole day though” Y/n laughed as Henry softly set her on the sheets, already tugging off her denim flares and black polo crop top. His smile widening as he saw all the new stretch marks she had gained, evidence she had carried their family, their baby gems; a proof of their love.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, didn’t have your sweet pussy wrapped around my cock or anythin”

“A-and you still can’t, t-this is a family friendly zone” Y/n scolded shimmying herself up the bed only for her to be dragged down by Henry’s hand on her ankles, her puffy pussy coincidentally coming face to face with his eager lips. “We can worry about the family friendliness tomorrow, right now it’s me n’ my gorgeous wife. Think she misses my kissies no? As long as you’re quite n’ don’t wake up the monsters then it’s okay bun”

Slowly peppering small onto her second set of lips, his tongue coaxed through her folds to taste her sweet self; baby bun’s little gasps and stifled moans reverberating through their bodies. “M’already close H-hen, kissy t-too good” Y/n whined knowing how sensitive she was, both emotionally and physically after the journey of a pregnancy she had. “I know you are sweet pea, go on, give your man his treasure”

Within seconds her body was writhing in his hold, her hand over her mouth to make sure she wasn’t being too loud, Henry’s hands clamped around her waist as he slurped up all of her juices. “Y-your turn?” She breathed out sitting up on her elbows, “No baby bun, we can do that another time, time for you to get some sleep” He smiled crawling up on her to kiss her lips softly, with a twinge of tongue just to hear her hum in pleasure.

“You sure?”

“Hundred, now turn over n’ let me spoon my sugar cube”

Both of them now nude under the covers, Henry’s hands skimmed up over her sides and curves, moving up to cup her breasts strongly; hoping to teasingly coax some of her milk out but he knew she’d have been emptied out just from the twins on the road trip. “You did so good today momma, took care of our gems so well you know that? My precious baby bun such a good woman, my woman”

“I L-love you so much H-henry, you’re such a good daddy to t-the babies”

“I love you too Y/n, swear my life on it”

Throughout the night Henry slowly and gently humped his hardened cock against his sleepy wife, hearing her whine and groan until he finally released all over her bare ass, letting her shift back against him before finally drifting off for the rest of the night.

“a-aren’t you two just f-freaking adorable, m-my little chip a-and lumiere” With the two tots propped up on some pillows, in their chip and lumiere costumes from beauty and the beast, Y/n in her pretty yellow dress as Belle and Henry in a blue suit as the beast. The perfect fairytale family in Henry’s words.

“H-Henry get in beside them, now please” Picking up each 8 month old onto each knee, Henry smiled with his canine smile into the phone, both babies showing their gummy smiles in their tiny costumes like the absolute cuties they were. The perfect mix of Henry and his Y/n. “Ok now go put it on a timer n’ get in here sugar butt”

“mhm comin’” Setting up her phone against the table she ran over and perched herself behind Henry, her arms coming around his neck from behind, her red painted lips planted onto his cheek. “Should we get ‘em into the pram and get goin to fantasyland? Get you your well needed pictures n’ souvenirs” Nodding excitedly they strapped both twins into the two seater pram, their costumes thankfully suited to the hot summer weather, with Henry pushing the pram protectively as Y/n linked her arms with his.

“I-isn’t it just magical? Oh wait! We need to g-get them pictures w-with Mickey Hen” Redirecting the stroller to the queue for Mickey, the couple stood in line in each other’s arms, “you alright ma? You look absolutely gorgeous” Swaying their bodies side to side, Henry felt her giggle and laugh against him, twisting her head to the side to press a sweet kiss to his neck. “Y-you’re only sayin’ that cause i-im dressed like Belle”

“Nah no way, I prefer you naked than in a dress and ya know that baby bun” Chuckling they finally moved to the picture spot, with Iris in Y/n’s arms and Beau in Henry’s, each twin cooing happily with their sun hats on with the white sunscreen making their face look painted.

“Baby bun, I- I have a proposition, you can say no if you want but”

“b-but what?” Y/n asked tilting her bead to the side like a happy little puppy, taking off her costume after the long day, Iris and Beau already tucked into their sleep snuggies and in their respective wooden bassinets.

“This is out of the blue, but my uh my mother’s here, she’s seen somethin’ about us bein’ here and she wants to meet Iris and Beau. Well- actually take them off our hands for a few hours to give us some time”

“W-what like now? I-i’ve only met her a few times a-and that was before I was pregnant”

“I know that’s why I wanted to ask you first, we’re a team baby bun, you say no then thats fine, you tell me what you want sugar” Nuzzling his head against hers he felt her exhale before raising her head, that same soft kind look in her eyes.

“I grew up a-always loving my grandparents, I-i’d hate to rob I-Iris and Beau of that. Your m-mother’s lovely, I-I just wish we saw her more often so she k-knew them more” Y/n explained nodding her head with each word, showing that she completely trusted Henry’s mother, she knew how attentive she was with her other grandchildren and she didn’t doubt her for a second with Iris and Beau. Although this would also mean this would be the first time she would be away from her babies for more than an hour, already feeling the dreaded mother’s guilt.

With it already being 5PM and time for dinner a rhythmic knock sounded throughout the room, the newly awoken babies’ eyes curiously looking around the room, their hands wandering in the air frantically. “It’s her sugar, you ready for me to open the door?” Nodding Y/n stood up, wiping her sweaty palms onto her skirt, watching on as Henry’s mother gleefully walked into the room. A pair of purple mickey ears on her head as she instantly reached for Y/n, bringing her in for a hug and an affectionate kiss to the cheek.

“My beautiful daughter in law, you’ve only gotten more beautiful, how I wonder how my son met got you” Henry scoffed muttering a ‘thanks mom’ watching his mother then turn her attention to the two cuties surrounded by pillows on the bed, the both of them looking at her happily almost as if they could feel the love radiating off their grandmother.

“Oh my word, is this my little ittle Iris and Beau, my two precious grandbabies, they are the carbon copy of you Y/n, thank God nothin' like Henry. With that scowl always on his face" Marianne whispered tickling their little stomachs, quickly taking out the mini mickey ears she had gotten just for them, a pink and blue sequinned set.

“Aww t-thank you, t-though I’m thankful they g-got the cleft chin from H-henry” Y/n laughed seeing Henry pick up Beau and Iris, letting her have her fair share of snuggles of each baby Cavill, the newest additions so far to the family. “Ma are ya sure you’re able to handle these two little monsters, they can be quite a handful but we’ve already packed everythin’ ya need in this baby bag” Buckling them into their stroller, Henry tucked the baby bag into the underneath of the stroller, his mother excitedly clapping and exclaiming how excited she was to spend the next few dinner hours with her grandchildren.

“Henry boy, av’ raised 5 boys I think I can handle two more angels, especially if they’re like Y/n”

“Well most of the time they are, curious little things really, but deprive ‘em of the booby milk and it gets scary” Henry laughed as Y/n scolded him, hugging his mother one last time as she brought the babies to her hotel room, deciding the easiest option was to order in room service since all they had was simple baby foods and milk.

Meanwhile Y/n had a new feeling in her stomach, a feeling of guilt for simply letting her “newborn” babies go despite them edging the ninth month. Her goosebumps wouldn’t let down, her legs shaking as Henry shuffled around the room to prepare a hot warm bath for them both, a well deserved one at that. “Baby bun ya ready to come in n’ join me?” Henry called in from the tall ceiling bathroom, waiting eagerly to watch his nude wife in all her glory.

“a-am coming now” She called seeing her husband engulfed in a multitude of purple and pink bath bubbled, his hand outstretched to help her into the tub. His hand tightly wrapped around her wrist as she sat between his legs, the water sloshing once she sat back against his snug wide chest. “What’s goin up in that pretty mind o’ yours beautiful, you look busied”

“D-Do you think i-it’s bad that I let t-the babies go w-with your mom so easily? I f-feel guilty for being away from them for so l-long”

“what? Is that what you’ve been tinkerin’ about? You’re the best wife n’ mother on the goddamn planet, the way you pour your love and affection into everythin’ you do, no one could ask anything more from you. You’re absolutely perfect baby bun, my little sugar cube is the best” Henry whispered against her ear, his voice growling towards the end as his lips attached to her neck and shoulders, kissing it passionately while her head rolled back onto his shoulder. His strong burly arms wrapped around her midsection, one of his hands sneaking up to circle her nipples with his finger, eyes staring as he watched them harden.

“Y-you really think so?” Bun replied looking up at him, her doubting thoughts quickly dissolving once he pecked her nose adorably, each of her breasts in one of his hands. “I know so, now sit your pretty little self back n’ let daddy take care of everythin’ alright momma?”

Settling herself back comfortably basking in his radiating body heat, his hands reaching under the water to touch her sensitive clit, his soft hoarse voice hushing her anytime she let out anything louder than a squeal.

“This ok baby?”

“mhm f-feels so freakin’ good” Henry’s lips stayed pressed to her temple as his palm rubbed on her clit, his ring and middle finger already teasing her hole with soft pillowy thrusts, just enough for her hips to thrust themselves upwards clearly wanting more. “I can feel you gettin’ close bunbun, ya wanna finish here or in the bedroom, or both?”

“B-both?”

That was all the confirmation Henry needed for his fingers to thrust his fingers in frantically, her sensitive nub consistently making contact with his palm to bring her to finish, his other free hand that was holding her up was now holding her jaw to turn her head towards him. His lips pursing onto hers, to suck her tongue into his mouth, tasting her cherry lipstick. “God I love kissin these lips of yours, so beautiful n’ sexy”

Not even letting her reply as her orgasm washed over her, his finger repeatedly fucking her entrance while his other hand now reached down to rub her clit like a feral beast, her body shaking crazily as she rode out her high. “Aww my pretty sugar butt, you always get me so fuckin’ hard whenever you look at me like that”

His thumb brushed under her lips, her eyes looking dazed and happy as she happily nuzzled back up straight to sit closer to him.

“This okay? Or do you want it tied up as well?” Turning off the hairdryer, Henry continued to softly brush through bun’s hair as best as possible, trying to alleviate her head of worries about their babies (even though his mother just sent them a picture of them suckling on their pre-made bottles)

“I-I want it in-in a braid” Nodding Henry got the strands of hair ready, looking at her lovingly through the mirror, her eyes closed peacefully with her wearing nothing but one of his white vests. Taking his time to get the braid perfect he tied it off with a little tie and carried her up to the top of the bed, pulling back the covers to help her get settled in before he slid in beside her.

This would be their first night without the babies’ interruption.

“You wanna jus’ go to bed sugar? or-“

“No. I-I want this” Confidently she reached down and started stroking his hardened cock which was already laying against her thighs, biting her lip she shuffled forward to hook one arm around his neck as he took some of his precum and used it to lube up her pussy, small gasps leaving her at the erotic act. None of them speaking any words but the amount of love and passion in their eyes was obvious, her tits popping out from the sides of his vest as it was clearly ten sizes too big.

“Just gonna take it slow with you sweetpea, make love with ya until my pretty sugar falls asleep”

With her arms now wrapped around his torso, her head directly above his heart, Henry slipped in his cock into her warm wet pussy, both of them gasping out at the amazing sensation. “So soft n’ warm” He whispered kissing her pouty lips passionately, their tongues meeting in a wet kiss as both their hips rolled against each other. Henry’s hand lifted up her thigh to place it over his waist, his fingers tracing over the stretch marks now littering her thighs and lower stomach, even her breasts. Henry couldn’t even put into words just how much it made her look like an absolute Goddess that gave him his two precious miracles.

“D-don’t touch ‘em”

“Why not bun? They’re proof of the amazing journey you took for our family, and they look so fuckin’ sexy” Henry rebutted shutting her up with a sharp thrust which sent her mewling back into his chest, her palms flat on his back as his slow rhythmic thrusts helped her reach her orgasm quicker, each throw of his hips hitting another angle of her G-spot.

“S-sleepy Henry”

“You take all the rest you need baby, take what you need my pretty girl” He whispered pecking her lips thrice more, his hips still softly rolling against hers even after they had finished, the wet sloshy sounds of their juices filling the room as Y/n found herself falling asleep with her husband’s cock inside of her.

———

PSA: Lumberjack!Henry is back!! Meet his lovely momma who raised this beast, although he definitely got his possessive attitude from his dad who we are yet to meet, and his brothers. Hope you guys enjoy this Disneyland snippet 🫶

library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist: @helenaellie @pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @marvelgurl @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @aerangi @alina02 @alexxavicry @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @thebaileybugle @thoughtsofreid @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @buckybarnessweetheart @sweetybuzz25 @k3ira13 @shecamedowninabubble @ridingthehotmessexpress @animez96 @angelic-dreams13 @squishyturtle @keenduckfury @mxnnana-blog @namjoons-t1ddied @frittelligliegia @realm-of-azrael @lina505 @marvelloki23 @livesinfantasyland @slut4henrycavill @luxeydior

See you guys at the next update, lots of love 🫶🫶

[filomiya]

PARTY CANDLES ! – prod. filomiya

characters – mualani , kinich , xilonen , citlali , mavuika ( takes place after the 5.3 aq !! )

THEM , when its your birthday ( bullet headcanons based on their birthday messages )

notes : ITS MY BIRTHDAY CHAT CAN YOU BELIEVE IT 6th january wowowowo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is very self indulgent if you cant tell but i might do a fontaine version of this later if i feel like it or continue with the other natlan characters or mayb. with vbs WHATEVER ill see!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! might be ooc plz correct me if theyre ooc .. . . . . . .. . . .. . . . . . . .

MUALANI

planned her surprise one week in advance.

but how could she not? shes your partner, afterall! and never expect the least from mualani, she will ALWAYS do the most!!

booked the best restaurant for you, making sure most of the dishes would be liked by both you and the guests. also threw in a few of your favourite desserts, but she kept insisting on making those herself along with the cake… where does she find the time!?

you had the party take place from noon to night, living it to the fullest, next to her ( and the other guests i GUESS. ) but the inevitable happened – exhaustion. on your part, atleast. mualani still had a surprise in store for you. and what is better than a reserved hot spring for the both of you after so much activity?

this was a much more relaxed way to celebrate the afterparty, but a little time between you two doesnt hurt anyone! she’d end the day with a kiss, and a content ‘happy birthday.’

KINICH

he had planned two surprises total. not more, not less.

after the usual small talk he’d ensue, kinich would remind ajaw of the conversation they had hours prior. thankfully, you were one of the humans the almighty dragon liked, so it didnt take long for him to give in.

turning into his actual dragon form ( and holding back some complaints ), you and your partner hopped onto his back for a sky stroll across the landscapes of natlan. it was filled with casual chatting, ajaw occasionally joining.

while you expected to be brought back to the place you were before, the dragon instead dropped you two off on a high, secluded cliff with the best view to the stadium. laid there was a picnic blanket, and you almost called kinich a sap.

truly, one of the best people you couldve spent your birthday with.

XILONEN

you thought youd get special treatment? well, you thought well.

usually, she’d get her friends actual useful gifts ( allegedly, in her eyes ) like a set of tools, or something for their hobbies, because in what situation could sappy presents be functional? if you prefer sentimental value over functional things, be her guest!

but you were her fully fledged partner. no WAY she could gift you JUST tools.

being the blacksmith of the children of the echoes, she has access to some of the best stones out there. you bet she’d search all about birthstones and use yours into making some of the most refined jewelry. i could see her also do a bouquet of handi-picked flowers on your preferred colours. paper wrapping included!!

all of that combined with a reservation to the restaurant youve been gushing about… if that isnt special treatment, then what is?

CITLALI

at her age, she wouldnt have thought she would find someone, let alone friends, or someone like you!

so she didnt bat an eye to gift giving, mostly. occasionally, for whenever it was one of her people’s birthday, she’d offer the usual gift card or blessings. but with you in the picture now, she doesnt know what to do!!

her first thought was to give you some volumes from her light novels collection, which she did proceed with, but she had to think of a plan B. no way she could turn to her grandson, for all he’d have to offer is his finest pick of vegetables…

and before she knew it, your birthday came. so all she had to offer were the novels. it was so underwhelming in her eyes… but thank god you reassured her than even only drinking with her was enough.

MAVUIKA

for her, small and thoughtful gifts are always the go-to.

something motivational, that you can look back to and reminisce about – but you didnt expect her to gift you a small notebook. correction, actually – a small album. it was filled with photos you took through your time together, and letters she poured her feelings into. 

it was obvious it took her sweet time to put it together, probably did it during her time off as an occupation. if you asked her about it, you wouldve found out your guess wasnt far off. instead, you thanked her in her own way – whether it be words, physical affection or acts of service (on your own birthday tho..??) 

another thing mavuika would offer is a delightful night stroll with her motorbike. cliche x2, i know, but not before serving some of the best cake she had baked for you! dont ask her where or how, or do, do whatever you want…. (xilonens house.)

just hold onto her if she decides to pick the speed up as a way to wake you from your daydreams.

filomiya : any acts of plagiarism of my works are strictly prohibited. credits to the divider creators.

