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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

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primrosebitch · 11 months ago

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just learned that in catholicism the Holy Spirit is the personification of the love and mutual connection between god the father and god the son and I don't know if I'll ever recover from that

#christianity #catholic #holy spirit #like not only are god Jesus and the Holy Spirit the same being #but the Holy Spirit is the personification of the love or whatever between god and jesus #the Holy Spirit is the personification of the love between itself and itself #why #also idk why but my autocorrect keeps capitalizing Holy Spirit and I'm too lazy to change it #according to the Catholic Church I'm catholic #but I don't consider myself catholic #why did Catholic Church get capitalized???

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aristotels · 1 year ago

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the first time i realized symbols of palestine are oranges and olives smth legit got shaken within me. those are symbols of my land too. i live on the mediterranean sea. olives are in each song and painting of my people. there is an olive in my garden. there is a huge old olive in the middle of my city, older than internet, older than phones, older than the apartheid colony. if occupiers came here and bombed them i legit dunno how id feel. my cousins cut down the trees my mother gave her entire inheritance for; she gave up a house just to see them protected. two orange trees. do you know what a tree means. people of palestine being ready to give life for their trees. do you realize how sacred these two sorts - olives and oranges - are. olive is a sacred tree in so many cultures. there is something so cruel about violating them. theyre life-givers, theyre older than occupiers. the hubris you must have to cut down a single tree on the land which isnt yours, which is older than you. thats act of unparalled narcissism, of challenging god directly. trees so sacred their branches were thrown to jesus. to give someone an olive branch means to extend a hand of peace. holy spirit is a white dove with an olive branch in its mouth. the hubris you must have to go against the tree of peace itself

#free palestine #im not even religious btw this post isnt abt that

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borathae · 2 months ago

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↳ Index [Day 05 - Dragon Cock]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Dragon!Yoongi, Fantasy!AU, Secret Love!AU

Kinks: dragon cock, cunnilingus, magical spit, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetrative sex, he tries so hard to be gentle with her, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, praise, strength kink, size kink (he is a lot bigger ‘cause dragon yk), giddy aftercare

Wordcount: 5.5k

a/n: i love him i love him i love him!! he is my beloved pookie and i’ve only known him for one day! also, click this link if you wanna see his delicacies :) i’m serious, do it :)

You lived in Bailemon, which liked to consider itself a town, but it was very far from that. It was small, perhaps even small enough to be considered a village instead of a town. Not many outsiders visited Bailemon because it was far from big cities, nestled between two high mountain ranges and hidden in a dense forest. The roads were passable, but not good. People here lived from the forest and from the little mountainous farming they were able to do during the warmer months.

Your town – or village – had a village square where each second day, the farmers and merchants gathered to sell their goods. In autumn, there was a festival of fire held on the square to ward off the evil spirits of winter. Bailemon also had a place of worship, which was considered holy beyond comparison. It was said that on its grounds, evil cannot tread and in times of danger, one should run to it for shelter.

The people in your village were superstitious, they believed in ghosts, dark magic and demons. You knew their superstition to be justified. This world was dark. The nights during the cold months were too long not to bring forth evil. But you also knew that stuff like holy grounds were nothing but lies to make life in the village easier. Evil walks where it pleases, it takes what it wants and leaves no room for escape.

You lived in the village with your aging parents, taking care of them as their only surviving child. You had a brother once, but he walked into the forest one day and never returned. People say that evil spirits got him, but you know that this was a lie because you looked for him. At least you tried to because you never found him nor traces of evil spirits. You are convinced that it was simply a pack of hungry wolves which took him from your family. Or perhaps he ran away to somewhere warmer and happier. You wouldn’t blame him.

As the only living child of your parents, it became your duty to tend to them in their growing age. You earned money forging swords for the Queen’s army and went hunting whenever food ran out. You also helped the farmers shoe their horses and ox and sometimes scared villagers came to you asking for yet another lock for their front door. Your family lived well thanks to you, even if work by the forge was hard and difficult.

If you weren’t sweating by the scorching fire or hunting in the forest, you walked it in search of berries and mushrooms or to train with your sword. The reason however why you walked the woods most, was the dragon living high up in the northern mountains.

Dragons. Yes, they were as real as evil spirits and wicked demons were and your village was under the protection of one.

Dragons didn’t look as one might imagine a dragon to look like, at least not always. They could morph their enormous dragonic bodies into human-like bodies and walk among people. Their eyes, however, always remained a fiery yellow and their canine teeth were always sharp and pointy. They were also taller than normal humans and had scales down their necks and torsos. Some even had scales on their hands and sharp claws which sliced deeper than any blade ever could. In the lands of humans, dragons were considered gods.

The festival of fire was held because of the dragon living in the mountains. A brave soul is sent to his lair to ask him for his presence each year. Then once the dragon comes down from his high home, he lights the fire with his hot breath and with it, wards off the evil winter spirits. Once the fire burns bright, the villagers begin dancing around the fire in pairs, thanking the dragon for the fire and his protection while he sits on a wooden throne, overlooking the dance. He is always alone during these festivities, drinking wine and eating meat, except for when one of the many willing women – and men – try catching his attention. He never reciprocates.

Marrying a dragon was considered a gift from the gods and not many were successful. Dragons were a distant people – perhaps that is why they became so rare these days – and scarcely engaged with humans except for when they were needed. They lived longer than any human ever would and because of their bigger bodies, many who tried to be intimate with a human, ended up hurting their beloved counterpart. So for the safety of humans, of whom the dragons were very fond, they stayed away from them.

That doesn’t stop you however from regularly walking the path to the dragon’s lair. Sword strapped to your back and with a thick dress warming your body, you walk the steep and stony path. You put your parents to sleep already and locked the cottage. The priest spoke of evil spirits dancing on the wind tonight and you didn’t want to risk anything. You knew that they were safe in your house because you placed dragon ash by each window and door. It was the only thing which truly kept evil away and it is a regular present the dragon gives you.

You take a deep breather once you reach the mountain plateau in front of his cave. Marks of his dragon body landing dig deep into the grey gravel. Small autumn flowers grow in its deep crevices. The dragon placed a pot of flowers next to the cave entrance. You have to chuckle each time you pass it because of its peculiarity. It looks so out of place and yet fits his character so well.

“Yoongi!” you call out the dragon’s name, voice echoing in the big cave. You venture deeper into the cave, leaving the cold autumn air behind. “Yoongi, are you home?”

His lair consisted of two caves. One big and deep and one smaller. The big cave was in the front, welcoming you with endless darkness as it dug deep into the mountain. It smelled ancient and wet in here and there was always a faint sound of water trickling somewhere. Yoongi can fly in it when he is in his true form and hide on the ceiling when he doesn’t want to be found. The smaller cave was where he lived however. You have to take a sharp turn to the right for it and walk through a corridor-like walkway. The ceiling shrinks in height until it was but six meters.

“Yoongi, are you in here?” you try again, entering his true lair. Your voice doesn’t echo anymore. Lantern and torches light up the walls, a fireplace warms the space, expensive rugs cover the stone ground and golden furniture fills the room. Gold, jewels and crystals are scattered all around the cave in heaps or stuffed into big treasure chests. It feels homely here and tonight it is empty.

“Where the heavens are you?” you murmur, looking around the lair. An especially golden cup calls your attention. You bend down to inspect it better, fluttering your lashes at your own distorted reflection. It brings a chuckle to your lips and you straighten up, “how silly I looked.”

You ghost your fingers over a set of earrings next. They sparkle like stars in the sky. They are so beautiful.

“Careful, they’re worth more than your entire village.”

“Oh heavens”, you startle, pulling your sword in instinct and whipping around quickly. The blade graces against your stalker’s throat without cutting them.

“Don’t strike me down just yet”, Yoongi says, lifting his hands.

“You scared me”, you say, touching his chin with the tip of your sharp sword.

The right corner of his lips curls into an amused smirk, revealing glimpses of his long fangs.

“I could tell”, he says blithely despite the sword against his throat.

You put pressure on his chin, forcing his head to tilt up and for his amused smirk to grow. His fiery eyes flicker, a deep growl rumbles in his chest.

“I could have cut your head off”, you say.

“And yet you didn’t.”

You flip the blade to its side, forcing him to gulp because of the sharpness against his skin.

“Careful now”, he rasps.

“Mhm”, you decide with a cock of your brow, pulling your sword back. You twirl it once then put it back into its sheath, features warming as you laugh.

His golden eyes soften and a smile curls his lips. He closes the distance, placing his big hands on your waist and bending down to kiss your lips. You rest your hands on his strong chest, getting on your tiptoes to reach him better. He breaks the kiss, rubbing his nose against yours gently. His breath smells fresh and feels warm.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“The cottage was too cold.”

He laughs, “this is the only reason?”

You snicker, dancing your hands to the nape of his strong neck to trace the scales. You shake your head, “no, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“You did?”

“Mh-hm very much so.”

He draws a giggle to your lips. He smiles, tasting it with a tender kiss. “Come here you”, he mumbles and deepens the kiss. He lifts you off the ground for it just enough that you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes any longer.

You break the kiss to talk, even if he disagrees with a low growl. His golden eyes gaze longingly at your lips.

“Where were you before I called for you?”

“Deep in the caves, digging for gold.”

“I see and were-”

He interrupts you in laughed words, “will you kiss me or do I have to steal it from you?”

“No. No, I will kiss you. I got the message”, you laugh, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Yoongi purrs deeply, holding you tighter against him as his lips fall into a passionate dance with yours.

You met Yoongi in the year your brother died. You knew him long before that, but up until then, never talked to him. You simply watched from a distance as he lit the fire and then sat on his throne overlooking the dance. You also watched him refuse countless suitors and return to his cave alone once the festival ended. Other than that, you never engaged with him. You had always found him interesting, because dragons are gods after all and he looked so very beautiful in his human form. His hair was as black as soot, his eyes as golden as flames and his scales were an iridescent of black and gold. He didn’t possess sharp claws, which made his touch so very gentle and tender and his lips were soft and pouty which made his kiss so very addicting.

