#god knows any other person would get eaten alive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frnchgirls · 1 month

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warnings: 18+, nsfw, long!!, dubcon, a lot of explicit and implied grossness, poly if you squint, finishing inside, early character death?

you met zombie!patrick during your compound's last looting trip. you and a few other younger, able-bodied members of your settlement went out to a pharmacy in search of medicine, and during the affair, the building was overrun by zombies. every member of the search team was presumably eaten, your best friend tashi and boyfriend art both killed in the frenzy. it devastated you. but you- you were alive; the sole survivor, having made it out with the medicine, no less, all thanks to patrick.

he spared you when he decided to smear your face and clothes with spoiled blood to mask your human scent from the horde, a strategic thought you never would have imagined the undead could even have. you're taken aback when after all is said and done, he seems to revert to a normal zombie state, communicating only with groans and grunts and an incoherent mumble every now and again. you can't lie and say that you're not at least a little afraid. he is a zombie, after all. but he's shown no signs of hostility, or signs of much of anything for that matter. and he did save your life, so why not keep him around?

the two of you are sitting in an abandoned house that's on the route from the pharmacy back to the compound, shoulder to shoulder on the bedroom floor as you crack open a can of fruit cocktail, your dinner for the night. you examine his face as you dig your fork into a syrup-soaked cherry. he's so pale, blue veins like spider webs crawling up from the base of his neck to his hollow cheeks. you can make out the faint remnants of freckles if you squint, and you can't help but wonder what he might have looked like when he was still alive. tan and healthy; handsome, even.

you have to hold your breath as you eat the bits of peach and pear from the aluminum can in your lap. patrick is filthy, and the stench of god knows what emanates off of him, filling the room. his milky, glazed over eyes stay locked on the opposite wall, bruised lips parting ever so slightly when he says, "hun- gry." you immediately swallow the food in your mouth, partly shocked and partly overjoyed at the fact that he was speaking to you; that you could understand him. now that you were thinking about it, it had been a while since he last ate. you couldn't blame him for voicing his needs.

"yeah, pat. i know. we'll find some brains for you as soon as we can. i promise." you reply, chipper tone covering up the fact that you truly have no idea how you'll be able to satiate him without hurting an innocent person. you take another bite of food, thinking of art and tashi, and his head snaps in your direction. "hun- gry." he repeats, practically throwing himself onto you, which in turn knocks the can right out of your hand, spilling the contents all over the carpeted floor. you let out a noise, a mix of a gasp and a groan erupting from the back of your throat all at once.

"that was my last ration, you stupid fuckin'- get off." you complain, using every ounce of your strength to try and shove him off of you, but it's no use. he would overpower you even if he didn't have a supernatural advantage. he paws at your tattered clothes, gripping the fabric with his fingers as he presses his cold lips to your neck. he inhales against the sensitive skin, other hand coming up to tug absentmindedly at a strand of your hair. what on earth is he doing?

"pre- tty." he hums, big nose nudging your pulse point, and your eyes widen as you thrash under his hold. you fail to hear him over the sound of your racing heart. "don't- don't kill me, please. you remember me, right? remember saving me?" you beg, but it's a shot in the dark. he hadn't seemed to understand the words you said before, so why would now be any different? you squeeze your eyes shut as he stands and lifts you to your feet in one fluid motion.

"need... pussy." patrick grumbles, brows furrowed in confusion. the words aren't really his. he knows that when images of you from the past flash in his mind, on your back with your hair splayed over a fluffy pillow. you giggle and blush at something he said- no, not him, someone else who was now a part of him. someone else whose memories were now his own. someone who wanted to fuck you. he wanted to fuck you.

"what?" you squeak, wondering if you heard him correctly. this had to have been some kind of sick dream fueled by your recent lack of sex, because there was no way a zombie wanted to get in your pants. it was unheard of, impossible even. the fuck was wrong with you, having deranged thoughts like this? you would be shunned by the compound if anyone found out what you were about to do. and what about art? you reach around to pinch yourself, but the movement is interrupted when patrick shoves you down onto the bed.

"feel you... now." he continues, jaw clenched as he tugs forcefully at the waistband of your jeans. the seams pop, which allows him to drag the ripped material down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties below the waist. "no, no, we can't- this isn't right-" you stammer, squeezing your thighs together and covering yourself with your hands. but patrick pushes them out of the way like it's nothing. his pupils seem to darken when his eyes land on the damp patch at the front of the pink fabric.

"why wet... then?" patrick teases with a fucking smirk, dimples and smile lines on full display. you shudder not only at the sight, but at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing against your clothed heat. there was something so chilling about his words and his mannerisms. they were all too intimate. he didn't feel like a zombie anymore, he felt like a man. "i'm not- it's not-" you lie through your teeth, panicking as you lean down once again to hide the space between your legs from his view.

he unbuttons the front of his jeans, shuffling them down his hairy thighs along with his boxers. you have to physically turn away when his cock springs free from its confines. fuck, it's as thicker than it is long with dark curly hair at the base. blue veins run along the shaft and his tip is as purple as his mouth. you can't do this. as horny and curious as you are, he'll split you apart. "oh- oh my god, patrick- no. no, no, no." you squeal, clamping a hand over your mouth as you clench around nothing.

patrick is unphased, gripping the backs of your thighs and hoisting your legs over his shoulders. "take... it." he groans, pushing past your panties and into your soaked folds. he throws his head back, exposing his pale neck as he bottoms out in you. you let out a guttural moan, the noise muffled by your palm. you could feel every throbbing inch of him, your wetness providing only the slightest amount of lubrication.

your back arches off the bed at the intrusion. it's so strange; the juxtaposition of his freezing hands on your skin and his sweltering cock deep in your cunt. "feel... good?" patrick asks, waiting a moment before pulling out then thrusting in again. you pout, partly because you don't know how to answer, and partly because you can't. it's hard to think about anything else other than the feeling of him dragging along your walls. you resort to an eager nod, cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

he smiles, nodding in acknowledgement before leaning over you to get a better angle. patrick folds you even harder into the mating press, your thighs trapped between both of your stomachs. his eyes cloud over again once he's adjusted, jaw slack as he thrusts in and out and in and out. "hun- gry..." he mewls, saliva pooling in his open mouth when his tip brushes against that spongy spot inside you.

patrick fights with himself, unsure where his appetite for your flesh ends and his newfound appetite for your pussy begins. having you milk his cock like this seems to appease him for now, the other voice in his head tells him so. but still, he can't help but feel a little guilty. he wonders how you'd taste, how it would feel to have your viscera sliding down his esophagus when he eats you. drool spills over his bottom lip like a waterfall, dribbling onto the sheets below you.

a few drops land on your cheek when he moves, and you recoil at the sticky feeling on your skin. you can't help but close your eyes, facing a conflict of your own. if you just think about art, it'll be okay, right? it's not wrong to get fucked by a zombie if you imagine it's your late boyfriend while you do it. god, you hope he would forgive you. if only you knew. "look... at me." patrick sputters, and when you do just that, his pupils are dark again. something about it makes you shiver. you've never seen a zombie who could do that before, and his words fill you with a strange sense of deja vu.

patrick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, speeding up his thrusts as he presses his forehead against yours. the motion has you teetering on the edge, and your fingers reach out to clutch at his hoodie instinctively. he chuckles and questions, "you... close?" which you answer with another nod and a whimper of "yes." he seems to be in the same boat when he tells you, "me too... wanna be good for you. please- let me be useful and... breed this pussy."

you giggle.

your mouth flies open to let out a gasp, patrick's hand reaching down to rub circles against your clit. you know you've heard those words before; you've heard those words from art. there are myths that zombies can absorb thoughts and memories from brains they consume. what did he do? what the fuck did patrick do?

"oh god- you ate my boyfriend. you ate my fuckin' boyfriend! oh- oh fuck-" you sob, tears pricking your eyes as he draws out your orgasm and rides through his own, grunting monotonously while he shoots ropes of cum inside you, coating your walls with his slick. you squirm at the feeling, patrick's actions only further spurring on your tears. but then he lifts a hand to cup your face. "no, no- don't be stupid. it's me. it's your artie." he coos, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

you blink away the bleariness in your eyes and look at patrick's face, an all too familiar cheshire grin plastered over it. "art?" you whisper, chest still heaving with emotion, and he nods, moving your hand to cup his cheek like you've always done.

how the hell are you gonna explain this to the compound?

#shower thoughts gone wrong #i hope this wasn't too far :/#inspired by warm bodies (film)#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #challengers x reader #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut

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macabr3-barbi3 · 3 months

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*gets on knees* hello,,,,, I am,, muy hungr y.......... priest vox one-shot PLEAAAAASE.. perhaps Vox has taken a more Catholic turn with Voxtech to capitalise on the fact that being redeemed has suddenly become extremely popular since the Hazbin Hotel was rebuilt ('TRUST US! with YOUR redemption'), he doesn't ACTUALLY believe in any of it of course but anything for a buck. Idk how reader would end up there LOL but I can't stop thinking about him using the most dirty religious euphemisms AND MAYBE USING A ROSARY TO BIND READER'S(OR HIS IF UR FEELING REAL FREAKY) WRISTS RUFF RUFF BARK BARK BARK I'm totally normal (I'm losing my mind)

HELLO FRIEND I LOVE THIS (AND YOU SINCE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE LOL)

disclaimer that I am not religious, I took most of these bible verses and things at face value- Vox doesn't care about using them correctly why should I LMAO

going to Hell for this one lads anyone wanna carpool?

Tags: blasphemy, priest kink, fucking in a church, improper use of rosary beads, confession that is not up to code, exhibitionism? if you squint? improper use of bible verses

HOT PRIEST VOX IN THE BANNER FROM @chefskjssart AND THE BANNER ITSELF FROM @fraugwinska I LOVE YOU GUYS ❤️❤️❤️

When you arrive in Hell as the result of a car accident, the first thing you see is a billboard- there’s a television on it, of all things, one with a face that wore a confident smirk under eyes that seemed to promise something. What exactly it was, you couldn’t tell, but the bright, flashing words next to him caught your attention, like you were sure they were supposed to: “VoxTek presents VeeLigion- TRUST US! With YOUR Redemption!”

You spend a couple days trying to get your bearings, and you determine that Hell fucking sucks- before falling you had been stabbed a grand total of zero times, and within 24 hours you’d had a knife in you twice. Which, TV did a terrible job at depicting stabbings; it wasn’t a soft gasp and a betrayed glance at the person holding the knife, it was a burning flash of pain and a scream that echoed in your head even after you stopped, even after the wound miraculously healed and left you with holes in your clothing that exposed unblemished skin.

TV also painted a pretty inaccurate portrait of Hell as a whole. Sure, you’d been stabbed a couple times but it wasn’t all fire and brimstone- everyone else mostly left you alone, a fox-faced woman had given you a bandage and a half eaten sandwich while you sat bleeding in an alley outside, there were bakeries and regular storefronts, and maybe a few more sex shops than you had been anticipating. But it was a whole society like it was when you were alive, albeit with maybe less rules and consequences.

You see more advertisements from the guy with the television head (Vox, you had picked up from the newspapers and magazines that littered the sidewalks), promises of salvation to be found in his newly built church in Pentagram City, redemption at a low cost. You had seen other ads, from a place called the Hazbin Hotel, but regardless of how different Hell was from what you had imagined, you still figured that the Devil was bad- his daughter couldn’t have been much better. And the Princess of Hell just didn’t catch your attention like Vox had; come on, his head was a television, what choice did you have but to look at him?