[ang3lofdivinity]

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊𝖲𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝖨𝗇 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖾‧₊༉‧

Relationship(s) :: Jinx + Calypso (slightly yandere)!Fem!Reader (romantic - can be interpreted as platonic)

Genre :: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Format :: Oneshot

Warnings :: spoilers for season 2 of Arcane, trauma!!, death mentions, some swearing (Jinx), READER IS NOT CALYPSO - more so takes her place, Reader is a TEENY BIT Yandere, Suicide attempt (Jinx), mentions of previous suicide attempts (reader) Jinx still has some remaining feelings for Ekko, but eventually gives up, reader supposedly written to have long hair? But you can imagine the braiding flowers into it as shorter (length is not mentioned), heavily inspired by Jorge’s “Love In Paradise”

A/N :: I LOVE MY WIFE. Anyways, enjoy this crappy thing I spent too much of my life on. (W.C :: 6.1k words)

Ⅰ - Ⅱ - Ⅲ

This island was paradise—lush, vibrant, and timeless, never seeming to ever grow anything out of place - fruits never seemed to rot, and animals always seemed to thrive on the island (that being if they didn’t die first thing upon arriving).

Known as Ogygia in myths long forgotten, or as you ever so lovingly referred to it as “The Garden” this place was hidden far, far away from any human civilization: the closest island around was Demacia, but even then it was way too far out for anyone to reach this place without any sort of aircraft or boat.

The place was more than a home; it was your prison. You’ve been cursed to remain on the island for eternity, your punishment was twofold: you could never leave, nor could you ever avoid the loneliness that came with immortality. It’s always been your punishment ever since you were a young girl, being only 11.

Once, albeit a long time ago: you were free from the shackles of this hidden island, able to wander freely around the world. As a goddess, you had more power than you could dream of - almost everything at your fingertips: magic, power, anything you desired would become true in an instant. And with your father, being the almighty being that he is, you were safe.

Or so you thought.

A war began to play out, and you were in the middle of it. You had to pick a side, nevertheless if you wanted to or not, you had no choice in that regard.

Nevertheless, you picked your fathers side to fight within the war, to which was your fatal mistake (though neither side of the war was fair, you really just wanted to stay out of it in the first place).

You watched as they killed your father with relentless attacks, no clemency shown to your father, now a husk of a god. You once believed that with his immortality, no god would be able to kill him.

This proved you wrong, didn’t it?

As you wept by his side, the golden blood pooling around him and splattering onto your clothes, the gods had decided your fate amongst themselves without your knowledge until the last moment: leading you to where you are now.

On an island.

With no way to get off it.

Though centuries had passed without company, you never allowed despair to claim you completely. You tended to your gardens, took time in enjoying the scenery of the island (even if you have already walked around more than enough times to remember every little detail of the island), and watched the ocean’s endless ebb and flow.

Time slipped by like the grains of sand in your palm by the beach of the island.

.

The day had begun like any other. You had been weaving fresh blooms into your hair, the freshest and prettiest ones you could find. Though you truly never had anyone to appreciate your efforts you put into your appearance, you tried your absolute best to look more pretty than yesterday. The skies above Ogygia were usually serene as they were right now, painted in soft hues of blue and gold.

But then, all of the sudden: a loud noise began to spurr.

You glanced up for a moment, surveying around. And upon seeing nothing, you simply hummed and continued what you were doing previously.

..but then the disaster happened.

The serene sky, once so beautiful, had now been tainted with the roar of a dying.. aircraft?

Your heart leapt as you immediately stopped what you were doing; quickly pulling your hands away from your hair as you saw the machine plummet into the ocean just beyond the shoreline of your island, smoke billowing as it sank beneath the waves.

Your first instinct was disbelief; surely it was a mirage or a trick of your own longing for companionship! I mean, you have been alone here for so long now, of course you want someone to be around you and so you can have someone talk or talk with you.

But when the wreckage washed ashore—along with the battered body of its pilot—you knew it was real.

You hesitated, standing a safe distance from the unconscious woman. Her clothes were tattered, her bright blue hair matted with grime, and her weapons—strange devices you couldn’t comprehend—were scattered around her.

From what you could see..: the woman’s hair was stained with streaks of purple paint, though it was rather.. short. At least the back of it was, her bang - which was streaked with purple - was far longer.

Her face is marked by smeared face paint, with streaks of pink underneath her eyes, wearing a top of.. bandages with neon graffiti-like splashes of color. Her dark trousers are similarly streaked with colorful paint.

The woman has layered straps, belts, and mechanical embellishments, adding a steampunk flair. She dons mismatched gloves, one of which is fingerless while the other is metallic in appearance from what you can see. Her boots are high, combat-style with heavy laces and metal accents, covered in the same paint-splatter as the rest of her look.

The stranger looked dangerous. But what mattered most was figuring out if she was alive or not.

You knelt down beside her, your fingers trembling as you brushed some sand from the woman’s cheek. Slowly, your fingers slid down to her neck- looking around for a pulse.

You let out a relieved breath when you finally found it.

“You’re not a ghost,” you whispered, more to yourself than the unconscious pilot. (Given the fact that she couldn’t hear you in her resting state).

But the stranger was injured. Badly.

You didn’t waste another moment. You darted back to your palace, gathering medical supplies you hadn’t used in centuries but always kept ready.

Returning to the beach, you began cleaning and dressing the stranger’s wounds with practiced care. For someone who’s been on an island for longer than you can remember, you definitely are surprised with the way you managed to fix up the injured woman’s wounds (even if you were.. slightly embarrassed to help bandage and clean some of them up due to the placement of them).

Though.. she’ll hopefully forgive you!

I mean, you’re saving her life. So it’s worth the embarrassment.

When she finally stirred, her vision was blurred, and her body ached as though she’d been through a war. The first thing she noticed was the faint tickle of.. sand touching her cheek. A groan escaped her lips, and she tried to move, only to wince as pain shot through her bandaged side.

Upon hearing the sound, someone glanced over. A soft smile curved at their lips as they abandoned their weaving of wildflowers into a crown and made their way to the stranger’s side. They crouched beside her, tilting their head to the side a bit, obviously curious.

The woman’s head was pounding as she stared confusingly at the person before her. They lay down beside the injured woman, propping their head on one hand and studying her face with unguarded fascination.

She blinked at them, groggy and disoriented. Maybe this was all just some weird dream she was having.

…but the sand on her cheek felt too realistic.

Reaching a hand up, she poked herself.

And that’s when she finally registered that someone was lying right beside her, her instincts kicked in, and she jolted upright with a panicked gasp.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” They chirped, unfazed by the sudden movement. They sat up slowly, brushing stray sand off their clothes before reaching for more bandages.

“You’ve been resting for a while. It’s a good thing I found you when I did. You were in rough shape.”

The woman eyed them warily, one hand subconsciously reaching around behind her, trying to find her weapons or anything she could use as a weapon at the time.

But they weren’t very threatening. On the contrary, they were …

What's the right word?..

“I swore you were dead when you washed up on my isle,” They continued with a light laugh, deftly fixing the bandages she had disturbed.

“But lucky for you, I’m very good at taking care of people.”

She groaned again, both from the lingering pain and the unfamiliar sensation of someone fussing over her.

“And did you know you talk in your sleep?” They added casually as if they were simply discussing the weather, their tone teasing.

Her cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze.

“Great. Just great,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“Tell me, though—who’s Violet?”

She froze, her muscles tensing. It seems the name struck a nerve. She swallowed hard before muttering:

“She’s my sister.”

They hummed in response, finishing the bandages with a gentle pat. They didn’t press further, sensing the raw emotion behind the admission. Instead, they smiled and stood, offering the woman a hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up properly. You’ll feel better after a bath and some food,” they said brightly.

“Oh! I need to introduce myself to you! I completely forgot!! I’m (____)!”

You walked into the room, medical supplies in hand once more, your eyes immediately scanning the woman. The bluette sat stiffly on the edge of a chair, her towel now replaced with the clothes you had left for her—a slightly snug shirt that exposed her midriff and simple black shorts that fit her frame.

“Does it feel okay?” You asked, tilting your head as you set the supplies down on a nearby nightstand.

She tugged at the hem of the shirt, her lips pressing into a line as she figured out the correct wording for what she was going to say.

“It’s… fine,” she muttered, clearly unused to the softness of the fabric or the attention she was receiving. You’ve seen that look once before amongst the faces of others you’d taken care of before you were banished to this island.

You quietly nodded, brushing off the woman’s tone.

“Alright, then. Sit still for a moment please. Let’s take a closer look at those injuries.”

She grumbled something under her breath, but didn’t move as you knelt beside her. You carefully reached for her arm, inspecting a faint but deep gash near her elbow.

“You’ve got a bunch of wounds I didn’t notice before,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with concern. You reached for a cotton pad, soaking it in antiseptic.

“This might sting a bit.”

She didn’t even wince as the antiseptic touched her skin, but her muscles tensed due to it. Perhaps because she was unused to this kind of care for wounds such as these, she did use staples to close up her wounds in the past..

But you don’t know that!

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” she teased, masking her discomfort with sarcasm.

“Not particularly. But I can’t just let you sit around looking like you lost a fight with a thorn bush.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” She muttered, deeply sighing after her little comment.

You moved as quickly but gently as you could, cleaning the wound and wrapping it with a bandage.

You glanced up at the woman, your gaze softening when you saw the woman staring intently at the floor, her brows furrowed.

“Hey,” you said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you know. You’re hurt, and if nothing is done about these - they could get infected and become worse overall. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable: and if I am, tell me. I wish to help you, that’s all I want.”

She looked up, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something in response to your words, but she just stayed quiet instead, giving you a small nod in the end.

You stayed quiet yourself before you eventually leaned back to examine her other injuries.

“Now, I saw a cut on your stomach earlier. Are you okay with me looking at it?”

She hesitated, her hands instinctively resting over the hem of the shirt before sighing.

“Just get it over with,” she finally said, her voice quieter than before.

You gave her a reassuring smile and reached for another antiseptic pad. You gently lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing a long, jagged wound stretching from her side to just under her ribs. Your fingers worked deftly, cleaning the area with care.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said, your tone almost a whisper as the woman let out a dry laugh in response.

“You could say that again.”

You didn’t press. Instead, you finished wrapping the wound and leaned back to assess your work.

“There,” you said, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“All patched up! You’re good as new—well, almost.”

She smirked faintly, a way to show her gratitude.

“Thanks, doc.”

And you smiled, rising to your feet.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Then you should get some rest. No arguments.”

She didn’t argue, surprisingly enough to the both of you. You helped her to her feet, and as the two of you had began to leave, she spoke.

“You’re weird, y’know that?” She muttered, just audible enough so you could hear it.

And you laughed, leading the way from the loft to her new room.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jinx stood in the middle of the guest room, staring at the bed. Her eyes traced the pristine sheets, the neatly fluffed pillow, and the faint floral embroidery on the quilt. It was too… perfect. Too clean.

The kind of thing she didn’t trust.

Though her body ached from the day’s events, her mind buzzed with restlessness. She rubbed the back of her neck, fingers grazing one of the many bandages you had carefully applied. That woman had been way too nice. No one did things like that for free..

Jinx cautiously approached before she sat on the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. As comfortable as the room was, there was no rug and no other way for warmth besides the quilt resting upon the bed.

She stared at her reflection in the dark window, barely recognizing herself.

You know, without her usual paint smeared across her cheeks, she looked… wrong.

Exposed. Vulnerable.

She pulled at the hem of the shirt you had given her, fingers curling into the fabric. The soft material felt foreign against her skin, and she hated how it smelled faintly of flowers. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to strip it off. It wasn’t like she had many options anyhow.

With a huff she laid down, legs dangling off the bed as her arms lay above her, staring at the ceiling above.

After she’d faked her death, she began to think about what life back home had turned into. Has it become chaotic? Better? Peaceful? War-like once more?

And then the thoughts of the ones she’d left behind in that once so bloody land.

Violet.. perhaps she would be in absolute disarray, in a state of depression due to her death. Or, perhaps she would be enjoying her freedom of being away from the one she’d referred to as sister.

She scoots up within the bed, now resting her head upon one of the pillows as she laid on her side.

As for others, such as Ekko…

…

Ekko..

The name strikes something within her, eyes now slightly wild as she stared intently at the wall.

..she should try and sleep. She can’t let these constant reminders of her past continue haunting her anymore. She’s supposedly dead, after all. Nobody knows of her current situation, and she has no way to get back home.

So, Jinx attempted to close her eyes, trying to fall asleep and forget about this incident.

But her thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

Flashes of the crash played behind her eyelids—the fire, the smoke, the suffocating silence of the ocean swallowing her whole. Not only that, but the explosion before she had escaped—the soft grip she had on Vander as he scowled up at her, the feeling of her free-falling, setting off the bomb…

How Violet looked at her before she let go..

‘Always with you, sis..’

‘BECAUSE YOU’RE A JINX!’

‘She jinxes every job!’

‘JINX!’

She bolted upright, heart racing, breath shallow.

Her eyes darted around for a mere moment before realizing she was still in your guest room..

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, running a hand through her damp hair. She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t belong in places like this.

Sliding out of bed, she wandered over to the window nearby. The moonlight bathed the island in a silvery glow, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the night air.

..It was strangely soothing.

Her gaze drifted to the hallway. You had said you’d be “just down the hall,” as if that made everything better. She scoffed at the thought but still found herself lingering near the door anyway.

After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a pillow off the bed and sat down in the corner of the room, pressing her back against the wall. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was familiar.

Safe, even.

She clutched the pillow to her chest, her eyes darting around the room once more for any sign of danger. None came. The only sounds were the faint creak of the palace settling and the ever-present hum of the ocean.

She had once always stayed up, forgetting to rest and eat. She never was that healthy back when she worked under him, always tinkering with something - her projects always had her attention and care, more of it than she had for herself. So, she forgot to sleep, eat, and other essential things most of the time.

But now she feels oddly.. tired.

Perhaps it could be all of today’s events weighing down on her. Or perhaps it was just the fact she felt safe.

Though eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and her head tilted back against the wall.

Sleep came reluctantly, but it came.

The woman didn’t know it yet, but you, ever vigilant, had cracked her door open just enough to peek inside. Seeing Jinx asleep—even in such an odd position—brought a small smile to your lips.

“She’ll get there,” you whispered to yourself, quietly closing the door.

“In time.”

Over the following days, you took care of Jinx—as you later figured out her name was, feeding her from the fruits of your gardens, washing the grime from her skin, and stitching her tattered clothes with delicate precision.

Jinx, at first, was wary. She didn’t trust the kindness you gave her, especially due to the fact that she didn’t even know you (that was the way she was raised, you know). You could tell by the way she looked at you. But your genuine warmth was.. hard to resist, in her eyes. You were a goddess-turned-caretaker to the broken woman before you, a woman who was once an innocent girl called a ‘jinx’ .

You didn’t know that though..

But still, she had forced herself to remain silent. Though, she did stop treating you with such resistance and harshness, eventually just allowing you to do your thing.

Everything was going fine, surprisingly enough. The two of you had begun to bond.

..then those damned hallucinations started to come back for her.

“Jinx?” You called out, receiving no reply. You huffed in frustration: this was the last room she could possibly be in. You’d looked ALL around your palace with not a single bluette in sight. This had genuinely got you to begin worrying about the woman once more, the heavy rain pouring outside only making everything feel more tense.

You paced around in the parlor downstairs, thoughts racing as you tried to think of places who hadn’t checked or anywhere you could possibly find her outside of the palace.

That’s when it clicked.

The cliff.

There’s a cliff at the edge near the palace, giving a wonderful view of the landscape below. After all, the palace was perched at the top of the island..

…

Quickly, you grabbed any random coat of yours you could find to cover you (even if it did a poor job of protecting you from the rainfall), you swiftly opened up the back door of the palace, rushing outside without even bothering to close the door behind you as you ran.

You ran, ran, and ran. Never stopping for a moment as you began to feel tears falling down your cheeks, hair sticking to your face due to the constant rainfall. Of course you were gonna get soaked, but you didn’t care at this moment.

What mattered? Finding Jinx.

And as you finally arrived near the cliff, clutching onto the now wet coat which ensnared you, desperately trying to catch your breath: you finally noticed a silhouette of a figure standing at the edge of it.

“Jinx?..” you called out, tone firm but as gentle as you could possibly make it.

“Stop! No—no, it was a mistake! I didn’t mean to!” Jinx’s voice cracked as she yelled into the void, her arms flailing before clenching into fists.

“Shut up! Just shut up! I can’t think when you’re all SCREAMING at me!”

“Jinx!” Yelling out her name seemed to work in catching her attention as she snapped her head over to you.

You could still see the illumination of her red violet colored eyes within the dark and rainy night, noticing how they stare at you in pure shock.

“(____)?.. no- no, just get outta here. I’m in no mood!” She returned to gazing over the cliff, rain clouding your vision as you stepped cautiously closer to her.

It’s like.. she was afraid that you were going to hurt her.

