#the priest craze...

[his-tamine]

need a sneezy priest to anoint me with h- *gets shot 39 times*

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

i finally finished High Noon Over Camelot. I am...........unwell

[gotham-ruaidh]

What an absolute - and unexpected - joy it was to see this iconic exchange between Jamie and Claire, from The Fiery Cross, at the beginning of 07x15 "Written In My Own Heart's Blood".

So perfectly placed in the episode, too.

The show is at its best when it directly presents the source material!

-----

“I saw my mother in her coffin,” he said at last. His thumb touched my ear, drew down the curve of helix and lobule, and I shivered at his touch.

“The women had plaited her hair, to be seemly, but my father wouldna have it. I heard him. He didna shout, though, he was verra quiet. He would have his last sight of her as she was to him, he said. He was half-crazed wi’ grief, they said, he should let well alone, be still. He didna trouble to say more to them, but went to the coffin himself. He undid her plaits and he spread out her hair in his two hands across the pillow. They were afraid to stop him.”

He paused, his thumb stilled.

“I was there, keepin’ quiet in the corner. When they all went out to meet the priest, I crept up close. I hadna seen a dead person before.”

I let my fingers curl over the ridge of his forearm, quietly. My mother had left me one morn ing, kissed my forehead, and slid in the clip that fell out of my curly hair. I had never seen her again. Her coffin had been closed.

“Was it—her?”

“No,” he said softly. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked into the fire. “Not quite. The face had the look of her, but no more. Like as if someone had set out to carve her from birch wood. But her hair—that was still alive. That was still . . . her.”

I heard him swallow, and half-clear his throat.

“The hair lay down across her breast, so it covered the child who lay with her. I thought per haps he wouldna like it; to be smothered so. So I lifted up the locks of red to let him out. I could see him—my wee brother, curled up in her arms, wi’ his head on her breast, all shad owed and snug under the curtain of her hair.

“So then I thought no, he’d be happier if I left him so—so I smoothed her hair down again, to cover his head.”

He drew a deep breath, and I felt his chest rise under my cheek. His fingers ran slowly down through my hair.

“She hadna one white hair, Sassenach. Not one.”

Ellen Fraser had died in childbirth, aged thirty-eight. My own mother had been thirty-two.

And I . . . I had the richness of all those long years lost to them. And more.

“To see the years touch ye gives me joy, Sassenach,” he whispered, “—for it means that ye live.”

-- The Fiery Cross

[yanderecxre]

Yandere!Cult Leader/Priest × gn!reader

Summary: Mason Blackwair always knew you'd be his. His sweet little dove, kept peacefully by his side, it's such a shame you've gotten so disillusioned with the teachings, but that's fine. It just gives him the opportunity to keep you with him forever now, willing or not.

CW: gaslighting, stabbing, cults, abuse of power, pet names, religious themes/wording, breeding, disassociating (reader), non-con, dycraphilia, dubious consent, loss of virginity, threats & as always if you think I missed anything just pm or say anything!

Note: peeks in and waves hi! Hope you guys like this one if you want a part 2 let me know!! ~ bunny

You are a member of your family's cult. Recently, you've begun to doubt your faith and the cult members found you guilty; as punishment, you were chosen to sacrifice yourself in the name of God.

At night you came to your priest, Mason Blackwair cell to ask him to mitigate your punishment. Mason sits quietly and calmly, his face illuminated by the light of a candle, his thin long fingers running over the pages of the Bible. Finally, Mason notices you standing in the aisle and smiles brightly. Despite the certain joy in his face, it is obvious that his smile is fake and here just for the sake of politeness.

“Hello, my dear dove. What brings you here?”

Mason doesn't let you answer and interrupts you with a little laugh.

“Ah, wait! I think I got it, little dove. Did you come here to talk about your punishment? I am sorry to tell you this, but I cannot influence the sacrifice in any way. Soon I will become the leader of our beautiful commune and that is why I need to maintain the reputation of a strict and fair manager…”

For a second, something like annoyance and sadness flashes in Mason's eyes and he quickly turns away.

“My advice is… To open your heart for salvation, little dove. Perhaps our Lord will hear your request.”

"The same Lord who wants them to tie me to the altar and cut me until I'm cleansed?”

You demanded softly, teary eyed as you looked into his eyes, the eyes that once belonged to your childhood friend. The sweet boy who used to pick flowers with you and run around the commune, now turned into nothing but a stranger.

Mason pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if he is trying to find something in your expression. Finally, he stands up from his seat and walks towards you, stopping just inches away from you.

"My dear dove… Do you know what this sacrifice means? It doesn't mean that they want to kill you. They want God to purify your soul by shedding your blood.”

Mason puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently at you.

"Look at me, little dove. You know how much I care about you and the commune's faith. But it doesn't mean that I am blind to the human side of things. I will talk with your father and see what we can do for you."

At this point, there is a sincere and caring note in Mason's voice.

"But remember, our Lord has a plan for all of us, even when it seems like He is leading us through dark paths."

You just shook, rage and fear in your veins. You quickly turned away and left him behind, crying now. It broke his heart to see you so upset, he reached out for you but only touched empty air as you exited with the final parting words.

"I'm retiring to my prison.”

Mason watches you retreat silently, his expression unreadable. Once you are out of sight, he sighs deeply and picks up the Bible again. He flips through its pages, frowning at whatever it is that he sees.

After a few minutes of brooding in silence, Mason closes the book and walks towards the door of his cell. Before leaving, he turns back to look at the empty room with a sad smile on his lips.

"I hope you'll forgive me someday for what I'm about to do."

He murmurs softly before blowing out the candles and leaving it behind, retiring to his bedroom.

You spent the entire night crying your eyes out, lamenting that all you'd see tomorrow was the crazed looks of the people you once thought of as family, your weak pathetic cries echoing around your cell.

You stood still as your parents led you to the altar, your father offering soft whispers of apologies as he and your mother tied you down, a knife lay beside the altar. You looked up at the ceiling, teary-eyed.

As you lay tied to the altar, your family gathers around with solemn expressions. The room is dimly lit and there's a faint smell of incense in the air.

Mason steps forward, his robes rustling as he walks towards the altar. He stops at the edge, looking down at his dove with an unreadable expression.

"Dear little dove…" Mason says softly, reaching for one of your hands. "You are about to become a vessel for our Lord's power. Do not be afraid.”

Mason picks up the knife from beside the altar and holds it gently in his hand.

"I will be performing this sacrifice myself," he adds. "May God have mercy on your soul."

With that said, Mason places a gentle kiss on your forehead before raising the knife above his head with both hands.

"Do not resist," he whispers to your ear. "Receive His love."

You closed your eyes and sobbed, refusing to let that sick yet soft look in his eyes be the last thing you saw.

Mason hesitates for a brief moment, his grip on the knife faltering slightly as he hears you crying. A flicker of emotions crosses his face before he quickly regains his composure.

"Dear dove," Mason says softly, almost pleadingly. "Do not be afraid. The pain is temporary but the glory you will experience afterward is eternal."

With that said, Mason slowly lowers the knife towards your chest.

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul," he whispers as he plunges the blade into your flesh.

The sacrifice lasts only a few seconds - it's short, but terrifying- and everything becomes blurry to you, as if you'd been transported out of your body and that someone else was experiencing this torment instead of you.

When it's over you feel weak and faint.

When you awoke, you were back in your bedroom, your mother sitting on a chair beside you. She reached out to touch you and you flinched terrified, letting out a loud sob.

As you awaken in your bedroom, you see your mother sitting beside your bed on a chair. She reaches out to touch you, but flinches when she sees that you are terrified of her and immediately backs away.

"Shh… it's alright," Your mother says softly, trying to comfort you. "You're safe now, my dear.” you want to scream ‘LIAR’ at her as she speaks, saying you were safe. You felt horrible and terror filled your body.

Mason enters the room and stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently as your mother tries to calm you down.

"You did well today," he says coolly. "Thanks for receiving His love."