You talked to Yoongi in the year your brother died. You spent too many days to count in the dense forest in search for him and it happened that one day, you got lost. You tried and tried to find your way back, but couldn’t. Night replaced the day and you already saw yourself freezing to death when he came. At first you thought him to be a bear, but then he asked you if you were lost and you knew that you were saved. You told him about why you were in the forest and he offered you comfort in your painful times of grief. He allowed you to talk about your brother as he walked you back to the village, he even allowed you to cry and assured you that your tears were not “entirely silly”. Once he led you back to your cottage, he gave you a bag of dragon ash and told you to spread it on each window and door to keep the rest of your family safe and you thanked him with promises of praying to him in the worship hall tomorrow. Back then, you thought that you were blessed and lucky to have an interaction with him, but you never could have imagined that this one time interaction became a regular thing.

Ever since that day, he began waiting for you by the forest road, offering you companionship in your search for your brother and like this, your walks in the forest became a regular thing until one day, you took his hand and he took yours, never wanting to let go again.

The people in the village didn’t know about your relationship with Yoongi. It was your wish to keep it secret because you knew that they would ruin it. They would force you to marry him, to bear his children, to become their goddess. You didn’t want this life, you wanted to take care of your parents and help the people with your smithies, not be someone to worship.

Yoongi didn’t mind that you wanted to keep him a secret. He liked it. He had many treasures taken from him because they were precious to him and if it was revealed that you were the most precious treasure of all, it would kill you and him in the process. He cannot lose you, not ever. Not when he walked the earth alone for so long, not when his fiery heart finally had someone to burn for.

Yoongi was lonely before he met you. He had other dragons to talk to, but he enjoyed the company of only a very, very few. He also had lots of suitors, which could have made the nights easier, but Yoongi wasn’t one for meaningless fucking. Yoongi craved connection above all. He craved intimacy and trust and conversation. He craved someone to care for and someone to see him as another living being not as a god. You give him all of this and more, but Yoongi knows that even if you didn’t give him any of that, he would love you. He loves you without reason after all. He loves you simply because it was right.

You break the kiss for air, vision just a little blurry as you look at him. You are eye to eye when you are in his arms, hands running along his scaly neck and strong shoulders. A black tunic sits on his torso, allowing his higher body heat to reach your palms. Even in the iciest nights he will warm you. Sometimes in winter, when your parents were already sleeping and the village was quiet, Yoongi sneaks into your cottage through the window (which is always hilarious because he is very big in comparison to the small frame) so he could warm you as you fell asleep. He is always gone the next morning, only having left behind a fresh bag of dragon ash and a few gold coins you could spent in the big city on food.

“You are so warm”, you say, making his eyes smile.

“You are such a delight.”

Your eyes race between the other’s, you and he feel breathless. Your fingers run up to his slightly pointy ears, scratching him behind them.

Yoongi purrs, tilting his head back as his lids flutter.

“If you touch me like this…”

“I know.”

It is a silent understanding between you and him. Yoongi sighs your name and pulls you into a kiss. His fangs clash with yours before he naturally fixes his roughness, kissing you oh so tenderly. Tenderly, but also incredibly hungry. You moan, fingers twisting his black locks and legs closing around his waist. He answers you in a guttural growl, fingers grasping you harder.

This is also why you walked the difficult path. Not only did you want to see him, you wanted his body and touch. You craved it like fire craves wood to burn.

Yoongi walks to his bed with you, laying you atop the big mattress. He climbs over you, caging you under his big, strong body. You open your legs willingly, hands slipping from his hair to grasp the sheets instead.

The kiss breaks because he broke it. His hot breath graces your skin. He cradles your cheek, thumb caressing your temple.

“My treasure, I”, he begins, fingers dimpling your soft thigh possessively, “I need you. I need you so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?”

You nod your head vigorously, stomach fluttering in what was to come.

“I need to hear it, please.”

“I will. I will have you”, you allow him, parting your legs.

Yoongi moans your name and kisses you, pulling you up into a sitting position to take off your sword. Your fingers are busy with his shirt, undoing the knots and bows. You break apart for just a moment, taking off your clothes. You cannot bother to be dressed.

A moment of calm after the undressing, used to stare at each other. You are both kneeling on the bed, facing each other. He is panting, growling deeply each time he exhales like a dragon ready to spit fire. The sound makes you wetter each time he does it. His torso is muscular and his scales hug his form as if he was wearing armour. They are mostly around his chest and upper back and fade out on his lower torso. His legs and crotch are free of scales, skin golden and sun-kissed and looking so human. You touch him, tracing the scales first before making your way down to his legs.

He lets you, eyes mesmerised by the plumpness of your breasts and the curves of your bared body. He reaches out, sending his fingers on a walk along your landscape.

“You are so beautiful”, he speaks softly, eyes gazing at the goosebumps his touch draws to the surface.

“You are just as beautiful”, you tell him, caressing the silken skin of his stomach.

You reach his hips. His skin is so soft there and sensitive to scratches. You give him exactly that, making his cock twitch between his thighs.

Yoongi’s cock wasn’t human and the first time you saw it in its full size, you understood why so many dragons ended up hurting their lovers. It was the cock of a dragon, made for dragon. If he was in his true form, you are actually unable to take it because of its enormous size. If he was in his human form, it shrunk with him, but it was still insanely big in comparison to human cocks. His cock curved slightly in the shape of an S. He wasn’t smooth as humans were, instead his length had an engorged tip with a textured shaft, which stimulated even your deepest spots. When he released inside you, his base swelled up, keeping his cock lodged inside you until your quivering walls had enough of drinking his nectar.

You were scared at first and Yoongi, feeling just a little insecure that you couldn’t like his cock, told you that you could still escape if you so wished to do. The fear in his voice drew you closer to him back then and you assured him that you could make it work because you wanted nobody else to fill you than him. He took your virginity that night and for not one second, you felt pain or discomfort, lying in his arms afterwards while his fingertips drew shapes of adoration on your skin and he whispered how much he adored you.

The memories of countless shared nights draw you closer to him and your hand to his cock, tracing his textured shaft. Despite his many pumps and crevices, his skin was soft to the touch. He was hotter than humans and it made his length feel incredible inside. It is best described as a feeling of burning from the inside in the most pleasurable of ways and once he releases inside, oh, once his hot cream fills your belly to the point of bloating, the heat is so intense that you often end up screaming in ecstasy.

You close your fingers around his base tightly and drag them up to his tip. The pressure is enough to squeeze droplets of precum out of his slit, eliciting a deep growl from him.

He frowns, exhaling a hot swirl of breath on your face. It wasn’t painful, simply insanely arousing. His fingers dimple your hips as he grabs you. You wobble slightly from the intense touch, hand trembling around his large cockhead.

“You are playing with fire”, he lulls, eyelids heavy in pleasure.

“I like it hot”, you taunt, twisting your fist around his tip.

“You drive me insane”, he gets out and slaps your hand away for the sole purpose of pushing you into the sheets. He pins your hands above your head. “One day it will end in your punishment.”

You moan, writhing under him. You wouldn’t mind being punished if it meant that you could feel his touch.

“Stay like this.”

You whimper, nodding your head in obedience.

“I will be gentle, I promise.”

He lowers his lips to your neck, kissing a path down to your heat. He is hasty in his kisses, letting his impatience shine through this way. Dragons, so he told you, are a greedy people. Once they lust for something - or in his case, someone - they would do anything to claim it as quickly as possible. Stuff like taking it slow and preparing you are foreign to his people, but he does it for you. He is so good in being patient, but sometimes his greed shines through. Tonight for example when he kisses a greedy and hasty path down your body just so he could be between your legs faster.

He places one kiss on each of your inner thighs, strong fingers gripping your flesh afterwards to pull your legs apart. His fiery eyes race over your exposed cunt, flickering hungrily.

“You are so wet already”, he rasps.

“I wanted you all week.”

“I wanted you more, you have no idea.”

Patience finally leaves him and he claims what he lusts for most, drawing a yelp of pleasure from you. You arch your back, legs shaking in his hold and fingers grasping his thick hair as he feasts on your cunt sloppily.

Yoongi pleases you with his mouth for two reasons, he told you. The first reason is his insatiable hunger and greed. You are sweeter than anything he could ever taste and your cunt’s nectar makes his head blurry in pleasure. The second reason is the more important one. It is to make you ready for his dragonic cock. The spit of a dragon is relaxing to a human, it contains elements which not only heighten the sensitivity of their nerve endings, but which also relaxes the muscles so their holes could take a dragon’s cock easily. Yoongi confessed to you back then that the reason why so many dragons hurt their human lovers is because they don’t take time to properly relax them. They let their lust and greed control them and as a result hurt their humans.

Yoongi would never. Yoongi takes his time with you. He licks every inch of your dripping heat, buries his long tongue deep in your walls and pumps it into you until your tightened walls loosened up and you are gaping for his cock. He licks you to orgasm whenever he prepares you and you always shake in his grip, forcing his greed to grow to unbearable levels. Yoongi loves your orgasms as much as he loves gold.

Tonight is no different, Yoongi draws an overwhelming orgasm out of you. You scream, legs trying to close on his head and weakened body helplessly shaking on the sheets. Yoongi growls into you, pushing his fingers deep into your loose cunt so he could feel your walls tremble.

He keeps them inside you after your high ebbed down, curling them greedily while his soiled lips kiss up your body. He grabs your wrists and holds them together, big body draped over yours and fingers rubbing your sensitive insides.

“You’re sweating”, he rasps, gazing at you obsessively.