And it was no real surprise that you had ended up here, despite the years of Catholic school and nuns striking the fear of God into you when your parents had decided that you were too much trouble as a teen and shipped you off for a few years. You had done your time, did the prayers and shit with your skirt just an inch or two above the regulated length, and as soon as you had the chance you were out of there, back to the fun life you had enjoyed before…

Even if you did now have the voice of Sister Lucy in your head when you went down on someone, telling you that idle hands- and probably lips- should only be used in service of the Lord.

But Jesus, was some premarital sex really enough to damn you to this shithole? The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find your way to the center of the city to find that Church. Maybe the whole redemption thing was bullshit, but also maybe since it was a church they could give you shelter. A place to hide from the chaos on the streets while you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. You didn’t think you needed food to survive, really, but you would do almost anything for a hot meal in your mouth just for the comfort of it.

After getting directions- and another fucking stab wound, where the fuck were people getting these knives?- you make your way to the VoxTek church, and here’s another point against the Hotel. The thing is massive and gorgeous, blue and white stained glass that covered the building reflecting the red of the pentagram in the sky, Vox’s likeness front and center above the intricately detailed doors. It’s pristine, and perfect, and you’re suddenly very self conscious about the state of yourself, covered in blood with clothes that are the wrong brand of ‘holey.’ But you’re already here and on the steps, so there’s not much else to do but climb them and reach for the doors.

A tablet pops in front of you, ‘AdamAI’ engraved across the top. “Welcome to the VeeLigion church,” the thing says, the voice bored and haughty. “Entry starts at $5.99.”

“You fucking charge just to come in?” Maybe you shouldn’t swear at what looks like some sort of angelic device but fuck, really?

“A small price to pay for salvation!” It says, and little wings flick out of the sides to flutter, like it was trying to distract you. “Come on, don’t you wanna go to Heaven? It fucking rocks up there- Hell is dirty and smelly and gross, and-”

“Yeah people just stab you like all the fucking time,” you mutter, “but I don’t have any money.”

“Plan B then- you can sign this screen right here-” Some sort of contract appears on the screen, the letters too small to read properly, with a line at the bottom. “And the matter of payment can be discussed at a later date, at the owner’s discretion.”

“That’s a little suspicious.”

“You could go get stabbed again,” it snarks, and a pen pops out of the top. “Or you could go to that shitty hotel that doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, with Lucifer’s brat. Choice is yours.”

You have to admit that the pristine glow of the church seems more promising than what you had seen of the Hotel, so you sign the contract and the doors swing open without the creak of heavy wood- when you touch it on your way in you realize that it, too, is actually metal, manipulated to look like wood to sell the facade of the building. “Good luck,” the tablet chirps, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like “you’re going to need it” as the door slams shut behind you.

It’s eerily quiet inside the church, likely soundproofed since you can no longer hear anything that’s going on outside. There’s no one else inside, no priest or other sinners, the stage at the front of the chapel empty except for the obviously simulated sunlight that streams through the windows at the back. Despite the cash grab at the door, the place does feel divine. It’s quiet and peaceful, and beautiful beyond belief. You wander up to the front, looking around to see if there would be some sort of pastor or something to show you what, exactly, you were supposed to do- to give you answers, to show you some kind of mercy in this hellhole.

A door slams somewhere in the building, and gradually a voice gets louder as they approach the chapel. “-told you, Val, that the church was a waste of fuckin’ time,” they’re saying, “but did you listen? Of course not- you’re shoved so far up Angel’s twinky little ass lately it’s a wonder you have time to plan your fuckin’ ‘holy orgies’ or whatever the fuck you’re calling them-”

And there’s the television you had been seeing on the billboards and ads- Vox in the flesh, priest robes dripping off his frame, one of those little hats somehow attached to his flat head. Even with his eyebrows drawn down in irritation at whoever he was on the phone with, he still has an air of confidence and cockiness about him that you can admire- and you had seen some of the magazines declaring him the hottest in Hell, and know that he has clean lines of lean muscle hiding under those holy folds of fabric. He paces back and forth across the stage a few times, throwing insults and jabs into the phone in his hand, and then he looks up and finally notices you.

“Oh fuck,” he says, eyes widening in surprise, and then- “not you, Valentino, Satan, fucking narcissist. Someone’s fucking here- yes, in the church- fuck it, no, I gotta deal with this.” And the phone is slipped into one of the pockets of the robe. His whole demeanor changes- his posture straightens, his eyes closing and his face rearranging into something softer, more peaceful as he looks down at you.

“Welcome, lost lamb,” he says, and you could almost believe him if it weren’t for the glitch that crackles across his screen at the words. “How may I help to guide you today?”

“Um… I’m not totally sure,” you confess, and his eye twitches in irritation. “I saw some ads and I was curious about the idea of a church in Hell. If you can actually get redeemed here then, you know, I’d love to give it a try-“

You don’t even get to mention your almost ulterior motive before he fucking laughs at you, the sound echoing with the acoustics of the place. “Fuck, so you’re a real one then? Y’know how many people I’ve had sitting in these pews that don’t give two rats shit about redemption, just wanted to see the fancy new fucking building and watch one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell strut around in this stupid fucking thing?” He plucks at his robes, the fabric fluttering around his body. “And now I've got a real one. Imagine that. Okay!”

He claps his hands together and a small bench emerges from the floor in front of the stage as he drops to sit on the edge of it, legs hanging off so his feet touch the floor. “Fucking kneel, then,” he says, gesturing to the cushion, “Don’t these things usually start with confession? I don’t have all day if you have like, a million sins to confess.”

“Oh, right.” This part at least you knew, even if it usually took place in a booth and the other person couldn’t see you. You hadn’t really been planning on confessing when you got here, but at least it was an easy part.

You watch him patiently, waiting for the usual blessing, until he stares at you expectantly. “Well?”

Guess you were skipping that, then. “Um, okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He waves a hand at you; a silent ‘get-on-with-it’ if you’ve ever seen one. “It’s been… ten years? Since my last confession-“

“No fucking wonder you ended up down here, doll,” he mutters, head tilted towards the ceiling and not even looking at you, “you were one of those ‘Easter and Christmas’ church-goers, huh? And you thought that would be enough.”

“Hey, fuck you,” you snap, flushing at how easy you were to pin down like that, and his head snaps back down to look at you, an eyebrow raised like he’s fucking bored. “Aren’t you supposed to be here to help?”

“Does it matter? Besides, I’m new to the job; sue me for a learning curve. Come on- what sins are you confessing?” His screen brightens suddenly, a grin directed at you that steals your breath. “Was it something fun? You kill someone?” His eyes go hooded, expression lascivious as he looks down at you. “Impure thoughts, maybe? Impure actions?” His gaze lingers on your skirt before he meets your eyes again.

Your face heats- you’re very aware, suddenly, of the position that you’re in- knelt on the floor in an empty church, the priest as far from saintly as one could get and hot as Hell even with his TV head, his knees spread apart where he sits on the edge of the stage and you essentially between them. Images race lightning quick through your head- pushing his robes up around his thighs, leaning forward with your tongue out to show him just how impure your actions could be-

A bell rings overhead and you’re reminded that you’re in a fucking Church, even if it is one in the center of Hell. You had come here for help, not sex. You shove the thoughts back. “Can you just- be a normal priest, please? With the bible verses and shit so I can feel like this wasn’t a total waste of whatever I signed before coming in here.”

He sighs but seems to acquiesce, placing his palms on the stage and leaning back. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one! Give me one sec…” His screen changes, words and images flying across it at lightning speed while he taps his fingers on the floor under his hands, sometimes slowing on a particular passage, and it occurs to you what he’s doing- he’s searching the fucking internet for a bible passage.

“Ha! This should do-” His face comes back, expression serene, and he leans forward and places a finger under your chin to tilt your head up, closer to him now than you would have expected. “I know how you feel, my child, tempted by the sins of the flesh,” he says in an exaggerated tone. “‘For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” He winks at you with that smirk of his back in place, “but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.’”

You blush but can’t turn away with his finger on you, keeping you tilted to face him. “‘Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ Is that what you’re here for, doll? Mercy?”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can see the way his eyes track the movement of your throat when you swallow. “Y-yes,” you stammer, and your voice is weaker than you would like, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “Mercy-”

“In your time of need,” he offers, and when you close your eyes you feel his thumb trace over your cheekbone, his hand warm against your skin. “What do you need? Cause I’ll tell you- all flushed and trembling and sweet on your knees here? I don’t think a bible verse is gonna cut it, babe.”

He almost slides off the stage, dropping to a crouch so he’s level with your face. “Sir-” you try, and his grin is wide and dangerous.

“Father,” he corrects you, and if you weren’t already on your knees you would have fallen to them. “And I believe you still have to confess before we can move on.” He reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out something long and dangling- a rosary, you realize, and you can’t stop the flash of heat that rips through you despite the blatant blasphemy of what was happening. “Give me your hands.” And you do, helpless to refuse as he winds the beads around your wrists with the cross dangling between your arms as he finishes. He stands then, using a hand on the beads to pull you from the cushion and guide you forward on your knees when he sits on the edge of the stage again. You’re properly between his legs now, the fabric of his robes almost touching your nose, and he’s holding your bound hands atop one of his knees.

“This is just to keep you focused,” he says when he sees you watching where he has them restrained in one hand. His other hand pets across your head, a finger briefly touching one of the horns that you had grown upon arrival. “Now then- tell me of your temptations, little lamb, and I’ll give you absolution. I’ll give you the mercy you want.” When he meets your wide eyes again, he winks. “Maybe something else, too.”

“Fuck, I’m- God, okay. Okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” You take Vox’s silence as a sign to continue, his hand still gently brushing through your hair, the other keeping a tight grip on the rosary beads. “It’s been ten years since my last confession.”

“Go on, my child,” Vox says, and fuck, it feels wrong that the words of a priest- regardless of how legitimate he was- are making your core clench, a strong jolt of arousal bolting through your body. “What brings you to confession today?”

You try not to tremble as you continue. “I have… behaved immorally in the past. And even now I’m having impure thoughts,” you whisper, and you hear Vox suppress a groan in front of you. “I- I know the Bible says not to fall prey to temptation, but it’s so hard to resist. I can’t stop myself from thinking about it- about what I’ve done. And about you.”

The fingers in your hair are gone, grip tightening on the one holding the rosary. “This is troubling indeed,” he says, like you can’t hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me what you’ve done- what you’ve thought about. What you want now. Be specific.” There’s a soft rustling of fabric before you, a whisper of air across your face as Vox moves. You make an inquisitive noise and he shushes you. “Keep your eyes closed, dear- imagine you confess to the Lord himself. Show him how earnest you are in your devotion.”

You let your face relax, brow going slack and keeping your face tipped up. You can see through your eyelids the shine of the sunlight through the windows, artificial but warming and holy nonetheless. And like this you ‘confess.’ “I’m thinking about you touching me- in s-sinful ways. Your hands on my skin the way that others have touched me. It feels good, I can’t help but want it…” You feel a little ridiculous even with the flush of your cheeks and the need overtaking your body.