Although his words are praised-like, they do nothing to produce any emotion or feeling from him. He watches you, shaking and looking like a terrified animal, like a lamb who barely escaped the slaughter. He wants to say more but knows nothing he says will help you.

It was like seeing a ghost, his little dove no longer did as they usually did. There were no more sweet smiles or hymns sung as chores were completed, no more treats baked with trays especially reserved for Mason. Instead his dove was shut away, in their room, only going out for meals and sermons or whenever their parents coaxed them out.

Mason notices the change in your behavior and it bothers him deeply. He cannot help but wonder if he's partly responsible for what happened to you.

One day, he decides to visit you in your room. When he enters, you are sitting alone by the window staring out at the sky. You look up when you hear him come in.

"Little dove," Mason says softly as he approaches you. "I'm here to talk with you.”

There's a slight tremble in his voice - an unusual vulnerability that shows that even someone like him has feelings.

"I know that things have been difficult for you lately," he continues, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "But I want you to understand that everything we do is for the greater good of our commune and our faith."

He places a hand on yours and looks into your eyes with deep concern.

"You can always talk with me if there's something troubling you."

You stared blankly back. "I am fine. I've been cleansed by the knife.” You whispered softly and finally looked at him with vacant and distant eyes.

Mason nods slowly, sensing that there's something you're not telling him.

"I see," he says quietly. "But I can see that you're still hurting inside. And I want to help you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "Little dove, I know that the sacrifice was traumatic for you. But it was necessary for our faith. You were chosen because we believe that your spirit is strong enough to endure it."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching her face.

"But if you're still feeling lost or confused… You can talk to me about it. Remember: Our faith is in everything."

"I used to play the piano. Right? Or did I sing? My memory is confusing.” You looked up at him, sadly. Shaking slightly as you stared at nothing. “I don't know who I am anymore, Mason. I'm scared.”

Mason furrows his brow slightly, unsure of what you are trying to say. He doesn't remember you ever playing any instrument.

"I'm not sure what you mean, little dove," he says with a frown. "What are you talking about?”

"I don't remember who I was before the sacrifice. Who was i? Who am I now? I'm scared Mason, so scared. Who was I before you drove the knife into me?”

Mason freezes at your words, his mind processing what you just said. He stands up from the bed and takes a few steps away from you, his face contorted with shock. He thought you'd forgotten he'd been the one to do it.

"What are you talking about?" he asks harshly. "I never drove the knife into you, little dove."

His voice is cold and hard, and there's a hint of anger in it.

"Who told you such lies? You are mistaken. Your mind is playing tricks on you dove." Mason mutters as he knelt between your thighs, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them. “Fret not little dove, your mind will get better.”

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul." It's spoken in a mockery of Mason's voice. You looked at him slightly confused, "That's what you spoke, right? Unless um, I misheard… but it sounded like you-”

Mason's eyes widen in realization as you speak. He takes a step closer to you, his expression softening.

"Oh, little dove…" he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

"You are right… It was me who drove the knife into your heart. I did it because our Lord told me so in a vision - it was His will that you be sacrificed.”

Mason cups your face gently and looks into your eyes with compassion.

"But please believe me when I say that everything we do is for the greater good of our faith. Your family has devoted their lives to serving Him."

“Y-you did? But- w-why? It hurt- a lot-” You were working yourself up into a panic before he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hush, little dove, you're recovering, do not strain yourself, you know why. In order to cleanse you, now enough of this. Rest and cease thinking about such things further.”

Mason looks away from you for a moment, his eyes full of sadness.

"I know you're not thinking clearly right now," he says quietly. "But I still feel responsible for what happened to you. I know that you must hate me now… But please understand that it was never my intention to hurt you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "All I wanted is to protect our faith and people from the evil in this world. Sacrifices are painful, but they purify our souls and make us stronger - so we can better serve Him.” Mason murmured and hugged you tightly to his chest.

"I f-feel upset. You're supposed to protect me, yet you drove a knife into me and now that- that everyone in the commune saw it- i- I'll be alone forever and my parents won't find me a spouse.” Your lip wobbled and you sniffled slightly, clinging to him. You were unable to see his cruel and satisfied smile as he held you, petting your hair softly.

Mason listens to your words with a sinking heart. He knows that it is true - he did drive the knife into you, and that decision has caused you so much pain.

"I… I had no choice," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It was His will."

Fake tears glisten in his eyes as Mason looks at you, finally realizing the weight of his actions.

"You're right," he says softly. "I should have protected you, not hurt you. I cannot change what happened now… But I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to help you recover from this. Starting right now.”

Mason gently kisses you, his lips pressing against yours as he speaks. “I'll remedy this immediately, you and I shall marry. That way you won't be alone.” He doesn't give you a moment to speak, already pressing you against the bed, kissing you deeply now.

You let out a muffled noise of confusion and panic, squirming underneath him and pushing at his chest. His lips finally move away only to seek your neck and leave bites and bruises upon it as you gasped and whimpered. “A-ah! M-mason- wait- p-please hold on- i-”

His head lifts up, looking at you with his eyes blown wide as he grunts an acknowledgement to your words, “Yes my dove? Sh, it's alright, who better to take responsibility than the one responsible for your misfortunes? Relax, or would you rather this happen at the altar later? Where everyone, will see and hear you?”

You trembled slightly the idea of that happening terrifying you to your core yet feeling slightly exhilarating. Mason grinned, feeling you relax and continued making his way to your waist.

Mason kissed down until he reached your entrance, humming softly as he placed his hands firmly on your squirming thighs, grunting loudly as he forced them open. “Enough of that, do not do that again or I will have to tie you down. Understood little dove?”

You nodded, or tried to as you gasped softly and whimpered out a moan at the feeling of his tongue licking and sucking at your entrance, no one had ever touched you there. “Mhmph! M-mason! Hng- t-too much!”

Mason puts a comforting hand on your thighs. He pulls away from between your thighs, face covered in his own saliva and your fluids that ran down your inner thighs.

"I understand that it can be scary, little dove. But I promise you, nothing will harm you here with me."

He gives you a reassuring smile. Breathing heavily as he speaks, his fingers finding their way to your still quivering entrance which he circled a finger around.

"Besides, my love for you is as pure as the intentions of our God. All we have to do is make love and everything will be alright.”

Mason's finger breached your entrance, slick with something that made it easier to handle, slowly thrusting his finger in and out. He gave you plenty of reassurance and pressed kisses to your thighs and stomach.

“Dove, you must relax, you're still clenching up and tensing up. You'll hurt yourself more than me if you don't relax.” With those words he sunk another finger inside, his free hand pinning your hips down to the bed when he felt you buck upwards.

Mason grunted as he felt your tight heat around his fingers, if you were this tight around his fingers you'd never be able to fully take all of his cock. He didn't want to hurt you more than necessary, not yet at least.

“Sh, sh dove, easy there we go, good little pet.” He murmured as you whimpered and moaned, feeling his fingers hit something inside of you that had you unable to breath. You heaved slightly and looked down at him through tearful eyes.

“M-mason- please- ngh! That feels….. mhm! Good-” You moaned out and let your head drop against the pillows, falling into a dream-like state as you allowed him to continue. “M-more…. Please give me more-”

Mason grinned at your words, a sinister gleam in his eyes before he cooed and slid his fingers out, shushing your confused whines with a simple kiss before he undressed himself and tore your remaining clothes off.

"As our Lord wishes," he whispers between kisses, his voice reverent yet filled with desire.

Mason aligned his cock with your entrance, sliding it through your messy thighs first to coat it before he spread your legs and slowly sunk in.

“P-please, please be mhmph! Gentle, please Mason?” You whimpered softly, eyes locked on him as he looked down at you, mouth drying when he saw your flushed and tear stained cheeks.

Mason looks down at you with tender eyes, his hand running up and down your side soothingly.

"I will take care of you, little dove," he says softly. "I promise."

With a gentle but firm motion, Mason fully enters you, slowly thrusting in and out of your body. His movements are gentle at first, but soon become more passionate as the intensity increases.