“Please fuck me, please”, you beg, voice so close to a sob. His fingers aren’t enough. “I need your cock, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I will be gentle, I promise”, he says, slipping his fingers from your cunt to jerk his own cock. He guides it to your gaping cunt, rubbing it through your folds. “You are so beautiful, my treasure”, he breathes, giving you all his adoration by pushing into you.

You gasp, tensing up under him at the feeling of his engorged tip pushing past your entrance.

“Are you hurting?” he asks, moving as slowly as possible.

You shake your head, gazing up at him droopily.

“Tell me if it does. You are doing so well, my treasure”, he whispers, fingers rubbing your swollen clit to make the breach easier.

“It feels so good…”

You can feel his large tip as it digs deeper and deeper, but what truly feels like heaven are the many pumps and crevices filling you. Your entrance is on pleasurable fire, feeling every texture inch by inch. His saliva made your walls sensitive to the very end, forcing you to feel his textured cock even deep inside. He curves so perfectly that his large tip presses against you deepest pleasure spot, forcing your belly to bulge just a little because he was so, so big.

“I’m in. Does it hurt?” he asks, keeping still for your sake. His greed tells him to take you rough. It takes everything inside him not to give into his animalistic side.

You spill tears.

“No. No, I’m sorry I-” he panics, but gets stopped when you rip your hands free from his grasp to cradle his face instead.

“I love you, Yoongi.”

He shudders, melting into your hands.

“I love you too”, he gets out and twists the pillow above your head as he begins pumping his cock into you. “Does this please you?”

“A-ah”, you let out, trembling in reaction.

“Is it too much?”

“No, please…don’t stop”, you croak, rolling your eyes back as you fall into the pleasurable fire. Your lips part, making way for the endless noises of bliss he draws out of you. It feels so good. He feels so good.

“You are so beautiful. Oh, I need you. I want you. I crave you, argh”, he growls, twisting the pillow rougher as his greedy hips pick up speed. Your moans drive him wild, the view of your glowing face has the same effect on him than the view of fresh gold does. He feels high, head pounding as he feeds his insatiable lust with each heavy, deep thrust.

Your body is so small under him, looking so fragile and breakable and yet you take him so easily. Yoongi rips the pillow, grinding his fangs as he growls. He buries his cock deeper in your gaping walls, forcing your back to arch off the mattress and for your voice to rise in pitch. He lets his tail grow just so he could wrap it around your waist and hold you in this position while he rubbed your pulsating clit and fucked your soft cunt.

“You’re mine. My treasure, my everything, my beloved”, he chants, deep voice contorted in pleasure.

He is still in disbelief that you can take him so easily. So small, so fragile, so soft and yet you can house him entirely. The first time he laid with you, Yoongi barely went past his first two inches, moving carefully and slowly just so he wouldn’t hurt you. He would have been fine if that was all that you could ever take, but you proved him so wrong. He can be free with you. You can fully take him and it makes you moan so blissfully that Yoongi feels high just from the sound of it.

He is so blessed to have you. His treasure, his beloved, his everything. His tail tightens around your waist possessively, angling your hips so he could go so much deeper.

You wail his name, fingers gripping his strong arms and legs dropping as they stop working. Only his tail holds you up right now while you shake under him.

“Are you?”

“Yes”, you wail, moaning loudly afterwards.

“I need you, I fucking need you”, he spits, cursing because you anger him in pure lust, “I’m going to fill you with my seed until you’re bursting. I will paint your walls golden, you will be mine. Mine forever, urgh.”

“Please! Please make me yours, please!”

Yoongi lets out a dragonic growl, ripping the pillow apart and throwing his head back as your pleas break him. His big balls empty themselves in your trembling heat, giving you so much pleasure that you orgasm again with screams of his name. There is so much of his seed and it doesn’t want to stop, filling you up past your limits so it squirts out of you with each angry thrust. And Yoongi keeps going until his base swells and he genuinely cannot move his cock anymore.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, huffing and puffing demonically. His cock is still releasing into you, making you sob because the pressure of his engorged base and swollen tip against your overly sensitive walls makes you orgasm again.

“Yoongi, I can’t do this. I can’t, it feels too good”, you plead, walls clenching around his swollen cock as they drink his golden seed greedily.

“I know, my treasure, I know”, he soothes you, “I can’t stop. I’m so greedy, I can’t stop. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this, Yoongi. Yoongi please”, you beg, barely able to breathe. While dragon’s spit relaxes, their seed gives a human a rush of pleasure. The first time it happened, you cried because it was so overwhelming. You still need to cry often whenever he breeds you and tonight all that holds you back is the loving embrace of his tail around your waist. It feels so good but also like too much because you cannot stop orgasming.

“Not again, ah please Yoongi!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s almost over, I promise. Please hold onto me, it’s almost over”, he soothes you, massaging your engorged clit to make it easier to bear.

Your stomach is so bloated from his seed, you are sweating so much. He can feel one more load building up.

“I need you to breathe for me. One last time, I promise”, he lulls and rolls his hips into you.

You writhe and scream, scratching down his neck with all your might. You don’t draw blood because his scales protect him, but he still feels it as a pleasurable tingle.

Yoongi lifts his head to look at you. It lasts one second because then his eyes roll back as the view of your ruined, drugged body sets him off.

“I love you”, he wails, bursting into you one last time. He makes you orgasm with him, walls tightening to the point of milking him dry.

This is what you both needed. To be so connected.

He drops his head back into your neck, fingers slipping from the ruined pillow to pet your head instead.

“My treasure, oh my treasure, my golden beloved”, he croaks, kissing you gently, “I’m sorry for being so greedy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I’m so happy”, you get out, body laying limp and ruined under him. His swollen cock is still inside you, keeping every droplet of his golden seed in you. It warms you so much, makes you feel so good.

“You are? You’re happy?” he asks.

“So happy.” You hug him with your weak arms, barely able to close them around his broad back. “I’m yours.”

He whimpers, seeking your closeness by hugging you against his chest with his strong arm and his tail.

“Oh my most loved treasure.” He kisses a slow path up to your face, cradling your cheek with his unoccupied hand. “Will you stay the night? I promise to fly you down to the village by morning.”

“Yes, I’d like to stay. I couldn’t possibly walk tonight. Not after how you ruined me.”

A shy giggle slips from his lips. You open your eyes, meeting his giddy gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead. The view of him makes his cock feel so much better inside you. You are his. So entirely and willingly his.

“I couldn’t help it. I missed you so much and, and you are so tempting. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it felt so good. You still do”, you say, clenching around his swollen cock. He shudders slightly, drawing closer to you.

“I promise my cock will soften soon, you just feel so good. I’m trying, but he wants to bask in you longer, I’m sorry.”

“I hope he doesn’t soften soon. I don’t want this to end.”

He blushes, but needs to seek more reassurance still.

“Please forgive me for the way I acted when I bred you. I acted like a greedy animal.”

“Mhm, you did. Because you are a greedy animal. My greedy dragon, mine”, you say caressing his soft cheek.

He leans into your touch, eyes lowering in adoration. You giggle, scrunching your nose cutely. He smiles, brushing some messy strands of hair out of your forehead.

“I love you, my little human.”

“And I love you, my strong dragon.”

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endless-ineffabilities · 5 months ago

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the sapphire and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Musings about Aemond Targaryen and the only one he truly needs. His one true hope and love. His beloved wife.

a/n : i had to write something after that episode! holy Aemond! This pretty much wrote itself and I could expand it in the future ~ if inspiration strikes true!

word count : <2k ▪︎ masterlist

Aemond used to think his only solace was himself.

His mother had never been much of a mother in her own right, too muddled in the web of deceit that she and Otto spin at their fancy. Criston posited as something of a father figure, but his true loyalty is to his Queen. His brother has always been a wastrel, and his sister wasting away in her own mind.

Aemond never had anyone. Not truly.

Until you.

He still remembers the day you walked into his life, a lone ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds of stormy grey. You appeared to be a frail-hearted young lady, eager to please and to be a devoted wife to her prince. All the while he saw your spirit dimmed from being offered by her House to be Prince Aemond's newly betrothed.

All to secure an alliance.

There was no promise of loyalty or love. Being the prince, he is able to take into bed any whore he wishes. But one look at you - just the one - and all thought of any other lover vanished from his mind.

The first night he was supposed to take you to bed and consummate your marriage, the meek cast in your eyes had disappeared, and in its place a defiant glint he hadn't seen before.

"If I am to be used by my prince, I will do it with the remaining shred of my dignity. I will not cry, I will not beg for a life I have already lost. If all that I am now is a vessel for duty, then so be it." You looked at him, as if for the first time, and with the flames dancing across your face, Aemond would remember that moment as when his sun first shone down on him.

He felt his anger flare for but a moment, his constant fear of being betrayed taking over him. Had everything been an act? Was this to be a marriage of unpleasantry and resentment?

But it quickly dawned on him that the act - the betrayal - was that if his wife was willing to play a fool and dance under his strings like some marionette.

He preferred this. He preferred you.

"Mayhaps I will not bed you tonight, my lady wife. Not yet," he had said, your face slowly twisting in surprise. "I will let you keep more than just your dignity, for you will also possess the choice. Trust that it is only for the time being, at least, until it is imperative that I produce an heir. From this moment forward, I swear to take no else to bed as it is my oath as your husband."

He watched the minute switches in your expression. The wariness. The confusion. The relief. And he already felt it then, as silly as the notion might be, that you had recognised who he really was and that you accepted him.

Aemond was no scoundrel. He wasn't a villain in your story. He wasn't some mighty, untouchable prince.

He was a boy. He was now your husband. He had decency. He had a heart.

And you may not have yet realised, but this heart - wretched as it might have been - he was surrendering it to you.

With the turn of the moon came ill tidings - the death of his father Viserys. Although he was also not much of a father to begin with. Aemond felt numb to it all and there was no time for any emotion to take root, for the conspiracy festered like an open wound. His brother was to be made king.

