#this Creature shall be glorious

[flipppyflopp]

Sebcroc joins the Glorious Masquerade 🐊✨

I couldn’t help myself from drawing Rollo’s reaction to Sebcroc after I finished designing Sebcroc’s outfit. I just know that Rollo would be disgusted by Sebcroc, like a magical crocodile creature? Loved by Malleus? Someone get Rollo his handkerchief 🤢

I had fun working on something silly and quick, since my previous posts have been detailed and angsty. The masquerade outfits are a lot of fun and I hope to draw more of them, but we shall see what inspiration I get. Good luck to everyone rolling during Glorious Masquerade! I hope Malleus comes home quickly 🤧

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day eleven: monsterfucking kink

>>> guys this one may be my fav day ngl...as you can tell by my blog's entire theme that this is my biggest and most violent fantasy i need dragon king bakugou in the worst way please oh my god please

>>> EDIT 10/11: MHA LEAKS OMFG THIS DROPPED THE DAY MHA LEAKS BAKUGOU IS BACK MY GLORIOUS KING!!!!

>>> starring: dragon king!bakugou x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: monsterfucking, bakugou is a hybrid, no prep, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, dark content, kinda forced marriage? mating bonds, uh, i think that's it. >>>wc: 2.9k >>> event masterlist

it was the new king’s coronation day, and as tradition demands, he shall have his pick of the finest women in his lands. you were brought forth amongst a host of other ladies deemed pretty enough for the young king to choose from. you were the only one of them that seemed irritated by the prospect, all the other girls were tittering and combing their hair while discussing their chances of being picked to be the dragon king’s new bride. he examined you all in a line, sneering at all the smiling and fluttering lashes—sending them crying from the room. he pauses on you, his gaze was stern and fiery but you didn’t hesitate to square your shoulders and meet it. he’s surprised; you don’t smile or extend your hand for him to kiss. you challenge him, you tell him with that strong set jaw and steel stare that you won’t be easy. he feels a pull on his heart, something he cannot yet explain. he likes you. 

you tilt your chin up, almost like you’re the one sizing him up. you’re so regal and amusing to him that his mind is made up instantly, but he gives you a few more minutes of looking him over, hoping to see some semblance of interest on your face. king bakugou was a hulking form of a man, towering above everyone in the room. they always were bigger than the normal humans, but he was larger than any of the dragon shifters you had ever come across. the room almost didn’t seem big enough to contain him, and it was his castle. his burlap trousers balloon around his lower half, but it seems there were not shirts big enough to fit the new king of dragons, only a long fur cloak that fastened with a golden dragon broach stretching across the broad expanse of his chest. he was tanned and scarred from years of flight and battle, and muscled even more so. he had hints of sparkling scarlet scales trailing along his collarbones with pointy teeth that alluded to his other form. his biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, admiring you as you admire him with a satisfied smirk on his face. you didn’t throw yourself at him like the rest, and he doubted you would yet still, but you weren’t shy to let your eyes linger on him. he likes you. 

he smirks your way, grunting his approval. you were the perfect match. you certainly were the most beautiful creature of his kingdom, and your womanly figure assured him that he would sire several successful heirs with you. you captivated him and you had not yet spoken a word, though the young king could feel that fierce tugging on his heart again, something he now recognizes to be his mating bond the longer he looks at you and the stronger the feeling grows. 

“mine.” he says simply, nodding at you in content. his right hand man and fellow dragon shifter steps closer, handing his friend and king a fur pelt similar to the one he wears before retreating back into the onlooking crowd. the king unclasps the matching golden dragon, swinging the covering over your shoulders and snapping the jewelry back into place with a surprising nimbleness. this was the first of many gifts the king would dole out for his mate and queen, but this is the first one to mark you as his. you’re shocked to be chosen, convinced he would take your surveying for disrespect and brutalize you here to send a message— but alas, the most explosive dragon ruler in all the lands chose you as his bride. “you are my mate. we will marry in two moons. dismissed.” 

he looks over your head when he says this, ending the celebrations in favor of alone time with his chosen. his gaze has a hint of boredom to it as it glides around the room, red and fiery with unspoken strength and power behind them. you straighten yourself under the weight of your new cloak, bowing your head out of respect, albeit so quick it made the king exhale heavily through his nose as if to chuckle. 