As he fucks you, Mason whispers religious phrases to you: "pray to me", "I am your God", "repent for your sins". He continues kissing and caressing every inch of your body, making sure that you are comfortable throughout the entire ordeal. Even as he feels you twitching around his cock, your own fluids covering both his cock and your thighs and stomach. How many orgasms had he wrung from your body? Five? Ten? You lost count.

He's filled you up more times than you can count, you thought he was trying to breed you and knock you up the way he came and came. You couldn't move as you moaned and whimpered, unable to speak much less move and do something about him fucking your sensitive body.

When he's finished, Mason pulls himself out and lays down beside you, holding you close to him. The room is silent except for the sound of breathing as you both catch your breath after Mason seemed to fill you up so much a slight bulge could be seen, you shifted trying to get comfortable yet only felt his cum leaking out your spent hole.

"Sleep now, little dove," he whispers softly into your ear. "We have obeyed our Lord's wishes. Soon enough tomorrow, we will marry and you'll live with me, my perfect little dove who won't have to do anything but obey and listen.”

You fell asleep, cuddled into his side as he looked down at you, a possessive look in his eyes. He'd deal with the consequences of your parents finding you two together in the morning for now, he'd happily hold his little dove and admire the marks he gifted them.

Mason stays awake, holding you close to him throughout the night. As the sun begins to rise and light filters through the window of your private quarters, he kisses your forehead again before getting up.

"I must leave now, little dove," he says quietly. "But know that I am always here for you."

As he dresses in his priestly vestments, Mason turns back to look at you, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Now go back to sleep and rest as much as possible. And remember what we did was pure love. Our wedding will be soon.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips before making his way out of your room and back into the world outside.

[girliism]

nun in training reader and priest in training art both attending the same catholic boarding school both have taken the same vow of chastity. but only one of them has already been corrupted by their sex crazed friend that has taken and broken his vow. only one of them spends his late nights on the internet with his hands in his pants. only one of them daydreams about ruining the pussy that’s belongs to the girl he sits next to during mass. art can imagine it so vividly. what you hair may look like all messy and out of its tight mandatory school bun. how your mouth may hang open screaming gods name in vain while he fucks his cock into your pussy. he imagines what that looks like as well . is it completely bare or does it have hair decorating the mound with shaved sides. what he likes to imagine the most is taking you on sunday in the pews. you dressed in your nun outfit him in his priest one as you beg him to go faster. and you’re not so innocent either having also imagined art doing things to your body. never in much detail cause you have no idea what to even think about beyond kissing and thinking about his hands touching places they probably shouldn’t. you can never look him in his eyes afraid he might see your thoughts. you pray and pray every night for the dirty dreams that plague you to stop but every morning you wake up to your perfect white cotton panties soaked in fluid you can’t name. both of them tip-toe around each other waiting for the other to make the first move. and with patrick’s consistent nagging art confronts you in the hall between classes cornering you, ready to spill all his flirty thoughts to you not caring if you think him to be satan reborn.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

please consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !!

You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 5

Moniker: Alejandro Risk Level: Low. Alejandro has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Priest, cum, blood Safeword: Refer to first brief. It said you were agnostic in your file so reckoned you’d be ok with this one. Safeword out if you’re not, Ale won’t hold it against you - Price He is a benevolent God - Rudy

“Oh my child, are you ok?”

You had been given only a thin, white gown to wear and you knew he could see everything through it as you walked into the room. Inside there was a strange opulence to the space.

You hadn’t ever been inside a Catholic church, hadn’t considered that there would be so much violence staring down at you from the walls. You were caught staring at the 4th Station of the Cross, the way whoever had sculpted it had made the twist of limbs and the broken skin so visceral.

You could feel the stare of that figure twisted in pain on the cross, the weight of being judged a sinner.

You only froze for a moment, taking in Alejandro. He was handsome in a way that conveyed steadiness, safety. Those soft brown eyes were enough for you to launch yourself into his arms, sobbing explanations about your wickedness as he gently held you and ran a hand down your head in a gesture of comfort.

“There cordera perdido, you are safe. You are safe with Father Ale” he said, the low vibration of his voice soothing to you.

You could feel him through your dress and knew that you may as well have been naked for the very little modesty it provided, but you supposed he was a man of the cloth so to him sins of the flesh held no sway. His warm hands were on your shoulders then, applying pressure.

“You must kneel child, this is a house of God. We will absolve you of your sins and then all will be well.”

Your knees hit the floor and the air felt unbearably heavy. The priest tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him from your knees.

“You must pray.”

Your hands clutched together in reverence, wanting to give this man what he wanted so he could deem you clean. Your head fell to your chest when his finger left, eyes squeezed shut and begging whatever deity would listen to help you. You were not a bad person, you were just doing your job, enjoying it so much was forgivable.

Something was pressed to your lips and your eyes shot open, the tip of his cock being fed to you by the priest now.

“Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is my body, given up for you” he said, eyes fixed on you.

They weren’t soft anymore, they looked crazed. When you tried to move you head away his other hand cupped the back of it, forcing his meat to press against your lips almost painfully before you opened your mouth to him. He did not push inside you, instead he started stroking himself.

“Confess.”

When you didn’t answer he smeared his pre-cum across your lips with the tip of his cock.

“Confess your wickedness so I may give you penance to earn forgiveness.”

“I… I let Soap lick me.”

“Where? You must be honest.”

“He licked my pussy.”

“More.”

“My clit. He put his tongue in my hole. Both of my holes.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Yes Father, I enjoyed it.”

He wanked himself off faster, his fingers brushing your mouth anytime his hand reached the tip.

“What else?”

“Farah took my virginity. I bled for her and came for her. I loved how Keegan leathered my ass and cunt with his hand. Rudy choked me on his cock and I wanted more, I wanted him to use me even while he was trying to fight his own urge to fuck my throat.”

It came out of you in a torrent, the confessions. It wasn’t even a week in and you were turning into someone who craved what these people did to you.

“Tongue out. You must find your release, only then can I give you your cleansing.”

You stuck your tongue out and played desperately with your clit. It was a quick and violent sort of orgasm and he pumped himself to release his holy seed for consumption upon your tongue. You wanted absolution, so you did not waste a drop.

He took a small vial from his robe. The liquid was viscous.

“Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

This time he simply hooked a thumb between your teeth, forcing your mouth open and pouring the liquid in. You choked, trying to spit out the thick coppery tasting wine. He covered your mouth and cooed little praises, encouraging you until you swallowed it down. You thought you might have been crying. Was it from the warmth of forgiveness?

He was looking at you softly again, reverently, like you were the holy one.

“You are too sweet to serve penance to earn forgiveness, instead I give it freely to you. What happens to you in this place is my will and it is holy for you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes Father.”

Even as you came down from it all and he kissed you softly and handed you off to Price, you found some comfort in the act of someone telling you that you were not immoral for what was happening here. If you were ever to find religion, you think perhaps Ale would be a good God.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Kind of curious how you would think yandere Alucard, Captain, Anderson, and Walter would react to reader trying to escape and how bad would each of their reactions be

TW: mentions of kidnapping, SA, domestic violence, Stockholm syndrome, blood, murder

A/N: included Maxwell because why not?

Alucard

You're constantly on edge, in the middle of a huge croud yet you swear to feel his eyes on you, to see his familiars or even his own silhouette in every dark corner you pass.

It's been days, but that means nothing.

The only reason the strangers around you are still alive is the fact that he wouldn't want Integra to get wind of this.

You clutch the iron cross hard, having braced yourself with all kinds of talisman to ward off evil - but then you hear a familiar voice. Chuckling darkly, amused even. "Oh dear, you don't really think that would keep me away, would you?"

Suddenly you're pulled in by something, swallowed by his shadow. You can't see, you can't hear, you can't breathe.

All you're able to feel is him. He's everywhere.

The Captain

The Millenium soldiers harshly throw you back into his lair, much to your shock having been completely wrecked.