"Must you go and find him?" you asked. "What if something were to happen?"

He had been blank and unfeeling, unsure of what to make his father's passing. But then, some warmth bloomed in him at your concern. His darling wife cared. He hadn't yet been allowed to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh, but your nights were filled with conversation and confiding.

He took your hands and pressed a kiss atop each one. "It is I who understands Aegon's doings, my wife. Ser Criston is in need of my aid. My brother would sooner sail away than fulfil his duty, which is why he must return at all cost."

"Let him sail away. Let him go and live as he pleases, husband. He never possessed the temperament of a king. You on the other hand... "

His father is dead. His brother could be gone. The enemy encroaches.

But gods be damned, you believed in him.

Aemond didn't know for certain what happiness felt like, he'd never had a single taste of it. And how morbid it was for him to possibly feel it then. But...

"You would make a far better ruler than anyone, and I don't just say that because I am your wife."

Happiness. How fascinating.

How utterly... simple.

For he realised that he had felt it before. Not even in grand moments, no, but in the littlest of things.

He had felt it when you once laughed in pure bliss when he first rode with you atop Vhagar.

When you would help fasten him into his training armour.

When he would watch as you read one of your stories.

His happiness was standing right in front of him. His ray of light, his sun.

And his sun persisted even when he singlehandedly cast the realm into macabre blacks and greens.

Shaken and despondent, he stumbled into your chambers to deliver the news to you first. In the passing hour, everything will change. Will you turn on him too?

"It was an accident," he confessed. "I thought I could control Vhagar, but... she is her own beast. She always has been. I admit I was angry and it was my folly to seek vengeance, but I did not mean to... " His voice broke, and he felt your finger wipe at something wet from his cheek.

He did not even notice that he was crying.

You still said nothing, so he grew frightful. What if nothing he said would ever be enough? No explanation, no apology. He can't lose his light.

"I never held any love for him," he carried on painfully, "but he was my blood. And I... I just - "

"It wasn't your fault, Aemond."

A ray of hope. A remaining strength.

You repeat, "I believe you, and it wasn't your fault."

It mattered not whether his mother would shun him, or his grandsire would frown upon his gruesome action. Rhaenyra was coming for him, as sure as dragonfire, and he would soon have to face the consequences of his actions.

But none of that worried him, not then.

He had to stay alive, however he can, so that he can protect you. It was not remiss of him to overlook that the ladywife of Lucerys' apparent murderer would also have a target on her back.

Aemond knew that the fight was inevitable, and he was going to win it. For you.

In tears, in love, in pale shades of grief, he kissed you with everything he had in him.

A solemn promise. A declaration of love.

"No one shall know the truth of it, my love."

"What do you mean?"

"They will not know, but you will. And that is all that matters. There is no stopping it now and I must face the war head on. What the realm will come to accept is that I intended to fell my nephew and that I do not regret doing so. They have to fear me. This is how I can keep you safe."

"Aemond - "

"Do you trust me?"

The only thing that mattered, the one answer that decided whether he bent or broke. The Seven Kingdoms were to be covered in gloom and shadow, its fields marred with blood and many a broken bone.

His world, however - his world still had light.

"I trust you. With everything I have, I do."

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell

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isaaccadrian · 6 days ago

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Patron God! Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan transmigrates and becomes the patron god of Cang Qiong mountain. Other sects whisper about how Cang Qiong is the only sect that is graced with the presence of a patron god who watches over every disciple and every peak lord and protects them during night hunts.

There is a temple built for Shen Yuan on Qiong Ding peak and offerings are made by each disciple when they are inducted in the name of their god. New disciples are always skeptical of a patron god at first. Why is Cang Qiong sect the only one who has such a deity?

After all, no one has ever SEEN their patron god though murals and statues have been created to depict his likeness. But they are quick to become believers when their shixiongs and shijies all swear that they feel a protective presence during their night hunts.

And indeed, when they are on their very first night hunts, they feel it. A soft presence patting their heads, ushering them forwards with the promise that no matter what danger they encounter, they are safe and sound.

And it is true that no disciple has ever died on a night hunt. But there are doubts. There is always doubt for no one has ever seen their god.

Each peak lord is told by the previous peak lord that at one point in their lives they will meet the god when they need him the most.

Yue Qingyuan meets the patron god when he is bleeding and broken on the ground in the spirit caves, half mad from grief and his own weakness. He needs to get out so he can find his Shen Jiu but no matter how much he tries, he cannot move. He cries at his own uselessness.

"You poor thing," A voice above him cries with him, "I see your pain."

Yue Qingyuan only has enough energy to turn his head and his eyes widen for he is looking into the face of his Shen Jiu enshrouded in bright holy light.

"A-Jiu?"

The god smiles.

He touches Yue Qingyuan's forehead and instantly Yue Qingyuan can feel his muddled thoughts clear. His broken body stitches itself back together. He can feel his discordant qi soothe under this being's touch.

"I am no A-Jiu but I can see how important he is to you."

"I can see how he will become important to me," the god murmurs softly. "I will heal you and give you my blessing so that you may bring him to me."

The deity bows before Yue Qingyuan and kisses his forehead and Yue Qingyuan feels like he's been embedded with the sun. He has been given divine revelation, he has been given purpose. His path has been blessed and he will do the patron god's bidding.

His shizun checks in on him in the spirit caves and finds them empty. Before his shizun can sound the alarm, the sight of two people coming up the steps leading to Cang Qiong greets him as he passes by. Yue Qingyuan and the boy in his arms are enveloped in warm light.

His shizun draws in a sharp breath as they reach the top. Yue Qingyuan sets the boy down tenderly as the glow around them softly fades.

"This is Shen Jiu."

Even as a disciple, Shen Qingqiu has never believed in the existence of a patron god. He makes his offering as a new disciple with barely a thought and listens to the other disciples whispering excitedly about the patron god with a scoff and roll of his eyes.

A patron god who watches over them and ensures their safety during night hunts? A child's tale meant to soothe them at night. Even Qi ge has been swayed by this peak and their fanaticism about this patron god. Yue Qingyuan insists that he has seen the face of the patron god.

He insists that the patron god is real and that it was with his blessing that Yue Qingyuan was able to bring Shen Jiu to Cang Qiong.

Shen Qingqiu again rolls his eyes at that because it was clearly sheer dumb luck that Yue Qingyuan was able to find him.

It isn't until Shen Qingqiu, prone to qi deviations, undergoes one as a disciple. He can tell that this one is Bad, that his life is slowly slipping away and that he will most likely die from this. He cries tears of frustration as his body is wracked with pain.

There is no one to help him, as his disciple brothers and sisters scorn him and he trains alone in the bamboo forest because of it. His body is collapsed on the grass and he can barely move his throat to call for help. He is going to die alone, miserable and forgotten.

He closes his eyes and lets the tears fall slowly to soak the grass as he submits himself to his death. He just hopes that it isn't Qi ge who finds his dead body.

"Hello there," a voice says from somewhere above him. At first, he thinks he's hallucinating.

He's imagining the gentle, loving voice that is going to usher him to death. The imagined being becomes more real though when Shen Qingqiu feels himself being moved around and his head is placed on said being's lap.

He feels warm hands being placed on his head, soothing and soft.

The pain that has wracked his body fades to a throb and then to nothing and he feels the qi deviation subside. Finally he is able to open up his eyes and look into the face of the patron god.

"Hello," the deity smiles at him with his own face. Shen Qingqiu's eyes widen.

"W-Who are you?" Shen Qingqiu asks with a tremor in his voice.

The deity tilts his head in a thoughtful pose. "I am known as the patron god of Cang Qiong but you can call me Shen Yuan."

The god smiles in pleased satisfaction at the statement.

"In fact, I insist you call me Shen Yuan."

"Shen Yuan," Shen Jiu tries out and finds that the name is pleasing to him as well. He's almost afraid to ask. They have such similar names and their faces are so similar as well. "A-Are you my kin?"

The god's lips purse at that question, perfect brow furrowing. It looks unbearably cute on such a divine face.

"No," the deity finally replies but then Shen Yuan's lips stretch into a smile. "Would you like me to be?" The god peers up at the sky in contemplation.

"No one has ever asked me to be their family," Shen Yuan muses. He smiles down at Shen Jiu. "Very well, for this day forth, I am your family. Your enemies are my enemies. Everything that I have to offer is yours to utilize as you wish."

As Shen Yuan speaks, Shen Jiu can feel power humming in his veins. He can feel the words the god is weaving around them, creating a bond so intrinsic that nothing will ever render them apart.

Unbidden, a smile draws across Shen Jiu's lips as warmth suffuses his body.

This is what he has been searching for all this life. This bond of family, of safety, of comfort, something that no one can ever take away from him.

Shen Jiu doesn't know it at the time, but those words become more than a bond. Shen Jiu finds out that he is never subjected to qi deviations ever again. His core develops in leaps and bounds. He becomes powerful enough to claim the peak lord title despite his late start in his cultivation.

His disciple siblings whisper about him behind his back. How he is the god's favored one. They call him the god's avatar when their shizun begins to notice Shen Jiu's improvements in his cultivation and how he is slowly evolving into something more.

Shen Jiu doesn't notice but during his spars with his disciple siblings, his eyes glow with golden light.

He is gifted with their patron god's grace, his sect siblings whisper with jealousy. Normally, that would send Shen Jiu on high alert, wary of their envy, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't care. The patron god's love for him is absolute. There is no need for fear.

He is loved and cared for and Shen Yuan is unshakable.

Liu Qingge has been taught that there is a god who lives on their mountain and that he favors Shen Jiu, the disciple of Qing Jing peak. He can't help but feel a little envy for who wouldn't want the favor of a god?