“you are amusing, mate.” he says, extending a warm battle-worn hand to push your hair away from your neck. he lets it rest against your shoulder, smirking at how small you were compared to him. it was overwhelmingly apparent that he could do anything he wanted to with you, and you weren’t necessarily opposed to the concept. you started this day with immense rage and dread at having to go before the king and be selected like a prize horse. but he surprised you, even being every bit as brute and brash as everyone said he’d be, his eyes sparkled when they came across you. he declared you his mate—-a huge deal for a dragon shifter, and shrouded you in the engagement cloak without so much as a second thought. there was no arguing with the king, nor his mating bond. your soul was created to nurture his, and vice versa. he felt this snap into place instantly, as a mortal, you probably wouldn’t feel the strength of your connection for several days to weeks. it was an honor, one you couldn’t believe was bestowed upon you—but you certainly weren’t complaining anymore. “i like you.” 

you feel your body warm a bit from something as simple as his touch. he’s rough around the edges, and certainly doesn’t know how to be gentle or verbose, but his statement makes you smile warmly anyway. “thank you, my king. i’m quite amused as well.” 

he lets his hand slide from your shoulder all the way to your hand, clutching it tight as he brings it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. your scent makes his heart skip a beat, and he wonders if he can make it through the next two months without ravaging his sweet maiden. 

the days pass, slowly, but they pass. your king brings you several gifts and trinkets, filling your new chambers with tokens of his affection and fondness for his mate. the dragons were known for this, and your mate was the brightest and biggest of them all. so never did he go out to fly without returning with a clutch of presents. he was always so proud of himself as he showed them to you, shoving all the perfumes and jewels in your hands with a boastful grin. 

“i found these for you. wear them.” he grunts, roughly pulling you into his arms for a crushing hug. he was working on it, but he manhandled you on accident a majority of the time, not used to interacting with women. you were getting used to it anyhow, only giggling and nodding your acceptance, cooing at how beautiful all the gifts were. he preens in your praise, eager to earn the deep affection that the bond produces. 

you couldn’t deny that the bond was starting to affect you, as if you needed any help falling for the monster of a man meant to be your husband. he was kind and loving to you, and you couldn’t ask for much more. he was feared and revered, if you were dumb enough to cross him or his kingdom—soon to be your kingdom, then you earned the punishment of his hellfire tenfold. you wouldn’t find yourself begging for lives to be spared as you stand in the crowd while watching the king dole out sentences. he was brutal, and scary, vicious and primal in every way. his servants tremored in his wake, and though his people loved his protection, they feared his wrath. you were truly the only exception, and it was mystical for everyone to see the fierceness that abounds for his soon to be wife, his forever mate, his queen. and they could only hope your loving tenderness would tame the wild king. 

he took meals with you, showed you around his dreary and plain castle, easily agreeing to your every decoration suggestion and insisting you do whatever you want—this is your home now too. he even took you on rides in his gorgeous dragon form, letting you see how beautiful the sun setting over the kingdom was, flying you to different nations, journeying close to the seawaters so you could feel the salty wind on your skin. he forced himself to sleep in his own quarters at night, trying and struggling to abide by common decency. 

when your wedding day finally arrived, the king was more than ready to make you his queen officially—and then cart you to bed where decency would be the last thing on his mind. the ceremony is gorgeous, the image of you in your wedding gown was never to be forgotten on him, even though he couldn’t wait to rip it off of you. his brain had already geared into the darker side of things by the time you were being shown to your now shared chambers, and he could not resist his mate any longer. 

you weren’t faring much better. however this mating bond usually affected mortal women, it had you ready to climb your king like a tree. as soon as the doors were closed, he was on you, shoving you backwards while hastily tearing at your dress. you assist him in getting it over your head with only minimal rips in the fabric. you can’t bring yourself to care as you fall back on the bed with his body covering yours like a blanket. he’s snarling, but he’s not angry, just eager and too impatient to think about all the lessons he’s learned in being gentle. he scoops you up and tosses you up towards headboard, and you swear you can see steam billow off his form as he eyes you down, watching you lay and spread for him. 

