#may the Maiden forgive you

[justpked]

Today is May 13th.

You know what that means. Here is what was promised a long time ago.

Happy birthday, you bastard. May the Maiden forgive you for your sins.

I swear if someone finds a bug, I WILL cry

Happy Birthday, Asol

[morgue-friends]

happy new year!!!

would you be able to write a part two of maidens token where the reader attempts an escape and arrives at her village to see count or lol and her slaughtered village people

"A Maiden's Darkness" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, Count Orlok is his own warning, reader definitely has stock holm syndrome, death is mentioned, minor side character death, gore, sexual tension, dub-con, blood kink, marking, possessiveness, angst, hair pulling, penis in vagina sex, oral sex (M receiving), rough sex, you can't fix him so don't try sorry.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness -" Your head hung low in shame, you were ailing with guilt and remorse. You had submitted to death, not once but twice. If there was a god, he'd never forgive the sins you've committed. No matter how many verses of the holy Bible you recited, there would be no salvation for you. You were tempted by the devil, and you conceded, you willed it.

Last night after he had left you, spared you even, to feed from the village and hide before the sun could rise he had unexpectedly returned to you instead. When he arrived you were still lying on the bed draped over with the blood-stained blanket and tears falling from your eyes. You looked over at him and gasped, his claws and mouth dripped with a deep red hue that foretold acts of violence. That same red color followed along the fur of his attire and led you to believe there had been more than one victim with the sheer amount. The stench of iron flooded your nose and you gagged, if you had eaten more than bread that night you probably would have heaved it all up on the bed below you.

Your stomach turned when the thought crossed your mind that it could be the blood of a child he was drenched in. It was revolting, disgusting, and still when he approached the bed you spread your legs for him like an eager whore. He disrobed and you two embraced each other that night once more, you submitted to death once more. The silver locket necklace he had stolen from you dropped to the floor along with his garments. You could remember vividly the way you laid there for him compliantly, moaning and mewling amongst the sounds of his skin against yours. Your thighs were held apart with each of his hands while his hips pounded you downward into the mattress. After he was satisfied he abandoned you once more, retreating to wherever it is he'd go during the day.

The sun sat high and bright in the sky and yet you could still feel his cold hands ghosting over your skin. Here you were now, sitting solemn and praying to a god that would never help you. If your mother were to see you right now she'd shake her head and tell you that you had gotten yourself into this situation and needed to get yourself out. So that's just what you'd do, the longer you stayed here the more you felt like you were losing your mind. His shadow was consuming your innocence and maybe even your soul. He may not have been manipulating you but it didn't feel reasonable for your body to respond the way it did to his. He carried a stench of death everywhere he went and when disrobed looked even more like a corpse than what you expected him to.

After getting dressed and eating the fresh apples he left you on the dining table for breakfast, you began plotting. If you weren't going to plot your escape from the castle then your mind would wander and think only of him, as if you were obsessed. To be fair all you've done these past two weeks is think of him. Where would he go after he fed from you? What was his first name? Why did he avoid coming out during the day? There were a hundred other questions you could ask yourself but you wouldn't get an answer to any of them. Anything he told you about himself was very vague or probably not even true.

You wasted an hour of daytime stumbling around the castle looking for anything that may help you with getting out, but every room was empty of usefulness and filled with standard furniture covered with cobwebs and dust. Weirdly enough you found the baggage that you had brought with you along with your paint supplies hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet. Why he hid your items was beyond you, but the clean dress, undergarments, and shoes were appreciated. You then returned to your bucket of drinking water and tried your hardest to wash off the thick layers of dried blood so they wouldn't soil your new clean dress. When he fed from you he was messy, often rubbing his face into your chest and smearing it around which made you feel repulsive. There were no mirrors anywhere in the castle so you weren't aware of how good of a job you did but it would have to do.

The heavy metal door of the castle opened slowly and flakes of snow began to nest on your shivering frame. The blood loss would make you more susceptible to dying from the cold but it seemed to be a better way out than succumbing to the darkness under the thumb of your captor. The hounds that seemed to accompany him everywhere slowly congregated around you while you trudged through the snow up to the gated entrance. As you exited none of the dogs attacked you, they just panted and stared at you in silence, there was no barking or growling to try to scare you back into the castle.

Nonetheless, their silence and unwillingness to follow you out felt like a bad omen. Like they were quietly telling you that if you leave this castle he will kill you. You weren't sure how far the village he fed from was but there was a glimmer of hope in your mind that you'd make it there and depart by sundown. The snow made your journey take agonizingly longer than expected, every crunch of snow under your heeled boots only seemed to make your travels much slower.

The clacking sound of a horse's heels through the snow caught your attention and you followed the noise closely. There were two women sitting on the horse, you had met them both when you briefly passed by the village on your way to the castle. This was your chance, you had your doubts about your escape and survival chances but seeing them again gave you hope. You ran up to the slowly trotting horse and the steed stood up on it's two legs and cried out as if you had spooked it. "Stop! Stop I say!" The woman towards the head of the horse ran her hands over its face and that seemed to calm the animal but it still eyed you with unease.

"She has the smell of death on her." Before you could ask for help a feeling of anger washed over you. These two women knew you were heading to that castle two weeks ago and didn't even bother to tell you what you were getting yourself into. "She is probably a vengeful spirit, the vampyre does not keep his whores for this long." The older woman made the sign of the cross with her fingers as if she was blessing herself for just seeing you and the two continued off on their horse finishing their conversation in Romanian. You'd cry but these past few days have absolved you of all the tears you had left to release.

Disgust. Disgust was what you felt about yourself, the Count, the castle, the villagers just everything. The sun began to set and your heart sank in your chest, a part of you wanted to keep walking until you arrived at the village and found somewhere vacant to hide. While another part of you wanted you to turn around and walk back to the castle, sit at that dining table, and greet your lover with a smile. After contemplating what to do you let out a scream of frustration and continued toward the village. If the horse was walking slowly in this area that meant that they had to be close to their home.

The sun had officially set by the time you arrived in the center of the village. There were houses and homes around you, all with drawn curtains but you could see the glow of candles inside which let you know everyone was inside their homes and they'd most likely never open the door to what they thought was a 'vengeful spirit'. Each door was covered in garlic and a variety of crosses and bible pages. The more homes you past the darker the sky became and you had this frightening feeling that death would soon be coming for you, that it was already searching for you and knew you had gone missing.

On the far end of the village was what you believed to be a church, there were no candles inside and the windows were not covered by curtains. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak and revealed a room full of chairs, benches books, and whatever else the moonlight decided to show you. After closing the door behind you and taking a few steps forward you almost slipped on something somewhat sticky and overtly soft on the floor. You couldn't see very well what you were stepping on but the stench of death gave you a vivid impression. That had to have been pieces of an animal or a human even, as the familiar scent of true death you had become accustomed to was far too unique to be this.

That devil - your devil, had the stench of death but mixed with something far more abnormally comforting. It reminded you of your childhood days when you'd play alone in the small damp cave that resided behind your home back in America. The smell of that cave, the smell of pinecones in a forest, and pure decay were the smells you identified him by. Suddenly several books fell off of the shelf behind you and you almost fled until you saw the cause of the loud mess. "Oh dear god in heaven." Right before you was a man sitting in the darkest corner of the church.

He had to be at least a few years older than you, once your eyes had become adjusted to the darkness you could see him somewhat better. "You're still alive?" His Romanian accent was thick but at least he spoke English to you, the surprise in his tone sent you reeling. "No thanks to you or anyone else in this damned village, you're all SICK! Sick for letting me journey to that monster." And at last, the tears you believed to be depleted soon fell from your eyes. You had every right to be upset, to feel as though you were betrayed. "Iartă-mă, forgive me, I will explain but did he release you?"

"Explain first and I'll tell you." You were stern enough to get the point across that you weren't letting up. The man's expression harshened a bit before it relaxed. He grabbed what looked to be a bottle of gin off of the pedestal next to him and took a swig before looking up at you. "My name is Mihai, I asked to be here to protect the others, the vampyre will feed off me-" It all began to make sense, he was a willing sacrificial lamb which was why the church seemed to be so unprotected, and dark. You felt a pang in your stomach remembering that this was supposed to be a holy church. Consecrated ground that would protect against all evil and yet evil still invaded like a sickening plague.

"- Feeding it is better than letting it feed itself, yes or no?" You declined to answer that question as you put your back against the wall and dropped to sit on the floor. Feeling like an idiot you let your head hit the hard surface behind you, looking up at the unlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling. That's why the dogs let you leave this morning and why you were seemingly able to find your baggage. He knew there would be nowhere for you to go, the villagers too succumbed to his darkness and would never assist you. The one structure in the entire village you could enter freely and it was his feeding ground.

He wanted you here, wanted you to see that this was the kind of power he had over others and it was making you nauseatingly sick. You stumbled to your feet and turned to look at Mihai who was currently downing his bottle of gin again, he had no idea of the fate that awaited him. The Count would draw out his death and turn what was supposed to be quick feeding into a lesson for you to learn. If you had never left the castle this man would never endure the torture that lay ahead of him.

"Mihai I'm sor-" The flickering of candles interrupted you. The crucifixes that were placed upon the walls slowly turned upside down and the Mother Mary statue you were standing next to began to bleed from its eyes. "He is coming." As you said the words your hands began to tremble and shake. Even without the dramatic display of power, the rise of goosebumps on your skin and the tremble of your frame told you how his shadow drew near. The door of the church opened up with a slam as snow flurries began to enter the church with the gust of wind.

The flurries landed on the floor sticking to the bloodstained wood, there were small clumps of whoever he had decided to feast on the night prior now illuminated by the candles. Your eye twitched miserably as that had been what you almost slipped on earlier. Suddenly at the frame of the door, a tall imposing figure with glowing white eyes appeared, its eyes were directed at you solely and neglected the presence of Mihai. As he stepped into the church your gaze averted to the floor, you didn't have to look at him to see his disappointment.

His stare carried nonexistent daggers that pierced their way through your body and soul. His deep ragged breathing echoed through the room and silenced all other noises the further he walked in. The door slammed itself behind him and it made your heart leap a small yelp escaped your mouth. You kept your gaze on the floor and he closed the distance between the two of you to the point where all you could see was the fur of his cape below in your vision. A clawed hand shot up and grabbed the lower half of your face and forced you to look up at him as he towered over you. "You will watch and if you dare look away then it will be you instead."

"Yes, my Lord." You answered mindlessly, knowing that your life at the moment was being held teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff, and any foolish movement would send you tumbling downward. In your situation, that dangerous cliff happened to be your lover. He didn't release his hold on your face while his dark eyes stared intensely into yours, the gaze was so intense your eyes strained from the lack of blinking. You feared that if you took the chance to blink he'd snap your neck then and there for disobeying further. Thankfully his gaze was averted when Mihai purposely dropped his now empty glass bottle onto the planked floor of the church.

You took that much-needed blink and his hand was no longer painfully cupping your face but he now had it around the neck of the villager. Mihai's face became a deep purple as he was lifted against the wall, and as soon as his chest became eye level with the harbinger of death, his heart was latched onto and he began to be drained. Watching this happen before you showed you how much this creature held back when he'd feed from you. The way he siphoned blood from Mihai was nothing like what he'd do to you.

Him being a messy eater wasn't news to you but the sure brutality of the pressure he exerted against the man's ribs was so excessive you heard a sickening crunching noise as it sounded like they had fractured under duress. It was pure savagery displayed in front of you but you didn't dare look away. You watched as he had instructed you to while the life dissipated from Mihai's eyes. The blood from the villager's body flowed so much that it began to speckle the floor below them. When the body of the sacrifice finally dropped to the floor of the church and what now looked like a rabid beast corrected his posture and turned in your direction, you knew it was your turn.

"What kind of host would I be if I didn't indulge my guest in a little- how do you say it in English? Entertainment." Your face twisted in disgust at his mockery, you liked it better when he barely spoke to you. The more conversations the two of you had the more you realized he had a sadistic sense of humor. "Did you enjoy your trip today? I hope you found whatever it is you were searching for." As he took one step forward you took two steps back, not wanting to deal with whatever wrath or 'mercy' he wanted to give you.

The blood continued to drip from his mouth and your thighs involuntarily trembled. You mouthed a 'no' as you realized what was going on with you. For your body to react like this at such a scene brought back those feelings of guilt and shame you had this morning. You'd make the false accusation that he was manipulating you into this but both of you would know that was a complete lie.

His bloodied hand grabbed a hold of your hair and brought you to your knees. "If you were to kill me right now I would not need to blame you as I have disobeyed! I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will still ask for it." His grip on your hair painfully tightened and there was only a little bit more pressure needed before he'd be ripping the strands straight from your scalp. "You leave my castle, fraternize with a human man, and ask for my forgiveness?!"

His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the church and made the flames of the candles dance violently upon the wax sticks they sat on making you feel much smaller than you were and as you sunk into yourself like a scolded child. His furred cape flared in front of you angrily as he turned and walked away from you. This man was livid with rage before you and it only made you fear him more, you pondered why you even thought it was a good idea to flee the castle, to begin with.

"I'm sorry my Lord!" Before you could stand up to continue to beg for forgiveness and your life, a clawed finger pointed downward at the floor indicating for you to stay down at the level you were. "You will crawl to me..." You didn't need to be told twice by him so you put your hands on the cold wooden floor, lowered your back, and slowly crawled to him. When you reached him your fingers grabbed a hold of his furred cloak and you looked up at him with pleading wide eyes. The scent of your growing arousal made his nostrils flare and you could see there was an internal war going on within his mind about what he was going to do with you.

It was a demeaning idea but your fingers crept under his heavy cloak and you found the button latch to his trousers. He allowed you to remove his flaccid length and the heavy sack resting beneath it. You should have been utterly disturbed by how grotesque he was but you breathed a small moan while grabbing a hold of his cock. The longer you held him the harder he seemed to grow. Fully invested in what you were doing your hand tightened around him slightly and gave a few slow strokes of his shaft. The way his foreskin pulled backward and forward along the bulbous head of his cock was intoxicating and it was now you too who was breathing heavily.

As much as would have liked to deny it, there was a deeper connection than either of you would have expected to bloom. It wasn't just sexual it was disturbingly spiritual as if you'd never be truly free of him the same way he'd never be truly free of you. You had driven yourself mad about succumbing to his darkness but it wasn't just his at play, it was yours too. The longer you stayed with him the faster your mind began to unveil the depraved and dark thoughts that you kept at bay to keep yourself sane.

This mutual infatuation dared to ruin the both of you and you came to terms with being quite alright with that. It didn't take long before he fully hardened under your grasp and you gave his weeping slit a long and desperate lick. Your eyes never left his predatory ones as you coaxed the head of his erection past your lips. You sucked your cheeks in as your head began to bob up and down his cock. His entire length would never fit in your mouth so you kept your hand stroking at his base while your mouth worked on the half of him that it could please.

The fingers of your free hand found themselves in between your legs and sliding down your undergarments so you could spread apart your slit. You were unbearably wet with need as your walls clenched around nothing. Two of your fingers rubbed desperate circles around your clit until you were a panting mess and whining with his cock in your mouth. Your lover - your darkness, kept his composure and looked down at you with intrigue. His angry glare from earlier had softened but not enough to make you feel safer.

He grabbed a hold of your head and pulled you away from his shaft and his tip left your lips with a wet pop. You didn't stop stroking him at his base while his sharply pointed nails descended from your head and stopped at the side of your neck. One of his nails pierced your skin and drew a short line across your tender flesh. The pain was agonizing but you knew if you stopped he'd simply claw you deeper.

"That mark is for talking back to me and out of turn on the first day we met." You didn't have to look down to know that fresh blood dripped from your wound and further downward into your dress. His nail came into contact with your flesh again and you felt the carving of another short line. "This mark is for spending countless nights crying because you wanted to go home." He gave you a shorter moment of recovery before the pointed claw dug into your skin again.

"And that one would be for refusing the first few meals I would leave for you..." He wasn't smiling but his eyes held a sadistic gleam to them, he was hurting you and he found it amusing as usual. Your hand loosened around his shaft momentarily while the stinging sensation of your wounds began to cause your eyes to water. You shut your eyes entirely as another line was carved into your neck. "Once more for running away from my home. You have four now. If you ever gain a fifth that will be your final night with me."

When you opened your eyes his hand was freshly slicked with blood and now pressed to his lips so that he may taste you. To taste the life that he deemed so endearing to keep around him. Watching him do that made your slit weep with arousal even more. Before you could take him back into your mouth he stopped you and instructed you to turn around with a wave of his finger and you obeyed. You sunk back onto your hands and knees knowing what he was implying but it still surprised you when dropped down behind you and your dress was lifted above your hips.

You gasped when the head of his cock prodded at your folds before he thrust forward and entered you. When your body became flush with his, your hips rocked against him begging him to move. Even your walls pleaded with him dearly every time you felt yourself clench miserably around him. His length pulled away from you before sinking back in with a hiss from him as he started up a feral pace. Your body jerked forward every time his hips met with yours followed by a moan from your lips. With every thrust his sack would slap against your swollen clit and that made you whimper even more.

Your cunt was so greedy for his touch just to be able to take all of him like this when he'd just started. The pain of the lines he had drawn on your skin was soon forgotten about and forgiven with how pleasurable it felt when he split you open like this. It wasn't just the physical pleasure affecting you, you were also getting off on the power that he had over you, how little effort it would take for him to kill you right here while buried within your wet heat.

In between your moans and whimpers, you'd hear him grunt in approval from behind you. What was completely unexpected and took you by surprise was when his hand found its way back into your hair and he forced your head to the side so he could claim your mouth in a kiss. This level of affection was new to you but it soon became welcomed as well when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Blood, whether it was yours or Mihai's lingered in his mouth which intimately transferred over to yours and you greedily accepted it during the kiss.

With his cold tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth he only pounded you harder from behind which made your back arch further for him. You took one of your hands off the floor and started vigorously rubbing your clit in circles desperate for your approaching climax. When that peak reached you and your walls spasmed furiously around his cock you moaned loudly against his mouth and the overstimulation made you remove your hand and squeeze your legs tightly shut but his fervent thrusts continued.

His mouth left yours and your head was pushed down roughly onto the floor while he continued taking you from behind. Your legs began to tremble and your body wanted to inch far away from him but he held you firmly in place making you take everything he gave you and more. The increase in pace made your lower belly tighten as you came for him again around him. Your eyes rolled back and your hips buckled against him while you cried out with your release.