So you did what you could to reassure her.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, if that’s what you're worried about..” you drawled out your words slowly, trying not to cause any more panic or worry for the already clearly distressed woman before you.

“STOP! I TOLD YOU LET ME THINK!!” Jinx screamed out to someone you couldn’t see, you supposed, arms flailing rapidly around as she balled up her fists, noticeably getting closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Please get away from the ledge!!” You cried out, trying to get closer to her without slipping.

“Why should I?!” Jinx whipped around again, her voice breaking as it rose.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through! You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed!” Her nails dug into her arms so hard you winced at the sight.

“I’ve lost everyone!” Jinx screamed, her voice raw and guttural.

“Every friend, every comrade—they left me! Lied to me! Betrayed me! Or worse, they died, and I couldn’t stop it!” She stumbled closer to the edge, her knees buckling as the storm battered her.

“And now I hear them, I see them- even though they’re not here!”

“It’s going to be fine, Jinx. Listen to me: just come back inside. I know your life’s been hard, but it would be so much worse if you had died.”

Everything within you made you feel like you couldn’t speak, but still tried your best to push through the lump in your throat that had formed over time during this predicament.

“Just please.. stay away from harm. I’m begging you.” You’re desperate at this point, trying to get her to come back to you as she slowly gets closer and closer to the edge of the ledge, seemingly muttering something to someone who you still cannot see. You slowly reached your trembling hands out, offering your hands for her to hold.

And you’re stuck calling out to her and her not even paying attention to you, you’re getting closer to her but everytime it’s like she gets further away from you.

Jinx’s shoulders shook as she let out a bitter laugh.

“You don’t get it. You shouldn’t care. I’m too far gone for that.”

“No, you’re not!” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through.

“I care about you! And I’m not the only one. You matter, Jinx. You’re worth so much more than you believe. Please—just step back. Come inside. Let me help you.”

“I’ve tried this before, and it never worked! It’s not going to make your life better, it’s not going to make anything better! It’s not the answer. And sure, you’ve probably heard that a thousand times before, but let me tell you this: not everyone sees you the way you see yourself, and that means you mean so much more than what you believe you’re worth.” Your hands grip at your scalp, nails digging into your skull as you feel the salty tears, restrained for so many years begin to fall and mix with the pure rain pour falling relentlessly.

She stared silently at you as you’d begun to break down before her.

She stood perfectly still, the tension in her frame palpable. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her expression unreadable as she gazed over at you through.

“I care about you, and others you might not even expect to care about you! We’re proud of you! I’m proud of you!” You now hug yourself as you see her stare at you for a moment longer.

But then, you see her turn back around to face the ocean.

..wait.

What.. What is she doing?..

“..Jinx?” You nervously called out, trying to see if she would respond to what she was doing.

“I hope someone else can be your friend. Someone better than me.”

“Jinx, no!” You screamed as the bluette suddenly lunged forward.

Just what you had been dreading this entire time.

Without thinking, you surged after her, your legs propelling you forward with every ounce of strength you had. Just as her feet left the ground, your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back with all your might.

You both collapsed onto the wet ground as you clutched Jinx tightly, closer to you. Sobs wracked your body, lowering your face so she could not see the pathetic display of emotion.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you choked out, your voice muffled against her damp hair.

“Don’t you dare leave me.”

“Please..”

She didn’t fight you.

For once, the bluette was silent, her trembling form yielding to your desperate embrace as the rain continued to pour around you both.

. . .

The storm had quieted by morning, though the rain persisted, a steady rhythm against the palace’s windows. Inside, the air was warm, Surprisingly enough.

You sat in the main hall near the fireplace, your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, though you hadn’t taken a single sip.

Your.. attention was occupied by something else this morning. Last night, to be more precise.

But then, you heard the faint creak of a door behind you, followed by light, hesitant footsteps. Turning your head, you saw Jinx standing at the entrance of the room. The bluette looked a little better than the night before—her hair was damp from an earlier shower, and she wore the same borrowed clothes you had given her earlier. Still, her eyes were puffy and rimmed with dark circles, her posture stiff.

“Morning,” Jinx mumbled, avoiding your gaze as she shuffled closer.

“Morning,” you replied softly, setting your cup down and straightening in your seat. Your eyes searched Jinx’s face, looking for any sign of how she might be feeling.

“How… are you feeling?”

Jinx shrugged, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the back of a chair. She stayed quiet for a long moment before speaking up.

“I’m alive. Guess that’s a start.” Her voice was guarded, though there was a flicker of something vulnerable beneath the surface.

You let out a sigh, relieved to see her here, even if she was still clearly shaken.

“That’s more than a start. That’s everything,” you spoke gently, motioning to the chair across from you.

“Sit with me?”

Jinx hesitated for a moment, then walked over and slumped into the seat. She didn’t say anything at first, her eyes darting to the fire, then to her hands, which fidgeted with the hem of her shirt once more. It’s become a habit, you suppose.

You leaned forward, resting your forearms on your knees as you spoke.

“I’m glad you’re here,” your voice cracked ever so slightly, trying to keep your composure.

“And I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard yesterday. I was just… scared.”

Jinx’s fingers froze for a moment before resuming their restless movement.

“You didn’t have to come after me,” she muttered, her voice low.

“I don’t get why you even care. I’m just a mess.”

“You’re not just anything,” you replied firmly, causing Jinx to glance up, albeit briefly.

“You’re allowed to feel broken. But that doesn’t mean you’re not worth caring about.”

Jinx scoffed, though it lacked her usual bite.

“You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

You smiled faintly, letting out a small giggle at her words.

“Maybe. But I’d rather be too nice than leave someone I care about to suffer alone.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the patter of rain against the windows. Jinx shifted in her seat, her defenses cracking just a little.

“I don’t know what to do with all this,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The noise, the memories… It’s like I can’t escape them.”

You nodded, now finally understanding what she was doing last night; trying to be rid of those thoughts and people that haunted her regardless of how horrible or how good she was doing in life.

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once. Healing takes time, and it’s not something you have to do on your own.” You reached across the small table between the two of you, your hand resting palm-up.

“Let me help. Even if it’s just for now.”

Jinx stared at your hand for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and placed her fingers lightly over yours, her touch tentative.

“I don’t know if I can be fixed,” she murmured.

“You don’t need to be fixed,” you replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You just need someone who won’t give up on you. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

Jinx didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away or try to ignore you either. For now, that was enough.

You never really wanted her to find out the truth this way. Never!

But of course, it’s how it happened for the two of you.

As you sit upon a rock, staring off at the endless ocean you’d grown too familiar with, you recollect what had just happened within your memory.. 

It starts with an argument. Jinx, ever restless, grew impatient with her confinement on the island, and although you’ve tried your absolute best to try and make her feel comfortable- you cannot stop her from wanting to leave. She’s fiddling with her makeshift tools, trying to repair her weapons or fashion something capable of escape, when she presses you for answers as you listen.

“Why can’t you leave?” Jinx demands while glancing over at you, tossing a hunk of scrap metal into the sand.

“You’ve got all this magic stuff—but you’re telling me you can’t poof us outta here?!”

You, seated a little ways off on your usual favorite rock, glance up from the basket of fruit you’re weaving. Your eyes flicker with hesitation for a moment before looking back down at the basket.

“It’s not that simple..”

Jinx scoffs, rising to her feet as if in retaliation.

“Not that simple? You’re full of magic! You’re a GODDESS!! I’ve seen you grow a whole damn tree with a wave of your hand. What’s stopping you from getting us off this rock?!”

You let out a shaky exhale, setting the basket down. Your usual demeanor dims, and your shoulders slump under the weight of what you're about to say.

“The island isn’t just my home, Jinx. It’s my prison.”

Jinx freezes.

“…prison?”

“I’m bound here by a spell,” you start, your voice soft.

“I’m being punished by powers greater than me for… for simply siding with my father, I suppose. I can’t leave, Jinx. Not now, not ever.”

The words hit Jinx like a punch to the gut. For once, she’s speechless. Her wide red violet eyes staring at you as if trying to tell if you’re lying to her or not.

“You’re serious,” she finally mutters.

You nod, avoiding her gaze.

“I didn’t want to tell you. You’ve suffered enough. I didn’t want to make you feel trapped, too.”

“Because one day… someone is going to come and take you from me. Take you from my island. Because that is your wish, to get off this island. The gods will see how desperate you wish to get off- and they will grant you the opportunity. Whether you like it or not.”

“And after you agree…”

That’s all you manage to say before you begin to feel the tears well up within your eyes, causing you to sniffle.

“Sorry- I.. I have to go.” You choke out, hand resting over your mouth as you hurry off away from the beach and to the palace on the hill. She watches your form as it retreats back..

Jinx eventually spirals after you leave. The revelation tears at her, dredging up feelings of guilt and helplessness she’s long tried to bury. She storms off to the shoreline, pacing furiously, yelling at the gods she doesn’t even believe in nor know of for their cruelty.

“This is a joke, right?!” she shouts at the sky.

“You put her here, and now me, too? You think this is funny?!”

“Fine! You wanna play games? I’ll show you who’s in charge. NOBODY traps me!”

As days pass, Jinx’s bravado gives way to a quieter resolve.

She starts spending more time with you, observing you - being the goddess you are, in ways she hadn’t before. She notices the way you smile, even though you’re clearly lonely. The way you tend to your garden, pouring your heart into nurturing life despite your own emptiness. And the way your eyes light up, even if just a little whenever she laughs.

Jinx starts to realize something she never thought she would’ve felt before: how much you mean to her. You’ve taken care of her without asking for anything in return, not for a price, not for your advantage — none of that. But just because she was someone who was broken, and you wished to piece her back together, even with her cruel behavior.

And so the thought of leaving without you becomes, for lack of a better term: unbearable. Even annoying.

. .

Weeks later in the evening, a storm begins to brew on the horizon of your island. You feel it first with the magic, obvious to be that of someone powerful coming to your island.

You eventually find yourself with Jinx right behind you heading over to the shore to see what’s going on outside.

And what do you both see?

A rather abstract figure; a concept of pure light.

You know exactly what this is.

A messenger.

The gods have sent a messenger.

Just as you had predicted.

“Jinx,” the figure announces, tone godly-like as it echoes.

“You have been given a choice. The gods have seen your struggle and your spirit. You may leave this island and return to your world.”

Jinx’s first reaction is excitement—she will get her freedom once more! But the messenger’s next words make her stomach drop.

“(_____) will remain here. Her fate is unchanging.”

Jinx’s throat tightens. She turns to look at you, who stands a few paces behind her, but your expression is unreadable.

The messenger continues:

“Choose wisely. Once you depart, you cannot return. And the longer you stay, the harder it will be for you to leave.”

. . .

Later that night, Jinx finds you sitting on a rocky outcrop overlooking the ocean.

The goddess, you, are quiet, your hands idly weaving a flower crown, though your movements are slower than usual.

Jinx approaches cautiously, unsure how to start. She finally plops down beside you, the silence stretching between the two of you.

“They want me to leave,” Jinx says finally, her voice gruff.

“I know,” you reply without looking at her.

Jinx hesitates.

“But they won’t let you come with me.”

You smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That’s the way it’s always been. Anyone who comes here is free to leave—except me. You’re not the first to come to my island, and you’re not going to be the last. They all will leave, and I will remain here.”

“Yeah, well, that’s stupid,” Jinx mutters, kicking at the sand at her feet.

You laugh at her spirit softly, setting the flower crown down into your lap. You turn to Jinx, eyes glossy.

“You should go, Jinx. You have a life waiting for you out there. I don’t want to be the reason you miss it. Besides, you’ve wanted your freedom back after all this time: now's your chance!”

Jinx clenches her fists, her heart warring with her head.

“You think I’m just gonna leave you here? After everything?!”

“You can’t save me, Jinx,” you speak so matter of factly, it genuinely makes her angry. You let out a sigh, glancing down at the flower crown within your lap once more.

“No one can.”

“Bullsh—” Jinx stops herself, her voice breaking. She glimpses over at you, taking a moment to simply.. scan over your form.

“I’m not leaving,” Jinx says firmly.

Your breath hitches as you hear those words.

Not once has anyone ever said that and meant it to you.

But with her tone and her personality.. you don’t doubt she’s telling the truth.

“Jinx—”

“I’m staying,” Jinx interrupts you.

“You’re stuck here, fine. Then I’m stuck here, too. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in centuries, you feel something you thought you’d lost forever:

Hope.

Even while being stuck in paradise..

You’re finally getting what you’ve always wanted. Companionship. And yes, perhaps it’s a bit selfish..

But in the end, it’s Jinx’s choice.

No matter what, you’re always going to be stuck in paradise, even if she leaves or stays. Though, facing it together would be better..

Calypso!reader and Jinx masterlist

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - VIII

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 8.2k.

Reading Time: 33 min.

Warnings: Catholic guilt, cum swap, cunnilingus, divine voyeurism?, fellatio, finger sucking, free use fantasy, frottage, masturbation, pillow humping, praise kink, references to non-con, references to rape kink, references to somnophilia, self slut shaming, semi-public masturbation, this may be the horniest thing I’ve ever written

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics @howlingco @sirianisrock @amaridelphi @katiegvf

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

You spent more time in your cage since the wine cellar, actively not wanting to leave. For the first time since he put you in there, you felt safer behind bars than you felt outside of them. The Cardinal - or Copia (you weren’t sure what you should call him after… that) - went straight to his bed and fell asleep, not bothering to lock you in. As far as he was concerned, you weren’t a danger, nor had you misbehaved. You put yourself in there of your own volition, and you could remove yourself as you pleased.

Waking up the next evening, he was still conservative and modest about exposing himself to you as he got dressed for the night ahead, as though the night before had never happened, changing in the bathroom and leaving you to your thoughts in his room. He came back in, adorned in a different cassock from last night (a black one), and picked up his biretta from the dresser.

He cleared his throat, “Last night,” he began, not looking at you at all, “you regret it, right?” He didn’t wait for your answer. “Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay?”

You nodded, which he could see out the corner of his eye. He nodded too, put his biretta on, then turned to leave before hesitating at the door. “I won’t lock you in today, Angel,” he continued, “Your halo is still locked away, and you’ll have a ghoul to guard you, so go wherever you like.”

“Th-thank you.” You said, your voice gravelly from your sleep.

The Cardinal nodded and then left, making sure the front door clicked behind him. You heard him addressing one of the ghouls that stood guard at his front door and then the corridor fell silent, indicating that he’d gone for good. You were now free to wander around.

You wanted to leave - to take those books back to the library and pick new ones. But you couldn’t bring yourself to face anyone. You were sure they’d be able to see your transgressions on your face, that they’d know simply by looking at you that the Cardinal had sullied you and your good name and pure body the night before, while you both were drunk no less. Numerous sins were committed last night, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get the forgiveness you once craved, especially now.

You wandered into the Cardinal’s bathroom and turned the taps, remembering how to work the tub since the Cardinal taught you the first time. You hadn’t used this tub often, on account of your wings getting in the way, but your time in there had been most relaxing the last time, you felt like you needed to use it again.

Upon removing your robes, you let them drop to the floor where you stood, the fabric easily sliding off your body and pooling at your feet. Bubbles grew and popped in the water as it gathered in the centre, and filled up to perfection, making the room smell like eucalyptus and mint, immediately calming your mind and shushing all the doubts and worries that had plagued you for God knew how long.

You sunk into the warm water and your body relaxed instantly. You could practically feel the sin washing off of you from last night’s escapades, bubbles gathering around your skin and hiding your body as though they were protecting you from further violation, welcome or otherwise. You were able to quash most of your thoughts, bury them in a box and file them away in your mind, never to be looked at again. You sighed and relaxed further back, allowing your head to lull against the porcelain. If you weren’t already awake, you’d have no problem falling asleep in here.

“Given a body and not shown how to use it.”

Your eyes snapped open as you heard the Cardinal’s voice, clear as though he were standing right beside you despite you being alone in the room. The sound of his voice made your heart race, a sharp reminder of what had happened between you only the night before. You felt guilt enveloping you, threatening to drown you in its oppressive grip. The shame soaked into every part of your being and clung to you like a second skin. You were powerless to overcome it.

“You never touched yourself, have you?”

The quiet of the moment was broken by the eerie repetition of his words, which lingered in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel as if you had betrayed the very essence of your celestial nature, as if you had failed in some fundamental way.

“Virgins are so easy to please. So quick to cum.”

You dipped further into the water, as though trying to drown out the voice in your head that was claiming you. However, the marks left by your brief mistake and the stains of your indiscretion would not go away with any amount of water.

Your acts threatened to smother you under their crushing weight, bearing down on you like a heavy burden. You had deviated from the straight and narrow, giving in to want and temptation in a moment of weakness. And now you were left to consider the implications of your choices as you sat in the peaceful solitude of the bathtub.

Though guilt and regret weighed heavily on your mind, there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the pure pleasure that had flowed through your veins during your meetings with the Cardinal. There was an irresistible thrill in the restricted, a forbidden pleasure that sent shivers down your spine and ignited your body with desire, even with all the weight of your transgressions.