As a result, he picks fights with Shen Jiu, calling him weak to need a god in order to further his cultivation. Looking back on his behavior when he is older, he realizes how much of a jealous brat he was being especially when he finally sees the patron god in person.

He secludes himself in the Lingxi Caves to further his own cultivation but a couple of weeks in, he starts to notice that something has gone Wrong. A violent red haze fills his vision and his limbs swing out of control. He attacks everything in his path without a thought.

He cannot stop himself no matter how hard he tries and he can feel his sanity slipping away from him.

"Stop attacking me and come to your senses, you brute!" A voice pierces the red haze settling over his brain. He has enough presence of mind to see that he is fighting against Shen Qingqiu and he tries his damnedest to stop his limbs from moving but it's like they have a mind of their own. He can tell that Shen Qingqiu is trying to restrain him to the best of ability without hurting him.

But Liu Qingge has always been the better fighter and he knows in his heart that he will unintentionally kill Shen Qingqiu. He screams both in frustration and in madness.

Shen Qingqiu startles at the primal sound and drops his guard for the slightest moment. But that is all Liu Qingge needs to land the killing blow.

Before his sword can slice Shen Qingqiu's head from his neck though, a hand skillfully bats it off to the side, redirecting his thrust towards the stone walls. Liu Qingge stumbles and turns to his new opponent.

For a crazy moment, he thinks he is still staring at Shen Qingqiu but that cannot be true because Shen Qingqiu is collapsed on the floor next to his twin.

"Go and find your Mu shidi," the being orders with a gentle voice.

"I am not leaving you here alone, didi," SQQ says.

"You must and you will," the being says firmly and then smiles sweetly at Shen Qingqiu, "I will be fine, gege. Trust in your Shen Yuan."

Shen Qingqiu only hesitates a second more before bolting out of the caves. Shen Yuan turns to him and then his smile stretches wider.

"This one greets War God Liu Qingge," Shen Yuan says but anything else is lost in the wind as Liu Qingge attacks.

His sword flies in a flurry against Shen Yuan who is unarmed but parries his blows with an ease that belies the god's great skill. As Liu Qingge attacks with more fervor, Shen Yuan dances around him, arms harmlessly glancing off his blade as he bats it away from him. It is as if Liu Qingge is fighting against the wind.

The god's sleeves flutter in the air like leaves, momentarily distracting Liu Qingge. He stops for a brief second to stare at those beguiling sleeves before he is pinned to the ground.

"This will only take a moment," Shen Yuan whispers behind him. A rush of qi floods his veins and it feels like a cool spring breeze through his body. He can feel clarity return. His jerky limbs and his snarling dies down and he relaxes under the god's hold.

"Feeling much better, yes?" Shen Yuan asks from above him. Liu Qingge cannot answer just yet, his head still in a fog from what would have been a fatal qi deviation.

As soon as he more lucid, the god lets him up. Liu Qingge struggles to draw himself up to a sitting position but the god is right there to gently prop him up against himself.

Like this, Liu Qingge can get a good look at his savior for the first time. He truly looks exactly like Shen Qingqiu at first glance (and isn't it funny, that a patron god looks like their surly shixiong?) but Liu Qingge has never seen such kind eyes and such a beatific smile before.

On this being, the refined aristocratic features are softened into something warm and radiant that Liu Qingge cannot help but draw closer.

"Oh, are you still unsteady?" Shen Yuan asks when Liu Qingge attempts to pancake himself onto the god. "Perhaps I should transfer more qi."

At this Liu Qingge reddens as he realizes that he is taking a god's qi.

He quickly straightens up. "I'm fine now!"

He would have jumped up and away if he had any strength left in his legs. But he doesn't and any attempt only lands him closer to the god.

"You should move so suddenly so soon after your qi deviation!" Shen Yuan scolds, wrestling Liu Qingge into his lap with barely enough effort.

"I'm perfectly fine now!" Liu Qingge insists, struggling even more. All his attempts only end up with him snuggling up to Shen Yuan.

And that's how Shen Qingqiu and Mu Qingfang find them, entangled tightly on the floor of the Lingxi Caves.

"Huh," Mu Qingfang stares at the god with widening eyes, "He really does look like our Shen shixiong. How interesting."

Shen Qingqiu next to him looks one step away from apoplectic rage.

"You Bai Zhan brute!" Shen Qingqiu screeches and reaches to pull Liu Qingge off of his beloved didi. "Unhand didi at once!"

"Careful, gege," Shen Yuan chides, "He's still healing."

Liu Qingge lets himself get dragged off of Shen Yuan but finds himself missing the warmth of his arms as soon as he leaves them.

Mu Qingfang quickly half carries and half drags him away from Shen Qingqiu who is barely restrained by Shen Yuan.

Liu Qingge looks back wistfully at the god who saved him. Truly something to be envious of. Liu Qingge finds that he has never desired anything more than Shen Yuan's gaze on him.

And that is how he meets and owes a life debt to the patron god of Cang Qiong.

Luo Binghe has been told of the patron god of Cang Qiong but he is skeptical of such a god. After all, would such a god allow a disciple to be bullied by his shixiongs and made to sleep in the wood shed?

He is still smarting after a beating from his shixiongs for some imagined transgression. He's finished his chores only to find out the dining hall has stopped serving dinner so he submits himself to going to bed hungry again.

As he trudges up the path to his wood shed, tired and clutching his belly to stop the hunger pains, he notices a light coming from the bamboo forest off the path.

Luo Binghe is curious as all his disciple siblings should have gone to bed by this time of night and there should be no buildings where the light is coming from.

He walks off the path and towards the light and finds a small temple built into a clearing in the bamboo forest. There is a light emitting from the doorway and Luo Binghe walks inside to discover an alter covered with offerings and lit up with candlelight.

The candles are still tall and look freshly lit. Whoever was here to tend to this temple was just here recently.

"H-Hello?" Luo Binghe calls out with a tremor in his voice, afraid that he is not allowed to be here but still curious of why there is a temple here. Binghe looks around but sees nothing that would show who this shrine is dedicated to. No iconography, no statues, no name on a plaque.

The only temple for the patron god is situated in Qiong Ding peak and offerings are made on special occasions and holidays.

"Hello?" Luo Binghe calls again. "Is anyone there?"

"Hello, little disciple," a voice behind him answers. Luo Binghe yelps in shock and turns around to find the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his life.

His eyes widen at the sight of the man but the man's eyes are just as wide. A bright smile stretches across the man's face.

"Oh, it's you!" The man crows with delight. "I have been waiting for you!"

"M-me?" Binghe asks incredulously as the man ushers him inside the temple.

"You must be so cold and starved waiting out here," the man tuts. Luo Binghe is made to sit down on a luohan bed that CLEARLY wasn't there before. The god goes straight for the offerings on the alter and plucks a tray of peaches off of it. He holds the tray towards Luo Binghe with a smile.

Binghe blushes to the tips of his hair.

"T-This lowly disciple couldn't possibly take a god's offerings!" Binghe quickly stammers.

"Why not?" The man asks cheerily, "These are offerings made to me so I think I can decide how I want to use them. And you, my little bun, look like you could use some food."

The beautiful man with his beautiful smile keeps insisting that Binghe take some peaches until he finally gives in and takes one with trembling hands.

The man continues to watch him until Binghe takes a bite and then two bites and soon he's devouring the entire tray.

"I'm Shen Yuan by the way," the god introduces as if he isn't a god and Binghe isn't just a lowly disciple who is choking on his food at the idea of sitting next to the patron god of Cang Qiong.

Shen Yuan dutifully pats Binghe's back to clear his airways.

Luo Binghe wants to bow down in front of the god, feels like that's what he should be doing but he can't stop himself from gaping mawkishly like an idiot.

Of course the pretty man with the most lovely features Binghe has ever seen would be a god.

"Binghe should eat some more," Shen Yuan hops down from his seat next to Binghe on the luohan bed and brings another plate of food, this time a tray of still steaming meat and vegetable buns. "These are still fresh. The chefs at Qing Jing are quite skilled."

"I don't eat much, I don't really need to, but I do try the food sometimes, if only because the workers here spend so much effort making me all this," Shen Yuan says.

"If you are ever hungry, you can come here and eat! In fact, if you want to take your meals here, I would enjoy the company."

Binghe can't even think of a response to that. A god is offering to take meals with him. A god is offering his food to Binghe!

"T-This lowly one-"

A finger is pressed against his lips.

"None of that now," Shen Yuan chides. "It can get awfully lonely here sometimes. Everyone is busy carrying out their own duties. You wouldn't deny an old man some company, would you?"

Binghe splutters.

Shen Yuan looks at him expectantly, sunshine pouring off of him in radiant waves. Binghe can only duck his head in shyness.

"T-This Binghe would be delighted to keep the patron god company," Binghe mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

Everyday after Binghe finishes all his chores, he makes his way over to Shen Yuan's temple, and eats his meals with Shen Yuan. The god seems very interested in how Luo Binghe spends his days, asking after this and that, looking over his cultivation manual before pulling a face.

The manual incinerates to ashes in his hands and a new one appears in its place.

"Use this one," Shen Yuan suggests, "Much more suited for your cultivation style."

Binghe takes the manual gratefully for it is a boon from a god and promises to dedicate himself to studying it.

And indeed, Binghe's cultivation improves in leaps and bounds with the new manual and with the instructions the god provides when he notices Binghe poring over the manual and trying to puzzle it out.

In return, Binghe begins to make food for the god.

He notices how little Shen Yuan eats of the offerings the chefs prepare for him. Most of it goes into his belly instead.

Since food is the only thing Binghe can offer, he decides to make a snack for the god.

The evident pleasure that pinks the god's cheeks at the taste cements Binghe's decision to continue to make the god food, but it is a difficult task as he needs to sneak into the kitchens after everyone has gone to bed and he risks being caught.