“it’s been hard…waiting for you.” he complains, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. the moment is so intense, you can feel the air thicken, smell the need permeating the air. he’s breathing heavily already, tugging at the weaving strings keeping his pants closed. your breath hitches when you see his scales glisten in the moonlight, the outline of his cock pressing against the troublesome burlap material. you pant out and nod, knowing the growth before you was only the first hint of what he had to pleasure his mate with. dragon shifters are larger than mortal men in every way, reflecting their dragon status in several different physical markers along their bodies, scales along their collarbones and spines, long mane-esque hairstyles, and of course their cocks. he steps out of the clothing, his massive leaking dick slapping up against his abs with a loud smack, you moan. 

his ashy patch of hair and the scarlet scales glistening against his hip bones direct your attention to the monster cock you married. he’s long, thick, curved, lined with veins and a throbbing pink tip leaking his pre-cum in droplets on the bed. it was easily half the size of his thigh, both length and width wise. he fixes himself on the bed, shredding your panties with sharp talons and eyeing your tiny hole. he has all the intentions to stretch you a bit, to get you soaked to accommodate him but when he looks back up at you, you’re drooling. 

you can’t imagine how good that’s going to feel inside you. all the times you had touched yourself out of curiosity or even genuine horniness would hardly compare to this, to the man it’s attached to—the way he watches you like a predator tells you there was nothing in this world that would prepare you for what he was about to do to you–what you wanted him to do to you. “i know…” you say after taking a deep breath, reaching for his face. “i’ve had to wait just as long.”

you squirm in place, lidded eyes flickering from his endowment to his eyes and then back again. “just wanna feel my king…i know you’ll fill me up so well.” you coo, batting your lashes. 

he’s not in the right mind to banter with you, the only thoughts crossing his brain at the sight and scent of you was to ravage. he grips your hips tightly, trying to will himself to be stronger and give his new bride the treatment she deserves. he should prepare you like a gentleman, but unfortunately the young king is unable to will himself to be gentle. you seem to read his mind, nodding and spreading your legs a bit further, allowing him to get settled in the space you provide. he wastes no time in lining up with your entrance and bottoming out. he knows it’s sadistic that he enjoys the way your eyes cross at the sensation, the burning and splitting stretch ripping a sob from your throat. you clutch at his arms, the natural slick you produced just from your own anticipation aiding him in the glide. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him so he can also adjust to the feeling of your virgin pussy gripping him like a hand-tailored glove. he can’t fight the groan that leaves his lips, mindfully keeping his talons retracted as he rakes his hands over your plush stomach and wide hips, stopping to paw at your thick thighs and fat ass. he’s already rendered speechless, only able to grunt and groan as he starts to move, putting your legs up to his shoulders as to not face any resistance. you cry out at the new angle, absolutely feeling the searing heat of him splitting you apart, but you love it. you move your hips against his, head digging back against the pillow at the newfound pleasure.

it’s so hard for him to go slow, especially as you fuck yourself into him and cry out for more. your body takes him so well, as it was designed to, but he still didn’t expect it to feel and look and sound so good. he can see himself in your stomach, the spikes along his base curling into you and hitting every spot so well. you didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, his cockhead drilling into your womb so hard it has the corners of your vision turning white. 

he’s growling, unable to repress his animalistic side completely. he leans forward, snapping his hips to yours as your wanton moans fill the room. he lets his tongue lave over your neck, making you gasp out at the feeling. “mate–i need to mark–bite..” he rumbles in your ear, goosebumps rippling over his body when you whine out and nod. 

“please! bite me, got those teeth f’r a reason—” you plead, your small hand guiding his face to the crook of your neck. your eagerness makes his cock twitch, your enjoyment paramount to him just as much as claiming his mate for the first time. he abides by your wishes, sinking his teeth into your flesh and clamping down, feeling you do the same around his dick. you moan out, clawing at his back with your own kind of talons. he can’t stop, driving bruises and bloody spots all along your neck and chest. he’d never go too deep even in his lusty haze, his primal instinct to protect his other half would never allow him to cause permanent harm. he admires his work, “pretty mate, my teeth marks.” 

he grunts out, gripping your hips and roughly turning you over, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you into a deep arch. you scream at the new angle, some blood trickling down your neck and pooling between your breasts. he’s entranced by the shape of your body beneath him, how his hands take up your entire waist and the way your ass ripples as he hammers into you. you’re struggling to hold your body up under the force of his thrusts, gripping the covers beneath you for dear life. he reaches around your hip, locating the sweet bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. your hips falter when he presses his touch to your clit, a little sob coming from your lips as you begin to fall apart. 