You had given in to the seductive pull of passion with every touch and caress, losing yourself in the intense ecstasy of the moment. You felt the Cardinal’s hands on your flesh, his lips on your body, kindling a fierce fire inside of you that would eventually consume you.

The sensation of his touch remained on your skin as you lay in the bath, a lingering reminder of the pleasure you had experienced together. You knew it was a sinful pleasure and you shouldn’t have indulged in it, but you couldn’t help but feel so satisfied after those delicious moments.

“The beauty of this form is that you can give yourself pleasure whenever you want.”

You bit your lip as you remembered how he felt, thick and heavy against your centre, rutting against you violently as he took his pleasures from your body. As you lost yourself in the memory, you noticed you were reacting in a similar way to last night; your heart rate rising, pulse quickening, the blood pumping through your veins much faster than before, your nipples now standing erect and sensitive as your breasts heaved with the rise and fall of your exerted breathing, the warm water running over the peaks and somehow stimulating them.

That was all bad enough, but your clit had begun tingling, too, exactly how it had when the Cardinal was teaching you about your body. His phantom thumb rolled over the nerves and had your hips bucking upwards, legs involuntarily spreading and waiting for someone to come and relieve your suffering.

“You can give yourself pleasure whenever you want.”

You can.

You shouldn’t.

Your mind telling you “no” didn’t stop your hand from trailing down your body, running over one of your nipples and making you hiss out in pleasure. Your mind telling you “no” couldn’t possibly stop your fingers from curling around your mound, allowing your middle finger to land where you needed it most. Just the mere connection of the pad of your finger sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, making you gasp at the contact.

You remembered how the Cardinal moved his thumb to get you to cry out, and so, you copied his actions, swirling your middle finger in tight circles to replicate the feeling. And, oh. It felt exquisite. Not quite as divine as the Cardinal’s gloves melting into your flesh as they had done, but even still, it was good enough to steal noises from your throat; making your eyes shut to allow you to just feel. Little, breathy “ah”’s falling from your lips as the water sloshed around your thrusting hips, squirming beneath your own touch as you had his.

You applied more pressure and began moving your finger a little faster, crying out at the feeling. Your mind showed you the Cardinal’s face, reddened beneath his white skin as he rut against you, sweat pooling on his brow and that animalistic look in his eyes that made you feel so small and helpless beneath him, despite your impressive strength. With the fluttering of your hole around nothing, you were reminded of the way that the tip of his being kept catching on it, and how you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach flipped. He told you he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, feel you from a different point. You saw the disappointment in his eyes that reflected the emotion in your heart as he promised not to break that boundary you’d set in the moment.

But you wanted him to. God, you wanted him to take you there and then, spear you on himself and force you to sin with him…

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled your hand away. He could be watching right now - the Almighty, whom you’d so quickly and happily forsaken twice now in less than twelve hours. The water poured off your body as you stood, and climbed out of the porcelain tub, catching a glimpse of your flushed and lust-filled skin as you exited and entered dry land. You wrapped a towel around yourself, not bothering to pick up your robe as you trudged through the apartments and into the Cardinal’s bedroom.

“You think your god is watching one of his angels get - fuck! - ruined by a son of Satan?”

You shook your head, and slammed the heels of your palms against your temple, trying to rid yourself of his words - despite the excitement bubbling in your stomach at the notion.

What good could your God do now? You may have forsaken Him, but didn’t He do that to you first? So what if He watched? So what if He knew that you’d sinned? That you touched yourself just once to a memory of your own transgressions? Just one more time… one more orgasm wouldn’t hurt as you were already in so much trouble. You could go to confession after, tell a priest your sins and be reassured that He would forgive you now that you owned up to your mistake.

Just once more.

You walked over to the Cardinal’s bed and ran your hand over the soft, smooth velvet, the red darkening under your touch as you stroked it gently. A wave of contradictory feelings passed through you as your fingers traced over the Cardinal’s rich bedspread. Shame mixed with longing, guilt with desire, and the sensations swirled around you, threatening to overwhelm you.

The Cardinal’s words lingered in your thoughts, a sneaky voice that aroused deep-seated fears and desires that you were unable to ignore. You were drawn irreversibly towards the forbidden temptation of indulging in pleasure and giving in to the sinful desires that had been reawakened within you.

You allowed the towel to fall from your body, and climbed upon the bed, letting the velvet to engulf your naked flesh as you stretched out atop it. You’d spent many hours in this bed, sleeping, modest, covered. You’d never had the opportunity to truly feel it beneath your skin and how luxurious it felt. Sinning in style.

You reached for the Cardinal’s pillow with trembling hands, grazing the plush material with your fingers as you imagined him by your side. The recollection of his touch and his passionately whispered words caused you to feel a deep ache, and stoked a fire that burned with extreme intensity.

You brought that pillow to your face, smelling the scent of his cologne and skin imprinted on the fabric, remembering that scent mixed with his sweat. You were practically intoxicated again, overcome with hunger and desperation.

But a voice of reason whispered cautions in the back of your mind, even as you yearned to lose yourself in the heat of passion once more. You were aware of the repercussions of giving in to temptation, of the cost of breaking your word and giving in to the thoughts of forbidden desires.

You lay on your back, spreading and flattening your white wings out comfortably, not taking into account the stark contrast of the blood red beneath you, and the purity of your body. You kept clutch on that pillow as you let your hand travel down your navel and pick up where you left off, this time the sensitivity from your first escapade heightening your experience, and making you call out louder than before.

You rocked against your hand, giving yourself over to the pleasure coursing through your body, toes curling into the mattress as you worked yourself to completion. It felt so good. Clearing your mind of all wrongdoing to focus on the sensation, your hand working faster and faster.

Hitting that spot.

Right there!

Yes!

“Fuck!”

Your own voice echoed the Cardinal’s from last night, the profanities that tumbled from his mouth in the throes of passion infected you, and somehow made your touch feel just a little better. Just a few more circles into your flesh and you came undone, your back arching off the bed and your whole body shutting down as your orgasm washed over you, nothing moving except your finger as it worked over your clit continuously to draw out that feeling for as long as possible.

Your breathing was laboured when your orgasm finally subsided, and you crumpled onto the bed in a blissful heap. Disbelief clouded your mind for a second, unable to fathom how you’d lived for so long and not experienced such a feeling - and how it took a son of Satan to show you the light. But that was that. You’d never do it again. You made a promise to yourself there and then as you righted the Cardinal’s bed, cleaned the towel away, and dressed yourself in your robes again. Except, this time, your nipples were still sensitive and rubbed against the fabric, keeping your pleasure at the forefront of your mind.

The Cardinal and you set into a dance for the following week, as you both were avoiding each other as much as possible. He wouldn’t look at you, just dress and leave, and you’d be left to your own devices. You didn’t have the strength to leave the apartment, nor did you want to. Despite your promise to yourself, the second the Cardinal had closed the door, you removed your robes, climbed onto his bed and touched yourself, damn near addicted to the feeling.

You grappled with the act again, trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t dig yourself into a deeper hole, that no matter how much confessing you did, one day you’d cross the line and be entirely unforgivable. Yet, it didn’t stop your body yearning to be touched, to be savoured, to give you the most pleasure while it could, because it couldn’t stop wanting. And so, despite the internal conflict and war zone that was occurring in your mind, you climbed onto his bed and gave yourself over, yet again, to pleasure.

Your hands were getting used to your touches by the middle of the week, allowing you to just go by muscle memory as you played with yourself. Sometimes, your mind would show you images of the Cardinal in the wine cellar, replay the whole scene frame by frame until you came at the thoughts. But sometimes, sometimes your brain would insert new scenes, new wants and wishes for you to think about every time you saw the Cardinal’s face. How you’d remember the victorious few in Canaan celebrate their wins and insert both yourself and the Cardinal into their places.

You imagined the Cardinal pressing you against a wall, burying himself inside you as he took you from behind, his hands pinching your nipples just as he told you to do in the wine cellar.

You imagined him slipping inside you in the wine cellar, giving into his own desires and not caring a peep about your own - using your body as the Lord did, except your pleasure came as a side effect.

You’d bury your face into his sheets and inhale his scent, clutching onto his pillow as you did the first time when you took yourself to his bed. But that action would end up opening a whole new door for you. The way that your body had sat meant the pillow grazed against your nipple every single time you squirmed, and even though it felt great, you got a better idea.

You pushed that pillow down your body with both hands, and wrapped your thighs around it keeping the edge of the pillow pressed against your folds. At first, you moved the pillow against your body, but your arms grew tired too quickly, and your hips ended up taking over, grinding them against the plushness.

You switched positions, for the first time getting off your back and onto your knees, stroking yourself with the pillow beneath you - and it felt better than before. Would the Cardinal allow you to do this to him? Would he lie beneath you as you took what you wanted from him, like the whores of Babylon did for their clients?

You bit your lip at the thought - the Cardinal treating you like his own, personal whore. How he’d take you over and over again, and make you serve him like you served your God. Why did you want this? Why did you want to get on your knees for this man? And why was his title falling from your lips as you fucked yourself against the very pillow he slept on?

You brought yourself over the edge twice in that way, the first time not keeping you satiated long enough to last the rest of the day.

Each day that passed made you more desperate than the first, guilt gnawing away at you as you’d violate yourself over and over again, but being unable to stop it from happening. Even the Cardinal breathing as he slept had you needing to rush into the living room, hike your robes up to your thighs, straddle the arm of the couch and work yourself to completion, hand over your mouth to muffle your needy sounds.

You realised in that moment that you didn’t truly face restrictions anymore, and it both thrilled and frightened you.

*

Guilt gnawed away at Copia, too, except for him it wasn’t because of divine intervention or other such ridiculousness. For him it was mixed in with sadness that you, the very object of his desires, just didn’t want him in the same way. You’d consented in the wine cellar, and Hell, you really enjoyed yourself, that much he knew to be true. But Copia felt the oppressive weight of sadness bearing down on his shoulders, suffocating him with its firm hold. The disappointment that was eating away at him, the bitter taste of rejection that lingered on his tongue like a poisonous pill, was something he was unable to get rid of.

Despite the intoxicating passion you two had shared in the wine cellar, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of unease that persisted in the back of his mind. He was aware that you had given your consent to that passionate encounter, but something in your eyes afterwards, a glimmer of doubt or hesitation, left him feeling empty and hollow inside.

For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to think that you wanted him as much as he did. But now that evening had broken through the illusion, all that remained was the harsh, cold reality of his unfulfilled desire.

Memories of that fateful night in the wine cellar replayed themselves in Copia’s head like a scratched record, every detail seared into his memory with agonising clarity. No matter how hard he tried, the vivid images that danced behind his closed eyelids and haunted him like ghosts from the past wouldn’t go away.

His ears echoed of your wanton moans, how they oozed with pleasure you’d never felt before that sent a wave of goosebumps up and down his body, hardening his cock at the thought.

With the room filled with the gentle glow of candles and the flickering flames creating long shadows on the walls, he was sitting by himself at his desk. His work was left undisturbed as he was preoccupied with thoughts of your euphoric presence, your gentle touch, and your passionately whispered words.

He couldn’t forget the way your body jiggled, the way you were so innocent and supple. The frantic beating of your heart as you practically hung off his dick. Lucifer - he needed it. He needed you.

Copia sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his messy hair, longing and frustration fighting inside of him like rivals. His thoughts were constantly focused on you, your image ingrained in his memory like a brand, making it difficult for him to concentrate or focus on the task at present.

Fucking his hand at his desk wasn’t his finest moment, but it was a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. He remembered how good your mouth felt around his thumb, and ended up cumming all over his papers at the thought of you swallowing every drop he gave you - whether it poured down your throat or into your womb, it made no difference to him.

On top of his already troubled mind, Copia felt the weight of Sister Imperator’s scrutiny bearing down on him. Her persistent threats to interfere with your interrogating and even take over the Satanic Church did nothing but increase his nervousness and erode his faith in his own abilities.

Sister Imperator was not someone to be taken lightly, and her disappointment with his performance only made him feel more insecure. He tried so hard to keep up a front of competence and poise, but he couldn’t get rid of the sense that he wasn’t doing enough to fulfill his responsibilities as your carer and as the leader of the Church.

Every threat he received from Sister Imperator was like a knife to his pride, a constant reminder of his flaws and shortcomings. He was aware that he had to perform better in order to take back control of the situation and establish that he was suitable for his position in the Church hierarchy. However, despite his best efforts, he was unable to shake off the doubt that hung over him like a ten-tonne weight.

Copia could not deny the noticeable change in your demeanour since that evening. He was deeply struck by the subtle avoidance in your movements and the way your cheeks flushed whenever your eyes met his. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret deep in his chest, knowing he had embarrassed and made you uncomfortable.

He couldn’t help but notice your attempts to stay away from him and felt a little sorry for you. He had thought that the closeness you two had would strengthen your bond, but it appeared to have pushed a wedge between you. He wanted to be there for you, to help you overcome the growing gap between you, but he was afraid to invade your personal space because he knew you needed time to process what had happened between you.

He did, however, get a sneaking suspicion that you were no longer as innocent as you made out to be. He tucked himself into bed one morning and lay his head on the pillow, eager for a day of sleep when he smelled something different about his room.

The smell on his pillow was familiar, and it made his heart skip a beat. He stopped, trying to figure out the source of the scent that was now filling the room with his enhanced senses. The scent was subtle and seductive, stirring something deep inside of him.

He took a deep breath and the aroma surrounded him, enveloping him in a blanket of desire and warmth. And suddenly, he realised what was going on. It was your smell, distinctive and unmistakable, but with a distinct twist as it seeped into the pillow’s material. That same smell had lingered on his hand after the wine cellar, your cunt tormenting him from the leather of his glove for days after. He couldn’t bring himself to wash it away, instead choosing to let it linger until it naturally faded.

You’d been touching yourself, he was sure of it.

Copia felt a shiver run down his spine as a flicker of longing ignited within him at the realisation. He recalled the warmth of your body against his, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips, and the softness of it against his lips. Strong and all-consuming, the memory flooded his mind, making him feel both regret and desire at the same time.

The memory urged his hand down his pyjama pants with his stained pillow pressed to his nose, inhaling you and making himself cum quietly so as not to wake you.

Yet moments before his orgasm hit, he heard you leave the room, and didn’t return. When he woke up that evening, he found you passed out on the sofa, cheeks flushed and thighs exposed beneath your skirts that had lifted in your sleep. He bent down and could smell you on the arm of the sofa, and instantly he felt his cock stiffen once again. You were so tempting, just lying there after humping the furniture like a dog in heat, sweet on the eye yet sinful in the mind. He could have just slid into you there and then and had his way with you, but instead he took to fucking his hand in the shower once again.

His suspicions were finally confirmed the very next night, returning home a little earlier than normal to find you in a precarious position.

Your back was to the door, and you couldn’t hear him enter over the sound of your own moans as you rubbed yourself on the arm of his desk chair, entirely without clothes. Your wings hung loosely behind you, shifting as your hips moved back and forth on the upholstered section of the arm, little thrusts that had you gasping and whining, sounding delightful each time.

And you had no idea he was there, just losing yourself in the pleasure, clit dragging along the fabric and, as he got closer, both hands on both nipples, pinching and pulling to add to the sensation. Your movements were so fluid, it was painfully obvious how experienced you were now - no longer the pure angel he’d defiled in the cellar. A small part of him was angry that he hadn’t been involved in this whole process, that he hadn’t got to witness your journey with self-pleasure and diving deeper and deeper into corruption of your own free will. The other part of him recognised that you were feral because of him and his cock, and how desperate you were to recreate that.

Fuck - your scent filled the entire room to the point where it smelled like sex and had his cock chubbing up beneath his cassock. If you let him, he’d bend you over his desk and fuck you until you passed out - probably wouldn’t even stop then.

He waited; bade his time until he could watch you cum again, the muscles in your back spasming as you finally tipped over the edge. The way your body froze and your breath hitched was delightful, and had sent shivers down his spine and blood rushing to his core making him fully hard and gagging for you. He could fantasise about the dark as much as he wanted, but there was nothing that made him more unhinged than watching his partner cum. Nothing made him more possessed than the way the body looked as it orgasmed, how it sounded and tasted.

Your blood was so much sweeter now, he could smell it pumping through your veins much faster than usual. Obviously, he knew that blood was sweeter after an orgasm, but even so, yours was a calling. He was a bee to honey. He wanted a taste of you so badly.

In the throes of your passion, you couldn’t hear him approach. You could hear the beating of your own heart and the sound of your breaths rising and falling with the exertion.

“Having fun without me, I see,” he whispered into your ear.

You jumped out of your skin, screaming when you saw him in your peripheral vision, falling onto the seat of the chair with your right leg still hanging over the arm, your left keeping you upright with your foot planted on the floor. He had a smug grin on his face, his mouth lifting up on its right corner and that same dark look in his eyes that he had before. His left hand was on the back of the antique chair as he leaned on it, staring down at you with those eyes that told you he was hungry. Your right hand was also on the back of the chair to hold you upright, while the other rested on the desk as you were pushed to sit in between the wooden arms sideways, looking up at him with wide, doe eyes that made him groan. One of your wings had fallen, and was resting largely on the floor. The other had been pinned against you and the upholstery.