“Fuck,” you hear Vox whisper, and there’s another faint sound of movement that you can’t place with your eyes closed. “How did these f-f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘t͖͖̠̬͛h̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́ sinners touch you?” His voice seems to fail him at the thought, a crackle in his vocals that betrays how much he’s invested in the moment.

“Like a harlot,” you say, and you hear a full groan escape him, a tug to the rosary when he leans a bit down towards you. His face is closer now; you can feel his hot breath as it ghosts across your lips when you speak. “They touched my bare skin- sometimes I lie awake at night and trace the path their hands have taken over my body, over my breasts, between my legs. I’ve let them fuck me, bent over tables and spread across beds, and God, I want more.” You let your voice take on a pleading edge. “I want it to be you- please, won’t you help me?”

You let your eyes flutter open, and the sight before you steals your breathe- Vox’s eyes are trained on you, his mouth hanging open with his face screwed up in pleasure as he fists his cock inches from your face, his robes drawn up over his thighs to jerk himself off in time with your confession. When he notices you watching him he smiles, all teeth and dripping saliva, looking more and more like the agent of damnation that he is than the holy man he’s pretending to be. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞t͖͖̠̬͛,” he growls, his vocals once again corrupted and fried when he speaks. “‘No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. G-G̯̯̩̙͆ͣ͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability-’” The last words are accompanied with a harder thrust of his hips, bringing him closer to the edge of the stage, the head of his prick nearly brushing your lips before its covered with his fingers as he continues to stroke. “‘But with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.’”

You know what he’s going for, but… “I think in this instance, ‘enduring it’ would mean not giving in to the temptation,” you murmur, and you let your tongue ghost over his hand when it gets within reach, just able to taste the saltiness of his precum on his fingers. “But I think I’m weak to it, Father- would you forgive me if I can’t resist?”

Static flashes across his screen for a moment. “Fuck,” he pants when he sees that you’ve kept your tongue extended, waiting for him. He loses the haughty, holy edge to his voice as his fingers tighten their grip, less of a stroke now to let the head of his dick tap against your tongue a couple times. “Can’t fuckin’ think straight like this, Satan- how am I supposed to keep this shit up when you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a devout whore praying for a cock in your throat,” he snarls, and releases the hand keeping hold on the rosary to cup your face. You waste no time in bringing your bound hands up under your skirt, shoving your panties to the side with trembling fingers to rub at your clit. The angle is all wrong, but any friction is good friction at this point, and Vox laughs breathlessly at the desperate way that you rock against your hands with your head held in his. “I might not be God but I can answer that fuckin’ prayer if you want.”

The way you shift to get a better angle to slide a finger into yourself brings you closer, your head resting more heavily in his palm, and you can’t resist giving him a wink- “Promise you’ll give me my absolution after?” You let your mouth fall slack, and groan around the length of him as he pushes past your lips, both of his hands abandoning their respective tasks to tangle in the strands of your hair and keep you still.

“I’ll give it to you, doll, I’ll fuckin’ give you a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛.” He guides himself in further, deeper, until the head of his dick is just bumping against the back of your throat, whorish whines escaping the scant space between your lips when he starts to buck his hips, sucking to the best of your ability while you ride your own fingers and try to work your tongue against the solid erection that’s taken up a temporary residence in your mouth. His hands fist in your hair and tug you closer, your nose bumping the sharp lines of his abdomen and the solid weight of his balls resting against your chin with every jerk forward. A particularly hard thrust has your gag reflex triggering, the channel of your throat convulsing and fluttering around the head of his cock while his head throws back with a moan.

Tears prick at your eyes- your orgasm is a distant, intangible thing, the pleasure from your fingers sweet but not even close to what you needed, whimpering and drooling around Vox’s cock in a way that echoed around the beautiful chapel. When you look up at him his eyes are wide and frantic, harsh moans falling from his mouth and rumbling through his body so you could feel it against your nose pressed into his pelvis the way you are.

A hand slides forward to brush at your tears, a smile more befitting the devil than any kind of priest taking up Vox’s screen, red lines of what could be drool dripping off the sides. “Fuck, gonna cum- you want it, angel? Your a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈��̀ͯ̍ͧͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡t͖͖̠̬͛i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥ?” You can��t speak with his cock filling your mouth so fully, so you nod the best you can and grind your hips down onto your fingers, still bound together with the rosary. He chuckles low, once again keeping your head still so he can pound into the wet heat you’ve provided to him, the muscles of your throat clenching down every time he pushes far enough back. “‘Repent and be baptized, e-every one of you-’” he starts, the silky skin of his erection sliding pleasantly over your tongue a final time, then he stills. His cock twitches, and there’s a jet of hot, bitter liquid spilling across your tongue before he pulls out completely. “‘In the name of J̸̡̡̟͑ͭ̄͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧs̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅụ̴̴̾̀͟͡s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅ Ch̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅt͖͖̠̬͛, for the forgiveness of your sins.’” There’s another pulse of cum that lands on your cheek as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to smear it on your skin and then dip into your mouth for you to suck it clean as his cock gives one final twitch, a weak spurt against your lips closed around his thumb. “‘And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit,’” he finishes in his normal voice, that cocky smirk back on his screen when he finally pulls all the way back.

You lick your lips, rid yourself of the remnants of his release that you can reach. “Is that what that was? You don’t look much like the Holy Spirit to me.”

He groans looking down at you, the hand still in your hair petting almost affectionately through the strands. “We make do with what we have in Hell,” he says. His eyes flick down to your lap, where you still have two fingers poorly sunk into your pussy and are rocking back and forth on them. “Don’t worry, doll, you’ll still-”

He freeze, some notice popping up in one of the upper corners of his screen, and he shakes his head and groans as it clears away. “Quiet- someone’s at the door,” he murmurs, and takes his hands off you entirely.

You suppress a groan at the lack of contact, fingers momentarily stilling and cocking an eyebrow at him. “How can you tell?” There’s no knock resounding through the building, no bells or chimes, and he holds a finger to his lips.

“I get an alert when someone interacts with the AdamAI. Just hold on a sec-”

There’s an audible gasp from the sinner that enters the church, and Vox looks down at you with a wicked smile. “Keep praying, my child,” he says softly, “and we’ll resume our discussion on the matter of your ‘repentance’ soon.” He stands to his full height and with a swish of his robes he’s gone, approaching the newcomer behind you and speaking in hushed tones- you catch something about a ‘private prayer session’ and resist the urge to snort, instead shifting a bit to get your thumb against your clit and rub soft circles. You don’t think you can cum like this but it's nice, sweet little zaps of pleasure that start at your core and echo through your body like the acoustics of the church you kneel in. You bite your lip to keep the sounds from escaping you as they talk, the low timbre of Vox’s voice making your body hum and tingle remembering the way he had moaned and clutched at your hair as he chased his release with your mouth around him.

Fuck, if Sister Lucy could have seen you now she would probably have an aneurysm. But its not her words echoing in your brain right now- it’s Vox’s soft “keep praying” that has your hands unable to stay still, your hips jerking minutely while you reach futilely for the edge of your pleasure, to tumble headfirst into it.

It takes a moment for you to realize that the Church is silent once again, and when you look up- and up and up, your head tilting all the way back like you’re searching for God himself in the rafters- Vox towers over you from behind, his eyes dark and hungry. He drops to his knees, a resounding crack on the floor as he reaches for you, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat to keep your head tilted back, and a low growl rumbles from his chest when he feels you swallow against his palm. “Such a well behaved lamb, to stick to your prays so devotedly in the presence of others,” he whispers, his tongue curling over the shell of your ear, and now that you’re alone there’s no shame in the desperate moan that you let loose- the way he says ‘lamb’ is so sickeningly sweet and exaggerated that you know the word he wants to use is ‘slut.’ “What kind of shepherd would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?”

His other hand comes down to grab the rosary, pulling your fingers from the slick heat of your cunt and bring them to his mouth- his tongue curls around them, the lewd sound of him sucking the juices from your digits right next to your ear, causing heat to pool in your lower stomach. Once he’s satisfied, he hoists you up with his grip on them, spinning you so that you’re facing him and pinning you to the edge of the stage. “Thought the ‘baptism’ was my gift,” you say as he lifts your legs up around his waist, shoving your skirt out of the way and just tearing your panties off your body, exposing you to the cool air of the church. “You should keep your metaphors straight.”

“Come on, I’m fuckin’ trying,” he mutters, pressing his screen to your forehead so you’re breathing in the same air. “Didn’t Jesus say some shit like ‘choose words that bring peace, not conflict’ or something? Take that holy advice, stop poking holes in my sermon, and let me show you Heaven.” He leans in before you can respond to tangle his tongue with yours, and considering where you are and what you’re doing, kissing a television is hardly the weirdest thing to happen to you today. It’s pleasant, even, a light hum of static where your lips meet his, his tongue almost vibrating with concealed electricity as he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste his own cum in the back of your throat.

When he pulls back for your answer, you can’t resist the truth- “That was Buddhism,” you deadpan, and laugh when static crackles across his body, a renewed erection pushing into your thigh when he uses your bound hands to lay you flat on the stage. He fumbles with his robes to get them up and around his waist again, and the laughter dies in your throat as the silky smooth head of his cock bumps against your drenched folds.

“You know a lot about religion for someone that seems to only know how to be on her knees for one thing,” he murmurs, and it's both shame and heat that flashes through you at the words while he slides his length back and forth through your wetness, pressing lightly against your clit and retreating, teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up while I’m fucking the thoughts out of that pretty head, hm? Gimme a Bible passage since you know so much, dollface.”

“I don’t have access to the internet in my brain like some people but I’ll do my be- ahhh, fuck-” Vox cuts off your sentence with a solid thrust of his hips, the tip of his prick finally slipping in, and he works it in slowly, letting you adjust to it a few inches at a time until he’s buried to the hilt in your wet cunt and breathing heavily against your neck. “Oh God-”

“Thought taking the Lord’s name in vain was a sin,” he breathes, and licks down the column of your throat. He pulls back a little, the drag of him inside of you a delicious burn before he snaps forward again, punching the air from your lungs. He maneuvers the fingers of the hand still holding the rosary to press the wooden cross into your palms. “Come on, angel, give me something good.”

It’s admittedly hard to think with the way that he pistons into you, hips angled just right to hit that sweet spot inside that you had been missing with your bound hands, his free hand digging bruises into the flesh of your hip. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind- “‘A-All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for- fuck, for instruction, for conviction, for correction, and for training in right-righteousness,’” you manage through the pleasure that courses through you, and Vox laughs, the action causing his body to shake against you.

“Something better,” he demands, still drilling his cock into your pussy, hard thrusts that make your vision waver and your breath catch in your throat- how he expects you to talk during that, you weren’t sure, but you would do your damndest as you search your memory for something else.

“Fuck, uhhh… ‘If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with pointing finger… and malicious talk, and if you spend yourself on behalf of the hungry-’” You lose focus on the words you can see behind your eyelids when the hand leaves your hip to press a clawed finger to your swollen clit, a firm circling that has you choking on the words before they can finish leaving your lips. A whimper escapes instead, and Vox’s grin is wide and hungry as he stares down at you.

“‘And satisfy the needs of the oppressed,’” he continues for you, “come on, little lamb, you know the rest.”