The thrusting stopped abruptly and he pushed so deeply inside you that it was painful. The tip of his cock began to twitch against your cervix and several ropes of his release shot into you. Your needy walls were milking him of his seed, making him fill you up like this. He left you feeling so full and satiated as the deed you'd both have done was nothing short of passionate He pulled out and you were flipped over onto your back so that he could lick the dried and congealed blood from the wounds he left on your neck. Your eyes grew heavy-lidded and you just laid there and let him salivate all over your neck and chest as much as he pleased.

You didn't remember closing your eyes and falling asleep until you woke up in the guest bedroom of the castle. You were light-headed from your ordeal last night and you nearly fell off the bed when you turned to see what looked like a stone grey box in the middle of the room. The more you stared at it the more you could make out its morbidly beautiful details and carvings. For some reason, it started to look more like a coffin maybe even a sarcophagus than a box or container as you thought it was. It looked expensive and ancient and you had no intentions of touching it unless you'd like to receive your fifth and final mark this evening.

Images of last night as memories came back to haunt you and a familiar ache between your thighs threatened your composure. With that ache, you felt an undeniable soreness, and inklings of pain that flooded the left side of your neck. Before you were able to exit the room the sound of stone sliding against stone made you stop and look at the now-opened grey sarcophagus with wide eyes as a clawed hand reached out from the darkness within it. Suddenly you were ready to succumb to it all over again.

[thewritetofreespeech]

kinktober: frottage

tags: frottage, making out, secret relationship, targaryen incest [aemond/rhaenyra's daughter], immense pinning by aemond

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“Where is Aemond?”

“I do not know your grace,” Larys replied. Remaining calm in the Queens frustration. She had been hunting for her middle son for hours, and he was no where to be found. “I have checked with the guards and sentries, and no one has seen him leave by Vahgar or horse.”

“So, he must still be in the city.” Alicent deduced. Hoping he was still in the castle as well. “The conclave starts soon, and we need…a united front for the court.” The plan to weave her family’s place to the crown was to start today. First, but claiming Driftmark back from Rhaenyra's brood. Then, with them illegitimized, start making the case that Aegon should be king. “He knows how important today is. How could he do this to me?!”

“The prince is nothing but a servant to duty.” Larys assured her. He may not see eye-to-eye with the prince, at least with the one he had left, but the Lord did respect that he seemed committed to his family and their goal. “I’m sure he will come out of hiding eventually.”

In a further, deeper part of the castle, indeed hidden away from all those who had not truly explored it, Aemond laid sequestered with his maiden. Marveling at her beauty in the low light between kisses. Beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck from the warmth of the candles in the small space and their hot, panting breath. Bucking against each other with soft gasps & grunts in the nest he had built for them

“We have to go.” His lady insisted. For the umpteenth time, yet neither one of them had made a legitimate effort to move.

“No, no. Not yet.”

Aemond didn’t want to go back to the ‘real world’. A world where his family and hers were fighting. Where the rift between them seemed to grow every day. Separating them. Lines in the sand now a chasm that seemed impossible to overcome.

He also knew what was to happen today to Rhaenyra's bastards, and that she might not forgive him for his part in the plot of disinheriting her brothers. Aemond wanted to stay here a little longer, where she wouldn’t be mad at him.

“People will be looking for us.” She told him as he moved to her neck, which was freely given.

“They’ll never find us.” It had taken him years to find this place and even then it had been difficult to remember where the opening was until he had committed it to memory.

“Oh yes. Because you’re so clever. Ow!” His lady yipped but then moaned when he bit at her neck. A true Targaryen. Wanting a little pain with her pleasure.

“We should just leave and never come back.”

He’d made the offer before. To take their dragons and ride until they reach new land. Conquer it like their ancestors. Build a new kingdom, instead of being stuck in this conflicting one.

Yet, every time, she just laughed it off as a joke like she did now. Not realizing the seriousness of how much he wanted to leave, and never come back, and just be the two of them in the world. “You would miss the tarts too much if we left. Come on. Let’s get going.”

Aemond finally let her go, though disappointed about it, and let her right herself.

In the right light, her mused hair and clothes looked like she had been riding. No one would think where Rhaenyra's Targaryen jewel had truly been. In the arms of her scorned, much less beloved uncle. His cock throbbed in his breeches. Desperate to make her truly his, but he would not take such liberties. Aemond would not tarnish their jewel nor besmirch her honor. He loved her too much for that. That’s why he wanted her to run away with him, so they could be together. Growing up in a world beloved & adored, she does not see that her parents will never allow them to marry. Never allow them to be happy. Their jewel will be given to someone politically inclined to help secure her mother’s place on the throne, and Aemond would be unhappy & unfulfilled.

He would join the Watch before he call anyone but her wife.

Righted and upright, Aemond tucked a lock of silver behind her ear. Marveling at the affection reflected in her eyes. “Will you see me later? After the conclave?”

“Of course.” She told him. Her earnest something he wanted to hold on to. “Here, or somewhere else before dinner?”

“Here.” Where he could pretend. And if he spoke his words sweet enough maybe she would take him up on his offer to finally run away.

They exit their nook and depart. Her back to her family and Aemond to his. His mother found him readily enough, given how frantically at this point she had been looking for him, and asked where he had been.

“Day dreaming.” Was all he told her. It was a peculiarly enough answer that it halted all further questions from his mother and left him to get ready for the meeting.

After today, his daydreams where all he might have left. Let him keep them for a little while longer at least.

[auspicioustidings]

Savage

Summary: Request for some Scottish warrior Soap taking an English maiden as a prize.

Words: 3.7k

CWs: Violent non-con (I am so serious, do not ready this if it's not your thing), hardcore smut

–

Authors Note: This is very much a rape fantasy. Traditionally rape fantasies have historical grounding in minorities who felt ashamed of their own desires so had to fantasise a situation in which they were blameless for engaging in a stigmatised action because it was forced. It’s sort of where a lot of the noncon trope in bodice rippers comes from because women in unhappy marriages need a fantasy in which they can get rid of the shame for wanting passionate or rough sex because they imagine they fought against it. A lot more people have rape fantasies than people generally realise and truly a miniscule barely there number of them would ever think it was ok to actually assault someone. All that to say, this is not me condoning anything in real life. If you find fantasies like this don’t do it for you, then do not read it, but don’t then shame people who do. There is psychology behind why people fantasise about these things, it’s pretty normal and you don’t need to be worried that it is some moral failing. Mind your business.

It was a miraculously good match for you, a high ranking soldier of the King’s army. You were technically of noble blood, but just barely. You lived simply, not in a large house but in a small village where you held no sway over anyone else and were treated as common. But the village was close to the border between England and Scotland and every day it became more tense as whispers of raids from villages to the West skittered between houses like rats.

You didn’t know how your uncle had made arrangements for this beneficial marriage for you, but it would get you moving South in a few days time to marry and then you would finally be able to relax with this war much further away from you. You had heard horror stories of what happened to young maidens when savages came pillaging. They said that they didn’t wear anything under those kilts, they said it was to make it easy to bury their cocks in any hot hole they could find. They said they didn’t have any tame qualities, not like the English. Scottish men were feral, the comparison to dogs not holding water because at least dogs could be trained. 

When you retreated to bed you got on your knees to say your prayers. As always you had to beg forgiveness for the licentious thoughts that sent thrills straight to your cunt whenever you thought about the images all those rumours put in your head.

–

The noise of chaos woke you in a panic, heart hammering against your ribcage as the smell of smoke drifted on the air and war cries sounded. You recognised your own kinfolk of course, the battalion of soldiers stationed here to keep eyes on the border. But it was the cries of those animals from the country to the North that sent you scrambling out of bed in only your chemise, knowing you had to run and hide before they could see you.

You slipped out of the bedroom, a frightened little rabbit looking for a burrow to hop into. The smell of smoke was stronger in the main room and you could see the orange glow of flames through the window. Going outside would be a risk, but hiding in here may get you burned to a crisp should this building be lit up. You did not have time to make the decision as the door burst off of its hinges, a muscular man in a blood spattered kilt with a warrior's mohawk and wild eyes panting like a dog as he caught sight of you.

You were frozen, unable to even breathe. And then after a beat his mouth stretched into a horrid manic grin as he bounded towards you. That finally shifted you from freeze to flight as you scrambled back through to the bedroom, trying to get to the small window. You threw the top half of your body through the gap but his rough hands grabbed your naked ankles and yanked you back, hard. You felt the chemise catch on the window frame, the fabric bunching up to completely expose you to him before he let go of your ankles letting you crash to the ground. 

Your knees throbbed from the hard floor and by the time you were trying to crawl away he had his hand in your hair, brutally pulling your head up and craning it to look at him leaning over and getting into your face.

“Hear I have a wee noble bitch on my hands.”

Of course he would know. There were families here who would tell them anything to save themselves and pointing them in the direction of a noble maiden, one who was betrothed to an English soldier at that, would certainly be information that could spare them. The shouts outside sounded more heavily weighted towards those in his own gruff and growling accent now. The English soldiers were losing.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about ser” you cried gently, not knowing how else to save yourself. 

“Bonnie words” he growled, pulling so sharply at your hair that you thought your scalp might be bleeding and using his other hand to grope meanly at one of your breasts through the rough fabric of your nightwear.

You cried out, feeling the tears immediately spill over and stream down your face. He was so strong, you could barely budge against his hold, and he reeked of blood and fire and sweat and hot arousal. You squeezed your eyes shut and he only growled at you.

“Ye’ll keep those eyes open, yer going tae watch yer wee English cunt take me like a whore or I’ll take yer tight arse instead.”

You choked on a sob and opened your eyes, seeing that his were full of sick glee and heat. The hand groping at your tits moved under the chemise to cup roughly at your sex and he pulled you to your feet by that hand. You screamed at how it felt as he abused you with his hand, grinding the heel against you. You felt a hot flood of bitter shame as he swiped a finger violently through your folds. What he found there made him pause for a moment, his face lighting up in unrestrained glee.

“Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

You had heard women who said it would be better to be wet if they were to be taken against their will. You did not agree. Him knowing that your traitorous body found his rough abuse of it arousing was so humiliating you felt you would rather die. He was so oppressive in his demeanour, so big and aggressive above you that you imagined he may break your bed with what he was about to do to you. How foolish of you to think he would have that level of mercy.

“Going tae show all those bastards how their women take Scottish cock” he laughed, spearing two fingers inside you to their full length with no softness at all and pulling you by them.

You could not breathe. You had never had anything inside you and those two fat fingers felt like they were stretching you so much you would tear. He walked backwards so he could keep them firmly inside you and you stumbled pathetically after him, needing to keep as close to him as possible to stop the painful press against your walls that came from him pulling if you did not move. 

The shame was overwhelming as you emerged, full of his fingers and stumbling after him with tears streaming down your face, to find that your country's soldiers had been defeated with the survivors on their knees, hands bound. You were being paraded in front of them you realised, they had been put right here in the town square so they could bear witness, the Scottish soldiers standing behind them feral and full of lust as they took in their leader pulling you in front of them by the cunt. 

When he ripped his fingers out of you, your knees buckled and a high whine left you. You had went from feeling too full to feeling far, far too empty. You could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through you as your heart hammered. That and him as he taunted the soldiers on their knees. 

“Our women would ne’er let ye touch them, they’d die first. Yer clean wee English princess on the ither hand?” he said, planting a booted foot to your chest and pushing until he had you pinned on your back underfoot, “she’s gagging fir it. Foaming at the gusset tae take strong Scottish cock, put a real warrior in her belly.”

His own men cheered at that and you watched on with horror as he cocked his head at one of them and he began to approach you. 

“Naw a monster though am I my wee slut? Ye’d be wet enough fir one of their small English cocks nae doubt, but fir mine? Going tae need something to help me sink in good and deep.”

The other soldier went to his knees between your legs and you watched as he pulled his throbbing cock from under his kilt, jerking it violently. You tried to move away, his cock so close you could feel the heat of it between your legs, but the boot on your chest held you still. When you tried to close your legs the man touching himself used his other hand to wrench one of your knees until it was touching the ground, using his own knees between your thighs to help him keep your glistening cunt fully on display.

When the head of his cock stroked through your folks, slicking you with his pre-cum and bumping at your clit, you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t quite manage to bite back your moan. They laughed meanly at you as the man found his release, spurting hot cum all over your pussy, smacking his cock against your stomach when he was done to shake off the last drops.

It was filthy, you felt sticky and like you were on fire. The next soldier took his place and spat right on your already disgusting cunt as he began to stroke himself. By the time he had painted you with his seed and the third was started, the man above pressed his foot harder to get your attention and all you could do was stare up into his taunting eyes, trying to focus on him so you could not think of what was going on between your legs. You cried up at him, trying to find any level of sympathy in him.

“Keep crying and I’ll gie ye something tae cry about princess.”

Oh you hated him calling you that when you were pinned down in the dirt, defeated soldiers of your country watching as their enemies smeared their cum all over your exposed body. Watching as they made a sloppy mess out of you in preparation for their leader to shove his cock deep inside and pump you full of his savage children.

You did not know how long you stared up at him, not able to look away as you felt the heat of his men on your body, your own body getting hotter and hotter with each slide of velvety throbbing skin against your own. He had started to talk to you, his eyes not budging. It wasn’t the defeated soldiers he was taunting, it was you, ruined and disgraced under his boot.

“See how good I am tae ye little whore? Letting my men make ye flush wi pleasure. Don’t deny it, think I cannae see yer face whenever ye feel a cock on that wee untouched pussy? Like a fucking bitch in heat. I’ll fuck ye like one. Get ye on yer hands and knees so ye can look yer precious King’s soldiers in the eye when ye fall apart on my cock. When ye’r fucking begging for my cum. Wilnae even have tae dae any work, ye’ll be fucking yourself back on me ye needy slut.”

You shook your head in horror at his claims, the true fear being that he would make them true. Already you felt in a daze, felt empty and desperate. But you felt fear as well as he put his arm under his kilt, rucking the fabric up to grab at his cock. It was huge and you found yourself panicked and squirming as the last of his soldiers grunted and slapped the meat of your thigh to get you to stay still. You were rambling incoherently as the man above stroked slowly at himself, causing that thick weapon between his legs to throb and seem even bigger. 

“It won’t fit, it’s not going to fit, please I’ll die, you’ll split me open. It’s so big no no I can’t, I can’t!”

You didn’t even feel the last of his soldier’s loads splatter onto you, didn’t notice when his hands left your flesh. You would have rapidly purpling skin in the shape of fingerprints all over your thighs from how you had been held still by all of them, but you could not feel the dull pain of it through your fear of what was to come.

“Ye’ll take whit I gie ye and ye’ll fucking thank me princess.”

He removed his foot and it was only then you realised that he had been pressing down hard enough that your breaths had been shallow. The rush of oxygen from being able to fully expand your lungs again made you horribly dizzy, but it also flooded right down to your clit and made your body jerk violently with the sensation. 

He didn’t take his hand from his cock and he bent so he could use the other to grab your ruined hair again, yanking your head up and shoving himself into your mouth. You choked, legs scrambling to get underneath you to give you some stability with which to batter your fists against his thighs, trying to pull away. He laughed meanly at your attempts, moving the hand that was touching himself to join the one tangled in your hair on the back of your head and pulling your head at the same time as he thrust forward, settling himself fully in your throat. 

You were gagging around him, tears really streaming down your face now as you begged him with your eyes to let you breathe. He held you there, his own eyes glittering with satisfaction, until your muscles started to give in and you felt your eyes dropping closed as your brain became cottony. Then all at once he pulled you off and you were gulping in oxygen around your coughing and sputtering, the rush much more intense this time. 

He held your head tilted up at him so he could watch your face as he shoved his boot between your legs and got you over the edge. Oh weren’t you a delicious little thing for him, getting off so hard on how he used you, moaning shakily and wantonly in the dirt beneath him in front of his triumphant soldiers and your defeated ones. 

“Good fucking girl” he growled with a feral grin, letting you ride it out with little aborted thrusts on his boot, unable to control your body. 

You looked gone, eyes glazed and body slack. Couldn’t have that, he needed you screaming for him. He needed your blood fighting between being frozen with terror and boiling with need. And he needed you full of him, needed to be able to feel his own cock through your stomach so fucking clearly that he could jerk it. 

You were thrown forward, top half of your body collapsing pathetically into the dirt right where it was covered in the sweat and cum of his soldiers. He manhandled your hips up, leaving your face crushed into the dirt and your ass up high for him, cunt presented. You felt his hot breath at your ear and it was a sudden shock when you realised he was growling lowly into your ear, his words for you and you only.

“S’going tae hurt, yer going tae scream yerself hoarse for me and then I’ll get ye tae milk me when I rip pleasure out of all that pain. Will treat ye right after little princess, like one of my good Scottish lassies, but right now ye’r my fucking English whore.���

The confusing mix of sentiments cleared some of the fuzziness from your mind but you had no time to dwell. He was right, it did hurt and you did scream yourself hoarse. He had lined himself up and plunged into you, cock coated and slick from the cum of his soldiers but no less huge inside your tight virgin pussy. He had split you in two, you were sure of it. His cock must have broken through you, was sitting in your ribcage and punching all the air from your lungs.

You blacked out for a moment, coming right back to when he pulled out to fuck brutally back into you again, slapping your ass so hard that you felt the sting all the way up to your fingertips and making you choke on the sob that fought through the screaming. He ripped at your hair, making you look at the defeated soldiers on their knees. Making you watch their own cocks swell at your treatment. Your utter ruination was making them hard. Your head being wrenched back meant you had to go to your hands as he pounded you, and you saw how they looked as one of your breasts was fucked right out of the chemise, bouncing lewdly for them to see with every hard thrust.

The humiliation had you digging into the dirt like you had claws, feeling the bite of the earth pushing under your nails. It sparked something in your brain, almost like you could see them sharpen. Like you could feel your shoulder blades become more pronounced, become something sinewy and sleek and animal. He was fucking you like a predator and you were drooling and howling and panting like his prey, back bowed as he pulled your hair harder and had to staring at the sky babbling prayers into the night air. 

“S’too much, can’t, I can’t. Full, too full.”

“Ye fucking can. Yer tight fucking cunts trying tae strangle me, wants my cum so bad naw? Perfect English pussy, so slutty and needy for a real cock” he growled, hand letting go of your hair and smacking your ass right over where he had before, causing you to howl at the pain. 

The pain and something else, something that had no place here and yet had been lingering from the moment he had caught you. Something that had been getting closer and brighter and more insistent with every abuse you were subject to. Something that he invited in when your arms collapsed beneath you without him holding your heads weight anymore and he ground your face into the ground before bringing his hand to your clit and pinching. 