It didn’t escape you how close his fingers were to yours, nor that you were still completely naked and bearing the weight of his gaze. The way your body had fallen and steadied itself had left your core wide open, spread out and glistening in the warm light of the room and so cold from the air teasing it as your sensitivity began to set in.

He put his right hand on top of yours on the desk and leaned over your body, effectively trapping you where you fell and hovering above you. His weight wasn’t entirely put onto your hand, meaning you could move it if you wanted to. But the shock had rendered you immobile - well, the shock and the look in his eyes.

“If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask,” he said, voice low and gruff like it was down in the wine cellar.

He was hardly touching you, barely near you, yet you felt as though he was suffocating you completely. You were hot, the strength of his gaze warming a flush on your cheeks and ensnaring you in his trap while you remained breathless and helpless. And needy.

He was offering himself to you on a golden platter, praying that you’d say yes. Waiting for that word to fall from your mouth.

He taunted you further, “Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I couldn’t smell you everywhere? Was there a piece of furniture that you didn’t drag this needy little cunt all over, hm? Even my pillow couldn’t escape your horny little rampage.”

Your eyes kept moving from his eyes to his lips, watching his mouth form words underneath his moustache, and thinking about how it would feel elsewhere.

“Will you ask for it, angel?” he asked, his tone more decisive. “Or will you tell me to walk away?”

He watched your eyes as they moved around his face, and could practically hear the cogs turning in your mind. You were seriously considering it. It amused him.

Without warning, you launched yourself upwards, pulling your hand out from underneath his and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you steady. Your lips crashed onto his, a desperate, inexperienced kiss that was all teeth and tongue, but totally conveyed your ferality and your need to be ravaged. All shame flew out the window when you pressed your naked body against his cassock, feeling his hardness pressed against you but dampened by the fabric.

He grunted at the action, but immediately flew into his response. His hands came to your waist and clutched onto you, holding you steady and relieving the pressure from his neck as he held you upright. You whimpered between the smack of your lips together as his tongue entered your mouth, less bloody than before but still so breathtaking. You wanted him to take everything from you now, Almighty be damned. So far from the angel you were since you came here, now you were eagerly spreading your legs for a vampyre no less. Who had you become? And why were you fine with it?

The Cardinal pulled and pushed at your body, manoeuvring you to sit upon his desk with your legs spread and waiting for him. All the while, his mouth never left yours until he had got you where he wanted you. Those lips of his then began their journey down your body, stopping at your neck where he paid particularly close attention to the pulse point, then travelled down over your breasts, to lick and suck at your nipple. He then copied the movement to the second one, just to hear you cry out for him again. Then to your stomach, and finally landing on your mound, pulling the chair up and taking a seat.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You asked, breathlessly.

“You liked my fingers last time - you’ll like my mouth today.” He responded, simply.

“No but… you can’t.”

He looked up at you. “Oh, sweet, innocent angel. I promise you I can. And I will.”

“But-”

“Relax.”

He let out a growl upon seeing you; your glistening, tight heat exposed to him, ready and waiting for his tongue to ravish you like the heathen he was. He teased you by planting a kiss… or several… on your thighs, making you want in a way you never imagined possible.

His finger moved up and down your folds, once or twice catching on your clit, making you a shiver and a gasp from excitement and sensitivity. His eyes fluttered shut with delight as those fingers that had collected your slick slipped into his mouth. The exact same flavour from all those nights ago when he licked his gloves clean of you. The very same taste that tormented him upon smelling you fucking yourself on his furniture.

He kissed you exactly where you wanted him. His tongue came out, laving over your clit exactly as his fingers had, swirling and dancing over your flesh and making you cry out for him. Your back arched off the desk entirely as your body moved instinctively, hands flying to his hair and digits locking around his mouse-brown strands. The Cardinal rushed in, his tongue swirling roughly around your sensitive clit and intermittently sucking at it to elicit those heavenly noises from your lips. Hips rocking back and forth as they had done every night and day this passed week or so, chasing your pleasure and riding his tongue, like you were used to doing with everything else.

The first time he locked his lips around your clit and sucked, you screamed. Not just an outcry or a moan, a genuine scream of surprise that made the Cardinal chuckle between your legs. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you jumped, only to feel his hands push you back into the original position you were in.

His lips moved, consistently hitting the right spots and making you clench around nothing while his moustache scratched against your labia. All the while, gasps and groans were falling from your mouth, but he wanted more. He pulled away and replaced his lips with his fingers, buttery soft gloves touching you once more.

“You have to tell me,” he began, licking his lips clean of you, “you have to tell me how it feels.”

“Mmm!”

“No, angel, use those words you learned so prettily. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes!”

“Do I make you feel good?”

“Yessssss - oh!”

“Did you like my mouth?”

“S-so mu-uh! Much!”

He laughed. You really had no idea what he wanted you to do. His laugh wasn’t malicious - he certainly wasn’t making fun of your naivete. You were just so sweet - so innocent, even after everything you’d done this week.

“Which did you like more, angel? My fingers or my mouth?”

“Oh! Mouth! I l-like your mouth!”

“You want me to use it again?”

“Yes!”

“Beg me to. Tell me how much you want my mouth.”

His movements on your clit got faster and added more pressure, scrambling your brain. You were trying to find sentences to formulate, but nothing was coming out. “I…” you began, feeling overwhelmed. “I-” You tried to think of something, anything, but your mind was too focussed on the pleasure it wouldn’t work. You took a breath, and whined, “Please.”

Copia would have just laughed. If you weren’t you, he would have degraded you, told you to try harder, that you obviously didn’t want it hard enough. But your please was so desperate, so innocent like you might cry, for once it was the only thing he needed. He’d teach you how to use your words properly before the next time - for now, he’d oblige, because there wasn’t a way that he couldn’t.

He dove straight back into your core face-first, vigorously sucking and licking at your wetness and putting his index finger inside of you, making you cry out once more. He curled that finger upwards, and kept repeating that motion over and over again until your body felt like jelly.

Now, you were moaning, but in between your whines, whimpers and screams, was the occasional peppered “Good”, “So good” and “Yes!” until eventually a combination of his lips and his fingers had you tipping over the edge, and cumming around him, leaking out more and more until you were entirely spent, hole clenching around him as you peaked.

With one final kiss to your clit, he pulled back, looking up at your reddened and exhausted face with pride. He stood up and nestled himself in between your open legs, running his lips and tongue over your bare skin, up your neck before capturing you in a kiss. You could taste yourself on his mouth, and feel his hardness pressed up against your centre.

You broke away. “Are you…” You began. “I mean, do you - will you…?”

The Cardinal laughed at you, your awkwardness over the subject, your innocence even now not allowing you to finish any of your sentences. “Fuck you?” He asked harshly, just to see your reaction.

You nodded.

“Do you want me to?” He asked.

“Yes, but -”

“Then, no. I won’t.”

“What?”

“If you have to say but then you don’t want to. But what I just did for you,” he brought his index finger and thumb to your lips and pinched the bottom one in between them, “would you like to do for me?”

“I can do that?”

He smiled, eyes trained on your lips. “Of course. If I taught you, would you? Would you use your mouth for me?”

You hesitated for a moment, not because you weren’t intrigued or because you didn’t want to. Mostly it was because you didn’t know how, or what such an act even looked like. But still, you nodded and said, “Yes.”

He turned the chair to face adjacent to the desk and took several steps back, bringing his gloved hands to his cassock and removing the garment completely. He ordered, draping his robes over the back of the loveseat. His gloves were the next to go, being draped on top of his cassock. He was left in his undergarments: sweatpants and a t-shirt. The sweatpants left nothing to the imagination, showing the outline of his hardened length beneath the lightweight fabric. He settled onto the desk chair and looked into your eyes. “On your knees, angel.”

You did as he asked, remembering this position from what felt like months ago now. How he was drunk in his room, holding your halo in his hand and putting his thumb in your mouth, relishing in the feel of it. You saw the same look in his eyes, only this time it had heat pooling again in your… what did he call it? Cunt? There.

He reached down and picked up your hand. “If it’s too much at any point,” he began, moving that hand to his thigh, “tap on me two times. Show me you can do it.”

You did, tapping on his clothed thigh as he requested despite you not understanding why it was requested of you. He didn’t need to do that.

“Good girl.” He dipped into the waistband of his sweatpants and fished his cock out, and looked at your eyes widen. The Cardinal was big. You knew he was because you’d felt him on you before, but it was a whole different experience seeing him. He didn’t let you the first night you spent together. Not only was the Cardinal long, he was quite girthy, and you wondered how that would feel going in your mouth. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Now,” he continued, “open that mouth for me.”

You did as you were asked, and watched him sit forward. The thumb that he had in your mouth before came back up to your lips and ran over them softly, before he placed it inside.

“Close your mouth around it.”

You did.

“I want you to suck my thumb. Get it nice and wet.”

When you started to suck, you heard him groan. It was quiet and deep, similar to the noise he made when he first got pleasure from you down in the wine cellar. He muttered a, “Cazzo,” which you understood to be “fuck”, and watched him become enraptured by your lips enclosed around his digit.

“I want you to do this when my cock is in your mouth, angel. You think you’re ready?”

You nodded and felt him pull his finger from your mouth.

He widened his legs, inviting you to sit closer, and lifted himself with his hand at the base to make it easier for you. “Tease me a little,” he told you. “Run your tongue up and down me.”

He was doing his best to not overwhelm you, keep you as comfortable as possible. Sucking dick wasn’t a big deal, he knew that, but to someone who’d never done it before it could be a little intimidating. He’d know. He remembered the first time he’d done it and how the person had guided him through it, showing him what they wanted from him and making sure they both took their time. He was so eager to please back then, he did too much too quickly and while his partner had a good time, Copia felt like he fucked it up entirely. The same went for the first pussy he ate, too.

Your mouth opened enough to let your tongue slide out, and he hissed when you made contact. You licked a broad stripe from the base up to the tip, and felt a flutter in your stomach when you heard the groan he made. So, you did it again. This time adding more pressure and earning yourself another hiss.

“A little more spit, angel,” he told you.

You gathered your saliva on your tongue and repeated the action before.

“Oh, that’s it. Take the tip in, now.”

You did one final lick before fluidly taking his tip into your mouth, sucking on the very tip of his cock gently. You didn’t know where to look at first, and so you just looked ahead at his soft tummy, but when you looked up at his face, you realised you were missing out on his expressions: the dark eyes trained on you, the way his top row of teeth bit down on his lower lip, the redness creeping up his cheeks. In that moment, you understood that seeing him enjoying it was the reason why people did this for others. Watching their reactions to your actions was the pleasure that you’d get from an act like this. And you’d do this more often if this was the response.

“Looking up at me so innocently,” he commented when you made eye contact. You’d known for a while it was your corruption that turned him on the most; sullying an angel to get revenge on a Lord he hated, to drive her closer to Hell opposed to the Heaven she came from. Perhaps you’d be lying if you said you didn’t share that feeling. Disobeying the Almighty had given you a newfound thrill - feelings you never had before.

You moved down him a little, taking the initiative first and putting the whole head in your mouth and sucked just a little harder. The Cardinal hissed and his hand flew to your hair instinctively, just how yours did to his hair when he did this to you. This wasn’t a purposeful move, this was just his body reacting to the pleasure, trying to keep you there. Once he knew what he was doing he pulled his hand away.

“S-sorry,” he grumbled.

You pulled off him with a pop. “Does it feel good?” you asked.

“So good, angel!”

You nodded and went right back to it.

“Mm, angel. Move your - fuck - head back and fo-orth, up and d-down.” When you did as he asked, he tipped his head back over the chair. “Oh merda, just like that!”

Every time you moved your head forward, you took a little bit more of him into your mouth, gaining more confidence with each of these reactions. More expletives in Italian fell from his mouth, words you didn’t care to try and translate. He tried his hardest not to buck his hips, not to fuck up into your mouth and overwhelm you too quickly, but it was feeling too good and sometimes he couldn’t help himself, shifting his hips upwards and sliding just a little more into your mouth.

“I won’t be this g-gentle with you in the future, angel- ah!” he told you. “One day, I’m gonna bury - mmm - m-myself in that tight, little throat of yours and make you cry. Cazzo! Been thinking about… about it for so long.” He let out a shaky breath. “Take a little bit more in, if you can.”

You did.

“Oh - Sathanas! Harder. S-suck harder. Gonna cu-um down that throat.”

With every instruction you followed, you watched him melt into the upholstery. His hand moved back to your hair and helped move your head at the pace he wanted, while trying his hardest not to put too much pressure on you and choke you. He wanted you to discover that on your own… or at least, later on with his help at your request.

The Cardinal was practically putty in your hands, breathlessly wrapped around your little finger as you continued to work this magic over him. He could control you with your halo, maybe you could control him with this.

He would have you take breaks, especially when you started taking more of him into your mouth, giving your throat a rest and teaching you how to touch him with your hand - another thing he really liked. He wanted a firm grip, a little rough, fast. And it was that, your hands working the base of his cock and your mouth sucking on the head that sent him over the edge.

He’d tried to warn you, tried to push you off him so he wouldn’t cum directly into your mouth for the first time, but neither of you tried hard enough, or moved quick enough to stop it from happening. And so, his cum landed on your tongue, the faint taste of iron taking you off guard for a moment. He kept his hands on your head, holding you in place while he finished in your mouth, only letting go when he was done with you.

When you popped off him, you held your hand beneath your face to catch any of him that would spill. You didn’t know what to do with it, not until the Cardinal knelt down in front of you and captured you in a kiss, using his tongue to remove as much of his cum from your mouth as he could. Some of it spilled down your chins and onto your bodies, his t-shirt becoming damp at his own cum. He swallowed the rest, as did you after seeing him do it, and let him help you up off your sore knees.

The Cardinal led you to the bathroom where you both cleaned your mouths, before you both dressed, the Cardinal in a new shirt and you back into your same robes.

“Rest up,” the Cardinal told you, putting his robes back on, “take a bath if you need to. I have to get back to work. But I fully intend on seeing you tonight.”

You simply nodded in response, and watched him leave again.

When you lay on his bed, for the first time in a long time, your instinct was to close your eyes and fall into a light sleep.

Prev./Next

[circyexistforcontent]

My overworld team is Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, and Zhongli. I love all of them equally, but as a tiny goldfish player, my primogems are limited. Still, I bought Diluc his Red Dead Night skin (he's carrying the giant tuna but I swear he'll get Wolf's Gravestone the instant it comes home) and both Kaeya and Zhongli have the BP weapons. And my beloved.... DPS Venti with R5 Stringless but 35k tap e. This team is a full DPS team,,, ehe?

TEAM COMP: DILUC, KAEYA, VENTI, ZHONGLI

♥ Kaeya and Zhongli just stare at the person they don't like getting more attention from the Almighty God. Diluc is just blushing at the new outfit he got from you. You dressed him up like a doll, will he say anything against it? N o. Venti is frolicking around Monstadt as he flexes his artifacts and bow. Because of this, there is a lot of bad blood around the team since neither of them like the other. Kaeya and Venti as well as Diluc and Zhongli may tolerate one another, they still have their guard up.

♥ Diluc is flustered about his new clothing, you really went on your way to buy this for him? Very well, he will cherish this and do his best to maintain the cloth for as long as he exists. He gets frustrated whenever he gets hit by a charged arrow, inspecting his coat and tunic to check if it has left a burn mark or tear. Sighing in relief that there is no such thing. He ignores how Kaeya rolls his eyes or scoffs whenever Diluc combs his hair back into a neat ponytail. He needs to look his best for the Almighty God, he can't waste how much money you spent to make him look like this. When he's participating in challenges he makes sure to kill the enemy as swiftly as possible, he needs to prove his worth. He has to pay back the kindness that you've shown him!

♥ Kaeya likes his new sword, when he does his idle animations he realizes how light and sharp the BP sword is. But still, he hungers for more. He doesn't mind that you didn't give him a new fancy outfit (that's a lie he really wants a new fancy outfit-) but if you focus more on the other team members he would turn salty and snarky towards them. It's a challenge since he is only a 4-star character and the rest are 5 stars, but does that really matter? Honestly, he never understood why vision holders are ranked. Everyone has just as much potential to overpower one another. And he is willing to prove that.

♥ Venti is so smug. Everyone! Move out of the way, the favorite has arrived. He doesn't outright say it but he makes sure everyone knows just how insignificant they are compared to him. Zhongli was tempted on multiple occasions to squish the green bard with a meteor if he doesn't learn to shut the fuck up. But he couldn't, even if he wanted to because of ✨Game mechanics✨. Venti does his best to prove just how great of a DPS he is, killing opponents with one charged arrow and forcing his HP to be high. He is the most envied teammate (what a surprise) and he loves it. He revels in their jealousy with a smile on his face. He doesn't care if Diluc has a shiny new outfit, it's not like his looks will be useful in challenges.