He had turned as soon as he noticed your absence, the huge wolf now lurking right in front of you. It howls at you and you're not able to decipher whether it's out of anger or pain.

You reach out to pat it's head, but it bites down on your arm hard. The two of you stay like this for a while, with you screaming and begging while he seems to contemplate whether to tear off your whole limb or not.

Unable to stay mad at you for too long, he lets go, licking the bitemark he left.

Eventually he turns back, keeping his distance from you, shocked with himself though it is certainly not the first time something like this happened.

There's no other choice than to give in, to run into his arms and cry against his chest as his muscular arms enclose you.

Because you know he'd burn the whole world down just to keep you like this.

Anderson

The Priest is covered in blood, laughing manically as he pulls out his bayonett from a lifeless body. A trail of corpses lies behind him, having killed anyone in a desperate fit of rage.

You cannot suppress a muffled scream upon seeing this, and instantly crazed eyes lock with yours, a predatory grin stretched across his face. "Found ye'..."

Opposite to your expectations, Anderson tosses his weapons aside, falling onto his knees and embracing you in a bonecrushing hug. Fresh blood seeps into your clothes, drying on your skin as he presses a wet kiss into your hair.

"Silly lil' thing" he chuckles in delusion, "If ye' wanted to go outside, ye' could've just said so!"

You hug him back, tears silently running down your cheeks as he hushes you. His tenderness is almost harder to bear than his violence.

Maxwell

"Always the same bullshit with you" he scoffs, dramatically throwing his hands into the air. You weren't even able to leave the Vatican before his men found and returned you, like so often.

"Are you really that dull? You belong to me, why doesn't that go into that thick skull or yours?"

To appease him, you utter countless excuses and apologies, hoping he'd believe this wasn't about him but rather the circumstances.

Finally he'd stop his rant, looking at you still cowering on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes.

Seeing you like this and hearing you say those things pulls at his heartstings just the right way, making his boiling blood rush into another direction.

"Say, you'd do anything for my forgiveness, right?" You nod and his eyes darken. He sighs as he balls a fist in your hair, undoing the zipper of his pants with the other hand. "Then let's put that insolent mouth of yours to use..."

Walter

The Butler admires his handiwork, seemingly satisfied with himself. He got you tied up like a present, his wires relentless against your skin, tightening with every small movement of yours.

He puffs on a cigarette, blowing the smoke right into your face. "Say. It."

"I'm- I'm so-" Before you can even finish the sentence, he pulls on a thread, the stinging pain of it seeping into the flesh of your forearm making you cry out. "Not good enough. Try again."

"I'm so, so sorry, love!" you now practically scream and Walter relishes in your exasperation. You'd be repeating this until you'll believe it yourself.

"You know what?" Walter tells you, his calm smile even more unsettling than his frown. "I'll let it slide...this time."

He then turns towards the other side of the room, revealing the two policemen you had begged for help. "Now why don't we make this more interesting? Choose who gets to die or I'll kill them both."

[zzprompto]

Hello, Hello!!

You said your requests are open, yes? Well, im here to submit one if it's not a burden <33

Can I request Fyodor Dostoevsky x Male reader who is a religious cult leader? (You can choose it's it's yandere, platonic, romantic, etc)

For example, the reader is a priest but is super nice, a little too nice-- Fyodor happens to run across him during in what the start of season four would be(when the ADA didn't listen to Ranpo's starting point) and deemed m/n as just: "a feeble priest" who invited him to church, however, when Fyodor decides to go to the church out of curiosity he finds out m/n is insane for whatever god he worships, instead of his soft and caring personality he had when he first met Fyodor; he now has a more crazed and insane one, "reaching the holy words" and screaming obscenities to the rest of the church members in the pews?

And possibly for an interesting touch(only for the drama because im quite obsessed with dramatic stories where characters get surprised when m/n does something), the reader usually keeps their eyes closed, eventually leading people into thinking that he is blind, only for him to open his eyes when he's doing cultist meetings?

I know this is such a strange ask 😭😭 and if it makes you uncomfortable I understand 100%, this is actually a storyline for one of my ocs, and I thought it would be neat to see this sort of storyline in your style and as a fanfic!!

(P.S I HAVE READ SOME OF YOUR WRITING AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH 😭❤️❤️ I don't request often either so I wanted you to know this is how much I appreciate your writing style)

thanks for requesting!

☆ the wolf in sheep's clothing

fyodor dostoevsky x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: above!

the lowercase is intentional !

you were going about your day, on your way to your work as a priest before bumping into a man. this man was no ordinary man, it was fyodor dostoevsky, a member of the decay of angels. but you didn't know that yet, and neither did he know about your secret profession.

"i'm so, so sorry!" you stutter out with a bow, keeping a nice, caring persona on to lure fyodor in. your eyes are closed, so you can't make out what the man infront of you looks like, but you take a quick peak at him before closing your eyes again. "it's alright," he smirked. "don't worry about it." his accent was thick and heavy. you were now more curious about him. you were definitely going to try and lure him into your cult.

"my name's [name]. i am truly sorry for bumping into you.." your eyes are closed and fyodor can now understand why you bumped into him. you were probably blind, so he felt a little sympathetic towards your case, which was a surprise from him. "it's okay, don't worry about it truly. i'm fyodor." he smiled, even though you wouldn't be able to see.

you bowed at him again, still muttering a string of apologies before he takes your shoulder in his hand. "please stop apologising, i've already forgiven you." the contact made you shiver, but in a good way. you looked up at him again. "okay, okay. sorry. would you like to come over to come over to my church? i was just on the way now before bumping into you. it'll be my way of showing gratitude and forgiveness." you smile, but there's a hint of evil about your smile that fyodor doesn't seem to catch on to.

"oh, well i don't see why not." fyodor smiled in response. "if you're insisting, i'll come along. i guess it is really the only way you could repay me." the black haired man continued smiling. fyodor was geniunely curious about your church. what god did you worship? etc, etc. those questions were running through his mind. he also liked how sweet you were, it was like he could take advantage of you if he'd like to later. but he was wrong, of course. you didn't show him how you truly were. a cruel, evil cult leader. you simply acted all sweet to lure more people into your trap.

the two of you then arrived at the church. it was lively as people were waiting for the next session to take place and they were waiting for [name] to lead it. you had a smirk on your face as you faced fyodor again. "you just sit where you like and have a little listen to my ceremony, okay?" you smile sweetly at him, but your intentions are far from sweet.

the atmosphere of the church was also quite sinister.. but fyodor couldn't tell what was off about the whole place just yet. he decided to go along with whatever you had planned. he sat down in a seat near the back and waited for you to start.

you walk to the altar and get your things ready to prepare your next speech for your followers. you enjoy the feeling that you have a new guest today - fyodor. maybe you'd convince him to join your 'true' religion in the end and get him to praise your 'true' god.

"greetings, guests!" you call out, finally opening your eyes to scan the eyes of the audience. fyodor was a little startled at first. he didn't think you could see.. but maybe that was just a slight misjudgment on his behalf, so he tried to brush it off and not seem ignorant.

everyone was already shouting praises at you, even though you had only said two words. everyone sitting in the rows at the church were all familiar faces that you knew. you took your time usually to greet each individual once you entered the church, but today was different. you were running late due to fyodor, so you'd leave all the friendliness with your followers to later.

"i assume everyone knows why we're gathered here today?" you ask and people in the crowd yell back a string of 'yes'es or just screams. "oh but of course, there is someone new here today!" an evil grin grows on your face as you turn to look at fyodor. "I hope everyone will be nice to our hopefully new follower!" your grin then turns into a sweet smile, hints of evil still around it. your voice was sickeningly sweet as well, starting to creep fyodor of all people out a little bit too.