Shen Yuan, having heard of Binghe's plight and looking forward to the fruits of Binghe's labor, shows him a small area in the back of temple that contains a rudimentary kitchen, ostensibly to add finishing touches to offerings for the god.

"Binghe can use this," Shen Yuan says. "There are some ingredients in the pantry but if there is anything Binghe wants in particular, I shall procure it for you," Shen Yuan explains.

Binghe feels more than overwhelmed by the kitchen and the fact that he is allowed to cook for a god.

The first meal he makes in the kitchen is a snow white congee topped with spring onions and slivers of ginger pilfered from the Qing Jing kitchens. It's not much and Binghe is embarrassed by such a humble offering but the kitchen does not have much in it. But by the way Shen Yuan hums in delight at the taste and praises Binghe (a god! Is praising! His cooking!), he doesn't seem to mind the simple fare at all.

As Binghe gets into the habit of making more and more meals for them, Binghe notes with smugness that the offerings go untouched. Shen Yuan makes it evident that he vastly prefers Binghe cooking his food and indulges in it even though he requires no sustenance.

With Shen Yuan by his side, Binghe spends the next years at Qing Jing in bliss. He grows and learns by the god's side, becoming his disciple instead of Qing Jing's disciple.

Many times, Binghe contemplates the idea of calling Shen Yuan his shizun but Shen Yuan is much more.

When Binghe thinks about what Shen Yuan has done for him, how much the god means to him, he cannot help but fall to his knees in devotion.

How can Shen Yuan's existence in his life be condensed to that of a shizun? He is protector, guardian, friend, and...

Binghe feels his cheeks pink at the thought of Shen Yuan these days. He finds that his eyes stray towards the gentle curve of the god's lips when he smiles. Or to the brightness of his eyes when Binghe does something particularly impressive or cooks him something delicious.

Secretly, Binghe sometimes wishes that Shen Yuan would only be his god, and not a god that Binghe has to share with the rest of the sect.

Occasionally, Shen Yuan goes off to meet with others in the sect. Shen Qingqiu who for reasons Binghe can't fathom calls Shen Yuan kin.

Liu Qingge who keeps offering the god precious hairpieces and fans from his family's treasury, to Binghe's ire. And Yue Qingyuan ostensibly to discuss sect business.

It is very rare but it happens and Binghe could feel some emotion roil in his gut. If only Shen Yuan could be just his, he thinks, chewing the inside of his cheek to the quick.

And then Binghe punishes himself for thinking such salacious thoughts about their patron god. Binghe has never realized that he could have such dark possessive thoughts about the god.

But as he grows older, goes out on night hunts and begins to experience more of the world, he realizes that no other can compare to Shen Yuan. He wants no one else but Shen Yuan.

Oh, Binghe thinks with clarity. I am in love with the patron god.

Once he acknowledges the fact that he loves Shen Yuan, he grows determined to grow stronger. He must make a name for himself if he is ever to present his suit to court the god. He must cultivate to immortality and ascend to stay forever at Shen Yuan's side.

His first chance of gaining recognition in the cultivation world is the Immortal Alliance conference. He is determined to make a good showing of himself, to be declared the victor so that he may present himself to Shen Yuan as a suitor.

Binghe eagerly trains hard for the conference, requesting Shen Yuan to spar with him often so that he can practice more.

Shen Yuan readily agrees but as the conference draws nearer and nearer, his mood seems to grow more and more despondent.

"Binghe will do so well at the conference," Shen Yuan smiles soft and small. "I'm sure many disciple sisters will be clamoring for Binghe's attention."

Binghe frowns at that. For some reason that Binghe can't fathom Shen Yuan is under the impression that Binghe likes women? It's baffling.

For all the god is powerful and seemingly omniscient when protecting the disciples from harm during night hunts, he doesn't seem to realize Binghe's adoration for him.

"This Binghe will endeavor to live up to Shen Yuan's expectations," Binghe says.

Shen Yuan cannot go with Cang Qiong to the conference but prior to the day they set out, a ceremony is held and each disciple makes an offering for protection and wisdom during the conference.

A fire is lit in the courtyard in front of the main temple.

Each disciple makes a prayer and gives an offering of food or flowers that the god favors.

Binghe waits for his turn, clutching his offering to his chest. When he steps in front of the fire, he presses a soft kiss to the tips of the flowers he is offering.

In that kiss, he puts all the love and adoration for Shen Yuan, and he puts in his determination to win the Immortal Alliance conference.

When he drops his offering in the fire, it seems to burn brighter than anyone else's offering.

Binghe smiles.

As the contingent for the conference rides away the next day, Binghe turns back and sees a small figure standing at the base of the steps leading to Cang Qiong.

The figure watches them depart silently and continues to watch them until it is nothing but a speck on the horizon.

As Shen Yuan predicted, as soon as he enters the gorge where the conference is taking place, he is immediately swarmed by disciples from other sects, hoping to latch onto him after identifying him as a strong cultivator.

Binghe tries to be kind like Shen Yuan would expect him to be but he can't help growing annoyed that they are dragging him down and ruining his chances of getting first place in the rankings.

The first moment he gets, he ditches them completely and without mercy. He makes good progress now that he is by himself and manages to gather a sizeable amount of kills. He continues his streak until he feels the earth rumble beneath him.

"What was that?" He can hear disciples near him gasp. And then it seems like all hell breaks loose. Around him, he can hear screams as abyssal monsters too high level for such an event appear and begin to terrorize the participants. Binghe dodges monsters left and right, trying his best to make it to the edge of the forest where the entrance should be.

"Binghe!" A voice calls him and his heart speeds up in his chest in elation.

"Shen Yuan!" Binghe shouts, eyes turning to the deity flying down from the sky to join him in his battle.

"Binghe must run away immediately!" Shen Yuan orders firmly.

"Begging Shen Yuan's pardon!" Binghe replies back and does not move away from Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan rolls his eyes at Binghe's stubbornness but does not attempt to convince him anymore.

They fight their way through the horde to the entrance. Occasionally they meet up with a disciple and save them from whatever abyssal monster is trying to kill them.

It is slow going and a secondary rumble disturbs their progress. Shen Yuan pulls Binghe to him and shields him from a rift opening up in front of them.

A demon with a blue huadian on his brow emerges from the rift.

Without a word, he begins to charge at Binghe and Shen Yuan. A familiar sword stops the demon from making contact.

"Gege!" Shen Yuan exclaims joyfully.

"Didi, beast," Shen Qingqiu acknowledges.

Binghe shrinks deeper into Shen Yuan's arms. There is no love lost between the peak lord and the disciple. Especially after knowing the relationship between his didi and his disciple.

The peak lord faces off against the demon but he dodges the xiu ya sword and heads for Binghe. Faster than any of them can react, he has Binghe's neck in his grasp.

"Binghe!" Shen Yuan snarls, anger twisting his face into something fierce that Binghe has never seen before. The patrong god speeds to disarm the demon but before he can, Binghe is thrown into the abyss.

Binghe feels his heart stop in his chest as he is thrown into hell. He feels his heart restart again and speed in double time when he feels hands grasp onto his clothing and pull him close as they plummet down.

"I've got you, Binghe," Shen Yuan yells in his ear, his words muffled by the wind. "I will always protect you."

Binghe wants to scream, he wants to push Shen Yuan away so he won't be dragged down as well but instead he pulls the god tighter to him as they both descend to hell.

#scumbag villain self saving system #scumbag system #school verse #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #shen jiu #luo binghe #liu qingge #yue qingyuan #fanfiction #svsss

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burst-of-iridescent · 9 months ago

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South Asian and Hindu Influences in ATLA (Part 1)

disclaimer: i was raised culturally and religiously hindu, and though i've tried to do my research for this post and pair it with my own cultural knowledge, i'm not an expert on hinduism by any means. should i mess up, please let me know.

please also be aware that many of the concepts discussed in this post overlap heavily with religions such as buddhism and jainism, which might have different interpretations and representations. as i'm not from those religions or cultures, i don't want to speak on them, but if anyone with that knowledge wishes to add on, please feel free.

it's well-known that atla draws from indigenous, east and southeast asian influences, but something i rarely see discussed in the fandom is the influences the show takes from hinduism and south asia, and there are actually far more than i think people are aware of.

so here's a (non-exhaustive list) of the main inspirations atla drew from south asian culture and hinduism, starting with...

The Avatar

the title of the show itself is taken from the ancient language of sanskrit, often considered the sacred tongue of the hindu religion. in sanskrit, the word "avatar" means to "descend" or "alight".

the concept of the avatar is a very old one, referring to the physical incarnation of a powerful deity or spirit. the idea of the avatar is most often linked to the god Vishnu, one of three supreme hindu gods collectively called the trimurti, or trinity. the avatar is said to manifest upon earth primarily in times of great need, when balance must be maintained between the forces of good and evil.

atla borrows heavily from this idea in having aang be the incarnation of a divine spirit who returns to the world during a time of immense strife, and is tasked with defeating a great evil to bring balance back to the world. and though i don't know if it was an intentional reference, it's interesting to note that Krishna, the most famous incarnation of Vishnu was also reborn amidst a fierce storm and carried through a raging sea to a new home where he would be protected from the king who sought to kill him. sounds a little familiar, doesn't it?

Agni Kai and the Philosophy of Firebending

the word "agni" derives from the sanskrit name Agni, the god of fire, though it can also generally mean "fire".

the concepts of lightning bending and the sun being the source of firebending are likely also taken from the idea of Agni, since he's said to exist simultaneously in three different forms on three different dimensions: as fire on earth, as lightning in the atmosphere, and as the sun in the sky.