♥ Zhongli is just sitting over there, holding back the jealousy that threatens to spill over. He adores the spear you handed him, and he makes sure to polish it every day so it still shines as bright as the first time you gave it to him. He's ashamed to say that...he is jealous., of Venti. He does appreciate all that you do him, but...why not him? He knows he shouldn't be questioning your actions but he can't help but wonder about the possibility that it was him that you chose as your main DPS.

♥ Arguments are frequent, but the fights aren't physical. Venti would commonly be drunk which makes him easily irritable and as a result, would commonly start verbal fights with the other team members. Kaeya and Diluc have a little contest going on to see who would do more damage than the other. And Zhongli is just there sighing at his team's immaturity. But deep down Zhongli knows he's just as immature as all of them when it comes to your attention.

[magnoliasandarson]

birds of a feather pt. 2

Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the Redhood Jason. His baby brother, his Little Wing- back from the dead. He was gloriously and miraculously alive, but there was something different. For one, he was jacked. His Jaybird had been five-foot-nothing when they buried him, but he was now a tank given human form- well over six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds.

Then there was the less obvious. Jason had always been a dynamic fighter, explosive and quick on his feet, but where he once moved like lightning, he now moved like wildfire, fluid and lethal. Dick recognized the brutality, the swiftness. Somehow, Jason had been with the League of Assassins. It was easy to put two and two together; someone had dumped the corpse of his baby brother into the Lazarus Pit. His brother hadn’t turned away from the light; someone turned him. They would pay dearly. 

He went to Bruce immediately and demanded they kill call Talia. But Bruce didn’t react the way Dick expected. He didn’t fly to Nanda Parbat; he didn’t swear vengeance in the name of his son. Instead, he said, “This changes nothing,” and went to find the Redhood, stone-faced and deathly quiet.

Dick hesitated for all of a minute before suiting up and running after Bruce, taking care to stay just out of sight. He’d known Bruce for half his life and had spent about as much time cleaning up his messes; he knew when the elder was going to make a mistake he’d dearly regret. He wanted to be wrong. 

Still, Dick crouched in the rafters of the warehouse and watched. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to rage as his Little Wing tossed the hog-tied Joker onto the ground in front of him. Keeping the fucking clown as a barrier between him and his father. His fingers flexed involuntarily around a WingDing as the Joker started cackling, “How sweet! It’s a family reunion!”

Jason yanked his helmet off and tossed it between him and Bruce- no man’s land. In a fucked-up way, Dick almost laughed. Jason was still Jason, even under all the rage and madness. Thank fuck Dick had found and defused that bomb- Jason’d probably go on too long, and they’d be blown to pieces. 

Any semblance of a smile faded away from his face when Jason spoke, “Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Barbara’s agonized face as she stared at the Batgirl suit from her wheelchair flashed through Dick’s mind. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. Jason wasn’t wrong. Dick had believed- had known- what Jason was saying was true; he’d beaten the Joker to death with his bare hands, all for Bruce to bring him back. 

 Dick shifted his weight, ready to drop down in a split-second, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!” Oh, Jaybird. This was all wrong, all so fucking wrong. Bruce had lost his mind when Jason died; why wasn’t Bruce telling him?

Finally, finally, Bruce opened his mouth, “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.” Dick was going to kill Bruce. Then, he was going to cart his brother off to therapy and ice cream.

“What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?” So much therapy and so much ice cream. Maybe even a trip to a bookstore. Or an island. Just anywhere but Gotham.

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he's dealt out to others, and then... end him.” Barbara’s beaten form in a hospital bed, Jason’s tiny grave- Dick felt all too prepared to assume the burden for Bruce.

The Joker laughed again, “Aw, Batsy’s thinkin’ bout lil ol’ me!” Jason slammed a boot into the clown’s side, and Dick found himself almost cheering.

Bruce carried on, too stuck in his self-flagellation and morality, “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.” Boo-fuckin-hoo, Dick would stop Bruce if he went too far. He'd done it before.

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him, just him. And doing it because... because he took me away from you.” Dick was afraid that if he exhaled, he’d scream. It took him months to realize that Jason wasn’t his usurper- that he was just a kid who needed a family. If Jason thought for a minute that Dick hadn’t wanted to burn the world to ashes-

“I can't. I'm sorry.” Fuck this.

Jason chuckled, low and uneven, and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, “You don’t have to. I will,” he pulled a gun from his hip, cocked the hammer, and lowered it to point at the Joker’s laughing face, “Him or me, Bruce. Either kill me, or I kill him.” No, no, no, no-

Bruce reached into his utility belt and drew a Batarang- NO

Time slowed. Was this how Wally felt?

Dick launched from the beam-

Jason turned away from the Joker, his mouth opened to speak-

The Batarang glinted in the flickering lights as it flew-

Dick screamed his brother’s name, arm outstretched-

“JASON!”

A river of red opened and poured out of Jason’s neck-

Jason fell to the ground, clutching his throat-

Dick was frozen. He was standing on solid ground. His brother was bleeding out ten feet away, with the Joker howling in laughter on the ground next to him. Dick could sense Bruce Batman behind him. Unmoving.  

It wasn’t something many people acknowledged- even in his own family- but Dick Grayson was a weapon given skin. He had trained with Raptor, Lady Shiva, and Deathstroke. They didn’t specialize in nonlethal force. Dick had mutilated, tortured, and killed in the name of justice. Batman just killed his brother. Carelessly, he flicked a Wingding into the Joker’s neck, slicing his carotid like Jason’s.

"Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

He turned to face the man he had loved as a father who killed his brother, his voice uncharacteristically solemn and steady, “You killed my brother.” Blue lightning crackled into existence, drowning out the sound of the Joker’s dying giggles.

Bruce’s Batman’s face was carved from stone, even as he raised his fists, “You broke the code.”

“Fuck your code,” Dick launched himself at Batman, escrima sticks raised, “he was your son!”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Bruce had taught Dick to fight, but Dick wasn’t trying to fight his former mentor; he was trying to kill him. Batman swung at Nightwing, aiming to shatter bone and rend flesh. They had crossed the point of no return, and they both knew it, “He came back wrong.”

Dick roared in rage, primal and furious, not speaking a word, slamming a well-placed kick into Batman’s weak knee. He was done talking. He’d tried to talk to Bruce Batman for years. If the old man wanted to fight someone, he’d be reminded why Nightwing was his contingency plan.

Batman fell to one knee, slashing out with a Batarang, but Nightwing caught it with an escrima stick, knocking it from the elder’s hand, and slamming the other into the side of his head. Dick dodged a sloppy punch, flipping out of the way with agility Batman could never match. 

“Stand down, Nightwing,” Batman bellowed, “That’s enough!” He staggered back to his feet, catching the younger in the ribs with a gauntleted fist. The force of the punch threw Dick, tossed him through the air onto his back on the ground, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Dick snarled, a horrifying imitation of the smile he was famous for, “Never again.” He’d never stand down again, not for Batman. He launched into the air off his shoulders, his feet connecting with the Bat symbol, knocking Batman onto the concrete. 

Nightwing knelt on the Batsuit, pressing a Wingding into his throat, “You slit his throat.” Tears blurred his vision as he cut through the armor, the blade touching his former mentor’s skin, drawing a single drop of beaded blood. 

“Dad?”

In a heartbeat, Dick was on the floor between the Joker’s corpse and his brother. He thought he was dead; he didn’t check- “Jason,” the word left his bloody lips like a prayer, “fuck, Jason.” He pressed his fingers to his brother’s throat- there was a thick scar under the gore but no open wound. Jason’s pulse was fast and erratic- but it was there.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was small, croaky. Batman had probably cut into his vocal cords when he threw that stupid Batarang. (You should call them Batarangs- like Bat and Boomerang!)

“I’m here, Little Wing,” tears dripped off his chin onto his brother’s face, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Distantly, Dick heard Batman jump out of a window. He didn’t care. He was holding his brother, his blessedly alive brother, fuck Batman. Birds of a feather stuck together.

[nocturnesmoon]

Hello! I've been lurking on your blog for a little bit and I saw your vampire 141 reader and absolutely fell in LOVE, so I was wondering if youre at all able to write a similar prompt but with a Seraph(im) reader :D? If not, have a nice day and I hope you continue writing !!

Hi anon! I can certainly try, i hope this is what you meant by it, if not feel free to shoot in another request and i'd love to make more :)) Takes place in the same universe as this

How much trouble do you think you can get into for asking a few questions?

Just a few simple, seemingly innocent questions.

Apparently quite a lot, if you're the right (wrong) type of creature, born into the right (wrong) celestial plane, and in servitude to the right (wrong) god.

One would think that being among god’s favorites would be a blissful thing. Full of everything good in your servitude of the almighty. A seraph's magnitude of power, should bring glory and easy existence, right? A dream come true for some, more akin to a family nightmare in reality.

A court of angels built for hope and peace, to fight the forces of evil, but what about when the forces of evil are your fallen brothers and sisters? The same people who were once the closest to you, all thrown away the moment they did something they weren't supposed to.

One of those things being the creation of monsters that now live in shadows on the mortal realm. Incredible how one drop of divine intervention could create such interesting creatures, and how incredible it is how quickly humans could turn on them.

Humans, such beautifully contradicting creatures.

You had always loathed them to some extent, a result of your growing care for the named monsters of their world. You had always believed it would be possible for it all to coexist, but all the thinking got you was your other seraphim's voices calling you naive and too young.

You shut your mouth until you couldn't, you held it all back until it blew up in your face.

You had never expected to end up like any of the fallen, you had spent centuries fighting to protect the beloved humanity from evil things they couldn't comprehend. You'd never expect to be falling from the sky, into the earthly planes with your wings broken. All over a few questions that was too much.

When you reached the ground, you wept. The betrayal stung worse than your broken wings, you had been abandoned by the father, your brothers and sisters turned on you the moment you weren't useful. The hierarchy more than likely celebrating your demise if you knew them well enough, sadistic ones they are.

You ended up spending a long long time on earth, you had no way of switching to a different celestial plane, so you had to make do in the mortal world. Your god has abandoned you, yet part of your celestial power still remains.

Why you can't say, but you imagine there's still some use for you in this world. You can't decide whether it’s a relief or more angering. All of you have left is your six wings tied to your back, which two of them are broken, and half your divine power in your hand.

You do all you can think to do with it, seek out the creatures you were so desperately trying to defend. Perhaps they might be the only type to understand your strife, to show you a place in a world where you are everything different.

How wrong you could be.

You quickly start to doubt your own inhibitions, that these creatures might've been reasonable. Some of them could be, but in vicious groups they prove quite the threat even to others of their own species.

Forced on the run, while defending yourself against the creatures you had longed to meet. It wasn't exactly the time of your life you had hoped for. Nor was the group you'd meet soon after.

Going from place to place wasn't all the easy anymore, unable to fly you'd have to do most places on foot, while having to stay out of sight. Changing form with broken wings isn't the easiest thing in the world, so you would have to wait until they had healed up.

The first time they found you was in an open clearing in the forest, close to a pond they had to pass on their route during a mission. The 141 had been on the mission for a few days now, eliminating an important target, and now exhausted they've finally been able to go to the exfil point.

Soap is the first one that sees you, in the middle of the pack he stops up dead in his tracks causing Gaz to almost crash into him. Though before he could spout some kind of insult his way, Soap promptly shut him up by pointing in your direction. The entire group stops in shock as they take in your appearance.

You had placed yourself next to the pond, gently nursing your wings in hopes of them healing better soon. The mortal plane didn't exactly have the same rate of healing as it did in your old home. All you could do was wait, and keep the wing groomed and free of parasites.

Price is the first to realize what you were, the wings etched into your back should be enough of a sign but there are so few of your kind. He had heard about you both from old legends but also from newer times. Tales of fallen seraphim who still wanted to do good, they were often in some kind cooperation with human military, in the pursuit of the more vile monsters that are loose.

He orders his men to stay back as his mind works laps to decide on what to do. You haven't noticed them, he wonders why. He's never met any seraphim in person, but he's heard of their divine abilities, their senses being way beyond the ordinary, he'd thought you'd have an incredible awareness, it's not like they're hidden.

The possibility of you being a threat was still prominent, but something told him he didn't have to worry about that. So, he slowly starts to approach you, catching your attention once he starts speaking to you.

You're very clearly startled by them, upset that you let them sneak up on you even if unintentionally. Being confronted by humans so suddenly, wasn't something you had prepared for, and despite Price's calming voice trying to coax you, you still looked like a terrified sheep. A far cry from the warrior you could've been, had been.

Ghost watches with intent, thinking back to the one time he saw a seraph when he was a kid. It was an encounter nobody ever believed when he would tell the story, but to him it was very real. Your own existence in front of them only confirmed it.

While Price slowly coaxes you into a more receptible and relaxed state, Ghost informs the two sergeants on what type of being you were. Not many knew of the Seraphim's existence, especially the fallen ones that now roamed on earth. Normally they were all very hidden, taking on different forms and only showing their wings and glowing eyes when they needed to call on divine power.

You're not really sure why Price's wording works, but he manages to assure you that they don't mean you any harm. They all come up to you, questioning you, taking a look at your broken wing. You thought you'd hate the touch of a human, but you find it warm when Gaz gently holds your broken wing and assesses what could be done with it.

Soap is crouched in front of you, asking you insane questions about your background that you're reluctant to answer. All the while Price and Ghost stand a few meters away, discussing what to do with you and the mission. They hadn't expected to find anyone out here, but in your injured and confused state, they can't find it in their hearts to just leave you there.

You're confused with yourself, why you let them fuss over you, why you let them close, but you're even more upset at yourself for letting them take you with them. You should be angry at your own instincts for letting yourself be so easily coaxed into going with them. The promise of bettering your wing was an all too appealing prospect.

Ghost and Soap do the teamwork of helping you up, your exhausted state making them insist that you lean onto them. Price is much more practical on his questioning, a lot gentler in his tone as well. He sticks to the specifics, leaving your past to yourself and getting the information out of you that was needed now. You notice the way they glance at each other once you confirm you have nowhere to go.

They take you with them back to an exfil point, and then further back to a base they normally reside at. You're given quite a few stares as you walk between the four of them, and despite their stern glares and quips to get others to look away, it doesn't help much.

They get you inside and split up, Price going to file paperwork of both the mission and their new arrival. Sneakily filing you away as a kind of stray they picked up and intend to keep for the benefit of the mission. The easiest way to avoid any unwanted interventions from the higher ups at least for now while you get used to it all and they get more information out of you.

Meanwhile Ghost, Gaz and Soap get you settled into the base, getting you cleaned up and acquainted with your new surroundings. Gaz, ever fascinated with your wings, helps clean out the accumulating sweat and dirt that's etched itself into your pristine feathers.

Soap lends you some of his clothes, despite your clear displeasure for the odd clothing. It was something you had never had to concern yourself with before, and now you had to wear the itchy fabric all the time. A very quick cause for another meltdown they coax you through once they realized how much that part bothered you.

Ghost takes a look at your broken wings, fixing up something that could help stabilize it so it could start healing at a better rate. No matter how many times he told you to sit still you couldn't help but squirm as you felt his hands graze over your feathers. It wasn't normal for humans to be touching you so...intimately...it was something you'd have to get used to.

A few weeks pass, two broken wings healed, and you're still with them. You're slowly getting accustomed to their presence around you, their fuzzing, and inquiries, you almost dare admit that you like it, that you might like them.

Never in your life would you have expected to have to admit to yourself that you liked a group of humans beyond your divine contracts. Yet the way they see you and spend time with you, is something you find yourself holding precious to your heart.

Once you discover Soap's drawing habits you can't help but observe him whenever he does it. You find it fascinating the control he has over his hands and the brushstrokes against the fragile paper. He even starts teaching you some of your own, though you struggle with coming up what to draw. You end up drawing some of your seraphim brothers and sister from memory, which he takes great interest in.

Gaz ends up going with you when you go to fly again, the first time was a little bit of a disaster, you crashed straight down. Causing all four of them to worry about you, though luckily you didn't break anything this time. You weren't used to the soreness in your wings, nor the training you'd have to do to get back to your usual level of excellent flying.

Though when you do get it back, you're going out to fly every day. Gaz isn't exactly with you, but he observes you from the ground. You tried offering to show him what it's like, but he kindly declined, mumbling something about it reminding him too much of an unfortunate helicopter ride.

Time spent with Ghost is normally quiet activities that don't require a lot of talking, you enjoy the silent respite, being able to enjoy his company without a single word having to be shared. You often go to him when Soap and Gaz's spontaneous activities get too much, he quickly puts them down before dragging you to a quiet place to relax. Naps with him a top tier, even if you don't really need the sleep the same way he does.

Price will occasionally have you in his office, helping him with paperwork and research on monsters. He finds that you know a lot more than anyone else on probably the entire planet does. You explain their behaviors, their chances at rehabilitation and their threat levels. You admire him and his work, despite having an unfathomable number of years more to your name, his decisions are wise and calculated, he knows what he's doing.