“‘Then your light will rise in the darkness, and your light become like the noonday.’” Every muscle is tense, waiting for the thread to snap as Vox continues to fuck into you like a man possessed, his tongue lathing over whatever bits of skin he can reach. You can feel the orgasm crackling like electricity down your spine, unsure if that’s a side effect of Vox’s half-machine body or just how fucking good it feels. Either way, the cusp of release has never felt like this before, like you might pass out from the strength of it, from how all consuming the pleasure is before the peak has even hit.

The pressure against your sweet spots- inside and outside- intensifies suddenly when Vox tilts his hips, pressing down harder and slamming his thick cock against that bundle of nerves inside, the wet sounds of your coupling all that you can hear over your voice and his grunts of effort. “‘The lord will guide you always; he will… s-atisfy your needs in a- in a- oh fuck, God, Vox-”

You want the face he’s making framed in the living room of wherever you end up living in Hell; he could almost be a real priest with the expression of worship that’s taking over his screen, looking down at you like you’re Heaven incarnate. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, that’s right; cum on my cock, sweetheart, a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧl͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, fuck-”

It’s just as all consuming as you expected- even more so as you tip over the edge into blissful ecstasy, every part of your body clenching down, your hands on the beads, your legs around Vox’s waist, your walls around the hard length still pounding away at you. You’re not even a little embarrassed about the echoing of your cries as you cum, the sound bouncing off the walls of the church and coming back to you and Vox, who’s chasing his own release in the tight clench of your pussy. The lewd, wet sounds intensify suddenly, sharply, the evidence of your orgasm drenching the robes bunched around Vox’s thighs. A high pitched noise emits from him, and his screen goes dark when he follows you over the edge, hot pulses of heat into your slick cunt, walls fluttering and spasming and wringing every last drop of cum from him, resting thick and warm inside of you as his head drops down to your chest and the entire building seems to just power down.

You fiddle with the rosary beads in your hands, trying to see if you can get them undone on your own- and yes, there they go, a quick twist of the wrist and they’re sliding along your skin, your wrists sore where they had been digging in this whole time. His grip on the beads had slackened as well, so you pull out of his grasp and let your hands run down his body, properly touching him for the first time- and it was well worth the wait, even through the priest robes. His muscles felt firm to the touch, the skin of his arms soft where his sleeves had ridden up, and the hot air coming off his head when you traced your fingers along the ports and wires on the back of it was oddly pleasant.

“You keep touching me like that,” he mumbles against your chest, and you feel his dick twitch where it’s seated inside you still, “and you can be the one to explain to my business partners why power’s down across Pentagram City.” The building flickers back on slowly, the simulated sunshine once again streaming from the windows as Vox boots back up, a loading screen flashing on his face before it turns back into his eyes and mouth, quirked up at the sides while you run your fingers over his body and head. “Gimme like half an hour and we can go again without blacking out both rings of Pride, maybe.”

You laugh when he pulls out, collapsing in the space next to you, the stupid little hat tumbling off in the process while he adjusts his robes. “‘Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light,’” you quote. “Maybe a power outage will bring more people to the Church, you could play that up on your advertisements- then if we regularly fuck there’s a business aspect.”

His chuckle echoes in the chapel. “Where have you been all my afterlife?” He jokes, and his clawed fingers give yours a squeeze when they come down to your sides. “I know you’re probably half kidding but listen, I could use some of that religious knowledge if Val and Velvette insist on making me do this once a week- the fucking doesn’t always have to be a part of it, but-”

“Listen, if that offer comes with a place to sleep and a hot meal every once in a while I’m down.” You think back to the screen you had signed before coming into the church- “Shit, unless that tablet I signed means I don’t get a say? Guess I should have looked at it a little closer-”

“Oh, that.” He has the decency to look a little ashamed as he pulls something up on his screen, making a note before closing it again. “Sorry, just a contingency- if we didn’t have a way for financially challenged sinners to get here that would severely limit our target market so we added that contract as an option. Technically your soul is now owned three ways by the Vees as a whole until terms are settled, but we’ll renegotiate, figure something else out.”

“‘Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back,’” you quote at him- “you help me out and I’ll help you.”

“Deal.” He stands and pulls you up with him, and you place the hat back onto his head- it snaps into place with a soft click that you laugh at- “Magnets, babe, I work with what I have”- while he leads you to the back of the church to clean up and talk about where you would be going from here.

Bonus

You’re laying reclined on Vox’s living room couch a few days later, wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else while he pours a couple drinks for you. All things considered, going to the church that day had worked out well. You weren’t ‘dating’ Vox, but he was keeping you off the street, fed, and fucked, so you didn’t have much room to complain. Every once in a while you would go over some common Bible passages with him, try to play out a full confession so he could see how it was actually supposed to go to try and help with the church thing, but because of how you met you could hardly get out “forgive me, Father” before Vox was hard and pulling at your clothes.

He’s bitching about it now as he mixes things in glasses at the kitchen counter when his apartment door flies open and Velvette strolls in. “Vox, babe, the fuck are you doin’ at that fuckin’ church? Your ratings are absolute shite compared to the stand-ins we have and that should not be the fuckin’ case.”

He immediately jumps on the defensive. “Imagine that- maybe its because I’m not a real fucking priest? God forbid it take me a fucking minute to learn the shit.”

You pipe up from the couch, tipping your head back over the arm to look at Vox and Velvette upside down. “A good start would be not taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Traitor,” he hisses at you, and the demoness doubles over in laughter when static sparks between his antennae as he whips in your direction. “And you’re one to fucking talk- remind me how we met again?”

“You sure you wanna do that while your friend is here, Vox? I can live with the blasphemy of fucking in a church but I draw the line at full blown exhibitionism.” Velvette wipes a tear from her eyes while Vox’s screen tints pink. “And besides- we’re working on it, aren’t we, Father?”

Velvette’s irritated grumbling is ignored as Vox pushes her back out the door and approaches you on the couch, curling his claws into your hair, coaxing you to your knees for another confession.

#priest vox #vox fanfiction #vox being vox #vox smut #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #x reader #hazbin x reader #LISTEN I HAD A BLAST

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thegnomelord · 7 months

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okay i finally caved and wanted to talk about my idea for a nishruu inspired monster of sorts? i just enjoy rambling a little bit as you may be able to tell

so nishruu. red whisps that endlessly hunt down magic and magical items to sate their hunger, so these creatures are a nightmare for mages and magic wielders. all of my knowledge for these guys comes from dnd, so ill have to take a few creative liberties but im not complaining! pure nishruus are rare - as well as humans that have under some circumstances become fused with these little magic eaters. they're slightly similar to wraiths - having whispy bodies that are impossible to contain considering how they can slip through even the smallest of cracks. they look... mostly human, besides the way their forearms, into their hands, fade into a red mist that flows off of their form, and how they can turn fully into whisps and slip away. these half-nishruus rely on magic to sustain themselves the same, so it isn't uncommon for these acceptionally rare monsters to seek out mages or other magic wielders and make a deal. i really love symbiosis - and considering that half-nishruus have human intelligence, making a deal is typically the best plan for them.

the deals are usually simple - in exchange for some magic to keep them sustained, the nishruus will fight to keep the person they made the deal with alive. after all, it's wise for them to keep their... supplier? alive, considering how many magic wielders will likely throw salt the second they see red whisps. oh, and nishruus main weaknesses are salt. it deals damage similar to poison to them. some magic wielders have even been spotted with sealed amulets containing a strange red substance inside, containing these nishruus until battle comes, where they release the magic eaters (which are likely very hungry) to aid them against any enemies who may have magical weapons or spells

also just imagining a nishruu hybrid crawling over to ifrit and begging for a deal, then ifrit keeps them like a pokemon lmao

-🪸

Okay this is cool and got me brain doing the hyperfocusing thingy so here's a noncannon blurb with Ifrit set at a time when Ifrit's been, mostly, redeemed lol. Probably doesn't make much sense but idk

You stare at Price, unmoving, unblinking. Then your gaze slowly slides to the man sitting across Price's desk. Corporal Simmons shrinks into himself, shoulders hunching and looking down, unable to meet your eyes. He doesn't know why he feels like a little boy in your presence, he's your superior for fuck's sake, but the way you look at him. . . if fucking scares him.

Finally, you speak, voice softer than Simmons expected it to be. It only makes the cold edge to it press against his throat harder. "Captain, with all due respect, which is none." You say, your hard gaze falling back to Captain Price. "What the fuck?"

Price lets out a low sigh, already done with your shit yesterday. "Don't make me write you up private." You both know he won't, you've said and done worse things than this. "You heard me clearly."

"Yeah, I heard you." You say, unable to hide the way your muscles tense, your fingers curled into fists. "I just don't understand why I have to keep the damn leech alive."

Simmon's tries to speak up, "Hey, I'm not-"

"Shut your mouth." The way you say it leaves no room for argument. Even without using magic, Simmons can feel the way it simmers beneath your skin, like lava bubbling beneath the earth. So plentiful and vast it makes his mouth water, stomach coiling itself into knots as red smoke fizzles at his fingers. God, he's so hungry, he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"Captain, there are other mages that would be more than happy to have this parasite attached to them." You grunt, motioning loosely to Simmons. "I don't get why I have to feed the damn thing." You make your disgust for Simmon's painfully clear.

"That's enough private." Price's growl forces you to listen, your attention on him as he stands. "This is an order." His hand reaches out to grip your chin, his touch making your skin prickle even when the balaclava you wear dampens the touch. "You will follow." His blue eyes stare into yours, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. It's almost endearing, the way he does it, but you know enough about dragons to see the hidden dominance in his touch. "Am I clear?"

You feel yourself frown, your eyes narrowing. "If it tries anything funny I'm taking it behind the barn and putting it down."

"Ifrit." The latter half of your callsign rolls off his tongue into a low rumble. Price tightens the hold on your chin, making it clear you're skirting the line of how much you can push before he needs to tan your ass to get some obedience back in you.

It makes your lightning prickle beneath your skin, "Yes sir." You grumble. "I understand."

"Good mage." He tuts and lets you go, "Dismissed."

You nod your head, your eye catching Simmon's as you turn to your heel. "Follow." You say, the sharpness in your voice making him scramble out of his seat after you. He sticks close to you as you walk through the hallways until you reach the training area, the walls and floors singed and blackened from weeks of training.

"Just so you know." You say, turning to look at Simmons. "As far as I'm concerned, death would suit you better." You say as you take off your glove, revealing the cooled mana texture of your mage marks. You hold your hand out, your fingertips starting to glow as you let a bit of mana flow to your palms.

Simmon's nearly stumbles over his feet, hands reaching out to hold your hand. He can't help but moan as he presses his lips to your palm, the smoke coming from his arms curling around your skin. He feels like a starving man finally getting a glass of water, feeling the mana flow into his body. He feels hot, his tongue tingles like he's just eaten something spicy, but god if feels wonderful.