Your scream was raw and hoarse, throat well past being able to produce a clear sound. The orgasm was blinding and every bone felt like it had liquified. You saw white and then you saw hardly anything, only vague shapes and colours. The only thing now was how his cock filled you. The shame was gone, replaced with the truth that you loved this. You loved how he used you like this, how he violated you in front of these soldiers just because he could.

“That’s it princess, fucking take it” he hissed, stopping his thrusts and letting you do all the work.

You didn’t even realise now how you wildly fucked yourself back on his cock trying to chase the pain of overstimulation, addicted to the way it made you feel some sick hazy pleasure. You were drooling onto the dirt, tasting the earth mixed with cum and finding the disgust of it only felt right now. When his hand came to your stomach and pushed to feel himself bulging there you came again, harder, babbling thank yous to him.

He bit out a string of curses above you as your pussy squeezed so hard it was forcing him out, but he was strong as he forced himself balls deep and held there, finding his release as you milked everything out of him and into your womb. The liquid heat of it was the last thing you felt as you passed out, blissed and fucked out of your mind. 

–

John MacTavish allowed himself a moment to lean his body against your back, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt and cum and fear and lust from your limp body. So good for him, took it perfectly. He hissed when he finally pulled out, resisting the temptation to just keep going beyond what would feel good because fuck, being inside you had been a religious experience. 

He was nothing if not a man of his word though, and he scooped your body gently into his arms to get you onto a horse and ready for him to take over the border where he could give you that princess treatment he had promised. The surviving soldiers they would leave beaten and bloodied but not dead. After all, someone had to tell your betrothed all the details.

-

“Fucking MacTavish” he hissed after excusing the man who had given the report.

He had made him give it in full detail, told him to leave nothing out. 

“Kept her alive by the sounds of it, maybe looking to get a bastard out of her” Garrick mused.

“Knowing him he’ll keep her near the border to taunt us instead of moving her further up North” Price added.

Simon Riley would not be letting his betrothed get away with allowing MacTavish of all people to take the maidenhood that rightfully belonged to him. She needed a proper punishing fuck from an English man to learn better.

“Doesn’t matter where he keeps her. I’m going to take her, and she’s going to learn what happens to sluts who spread their legs for those Scottish bastards”.

[yoonia]

Ever A Never After — story masterpost

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Summary | Growing up in the fairy tale land, your whole life seems to have been written perfectly in the books, with the picturesque life and the Prince Charming that you can see yourself having your happily ever after with. But your entire world turns upside down when you are suddenly sent into a whole new world, a different kind of universe where happily ever after doesn’t exist. Thrust into a new challenge and shown a new side of life, you find yourself standing in a crossroad. When the moment arises, would you find your way back home to your true love, or is the universe trying to show you that sometimes happy endings don’t have to be written so perfectly?

⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Angst, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; specific warnings will be added accordingly on each published chapters ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Ever A Never After: Act 2 - Part 2 (Oct 7th, 2024) - 51,865 words of n/a words  ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion ⟶ Cross-posted in AO3 and Wattpad

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). In place of the coding, you’ll find a blank space as her name. Please also note that our main character/reader insert for this story has her own nickname that will be used in the scenes. While the story is adapted from the movie, Enchanted, with some characters and places that were mentioned in the movie added into this story, I will be adding changes in the story settings, characters’ names and background stories to fit the plot. That being said, as someone who has never set foot in the land of America, forgive me if there are some inaccuracies in the details that are being added here. I hope that doesn’t change your reading experience with the story.

⟶ Chapters

⇢ Act One. Andalasia, The Maiden, and The Dream Prince [“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” “It’s me. Your Prince Charming.” | Word count: 19,688 words | posted: May 21st, 2024 | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Two. The Alter World and The Saviour [“I need to find my way back to the castle.” “What castle?” “Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” “Huh, right. Why don’t I just call you an Uber?” | Word count: 32,185 words | Chapter Teaser]

— Part 1. Welcome to the Alter World [Word count: 15,410 words of 32,185 words - posted on: Sept 16th, 2024] — Part 2. The World Without Magic [Word count: 16,755 of 32,185 words - posted on: Oct 7th, 2024 ]

⇢ Act Three. Fairy Tales and Bittersweet Endings [“You forgot to say the part where you lived happily ever after.” “Happily ever after? That thing doesn’t exist, not in the real world.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Four. The Ball for The Kings and Queens and Dragons [“There is a ball for the Queen and Kings at the start of spring. Shall we go together?” “As your Prince Charming, I’ll be happy to escort you.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Five. Prince Charming and a Happily Never After [“Look at how the tables have turned, as now I have in my hand the Prince who is supposed to protect the princess.” “Come along now, dear. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⟶ Fic talk & references

⇢ image reference

⇢ readers feedback & discussions

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual inspiration board

⇢ fic commentary (coming soon)

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | It’s finally here! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one. Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your endless support. As mentioned in our last talk, there will be some changes from the original prompt/details that I’ve made to make the story work better, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it still. I have decided to release this one as a mini-series to present the timeline more appropriately and make the storyline work. Have fun reading!

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[daportalpractitioner]

the triple goddess in astrology

the triple goddess is represented by 3 archetypes in 1 to describe the multi-layered experience of the divine feminine. they are the maiden, the mother, and the crone.

the maiden: venus

the maiden is the archetype of the young woman who is grounded in her identity, her sexuality, her gifts, her desires, and her standards. she's confident in herself and what she wants, allowing her to cultivate meaningful connections that elevate her on this soul journey. she recognizes that this is her world and you are just living in it. the sign of your venus tells you how you are meant to embody this maiden innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a virgo venus is meant to embody her maiden energy through being of service to herself and others with integrity. this means that she doesn't let people take advantage of her and she doesn't do shit for people with manipulative intentions. she only allows what serves her highest good into her life, from what she eats to the environments that she takes space in, because when she focuses and allows only what serves her, she is also of service to The Most High.

the mother: moon

the mother is the archetype of the woman who gives birth to her creations + nurtures them so that they can grow to sustain life on their own. this is deeper than just having kids —this applies to all creations which once started off as a desire. she is an effective nurturer because she recognizes the importance of taking care of herself first. she uses her heart space to heal her wounds through compassion + forgiveness and in turn cultivates a loving community through the love that she fosters. her first home is herself and her life is a desired reflection of everything she already holds within her. the sign of your moon tells you how you are meant to embody your inner mother innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a capricorn moon is meant to embody their mother innerG by reconciling the energy connected to family trauma (especially their parental relationships) and not letting their childhood traumas + resentment bleed into the way that they care for themselves and others. she doesn't add unnecessary pressure to herself and shows grace to self + others. she leads by not being too hard on herself and those that look up to her and depend on her. she trusts herself to lean into her femininity + allows others to support her instead of always being the one that others are always relying on.

the crone: saturn

the crone archetype is the wise, older woman who is a pillar in the community, being able to provide support and insight for others due to the hardships + lessons that she experienced. people look up to her as an authority figure because she has the wisdom to guide others in the right direction. she isn't distracted by what's going on in the world + uses her time wisely because she's aware that she won't be here forever. she doesn't entertain bullshit and while others may call her mean, she stands firm on her boundaries. this is that grandmotherly innerG that is very supportive + protective of our highest good by holding us accountable. the sign of your saturn is meant to show you how to embody your inner crone.

☾⋆｡ for example, a cancer saturn is meant to embody their crone by holding herself emotionally accountable to cultivate healthy connections with others. she is aware of the "generational curses" that she has karmically acquired though the bloodline and doesn't play the blame game, recognizing that it is her duty to break those curses so that those same karmic patterns aren't played out in her connections and the family that she has/will create for herself one day. she is aware of the complexity of humans + their emotions and is able to teach + heal others through her own experiences with family + other loved ones that are or were once near and dear to the heart.

[covenofagatha]

hey soooooo if your requests are still open... what do you think about a pt. 3 with Father Agatha where she fucks reader on the altar with her strap (the church is empty)... like... and Agatha has reader recite the Rosary, and for every mystery completed reader gets an orgasm... and maybe Agatha has like a breeding kink sort of and says she wants to make reader the next virgin mary...

obviously if you want and feel comfortable with all this, i really truly love all your stories!!

Hooooooly shit this was insane i immediately had to write this

also the rosary is so long 😩

Forgive me, Father (part 3)

What the request said lol

Word count: 3200

Warnings: light bondage, religious sex, altar sex, fingering, oral, strap on, cum lube, breeding kink, spanking, dubcon, priest agatha is so corrupt, naive reader, think this is it

The next time you go to confession, you don’t even make it into the booth before Father Agatha intercepts you, almost like she’s been waiting. 

“Come back for more, angel?” She asks, sitting in a pew, facing the altar. You almost walked right by her without noticing. 

You look around the rest of the church. There’s no one else in sight. She taps the spot on the bench next to her and you sit. 

Just the close proximity makes your heart beat faster. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

Father Agatha shrugs. “I like to sit in here when it’s empty and pray. Helps me connect with God, I can hear him better.” 

You frown and try to quiet your thoughts and your breathing to see if you can hear anything. “What is God saying right now?” If you had looked closer, you would’ve seen the smirk on her lips as you played right into her trap before she reset her face.

“Nothing good,” she sighs heavily and your eyes widen in fear. “Do you remember the Annunciation?” 

“Of course,” you answer with a nod. “When the angel Gabriel came down and told Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus because she had found favor with God.” You had strived to live a life as pure as Mary had, and thanks to Father Agatha, you feel like you’re on the right path.

She gives you a wry smile, her eyes still racked with seriousness. “And do you remember why God sent his only son down to us?” 

“To save us from sin,” you say immediately. The most noble sacrifice anyone could make. 

“And it worked for a while,” Father Agatha says sadly. “But now sin is running rampant again. However, God has an idea for how to stop it.” 

Your mouth falls open a little. You had no idea it was getting that bad out in the world. You make it your mission to help the priest, no matter what it takes. “What does He need? What can we do?” 

“Another vessel, for another child. A pure of heart maiden, just like Mary was,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Me? Carry God’s child? But–” 

She cuts you off. “Proverbs 3:5 says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.’ I know it may be scary, angel, but I am here to help. I will shepherd the child unto you, if you so wish to help God in this way.” 

You think for a moment, weighing your options. It has always been a dream to be a true steward of the Lord, and everyone has to do their part. You remember a verse from Psalms. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him,” you recite and Agatha smiles, very pleased. 

She stands up, brushing past you and walking up the stairs to the altar. You follow her. 

“How is this going to work?” You question. The Bible doesn’t go into specifics with Mary.

“Patience, angel,” Father Agatha says, pulling out the bread and wine of Christ for Communion and a rosary. “There are many things we will need to do in order to get you ready to take the child.” 

She holds up the wafer and you bow, holding out your hands. She doesn’t move, just raises an eyebrow. You stand there for a second, dumbfounded. 

“What are other ways you can take Communion?” She says, glancing down to the floor. A light clicks in your head and, for the third time in front of her, you drop to your knees. 

This time, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue, and she places the bread on it, holding eye contact. Her gaze burns into you and you can’t help but feel that same heat you always do with her. Once you swallow, she presses the chalice of wine to your lips and you let her pour some down your throat. 

The air is so charged around the two of you and you wonder if this is part of the ceremony. 

“Stand up,” she orders and you shoot to your feet. She flips you around and lifts you up so you’re sitting on the altar and you gasp. 

“I can’t be on this,” you protest but she shushes you. 

“It’s okay, angel,” she says soothingly, hands coming to rub your thighs. Her touch feels good and it momentarily makes you forget about your qualms. “God will allow it since he knows the burden you’re about to bear. Now, do you remember that special toy I used on you last time?” 

You nod, feeling the wetness in your underwear grow as you think back to that memory. The way it felt so big, the way it stretched you out, the way it felt when you orgasmed over it. 

Father Agatha is wearing pants today, you notice for the first time, and she unzips them to pull something out. 

Unlike the one from last time, which was purple, this one is skin colored and has two round things on the bottom. She squeezes the globes under the toy and a dribble of white liquid comes out from the tip. 

“What is that?” You ask in awe. You wonder what it would taste like. 

She swipes at the bead of moisture and holds it up so you can get a better look. “This is a different type of tool, one that can hold cum.” She says the new word slowly so you can remember it. “This is what’s going to go inside your little pussy, this is what’s going to fill you up with the new child of Christ.” 

For some reason, the thought of having the cum inside you makes you grow even hotter. “Okay,” you say earnestly. She chuckles at how ready you are. 

“Not quite yet, angel. Remember how we had to work up to it last time? We will need to do the same. But don’t fret. I’ll make it just as enjoyable.” 

She takes the rosary off the altar next to you and waits for you to hold out your arms. Instead of wrapping them around your hands the right way, she twists them around your wrists so you can’t move. A flare involuntarily courses through you at the thought of being bound. 

“Now, be a good girl, and complete your rosary. For each mystery, you’ll get a reward,” she says with a wink, and pulls you closer to the edge of the altar. You watch what she’s doing with bated breath and she bends down so her face is just a breath away from your pussy. 

She pushes up your skirt and slides your underwear to the side, and when her finger slides through your folds, you make the sign of the cross. 

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty,” you begin with the Apostles’ creed. When you get to the Our Father, the memory of you saying this while her fingers were warming you up last time hits you like a train. She finds your clit easily and rubs it, your voice jumping up an octave. 

You make it through that prayer and the three Hail Mary’s with little trouble while she continues just stroking up and down your pussy, feeling it get wetter under her fingertips. 

The Glory Be and the Fatima prayer also come out smoothly as Father Agatha is only teasing. 

You announce the first mystery, Annunciation, and you’re saying the Our Father again when she suddenly slides a finger into you, grinning at the way you gasp and tighten around it. 

She pumps it in and out lazily while you stutter through the rest of the prayer and then she pulls out. You feel empty and she tugs you off the altar and spins you around so that your ribs are pressing into it and your elbows rest on top, hands still tied tightly together by the chain.

This time, she tugs your skirt and underwear off and the cool church air makes you shiver. She grabs your buttcheeks and you gasp. 

“Did your parents spank you when you were a child?” She asks and for some reason, you feel yourself get even wetter at the promise her words hold. 

You nod. “Yes,” you whisper. 

“Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die. If you strike him with a rod, you will save his soul from Sheol,” she quotes. “We need to make sure your body is completely cleansed. You have ten Hail Mary’s, so for each one, I’ll give you a spank.” 

Your breath comes out in stutters and you feel like you’re about to pass out from overheating. The ache inside you is only getting worse. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” 

She slaps you before you even have the time to brace yourself. 

The sound echoes throughout the empty church and you clasp your hands so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” you say again, eyes rolling to look up at the ceiling like you’re talking straight to God. 

Another spank. This time, your body rocks forward against the altar and it knocks the wind out of your lungs. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…”

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank.

You still have three more to go and you’re a mess. 

The wetness between your legs has grown to a flood and is dripping down your legs. Your butt stings and the cold air works to soothe it, but every time you get a semblance of a relief, she hits you again. 

“Hail…Mary…” You take your time on the eighth, dragging it out over a minute to give yourself some time to breathe and recover. She chuckles evilly, rubbing your butt. 

Spank. 

On the ninth time, it doesn’t even feel like you’re saying real words anymore and you can barely register the pain anymore. 

Spank. 

When you finally choke out the tenth one, she hits both of your cheeks as hard as she can at the same time and you groan loudly. 

“Father Agatha,” you whimper and she soothes the aches with her palms. 

“You did so well, angel, so perfect for me. I promise that you are completely purified now and ready for pleasure. But before we get to that, let’s say the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer together.” 

She turns you around so you lock eyes with the priest and chant the two prayers and then you announce the second mystery, the Visitation, and start the Our Father. Father Agatha watches with a fond smile on your face and as you’re still speaking, she nudges your feet apart so your stance is wider. 

When you begin the ten Hail Mary’s again, she reaches down and slides two fingers inside you with no resistance at all because of how wet you are. 

You momentarily stop talking and the priest moans. 

“You’re so wet and warm around me, angel,” she mumbles quietly and you wish your hands weren’t tied together so you could reach out and touch her. 

You resume the prayer and she picks up her pace, twisting and curling, and your recitation is broken up with small gasps and whimpers. Instinctually, you raise your leg up and rest it around her and she chuckles. 

It was clearly the right thing to do because her fingers can somehow get deeper inside you and your head falls back. You’re clenching tighter and you’re getting close as you keep spitting out the words, having been on the edge for awhile since her spanking. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts, slowing down for a second. “You have four more. No orgasm until then.” You whine, pleading with your eyes, but she just smirks and raises a brow, waiting for you to continue. 

You say the words so fast it sounds like you’re auctioning off your soul to the highest bidder. 

And Father Agatha, of course, has won. 

She finally strokes your clit when you finish the tenth and you spasm all over her two fingers, hands pulling so tightly against the rosary that you think you might have indents tomorrow. 

She gently moves her fingers in and out while you finish up the second mystery with the Glory Be and the Fatima Prayer. 

When you’re announcing the third mystery, the Birth of Our Lord, she sinks down to her knees in front of you and you forget to speak. 

You shake your head, trying to figure out what she’s doing, when she lifts a leg up over her shoulder and leans close to your pussy to blow on it. 

Your hips jump and you almost fall, and she helps you rest your back against the altar for balance. 

“What are you doing?” You say in a hushed voice. 

“Say the prayers,” she orders and sucks gentle kisses into your inner thighs. Her mouth on that extremely sensitive place makes you keen as you start to say the Our Father again. But when you begin on the Hail Mary’s, her tongue slides through your folds and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

A loud moan claws its way out of your throat and you manage to loosen the rosary around your wrists just enough so you can entangle your hands in her hair. You had no idea that someone could put their mouth on that part of you, but you want Father Agatha to stay there forever. 

She stops and nips at your thigh as a warning to keep going. It is so hard to keep your mind from completely blanking on the words with her hot tongue swirling your clit the way it is, but you somehow manage to make it through four quickly. 

You buck your hips without any sort of rhythm against her face, gasping out the words to the prayer. Her tongue dips into your pussy and strokes against your walls and you think you might die and ascend before God can put his baby in you. 

Like the last time, it’s clear that she won’t let you orgasm unless you finish the mystery, so you speed through again, pretty sure you miss chunks of the prayer at a time. 

Finally, you get to the tenth one, and when you’re almost done, she slides three fingers into you, curls them, and sucks on your clit roughly. 

You orgasm, absolutely drenching her face and fingers again. 