"today we are gathered yet again to praise the true god!" you yell out, your voice starting to grow more and more menacing as you praised this false god. "not the ones those so called real worshipers follow.. our god!" everyone started cheering your name, they seemed to be just as brainwashed, or even worse than you.

fyodor was starting to get a little creeped out. he wanted to leave, and fast. he didn't intend on meeting a cult leader in the first place. he just thought he had bumped into a sweet, innocent and blind man. but oh how he was so wrong.

your words started to linger in fyodor's mind. everything you said about this god stuck out to him. some of his curiosity was peaked, maybe it was because of you - not the person you decided to worship. something about you seemed so interesting, fyodor forgot his intentions on leaving now. he wanted to stay and listen to your voice forever.

maybe it was your voice, the way you spoke about this idol you worshipped. or maybe it was how captivating you were, the way you faked your sweet charm just to lure him in. whatever it was, fyodor was definitely interested. he was definitely going to be coming back for more talks.. mostly because he wanted to be by your side though.

once the 'prayer' meeting was over and you had said goodbye to each of your guests, you decide to go back to fyodor and have a chat with him. he had a surprised look on his face the entire time you spoke and you were certainly amused by that. "well hello, fyodor." you spoke, a smirk on your face. it the exact one you had playing on your face when fyodor first came into the church. "i see you enjoyed your time here, yes?" you asked, leaning close to him. he immediately nodded, captivated by your alluring voice.

"yes, i did enjoy it. for more reasons than you may think, however." fyodor laughed lightly, looking at you. "it is safe to say, i will be returning.. only if i am not busy with my own plans you see." he smiled at you, slightly returning the smirk you had on your lips. "of course, of course! you are welcome to join us anytime. i will be delighted." you chuckled back, pleased to hear that the ravenette will be returning.

fyodor had practically forgotten who you were - a cult leader that just spewed obscenities to his followers. he had completely zoned out.. but he wasn't that innocent of a man either, so he couldn't blame you. fyodor was truly fascinated about your act, maybe he could learn a thing or two from the wolf in sheep's clothing...

☆ requests ▪︎ masterlist

☆ author's note: i don't know shit about religion or anything about church / priests, so i hope this was good... but seriously thanks for requesting and saying you love my work! i try my best. keep requests coming!! they may be a little slow due to school but i'll try get them out asap.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

kind of angsty and maybe a bit too cruel but,,, vampire hunter könig with vampire engel who he only allows to feed when she does things the way he wants her to?

i feel like in a way he would pretend that he doesn't actually understand how much she needs blood and how strong the urge to feed is, how it's unlike food for humans and the effects of starving could be much worse for her

like she could be crying and shaking and telling him that it just feels so bad, it's borderline painful and könig is just like "well you were being bad, liebling :( you know i have to do this"

although when he does let her feed she's only allowed to drink his blood and not allowed to call him out on the fact that he very obviously enjoys it

Oh my god poor Engel?? Whatever has she done to deserve such a cruel master?

But of course she’s drawn to him, far more powerful than any vampire she has ever seen, which is simply an insult to the laws of nature because he’s a mortal… And yet he seems to possess the strength of a 400-year-old vampire and the will of an entire mountain, Engel is just smitten, watching him from afar night after night, playing around with the thought of having a taste of that mesmerizing, cruel man who seems to hunt her kind purely for sport.

He takes the villager's money and gets blessed by the priest, but he’s far from a holy warrior. Oh no, she knows that look: it’s the same piercing stare a vampire has just before he’s about to feed.

That man is not here to do God’s work, he’s not here to help, he’s here to feast. Still, the brutal knife strapped to his thigh never makes her shiver. Not even the wooden stakes he carves out of white oak strike fear in her cold, dead heart. No, she’s basically quivering with the need to sink her little teeth in his neck and see if this big alp of a man would moan.

-

And one night, König does wake up to the feeling of a woman’s cold mouth on his throat, a mouth that turns hot the minute she draws blood. He should be alarmed, realizing in an instant what’s going on but not being able to help the fact that he’s getting hard, that his arms slowly rise to lock around her waist. She gets scared – do Nachzehrers even get scared? – and withdraws, and Gott, she’s even more beautiful than in the picture they gave him…

He’s been hunting for over thirty years, leading a lonely life, a brutal life, the acts he’s done slowly distorting him into the crazed madman he’s called nowadays. And sometimes he feels he’s becoming the very thing he hunts, losing himself in the carnage, enjoying the killing – perhaps he has stared into the abyss for far too long...

But this is the most beautiful abyss he has ever seen: frightful eyes shot wide, mouth pretty and red with his blood, lips parted and revealing two pointy, perfect little canines, the prettiest he has ever had to pleasure to behold and, well… he has always wanted a pet.

-

“Don’t stop,” he rasps, and not out of weakness. The man doesn’t look at all like he’s about to faint even though she already took three long gulps from him. He should be getting pale by now, and she doesn’t want to kill him – no, she wants to return to him again and again, try other spots in his body, and then escape just before he can seize and destroy her.

Humans, even the big ones, should not be able to wrestle her down after she has drawn so much blood, but he’s holding her prisoner with ease: the hands around her waist are pure, warm muscle, the body under her is hard and strong and so, so very alive.

She was always told to avoid the hunters because they know much more than the others, she's been warned that they will eventually catch her if she kept playing with them.

She knows she shouldn’t be here but... she just can’t help herself sometimes. And perhaps she kind of did expect to be gripped in an iron hold… perhaps she even yearned to be held by him. But she didn’t expect him to ask for more.

-

Three weeks later, she still hasn’t had enough of him, quite the contrary.

They’re now travelling together, as sick as it sounds – she even has her own coffin, made out of oak too and hauled around in a carriage where König throws his bag of stakes. They make an odd pair, the impale tools and her lonely bed (oh, how she wishes she could sleep with him, or that he could join her in her coffin). The stakes still don't make her shiver, or if they do, then they do so only in the most endearing way.

She thought she would eventually wear him down, that he would become soft and pale and lethargic after being treated like blood cattle. But he doesn’t. If anything, it’s she who’s getting pale and weak. She’s slowly losing her powers from being around him for so long: her sight and hearing only catch König because he has the strongest heart of them all, and he never lets her feed when she wants to. Not even when she needs to.

He wants her frail and begging before she gives it to her, and not even his moans, the pure pristine sounds of pleasure she finally gets, not even the fact that he’s petting her hair while she uses him, not even the thrilling phenomenon that’s happening in his leather pants when she puts her mouth on him is able to satisfy her hunger.

It should be impossible for a vampire to love, but sometimes she catches herself wondering… is she in love with König?

Is she in love with a mortal man who lets out deprived groans and gets an erection from the softest graze of her fangs? Who hunts her kind with a bloodlust that surpasses even the passions of a vampire? Who’s clearly not only insane but also ostracized, hated and feared by his own people?

But the question that haunts her the most as she retreats to her cold coffin while König turns the carriage toward yet another mountain path is: does he even love her back…?

[beefyburgerbloggin9000]

Idk if im stupid and it was obvious abt what the song was implying but my take on thunderpriest was it was Archangel Michael coming from the heavens to send down the rapture but in the song lyrics its says this

And well.. You cant kill a freaking ARCHANGEL

So my second take was that Thunderpriest was a song about a crazed priest who was hearing messages from god to kill everybody (like binding of isaac where isaacs mom was hearing 'gods' voice in her head telling her to lock up and kill isaac)

So i came to a conclusion to combine both things That the thunderpriest was a sick and twisted man going through psychosis believing that he is some devine entity from the world above sent to bring the rapture and kill everyone (even his admirers) to cleanse the land of 'evil' until other people executed him by burning him to the ground.

I MOST DEFINITELY POINTED OUT THE OBVIOUS WITH THIS ONE AND IM LATE TO THE PARTY FOR DECIPHERING THE LYRICS ANYWAYS TAKE THIS FELLOW POWERWOLF FANS

[y-rhywbeth2]

So, understanding and handling of mental health in the Realms is apparently a fucking delight (full sarcasm intended). I am still looking at certain characters in a whole new light.

Here's a cut because, oh boy, ableism.

General understanding of mental health is poor.