He doesn't think he's ever met a mage with so much plentiful mana as you, his teeth nibbling on the volcanic chunks of your palm as he devours more mana. It curls in his belly, traveling through his veins, making him feel so warm and he just wants more, more, More—

"That's enough." You growl, pulling your hand back and quickly putting your glove back on. "Should be enough for a week." You grunt, leaving him standing where he is.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #🪸anon #hell has a basement floor series #non cannon #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #cod modern warfare #cod x reader

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the-letterbox-archives · 2 months

Text

archival file 350180-126[1] (tag game)

i am beginning to work through these oc questionnaires, so consider this part 1! thank you @fenmere and @ominous-feychild for the questions for round 1!

i will be using laszlo, ven, and dulcinea for the first 6 questions!

q1. “what is your favourite thing to do to avoid responsibility?”

laszlo

“As much as I love the extra responsibility, I sometimes find it best to engage whoever wants me to undertake extra work with an interesting conversation. It works especially well on Father. As much as he claims to hate politics, it gets him talking!”

ven

“Sleep. That’s… pretty much all I’ve ever done, and nobody bothered me with ‘responsibility’ then.”

dulcinea

“Leave. Well, can you blame me? Sometimes I need to reset. And the stars are really pretty, I can’t be away from them for too long, anyway.”

q2. “if you could choose anyone in your world to be your sibling, who would it be?”

laszlo

“Andrei! He’s my first and only friend, I would be honoured to be his brother.”

ven

“So far, the people I’ve met don’t really seem like ‘sibling’ material, to say the least.”

dulcinea

“What’s a sibling? Doesn’t matter, the only person I know is mum, so...”

q3. “what is the most sublime thing you have ever eaten, and why?”

laszlo

“Well, everything I eat is of the highest quality in Miyokav, but I quite like gryphon meat! Though, I don’t think I’ll ever be drinking wine again, heh…”

ven

“I don’t think I need to eat… Maybe I should check that…”

dulcinea

“We eat the same thing every day, but I like it. Non-perishable slop really has an acquired taste, but I’ve had eighteen years to develop that taste.”

q4. “what was the worst day of your life?”

laszlo

“You’d expect me to say the day I was almost assassinated, but no! No, there was another experience, as long ago as it was. In fact, the more I think about it, the less I remember… On second thought, can we skip this question? I’m a bit lightheaded…”

ven

“The day I woke up. That’s not to say it was a particularly bad day, it was just the first day I’ve ever felt anything other than nothing.”

dulcinea

“Every day feels the same to me, honestly. I can’t really keep track of time anymore. I remember tiny fragments of Earth, but not enough to be a real memory. I think my worst day would be leaving Earth.”

q5. “what’s your worst nightmare?”

laszlo

“Losing everything I’ve ever held dear because of the Promise. I fear the worst every year, but I can feel everyone’s hope fade further as the tithes increase.”

ven

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a nightmare… Oh, it’s metaphorical? Okay, uh, maybe not knowing who I am. Is that a worst nightmare if it’s already happening?”

dulcinea

“Losing mum. I know it has to happen someday, but I just… don’t wanna think about it.”

q6. “if a monster asked you your worst nightmare, what would you tell it and why?”

laszlo

“Foolish to assume my people don’t worship monsters already. If a god asked me my worst nightmare, I would lie. What lie, I’m not certain, but I would never let them know they hold any power over me.”

ven

“It couldn’t really use the information against me, and I don’t have the wit to lie…”

dulcinea

“I’d say something like ‘seeing you alive,’ then I’d punch it in the face. Bad lie, I know, but it’s the punchline that counts.”

np tagging @introchasingstars, @honeybewrites, @paeliae-occasionally, @the-golden-comet,

@noxxytocin, @moltenwrites, @tc-doherty, @the-ellia-west, @theverumproject,

@thecrazyalchemist, @laylathewordwitch, @dragonedged-if, @leitereads, @autism-purgatory,

@gioiaalbanoart, @drchenquill, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @melpomene-grey,

@yourpenpaldee, @corinneglass, @agirlandherquill, @willtheweaver, @nczaversnick,

@davycoquette, @glassfrogforest, @princeofhags, @wyked-ao3, @fantasy-things-and-such, + open tag!

#letters speaks #not a story #laszlo kriska #ven insincere.#dulcinea beatrix #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #creative writing #writers #writerscommunity #tag game

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securitybreach · 3 months

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hellooooo what are ur favourite frostiron fics? i’ve exhausted most of my favourite tropes and i’m looking into new tropes to obsess over if u have any recs? tysm! :)

Hi emeraldfrostraven,

thank you very much for your message! This turned out harder than I thought (please excuse me for making you wait) because there are so many talented writers in the frostiron fandom. So this is a very short list but I enjoyed every single one of those stories and I hope that you might enjoy them too. There were a few other fics I would have liked to share but they're locked and I decided to respect the authors' decision.

Thank you again for sending this ask. I hope there are a few fics on my list you don't know already (that's why I decided to pick some older stories). I'm wishing you tons of fun!

Everything by the very wonderful @fullofleaves, whose glorious fic Are You There, God of Mischief? It's Me, Tony (Explicit, 2013) was the first frostiron fic I ever read.

Let's Go Get Lost by hypnotically: Loki doesn't want to be here. Tony doesn't know how he got here. They probably should have taken the jet. (Teen And Up Audiences, 2013)

Bostock by hannahrhen: Tony sets out a lure with almonds and powdered sugar. (General Audiences, 2014)

of Trust and Necessity by @roseapprentice: A story of card games and dubious claims. After five years, Loki finally escapes Thanos's pack. And immediately gets all snared up in a new one. (Mature, 2014)

Those Sinned Against by Arkada: When Asgard invades Earth - led by a huge blond man in a red cape and wielding a massive warhammer - it takes six months for Tony Stark to come up with a plan to turn things around: let himself be taken prisoner, and bring the Asgardians down from the inside. But it takes less than an hour for the plan to get away from him, thanks to the black-haired Asgardian prince who takes personal - very personal - charge of him. (Explicit, 2014 - 2015)

Taking the Fall by @usedupshiver: Everyone expects Tony to end up eaten alive sooner rather than later when he is put in the same cell as the Lyesmith, a man so dangerous even the members of his former gang are afraid to come after him. But sometimes it might actually be wise to just grin in the face of danger. (Mature, 2015)

A Matter Of Inertia by @roseapprentice: There was a tall, lanky omega getting into his car, holding an especially shiny-looking switchblade pointed in Tony’s general direction.Tony was fairly sure he’d had more than one wet dream in his life that started about like this, and the thought distracted him until the passenger door slammed shut and the omega snarled, “Drive!” with deadly ferocity.Yikes. Tony turned his wheel to steer away from the barrier and stepped on the gas.In which Tony makes a lot of bad decisions, and regrets none of them. (Mature, 2015)

Project Snowflake by @usedupshiver: When Howard Stark met his untimely death he left behind a secret project no-one ever knew about. (Teen And Up Audiences, 2015)

Did You Do Something With Your Hair? by STARSdidathing: Loki cuts his hair and Tony is extremely fascinated, almost to the point of obsession. Honestly, Tony's just trying to ignore this wonderful new problem. (Teen And Up Audiences, 2016)

From Anonymous by STARSdidathing: When Tony was caught in a lab explosion three years ago, he was lucky to walk away with his life. He gained a lot of injuries and retreated from the world. He now lives in seclusion in an apartment complex he owns, but his retreat doesn't stop him from noticing his neighbour or developing a crush on the handsome man. (Teen And Up Audiences, 2019)

Clockwork by @amidnight--dreary: When Loki's suppressants fail, he registers to be paired with a companion during his next rut. It's a lot easier than finding an actual mate, which he's already given up on, anyway. He doesn't expect much to come of it except the very-much needed relief and a few days of casual fun. He certainly doesn't expect to fall in love, but it just kinda happens, anyway. (Explicit, 2022)

(This list is also my contribution to the @frostironflashbingo May to August 2024, Card 1: Free Space)

#frostiron #fic recs #loki #tony stark #frostiron flash bingo #fanfiction #rec list

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yanderestarangel · 1 year

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☆Yandere!Edward Richtofen ☆

a/n: just using some posts from my old blog ( I excluded it because I wanted to focus more on the things I liked and not stick to just one topic ) Anyway, enjoy.

Tw: male reader and gn, other than "you" no other names used, death, blood, manipulation, harassment, dark themes, non con.

This man met you when you unexpectedly fell into an intradimensional portal connecting realities.

You fell at his feet

Like a fallen, lost angel who needed to be held at any cost and when I say any cost, I mean literally anything.

Young Richtofen tries to hide his sadistic side from you, he will always give you a friendly and reassuring smile, but deep down he wants to see you in your most intimate and fragile state. If you are an independent person who likes to do everything alone, forget it my angel, Richtofen will simply cut your independence completely, whether you like it or not.

He will remind you of how he saved you when you were so lost in his world, the desperation in his eyes as he saw a horde of zombies chasing you, you literally begging a stranger to save you from death, how grateful you are it must be because he did it. the one who found you and none of your mates who would leave you there without a second thought.

He would use anything to see you grateful and fearing in a way. Edward hates this feeling that fills his chest and warms him.

The man hasn't had much human contact in his 30 years of life, the university was empty and cruel to poor Edward and the gods have sent you, their saving angel.

He trembled just listening to you talk, seeing you every day seemed like a difficult task, Richtofen controlled himself more and more not to grab you in the middle of everyone and claim you as his. But you haven't realized it yet. For you, richtofen was just a crazy doctor who had created the zombie apocalypse you were in now while still worrying about returning to your reality, you were afraid, like how much time had passed there, if your world would corrupt like that of Richtofen someday. To you, the innocent Y/N Edward was a friend or acquaintance you were uncomfortable with, but kept as a means of survival and gratitude, after all he set you up and saved you from being eaten alive by the undead. But in the rotten mind of the doctor. You were his. Only his.

Richtofen knew how to get him home, it was simple, easy and fast. But he never told you. Never. Every time you met him, the same thing was repeated.

You would enter his lab in an abandoned building a few meters away where you and the rest of your team slept, he would smile at you asking you to come closer.

You would ask the man again who would pull you into his lap and ask for a kiss in exchange for the information. "-My love..." Richtofen started with you in his lap passing his nose over your neck and hair, you felt uncomfortable with the man's big hands on your thighs going up and up, you could feel the man's breath on your skin . "-I have the name Richtofen, please don't call me that." -you said as you took his hands away and stared at him, the man smiled and lowered his tone looking at the notebook in front of him. "-Nothing so far, I'll see if I can do something else and send you home soon... But nothing my prince." - said the man while blatantly lying to you, he knew how to get you. But he wouldn't. You left the frustrated man's legs and went to his dorm again hearing Richtofen say something but you didn't even turn around to see him.

How long has he been saying the same thing? 2 weeks? 2 months? 2 years? You didn't even know what time it was anymore. In addition to Richtofen, no one in the group was interested in talking to you, which made him frustrated for having only the doctor as a support to not go crazy in this distorted world.

Edward was working on other things, the main one being how to kill more zombies so the two of you could live a little better in that horrible reality. He even thought of opening a portal and running away with you to another place, but that would be too risky and he hated risk. Then you and he would stay in that world forever, but the man saw that you were getting more and more impatient and that worried him leading him to a drastic and horrible measure, kill all his team members and succumb to total madness only you are he .

He waited for you to sleep that night and quickly took care of killing all your team members, Richtofen felt nothing. The warmth of someone else's blood just made him feel empty without any regrets.

He quickly disposed of the bodies giving zombies outside the safe walls of the city, you were quickly returning and showering cleaning the blood and gunshot marks on the gray building. You woke up with a weight on the side of the mattress and quickly turned around to see Edward smiling at you, bidding you a warm good morning.

After that you went downstairs seeing the silence of the dorm and asking the man where all the other members were.

And that's when the theater began.