Eventually you even come on missions with them, under great supervision at first, both to learn more about you and to keep a general eye on you. Though it’s a quick agreement between them all that you're an important asset. It's a lot easier to go monster hunting when you have a seraph that can quite literally put the fear of god into them.

Life with them is far from anything you could've expected, so different from your old life, but you find yourself enjoying your time. You're doing something worthwhile, and maybe the godly intervention you were so sure those monster's needed could still depend on you. Either way, you'd have a new group behind your back, one you could rely on more than any other type you'd seen in your divine existence.

I could see this developing into a lil AU of monsters and humans and other mythical things. Definitely getting the gears in my head stirring... I've also got some more ideas for the vampire reader, so watch out for that in the coming time once i get more time to write >:))

[aheavenofhell]

I feel like some may be deliberately ignoring the “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven” line and lemme explain why it’s important.

Aziraphale is offered this promotion to supreme archangel, right? By the Metatron himself. This is a VERY big deal, EXTREMELY serious. This is word directly from the Almighty.

And his first reaction is to refuse (something that doesn’t exactly align with the whole “Aziraphale is a manipulator” idea).

Aziraphale refuses the Metatron until the Metatron makes it explicitly clear that he can bring Crowley with him.

This is important, because Aziraphale chose to defy Heaven in S1 for Earth, for humans. While Crowley’s company may have had a part in it, really who’s to say they couldn’t just find another way to hang out when eternity started? His motivations in S1 didn’t revolve solely around Crowley.

The Aziraphale in S2, however, is ready to surrender life on Earth with just a singular condition. This is a big leap from where he was in S1, denying he and Crowley were even friends, to S2, where he is ready to admit that he needs him. That their relationship is more than a mutually beneficial arrangement or the result of having no other immortals to converse with.

So why the “rejection”?

Well, first off I think it’s a bit unfair to call it a rejection. For it to be a rejection, they would have to turn down the idea of their relationship. They didn’t, they just disagreed on the terms of that relationship.

Second, although Aziraphale has made these significant character developments, he is still Aziraphale. Naive, and under the impression that he can make things better for everyone—including Crowley. It could be just like old times, but even better. His motive here was not to fundamentally change who Crowley is, but to move them into a situation where they are safe to be together and he can feel like he has a purpose.

I don’t know if Crowley actually thinks Aziraphale wants to change him or not. I can definitely see that being a thing, but it’s not actually brought up. Instead, Crowley reminds him what Heaven is actually like—the reason he doesn’t want to be there. Not just because he can’t, but because he doesn’t want to.

The lack of compromise here ends up making sense from both sides. Aziraphale functions the way someone who grew up deeply religious and just can’t quite pry away from their faith does. Constantly ashamed, justifying the actions of an unjust God, unable to find meaning outside of what he’s been taught is the meaning. A recipe for self loathing, for always going back because it’s all you know, of course you still pray every night, long after you’ve stopped going to church. Ask a fundamentalist Christian if Abraham would’ve been justified in killing Isaac, and when they answer ask why. You will sample some of what I am talking about.

In contrast, Crowley has completely broken off from that illusion. His own moral code is more important to him than Heaven or Hells’. He has spent thousands of years trying to get Aziraphale to see through the manipulative tactics that keep him in check. He watches Aziraphale torment himself with this idea of goodness, what it is and how he has to represent it. And by the end of S2, he is still stuck in that same rut.

Neil utilized the metaphor of an abusive relationship (Nina/Lizzy, Aziraphale/Heaven) but whichever way you look at it, it’s the same. Psychological conditioning designed to break down the spirit into obedience.

And despite all this, despite the fact that Aziraphale is actively clawing his way through processing all of this trauma on his own, he still doesn’t give in to Heaven before he’s promised Crowley.

He goes back, yes. But there was no character regression. It was still development. He’s just not all the way there yet.

There would be no S3 if he was.

[hillwoodhouse]

These men, these heroes, and the millions of others who fought with them, are proof that freedom is indeed never, ever free. Teenagers at the dawn of World War II, some even younger, like 12 year old Calvin Graham, they signed up to fight the good fight and because of their bravery, changed the course of human history.

🇺🇸 🇬🇧 🇫🇷 🇦🇺 🇧🇪 🇩��� 🇵🇱 🇳🇴 🇬🇷 🇳🇱

Franklin Delalo Roosevelt's 'prayer' - June 6, 1944.

"My fellow Americans: Last night, when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our allies were crossing the Channel in another and greater operation. It has come to pass with success thus far. 

And so, in this poignant hour, I ask you to join with me in prayer: 

Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our Nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity. 

Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith. 

They will need Thy blessings. Their road will be long and hard. For the enemy is strong. He may hurl back our forces. Success may not come with rushing speed, but we shall return again and again; and we know that by Thy grace, and by the righteousness of our cause, our sons will triumph. 

They will be sore tried, by night and by day, without rest-until the victory is won. The darkness will be rent by noise and flame. Men's souls will be shaken with the violences of war. 

For these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace. They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate. They fight to let justice arise, and tolerance and good will among all Thy people. They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home. 

Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.

And for us at home -- fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas -- whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them--help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice. 

Many people have urged that I call the Nation into a single day of special prayer. But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people devote themselves in a continuance of prayer. As we rise to each new day, and again when each day is spent, let words of prayer be on our lips, invoking Thy help to our efforts. 

Give us strength, too -- strength in our daily tasks, to redouble the contributions we make in the physical and the material support of our armed forces. 

And let our hearts be stout, to wait out the long travail, to bear sorrows that may come, to impart our courage unto our sons wheresoever they may be. 

And, O Lord, give us Faith. Give us Faith in Thee; Faith in our sons; Faith in each other; Faith in our united crusade. Let not the keenness of our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal matters of but fleeting moment let not these deter us in our unconquerable purpose. 

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogancies. Lead us to the saving of our country, and with our sister Nations into a world unity that will spell a sure peace a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the just rewards of their honest toil. 

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

Amen."

[randomthefox]

Oh my God fauxteurs never change. Years pass, video games explode in popularity as a medium, and yet, somehow, their underlying attitude of "We don't need to play the games because we're Making Art(tm)" still remains. Why are they like this in the year of our Lord 2025???

Worse, why do people keep letting them get away with it? Wouldn't you be embarrassed to publicly announce "Yeah, I never went back to check with the source material, my own memory (which is faultless, even when I'm stressed out from deadlines and there are now more ways of playing video games than ever) is good enough substitute, w/e"?

That interview you just posted is giving me flashbacks to Ben Hurst and co's. excuses for why they changed so much of the source material for their show. Apparently anyone creating for this series who is over the age of 40 is physiologically incapable of borrowing their kids' game console for one afternoon. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

How long does it take a newbie to play through Sonic 1? A couple hours? A day? A week, maybe? Even if they were completely bad at the game and couldn't beat it in time, couldn't they have just watched a Let's Play on their lunch break or something?

The fact that they took this approach to their SA2-inspired film as well is an extra slap in the face because SA2 is already misremembered and misinterpreted enough as it is. Stuff like this just gives people the impression that SA2 isn't a worthy game on its own merits; that it's only good for hollow vibes and fanservice. Lo and behold, guess what happened to the third film!

"What did we already remember moreso than going back and playing?"

You know that saying about how you could accomplish more if you spent the same amount of time just doing the thing as you did thinking about doing the thing? This is what this stuff reminds me of. Fauxteurs wouldn't need to hem and haw about remembering the game in perfect detail if they just actually sat down and played the goddamn game for an afternoon.

Jesus Christ Almighty, it's like Patrick and the lid. Play the game, Patrick. No, the game. The game, Patrick. Play the game you're adapting.

(...I'm also getting flashbacks to Bloober Team's head guy saying they would rely on their "perfect memory" of the game in order to make the SH2 remake. girl help)

It is absolutely insane how people have zero respect for Sonic as a franchise, and video games as a medium as a whole, that they'll defend the writers admitting that or even say that it was a good thing. I JUST GOT A FUCKING REPLY ON THAT POST FROM SOME SNOT NOSED LITTLE SHITHEAD PULLING THE "OH SO YOU WANT THE MOVIES TO BE ONE TO ONE WITH THE GAMES???" LINE ON ME BEFORE YOU SENT THIS. People LEGITIMATELY just HATE Sonic and that is why they think this shit is okay, or even laudable.

I say it again: IMAGINE the writers of a movie adapting a book said that shit. But because it's a movie based on a video game, it's fine. Because who even cares it's just a stupid video game anyway.

It makes me so legitimately angry not because they did it, not because they admitted it, but because the comment section is INUNDATED with people defending them or even praising them for it. That COMPLETELY FUCKING IGNORING THE VIDEO GAMES is a GOOD thing when making an adaptation of a video game.

Nobody would EVER say the shit they're saying about this movie is it was, like, a new Harry Potter movie or some shit. Imagine someone making a live action film out of Berserk and them saying "yeah I never read the manga, I'm just making this movie based off Vibes." It absolutely boggles the fucking mind that people think this shit is acceptable just because it's a video game.

And yeah that's the thing that always gets me. People always say something like that. "Oh I'm just going based off my memories. From what I can remember, this is what happened. If I recall correctly. Ect ect."

And I'm like that Louis CK skit about Pig Newtons.

I'M NOT EVEN USING MY MEMORY. I'M LOOKING AT THE FUCKING CUTSCENE. IT'S ON FUCKING YOUTUBE. FOR FREE. WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU???

Writing a fucking adaptation of Sonic Adventure 2 should be the easiest fucking job on the fucking PLANET. You can literally just look up the fucking game script online, copy and paste it into your word doc, slap it into your email and send it to the studio. JOB DONE, COLLECT YOUR PAYCHECK. The story ALREADY FUCKING EXISTS. Why do you even NEED to try and remember ANYTHING? Memory should not be a fucking factor the story was ALREADY FUCKING WRITTEN.

But naw. It's just Sonic. Who cares. What, do you expect the movies to be one to one with the video games or something? That'd be boring and dumb and you're stupid and an inferior sub human life form for wanting that. Shut up and eat your slop.

[singthesongsofsin]

@themosthatedbeingg, as stated! Below the cut are some of the passages describing Hell from book 1 of Paradise Lost by John Milton. Text taken from the John Milton Reading Room.

TLDR: Hell is dark, and somehow on fire, smells like sulphur, and there's nothing there as it was untouched by God! When the demons arise, they create things, but it's nothing original, so much as an inverted form of what was lost to them in Heaven.

With hideous ruine and combustion down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire, Who durst defie th' Omnipotent to Arms. Nine times the Space that measures Day and Night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquisht, rowling in the fiery Gulfe Confounded though immortal: But his doom Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes That witness'd huge affliction and dismay Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate: At once as far as Angels kenn he views The dismal Situation waste and wilde, A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd onely to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery Deluge, fed With ever-burning Sulphur unconsum'd: Such place Eternal Justice had prepar'd For those rebellious, here thir Prison ordain'd In utter darkness, and thir portion set As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n As from the Center thrice to th' utmost Pole. O how unlike the place from whence they fell! There the companions of his fall, o'rewhelm'd With Floods and Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, He soon discerns, and weltring by his side One next himself in power, and next in crime, Long after known in Palestine, and nam'd Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy, And thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

[...]

Back to the Gates of Heav'n: The Sulphurous Hail Shot after us in storm, oreblown hath laid The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice Of Heav'n receiv'd us falling, and the Thunder, Wing'd with red Lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep. Let us not slip th' occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe. Seest thou yon dreary Plain, forlorn and wilde, The seat of desolation, voyd of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves, There rest, if any rest can harbour there, And reassembling our afflicted Powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our Enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire Calamity, What reinforcement we may gain from Hope, If not what resolution from despare.

[...]

Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime, Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid What shall be right: fardest from him is best Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time. The mind is its own place, and in it self Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less then he Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, Th' associates and copartners of our loss Lye thus astonisht on th' oblivious Pool, And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy Mansion, or once more With rallied Arms to try what may be yet Regaind in Heav'n, or what more lost in Hell?

[...]

At which the universal Host upsent A shout that tore Hells Concave, and beyond Frighted the Reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand Banners rise into the Air With Orient Colours waving: with them rose A Forest huge of Spears: and thronging Helms Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array Of depth immeasurable: Anon they move In perfect Phalanx to the Dorian mood Of Flutes and soft Recorders; such as rais'd To hight of noblest temper Hero's old Arming to Battel, and in stead of rage Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'd With dread of death to flight or foul retreat, Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage With solemn touches, troubl'd thoughts, and chase Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they Breathing united force with fixed thought Mov'd on in silence to soft Pipes that charm'd Thir painful steps o're the burnt soyle; and now Advanc't in view, they stand, a horrid Front Of dreadful length and dazling Arms, in guise Of Warriers old with order'd Spear and Shield, Awaiting what command thir mighty Chief Had to impose: He through the armed Files Darts his experienc't eye, and soon traverse The whole Battalion views, thir order due, Thir visages and stature as of Gods, Thir number last he summs. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hardning in his strength Glories: For never since created man, Met such imbodied force, as nam'd with these Could merit more then that small infantry

[...]

Less then Arch Angel ruind, and th' excess Of Glory obscur'd: As when the Sun new ris'n Looks through the Horizontal misty Air  Shorn of his Beams, or from behind the Moon In dim Eclips disastrous twilight sheds On half the Nations, and with fear of change Perplexes Monarchs. Dark'n'd so, yet shon Above them all th' Arch Angel: but his face Deep scars of Thunder had intrencht, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under Browes Of dauntless courage, and considerate Pride Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion to behold  The fellows of his crime, the followers rather (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd For ever now to have thir lot in pain, Millions of Spirits for his fault amerc't Of Heav'n, and from Eternal Splendors flung For his revolt, yet faithfull how they stood, Thir Glory witherd. As when Heavens Fire Hath scath'd the Forrest Oaks, or Mountain Pines, With singed top thir stately growth though bare Stands on the blasted Heath. He now prepar'd To speak; whereat thir doubl'd Ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his Peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he assayd, and thrice in spight of scorn, Tears such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words interwove with sighs found out thir way.

[...]

There stood a Hill not far whose griesly top Belch'd fire and rowling smoak; the rest entire Shon with a glossie scurff, undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic Ore, The work of Sulphur. Thither wing'd with speed A numerous Brigad hasten'd. 

[...]

And Strength and Art are easily out-done By Spirits reprobate, and in an hour What in an age they with incessant toyle And hands innumerable scarce perform. Nigh on the Plain in many cells prepar'd, That underneath had veins of liquid fire Sluc'd from the Lake, a second multitude With wondrous Art found out the massie Ore, Severing each kind, and scum'd the Bullion dross: A third as soon had form'd within the ground A various mould, and from the boyling cells By strange conveyance fill'd each hollow nook, As in an Organ from one blast of wind To many a row of Pipes the sound-board breaths. Anon out of the earth a Fabrick huge Rose like an Exhalation, with the sound Of Dulcet Symphonies and voices sweet, Built like a Temple, where Pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With Golden Architrave; nor did there want Cornice or Freeze, with bossy Sculptures grav'n, The Roof was fretted Gold. Not Babilon, Nor great Alcairo such magnificence Equal'd in all thir glories, to inshrine Belus or Serapis thir Gods, or seat Thir Kings, when Ægypt with Assyria strove In wealth and luxurie. Th' ascending pile Stood fixt her stately highth, and strait the dores Op'ning thir brazen foulds discover wide Within, her ample spaces, o're the smooth And level pavement: from the arched roof Pendant by suttle Magic many a row Of Starry Lamps and blazing Cressets fed With Naphtha and Asphaltus yeilded light As from a sky. The hasty multitude  Admiring enter'd, and the work some praise And some the Architect: his hand was known In Heav'n by many a Towred structure high, Where Scepter'd Angels held thir residence, And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King  Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, Each in his Hierarchie, the Orders bright. Nor was his name unheard or unador'd

[...]

A solemn Councel forthwith to be held At Pandæmonium, the high Capital Of Satan and his Peers: thir summons call'd From every Band and squared Regiment By place or choice the worthiest; they anon With hunderds and with thousands trooping came Attended: all access was throng'd, the Gates And Porches wide, but chief the spacious Hall (Though like a cover'd field, where Champions bold Wont ride in arm'd, and at the Soldans chair Defi'd the best of Paynim chivalry  To mortal combat or carreer with Lance) Thick swarm'd, both on the ground and in the air, Brusht with the hiss of russling wings. As Bees In spring time, when the Sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth thir populous youth about the Hive In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers Flie to and fro, or on the smoothed Plank, The suburb of thir Straw-built Cittadel, New rub'd with Baum, expatiate and confer Thir State affairs. So thick the aerie crowd Swarm'd and were straitn'd; till the Signal giv'n. Behold a wonder! they but now who seemd In bigness to surpass Earths Giant Sons Now less then smallest Dwarfs, in narrow room Throng numberless, like that Pigmean Race Beyond the Indian Mount, or Faerie Elves, Whose midnight Revels, by a Forrest side Or Fountain some belated Peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while over-head the Moon Sits Arbitress, and neerer to the Earth Wheels her pale course, they on thir mirth and dance Intent, with jocond Music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms Reduc'd thir shapes immense, and were at large, Though without number still amidst the Hall Of that infernal Court. But far within And in thir own dimensions like themselves The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim In close recess and secret conclave sat A thousand Demy-Gods on golden seats, Frequent and full. After short silence then And summons read, the great consult began.