Agni is a significant aspect of many rituals, including marriage rites, death rites, and the festivals of holi and diwali. the concept of Agni is one of duality: life and death, rebirth and destruction. hindu rituals accept and celebrate both aspects, revolving around the idea that destruction is not separate from creation, but rather necessary to facilitate it. the cremation of the dead, for instance, is seen as purification, not destruction: burning away the physical form so the soul is unencumbered, set free to continue the reincarnation cycle.

this influence can be seen in the firebending masters episode, which discusses the idea of fire being vital to life. the sun warriors safeguarding the original fire and demanding that zuko and aang bring fire to the dragons as a sacrifice could also reference the ritual of Agnihotra - the ritual of keeping a fire at the home hearth and making offerings to it. the purpose of this ritual differs depending on which text you refer to, but it is generally believed to purify the person and atmosphere in which it is performed, similar to how zuko and aang must make offerings to ran and shaw and survive their fire before being deemed worthy and pure.

Agnihotra is said to serve as a symbolic reminder of the vitality and importance of fire as the driving force of life, a lesson that zuko and aang also internalize from their encounter with the dragons.

Bumi

bumi's name is taken from the sanskrit word "bhumi", which means "earth". it's also the name of the hindu goddess of the earth, bumi or bhudevi.

one of the things the original animation didn't do and which i really enjoyed about the live action was that they made bumi indian and added desi inspiration to omashu. it makes perfect sense for a king whose name is as hindu-inspired as they come.

NWT Royal Palace

chief arnook's palace in the northern water tribe takes inspiration from the gopurams of hindu temples, massive pyramidal structures that served as entrance towers to the temple.

gopurams were built tall enough to be seen for miles around, beacons to signal tired or weary travellers who wished for a place to rest that a temple was nearby. it's a nice touch that the chief's palace is located in front of the spirit oasis, a similarly symbolic entryway to a sanctuary housing otherworldly deities.

Betrothal Necklaces

to preface: i doubt this was an intentional reference, and this great post talks about other cultures that could have inspired the water tribe betrothal necklaces. given the desi influence in the nwt architecture however, i figured it was worth mentioning.

the idea of betrothal necklaces being given to women by their male partners is similar to the thaali, a necklace given to hindu wives by their husbands. during hindu weddings, grooms tie the thaali around their brides' necks to symbolize their marriage. once given, wives are expected to wear their thaali till the day they die, as doing so is believed to bring good luck, health and prosperity to their husbands.

Chi-Blocking

though chi-blocking takes primary inspiration from the art of Dim Mak, it is also influenced by the south indian martial arts forms of adimurai and kalaripayattu, both of which include techniques of striking vital points in the body to disable or kill an opponent.

kalaripayattu also shares parallels with firebending, being a very physically demanding, aggressive martial art that emphasises the importance of discipline and mental fortitude. control of the mind is essential to control of the body, a philosophy similar to that espoused by iroh across the show.

Wan Shi Tong's Library

the library draws inspiration partly from the taj mahal, the famous mausoleum constructed by shah jahan during the mughal empire as a monument to his beloved wife, mumtaz mahal.

i'll end this post here since it's getting too long as it is, and the following section will be even longer. for while atla treated the concepts in this post with respect, the same unfortunately cannot be said for its depiction of guru pathik and combustion man - both of which we'll be discussing next.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla cultural influences #hinduism in atla

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matan4il · 1 month ago

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Simchat Torah, which is Hebrew for "Torah joy," has long been one of the happiest holidays in the Hebrew calendar, arguably even happier than Purim. If you've ever been present when we Jews annually celebrate our Torah, the cycle of its reading, a beginning and an end at once, an infinity created by our love and devotion to our scriptures and our customs, then you know what I'm talking about. The dancing, the singing, the shared joy, the circles we form, representing the Torah cycle, where we link arms and are our individual selves and Am Yisrael at once, is something else.

I remember it as a kid, at the synagogue in my childhood city, this innocent joy and wonder as they were bringing out the Torah scrolls and the entire community came together around them, and I remember it as a soldier on duty during Simchat Torah, this exhilaration of the soul at seeing people dancing with uniforms and Torah scrolls, spirit and matter at once, expressing our unique identity and religious and cultural legacy, which taught us to live, and which we were willing to die for our right to have it.

Unlike in the diaspora where there are two days we celebrate to conclude Sukkot, each with its own customs, in Eretz Yisrael the holiday is only celebrated along one day, and for that reason, it incorporates the nature of both days. It conveys the joyous nature of the Torah reading cycle, and it also gives room to solemn blessings for the rain, as well as (for the Ashkenazim) the mention of our departed's names. Simchat Torah is happiness and seriousness and mourning all at once.

It is truly a holiday which is like Jewish history itself: contains stark contrasts, of beginning and end, of happiness and grief, all at once.

We read "And this is the blessing," the last parasha in the Torah, then we follow it by reading "In the beginning," the first parasha. "And this is the blessing" deals with the blessings Moses confers unto the tribes of Israel, focusing to a great degree on the part of the Land of Israel that each tribe inherits. Yet another indisputably Zionist part of our religion and heritage.

But I keep thinking about that particular combination. "And this is the blessing, in the beginning." It is easy to end and remain ended when something goes horribly wrong. It is so much harder (and therefore holds the promise of a blessing) to keep going despite everything, to rebuild, from scratch, from nothing, from the ashes of burnt communities... from the very beginning.

Hamas weren't the first to massacre Jews on this date. The worst previous antisemitic massacre to be tied to this date took place in 1655, at the old synagogue in Krakow, Poland. The Jews there weren't accused of colonizing anything, but when the Poles lost a battle to the Swedes, it was easy to blame the Jews. We were always guilty of something, because there were never consequences for the murderers who defiled our holy celebrations by spilling our blood, unlike there would have been for going against those who were actually guilty, those who had the power to punish.

No, the killing of Jews during this holiday isn't new. But us being able to defend ourselves, that is. That's what they really can't forgive us. But that's okay. We're not asking for forgiveness. We're looking for our blessing. And that's found in the beginning that's born out of every end, in the unbroken nature of our circles, which are these cycles of ours that we keep observing, and these communities of ours that won't stop holding hands. We will contain these stark contrasts. We will sanctify life, even when they try to make us pay for that with our own lives. We will observe Simchat Torah in all of its joy and all of its solemnity and all of its grief. We will talk about what this holiday means to us, in the wake of the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. We won't be intimidated out of being Jewish. If anything, by delving into these meanings, we'll be more Jewish than ever before. We will read out the names of our dead, AND we will dance.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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astra-ravana · 3 months ago

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A Dive Into The Dark Feminine

The Dark Feminine is not the same as the Wounded or Shadow Feminine energy. No. She is deeply misunderstood because society represses her into shadow. She is liberation, rage, pleasure, and intuition. She is not a manipulation or a repackaging of the male gaze.

She is fierce grace, wild liberation, the sword of truth. She is blood, sex, and earth. The Lover and the Whore. She shakes the cage of "Good Girl" conditioning to unleash the full spectrum expression of woman.

She is Hekate, Kali, Lilith. The Creatrix and the Destroyer. She is the Shamaness, the Wild Woman, and the Wise Crone. Once a woman awakens to her there is no going back.

"Your rage is sacred.

Your grief is a holy gift.

Your full-spectrum depths,

hold your greatest power."

Dark Feminine Energy is:

Self sourced power, sensuality, chaos, devotion, magick, passion, rage, transformation, internal safety, fearlessness, sexual liberation, the unknown, regeneration, wholeness, sisterhood, authenticity, death

Checklist

• Cut off toxic people.

• Practice shadow work.

• Prioritize self-care.

• Healthy communication with loved ones.

• Practice manifestation.

• Try things out of your comfort zone.

Essential Dark Goddesses

• Lilith

• Hekate

• Morrigan

• Nyx

• Persephone

• Morgan le Fay

• Erish Kigal

• Baba Yaga

• Sekhmet

• Freya

• Circe

• Oya

• Hel

• Medusa

• Eris

• Kali

• Melinoe

• Angrboda

• Tiamat

"And in the death of her reputation,

She felt truly alive."

Pre and Post Patriarchy Views of Women and Sex

Pre-Patriarchy

• Sexuality and divinity were one; sex was seen as divine.

• The more sexual a woman, the more holy.

• Priestesses that were initiated into the highest Mystery (womb magick) were seen as livinf goddesses.

• The worth of a woman was inherent.

• Sacred priestesses in tune with their sexuality, having mastered the power of their bodies (Kundalini) were revered as a direct portal to spirit and the Gods/Energies of the Universe.

Post-Patriarchy

• Sexuality being taboo, seen as profane, filthy, even evil.

• The more sexual a woman, the more vulgar and profane.

• Priestesses turned to sex slaves, "prostitutes" for men to release upon their repressed sexualities and sexual tension.

• The worth of a woman is now in relation to a man; her value is in her chastity. The more lovers she has, the more worthless she becomes.

• The word "whore" is used as an insult for women who were comfortable with sexuality.

• The more a woman is sexual, associated with the taboos and repressed instincts of the collective, the less she is respected, seen as "not respecting herself", "being cheap", "easy", or "giving her most sacred possession away".

• Women with high sex drives said to have "fornicated with the Devil".

Someone who has a lot of sexual energy can also possess a powerful healing energy. This is because sexual energy IS healing energy at a spiritual level. The best healers have big sexual energy.

VINDICA TE TIBI - "Claim yourself"

The Secret Power of Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th is actually good luck as it is associated with the 13 cycles of the moon in a lunar year, this is why a woman has 13 cycles a year, and ovulates on the 13th day. In 1487 free thinking and Divine Female Energy was suppressed and labeled witchcraft by Heinrich Kramer, who went forth to burn many healers on the stake due to forced ignorance and hatred for powerful female leaders. This is why Friday the 13th is actually a spiritual day of enlightenment, divine/dark feminine energy, and healing that should be sacred instead of hated.