“pretty. coat my cock.” he grunts, cock jumping again as you nod and fall forward, your pussy spasming around him like crazy. he feels the rush of you, sending him shuddering towards his end too. “g’nna take my heirs.” he groans, slamming your hips back into his as he spills into you for the first time. 

he pulls out quickly to gather you up in his arms, laying on his back with you protected by the expanse of his chest. you’re incoherent as his seed trickles out of you, and as bewitching as the sight is, he wants you to give him several warrior princes and princesses. so he slides his hands between your legs and chuckles as you jerk when you feel his fingers stuffing his cum back inside. you whine, so sensitive but yearning for all of his touches. he grunts a bit, leaning over to smooth your tousled hair and gently kissing the bruises and shallow wounds he gave you. his kindness touches you, and you relax into his body with a grin, knowing he would hold you to his heart’s content and then have the servants run a bath for the new dragon queen.

[heraxic]

I’m sorry if you already answered this (I didn’t find it mentioned) but why was Kyril/Karl mutated, imprisoned and hunted in the Greek Myth AU? This definitely feels like Miranda/Athena was punishing him. What happened?

Thanks for asking!

Here’s pre-curse Kyril (story under cut, body horror/gore warning)

Yes, it was meant as punishment (unlike Alina and Daphne), and to no one’s surprise his crime was hubris.

Kyril worked at his father’s forge, far surpassing his skills in both metalworking and stone masonry. As such he was blessed by Hephaestus himself.

He got commissioned to make a statue of Athena in honor of her craftsmanship. He rolled his eyes and set to work, complaining that it’d be more fitting to make one of Hephaestus, who picked up the slack, since Athena abandoned her craft and stopped making beautiful things for the sake of her sick game (Athena’s Gauntlet of Monsters, so far containing a living whirlpool and a sphinx, was widely known and many daydreamed of or even sought the glory of defeating the beasts). In spite of his grumbling the statue came out stunning with clean cut stone and gilded detailing.

The next day, a weaver came to Kyril’s forge saying she’d heard his complaints about her goddess, which confused her cause with a statue that beautiful a blessing would naturally be in order, yet he burned that bridge. ‘What if she could give you the power to make the most life-like statues in the world?’ Kyril laughed and said it wasn’t her domain, and besides he didn’t need it.

Refusing a blessing from a god is one thing, but to mock them and be telling the truth at the same time is unforgivable.

The weaver lifted her shawl from her head and revealed a brilliant blue plume and with it a golden helmet. Athena arose to her full dreadful height, one hand holding her winged spear, the other pointed towards the terrified sinner in front of her. ‘You will know what power is when you see it. You shall have my blessing whether you wish or not.’

In a second, Kyril fell to the floor screaming with blinding agony, feeling horrible squelching and crunching as bone and muscle grew where it shouldn’t. His nails fell out and out of the raw empty spots grew thorny black claws; his spine extended to accommodate a tufted lion tail; the skin of his back ripped to tatters to unfurl two sets of bloody grey wings; his black curls turned to angry, writhing snakes, each more venomous than the last; his teeth grew sharp and pointed, cutting rifts on his tongue so blood filled his mouth; and lastly his eyes grew heavy in their sockets as they were imbued with the last of the goddess’s curse.

Hearing the commotion, Kyril’s father rushed in and cradled the strange figure he knew was his son, turning his head towards him. He instantly froze in place, a perfect image of paternal worry, and the monster felt the arms holding it turn hard and grating like stone.

Athena took him away to her islands somewhere in the Cyclades to become the next glorious creature on her roster, the Gorgon. There he lied writhing in pain for 12 days without sleep or food (besides the right leg of Pallas, which further changed his body and gained him far more muscle and size). When the pain subsided enough to let him speak he prayed for his patron Hephaestus to help him, but alas gods can’t break each other's curses. Instead he carved out a spacious cave for him in which to seek shelter as well as several unbreakable stonemason and smithing tools to keep up his spirits.

700 yrs later Elias comes to the islands.

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 31: Prefect (pt5)

During Firelit Sky Cater invites the group to take a photo with a melon that is supposed to make friendships last forever.

While the prefect agrees, Malleus refuses.

Malleus will occasionally ask the prefect for their opinion, welcoming their input on a souvenir for Lilia, looking forward to the Port Fest performance with the prefect’s encouragement and to their thoughts on his cooking.

Malleus asks the prefect for their age in a voice line where he then responds, “You’re practically a baby from my perspective.”