Richtofen lied playing the victim saying that the men had found the portal to his reality, you smiled happily but everything fell apart when the brunette said that they had entered and placed a timed detonator so no one could find them, it seemed like a false lie and it was really, but the air there and the current loneliness made you hyperventilate with all that belief in your doctor “friend”.

You cried while Richthofen mentally repeated an apology, he blamed himself deep down for all of this, but there was no going back.

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patscorner · 7 months

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SILVER LININGS PART2

Summary: Amari Hansley and her twin brother, Anthony Hansley's friendship with the Sturniolos is stronger than ever. But what happens when tragedy strikes Mari's household, and causes emotions to rise, as well as feelings for one of her closest friends?

TW: death of a family member, crying, breaking down (this chapter is short)

______________________________

Anthony sat in shock. This can't be it. Tears fell from his eyes as he prayed it was a dream.

He wish he'd wake up and his mom would be alive and well again. That she'd be laughing at his dad dancing in the living room. That she'd be spending hours in the kitchen, cooking up meals while dancing and listening to her favorite songs.

He wished that it wasn't real. He wished he didn't actually watch his sister crumple when his mom was diagnosed. He wished he didn't actually watch the light-hearted dinners turn into 6 eyes rotting in front of the TV with cold plates of macaroni. He wished he didn't actually watch the medicine that was supposed to make his mom better, slowly tear her apart.

He wished he didn't see the life get sucked out of his father, making him the shell of a man he once was.

He wished that his grandfather wasn't actually in front of him, informing him that his mom was no longer with them.

Anthony couldn't live without her. She was everything to him. He's always been a mama's boy, always. She was just his person. She was there for him to pick him up when he was down, and her hugs could cure almost every injury he had.

Her words were soft and gentle. She never raised her voice. She was always so soft-spoken and sweet. If there was any conflict, she'd be able to fix it with a simple conversation.

One time, Amari took Anthony's train and hid it. Anthony was pissed, and he screamed and cried for hours. His dad couldn't calm him down, but the second his mom got home from work, she fixed it. She made Amari give it back, and she made the twins apologize.

She had that power. To fix things with a smile.

But that was gone now.

Anthony and Amari sat in the hospital lobby, their grandfather by their side, and their dad god knows where.

The doctor walks out with a clipboard. His face was scrunched, and his shoulders were tensed with anxiousness. He took a deep breath before approaching the family, who rose immediately.

"Hansley?" He asked, his voice soft.

Amari nodded impatiently. "That's us." Amari wasn't nearly as close with their mom as Anthony, but it's her mom. She loved her mom, hell, she grew up with her. That's not something you couldn't just let go lightly.

The doctor clears his throat. "I'm sorry. We tried everything we could, but she didn't make it."

Anthony froze. No. There had to be some sort of mistake, but he knew that was just wishful thinking.

Amari's hand instantly goes up to her mouth, strings of sobs now muffled.

The doctor noticed the awkwardness. "I'll give you guys some time." Is all he head before turning and walking away.

Anthony wrapped his arms around Amari, tears filling his eyes. His mom was gone, like actually.

He'd never be able to hear her laugh again. He'd never be able to run up to her after his graduation or wedding. His kids wouldn't have a living grandmother.

He broke down as violent sobs left his mouth, Amari squeezing him harder. "I'm so sorry, Ant. I'm so sorry." She whispered as they hugged each other. She had no idea why she was apologizing.

Ant shook his head. "I can't believe she's actually gone, Mari. I wish this was a dream." He croaked out. Tears fell fast now, as it finally fully set in. His mother was gone, and she was no longer coming back.

She was gone forever.

___

It's been a week since she'd died, and the Hansley's were still a mess.

Anthony hadn't eaten in 3 days, and he hadn't shower since that morning.

Amari wasn't much better, but she made dinner, which she ate alone in tears.

Their dad hadn't left his room since that day. Amari went in to give him food, which he'd eat, but he didn't speak. He never left his room.

Anthony had forced his dad to call the school to inform them that the twins wouldn't be in for a while, but they didn't inform the triplets.

Amari turned her phone off completely. She couldn't deal with the memories of her mom left on there. Anthony, on the other hand, couldn't do anything but scroll, hoping it'd numb the aching pain in his heart.

He'd ignored the messages from Chris, Nick, and Matt, swiping them away immediately. He didn't bother to read them.

Amari finally turned her phone on to thousands of messages from Matt, Nick, and Chris, all three very concerned. She decided to text Matt back.

[To: Matty B]

Hey we're okay Sorry

[From: Matty B]

Are u sure ? Everything okay?

[To: Matty B]

Yeah got hectic but it's all good

[From: Matty B]

Gud, theres a party Friday and u and ant r comin

[To: Matty B]

No thanks

[From: Matty B]

Wasnt asking 7:30 Friday okay ?

[To: Matty B]

Seriously ?

[From: Matty B]

Yes maam 730 it is

Amari groaned as she slammed her phone down. She knew Matt wasn't gonna let it go, and she knew he didn't believe her when she said she was fine either.

Matt knew her better than she did, so he could tell something was off even through texts.

She stood up and opened her door, walking towards Anthony's room.

She knocked but opened it before listening for an answer. "What do you want, Amari?" Anthony said softly.

"We're going to a party, Friday at 8." She said a matter-of-factly.

Anthony sat up. "We ain doing shit. You can go. Have fun. Say hi to Matt for me." He said, rolling his eyes and laying back down.

She sighs. "We need to get out of the house. I know you want to leave, too. It's been a week. Come on, just one party, we don't even have to stay long. We can stay for at least an hour and then we can leave." She said, her voice coming off more desperate than she meant it to.

Anthony sighed, standing up and walking over to her. "I know. We can go. I'm sorry." He said, his voice cracking.

Mari pulled Ant into a comforting embrace. "It's okay. We're both hurting. I miss her, too." She whispers. That's all it took for Anthony to break.

Heavy sobs escaped his mouth as he buried his face into the crook of Mari's neck. She eventually started crying, too. She missed her mom just as much as Ant.

Maybe this party could help them forget.

Or maybe not.

______________________________

#matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew bernard sturniolo

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pumpkinfreak · 8 months

Text

Watching Hannibal for the first time S2E1-4

Before I recap anything I need to rant. Will is in an asylum. At his lowest point, fighting for his life. Okay, Beverly Kats a pathologist from Jack's team. Comes to him and needs his help solving a murder. They found a body downstream, and Will, with his big brain wisdom, tells her to go upstream to find the killer... I am beginning to understand how these people could drive you to serial killing. HOW IS THAT NOT YOUR FIRST INSTINCT. It's a rural area, there's not a WAWA on every corner to search.

Apparently any rat bastard can get into the FBI, they all rely upon one guy using basic laws of nature to solve crimes. Like, this was not 4D chess, it was Connect Four. Instead of connecting four, you threw up on yourself and went crying to Will to fix it.

...rant over.

First scene Episode 1. Gives me more Mads fighting in a suit (I need psychological help) always love that. Lecter and Jack are trying to kill each other and then the plot insults me by jumping back twelve weeks. When Jack and Lecter are still friends. They're both bummed about Will being a serial killer and blaming Hannibal for the murders.

During this, we got to see the inside of a sea urchin (I desire the yellow spike ball meat) and it implied the Tuna meat Hannibal was sclicing up was a person. Like I don't know what fish meat looks like.

The whole event was very upsetting.

However, back at FBI headquarters, I was pleased to see Miranda! She's the internal Investigation lady.

Granted it's not the same character, but the vibes were there, now I need a Hannibal/Sex and the City crossover. Carrie and Lecter can go shopping and then eat Big. THE PLOT WRITES ITSELF. Anyway, Miranda, wants Jack to essentially throw Will to the wolves so the FBI doesn't have to take accountability for destroying his brain.

Also, there's like a guy sewing people together, so they form a giant eye to look at GOD, so GOD can look back at them. It looked really neat. Did not like watching a victim rip his own skin apart to escape. Loved the sequence of him running from the killer. Hannibal kills the guy, steals his leg, and sews him into his own body painting.

It's made abundantly clear that Hannibal believes himself to be god in this scene, and then he goes home and eats some tasty leg meat.

Episodes two and three focus on Will's trial, and everyone has opinions. Alana thinks Will did kill those people, but he did it in an unconscious state, and would not have done so otherwise. Jack is torn and can't decide if he pushed Will too hard and broke his brain, or if he's a highly intelligent psychopath who used the FBI as a cover. Will is in the trenches, trying to prove it's Hannibal. My opinion is that the hat Freddie wore to the trial is a sin against god and man. This woman wore the hat your Southern Baptist grandma wears.

In the smack-dab middle of this trial, another ear is delivered to the court. The ear belongs to the bailiff, who is found super dead. Jack is thrilled because this means someone may have done the killings, and he can avoid any responsibility for Will's mental state. I think I want Jack to get eaten. They try to work in this new murder as proof that Will is innocent, and the judge is not having it...that judge is then artfully murdered...

...but at least Will got a mistrial

Episode 4.

While all of this is going on, Will is at the same hospital Chilten runs. Chilten is somehow alive, after being turned into a slaughterhouse gift basket. He did lose a kidney but retained his brass balls because this man just keeps on being a massive douch nozzle. His new mission in life is to prove Will is a psychopath.

Will wants Beverly to look further into Hannibal, and she begrudgingly agrees.

Jack's wife confides in Hannibal that she wants to kill herself, due to the pain from her cancer. To which he agrees, and when she comes back later on the brink of death from a morphine overdose, HE FLIPS A COIN AND REVIVES HER. First of all, I thought he was gonna feed Jack his own wife. You know, for funsies.

Then Beverly finds human kidneys in Hannibal's fridge. Wait, there is more. THERE IS ALWAYS MORE ON THIS HIKE THROUGH SATAN'S LOWER INTESTINE. Beverly discovers a bunker under Hammibal's house. That she explores alone, I'm not surprised she had to be told to go upstream. We don't see what's in the bunker, but imagine it's not a Beanie Baby collection. Hannibal finds her and then cuts to black.

Im going to throw myself into an oven. I loved almost all of this, until next time. Stay safe, and do not eat the Tuna.

#hannibal #will graham #first time watch #horror #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #nbc hannibal #silence of the lambs

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oogieswife67 · 4 months

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Been having fun with Fellow Honest as a God idea with @twistedtummies2 and I had a random idea for Fellow last night SO

The bedroom of the Fox God was bigger than what any citizen could imagine, but he wasn't done growing. There was blue and green fabrics that draped between the stone columns, blocking anyone's view of the room, while the spacious floor space was covered in blue and orange throw pillows and blue blankets, all of which were from various offerings Fellow got from the people of the land who came to worship and plead for their desires.

Of course, it wasn't just pillows and blankets that he would get. From what one can see just by looking at him- he was getting fed quite well, by both his servants and offerings. His belly was always so big, round, and soft when he'd take the time to rub and make it jiggle. His hips and thighs had got thick too, though a bit harder to see thanks to how his toga would hug his body. Each step he took one could get hypnotized with how his ass would bounce, if one could see it when his tail swayed from side to side.

Now there was this fox God in his bedroom, over two times the height of a man from when he first came to the land from some time ago, quite thick in the belly and hips, and surrounded by a dozen men and women. Were they worshippers? Servants? Even... offerings? One couldn't tell from a glance, but it didn't matter to Fellow. He looked to all the mortals before him, smiling warmly at all of them as he lifted their chins to take a better look at them.