I don't know how they handle PTSD, anxiety, depression or some various personality disorders so far, though I suspect that the answer depends on exact symptoms and is ultimately 'with a great lack of sympathy.'

Your best hope is the local churches, preferably of one of the gentler gods: temples and monasteries take in many who need charity (so this covers the mentally ill and disabled, as well as the physically disabled, orphans, the homeless, etc) and feeds, clothes and shelters them in exchange for them helping around to the best of their ability. It's usually cloistered communities. They do their best to treat and manage symptoms, typically with herbal physics (medicines). Sometimes more elaborate 'cures' are attempted, and sometimes that goes down a dark path into human experimentation.

The 'slow' and those who are 'a little funny' - people whose divergencies are poorly understood, but don't instill too much fear in their neighbours (the categories also includes things like epilepsy and Traumatic Brain Injury symptoms) - are generally tolerated in society although not with much respect by and large... and you'll possibly be described by your neighbours with the charming phrase 'every village has its idiot.' People whose behaviours are deemed erratic, such as the psychotic or those with severe mood disorders, are referred to as the 'crazed witted' or 'madfolk.'

When your symptoms start to scare neurotypicals too much you may well be driven from settlements and left to fend for yourself in the wilderness. Or there's locking you up!

'Howling keeps' are what are known on Earth as asylums. They're fortress like stone constructions. They are, of course, named after the screams of the inmates. From what I remember from the Waterdhavian asylum shown in Vampire of the Mists: furnishings and clothing are spartan; you're kept in cells, like criminals; the wards are gender segregated; the food and amenities are subpar; the staff tend to be dehumanising; local priests tend to visit to administer care to the inmates/prisoners (it was a priest of Lathander in this case).

People who are highly dependent on assistance or deemed frightening are at risk of being kidnapped or deliberately sold as sacrifices to evil temples and cults shopping for an offering to their god, or for 'parts' to necromancers and evil alchemists.

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Are you still taking requests? If so, could I please request the Devil having a sorta flirtatious love hate relationship with fiddler. If you ever heard the Song, The Devil went down to Georgia, you’ll get it but the gist is, the Devil challenges the person to a fiddle competition and lost. But the fiddler offers for him to come on back and try again if he likes, quite rightfully proud of their musical skills even refusing a golden fiddle the Devil offered as a reward… supposedly

A/N: Oh anon your mind!

It took me a while to figure out how to tackle this prompt, and I had opted to make a short fic about it! I'm a little out of practice when it comes to writing something that isn't a set of bulletpoint hcs, so please don't be afraid to let me know what you think!

The Devil Went Down to Georgia Word Count: 2.3k

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Your daddy had always been a religious man, as were most of the folks in your small town. 

Many hot summer Sundays were spent getting up early to get ready for church. The priest, hair thinning and skin glistening with sweat, shouting his sermon; eyes ablaze like the fire and brimstone he preached. All you could remember from his impassioned screaming was just how crazed he looked– the hellish landscape he painted forever burned into your mind. 

While Pa was nothing like that dreadful priest, he took those words to heart. Always warning to be wary of temptation. For temptation was the Devil’s way of leading you astray. You’ve never truly put your mind into the whole Heaven and Hell business— heck, you stopped coming to church long before your twentieth birthday– but you knew that Pa would never do you wrong. 

“The Devil is a man you don’t wanna mess with,” Pa said one day.

You agreed to help him chop some wood after Sunday mass; you don’t remember exactly what led the two of you down this conversation, but you remember feeling Pa’s watchful gaze focused on you as you dozed off during another sermon. 

“He’ll come to ya in a chariot of fire, taller than any building you’ve seen, and try to take ya away. Using pretty words and empty promises, and by the time ya see through that honeyed haze, yir as good as dead.” 

He finished point with one final swing of his ax, the loud crack of splintering wood causing you to flinch. 

Pa’s face softened, mumbling a small “sorry punkin” as he softly clapped a calloused hand on your shoulder. 

The two of you stood over the work you’ve done. Silently basking in the afterglow of progress.

After a few moments, Pa spoke once more. 

“I’m serious, Punkin,” you felt his hand tighten on your shoulder. “Promise me that if you ever meet the Devil, you do the right thing.” 

And so, you promised your pa. Swore on his and Mama’s graves that you’d turn tail and run if you ever crossed paths with the prince of darkness. 

Of course, a part of you thought Pa was paranoid. That he was letting his fear of god cloud his reason. Cause there ain’t no way that the big bad Devil would ever wander down into the middle of nowhere, Georgia. A part of you wasn’t even sure if he existed. 

But you wouldn’t dare say this out loud. Instead, you meekly smiled and promised your pa. Anything to ease his worries. 

And you kept that promise. Life continued. You fell into a comfortable, if not a little monotonous routine. Get up, help with the farm, play your fiddle for the cattle— rinse and repeat. 

That is until one day, during a dry summer not even a week ago, you met the Devil. 

It happened so quickly. Unexpectedly. One minute, you reclined against a stump, having just finished your chores for the day, and decided to relax while playing your fiddle. The very next minute, you had felt the ground shake.

He emerged from the earth. 

The ground was torn asunder as the prongs of a golden trident scorched the terrain an ashen black; a great gaping maw yawned open. Pillars of flame shot forth into the sky, the cries of birds resounding in your skull as the smell of smoke and tobacco filled your nose. You coughed, head swimming as you reached to cover your nose, nearly dropping your violin to the ground as you braced yourself against the roaring flames. 

Through burning pillars, a clawed hand emerged. With a snap of their fingers, the portal instantly closed, the fiery pillars forced down into their earthly furnace; leaving behind a blackened scar against the grass, and a looming figure. 

And as you slowly lower your arm, fingers tightening their grasp on your bow and fiddle– clutching both to your chest, desperate to get an extra layer of protection against the stranger– a small, foolhardy part of your panic-addled brain couldn’t help but notice one thing:

The Devil was a lot shorter than you’d thought he’d be. 

༻︶𓏶︶༺

You didn’t even know what spurred you to accept the demon’s challenge– beat him against a fiddle-playing competition, and you’ll win a golden fiddle of your own. And if you lose, your soul is forfeit. 

Truth be told, it was quite a crap deal. The prize he offered you was a bit… gaudy. Heck, who were you kidding? The thing was tacky and ugly. The strings looked way too stiff, too harsh for your weathered old bow. It wouldn’t serve much for anything other than as an oversized chachki. 

However, the way the demon looked at you– or rather, how his hooded gaze looked towards his talons…

He looked bored. Was he so confident that he’d win? Did he think that little of you?

You were so miffed that you found yourself saying yes without a second thought. The minute you did, a deep, haughty laughter filled your ear, and a pit formed in your stomach. A devious smile formed on his lips, eyes upturned and alight with arrogance. 

The darned bastard had thought he had it in the bag… 

Well. You did make a promise. 

However— Pa wasn’t there. 

And you’d be darned if some stranger could think he could walk all over you. 

So you may or not have… tried a little too hard in your wager. Just a little! Well, you technically had to. Since you didn’t want to lose your soul. However, despite the circumstances, you enjoyed your little competition. Not to mention that the further you two went, the more you felt that warm, drunken feeling of satisfaction well up in your belly. 

Cause for a demon so darned confident in himself, he was only really decent at it. Well, scratch that– he was good, but you played your beloved instrument almost every day. 

And the difference in skill was apparent. Extremely so. 

The Devil had felt his fingers ache and knuckles burn from how hard he gripped onto his bow, lips pulled into a tight frown as he watched you practically dance circles around him. Your hands were a flurry of movement and a grin steadily overtook your face the longer you played. 

By the time you had finished, the demon had already given up. He huffed, hackles raised and steam emanating from his fingertips. The black flesh of his cheeks was aglow with a deep, rusted red as he grumbled under his breath. 

With little fanfare, he tossed the golden fiddle down at your feet. None too gentle as it nearly hit your feet, forcing a jump for you. He turned away from you, his tail whipping about erratically, and raised his trident. 