She moves your leg down and stands up, smearing her fingers across your face. 

“How was that?” She asks, smirking. 

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even know something could feel that good,” you gush. 

And then she grabs the toy and drags it through your folds and you second guess that when she circles your clit with the tip. She presses down lightly and the pressure makes you squirm. 

“Are you ready for me to fill you up?” 

Your heart leaps, but really, you’d do anything to have her inside you again. Two orgasms hasn’t been enough to satiate you and you want to know what it’s like for her cum to be inside you. 

“Please, Father, fill me up.” The words sound dirty falling from your mouth but she just grins and flips you back around, putting you back into the same position as earlier. 

“Fourth mystery,” she demands and your head falls forward onto your chained arms as she pushes the tip in. Even though you are wet and stretched out, there’s still a slight burn. 

The Presentation. You announce it and say the Our Father while she ruts in and out of you, never going in further than the tip. 

You start on the Hail Mary’s and it takes her the entire first one to slide the entire way in. Your voice sounds strangled as you keep talking and she slowly starts to grind into you. 

When you get to the third one, she stops being gentle and begins roughly thrusting, your rips slamming against the altar again and again. She reaches a hand around to rub at your clit and you clench tightly on the toy. 

Father Agatha starts saying things while you keep reciting your prayers and she’s just loud enough to hear over your words. 

“Angel, you’re so perfect, stretched around my cock like this, can’t wait to fill you up, to breed you, watch my cum drip out of you, God you’re taking me so well, need to do this every day, can’t wait to breed you.” 

You don’t really know what she means when she says she wants to breed you, but just based on the way she sounds when she says it, like it’s making her feel as hot as you do, makes you even more wet. 

At this point, you don’t even know if you’re saying the right prayer but things just keep spilling out of your mouth and you go with it. You don’t know how many you’ve said or how many you have left, all you can think about is Father Agatha. 

“You’re so close, angel, just one more and then I’ll make you into the next Virgin Mary with my cum,” she grunts into your ear and you gasp out the words. 

“Amen,” you finally pant out, and you can feel her hand brush past you as she reaches down between her own legs, and the next thing you know, a warmth spreads through you. It triggers your own orgasm, feeling your walls being painted with her cum, and she gently thrusts in and out while you seize around her. “Did it work?” You ask weakly. 

Father Agatha strokes your hair as she says the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer herself. You realize that you forgot to say those after your second orgasm, but you can’t find it in you to care. Since you’re carrying God’s child, you don’t think He will either. 

“I’m going to stay inside you like this to keep the cum in while you say the fifth mystery. It’s called cockwarming. This way, we can try to let it take hold.” 

You nod and begin on the Finding in the Temple. Since she isn’t moving, you aren’t constantly distracted and you’re able to get through the Hail Mary’s without too much of a hassle, although the feeling of being full still is forefront on your mind. 

When you finish the rosary, she pulls out, turns you to face her, and you gasp at the feeling of her cum oozing out of you. 

“But, it was supposed to stay inside me!” You cry, watching in horror as it leaks out and down your legs. 

Father Agatha frowns and collects it with her fingers. “Something must have gone wrong,” she says and then looks up to meet your eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to try again.” 

[irrelevantwriter]

Empress

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: SFW, Ancient Rome type shit

Word Count: 1343

Summary: Part 1. The Empress of Rome pushes her husband a little too far.

A/N: I...I don't know what to say honestly. I'm just as confused by this red-headed slut as some of you are. But here we are. So let's enjoy shall we? Because life be life-ing and I need a distraction. I obviously took liberties with ancient Rome. Let me live. There is a part two with lots of smut so get ready besties. Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part Two here

*Masterlist

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

You hummed softly, at peace now that you’d dismissed your maidens. You worked in harmony with yourself, the movements almost convincing you were anywhere else other than Palatine Hill. 

Despite your position, you tended to your own bed linens. The Emperor had admonished you many times before, but you failed to care. 

The tasks you so often liked to keep yourself busy with were seen below your station. An insult to the royal position you held. And yet, for you, they reminded you of a simpler time. They reminded you of home. Of being a young girl not yet soured by what lay beyond her village walls. 

The sentiment made your chest tighten. Today was a day that you longed for that life. You missed your family. You missed flying freely. 

You may be the Empress of Rome, but travertine and marble were still molded to be your cage. An inescapable prison. 

Soft footsteps found your ears as you delicately smoothed the freshly washed bedding to your likeness. Scents of jasmine and lavender permeated the air. They were some of your favorite scents. Something only your husband knew. He’d asked not long after you’d married. He’d made it his duty to ensure those scents followed you everywhere. Even in your dreams. 

“Augusta…” 

His voice floated through the doorway, a hint of disappointment in your title. 

A reminder.

You straightened to face him, bowing your head to show respect. 

“Must I keep reminding you of your place?” 

You sensed him moving closer, his ringed hand extending to tilt your chin. Your eyes met his; depthless pools of darkness. Some days you could see streaks of gold in them from the sun’s rays. Those days were your favorites. Other days they were bottomless. Reminding you of a snake pit. Those were your least favorite.

Today was the latter. 

“I have my reasons, Augustus. Forgive me.”

He chuckled, very aware of your reasons for disobeying him time and time again. 

His hand cupped your cheek, the cool metal of his rings making you flinch. You met his eyes at his prompting. His jaw was clenched, the muscle giving away just how displeased he was with you.

“You are lucky you’re so beautiful, my love. A lesser person would have their tongue cut out.”

You knew. Of course you knew. You did it anyway. 

“A lesser person doesn’t have the heart of the Emperor of Rome.”

Geta hissed, and just as quick as a snake lying in wait, he struck. His hand encircled your throat, squeezing just enough. 

You grasped at his wrist, understanding the game he wanted to play. It was why he kept you. 

In public you were the epitome of grace and devotion. Rome adored you. Your husband adored you. You were dutiful. Well-spoken and a sight to behold. You had everyone’s hearts. Geta knew that. And so did you. 

Behind closed doors, you did as you pleased most days. You went against your husband’s orders, though you never put your own life at risk. You were not so foolish to do so. At least not outside the palace. 

The Emperor was well and truly a spoiled brat. You were not. You liked to remind him of that fact often. And with pleasure. He claimed he hated it. But you saw the fire in his eyes. It was that elusive look he’d get only with you. Swirling embers of flames that mixed in his too dark eyes. 

Lust.

“You forget your role, wife,” he spat between clenched teeth, fingers tightening around your neck. 

“I forget nothing, husband. Least of all what my role is,” you retorted, seeing his gaze shift from your eyes to your lips. Stained with berry juice and sweetened with wine. 

He wanted a taste. 

Geta smirked, loosening his hold. But he did not release you. Instead, he brought you closer, fingers now exploring the hollows of your collarbone. In the confines of your chambers you were more exposed than you would be otherwise. He feasted on the sight. 

He dragged his jeweled fingers across your skin, enjoying the goosebumps that arose in their wake. He touched the royal broach at your shoulder. You shivered. 

“I continue to show you grace and you continue to disrespect your emperor. Have I provided you with such a horrid life? Do the pleasures of my empire displease you?”

His eyes narrowed, his fingers shadowing over your bosom. There were traces of coal around his eyes, making him look that much more sinister. 

But not to you. 

His power frightened you, but the man himself did not. He forgot what kind of life his empire made for its people outside the city. You’d seen the worst of what Roman royalty could do. You’d experienced it firsthand. A man dressed in gold was hardly a sight to run away from. Threat or not.

“Have you gone mute?”

He interrupted your musings, seemingly pleased to have rendered you silent. 

You smiled in return, daring to let your own hand touch upon him. He didn’t stop you, though he watched you with careful eyes. You traced his lips, feeling his breath quicken. You may not be afraid of Geta, but he was surely afraid of you. 

“You have taken a jungle cat and chained her to your side, Augustus. Does that not seem cruel?” You whispered, the space between you both getting smaller as you stepped forward. 

“Is it wrong that I long for my own creature comforts? However lowly they are to you. Is it wrong that I wish to roam freely? To love freely?”

“Love freely?” He cut in, scoffing at the notion. “You do not love freely here? Do not love your emperor?”

His words took on a more threatening tone as he twisted your words. He cupped your cheek, keeping you in his grip. 

“You misunderstand me,” you started, leaning into his touch. You turned your head and kissed his palm, feeling him relax. You reached for his other hand, placing it at your hip, a taboo touch, even between husband and wife. “To love freely means to give myself to you. You have taken. I have never given. To have a woman give herself to you is a magic no mortal man could withstand.”

“Enchantress,” he accused, though weakly. 

“No, my love. Empress.” 

You softly kissed his fingertips. Fingers that had never seen a hard day's work. Or blood on a battlefield. Or the blissful task of pleasing a woman. He, like most men, only sought their own. And as a dutiful wife, you provided. But the hunger, that stayed with you. And it burned as hot as the depths of Pluto. 

“You speak of sorcery. That’s punishable by death,” he rasped. 

“Are you so afraid that you do not wish to seek what I speak of?”

Geta’s jaw once again clenched, the muscles in his neck straining. He did not like to be patronized. 

“You dare make me out to be a fool?”

“I’m offering you the chance to experience what only few men know. The body is not sorcery, Augustus.”

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for…something. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he jerked his hand away and stepped back. Air filled the once tight space between you both. 

“You infuriate me!” He exclaimed, hands making a mess of his fiery curls. 

“That is not my intention.”

He stepped to you again, breathing hard and heavy. “It would be wise for you to stop speaking out of turn, wife.” 

You did as he commanded, knowing you had stoked the flames too much. 

“Tonight…you are to come to my chambers. I will deal with you accordingly,” he ordered, chest rising and falling with his breaths. His eyes looked upon you, studying your form, almost seeing through your garments.

“Yes, Augustus.” 

“And wife?”

A pause.

You met his gaze.

“I will not show mercy. If the jungle cat wishes to be freed, she must be broken. Understand?”

You nodded. 

He left without another word. 

Part Two

[heartfullofleeches]

The Blacksmith

Yan Deity HCs [Request]

Tw: Self Harm

-

- Blacksmith isn't what most would gods would consider being one of their own. For the better part of its existence, The Blacksmith has functioned akin to a machine rather than his own individual self. Acting on orders given by those above him was all he knew until the punishment of gods through extensive torture was shunned upon by many. Blacksmith was free to do as they wished, but they're generally stumped to the workings of society outside of what their created purpose.

- Love as humans and even some gods express it is unfamiliar to the Blacksmith. Their creators greatest mistakes was teaching it the painful side of love without the innocence of something puee. He was instilled with the knowledge that any sign of weakness should not be allowed. That being said, a strange warm fills its chest whenever you treat it kindly. He does not deserve the gesture- Are you toying with it because you truly believe he is beneath you?

"My Lord.... I do not understand the purpose of this so called "hug" you have bestowed upon me.... I did not ask you to stop."

- There is no room for error in Blacksmith's eyes. As he adapts to the mortal understanding of affection, Blacksmith showers you with gifts and gestures to prove they are willing to even the playing field with you. If he brings you something you are allergic to or simply not a fan of its wise to keep sharp objects from him until you can calm him down and assure him it was a common mistake.

"May the spill of my blood grant me your forgiveness.. Had I heard you clearer I would not have made this mistake."

"It's cool, dude- Pizza is pizza."

- The Blacksmith is immortal and heals relatively quickly, which is why if you bother to patch them up when they do get hurt their brain just kinda shortcuts for a while. You are the mortal in the situation. Those supplies would be better saved for you. Is this what it means to care for another out of the generosity of one's heart(s)? Is this love? Logically, when you are injured they must return the sentiment.

"Please hold still, My Lord. The cast is almost complete."

"Isn't this a bit excessive? It was only a splinter."

"... Negative."

- The Blacksmith has a hidden profession of making music boxes. It is a tad embarrassed due to the macabre nature of the other objects it creates, but as they learn more if your world it develops a small obsession with the melodies they produce and their mechanisms. He leaves ones he is most proudest of in your bedroom - expecting you to somehow have no clue how it ended up there.

- Blacksmith can easily remove their helmet - they just don't want to. He has been described as beautiful by gods who have met it after the incident due to their eyes, but as for the appearance of its face as a whole no-one knows. It wears the iron maiden to atone for its sin of nearly condemning an innocent god, but it also believes those gods were liars and that its face will disgust you. If you argue back that are gorgeous regardless of if you've seen it or not, The Blacksmith has no choice but to take your word as truth since they trust you not to lie to them.

- Enjoys classical music. Cannot dance to save it's own skin, but would greatly admire your dancing no matter your skill level.

- One rule you must keep in mind is to not give Blacksmith access to the Internet. He will absorb modern lingo and relationship advice like a sponge. It confuses him greatly, but considering you are from this time it might be the key to winning your heart.

"Have a good day at work...Pookie."

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Galadriel in Season 1-2 of “Rings of Power”: Valiant, Prideful and the Darkness Within

Galadriel was born during the Years of the Trees, on Valinor, the only daughter of High King of the Noldor, Finarfin, sister to three brothers. She was named “Artanis” by her father, and “Galadriel” (Sindarin for “Maiden crowned with gleaming hair”) is the name she took after marrying prince Celebron, in Doriath (Middle-earth).

In her youth, Galadriel was known for her proud, strong and self-willed temperament, and for the unmatched beauty of her hair. She had the golden hair of her kin, but hers was particularly striking, shot with silver, and beautiful. And so much so that Fëanor was inspired by how the light of the Two Trees of Valinor caught her hair to craft the Silmarils. Three times he asked her for a few strands of it, and three times Galadriel refuse him. Galadriel couldn’t stand Fëanor and saw the growing darkness in him; most likely because it was the same as within herself.

Tolkien describes Galadriel as “of Amazon disposition”, “strong of body, mind and will, a match for both the loremasters and the athletes of the Eldar in the days of their youth”, and she would “bound up her hair as a crown when taking part in athletic feats”. Her mother called her Nerwen, “man-maiden”.

Departure from Valinor

Galadriel is adventurous, ambitious “and like her brother Finrod, of all her kindred the nearest to her in heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage [from the Valar]”.

Galadriel, the only woman of the Noldor to stand that day tall and valiant among the contending princes, was eager to be gone [from Valinor]. No oaths she swore, but the words of Fëanor concerning Middle-earth had kindled her heart, and she yearned to see the wide untrodden lands and to rule there a realm at her own will. For the youngest of the House of Finwë she came into the world west of the Sea, and knew yet nought of the unguarded lands. Morgoth’s Ring

In Unfinished Tales, Tolkien tells us Galadriel wanted to leave Valinor and travel to Middle-earth to exercise her talents; being brilliant in mind and swift in action she had early absorbed all of what she was capable of the teaching which the Valar thought fit to give the Eldar’, and she felt confined in the tutelage of Aman. In Valinor, Galadriel had been a pupil of both Aulë and Yavanna, and felt the Valar had already taught her everything they were allowed to.

This can look like a level of arrogance of the likes of Fëanor, however, this is not how Tolkien sees it. Galadriel is presented like a character full of potential, spirit and talent. And even Manwë, the King of the Valar himself, has heard of her desire to leave for Middle-earth and didn’t oppose.

Refusing the Valar pardon

At the end of the First Age she [Galadriel] proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. Tolkien Letter 320

And this is the Galadriel we meet in the first episode of “Rings of Power”. The audience can immediately perceive she’s strong-willed, proud and rebellious, acting against orders of the High-king of the Noldor, Gil-galad, in her endless hunt for Sauron, Morgoth’s sucessor and the responsible for her brother’s death.

Galadriel is also the only Elf in Middle-earth who believes that Sauron is still out there, and means to find and destroy him, at any cost. “More and more of our kind began to believe that Sauron was but a memory. And the threat, at last, was ended. I wish I could be one of them.”

It was not your company who defied you out there, but rather you who defied the High King, by refusing to heed any limit placed upon you. In an act of magnanimity, he has chosen to honor your accomplishments… Rather than dwell upon your insolence. Test him again and you may find him less receptive than you might have hoped. Elrond warns Galadriel, 1x01

Gil-galad “honors” Galadriel by granting her passage to return to Valinor, and rest in glory. But she’s set on refusing, not because she’s certain Sauron will return, and wants to find him, but due to her belief she won’t find inner peace, until she accomplishes that, as she tells Elrond in the same episode:

Elrond: Do you truly believe seeking him out will satisfy you? That one more Orc upon the point of your blade will bring you peace? […] If you are wrong, will you lead more Elves to die in far-off lands? To convince yourself you have done enough, how many more statues would you add to this path? No one in history has ever refused the call. Do so now, it may never come again. Do so now, it may never come again. You will linger here, an outcast, poisoned in dark whispers and dreams. Galadriel: And in the West, do you think my fate would be better? Where song would mock the cries of battle in my ears? You say I have won victory over all the horrors of Middle-earth. Yet you would leave them alive in me? To take with me? Undying, unchanging, unbreaking, into the land of winter less spring? Elrond: Only in the Blessed Realm can that which is broken in you be healed. Go there. Go, and I promise you… If but a whisper of a rumor of the threat you perceive proves true, I will not rest until it is put right. You have fought long enough, Galadriel. Put up your sword.

I would also like to point out Elrond foreshadowing Galadriel’s banishment in this scene. And this is very much in line with what Tolkien wrote:

[Galadriel] had no peace within. Pride still moved her when, at the end of the Elder Days after the final overthrow of Morgoth, she refused the pardon of the Valar for all who had fought against him, and remained in Middle-earth. It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full grown and she rejected it, and passing the last test departed from Middle-earth forever. The Peoples of Middle-earth

The Darkness Within

“Rings of Power” presents some explanations to Galadriel refusing the Valar’s pardon and staying in Middle-earth. At the surface, it’s because she wants to hunt down Sauron, defeat him, and for Halbrand to be “The Lost King” who could ride [her] to victory, like Elrond says, in 2x02.

It’s because of her pride, or her desire for vengeance. However, in 1x05, and in a moment of vulnerability with Halbrand aka Repentant Mairon, she reveals the true reason behind her restless pursuit of Sauron:

Galadriel sees her endless pursue for Sauron as the means to earn her inner peace after everything she saw, did and endured on Middle-earth. It’s connected to her pride, yes, but also to her greatest and deepest desire of healing. And this is why she can’t stop her pursuit, even when we, the audience, watch Galadriel endanger her companions’ lives in 1x01. She believes only when she destroys Sauron, will she destroy the darkness within herself.