But this wasn't for love... Oh no.

This was for hunger.

The human he was examining first would begin his feast. His mouth opened widely and began to eat them up. The humans around him watched, almost... envious, that it wasn't them that were first eaten by the God. The two mortals that were hugging Fellow's waist would watch and feel that soft belly expand with its first offering. They watched in fascination, and watched the belly move and distort with the mortal trying to get comfortable within the immortal stomach.

Fellow looked satisfied with the start of his dinner, licking his lips and taking this moment to feel the movements within him. His hands felt over his middle gently, then he sees one of the other humans that weren't hugging his waist take his hand, almost like they were begging to be eaten next.

And the God would allow it.

He opened his mouth widely and scarfed down the human, expanding his belly further and making it come even more alive. The humans within him try to get comfortable, but little did they know that they wouldn't be the only ones in the stomach.

The other humans wanted to be eaten so badly! It was like they were under a spell, or hoped that them or their families and friends would be blessed. Fellow found it so amusing...

And oh so tasty.

Fellow would gulp down these humans one-by-one. His belly would expand and strain with the lives that once worshipped or served him. This feeling felt so good. His toga managed to stay together through all this. The humans hugging his waist found their faces smothered with his swollen, active belly.

They didn't realized they were the last to be eaten.

Fellow first went for the human to his left, giving them a loving gaze as he got them to stand on their feet by lifting them up by their under chin. He opened his mouth widely and swallowed them right up.

The last person watched the God's belly grow and move with the 11 mortals trying to either get comfortable or out. It took them a moment to realize that they were the last one standing.

And didn't get a chance to run.

Fellow looks into the eyes of the last mortal, giving an almost loving look while he licked his lips slowly. The mortal was simply entranced by what they saw...

Even as the God's hungry maw opened wide and swallowed them whole.

Fellow laid back in his throw pillows and blankets, moaning and sighing as he felt his dinner struggling within him. His toga still stayed intact, even with the swift movements from within the swollen mass. Suddenly, Fellow's cheeks puffed up-

BRRROOOOOOAAAAAAAUUUUUOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRP!!!!!

Fellow sighed in content after such a belch, patting his belly happily as the movements slowed down a little. He dug himself further into his pillows, getting more comfortable before he closed his eyes to sleep.

He had more wishes to grant tomorrow, after all... perhaps the mortals will throw themselves at him to be eaten like today...

#oogiesart #oogieswriting #I'm such trash but dammit I'm proud #Yes I'll try to do a bit more art for this idea

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carrotcouple · 5 months

Text

It had been simple.

Going through the motions, investigating things that Nahida asked him to, picking fights with arrogant scholars, reading as many books in the forbidden section as he wanted to, rejecting invitations to go drinking with Cyno and Kaveh, writing when he felt like it, teaching Collei how to read.

He'd pretty much moved on. And by 'moved on' he meant that he compartmentalized, putting past events into a box and throwing them into a corner of his mind that he never visited.

So he hadn't expected to be hit with reality quite like this.

"Are you alright?" Haypasia asked him.

The thing was that Fujin was in every sense, a fallen God. Had it been the days of the Archon War he might have even taken Nahida's place as Archon of the people of Sumeru, and Celestia itself would have acknowledged him.

And the one person who'd seen his very core and had become his one and only worshipper and follower now stood in front of him and she had no idea who he was. That was the price he paid for erasing himself from history. Not that he would want her to remember him anyways.

There couldn't be any world where she would have wanted to serve a pathetic failure of a God. She'd witnessed his short reign and then watched him fall.

"I'm fine," Fujin crossed his arms. "I don't see how I wouldn't be fine. Did you really think I'd be weak enough to get hurt from someone as small as you knocking into me?"

"Oh dear," she said, scratching the back of her head. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" Fujin laughed. His stomach was twisting into knots. She was important to him. So important to him that he felt it in his non-existent soul. The failed God in him desperately yearned for the devotion of its only devotee.

But he was nothing to her now. Not even a memory. He didn't even exist in a world before now. Not to her at least.

"If you offended me, little girl, I'd have thrown you out a window. Remember to watch where you're going." Fujin turned and started marching away. He couldn't even consider this as her betraying him. By erasing himself from history, he'd been the one to betray her, not the other way around.

"Wait a minute! I'm not-"

"Haypasia? Is that you? Getting confused and lost as usual then? Are you back after having eaten all the drugs the Forest Watchers could pump into your system?" Fujin heard another student call out to Haypasia and he stopped in his tracks.

"How dare you! I research a legitimate field! Also that was incredibly rude to the Forest Watchers! Watch your tongue!" Haypasia cried out.

"Everyone here knows that you and the Forest Watchers are in cahoots to get more fundi-"

Fujin grabbed the student's collar and swung them so they were dangling out of a window.

"How about you try finishing that sentence?" Fujin snarled. "I wonder how long it'll take for you to hit the roots of the Divine Tree of Wisdom? Plenty of time to reflect on the brainlessness of your actions, yes? They call the Akedimiya the center of all knowledge and wisdom in all of Tevyat but all I meet are buffoons who cannot rub two brain cells together but are riding on the esteem of their school. Tell me, how many things have you achieved? Surely you must be one of the top students of the Akedimiya if you are able to wag your tongue so freely?"

"Mercy!" The student cried out, gripping his hand tightly, eyes wide and fear all over their face. Their limbs were flailing, obviously not wanting to die.

"You talk about the Forest Watchers stealing funding they don't need. I should throw you into a Withering Zone and see how you fare. Then you can prove they don't need funding, yes? As long as you manage to get out alive, of course."

Everyone in the hall was staring at him, terrified.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It was rude of me to say-"

"Hat Guy!"

Fujin sighed. That stupid fucking name. He needed to bring this up to Nahida. He turned to see Tirzad, one of the older Vahumana scholars staring at him in scandalized horror.

"Put that student down this instant! This is a sacred institution! You cannot bring your uncouth bullying in-" Tirzad began.

"Well," Fujin said, "I'd like to see you do something about it then."

He was about to go back to threatening the student when he saw Haypasia again. She looked scared. Scared of him.

Ah.

She really didn't know who he was. She didn't know that she had seen everything. But she no longer knew him.

Fujin laughed a little.

He didn't know why he felt such a keen and aching sense of loss. He had known for five hundred years that he was destined to be alone and unloved. That was why everyone had either thrown him away, used him, or left him.

"Nahida will understand," Fujin told Tirzad whose jaw dropped at him using the Archon's name so flippantly and casually and then he let go of the student.

Several people including the student screamed as the student went plummeting towards the lower levels of Sumeru City. Fujin flipped everyone in the hallway off, glanced at Haypasia's face, and then jumped out the window.

He caught the student just before they hit the pavement. Then he gently lowered them to the ground where they collapsed in a heap.

"You should write a book," Fujin grinned. "'How to offend Hat Guy and Survive'. How does that sound?" He patted the student's shoulder and then decided to meander into the Grand Bazaar to maybe find Nilou and watch one of the theater's rehearsals before Nahida found him and scolded him for throwing people out of the windows again.

His mind wandered back to Haypasia.

He wondered if she had enough funding for her research. He had a stupid amount of mora and people were allowed to anonymously donate to students.

He hissed under his breath, trying to squash the failed God that lived in his hollow chest. Haypasia wasn't his anymore.

He crossed his arms and unhappily headed to the Grand Bazaar.

#sunny writes #genshin impact #scaramouche #wanderer #wanderer is called fujin #i wrote this at 3 am instead of sleeping #haypasia #is there a 'the swan princess' reference? yes!#i love scara so much #i personally headcanon that he just #fucks around for fun #he and collei are best friends #nilou teaches him makeup #he defends the theater troupe #and takes care of the forest rangers #scara and haypasia's broken connection makes me #want to cry into the floor #scara was a God for like five seconds there #and it hurts

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melishade · 2 years

Note

Oh my God, that deleted scene makes me think of how Pixis would react to Elita-1.

Previous Episode of the Beloved Timeline

Pixis would be so jealous, and so proud that Optimus managed to bag a woman like that. So proud.

So after Optimus and Elita have a really good cry session and hug at the fact that both of them are alive, they begin to talk about what exactly happened with each other and how they ended up here on this planet. Elita explains how the crew saved her life after she went into stasis lock, but the Decepticons attacked the ship with scraplets, causing the ship to crash land. But the ship fell apart and flung her into the water, sparing her the fate of getting eaten alive. But instead of going back to save the people on the neutral ship, she ran, and she had been running and surviving on this world for twenty years.

Optimus is absolutely devastated at the fact that Elita was all alone, and it's very apparent the horror and guilt is etched in his face. Elita has to prompt him to tell his side of the story, and Optimus explained what happened during the war, how he got the Matrix, fleeing the planet and ending up on Earth where the war continued. He tells her how the Autobots did win the war and how he had to sacrifice himself in order to ensure that the Well could create new life.

"So, I could very well be talking to a spirit right now?" Elita tried to tease, but Optimus could see the guilt and shame in her optics, trying to cover up her pain.

And both end up apologizing at the same time, which startles them both. They explain why they're apologizing. Optimus is apologizing for letting his anger get the better of him in that moment. For not realizing that she was in stasis lock and going into a fit of rage instead of grabbing her and taking her to safety. She wouldn't have been left alone, and it was his fault. Elita retorts by saying that he was grieving in that moment, and to know that she was loved like that made her spark happy. But Elita still has to apologize for not coming back. Not finding a way back to the war and back to Optimus. She had been scraping by to survive instead of putting her life on the line for the Autobot cause. Now to know that the war was over and that she didn't really do anything to stop it, on top of that, somehow managing to survive while so many more noble had fallen? Oh, it fills her with such shame and grief. Optimus has to tell her 'no'. It wasn't her fault. She couldn't have been able to control what had happened and how. She did what she had to do to survive. It happens in war. Maybe it was the part of him that was so happy to see her, but Elita is not feeling any better. 20 years of guilt doesn't go away.

"Optimus...I...I'm not the same person I was when we last saw each other," Elita proclaimed.

Optimus was stunned at the statement, but Elita merely chuckled at his confusion.

"I mean, look at me." Elita gestured to her faded armor, "I look like scrap. I haven't been able to talk to someone in 20 orbital periods. I'm...damaged."

"...I am not the same mech you once knew either," Optimus proclaimed, "The war has taken its toll on me. To lead and to guide has been...mentally draining."

Elita couldn't help but smile bitterly at that, the survivor's guilt eating at her.

"But...I cannot wait to learn about you all over again," Optimus declared with a small smile.

Elita stared at Optimus in surprise before she began to laugh, and her laughing caused Optimus to chuckle. Somehow them laughing together, ease the pain in their sparks just a little.

Meanwhile, the Survey Corps are still freaking the fuck out. Because WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S OPTIMUS' GIRLFRIEND?! Hanji demands to know why in the fuck Levi knew about this shit! And Levi explains that he knew after Levi's squad died because Optimus wanted to empathize with him. Also, how the fuck does Mikasa know?!

"Bonding?" Mikasa guessed, wiping her mouth of the water she choked on.

"So Optimus tells the two of you about his long lost love, but not me?!" Hanji exclaimed, "I am insulted!"

"Hanji, that's not even the point right now!" Levi reminded.

"It is very much so!" Hanji declared.