Wait, that was it? No goodbye, no afterword? Not even a cliched speech about how “he’ll be back”? Is he just going to give up? Darn, you had a lot of fun— the horrible threat of losing your soul aside. No one indulged in music with you, not to mention keep up with your speed. 

You bit your lip, and you looked back towards the demon. 

Oh, your pa would kill you for this. 

Just as a portal was torn open, flooding your nose with the scent of smoke and sulfur, you made up your mind. 

You grabbed his tail.

The limb felt strange in your grasp. It was thin yet dense with underlying muscle; like grabbing onto a cottonmouth. Not to mention it was hot. Overwhelmingly hot. Practically burning your hand. You watched as the pointed tip quickly wrapped itself around your wrist; coiling itself until you felt the blood circulation become cut off.

Nevertheless, you persisted. Biting through the pain with watery eyes as the Devil immediately stopped. He whipped his bed back to you, nose scrunched and face pinched into a sour frown. A low growl emerged from his throat, annoyance clear as day in his sickly yellow eyes.

You grinned.

“Now hold on, Mr. Devil,”  you start, casually placing your fiddle on your shoulder. “I gotta say, that was probably the most excitement I’ve had in this part of Georgia in years-”

“Get on with it.” 

Yeesh. Someone was a little cranky. 

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on, mister,”  you snort. “Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I just wanted to say you’re always welcome to come back!

”

The Devil’s face relaxed for a moment. Nose no longer as scrunched as week-old laundry and lips dropping its frown. He didn’t relax his grip on his trident. 

“What.” 

“Yup!” you chirp, your lips popping at the p– an action that didn’t escape the demon’s notice. “Listen, it gets mighty boring around here! You’re welcome to come on back if you want to try again!” 

The Devil turned to face you fully now, brows knitted together as he stared down at you. His mouth fell open, then closed, then open again. This repeated a few times as he silently stared at you. He shook his head, leaning his weight against his trident as he lowered himself to your height; eyes narrowed. 

“What.”

“Ya heard me.” 

“Hold that tongue of yours, yokel,” he spat. “What game are you playing?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your offer. You do realize the gravitas of this offer, no?”

“Yessir.”

“You said I was welcome to try again. Your soul will always be at stake, do you know that?”

“Yup.” 

“Once you lose it–”

“If I lose it. Ya haven’t beaten me yet.”

“Oh shut it, you little shoehorn,” he jabbed a clawed finger at your chest. “Once you lose it, your soul is mine, and you’ll be cursed to live out the rest of your pitiful existence as a husk. Devoid of any consciousness.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll be a zombie, you moron.”

“Copy that, captain.” 

“Are you normally this stupid?”

He grabbed your shoulder at that point, eyes wild and teeth bared. You felt the hot, piercing tip of the prongs of his trident press against your neck; his breath– rich and hot with the scent of tobacco– hit your face in warm puffs. The demon’s nose brushed against yours, and god almighty if he moved any closer the two of you would be kissing. 

Soft, traitorous warmth found itself seeping into your cheeks. Your heart flipped-flopped about in your ribcage like a trout out of water, and you silently prayed that the demon couldn’t hear it as you mustered up a cocky grin. 

“Nope. I’m just the best there ever was.” 

A growl, low and gravelly, rumbled from the Devil’s throat. A look of annoyance filled his eyes as he clicked his tongue. He let go of your shoulder and rose to his full height. The prongs of his trident eased their bite on your neck, no longer threatening to stab into the pliant flesh of your windpipe. 

Blazing metal slowly traveled upwards, leaving behind whispers of heat in their wake as the Devil slowly eased it beneath your chin. The Devil slowly and methodically craned your head up, quietly relishing the way your throat struggled to force down a nervous swallow. 

The demon remained silent the entire way through. Only breaking it to occasionally growl if you tried to speak; his eyes lidded and lips threaded into a thin line. The Devil's tail moved to and fro in a metronomic pattern as his gaze grew hooded; contemplation weighing the lids down as he raised a large hand towards his mouth. 

The entire interaction lasted maybe only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity had passed before the silence was broken by another low rumble from the Devil. Not quite a growl, but it wasn’t a purr, either. You couldn’t put your finger on it. However, you could guess it only meant something good, as the Devil finally moved his trident away; and you find yourself shakily releasing a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“Very well.” The Devil shifted his trident beside him once more. “I accept your offer.”

He knocked the butt of his trident against the earth once, twice, and the earth yawned open once more. Red light washed over the demon’s form, illuminating the demon’s back in a crimson halo. 

He grinned, baring sharp teeth, eyes full of malintent, and your stomach rolled as you could only imagine what was going on in that man’s head. 

“I won’t stop until that soul is mine, little mortal.” He pointed a finger towards you. “You best keep yourself sharp. I’d hate to be disappointed after all of that talk.” 

You watched as he stepped a foot within the portal, cheeks pained as you fought to maintain your cocky grin. 

“Lookin’ forward to it, sweetness.” 

The endearment was tacked on at the last minute. You didn’t mean anything by it. After all, you had just beat the Devil at his own game. You were safe. For now, at least. Perhaps it was just the high of victory that had pushed you to be a bit more saucy with the demon. 

What you didn’t expect, however, was the way his face fell. It was hard to make out from the red light of the portal beneath him, but you coulda swore that you saw his dark cheeks become a rusted brown. 

He turned his head before you could look any further, an annoyed huff following after. 

“Good grief you’re annoying.” You heard him mutter. “I cannot wait to crush your pathetic body into the ground.”

“Don’t get too excited, Mr. D.” 

Oh my god, why couldn’t you just shut up?

“Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think that you want to see me again.” 

While a part of you panicked, it was overpowered by a snort as the Devil let out an offended ‘UGH’ before leaving. He had practically leaped into the portal, desperate to get away, leaving behind smoldering earth in his wake. 

As you stood there, heart frantically racing, all you could do was wonder when the next time you’d see him would be. 

And you silently apologized to your pa for looking forward to seeing the Devil again. 

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[harriertail]

end of year reading roundup

Notes on a Scandal - i finished this in a night. fucking gripping but did i enjoy it? not sure. WEIRD... dickensian characters.... a somewhat rushed final section but an absolutely brutal look on class in the UK and the way we treat female criminals. full of awful, awful, people, and the system that failed a young boy. the film takes a different look at Barb but what a witch she is here, what an awful lonely bitter woman, love her character. i will definitely be checking out ms heller's other works.

Patrol - ugh SO good. incredible prose, incredible story and set up, the futility of war and the seemingly insignificant decisions made. While obviously a near play by play of mr majdalhany's experiences at war, some of the sections of the book describing his fear under attack and the expectations of his men, his encounter with an injured German, and the intense stress of the north african front, were so direct they added a vulnerability and a directness that could not have been written by anyone else. They say the war killed mr majdal in '51 and after reading what happened i can understand why.

Trial by Battle - AHHHHHH this was incredible. again a fantastic novel- I can't recommend the IWM's war classics collection enough!!! truly some gems in there showing the lesser known frontiers of the war. the setting was vivid and richly described, our narrator a man going insane over his beloved lettuce and where his class places him in the army. and Holl! What a fucking guy!!!!!! Nutcase!!!!! 10/10

The Power and the Glory - set after the first world war in socialist mexico as some crazed liuetenant chases after the whisky priest... beautifully written. i admit i maybe didnt get the full depth of it's morals and questions but definitely a good introduction to Mr Greene's writing and a somewhat overlooked time period.

Kibogo - set during the Ruzagayura in Rwanda during ww2, interesting. trippy POVs and myths throughout. deserves another read I feel.