Indeed he does, because Sauron wants to heal Middle-earth from Morgoth’s corruption, at this point in his own character arc. But the “darkness within” has been present in Galadriel’s character ever since the prologue of “Rings of Power”, and this is also in line with Tolkien legendarium, as Galadriel recognizes the darkness in others as a mirror to her own, and how she refuses to talk about her time in Valinor with Melian.

And in Season 1, we see Galadriel employing some questionable tactics; in Númenor she acts behind Halbrand’s back with Queen regent Míriel to get herself an army (the army she claims to Adar Sauron promised her, in 2x06), and travel to the Southlands and defeat Sauron. There, she vows to genocide the Orcs and killing some of them in a gruesome manner (bringing them into the sunlight) just for Adar to reveal Sauron’s whereabouts, even though he already told her the truth (as he knows it): he killed Sauron.

It would seem I'm not the only Elf alive who has been transformed by darkness. Perhaps your search for Morgoth's successor should have ended in your own mirror. Adar taunts Galadriel, 1x06

And Adar will not be the only character to mention the pull to the darkness in Galadriel, in “Rings of Power”:

The light of Valinor shone upon your very face, Galadriel, and you turned your back on it. Was it truly to fight the darkness or was the darkness calling to you? Elrond, 2x01

This is more noticeable with Repentant Mairon aka Halbrand, when she acts the “Morgoth” to his “Sauron”, by tempting him with power while he’s on a quest for redemption. By then, we already have some pieces of foreshadowing on this. We have Gil-galad’s prophecy in 1x01: “We foresaw that if it had, she [Galadriel] might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat [Sauron]. For the same wind that seeks to blow out a fire may also cause its spread.”

And we also see Galadriel in connection with the Fall of Númenor visions, in Season 1:

And Mairon himself confirms this in 1x08. And that explains his “are they not the seeds you planted?” in Season 2. Because she’s the one who tempted him with power, and with the pouch of the King of the Southlands (Morgoth), when he wanted to remain in Númenor in servitude, and to prove his good faith to the Valar, and redeem himself from his crimes under Morgoth.

However, not only Galadriel established a connection with him, but also said “I’ve felt it too” when he expressed his wish to bind himself to her (“Fighting at your side, I... I felt... If I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I...”). She gave him the validation he wanted, and made him believe she would offer him forgiveness, and he would earn the redemption he so desperately wanted. But she didn’t, she cast him out. And he wouldn’t let it slide that easily, as we’ve been in Season 2.

Growing in Wisdom

In Season 2, we saw some glimpses of Galadriel letting go of her arrogance and “galloping”, and seeing the “bigger picture” in some occasions. This is foreshadowing for her future character arc, as the wise and compassionate, yet fierce and valiant, leader we know her to be on the Third Age. From Tolkien lore, we know that as she grows in wisdom and power (“elf magic” as Sam calls it), Galadriel will leave her pride behind.

Arondir. There is a dearth of Elven heroes this night. It would be a pity to lose another. Galadriel advises Arondir not to attack Adar, 2x07

But perhaps her last scene with Adar, in 2x08, was the most emblematic of this. She has been to the Orc camp, and witnessed the funeral rites, and how the Orcs live, and realized that, maybe, they aren’t the scourged slaves she believed them to be, back in Season 1. Each one of them has a personality. Like Adar told her, in 1x06: “We are creations of The One, Master of the Secret Fire, the same as you. As worthy of the breath of life, and just as worthy of a home.”

And Galadriel is becoming more attuned to every race in Middle-earth, and the Orcs were only the beginning. And she was willingly to make an alliance with Adar, at the end. They shared an agreement (until Sauron showed up and put an end to that). But more importantly, Adar forgives Galadriel for her hatred and her killing of the Orcs. And, as I’ve talked about on my post on Repentant Mairon (aka Halbrand), forgiveness is a major theme in Tolkien legendarium, and it’s not only earned, but given as well. And by forgiving Galadriel and returning Nenya to her, Adar redeems himself (just like Gollum; which is a theme I talked about here).

Banishment from Valinor

In Letter 353, Tolkien confirms that “Galadriel was 'unstained': she had committed no evil deeds”, concerning the Oath of Fëanor. She took no part in any of that; because “she was an enemy of Fëanor”. In the same letter, Tolkien tells us Galadriel reached Middle-earth independently, and not alongside the other Noldor. And her desires were legitimate, but “she became involved in the desperate measures of Manwë, and the ban on all emigrations”.

Many (Christopher Tolkien included) think this contradicts Galadriel’s banishment from returning to Valinor. But this is an idea (“the banishment of Galadriel”) Tolkien has in place in several sources of his work. And it wouldn’t be the first time Christopher Tolkien misinterpreted his father work, either, with the Dagor Dagorath being a prime example, when he thinks Tolkien abandoned the concept when he didn’t (Christopher later corrected this, though).

And it has been noticed by many Tolkien scholars how Christopher Tolkien has “tone down” his father’s female characters on his notes and editions, too. With Galadriel being a prime example of this. Tolkien tells us on several occasions that Galadriel had aspirations of power and dominion, she wanted a kingdom of her own, to rule as she saw fit, and that’s why she remained on Middle-earth, and refused the Valar’s pardon. However, Christopher decided to strip Galadriel of her agency, and even attempted to whitewash her character by claiming she wanted to stay on Middle-earth due to her love for Celeborn, when this has nothing to do with what Tolkien himself wrote. So, excuse me, for talking his interpretation with a grain of salt.

And, since Galadriel is married to Celeborn, of course, he’s included on her plans of having a kingdom of her own (to be otherwise wouldn’t make sense), with them both ruling it, but Galadriel wants to be the one “calling the shots”. And this dynamic is what will happen in Lothlórien: Celeborn is lord, but Galadriel is *the* Lady, without her husband overstep or overshining her. I’m not seeing any contradiction here. Maybe a case of “overthinking”, because Letter 353 appears to be about Galadriel not taking the Oath of Fëanor (and that’s not the reason for her banishment).

I owe much of this character to Christian and Catholic teachings and imagination of Mary, but actually Galadriel was a penitent, in her youth, a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the [One] Ring for herself. Tolkien Letter 320

I already theorized about Galadriel connection to the Virgin Mary (she’s not “the Virgin Mary”, but a “devotee of the Virgin Mary” in Tolkien lore) but I think Tolkien is being very clear with his words here. He considers Galadriel a “repentant sinner”, and he doesn’t contradict himself at all. Because a desire for power and dominion are not positive traits on his legendarium. And the confirmation that she was pardoned by the Valar when she resists the One Ring, clearly indicates there was something more at work, and is connected with her return to Valinor.

In “Fellowship of the Ring” book, this is also clear: “I pass the test,” she says, “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.” Her “passing the test” and resisting the One Ring is connected with her returning to Valinor.

We know, from Tolkien lore, Galadriel develops “sea longing” on the Third Age, and has a deep desire to return to Valinor, to the point of depression (she sings laments about it). One can argue she stays out of duty, but then why is she “pardoned” by the Valar after rejecting the One Ring and can now go to Valinor? The only explanation is that Galadriel was, indeed, banished, and her resisting the One Ring is her final test. She passes the test, the Valar pardon her, her banishment is lifted, and she returns to Valinor at the end of “The Return of the King”. No contradictions there.

On Christopher’s defense, he probably thought Galadriel “desiring power and dominion” weren’t good enough reasons for her to be banished from Valinor, and that’s a plot hole “Rings of Power” is trying to answer, with her connection with Sauron, and the temptations he offers her. He is, after all, the one who introduces the “desire for power and dominion” to her character arc in the show; by offering her temptations and promises of endless power (his power). Which means, Galadriel’s desire for dominion and power from Tolkien lore is personified by Sauron in the show. And the reason for her banishment, will be, also, connected to him, somehow, for Sauron has already offered her the same temptation as the One ring, thousands of years into the future:

And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair! She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Fellowship of the Ring

In Tolkien legendarium, it’s not Galadriel adventurous or valiant nature that gets her into trouble with the Valar, but her rebellious spirit, and her pride, above of all, that lead her defy their authority, and wanting to claim a kingdom of her own where she can make her own rules. In “Rings of Power” the disapproval of the Valar are personified in the characters of Gil-galad and Elrond.

Indeed, her disregard for the Valar laws is visible on several occasions in lore. Not only she “proudly refused” their pardon to return to Valinor, at the dawn of the Second Age, but Tolkien tells us, in Unfinished Tales: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. In Letter 43, Tolkien defines what he means by “a lover” (in general): “engaging and blending all his affections and powers of mind and body in a complex emotion powerfully coloured and energized by sex”.

This seems to imply, Galadriel didn’t wait to be “officially” married (ceremony, feast) to Celeborn before consummating their union. For the Eldar, “sex = marriage”, indeed, but the way Tolkien phrases this seems to indicate Galadriel doesn’t concern herself with the Eldar ways, and took Celeborn as her lover before any thought of actual marriage. Because language is extremely important in Tolkien, and we already know “sex = marriage” for the Eldar, so him writing this about Galadriel’s character means there’s something more to it.

Interestingly enough, these two themes are present in Tolkien last letter concerning Galadriel, in 1973 (the year of his passing). Without context, however, it’s unclear if the two are related or not, so read this with a whole saltshaker:

I meant right away to deal with Galadriel, and with the question of Elvish child-bearing.

[knight-of-flowerss]

BLOOD SACRIFICE

Vampire!Benjicot 'Davos' Blackwood x Septa!Reader

There will be smut so Minors DNI 18+

SNIPPET OF ONE OF THE THREE STORIES!

Synopsis: Many say the church can protect you against evil, that’s a lie. You pray to the Seven for forgiveness and protection, but they do not grant it. The stranger himself gets invited into the church, what will you do when he bears his fangs and gives you the choice between death or lust?

The stained glass shines from the illumination of the moon, the light refracting and casting shadows. My veil covers my hair, billowing down my back and coating the floor in the laced fabric.

My hand clutches my rosary, my mouth moving fast as I mutter prayers to the Seven. There had been talks of a monster amongst us. Murders of young, vulnerable women had become the new town myth, they say a Vampire.

Yes, a Vampire apparently walks amongst us. Ridiculous but precautions must be maintained.

We do not know if the Vampire is tall or short. Young or old. Pretty or ugly. All we know is that there is someone with a bloodlust amongst us.

My prayers are dedicated to the Seven, specifically the Warrior. I prayed to him for protection, to help rid us of this foul disease plaguing the Riverlands.

"I pray to the Warrior for protection and bravery, give me strength and safety and I will forever be in your debt." I mutter, my eyes closed and mind blank, only focusing on the words I’m speaking and which of the Seven I am praying to.

After praying to the Warrior, the Father, Mother, Maiden, the Crone and even the Smith, I go to pray to the Stranger, but something stops me.

I hear a scratch on wood. I stop my prayer for a few seconds, listening to hear. Nothing. So I go back to praying. "I pray to the Stranger-" scratch, scratch, scratch.

I pause, my eyebrows furrowing as I finally open my eyes, moving my eyes around the very empty church, my eyes land on nothing. There is nothing here with me. There must be rats in the wall.

I open my mouth to continue before a loud banging makes me jump and drop my rosary. I look behind me and see the door shake with the sheer force of the knocks.

Once the knocks cease I get the courage to call out in the darkness, "Who comes here at the hour of the wolf?"

Silence. "Answer me!" Silence as well.

I stand up from my sitting position, discarding my rosary as it lays neglected on the floor. I slowly walk towards the large double doors, my bare feet planting on the cold stone.

My body reaches the door, fingers instinctively reaching out and grabbing onto the handle. I go to pull it but I hesitate. What was on the other side? A cat? A person? The killer?…

You only live once, if I am to die then I am to die, it is what the Seven want.

I use a lot of my strength to pull open one of the doors to reveal the cold to the warm.

As my eyes scour as much as the darkness allows me to see. I turn my head right, nothing. I turn my head left, a shadow.

I shriek out of shock, jumping as I look at the body before me. A man. He has scruffy black hair, a cocky grin and a scar above his lip.

"Greetings, Septa." He smirks, enjoying my reaction. Who was this man? "Greetings… how may I help you?…" My tone is sceptical, unsure.

"I need a place to rest until the morrow. Well, it already is, what I mean is when the sun rises." He flashes a charming but cocky smile, stepping slowing infront of me. He was tall and lean, towering over me.

"Of course, you could have just came inside you know? Come, step inside, you are always welcome at the Church." His smile widens and turns into a smirk. His eyes flashing an emotion I cannot put my finger on. But it wasn’t just an emotion. I swear I had saw his deep, dark eyes flash a bright red, but it was dark, the hour of the wolf, I am just tired.

I welcomed the young man inside, smiling politely as I let him in. Shutting the door, I do not realise the danger I face. I have just locked myself in an isolated Church with a Vampire. Gods help me…

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

could you do a one shot of alicent and viserys firstborn daughter manipulating and seducing Daemon to marry her instead of rhaeyrna after laenas death because he sees her as a younger and more beautiful version of her older half-sister. like reader is a girlboss cause she got him on the greens side and she got him whipped by her beauty and all the children she is giving him.

A/N: I hope you like it! Thank you so very much!!

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

summary: alicent and viserys firstborn daughter manipulating and seducing Daemon to marry her instead of rhaeyrna after laenas death because he sees her as a younger and more beautiful version of her older half-sister. like reader is a girlboss cause she got him on the greens side and she got him whipped by her beauty and all the children she is giving him.

Word count: 2,2K

Warnings: Smut, Angst, jealousy

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"Nuncle" Daemon turned around to face you, his eyes widened at the sight of you. You wore a black dress a little too revealing for a funeral but the innocent glint in your eyes showed that you did not know better. Your corset pushed your cleavage up for him to see and admire while your arms were showing.

"Niece" He nodded his head looking like he was in a daze for a second. His eyes snapped up to look at you. You forced a small tear to roll down your cheek, faking your sadness.

"I wished to give you my condolences, I may have never met Lady Laena but from what i heard she was an amazing lady, I am sure your daughters will take after her" You spoke lightly. Your hand raised slowly to rest on his upper arm to offer him some comfort. Daemon's eyes followed your movement making you feel a little scared that you were going too fast and moved to pull away but he grabbed your hand before you could.

"Thank you, niece, she was an amazing mother indeed" Daemon raised your hand placing a kiss to the back of your fingers.

"If you need anything uncle, do send for me, we are family after all" You batted your eyelashes at him. Daemon did not let go of your hand and instead kept it warmed in his own.

"I wish to walk away from this crowd, I have not had time to mourn properly, may I ask you to join me?" He asked tilting his head to the side. You had to suppress a smirk to give him the impression that he was the one to manipulate you.

"Of course" You pulled your hand from his hand to the crook of his arm instead. Daemon led you away from the noise of the people talking. You looked back as the noise grew further away to find your older sister's eyes wandering in search of Daemon not knowing that you had gotten to him first.

"I heard that you were a rogue, father mention several times that you have the characteristic of your late mother princess Alyssa, what was she like?" You asked boldly. The noise now was merely background noise but still it grew quieter the more he led you away.

"I am afraid I do not remember, I was very young when she passed" Daemon answered, turning to look at you. You faked a horrified gasp and your other hand snapped up to cover your mouth in shock.

"I apologise uncle, I did not mean to offend" You squeaked. Daemon swallowed thickly, bingo! From what you heard he liked innocent maidens, he liked to corrupt them, mould them however he liked.

"Nothing to apologise for, sweet girl" Daemon's free hand raised to touch the apple of your cheek. You averted your eyes and opted to stare at the sand below your feet.

"I should have known better than to mention another important woman in your life when you are still mourning your lady wife's passing, please forgive me" You whispered. He put pressure below your chin to get you to look at him. His eyebrows shot up in shock at the sight of tears in your eyes.

"Sweet niece" He pulled you closer in for a hug. Your wrapped your arms around his waist tightly smirking into his shirt. You pulled away to look him in the eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him by surging up smashing your lips together. He froze for a second before kissing you back. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer to your body, every fibber in your body begging to feel more of him.

He sighed against your lips, his arms wrapping around your waist pulling your closer to him. Your fingers wandered up his neck and into his hair messing the half pulled up hair do. His fingers fiddled with your laces not yet pulling them apart.

"Oh sweet girl" He pulled back to look at your face. You whined at the loss much to his amusement. Daemon can be cruel but not now. He leaned down to kiss you again, much fiercer this time, slipping his tongue into your mouth forcefully to play with yours.

Your fingers trailed down his neck to his tunic beginning to unbutton it and he let you. This time around he pulled the strings loosening your gown around your body.

"Nuncle" You moaned against his lips when you felt the tip of his fingers make contact with the skin of your shoulder. He slipped the dress off slowly until it was hanging off your elbows.

"How pretty" He complimented, eyes glued to your breasts barely covered by the corset. He pushed your dress the rest of the way down to the ground.

"Someone will see" You whispered. He ignored you and took off his cape to lay it on the floor before he guided you down to lay on the ground. He took off his tunic before joining you down on the sand.

"No they won't if you keep quiet, sweet girl" He responded. You gulped but did not push him away. He leaned his head down to place small kisses to your jawline. He shudder ran through your body at his touch.

One of his hands was planted on the ground to keep his weight off of you while the other one trailed down to grab at your thigh pulling it up and closer to him. You moaned as he squeezed the flesh along with his lips sucking at your neck. Your heart was hammering against your chest and your were sure he could feel it.

"Uncle" You mewled, feeling his ever growing length rub against your thigh. You reached down to his breeches to palm him over the fabric.

"Eager are we?" He teased looking up at you. You moaned when he turned back to your corset to untie the laces that were on the front for once.

"Shit" he groaned as your breasts spilled out. He moved to his knees between your legs so he can palm them with both of his hands.

"Such beautiful tits" He was in a daze like state. He dived back down mouth watering for your breasts. He kissed and sucked as if they were his last meal. Your cunt grew wetter with his each tug of his.

"Please, uncle" You begged attempting to rub your cunt against his clothed cock. Daemon growled against your flesh, one of his hands snapped down to your hip to keep you in place.

"Please fuck me, uncle" You begged, leaning down to whisper the words in his ear. Daemon let go of your tit with a pop and droll running down his chin.

"Whatever my sweet niece wants" He hands fumbled to push his breeches down just enough for his cock to spring out, proud and hard, long in length with just enough girth to make you shudder with fear if it will fit.

"Is it going to hurt?" You asked, eyes wide as you watched him move closer to you.

"Scared are you? You were begging for it only a second ago" Daemon teased. Your breath got caught in your throat when he let the tip touch your swollen clit.

"Uncle" You shivered, hands grabbing at his biceps. He furrowed at the sight of tears in your eyes.