Black Moon Lilith

In astrology, Black Moon Lilith plays the role of 'Guardian of the Threshold'. The term indicates a spectral image which manifests itself as soon as the student of the spirit ascends upon the path into the higher worlds of knowledge. Lilith, representing the testing of the feminine oracle, comes with temptations and promises for the ego, forcing the seeker to meet their own shadow.

"Darkness is the fertile soil of the feminine. Discomfort is the birth place of our shadows. Wild chaos catalyses true leadership. Raw emotions teach us how to feel. The deep void of our sex holds our primal hunger. So, what powerful darkness do you feel is wrong? "

#satanic witch #satanism #withcraft #demons #magick #witch #demonolatry #lefthandpath #dark #witchcraft #eclectic witch #dark femininity #dark feminine energy #Dark feminine #lilith

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moondance-r · 2 months ago

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SAGAU-adjacent not-Creator Creator 1

Summary: You knew, viscerally down to your bones, that you did not create this world; Teyvat had no grand creator, no single hand designing its wonders. It did, however, have something of a catalytic agent, without which it would not exist.

You.

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Godhood got boring after a while, so you wandered. You peeked into worlds and travelled from star to star -- one, dying and desperate, called out to you.

It might have been beautiful, once. You could see patches of greenery and remnants of grand structures littering the landscape, could sense life lingering on its surface and stubbornly refusing to fade. This was a world on the verge of destruction, you knew, and not just because of what its creatures did or didn’t do. No, this was something far grander than anything mortals -- or pseudo-immortals -- could ever achieve.

Its core was decaying inexorably, not on a time scale noticeable to any of its inhabitants but destined for demise nonetheless. You... pitied it, perhaps. You had no reason to -- you had watched countless worlds perish and this one should have been no different -- and yet you dove close and settled into the core of this world that called itself Teyvat.

You slept.

And Teyvat grew itself around you.

You awoke to darkness. This was strange because you had no physical form and should not have registered the lack of light as anything that would impact your senses. And yet it was dark and you could not see.

(With physical eyes, a corner of your mind whispered. How novel!)

Since you had eyes, you must have a body. You tried to move a limb; nothing happened, except for a brief sense of pressure. Then you heard -- with ears! -- muffled rumbling before light pierced the darkness as soil peeled itself back from where it buried you beneath the earth. You sat up. You were in a divot someone might call a grave, if not for it having no markers or headstones.

You didn’t know how long you sat there appreciating the dawn before a metaphysical humming caught your attention, and you turned to see some stone steps leading up to a circular portal. That, you knew instinctively, was a passage leading to the roots of this world where you had slumbered for the past... how long?

You didn’t know. You wanted to find out.

The first order of business: getting off this island. Unfortunately, it seemed as if you were stuck in your fleshy body, which didn’t even have the decency to transform into something capable of flight when it refused to allow you to revert into your nebulous spirit form. You considered just walking into the sea, but you only had this one body on hand and did not want to test its lung capacity for so little reward. Life was so fragile already.

Well, this may be a problem, you thought to yourself. Not even a single local solar cycle and your journey had already stopped in its tracks.

So you sat. And thought. And thought some more.

Before you could petrify into a statue, something big flew overhead, handily startling you out of contemplation. You rose to your feet as a winged four-legged creature covered in teal fur landed heavily in front of you and bowed. You assumed it bowed, anyway -- such gestures weren’t easy to do when one was a quadruped, but the way it drew back a foreleg and lowered its head was definitely deliberate.

You blinked at it, nonplussed. You’d barely taken more than a hundred steps on this land, there was no way you had done anything to deserve this bowing and scraping.

“Mine Guiding Wind,” the dragon said in a deep, echoing voice, “it gladdens me to see thine holy visage. It would be of utmost honour if mine unworthy body might bear thy divine form through the skies.”

“...You can speak to me casually,” you said instead of getting into all of that. You wanted to be off this island before digging into the dragon’s delusions. “And yes, a ride would be appreciated.”

The dragon seemed to faintly shiver in delight. As you approached, they obligingly shuffled around and offered a foreleg so that you could climb onto their back. You forced your new limbs to cooperate as you clambered up and over to settle in front of their first pair of wings and gripped their ruff.

With a great beat of the dragon’s six wings, you ascended into the air. Despite your muffled senses, you could detect this world’s wind element assist in the dragon’s rise. Anemo, you remembered from the last time you were awake, one of this world’s seven elements. All worlds worked differently and this one fell on the more magical side of the scale. You wondered how Teyvat had changed since its near destruction -- if new civilisations had risen to replace the old, if these new peoples remembered old lessons. If they would be as welcoming as their world had been.

At least the last was promising if the dragon’s greeting was anything to go by, though who knew if that would persist once they realised you weren’t whoever they thought you were.

“What’s your name?” you called down to the dragon, trusting that Anemo would carry your voice.

Sure enough, the dragon replied, “I am Dvalin of Mondstadt, Sweeping Gale.”

“And is that our destination? Mondstadt?”

“It is, yes... unless You would prefer somewhere else?” Dvalin asked, suddenly hesitant.

You hummed thoughtfully. “No, Mondstadt is fine,” you said as you rolled the name around in your mind. You didn’t know enough about this world to have an opinion, though you wondered if this ‘Mondstadt’ was a city? A country? A continent? Or maybe it was merely a wild region uninhabited save for a territorial dragon. That would be interesting, you thought, though probably quite boring.

Sea eventually gave way to land beneath you, which quickly turned into soft rolling hills. People walked on clearly marked paths, and you watched a few turn and look up as you passed.

“It’s surprisingly peaceful,” you commented, thinking back to the scorched earth that had greeted you. “I’m glad.”

Dvalin vibrated beneath you, which you realised was a purr. “It has been many an age since you last descended, Pathfinder; that Mond may receive your praise for our efforts is the greatest reward of all,” they said.

Dvalin landed at the foot of a giant tree, in front of which was a stone statue of an androgynous figure that glowed brightly to your senses. Halfway in a daze, you slipped to the ground and stumbled to the statue, missing the way Dvalin lowered themselves in preparation to catch you should you fall. But even if you noticed you wouldn’t have cared, because the statue called to you like a beacon.

The instant you lay a hand on it, you could feel the world breathe a sigh as a portion of your power returned to you. A rush of air tinged with Anemo buffeted you and the tree joyously, and you chuckled and smiled into the wind.

“I’m back.”

“Your Grace!” A person dressed in fancy green and white clothes seemed to appear out of thin air from the speed he flew over, beaming all the while. “Your Grace, You’re finally here! The festival is all set up, we’re just missing You, O Holy Breeze!”

This person... You squinted slightly. There were remnants of your power within him, though less than the statue. Just what had Teyvat been up to while you were sleeping?

You raised your hands as if to fend him away. “Slow down, who exactly do you think I am?”

“Your Grace?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Answer me first.”

After a brief hesitation, he twirled and bowed with a flourish. “You are the First Breath, the Guiding Wind who accompanies all, the Creator of Teyvat and its every marvel! Every pebble, tree, and shrub was nourished under Your loving hands. You are the one worshipped above all, and we have been waiting most anxiously for Your return.”

What the hell, you thought pointedly at Teyvat.

In response, the wind whispered to you, Barbatos, wind sprite, Anemo Archon, a void where there was once god-heart-gnosis.

Putting aside how the world itself was being suspiciously helpful, you were now face to face with the dragon’s delusions which seemed to not be limited to the dragon. No, if you were understanding things correctly, this was something shared by large swathes of the population. Only one problem: you were not a Creator or creator, of Teyvat or otherwise. To give life was far beyond your abilities. No deity you knew of could do it either.

You could sort of understand how such a belief might have come to be, if you turned around and looked at it sideways. The process of saving this world from its slow march toward destruction had necessitated merging yourself with Teyvat to share your life force, and this had won you major brownie points with it. If an abstract version of that event was somehow passed down, then your power was extracted to fill things like the statue and this young man... If they could feel you as distinct from Teyvat itself, which you were, then you supposed that it wasn’t impossible for them to assume that you had more agency in their fate than you did. Still ridiculous, though.

This is the problem with magical worlds, you thought despairingly, cults everywhere.

“I didn’t create Teyvat,” you tried to explain, but Barbatos only tilted his head questioningly.

“What are you talking about, First Breath? If it is rejection You fear, please do not, for there is no need. Your return will only bring joy,” he said.

You gave up. This level of conviction wasn’t something that could be shaken in a single conversation. “Alright, fine,” you sighed, “let’s... let’s go to Mondstadt, then.”

“Oh You’ll love it, Your Eminence!” Barbatos chirped, bouncing on his toes with a grin. It appeared as if gravity had no hold on him. “The Church has covered the streets with flowers, flags, and everything they can get their hands on! The Knights of Favonius have set up stalls and shows and even a parade, while the noble families are also planning something, though they’re being quite secretive about it. And the wine! I’ve heard Master Diluc -- he’s the owner of Mondstadt’s biggest winery -- is going to break open his best vintage of dandelion wine, I’m looking forward to it...”

You let Barbatos’ chatter wash over you as the two of you walked northwest. Mondstadt the nation was a land of gentle breezes and temperate climate now, but you could see hints of a violent past in the landscape. Here, a dip between hills that was once a crater. There, a cliff face eroded until it was a shadow of its jagged former self. You wondered how many wars this world had suffered.

You wondered if Barbatos won his seat through conflict, as you did your godhood. You had been mortal once too, maybe a human, maybe some other creature, before you achieved great feats during a war and ascended beyond mortality. That was perhaps why you felt kinship at the sight of Teyvat’s ruin, despite the aeons you lived that left only faint impressions of your origin.

Did you have family that you left behind in your homeworld, or friends? Comrades? Almost certainly; it was a war, after all. You pushed the thought away.

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#genshin impact #genshin impact oc #genshin sagau #my writing #sagau-adjacent verse #genshin reader insert

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