The Terror - this just let me down. DNF and ended up skip-reading the last 50% lmfao. the racism + sexism felt less like the *characters* were racist/sexist and more like the author just wanted to repeatedly write those horrible things about 15 year old girls (ala Stephen King or Tarantino). plot was not actually that good because I couldn't get over the narrative repeating the same thing ad nauseum and the absolutely baffling pacing including the final August to October time skip ??? the choice to have multiple POVs and then have events crucial to one POV character's arc appear in a footnote in a different POV (ie Fitzjames' death being a fucking diary entry in Goodsir's POV and not Croziers?? the amputation that led to Mr Diggle's death being Crozier POV and not Goodsir??) poorly written imho. congrats to the show runners for adapting it i guess

2025 goal is definitely more female authors, no yanks, and to get through my stack of books + finish AVOS reread + more historical nonfic to read; When We Were Twins, Piranesi, Liquidation, The Geneva Party.

[skeletorrito]

another favorite snippet from my smutty satosugu fic 😏 chapter 5 is whewww 😮‍💨

Geto rested his cheek on the heel of his hand as he listened to these ancient creatures drone on and on about policies, bored out of his mind. He was finding it harder and harder to continue wearing this mask, parading around like a noble Buddhist priest. He knew networking with powerful figureheads and building up his empire was essential to his master plan. So he had to do it.

Even still, he fantasized about letting curses eat their faces off as he schmoozed.

It was then that he felt him.

His spine straightened. A crazed smile spread lazily across his lips.

Geto interrupted the religious leader sitting directly next to him, “My noble leaders, I truly appreciate everyone coming out today. Unfortunately, something unprecedented has occurred, and I’m going to need the room to attend to urgent business.” He closed the folder directly in front of him and stood to bow to the two men sitting next to him.

“B-but Lord Geto, we still have matters to discuss.” The man next to him protested.

“I. Need. The Room.” He said it so stately, so threateningly, that the room filed out almost immediately with hushed murmurs.

“Lord Geto? You can’t be fucking serious.” Gojo blipped into the room behind Geto’s chair at the head of the conference table, arms crossed, the sleek blindfold over his eyes feeling like a privacy shield from Geto’s overwhelmingly intense gaze. It was so intense, in fact, that he could feel it without Geto even turning his head. Gojo swallowed dryly. Never was he more grateful for a cloth.

“Satoruuu,” Geto crooned, another wide smile on his face. Hearing his name roll off of those lips in that way made him sweat. “I wondered when you’d show. Welcome.”

“You look like an asshole,” he retorted, sneering at Geto.

Gojo lied. He cursed himself for thinking about how fucking amazing Geto looked in those traditional robes, how lordly and beautiful, with his long, charcoal hair fixed so perfectly in a half-bun. His shrine was stunning and extravagant, with long hallways and tasteful decor. He felt like he was in an alternate universe. It was so arrogant, and it was so astounding, too.

This was such a fucking mistake.

Geto laughed, turning his head behind him to peer at Gojo with a hand on his chin. He looked him up and down, the blindfold bringing a small pout to his lips.

“You look well, Satoru. Or should I call you sensei? ”

Gojo stiffened, bristling immediately, “You need to back the fuck off.”

“Oh?” Geto’s eyebrows rose.

“You know what I mean, Suguru,” His arms are still tucked tight as he interrogated Geto, “You were at the academy about a month ago. I felt you there, or at least one of your curses. What’s your game?”

“All business and no pleasure, huh?” Geto sighed and stood, stacking up the folders near him in a neat stack. “Still being a brat, as always.” He turned to face Gojo, walking up to him until he was near inches away.

Gojo’s sucked in a breath through his nose. “Not joking, back the fuck off, Geto.” His fist clenched tightly.

“Wow, Gojo, color me impressed,” Geto looked incredibly giddy and wonderful, and Satoru Gojo struggled to align his moral compass in the right direction. This man was a ruthless murderer. He was also Gojo’s former best friend and lover and dominant. Gojo forgot to breathe for a minute. “You’ve become such a young master…” Geto was laying it on thick, his stare sneaking into every corner of Gojo’s body. The hairs on the back of Gojo’s neck stood up straight. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t touch your bright little scholars.” He practically purrs this right next to Gojo’s ear, guilty heat stirring in his loins.

Gojo tried to ignore this as he pressed, coldly, “Why were you there, Suguru? What do you want?”

“You,” Geto replied easily, taking a step into Gojo. He stepped back, bumping into the wall he just warped through.

Why did I step back? Why didn’t I just use Infinity?!

Stay focused, you stupid, horny fuck. Gojo gave himself a pep-talk in his head. This man is dangerous and deranged now. Anything could happen.

He felt like cornered prey and he loved it and he hated that he loved it, too.

“You know I like to keep an eye on you, Satoru,” He explained as he pressed an arm into the wall next to Gojo’s head, his vibrant, plum eyes searching, stopping onto Gojo’s through the blindfold. Gojo froze, suddenly feeling so small and vulnerable in Geto’s fierce gaze. Despite having this cloth on his face, he felt so exposed. Geto huffs, “Now take that ugly thing off and keep your eyes on me, Satoru.”

Oh, shit.

Geto put his hand up to snatch the blindfold off, but Gojo caught it quickly and smoothly. Geto was pleasantly surprised at this, grinning wildly. He had always enjoyed Gojo feisty and this was exactly how he wanted him. Geto licked his bottom lip, knowing Gojo’s eyes were on him, feeling them through the shift in his aura. It was succulent. He felt gluttonous.

Gojo pulled the blindfold off, white eyelashes fluttering and his once spiky hair flopping around his face as he met eye-to-eye with Suguru Geto. He wouldn’t back down from a fight or a fuck, or anything in between, even if his heart hammered in his throat. He was prepared to win. His subconscious, however, secretly hoped to lose the battle against common sense and get mind-shatteringly railed by an evil version of his best friend.

I think we all know what guilty, conflicted, horny Gojo chose that night.

Geto laced his fingers with Gojo’s, nearly singing, “There you are, gorgeous.” The pet names sent a pleasant shiver down Gojo’s spine and also simultaneously annoyed him deeply. He let the blindfold slip from his fingers, suddenly gripping Geto’s robes by the lapel and yanking him.

“I should just kill you right now and end this before it even starts,” he seethed through clenched teeth, his eyes glowing an angry blue fire.

Geto started to unravel, reveling in this and chuckling quietly in response, “Oh, I’ve missed this, Satoru.” He sounded maniacally nostalgic as he said, “How many times do you think you’re going to threaten to kill me tonight?”

Gojo can’t help but smirk a little as he says, “Enough times where I might actually go through with it.”

[dolyx]

((yan!)forgotten au sydney can cannibalize me idc but if he's not a little insane about it then what's the point.

the day his favorite, most trusted, most beloved lamb left his flock is one of the worst days of his life right after sirris's death. sydney begins to starve himself since then. unable to eat, sleep, or do anything. he still does his duties as the leader of his faction, but anything other than that is spent thinking about you. worrying about you. mulling over what to do with you should you come back begging for his graces. when your loss is too much for him to bear, he starts to hunt you down. you can't leave him like this, beloved. you're just lost - his beloved lamb who strayed from their path. it's his duty as shepherd to seek you out and make you come back to him. and when you do come back to him - well, you have to be punished still. you turned your back on him, after all. but don't worry, he assures. sydney will make it quick, will make it painless. you may have betrayed him, but you don't deserve the same fate as those wretched rats. you're his most prized lamb. you should be more than just sustenance for his flock. surrounded by his priests, sydney takes your life into his own hands. gently caresses your cheek as he tears at your skin. savoring the texture, the flavor of your flesh as he devours you. weeks of fasting has led to this moment, after all. he makes a ritual out of it, all bated breath and lust-crazed eyes as he consumes you, careful not to leave a single part of you forgotten. unlike the rats, he doesn't share you with his flock. you're his. sydney is your lord, your shepherd. your soul, your flesh, your body, should only be served to him. bound to him. anyone who opposes is a traitor to his faith.

but of course, your penitence does not end there. what you did was blasphemous, straying from the rest of the flock like that. your union through his consumption of your flesh and blood is not enough. you should serve him still, even in death. therefore, he must make you an icon. a symbol. either as a reminder to his people of what happens to those who stray from his path, or of your sacrifice, your act loyalty to this faith that prevailed despite your sacrilegious act of leaving him.)