"Shh sweet girl, it will hurt for a pinch then it will feel good, I promise" He leaned down to place a comforting kiss to your forehead. You gulped but nodded your head.

"Shhh" He shushed as he began to push in, a reminder to stay quit. One of your hands snapped up to your mouth to cover it. He was huge, he was stretching you in ways your fingers never did. You were heaving by the time half of him was inside.

"Uncle" You cried, hands snapping to his chest to either push him or stop him. He paused his movement and looked up at your face. Tears were leaking from your eyes, your lower lip in between your teeth to stop your cries, you looked amazing.

"Just a little more, sweet girl" He reassured. He leaned down to rest his forehead on yours as he pushed the rest of him in. You mewled holding on to his shoulders for some support.

"Such a good girl for me" He praised, kissing your nose. You raised your chin enough to claim his lips with yours. Daemon was not a patient man and began to move giving you barely any time to adjust to his length.

His mouth swallowed your moans and cries. The uncomfortable feeling in your gut slowly morphed into pressure, and it was so very pleasurable.

"That's it" Daemon praised when you pulled your mouth away from his moaning in pleasure. Your pulled him closer needing to feel his flesh on yours. He latched onto your skin without a second thought, not caring if he left marks behind.

You looked up at the sky letting the pleasure consume you, Daemon was experienced, he knew what he was doing. A smirk grew on your face knowing you had won, you had trapped your uncle or at least your web had began to wrap around him.

"Good girl, taking me so well" He moaned in your ear. You cried feeling your release nearing. He kissed your lips to quieten you as your pleasure rolled into you. Soon he was following behind you but he was not even close to being down with you, no he will have you until the sun began rising high in the sky again.

"Rhaella, will you help your mother" Daemon called earning the attention of the six namedays old girl. She turned to find you struggling to hold the hand of your other child, Daelyx, your three namedays old son.

"Yes papa" She skipped over to you and took her brother's hand in her own. You sighed in relief rising to stand up straight again with a hand over your growing belly.

"Thank you darling" You pushed some of her hair back. She grinned up at you happy to help.

"Lets go darling, Viserys is waiting for us" Daemon reminded. You smiled at him. He was standing to the side with your twins only one nameday old yet you were seven moons pregnant with your fifth child. Your twin daughters giggled at each other babbling in a language only they knew, Daenys and Aera.

"Yes, my love" You moved to walk along side him or more like wobble. Rhaella trailed behind you with Daelyx's hand in her own. She was whispering something to her brother you could not hear but that kept the little boy distracted as he looked around at the weird place he found himself in.

"Do you reckon he will be angry because we haven't visited in a while?" You asked in a whisper. The lords and ladies curtsied when seeing before noticing the clutch of children with you and Daemon all white haired and purple eyes. Your wedding was a quick and small affair only a moon after the beech incident when you informed your mother that you had not gotten your moon's blood. She was furious but then seeing who the father was she calmed down and allowed the wedding instead of terminating the pregnancy and sending you to old town to become a septa like she original planned.

"He will understand that we've got our hands full" Daemon grinned at you, he flexed his muscles to bounce the two girls in his arms making them squeal with delight. You smiled at the sound of their giggles.

"I hope so" Your conversation ended when you reached your father's room. The guards opened the door and to your shock Rhaenyra was there along with your mother and grandsire.

"Granny!" Rhaella let go of Daelyx to run to your mother, he huffed annoyed and attempted to race her over to your mother. Your mother grinned and crouched down to meet the two of them.

"Welcome prince Daemon, princess" Your grandsire nodded at Daemon who awkwardly nodded back. You grinned at your grandsire who smirked at you proud of your achievement. It did not go unnoticed that Daemon's clothes were of black and green and no longer of black and red.

"Uncle" Rhaenyra earned your attention when she addressed your husband. He handed you Daenys when she grew restless in his arms. She grew still knowing better than to kick your bulging stomach having been scolded for it only a fortnight prier.

"Sister, always a delight to see you" You stepped closer to her with fake joy on your face. She faked a smile letting you hug her buying your fake innocence as if you could not see her longing.

"Daenys look, it is your grandsire" You moved away from Rhaenyra to sit at your father's bedside. He huffed tiredly but half smiled at the sight of your daughter.

"Daenys? like the dreamer?" He heaved. Feeling a presence behind your turned to find Daemon with Aera in his arms and Rhaella and Daelyx by his side. In that moment you were more than sure you had won, he had ignored Rhaenyra in favour of you and your children. He placed his free hand on your shoulder to show his support. Daemon was your slave now.

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 4 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, @powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia

Summary: Blink and it will pass... a year has passed now. Having left for your education and proper lady-like manners. Now having returned the memories of before seek your mind with sorrows and promises. Only a week till the new season begins, but first families be reunited. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 part 8 & part 9 & part 10 ]

Loud heels clicked onto the marble floor. A hastened pace, skirt gentle pulled a bit up to not trip over it. Loud breathing damping the hallways. – “Miss Bridgerton.” – the voice called out. – “Miss Bridgerton.” – it repeated a hand moved near their mouth to call out clearer. The heels clacked louder as it picked up their pace. A loud swallow to catch their breath. – “Miss B…” – they called out once more rounding a corner. The last of their words swallowed back in at the sight of you.

You slowly turned to them with a warm smile. – “Yes governess.” – you spoke elegantly. The governess exhaled deep, pressing her hand deep onto her chest. – “I…I… you were not in your room.” – she explained approaching you. You nodded still smiling. – “I hope you forgive me; I was too excited to return home.” – you replied eyeing the suitcase standing at your feet. Your governess sighed deep coming closer.

“I hope it is not because of that boy?” – she asked you, bowing down to take your suitcase. – “He is not some boy!” – you called out. – “He is to be my husband.” – you explained to her. Your governess snorted loud. – “You haven’t even debuted yet.” – she concluded giving a nod to the doorman to open the door. – “A week isn’t that long anymore.” – you stated with a smile full of mischief. Your governess sighed again as she gave your suitcase to the clerk who came standing in the door opening. The clerk turned round and headed over to the carriage with your suitcase.

Your governess returned to you. – “Now do you have everything?” – she asked plucking a bit at your shoulders. Every little detail had to be perfect in her eyes. You hummed loud. She took a deep breath letting her hands slide down your arms. – “I remember how you arrived here. Still a young strong-minded girl.” – she said. – “I still am.” – you chuckled out. – “You are but you have also grown a lot.” – she corrected. – “You wouldn’t stop dreaming.” – she tapped you on the nose, pulling you out of a small daydream.

She then sighed deep. – “I am going to miss you Miss Bridgerton, for this house shall become silent once more. It’s whirlwind of laughter and dance leaving.” – her words made you swallow the forming knot in your throat down. Seeing how she started to become sentimental. You couldn’t have it for you would cry for sure. – “Governess please, let us spare our tears.” – you said brushing your finger against her cheek.

She smiled with teary eyes. – “You… you are absolutely right.” – she took a step back, holding both your hands up. – “As always.” – She curtsied, dipping her head down. You pulled her back up, curtsying for her out of gratitude. – “I shall miss you.” – you told her. Suddenly you heard a chaos of voices and loud heels clacking against the marble. Around the corner arrived a storm of maidens of the household.

“Thank Goodness.” – One exclaimed hastening herself over. – “She has not left yet.” – another one spoke pulling a friend with her. Your governess let go of your hands, taking a few steps back. The swarm of maidens hastened over to you. You got overwhelmed in the biggest hug. It was impossible to link any arm or touch to a person. – “Oh Miss Bridgerton think of us.” – Grace said squeezing you tight into a hug. – “Write to us.” – Olive spoke hugging you from behind. – “We’ll miss you.” – some cried out unable to hold back their tears.

“If you ever need a hand maiden.” – Irene said pushing her way through. – “Or two!” – Grace pitched in once more. – “Girls! Girls!” – the governess called out for some order. She started tapping the girls on their shoulders with a fan to dismiss them from around you. – “Miss Bridgerton needs to leave.” – she said out loud. You felt Olive’s hands slip out of yours.

“If I could, I would enlist you all in my household.” – you told them with tears in your eyes. The space around you grew bigger giving you more breathing. – “Girls please manners.” – the governess pointed them on. – “I’ll try to convince my husband about the matter.” – you told them. Your governess ticked on the shoulder with her fan. – “You are not married yet.” – she made clear. Grace giggled loud. – “She practically is.”

“Miss Bridgerton must leave now!” – Your governess insisted upon. She shoved you towards the door. The girls following after you. The governess stood in the door opening like a brick wall. Firm and sturdy to not let any of her household girls through. The girls didn’t care, trying to look through any gap to wave at you. – “Do not forget about us!” – Irene shouted sitting in Mary’s back. – “Visit us when you can!” – Olive called out waving excitedly over the governess’s shoulder. – “Invite us to the wedding!” – Grace screamed out to be heard over the loud well wishes of the girls.

You waved back at them standing by the carriage. You blew them a kiss before getting in. The clerk closed the door as you scooted closer to the window to look outside to them. – “I won’t forget you!” – you called out waving. The carriage got in motion as it pulled you back in the seat. The carriage rode turned to ride to the pathway leading to civilization.

You saw that the girls had broken free from the sturdy wall of your governess. Running after the carriage and waving as wild as they could. Seeing how much they cared for you made you cry. A bittersweet goodbye. After a long year of being apart from your family and Tewkesbury for your education and preparations for your debut. You still remembered the day you left.

After your mother and Anthony had delivered the news that you would be send away for a year, it crashed down on you. A whole year without Tewkesbury. They found it better for your education to be elsewhere where you couldn’t be distracted by him. Perhaps your brother hoped you’d forget about him in the year separated. It was foolish of them to think so. How could you ever give up on Tewkesbury as he held your heart in all its mighty form.

He was the very essence you breathed. That day you had left. Needing time alone. Of course you were never allowed to go alone so Colin was with you. You pulled the carriage to a stop seeing him at the park. You swung the doors open as the carriage had not come to a full stop yet. – “Y/n!” – Colin would shout out jumping out after you. You couldn’t care, only thinking of him.

Tears swelled up thinking about having to say goodbye to him. – “Y/n!” – Colin kept chasing you trying to catch up with you. Tewkesbury, who was near the trees, noticed you, turning his posture more to you. He furrowed his brows quizzable at your running. You jumped into his arms feeling his arms close around you. The impact making you spin round with him till he slowed down. Colin came to slow down out of breath. – “What is it Y/n?” – Tewkesbury asked brushing his hand up your neck to the back of your head.

Only shaking your head you couldn’t get the words out. – “Y/n.” – Colin breathed out, giving a nod to Tewkesbury. Tewkesbury bowed his head back to him, moving you at arms-length of him. – “Y/n we can not linger.” – Colin spoke. – “The carriage will take you away in an hour.” – Tewkesbury’s eyes widened with fear. – “Wait? You are leaving?” – he called out in a panic. You nodded, tears running down your cheeks. Tewkesbury’s world felt like collapsing into nothingness. – “Where are you going? Will you return? I…I…Miss Bridgerton I… will I ever see you again?” – he called out needing desperate answers as his hands cherished your face.

Colin stepped in to speak. – “It is only for a year.” – he explained. – “Mother wishes for her to fulfill her education elsewhere before her debut next year.” – Colin added making Tewkesbury look briefly at him. – “A whole year.” – you cried out. Tewkesbury smiled saddened wiping some tears away. – “It will be over before you know it.” – he said to you.

You sniffed loud, blinking to stop your tears. – “I…I…I don’t want to part from you.” – you answered brushing your thumb against his chin. – “Neither do I.” – he replied with a deep breath. Tewkesbury held your hands up preventing you from wrapping them tightly around him. You started to get angry, frustrated at him for not welcoming you. For not accepting your tears of sorrow. Tewkesbury wanted, but he couldn’t. Not with your brother watching.

His heart ached as much as yours cried. – “I don’t want to go…” – you cried out. – “Take me with you. Make me yours. Please don’t leave me.” – you begged never wanting to part from him. Tewkesbury shook his head knowing he couldn’t. Neither could survive a scandal. It needed to be done the proper way. Nothing else. His grandmother would not stop hunting him if he so much as married you in secret.

The fear of her hurting you haunting his mind. Tewkesbury pressed you close to him, arms tightly around you. – “Remember my promise.” – he whispered close to your ear. – “Remember it every day.” – he went on. You sobbed loud wrapping your arms over his shoulders. – “What is a year against a lifetime of love.” – he said looking off into the distance.

“Blink and it will pass.” – he continued looking briefly over to your brother. – “I don’t want to leave you.” – you sobbed out. – “Nor shall you. I will remain here in agony, waiting for your return. For I shall count every day till I can call you mine. You are my heart, my body and soul.”

You let go of Tewkesbury as did he. – “Will you write?” – you asked him with a faint smile. – “Every day for numerous times.” – he responded. You looked over your shoulder to your brother Colin. Seeing how glossy his eyes had become. Tewkesbury took your hand, bowing as his head dipping against your hand. You curtsied at the same time saying your goodbye’s. Stepping back your hand slowly slipped out of his till it dropped at your side.

Colin came closer laying his hand on your shoulder. – “Blink and it will pass.” – he repeated Tewkesbury’s words with a saddened smile. You forced your eyes shut, shuddering out a breath. Fluttering them open you saw the blurry image of him between your tears. Moving backwards he faded away. Drawing further away from you till he was nothing but a mark in the painting of your eyes. Colin helped you into the carriage.

As the door shut, he took your hand gently. Looking up at him, you saw something in his eyes. A reflection of poetry of belief. As if seeing clearly for the first time. A glance you had seen numerous times in Benedict’s eyes whenever he was compelled by the arts. A deepness inside that reflected the beauty within.

Fluttering your eyelashes you became aware of your surroundings once more. The carriage hobbled over the gravely road as it had awoken you from a memory. The taste of dryness on your lips as you wetted them gently. Familiar streets and boutique’s rose up as a sense of homesickness struck you. A tugging feeling increasing by each movement. Not for a year have you seen any of your siblings. Having no idea what their lives are now. How grown your younger siblings are.

Has any of them perhaps found love besides dearest Daphne? Would they have thought off you every day? Regretted their decision to take you away. Away from any distractions. Would they still find you the same? You didn’t think so. Over the year with your courses you had changed much. Matured more. Glorified with grace and manners. Even now upon looking at yourself you didn’t feel the same. It was noticeable in the little things.

How perfectly lady-like you sat. The change in posture to a proud young lady. No more time for silliness. Prepared to take upon the duty of finding a husband. The carriage rounded a corner as you took in a deep breath. Nearing the street of your beloved home. Easily you spotted the violets. The house coming in sight as the carriage stopped in front of its open gate. You shuffled a bit closer to the window, looking outside. Not a single soul waiting for you.

The ache in your heart began to grow. Perhaps you weren’t missed. Before you could fully sink in self-pity opened the door. Two, three, four at a time trying to squeeze themselves through the door. The footman opened the door for you as you stepped out of the carriage with his help. Anthony being the first to reach you. He picked you up, spinning around with you as you heard him exhale relieved. – “I want to see her!” – you heard with impatience. – “Anthony I want to.” – feeling the tugging on your dress it was no doubt your younger siblings.

Anthony wouldn’t let go of you. Slowing his spinning down but tightening his grip around you. Your feet touched the ground once more as a figure squeezed itself between the two of you. Anthony got pushed off you making way for Gregory and Hyacinth. They both wrapped their arms around you. You hugged them back feeling sentimental. Anthony got pulled back by his shoulder, the younger one’s ignored as Benedict smiled with a happy return at you.

His arms wrapped around you as the younger one’s were forced out of the way. – “The counting days have finally come to an end.” – he told you, hugging you tighter. – “For I could not bare another one.” – Lip trembling you felt yourself be overcome with sadness. Benedict kissed your cheek. Anthony joined the two of you leaving a kiss on your head. Your brothers made way to reveal Colin. Noticing the tears rolling down his cheek. You slowly stepped away from your brothers over to him.

Embracing him in a warm hug. – “Look at you.” – he said sniffling. – “How much you’ve grown.” – he added. – “I am still shorter than you.” – you teased hearing him laugh loud. – “As long as you have not overgrown me.” – looking beside Colin you saw Eloise. Her smile unsure whether to show sadness or relief. You pulled her in for a hug. Eloise and you parted as she took a good look at you.

“Urgh how lady-like they have made you.” – she commented as it was in her good nature. Francesca giggled. – “We’ll mark the day till you achieve such greatness sister.” – she teased at Eloise whilst receiving a hug from you. Eloise stuck her tongue out to her. – “Mother is inside.” – Francesca whispered to you. You nodded letting go of her. You took a deep breath preparing yourself to head inside. Inside the house you had missed for a year. It felt big.

A shaking weight making each step of yours slow down. Almost too afraid to walk inside. A hand slipped in yours. Seconds later another one on your left. Gregory and Hyacinth had taken each one of your hands. – “Welcome home sister.” – they said assisting you inside. Your other siblings following. The door closed behind them as the house filled with chatter. A loving meeting forming behind closed doors.

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[merakiui]

Mother

yandere!kabukimono x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, pregnancy, implied codependency, brief mentions of murder/death, brief mention of childbirth note - recently i was inspired to write a kabukimono story, so i hope you can enjoy it!

i. the miracle of life.

There is a little human growing within you.

Kabukimono has never heard of such a phenomenon, but according to you it’s a normal facet of life for all creatures. He, who has only ever interacted with men, young and old, and the occasional grandmother, has never known the word pregnancy. It’s a complicated concept he struggles to parse at first—like that first sip of sake or the stickiness of a sweet. It’s something that leaves you pleasantly rounded like a ripe lavender melon, softens the skin on your bones, and allows you to grow into the kimono that was once two sizes too large. It’s something you speak of with overwhelming warmth, a fondness so enticing it’s almost tangible. It’s something the men at the furnace discuss with great pride and merriment, swapping stories of their beautiful, beloved wives and the tiny miracles that dwell within the womb, adoration painted upon weathered countenances. 

Miracles. Kabukimono has heard the word once or twice. Miracles, as he has come to learn, are wonderful things wrapped in silks. Newborns swathed in softness. Frail humans who manage to overcome illnesses that are said to snuff both body and soul with the excruciating passage of time. Sometimes a miracle is simple and not nearly as exciting as tales of heroes and villains or a mortal fight for recovery. Sometimes a miracle is waking up to begin another day. Sometimes it's torrential rain battering thirsty farmlands. Sometimes it’s a delicious meal prepared by a loving hand. 