"Optimus has a girlfriend," Jean could only mutter, "I never expected someone like him to get...anyone. He just seems so quiet?"

"So does that mean that Optimus has had sex?" Sasha raised her hand.

"Sasha, what the fuck?!" Eren yelled, "That's not something I need to hear right now!"

"It's a simple question!" Sasha retorted.

"It's a gross question!" Eren declared.

"It is a valid question!" Hanji agreed, "Did Optimus get laid and how does it work?!"

Eren could only scream and cover his ears, trying to block out the mental image that was trying to form.

Everyone is just going through it, and it is something that takes up hours of conversation. The military heads do get wind of this because of the commotion it initially caused, but they don't know that Elita is Optimus' love. Out of respect, the Survey Corps will keep that under wraps, but they are certain someone heard it with all the commotion they created.

Optimus eventually does have to leave Elita for the time being to allow her to recover and to explain his absence. He tells the military that Elita is a high ranking Autobot that was considered deceased during the war and that the neutral ship that they found was the one that she was on before she got stranded on the island. He omits the fact that the two are in a relationship, which the Survey Corps are relieved about because they made the right call about keeping their mouths shut. When they hear the fact that she's been on this world for 20 years, they are understandably frustrated because she could've help, but Optimus says that she tried to come to the walls and was immediately met with cannon fire. So they all come the the conclusion that Rod must've covered it up. Optimus explains that for now, she needs to rest and recover and she will be caught up to speed about what their current situation is.

The military accepts this. The Survey Corps do not. Once the meeting is over, Optimus is immediately pulled aside in a makeshift classroom and the Survey Corps immediately sit down in anticipation for a god damn explanation.

Optimus took a deep breath. "You are allowed to ask questions."

Everyone's hand immediately shot up.

"None of which are inappropriate," Optimus declared.

Half of the hands went down. Optimus stared at Hanji as she kept her hand raised with a tight expression, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Hanji-,"

"Dear Optimus Prime," Hanji began with an innocent smile, "It's me. C'mon. You know my shit's gonna be inappropriate."

Honestly, Optimus should've expected this reaction.

Ymir and Historia kind of come into the middle of this, ready to give their own demands, but the bomb is dropped on them that Optimus has a significant other that's alive and is here right now. The two decide to politely sit and listen in, trying to process what the hell is going on.

(So it's gonna be just a little bit more before Elita is introduced to the Survey Corps because she just needs a moment of rest right now. And the Survey Corps are trying so hard to comprehend. But it's gonna be a while before other people find out too.)

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margridarnauds · 5 months

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i would love to give you an excuse to ramble about kitrye and raphael! (i don’t even go here, but they delight me.) my personal favorite way to play with my assorted blorbo barbies is to dump them in as many sandboxes as my brain can hold - do you have any AUs you’re especially fond of for them? or, conversely, an AU that you think would Make Them Worse to be dropped into, for the drama of it all?

God. The Blorbos (one of whom only exists in my head + the game files). God, so when they first meet, it's important to understand that Kitrye is TERRIFIED. She hadn't been back down to the Underdark in over two hundred years, and there she was, back in this place that caused her so much trauma, hoping to find a cure because a parasite's been put in her head that won't just kill her, but will transform her, painfully, into something Other. And THAT was when Raphael decided to make his appearance, so she pulled her sword at him, to which he basically went "nuh uh" and poofed it away.

But over the next two acts of the game, they developed this odd dynamic -- a level of fondness, physical attraction, and respect mixed with apprehension and caution on Kitrye's end. She serves a morally good goddess who is chaotic, YES, and does genuinely care about her followers, but probably wouldn't like Kitrye...just...making eyes at a devil. So, the push and pull continues. Because, DESPITE that, they...get one another. In a way that her companions don't get her, because they're so wrapped up in their own issues (which are, admittedly, big issues), that they don't realize that Kitrye is very much Not Okay, or even really...know her. While she and Raphael have shared interests in art, literature, and music. (Their second meeting was Raphael stumbling on her practicing the lyre and listening to her play, as he started to realize there was more to this paladin than he'd thought.)

It's also vital to understand that, in DND mechanics, high level paladins' souls are RIDICULOUSLY alluring to devils, because they're worth more. So as this dynamic develops, Raphael ALSO becomes increasingly interested in *her* soul -- he wants her to give him the Crown of Karsus, yes, which would give him the power to (maybe???) take over the Hells, but he ALSO takes a *particular* interest in corrupting her, all while remaining oblivious to how hooked he really is....

Right until the point where she breaks her oath. Because he had given her the (actually true!) information that a vampire lord was going to try to sacrifice 7000 souls to the Archdevil Mephistopheles (aka Raphael's father, who he hates), she stopped it, but the way she went about it was a case of "either stay true to your oath or stay true to your morals", and she chose the latter. Raphael has the possibility for a perfect victory -- he's managed to deprive his father of 7000 souls, he has his paladin in his clutches, practically BEGGING him to take her pain away, to take her soul...and he refuses. Because he realizes that he doesn't want her like *that*, he doesn't want to break her.

At the end of the day, she is someone who, despite appearing very cool and collected on the surface, albeit something of a loner, is actually EXTREMELY love-starved and depressed, with a hint of survivor's guilt; he is someone who, despite appearing cool and collected on the surface, has EXTREME abandonment issues and a tendency towards obsession (and a corruption kink). It's shocking but also kind of inevitable that they'd latch onto one another. She has someone who, while he's aloof and distant in public, is OBSESSED with her and makes her genuinely happy, who protects her from Lolth, the main figure in the Drow pantheon who really, really does NOT like when Drow defect to the surface world (and likes to do *fun little things* to Kitrye like, say, give her nightmares of being eaten alive by spiders -- the first peaceful rest she's had in over two hundred years was the first time she slept with Raphael). Meanwhile, he has someone who adores him, who accepts his obsessive love, who will never leave him, and who is able to match him -- she's just as sharp as he is, she's just as interested in culture as he is, she can keep up with him. And they're both half-one evil DND race, half-one good DND race -- Kitrye is half-Drow, half-Wood-Elf; Raphael is half-Human, half-Devil, which means that both of them is AWARE of what it's like to not fit into one world or another, with one incredibly abusive parent and one dead parent (Kitrye's mother sacrificed her father to Lolth after she captured him, Raphael's father is...a literal archdevil who might or might not have had Raphael unconsensually, from DND lore around Mephistopheles and the Cambions he produces.) Kitrye is the only member of the party who GETS *why* Raphael is the way he is, even when she doesn't AGREE with it...because in another turn of events, maybe she would have become him. Or he'd have become her.

And then, at some point, she realizes that it's either her morals or Raphael's life. Because he's done too much and, frankly, doesn't WANT to be redeemed. It isn't that he's passed some arbitrary point of no return for redemption, it's that he doesn't *want* it. And they were broken up at the time, after a truly massive argument. And Kitrye knows that the moral thing to do would be to either kill him herself or let someone else do it, but...she can't. Because that would mean things were *over* and she can't do that. In the same way that he can't be TRULY mad at her over the breakup, even though every law of the Hells says that him showing her that level of deference is a sign of weakness. Which is what subsequently makes him marry her.

By the time of their endgame, after killing or otherwise debilitating no fewer than one elderbrain, two gods, and one archdevil, they're very formal and dignified in public, for the most part, but very quietly affectionate couple in private who still enjoy bantering with one another, who enjoy exploiting the various clauses in their 500+ page long marriage contract as a way of toying with one another, who enjoy teasing one another and dancing around one another while, on occasion, embarrassing their daughter with how in love they both clearly are and scandalizing the Nine Hells. There is an active rumor in the mortal plane that he abducted her, mainly because the truth is too difficult for people to come to terms with (once again, people liking the IDEA of Kitrye more than the extremely broken woman she actually is, clinging onto a heroic version of her who...IS Kitrye, yes, because she STILL advocates for souls that Raphael has bartered for as much as she can, but also doesn't capture the nuances of who she is BEYOND that.) She's the only being in any plane of existence that he truly, fully loves, and that means that he is very, very protective AND possessive of her...which suits her perfectly well, because she has no interest in anyone else.

So, for AUs:

Some of my friends have been very valiantly putting up with me talking about an academia AU for them -- which is part academia AU, part "Let me rant about all the power imbalances that occur in academia." It's still a fantasy setting, just a modern day one instead of Vaguely Medieval, but there's a Lot as far as the way that women are treated by academia, the way that women are presumed to be sleeping their way to the top if they get into a relationship with a senior male professor and then achieve success, the "soft" labor that female academics are expected to perform, the way that male academics are allowed to be "eccentric" in a way that female academics aren't, the way that some female academics develop a tendency of...tossing their female colleagues under the bus to prove their toughness and worthiness, the power dynamics that can exist between students and their supervisors, the emphasis on things being Proper VS them being Right, etc. All of which. Is in NO WAY. For LEGAL REASONS. Based on ANYTHING. I have personally either experienced or observed. Kitrye is a grad student, Raphael is a senior scholar from another university. He isn't her supervisor or even on her dissertation committee, but it still IS scandalous when they get together and MORE scandalous when they get married shortly after her graduation.

Another one, in a canon timeline, would be the "what if Raphael had met Young Kitrye two hundred years before the events of the game?" Some part of me says that it wouldn't have ended well for her, because he had no reason to maintain his interest in her, but some part of me still wants to see Young Kitrye falling head over heels in love with a devil and going "That one. I want that one." The two of them running away together, causing romantic ballads to be written about them. It's great for business for Raphael. What would a Kitrye who had never been as fully influenced by her goddess be like? That would have been two hundred years of being a loner that she wouldn't have had.

Another is "What if KITRYE had found Young!RAPHAEL" -- this is something Kitrye actually wishes for, and it's even murkier since we know less about Raphael's backstory, but Kitrye does sometimes wish she could go back to him before he was as strongly influenced by the Hells and try to reach him. He doesn't believe it would have been possible, Kitrye does -- of the two of them, I trust her more than him, but, again, what would that have led to? Who knows. Maybe Mephistopheles, in an attempt to get Raphael to embrace his destiny, would have fridged her.

Another canon-verse AU is the What-If for Kitrye dying at some point and her goddess having to go to the Hells to ask Raphael for her soul back, so that she can be reincarnated, which Raphael, grudgingly, agrees to, and then their reunion in the modern day. (Please note: Raphael. Will NEVER. In canonverse. Allow her to die. He is in full "I will dig up your grave and then defy every natural law in order to bring you back how DARE you die on me" gothic antihero love with her.)

One that I discussed with @antiqua-lugar (I am. So sorry to you. For having to get through the block of text. To get here) was one where Kitrye had actually MARRIED Gale following the events of the game...only for Raphael to show up. And because it's ALSO a Soulmate AU, things getting really, really messy really, really quickly, which leads to Kitrye ultimately going to Raphael after Gale, in a fit of insecurity, makes himself into a god, which functionally kills whatever love Kitrye felt for him...or guilt over having an emotional affair with Raphael. Which becomes a physical affair soon after because...well...her husband is a GOD, that HAS to count as a functional divorce.

Then, there's the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement AU, which is just me...having Raphael get chased by a Goose. Until he is willing to come to terms with his own feelings. (Yes....this is a real thing. No, I have no excuses.)

#long post #otp: i've grown rather fond of you in my way #insane over them #thank you!

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