[vickyvicarious]

Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that in your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now. Good-bye, my dear.

This quote is absolutely lovely. Mina is so eloquent, and it's moving just as is. But context makes it much more emotional for me.

Mina's seen Lucy sleepwalking for weeks now, and perhaps could guess that at least some of it was related to wedding stress. Or if not about the wedding itself, then about the way her life will change afterwards. And she knows, too, that Lucy's mother is dying - she won't be able to go back to the way things were ever again. And so Mina is quite deliberately falling back into her old role of guide. She's the one taking this step first and she is being very clear to Lucy that it's so worth it. That she doesn't regret a second spent with Jonathan, no matter how weak or unwell he is. That being a wife is incredibly fulfilling where there is love, that even when there is pain it doesn't preclude incredible happiness too.

I feel like Mina is subtly aligning herself a little with Arthur here, almost like a reassurance that Lucy's chronic illness won't ever stop him from loving and wanting her with him. As well, she knows of future pain to come with her mother's death, and reassures Lucy, without specifically breaking the news, that she will be able to weather it. She knows how stressed Lucy has been and so is trying to share with her how things can be good even on the heels of horrible ordeals. Is deliberately wishing that for Lucy, for her life to be long and happy.

...and here's where the heartbreaking context comes in. Because this is the last letter Lucy ever receives from Mina. And while in some ways it may be intended to sound final, that's only meant to be in the context of Mina moving on to a new stage in her life with her marriage. In fact, it's a lot more final than it was ever meant to be.

And none of Mina's hopes for Lucy really come true. That final part is so brutal knowing this. Her life after this is short, and marked far more by nighttime and darkness than days of sunshine. The 'harsh wind' (Dracula as the storm blowing in) never lets up. As for 'forgetting duty' - Lucy is haunted by forgetting, and once she is turned into a vampire she tries to prey upon Arthur in a way that runs contrary to any kind of duty or desire she might have to live with him and keep him safe. Distrust? Lucy will be surrounded by secrets, about her and kept from her and kept by her (and kept both by her and about her without her own knowledge, when Dracula's influence leads her both to forget and to hide her bites), until the moment she dies. Rather than happiness with some pain, the remainder of Lucy's life will be filled with pain, with only a few brief spots of happiness to lighten it.

And that goodbye. Knowing it is the last goodbye, knowing neither of them know that.

[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 12 - Prompt: "You're the smartest person I know." Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

“Astarion, I am taking you up on your request to learn magic.”

Astarion blinked, and he slowly looked up from his book. His mouth twitched after a moment. “Gale, darling, I appreciate your ardor, but you do know I was just trying to get a rise out of you?” he asked, shutting his book. “We’re at the point where I can admit that now, aren’t we?”

“Ah, but…” Oh, oh dear, the finger was up; Gale was serious. “I know that every barb tends to stem from a place of truth. Besides, it never hurts to have another tool in your arsenal.”

Astarion sighed. “Is there really time for this?”

“Always. Now, no more trying to get out of it.” Gale motioned for Astarion to follow him and, though he gave an almighty eyeroll as he did, the vampire did indeed follow him. “I’ve just one spell in mind. It’s second level, which may be a bit tricky if you’re not practiced, so it may take a few days of work. But between your natural knack for magic and your keen mind, I think you’ll catch on quicker than you expect.”

Astarion’s mouth quirked. “You think I have a keen mind?”

“Well, you were a magister, weren’t you?” Gale said, sending a wry little smile over his shoulder. “And you come up with lies quicker than anyone I’ve ever seen—it’s impressive.”

“That actually means something, coming from you.” Astarion sighed as they reached Gale’s tent, crossing his arms. “All right, you’ve won me over with flattery. What spell are you going to teach me?”

Gale grinned, and with a quick movement of his hands and a flash of purple light, there were suddenly two Gales in front of him. They moved in sync, one a perfect copy of the other—Astarion wasn’t sure which one was the right one.

“Mirror Image,” he said, voice echoing between the two. The two Gales glanced at each other at the echo, then lifted their hands with another quick movement. One Gale dissipated like mist, and the real one was left behind. “I’ve seen the way you look in mirrors and windows, and truth be told, I was trying to find a way to cast it on you, but it only works with the caster’s image. And I thought, ah! What a perfect way to give you the magic lesson you asked for and a good look at your face.”

Oh. That was…nice. Of course, Astarion knew Gale was nice—the looks he sent at some of Astarion’s preferred methods of conflict resolution said enough—but this was…actually nice. Kind, even. He crossed his arms tighter, unsure of how exactly to respond.

“But I don’t know what I look like,” he said after a beat. “I wouldn’t know the image to put out.”

Oh, the finger was up again. “Yes, but that’s the thing! Mirror image doesn’t rely on your mental image of yourself. It relies on magic creating a kind of…mold of yourself, however you look in the moment, then putting it there in front of you. I actually have a hilarious story about how I found out I was sporting an embarrassingly long streak of sauce on my face at a party when I cast it to show off.” When Astarion’s doubt didn’t subside, Gale reached forward to grasp his arm, giving a little smile. “Look. With this, the Weave does the work. I’ve seen you in action, I know you still have access to it. This will work. I promise.”

A few complicated emotions flickered across Astarion’s face. Doubt, hope, curiosity, disappointment. His eyes finally met Gale’s, and he gave a long sigh.

“Gods damn it, you give Scratch a run for his money with those eyes,” he grumbled, then held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll try. But if you’re wrong—and that’s likely—I’m never going to let you forget it.”

~

Gale hadn’t been lying—this was work. The better part of their time in camp for the next week had been spent reaching into the Weave—working with it, playing with it even, and learning how to harness it to do what the caster wanted.

It was by no means easy; the first couple times, Astarion had thrown up his hands and stormed off in frustration as he couldn’t make it work. But Gale was nothing if not patient. He didn’t needle Astarion into staying outside of a gentle, “Let’s try just one more time. Then you can go and eat a boar.” When Astarion refused, he let him go without a fight. When Astarion came back a few hours later (and significantly bloodier than when he’d left) and asked if they could try again, he always obliged.

And finally, after several days, the work paid off. Just as he’d done before, Astarion did everything Gale instructed to cast the spell, but this time a shimmery shape—roughly the size and shape of Astarion—stood before them. It only lasted a moment, but a giddy laugh escaped Astarion all the same.

“That was…did you see that?” he asked, looking to Gale with a broad smile.

“I did, very well done! But I knew it wouldn’t take you long.” He gave Astarion’s back a congratulatory pat. “Let’s celebrate.”

“But I think I can get it stronger if I try again.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But take it from me, rewarding yourself for a job well done is excellent incentive to keep going.” Gale ducked into his tent, rustling around, then returned with a bottle and two mismatched cups. “Not as excellent as the Elverquisst was, I’m afraid, but still,” he said as he poured, then handed one cup to Astarion before clinking his against it. “To your success.”

Astarion smiled, tipping the glass toward Gale before he took a drink. He leaned back against a nearby stone, looking the wizard over. “You’re actually a good teacher, you know.”

“Well, it’s a little self-serving. Magic, the Weave, is my foremost passion; getting to talk about it to a willing audience is just as much a boon for me as it is for you.” Gale gave a smile around his cup. “So thank you for indulging me.”

Astarion waved his hand with a scoff, then went quiet for a very long moment as he drank. “Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” he finally said, voice soft.

Gale choked. “What did you say?” he wheezed, patting his chest.

“Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” Astarion repeated, voice stronger. He waved his cup irritably. “So you got in over your head—who wouldn’t if a god made them their lover? And clearly you’ve already had to deal with the consequences even before she told you to…to commit ritual suicide as your only way to forgiveness. You don’t need her forgiveness. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“She does.” Gale’s voice was very soft, and he was steadfastly avoiding Astarion’s gaze.

“Why, because Elminster said so?” Astarion set his cup aside, then strode right up to Gale, grabbing his arms and forcing him to make eye contact with him. “Listen to me, because I’m only saying this once. You’re the smartest person I know. The only reason I’m not saying you’re also the kindest is because Wyll is twenty feet away. You, Gale of Waterdeep, are literally fighting against Illithids and the Three Dead Gods with just us, a tadpole, and your wits.” He leaned in, voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “You don’t need Mystra’s forgiveness. She should be begging for yours.”

Gale had never been very good at holding a poker face, but now, it was nearly impossible for Astarion to get a read on him. There was something brewing in his eyes, something straining against his lips, but neither quite made it to the surface. He shut his eyes and swallowed it down, then let out a long sigh as he looked up at Astarion again.

“Let’s give it another try,” he said quietly. “See how long you can hold the image.”

~

Mystra did not come up again in their lessons—contrary to popular belief, Astarion did know when to back off. Besides, Gale was so enthusiastic when Astarion showed a bit more progress that it felt…mean to bring up something clearly so painful. And not at all mean in a fun way.

And, really, who cared about gods and bombs when he was this close to mastering Mirror Image? He was getting closer—the shimmery figure was a little more solid, matching Astarion’s movements like a shadow (been a while since he’d had one of those, too) and sometimes there would be a bit more detail: a flash of pale curls, a clear image of his shirt.

And then, out of nowhere, everything seemed to click. He focused on feeling the Weave, moved his hands just the way he ought to, said the right words with just the right inflection, and…

There he was.

He knew Gale was praising him, vaguely heard the impressed noises from the few members of camp that had gathered around to watch him as he’d gotten closer and closer to mastering the spell, but none of it was registering. Instead, he was transfixed at the vampire standing in front of him—a little shimmery at the edges, and wearing an expression that clearly wasn’t Astarion’s, because certainly he couldn’t look so softly surprised and, of all things, misty-eyed like this fellow did. But it was him.

The image mimicked his movements as he went to touch his hair, his lips, his nose, watching to see if they matched what he felt. He tugged the skin of his cheeks back; gods, he really did have laugh-lines, didn’t he? Had they always been so prominent?

He swallowed down the tightness in his throat, then gave a weak little laugh as he looked over his shoulder. “Fal, my love, you are shit at descriptions,” he called back, then looked back at the image for one more moment before it dissipated.

“There you are, your reflection as needed,” Gale said with a smile. “No mirror necessary.”

Astarion swallowed again, looking up at Gale. “Thank you,” he said, voice very, very quiet but emphatic. “You can’t possibly know what you’ve given me.”

Gale held up his hands. “Ah, ah, this was all your work,” he said, then gave a warm smile. “All I’ve given you were instructions and a little encouragement, same as any friend would do.”

Astarion gave a wobbly little smile in return, then took a deep breath before rubbing his face. “Gods, I am exhausted,” he suddenly said after a subtle clearing of his throat. “Does magic always take it out of you? No wonder you get winded after sneaking for thirty seconds.”

“Some of us have knees that actually match our age, thank you,” Gale said, catching on. “But I think we’ve more than earned a nice rest by the fire with…well, not excellent wine, but whatever we have available. Come on. Let’s reward a job well done.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

[yanderecrazysie]

Hihi! If your fine with it, Can I request part 2 of anonyance? I swear I can’t find Yan!Futakuchi fics anywhere in tumblr give my boy some love too 😭

Also can I be 💭 or 🥞 anon?

I am more than fine with it, my precious anon! And I don’t really keep track of anons officially, but you can be either of those!

And this is more than a drabble than anything.

Title: Annoyance (Part 2)

Pairings: Futakuchi Kenji x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing

Summary: You’ve always found Futakuchi annoying, but he’s only gotten worse since you caught his attention.

Part 1: here

annoyance

/noun/

a thing that annoys someone; a nuisance

“That was a great first date, right?” Futakuchi asked, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I rocked your world, didn’t I?”

“It was alright,” you said vaguely.

“Alright?” Futakuchi spluttered, looking highly offended, “Stop being stuck up and admit it- you loved this date.”

“Stuck up?” Your voice raised.

“That’s not what I-” Futakuchi looked frustrated, running a hand through his hair. You had to admit, he was handsome, especially all dressed up like he was.

But God almighty, was he annoying.

The date had been nice- the restaurant he had picked was fancy, but not too expensive. He had paid the bill with a grin on his face that just begged for you to tell him how impressed you were.

It was the talk during the meal that you truly didn’t like. Futakuchi was infuriating. He spent the entire time talking about how great he was and all of his accomplishments. He barely even took a breath, much less a goddamn bite of his food.

The dinner lasted forever because of his incessant yapping, but you managed to tune him out a half hour in, focusing entirely on your meal. He never once even asked if you were enjoying yourself.

“Listen, the date would have been more than ‘alright’ if you had just shut up about yourself,” you explained.

Futakuchi opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it again. He looked genuinely at a loss, as though he couldn’t believe you truly didn’t enjoy your date with him.

“Well, I have to go,” you sighed, turning away from him. He grabbed your wrist.

“Where are you going? I have to drive you home.”

“No, I’m just going to grab an uber. Thanks for tonight, I guess.”

Futakuchi’s eyes flashed and when he next spoke, it was through gritted teeth, “Why are you making this so difficult? I’m doing this for us.”

“Us?” You couldn’t hold back a derisive laugh, “What ‘us’? There is no ‘us’.”

His grip on your wrist tightened until it was painful, “You threw that ball at my face, remember? You’re the one who started this.”

You managed to yank your wrist from his grip and glared at him, “What the hell is wrong with you? Listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown the ball at you.”

Futakuchi made another grab for your arm but you stepped out of his reach. He pulled his lips back into a sort of snarl, and glared at you, “This is your fault, so take some fucking responsibility.”

You threw your hands up into the air, “I just did, you stupid asshole.”

A sudden vulnerability etched its way across Futakuchi’s face as he reached out for your arm once more, gentler this time, “Look…just…”

He looked up at you with watery eyes, “You don’t have to love me right away, okay? I just… just please stay by my side for a while.”

You hated the part of you who was a sucker for sensitivity. You nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, fine, I’ll hang out with you. I’m not going to fall in love with you, but I won’t abandon you either.”

Futakuchi pulled you into a sudden hug. A soft smile spread across your face, until he whispered in your ear, “I knew you’d see reason.”

You could practically hear the smugness in his whisper. That soft smile was long gone.

He really was an asshole, wasn’t he?

[fallecupid]

destiel as soulmate !

.ᐟ.ᐟ warnings :ㅤ this is just a sketch of the relationship between Castiel and Dean, taken from fragments of the series.

author's note : i apologize in advance for errors in this text / vague wording / words that are incorrect in meaning (if any are present in the content.) english is not my native language, everything written below has been translated by a translator.

At first, it was all about benefiting the Almighty. Cas is the angel of Lord who brought Dean Winchester back from the brink to stop the coming apocalypse.

In the future, when the apocalypse did come, Castiel trusted the Elder Winchester wholeheartedly, only because a thin thread of connection had formed between them over all that time, entailing affection.

And so it went on, Castel appearing to the Winchester Brothers to announce another case or lead for the great vessel Michael and his brother vessel Lucifer.

Cas was quite human, blindly sacrificing his own priorities, putting the Winchesters first. Even those little moments when he'd had his first drink, even almost sleeping with a girl, a completely new experience for an angel.

It was all Dean's influence, and it would be foolish to say that the elder Winchester means nothing to an angel. Certainly not a romantic interest, Castel feels a kindred spirit in him, someone he's destined to be with for the rest of his life, his friend.

A term he hadn't considered in human society before. But now, he could tell that the Winchesters were more than his friends, they were family. And the angel himself is happy to know that.

But the guy didn't notice how from being an angel on god's errand, Cas became a confidant to him.

To Dean, Cas was at first a skid-row angel, a god that no one had ever seen, only a handful of people could boast of having had a word with the creator of all things. Winchester had been cautious as long as he could; he had not believed the angels to the last, much less their signs and plans for him.

Dean was very careful to show affection for him, after all Castel was an angel, too stupid to understand humans, so Dean chose the strategy of building a wall between them.

One day the wall came down, and it was replaced by a bond, a friendly, strong bond. Dean was certainly not the kind of man who could show his emotions, the kind of man who could trust to the end, it just wasn't his thing.

There was so much more Dean could have said than he did in all the time he spent apart.

"I love you." - Cas said then, and after that, it was the last one before he disappeared.

Even in those moments when he realized that Castiel would never return, and he himself was up to his neck in a quagmire of doubt, he only listened silently to the angel's confession as tears rolled from the saint's eyes, human tears.

Dean could only choke quietly on his own tears, realizing that Cas was like a part of him, like he was Sam, like he was the inseparable thing without which the current Dean would no longer be one.

There may not have been a flutter of attraction in him, but it was definitely love, a platonic affection that restrained him. Dean loved Cas, loved him in his own way, the only way Dean Winchester could.