If Kabukimono’s existence were to be defined as a miracle, it would be both a grandiose, gilded lie and bittersweet flattery all in one pretty package. Miracles are wanted, loved, and accepted. Disasters, curses, failures—however you wish to name the wandering puppet—are unwanted, despised, and abandoned. Kabukimono may not know every truth of this vast world, but this is one he’s understood from the moment he awoke in a lonesome pavilion. 

There is a little miracle growing within you. 

“Although they’re not very little now,” you remark, taking his cold, bloodless hands in your warm, blood-filled ones.

You guide them to your belly, secured snugly with a hara-obi, and he averts his gaze, if only to be respectful of the bare flesh you’ve put on display. The men at the furnace note he often stares at you; they’ve said it’s unbecoming of a young man to fix licentious eyes upon a maiden. Once, they joked of repentance for invasive gazes: A man who strays too far from his honor when a lady is involved shall gouge his eyes out and present them to her in hopes of earning forgiveness. Kabukimono, unable to comprehend the sarcasm or the laughter, procured a shard of shattered glass, raised it to his eye, and was promptly stopped by a very concerned Niwa. 

“Now listen here,” he had said, addressing the group of chuckling men, “it’s not very honorable to trick others.”

Kabukimono knows that there are two types of tricks: the painful kind and the painless kind. Betrayal falls under the painful category. Swapping his bitter tea for sake falls under the painless category (though he was not spared of the dizzying, disorienting effects or the subsequent hangover). Had he sliced his eyes from his skull, he wonders if he would have felt the sting, the agony, the fluid filling empty eye sockets—if such fluid even exists within his unique anatomy. Kabukimono is grateful for Niwa, for he often rescues him from painless tricks that may turn painful should he follow through with blind trust. 

And, had he truly lost his eyes that day, he never would have had the pleasure of looking at you like he does now. 

“Not very little…” he parrots, and he can practically feel the heartbeat from your miracle the moment his hands rest upon your belly. It shimmers in the candlelight, but that’s only because you’ve applied herbal oil meant to soothe weary muscles and prevent stretch marks. “How big will it become?”

You hum, idly trace patterns onto the tops of his hands, and say, “It’s difficult to approximate. Imagine…a very big lavender melon.”

Kabukimono can do that. He peers past you at the purple pile on the table, spoils from his last walk. He always returns with too many, but then pregnancy leaves you with a voracious appetite and sometimes you can eat more than one melon in one sitting. It’s very admirable, so he brings more each week and you never stop him. 

“That’s big,” he mumbles, awestruck, and he slides a hand across the width of your stomach. “How does it fit?”

“It’s a miracle.”

“Oh.” He leans closer, suspecting he feels movement from within, and he’s proven correct when something shifts under his palms. His eyes, blown so very, impossibly wide, flick up to yours. “It… It moved!”

“Of course,” you say, smiling, and your eyes are the prettiest gemstones in the moonlight. He could stare at them forever. “They kick and squirm often. This, too, is the sweetest miracle.”

“How so?”

“A restless baby means they are alive and well within.” You look like a statue of the gentlest goddess when you cradle your stomach. “It’s all I could ever hope for.”

Curiously, Kabukimono withdraws his hands and lifts the hem of his silks to view his own flat, porcelain stomach. He presses a palm against synthetic skin. It’s cold, but there is life crackling beneath his hand, just barely contained within the frame his mother personally sculpted. 

Mother. It’s another word he knows well, but he cannot seem to apply it to anyone other than his creator. But, as he has come to learn, a mother is meant to provide and protect. His mother is currently absent, so she cannot do those things. 

“You must have something you want.” 

Kabukimono lowers the fabric, cinches it tight, and peers at you. “Something I want?”

“Like a miracle of your own.”

“I am unable to conceive a miracle.”

You stare at him for a moment before laughing a quiet, melodious laugh. “It doesn’t have to be a child. It can be anything you want.”

His hands rise to his chest and he intends to admit his true wish—a heart and a place amongst humans—but instead he says, “I would like a mother for myself.”

“Do you not have a mother, Kabukimono?”

“I do… I did.” He shakes his head, finding that the admittance is too troublesome on his tongue. “I’m…unsure.”

You nod, your features softening with understanding. “Perhaps something else then?” Kabukimono reaches out to touch your belly, hesitates, and draws away, conflicted. You offer an encouraging smile. “You can touch. I don’t mind, and I don’t think the baby minds either.”

And so he does.

“I want to see your miracle when it’s brought into the world,” he whispers, speaking more to your baby than to you. “And I would like to know the miracle of life.”

As if in response, your little miracle kicks.

ii. the miracle of death. 

Your little miracle almost fell from the sky that envelops it.  

On the way to the furnace, a man bumped into you and you were sent stumbling on uneven ground. Kabukimono does not want to think of what could have happened if he hadn’t been a few steps behind—if he hadn’t rushed to your aid with a quickness rivaling lightning. He’d caught you in his arms and, noting the raw panic sullying such a friendly face, could only exhale a slow, relieved sigh. 

When you fell, you were holding your belly, shielding it as if it was worth more than your own life. When you fell, the man who had been the catalyst for this short-lived horror did not jump in to catch you. When you fell, you were a sliver away from tragedy. 

Kabukimono tastes red-hot anger in his throat, but he cannot understand where it’s coming from or why it consumes him entirely. But he must get it out of his system. It’s unpleasant and wrong and sordid. He doesn’t like it. Not at all.

And so, later that same day, he repays terror tenfold and leaves the man clinging to the strand he calls life.

“I won’t allow you to take my miracle away.” It’s spoken like a fact, shot through with syllables of deadly certainty. The sharpened tip of his blade prods at the man’s abdomen, a warning, a threat, and a promise all at once. For nearly taking a life, you shall pay for it with your own.

“Your mother?” the man had sputtered, terrified and confused, sticky with sweat and tears. 

Kabukimono does not let the man speak again, for the sword sinks into his stomach, and unease morphs into painful torment. To be certain the man won’t survive, Kabukimono twists the sword, sullies his hands in the process, and yanks it free with startling strength. Blood speckles a pristine canvas. It’s warm and wet.

He did not say mother. He did not. You’re a miracle. You are not his mother. You will be a mother to your miracle, not him because he isn’t a miracle. 

He did not say mother. 

Kabukimono finds himself sitting across from you now. There is a ghastly tear in crimson-spattered silks. You suspect the truth in the liquid staining his attire. Surely you must. But you keep your lips pursed and thread the needle through with expert fingers, humming as you work. Kabukimono sits primly, watching you with bright, indigo hues. You hum a melody he has never heard before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m uninjured.”

“I’m glad.” You snip the excess string away and tuck the needle into your sewing kit. “It’s fixed. I’m sorry if it looks a little awkward. I’m not the best at—”

“It’s perfect,” he insists, admiring the stitching as if it’s the most valuable thing in all of Teyvat. Irreplaceable, for no one could replicate your exact pattern, and that’s what makes it so special. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He’s quiet for all of two minutes before the silence shatters his resolve. “Your miracle…” He frowns, suddenly ashamed. “He almost hurt your miracle…”

“But he didn’t, and I have you to thank for that.” You hold your hands out, palms up, and add, “Your hands aren’t meant to break and destroy others. You were given these precious palms to embrace others, to protect others, to respect others.” 

Slowly, he places his hands in yours. His seem to weigh heavy like a grimy sin, yet somehow all it takes is a single touch from you and all of his filth is cleansed. His fingers curl around yours, entwining like vines.

“I will embrace others. I will protect others. I will respect others.”

You squeeze his hands reassuringly. “When you’re upset, rather than acting rashly, take a step back and sit with your feelings. If the unpleasant thing persists, come to me and we can discuss. But please don’t take your frustrations out on others. You weren’t made to hurt others.”

“Then if I was not made for destruction, what else could be the purpose for my creation?”

To that, you’re unable to produce a satisfactory reply. Instead, you pull one of your hands free, lick your thumb, lean towards him, and scrub the blood from his cheeks. He blinks at you, unaccustomed to such consideration. The men at the furnace often tease him for trailing after you like a lost, little duckling, seeking your approval and affection. Tonight, since the men are nowhere in sight, he thinks he can allow himself to be greedy without any admonishments from Niwa or Katsuragi. You sure do like that (Name), huh? the latter often muses, exchanging wary, furtive glances with Niwa, as if both are preparing to weather a calamity. 

Kabukimono always speaks the truth unless he must take care to conceal it. So when he tells them, I like her more than I like the world that surrounds me, he means it. Because without you there is no world.

“Thank you, Mother,” he murmurs, as if it’s a secret, a title not meant to be uttered by him. 

Oh, he said it again. He said mother. 

iii. the miracle of motherhood.

Kabukimono kneels at your bedside like an angel of death dressed in the purity of white. He watches you throughout the hour, listening to your cries, your groans, your hisses, while a grandmother assists below, whispering soothing consolations that somehow reach Kabukimono’s ears despite the shrill noises that fill the room. Kabukimono has learned she’s a granny who delivers life, so he puts his faith in her to take good care of you and your miracle.

The process is much longer than he anticipated. Though you’re covered in sweat and tears, your chest heaving, your hand searching for him in the midst of the commotion, you are the most beautiful miracle he has ever known. He closes his hand around yours and you squeeze so hard you might just tear his wrist from the joint. But it doesn’t hurt him, and he spends the afternoon at your side, watching the toll the miracle takes on your body.

He never blinks, burning the scene into his retinas. 

Some time later, you are holding your miracle in your arms, tears tracking down your cheeks in salty streaks. Kabukimono watches mother and child with wide, adoring eyes. After all this time, your miracle is finally here! You’re holding such a fragile human and there is love trickling from your lash line. Kabukimono wants to cry with you, but the tears won’t come. 

So instead he smiles. You seize his wrist and drag him down to where you rest, and the smile widens.

“Your miracle is leaking,” he observes, and you snort in amusement.

“Crying,” you correct, bumping your forehead with his. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

Kabukimono is inclined to agree, but your eyes are not on him. For the first time in the many months he’s been acquainted with you, he is not all you see. Somehow that saddens him, carves a hole into him, but he can’t mourn. He shouldn’t. He’s come to learn that the miracle of childbirth is an occasion worthy of celebration. He should be happy for you—and he is—but there is a pang in his chest. Something is not fitting where it should. Something is amiss.

“I think I’ll name her…Aika.”

“Is it common to give miracles names?”

“Of course. Everyone has a name, even you. We’re all given one the moment we’re born.”

Even me… 

Aika continues to cry and you rock her to and fro in your arms, shushing her with a song. She settles within minutes, lulled to sleep, and you follow shortly after. He refuses to leave your bedside, preferring to watch over you like a dutiful guard.

Kabukimono weighs his two warring wants: a name of his own, generously given by his mother, and you. In this very moment, you are attainable. A name, however, is not. But perhaps he can survive without one if it means you’ll accompany him through nameless wandering.

He’s only ever whole when he’s with you. 

iv. the miracle of rebirth. 

The Balladeer stands at an all-too-familiar doorstep. He has since swapped his pure linens for a shroud of darkness, and he’s taken on a new alias (he refuses to call it a name, for only you can grant him one). You haven’t changed in the many years that have since followed, for you are not fully human like him. Yet you veil yourself in the wonders of humanity, always empathetic in nature, tainted with weak emotions. You will never be human, but then neither will he and there is catharsis in similarity. The both of you stand on equal ground in that regard, or so you might have thought. 

He is better because he feels nothing, or so he believes. Perhaps, in the center of the labyrinth that is his mind, he recognizes his flaws and the fact that he is worse because you can accept the many aspects of humanity. 

Shrugging these irritations away, he composes himself, squares his shoulders, and knocks thrice. He could forego etiquette altogether, kick your door down, and force himself inside for the sake of a cruel surprise, but he refrains from doing so. He suspects your newest miracle might tumble from your sky if he shocks you and then you will never know the sweet cycle of motherhood again.

You know better than to ignore Death when he comes knocking. The door opens wide; there’s no need to crack it and peek through the thin sliver when you’re already aware of the person who awaits you on the other side. 

As he has observed over the course of many months, you do have another miracle, hidden under the softness of a floral-patterned kimono. He smiles at you, sharp and wicked under a blanket of stars, and spreads his arms for a hug.

“Mother,” he says in a sarcastic singsong, knowing it unnerves you terribly when it spills like sin from his lips. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Like an old habit, you welcome him in. Beyond your doorstep, the corpse of your most recent lover lies slumped and bloodied, decapitated and disemboweled, dragged so far there’s a vermilion trail marking the path. Sometimes you think these humans are not killed by The Balladeer but rather by the sheer ferocity of the hatred and anger he harbors. He’s always diligent with each of your lovers, swooping in the moment he catches their scents, like a predatory cat finely tuned for slaughter. 

He palms at your stomach, uncharacteristically gentle. “Aren’t you just full of miracles, Mother?”

There is a little human growing within you, and The Balladeer has made it his duty to bear witness to the birth of each one of your miracles.

[3vln]

Ravens and Stallions: Ch. 1

Pairings: D. Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Words: 3,800+

C.W.: probably needs LOTS of revisions. lots of time-inaccurate privileges (ladies allowed in taverns?? modern dilly-dallying), lots of cringe-worthy moments trying to add Westerosi/British slang into the mix (would love help on this) OCs, enemies-to-lovers, Romeo & Juliet-esque, non-canon stuff, no smut yet but will have (so MINORS DNI) My Lady Jane-type of banter.

Summary: Someone’s broken heart is how the day got started; for someone else, it was how it ended.

There was nothing special about meeting the Blackwood boy, at first. And he thought the same about you. It wasn’t love at first sight, or anything like that. But it was a gradual thing as you both got to know each other throughout the evening. It was a meeting by chance.

See, your respective friend groups had taken you both out to the nearby town of Harroway for some drinks; for the Blackwood boy, he’d heard talks about war looming, and the time to enjoy his livelihood, and his time being alive… well, he knew it would be short. He needed to make the days he had on Earth count.

And you, you were staying at your aunt’s house in Harroway to accompany your heartbroken friend to get drinks with a few others. While you weren’t someone who usually snuck out to drink, and had a good head on your shoulders, times like these where you enjoyed yourself were few and sparse. It was easier to obtain forgiveness from Aunt Jeyne than to ask your parents for permission.

So, as you were drinking your wine and comforting your distraught friend with the others, you briefly met, unbeknownst to you, the eyes of a rival.

“He had used me! I know he did, that rat bastard!” your wailing friend had choked out, snapping your attention to her. The other two friends made agreeable comments to comfort their hurting friend. In a loud tavern full of bustling noises, no one else had paid attention to her besides the friend group. It drowned out the quiet sobs and prevented any unnecessary attention.

You tried to encourage her with words of affirmation in an effort to lighten up her mood, it pained you to find close ones in pain, especially if it could have been prevented. “Lyanne, you can’t let that boy dictate how you live your life,” you heartened. The others agreed and chimed in with more affirming reflections. You eyed the table’s supply of wine and ale and sighed. “Moon tea will serve you best if it interests you, and please pray to the Maiden. Let’s get you another round of drinks for now; what do you say?” Lyanne wasn’t much of a devout, but she still took the advice to heart; smiling through her sad smile and teary eyes, she reminded herself to thank her friend later.

As you got up, another from the friend group joined you, making small talk about the unfortunate girl’s heartbreak and thanking you for joining them and for bringing fun and reason into the conversation.

“Although, I really think she should look into another man’s arms for comfort,” she mentioned coyly upon arrival to the bar.

“Bellena!” you quietly exclaimed with a smile before turning your back to order. You were too lost in your blush but thought about agreeing. Truth be told, it wasn’t a terrible idea. Not the best and ladylike, but nonetheless. Crying over failures was futile, and it was best to occupy perplexed thoughts with distractions.

An unfamiliar voice behind you tried for an unsolicited introduction between you both with a “Lost are we, ladies?” You quietly exchanged unimpressed looks.

A man with a sly grin had presented himself, mostly towards your friend; while weak of an introduction, yes, you saw Bellena’s gears start to work, most likely thinking of ways to see how she could use this to their advantage.

It was beautiful to see her magic work in real time, as she smiled sweetly, flirted with her eyes, and informed the man they’ve come for sweet libations from handsome men. “I see we’ve come to the right place,” she added. They maintained a bit of prolonged eye contact and, truthfully, you couldn’t fault either.

Bellena, of House Piper, was a natural beauty. Dark, cherry-red hair adorned her, and she truly embodied her house words of “Brave and Beautiful.”

The man before her was tall and handsome, Dornish-looking in a way – dark skin and thick eyebrows. You weren’t sure what house he was from, but Bellena thought it didn’t matter on nights like these. No one was dressed for battle and expressed their house colors tonight. The ladies themselves were anonymous in a way, dressed as common folk or servants having the night off to avoid the attention if dressed in their usual silks.

Banter and flirtatious remarks were exchanged between them, and soon after, Bellena successfully got the man to pay for the next rounds, allowing him and his friends to join your table at the tavern.

You both exchanged another look - this time, a silent acknowledgement in maidenhood: if anything happened that wasn’t welcomed, you’d all be quick to collect the other 2 ladies sitting at the table, and quickly exit.

This was an acknowledged risk, and for Lyanne above all.

“For the lore,” a phrase you all repeated and clinked your first drinks to.

“Miss?” The bar tender called for you, snapping you back to the present, “the drinks.”

As the man waved for his friends to join you, and as you moved towards the drinks, a familiar face you had seen a moment ago reached out to them before you, “Oh!”

“Let me get these for you,” he offered with a lazy smile.

You eyed him suspiciously, but offered back a polite smile.

“Davos, mate! Ever the gentleman. Follow us,” Aron, you soon learned, called out ahead.

Bellena quickly introduced him and his company, and ensured at least one of you had someone to talk to and talk about - especially Lyanne, whom the girls wanted to see enjoy herself and meet someone new.

Times like today, you weren’t fully mentally prepared to meet new people or anyone outside of whom you thought about spending the evening with. Quickly downing your drink as you sit next to Lyanne, you hope it quickly loosens you up to conversation. But to your surprise, you found that Davos, from at the end of the table, had noticed this quick moment and looked at you with a mix of surprise and, ultimately, awe – nodding his head in approval. You looked away in embarrassment, not expecting the attention.

“What brings you pretty lot out here to Harroway anyway?” one of them asks.

The ladies took a moment to respond, sheepishly looking around at each other with embarrassed smiles, debating if an elaborate story should be told or flat out explain the story in which they’re here for their broken-hearted friend.

“Well...” it was a tricky position. They didn't want to reveal themselves, but the ladies didn't know where to begin.

One of them snickered. “Don’t tell us you’re all out having a naughty night out and running away from home,” Davos joked as he took a drink from his pint. “I’d be quite intrigued if that was the case.”

The cherry-haired girl chuckled at the irony and nodded towards you, “Oh, you’d be surprised. Have you met my dear friend over here? I think you’d be quite smitten with her.”

In this moment, you remembered thinking and wishing for the Earth to open up and swallow you whole, and created a mental note to strangle the girl in front of you as you cover your face with your hands.

“Oh? A runaway, I fear?” he teases.

“Absolutely not,” you shook your head, quickly thinking of ways to explain yourself. “I had only wished for some fresh air and found myself in this tavern before I knew it. I’m sure we’ve all been there before.” Not your finest.

“Oh! Oh, yes!” He teasingly agreed, nodding with a sarcastic smile. “I was out with these lads having a drink, and before I knew it, my feet had taken a mind of their own and found myself here. I’m glad I’ve found my people.”

“Precisely.”

He chuckles as he rolls his eyes and takes another sip from his pint.

-

The rest of the evening was followed by more laughter and banter from both ends, surprised at how well things were going and the ladies having fun and comfortable, the heartbroken girl had even rallied back together from her earlier state; and even though you weren’t contributing to much conversation, you were relaxed as long as everyone else was having a grand time. You looked down at your drink, almost gone, and while you weren’t inebriated, you figured it was time for some fresh air.

Absent-mindedly, you excused yourself from the table, and upon leaving to venture outside, you weren’t prepared to see Lyanne perched up outside against the tavern walls towards a quiet corner, in the middle of a passionate kiss with the man whom she had been speaking with.

Quickly hiding back behind the wall, hand on your chest and the other over your mouth, a peal of laughter creeps up as you try to hold against it, afraid of being caught or heard. You were wondering where she had gone after missing from the table for some time. Now you know where. You made a mental note to hold court with her and the other girls soon to debrief on the day’s events.

“There you are.”

You looked to the entrance of the alehouse and saw the man who had helped you with the drinks walk up. You offered him a greeting with a biting smile.

He seemed amused by your reaction. “I see we’re in need of some fresh air?”

You nodded as you bit your lip, holding back a giggle. “Well, that was the plan. But I see that we’re not the only ones who need fresh air.”

He looked at you curiously until he looked around the corner and saw the offending sight. He looked at you with shock, his mouth hanging in disbelief with his lips turned up, “Seven hells!”

You nodded to reaffirm you were equally as shocked. He looked over again, feigning the same shocked reaction, but this time he furrowed his eyebrows, face growing stern, “Wait, that’s not alright.” He touched your shoulder, as if to excuse himself as he made himself visible to the offending couple, “Ey! Get your vile tongue off her! And treat her like a lady - get a room!”

There was a “Piss off!” in the distance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the entertaining interaction between Davos and his friend. He let out a chuckle as he ran his tongue over the side of his teeth, returning the response with an offending finger towards the distant man.

“The boldness of that lad, huh?” he returned his attention back to you.

You shrugged, “I hope this doesn’t make me a bad friend, but I’m glad she’s having fun.”

He raised his eyebrows as he scanned you down, “And you call that having fun?” You roll your eyes as you push yourself off the wall.

“Calm down. All I’m saying,” you emphasize, “is that I’m glad that she’s not sad anymore.”

“Hm. Care to elaborate?”

You looked at him curiously, looking at the way he was genuinely interested in conversation as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall towards you. Relaxed eyes looking down at you, dark irises gleaming despite the twilight sky. You thought about how sweet he looked – kind of handsome in a rugged and boyish way, his choppy bangs framing his face. It almost made you uneasy how interested he looked.

Clearing your throat and looking away, you entertained the conversation and started to walk around the alehouse – both attentive to not disturbing the lovebirds – and although you were careful not to reveal too much about yourself, it was nice to talk about your friend groups and your interests with someone who was interesting, of substance, and someone who understood your humor. This was a stark contrast to the suitors that your mother had wanted you to meet. Most conversations had fallen flat, or lacked sympathy, or intelligence for that matter.

Davos was careful to maintain a respectful distance, cautious to not make any unnecessary touches, which was something you appreciated. You began to take a liking to him because of that.

“What about you?” you asked as you both made your way to the distant trees that offered quietness - polar to the noisy tavern inside. “What do you like?”

He sheepishly smiled. A thought formed in his head about whether he should take a bold move or stay conservative. “Not a lot of things, truth be told.” He looked away. “But I know I like something when I feel it,” he finished, his head turning to you with a lopsided smile.

Taken aback, you hope the blush creeping up doesn’t betray you, and silently nod.

A beat of silence follows, and a look of realization falls on his face as he stands tall from leaning against the tree he had just made himself comfortable on. His face, now beet red, distorts with ideas to make conversation out of, “I hope that wasn’t too forward, I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re very pretty with a pretty laugh, and I think you’re a very nice girl and funny too, and I like you and…” strings of words came together to fill the silence, and you look at him in awe and curiosity at how fast he’s able to talk, wondering if he’ll ever catch a breath for talking fast.

As he continued, you made a forward move to place your hands on him in hopes of calming him, holding his face in one of your palms, “Davos… Davos!” you try. His face was warm, you didn’t realize how bony his cheekbones were as you brushed your thumb against his cheek.

Eventually, realizing your hands were on him, he slowed down. “Right, uhh, yes, sorry,” he breathed as he calmed.

“Thank you,” you chuckled. “I thought something had possessed you,” you laughed. A beat of silence. “But that was sweet.”

You forgot your hands were still on him caressing his cheeks until he placed his hands on top of yours, something you were unprepared for, but nonetheless welcomed.

Another beat of silence. “You have very soft hands,” he murmured as he closed his eyes and kissed the inside of your palm, then leaned into it. Oh.

When he opened his eyes, he studied you and smiled, “You are very pretty,” he said softly. Oh!

Something in you grew, your heart, or your chest, or something. It was almost consuming. Was it the way he had kissed your palm? Or the way he outright told you how pretty you look? Or the endearing way his thoughts dispersed and he babbled on? A bit of everything, you supposed. It was too forward, but it was nice, it was a nice feeling; foreign, and a bit uncomfortable from it being all new to you, but you welcomed it with a smile, curious to see how this unfolds.

You don’t remember exact details but you remember thinking about the scar above his lip, touching it lightly with your fingers, and the electrifying feeling of his lips meeting yours. The butterflies in your stomach swelled, making their way towards your chest, and your blood pumping with nervousness and excitement as you ventured into a foreign experience.

It felt good to be wanted, the way his hands snaked around your waist, and the way the kiss had started off soft, innocuous, and tender, and how it lent its way to become more profound, and almost sinful.

He was careful to not make any more offending moves, and that made you want him even more; one of your hands now having a mind of their own, snaking their way to comb his hair behind his head between your fingers. You clocked a small grunt leaving him as you tugged his hair a little, his arms pressing you closer to him, and a heat spreading through you, legs seconds from turning jelly and letting him mold you.

You needed to catch your breath – this was becoming too much, and you weren’t expecting any of what had just unfolded. Still interlocked in each other’s arms, a shy laugh left you both.

You shared a comfortable silence in each others arms after some time. And you, dare say thanked? the gods for giving you a lovely moment to live on.

“You know,” breaking the silence after a while as he held on to your waist, “that was quite a feat what you did back there with your drink.”

You quizzically looked at him as you toyed with the locks behind his ear, “hmm?”

“When you chugged your drink. Faster than the northern winds.”

“Oh, was that what first caught your attention?”

“Mmmm, that and your pretty face.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing. “You never told me what you didn’t like,” you murmured in an effort to change the conversation.

To that, the man bobbed his head side to side. “That may be a longer list,” he grimaced.

You heartily chuckle, “I may have the time for it.”

He smiled, “Well, for the basics, what I despise–”

“Oh, we’re starting out heavy.”

“Hah, mmm, well, maybe…” he grinned, and he indeed shared a long list of things, a lot of it personal things that are beyond surface-level that made him his own unique being; and more minor, funny things that he thought were inconveniences.

You really did admire him for being someone who isn’t afraid of vulnerability. It felt like a breath of fresh air. And the attentiveness!

You brushed your thumb over his cheek, with him leaning into it as he continued to list out the things he passionately disliked. He was a man of passion, you soon found out. To your surprise, you've come to found out you like this trait. And surely he's someone you'd be interested in if he were interested in pursuing you. You just needed to find an opening in this conversation with your parents once you learn of Davos' parentage.

And just as you thought about opening up about your family, he’s beaten you to it, and a part of you shatters.

“… ah! And Brackens.”

Huh? You turn to him, “I beg your pardon?”

A million thoughts ran through your head, maybe you misheard? Were we back to talking about our his likes? Enjoyments? Gods be good, are we family? A horror strikes your face. All thoughts race, all leading to the shared kiss.

You looked at him, warm relaxed eyes looking back at you – unaware, unassuming. A piece of you has broken, you think.

He shrugged, “Aye, Brackens. Cravens, the lot of them. I think they’re a bunch of good-for-nothing–”

Another shatter. “I’d be careful with your next words.” You dropped your arms away from him as you sternly held your ground, ready to bite back and defend your gold-and-red coated family. The worst has dawned on you, and disgust has overtaken. No, no, no, no!

Confused and a bit hurt, he studied you and nodded with a frown, finally piecing the puzzle together.

A pregnant silence takes over before he takes a deep breath. “I take it you’re Bracken?”

“Proudly.”

He continued nodding his head and rested his hands on his hips, “Then we’re definitely in a bit of a situation.”

You rolled your eyes, “there’s no situation.” Definitely not after the revelation. It couldn't be allowed. Wouldn't.

“Oh really? This moment we had–”

“We had no moment.”

“- kinda looked like a situation… Right. Well.”

You scoffed. “Davos, do me a favor, forget this ever happened.” It had to. If he was willing to say something about your family, what were the chances of him treating you any better? This was nothing but a flirtatious evening. It was going so well, until it wasn’t, especially when speaking in the matters of family. You couldn’t allow yourself to think beyond this moment, of the what ifs. You had to ensure he understood that and cut it off before anything more began. You looked him in the eye and stood your ground.

There was a darkness in his eyes now, surely hurt after being told to forget this moment with someone whom he wanted to explore a prospect with. He thought about the possibility of apologizing, asking for forgiveness, and although too soon, he'd thought about facing the challenges that involved asking for your hand from a family that wouldn’t welcome him in the first place.

But upon hearing your words, it snapped him out and brought him down to reality. Of course, there was no future, much less a moment of truce between the opposing Houses. This was a feud as old as time. So he did what he did best, and put up a wall around him that had forced him to spit insults, regretfully projecting his own hurt. “Forget? How could I forget the moment I discovered an almost civilized Bracken?”

Oh. This had turned around rather quickly. “Almost? Coming from a Blackwood, that’s a compliment.” Unexpected, but you saw this invitation to pass insults, and determined to not lose this battle, you wanted to hurt him if he was going to act this way.

“Don’t let it get to you. You might start thinking you’re actually interesting.”

I beg your pardon? “Interesting enough to catch your attention, apparently,” you spit, “Or is your recollection as poor as your judgment?”

He leaned in closer, towering over you. “My judgment might be questionable, but at least I don’t deceive people to have fun.”

Crossing your arms, you looked at him lamely with an arched eyebrow, “Oh that’s rich, I didn’t know Raventree Hall had a jester. Is that a Blackwood trait or just your own special talent?”

He stood mere inches away from your face and your stomach was back to making butterflies, but you refused to showcase anything other than annoyance, you were determined to have the last word.

Giving you a once-over, he chuckled, clearly over this, “It’s called charm, something I’m not afraid to use again,” he murmured.

A sound of disgust leaves your lips as you turn around and march back to the tavern, “Enjoy your delusions, Blackwood.”

Davos, back to leaning against the tree, smiled to no one in particular as he would enjoy his delusions. “And you, Bracken; enjoy your illusions.”

On your march back, you were too focused on holding back from vomiting and feeling your emotions, bottling them up and storing them far away. Just as you thought you found someone on your own, it had to be someone you couldn’t have and someone who was willing to insult your family.

You collected the rest of your friends, much to Bellena and Lyanne’s chagrin, and marched back home to your Aunt Jeyne’s place before it got too dark. It was then that you fully settled into your emotions, thought about the shared kiss, how sweet it was, and silently sobbed.

You ended the night with a broken heart.

[twst-kumi]

Weeping Maiden [ACT I] CHAPTER 11

[Act I] CHAPTER 11

[Name] woke up in her room in Royal Dawn Dormitory. Flora was dozing off on the armchair by her bed. The fairy’s eyes looked puffy from crying. Flora woke up startled by the young girl snorting. The old woman looked at her for a minute before bawling. She was so loud that she could hear running in the mini castle. 

Ambrose barged in the room holding his robe up. He looked disheveled while panting. His eyes darted everywhere before he saw [Name] smiling awkwardly. It was his turn to cry.

“_Oh my sweet child! I was so worried.”

Alerted by the commotion, the other came to see what was happening. Aurelius also teared up as he saw the young girl. She was alive and well. 

“_ Don't scare us like that ever again. 

_ Yes, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean to worry.

_ It's not about you worrying us, my dear child. It was dangerous. You could have died.” 

The director said glaring at her worriedly. He wanted to protect her. Not only was she his most delicate student, but she was first and foremost his daughter blood related or not. [Name]’s heart fluttered in front of his sincere eyes.

“_ It's a parent's job to take care and worry about their child. And a father's job to protect their daughter.”

The young girl couldn't say anything. Her heart felt heavy with unknown emotions. She didn't know how to react to it, but it felt good somehow. Like she was waiting for such words, she couldn't stop her tears trailing down her cheek. The old man held her in her arms and [Name] broke down wailing like a little kid. She couldn't help but cry as he hugged her tightly. It was warm. Ambrose’s embrace felt so warm around her. 

A few minutes after, her eyes were puffy and red gaining her some teasing laugh from Vil and the rest. 

“_You look like a baby chick who hatched with your eyes like that.

_Nooo, baby chick are ugly when they hatch.”

[Name] whined still sniffing here and there. The group laughed relieved everyone was alright. They got out with only a few scratch and bruise nothing to heavy. The most worrying peoples were Neige and her who were unconscious for two days. Neige woke up yesterday.

“_About Neige…” 

[Name] started to explain what she saw in his memories as they listened calmly. There was a silence for a moment until Alexis talked.

“_Like I give a fuck! He drugged you! Don't expect me to go easy on him because of his sob story.” 

Aurelius winced at his colorful language but agreed with him nonetheless. [Name] smiled gently at them.

“_ I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm just stating the core reason for Neige's Overblot. Neige is incapable of valuing himself for what he is. For him, his worth can only be equated to his usefulness.” 

She understood this feeling better than anyone. As a former child actor and having grown up in a toxic family, she understood what Neige had gone through. Unlike her, Neige was probably not aware of his own abuse. 

“_ I see… Well, you may want to know. I decided to exclude Neige for a week.

_ Only a week? Don't tell me you are planning to let him go scoff free!”

[Name] looked at Vil who frowned at Ambrose’s words. She wanted to comments on how Crowley is letting every Overblotted students off the hook without any repercussions. Aside from Leona who almost got disqualified for Magicshift. The RSA director only laughed.

“_ Of course not. But I think that everyone can get a second chance, if they do show determination and sincerity. The same could be said for you. When I call for you as a primary suspect, I wanted to give you a chance to defend yourself. And if you were the culprit, a chance to redeem yourself.”

Vil couldn’t say if he was unconfortable or just jealous. The director knew Neige longer than him, so it was normal to trust him more than the actor. On the opposite, Crowley didn’t hesitate to send Vil the moment the school reputation was brought up. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Thanks to Ambrose, Vil was able to return to school. He covered it as a flu, he and [Name] caught that. The young girl coming from a different and closeted “land”, her immunity system was a bit weaker than them. It was the excuse they gave everyone to explain their absences. 

“_Where is Neige? I would like to talk to him before he leave.”

There was another silence. 

“_Hey! You heard her? So, are you going to hide behind that wall longer?”

Alexis growled looking toward the open door. They could see a shoulder flinching but no other mouvement. Seeing that he wasn’t going to move, the gentle-looking boy felt even more pissed.

“_ COME IN!!! YOU PIECE OF S…. syrup! I was going to say syrup.”

Everyone looked at him unconvinced and Aurelius couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. He was going to be in trouble if he continued to swear like a sailor. Vil on other side was wondering if it was a normal for small and delicate looking boys to have a foul mouth. This was the second one after Epel. That being said hearing Neige getting insulted didn’t felt bad. He will acknowledge that Neige’s situation was sad, but it didnt mean he would like him. If anything, he had even more resentment toward him. 

Neige walked inside, his eyes darted to the floor unable to confront their stare. Taking on the cue, Ambrose made everyone leave. Aurelius and Alexis couldn’t help but glare at Neige. 

“_Scream if he try to do anything suspicious. 

_ Yeah, we will beat him for you if he try anything so don’t worry.”

Aurelius and Alexis said while burning hole with their glare on Neige. Vil felt refreshed in a way. Look like RSA too could be a little violent. 

Alone, Neige and [Name] looked at each other for moment. The boy looked devastated, remorse was obvious on his face. 

“_ I’m sorry… I… 

_ I never liked you more than a friend, Neige.”

Neige flinched a little. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. He looked at her before smiling at her. He tried to push back on his need to cry. He was  aware, she didn’t share his feeling.He was going to use this week to reflect on it. Deep down he felt like he didn’t have any right on loving her or coveting her affection.

“_ I know… I’m quite aware of it now. I just want to say it at least once. I love you, [Name].”

[Name] was speechless for a moment. His eyes shined with a resolve she never saw in him before. Something changed in him, he looked a little bit more like a man rather than a delicate boy. Both exchanged a small laugh before Neige stood up to leave. She rejected his confession but at least she acknowledged it. 

Neige was walking down the stair under the two freshmen’s glare. It was understandable for them to hate him. Remembering something, he stopped in his tracks and looked at them. 

“_Please, take care of her.

_We don’t need you to tell us that. 

_Just leave already!”

Neige chuckled a little looking at the two. What a duo of  brave little knight they were. 

“_Right, before I forgot. Don’t trust Henry that much.”

Aurelius frowned a little. What does his dormleader have to do with all this? The young man felt his stomach churn. Pushing his worry aside, he walked back inside the bedroom once he was sure Neige left the dorm. 

Act I: Poison of Delusion. (END)

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