He also comments on their eyes “sparkling like a child’s.” Malleus wears his robes at the prefect’s request, and says they are welcome to touch his horns, but he “can’t guarantee what would happen to you if you did.”

He also threatens them with lightning: “Have you considered I could use lightning to smite you where you stand?”

In another voice line he invites the prefect on a walk, encourages them to invite him to one of Ramshackle dorm’s dorm-wide meetings and to join him and Sebek in training.

Malleus says it would be nice if the prefect could experience Halloween in Briar Valley some day, and also invites them to show them the blooming roses at the castle, should they ever pay a visit.

Malleus invites the prefect on a boat ride during Firelit Sky, to the library, and encourages them to go to him if they need help with any part of an assignment, as, “I wasn’t expecting anything from you to start with.”

In a Glorious Masquerade line he says there is never a dull moment with the prefect, and in another line he offers to test their strength against his own but changes his mind as “humans are fragile creatures.”

When Grim helps himself to the cotton candy at Malleus’ stall Malleus declares that he shall allow it, as Grim is the prefect’s companion.

[onskepa]

You have a lot of great stories! Can I see tonowari + family slowly warm up to humans pre first movie? They had scouts and envoys to meet and study them at some point. I feel like they knew about humans but what ones would they be willing to befriend/ tolerate?

hhmmm...if this is pre-first movie, then it will just be young adult tonowari and young adult ronal. I hope you are ok with that, tsireya and ao'nung dont exist yet. Also I see this as a headcanon so that it what I shall do!

P.S: I had help from my grrrrrrrrrrracious friend @coraline-addams , I wuv you boo <3

---------------

Friends or foes?

Making the first communication to a whole new species of living beings isn't something that happens every so often. Both between the humans and the na’vi. So when the RDA avatar branch were selected to make contact. It was to make contact with one tribe of every element. Including the ocean tribes. 

Tonowari was young, a bit naive but so open minded but a bit strict. Ronal was way too open minded, trusting and believed in 3rd, and fourth chances. Their clan was selected by the avatar program to make contact. A selection the metkayina never knew until now. 

When the humans first arrived at the metkyina clan, the na’vi were very cautious. They have never seen such odd beings before! The olo’eyktan and tsahik at the time open their arms to the guests nonetheless. Yes they were strange but perhaps a new found friendship can be formed?

The humans spoke very fluidly in the na’vi language, impressing the native. Tonowari was simply amazed by them. So small yet they were very intelligent.  The olo’eyktan and the tsahik taught the humans their ways, their beliefs, everything. 

Tonowari saw a few humans as brothers in arms. Ronal saw many as an extension of her dear friends. She made so many friendship jewelry, and gave humans many things. And the humans in return gifted not just ronal, but also to the other na’vi

The humans enjoyed their time with the na’vi, and vice versa. Both species believed it would be a long lasting relationship. One that would have thought it would grow stronger in time. However, humans are full of flaws. One of them is never knowing when to shut their mouths.

The humans went to the metkayina to learn and discover what made them so unique. However, because it is a job, they had to report everything. Every last detail. So when they learned of the tulkuns, the greatest and glorious creatures to live in the sea, the RDA became intrigued by them. Not for their beauty nor their rich history. 

Once the RDA began to fully understand about the tulkun, and a certain part of their brain, the Amrita. What it can do for humanity. Their elixir, the answer to make them immortal. Their eyes and minds only screamed more greed. A new plan was formed, a new team was gathered, and a new goal was set.

Hunt down the tulkuns and drain every amount of their golden brain juice dry.

This was something the avatar branch did not foresee, nor did they agree with. After working hard to gain the trust of the metkayina and befriend so many, this would break any and all bonds. But the RDA didnt care. In their eyes, the avatar branch did their job. So it was time to pack up. 

When word spread among the reef na’vi of these tulkun hunts, the metkayina demanded answers from their ‘friends’. It was only then, do the humans confess. Many felt so utterly betrayed, some not willing to believe it, and others trying to understand just why. 

Tonowari no longer saw the humans as his friends, he saw them as beings to kill. He didnt want to hear another word after listening to what the humans wanted with their spirit siblings. He was too consumed in anger to think properly. 

Ronal listened, tried to see the human side. She truly believed the humans they befriended were not there to cause harm. Merely make peace. Ronal was willing to give her friends a chance. To prove themselves that they are on her people’s side.

However, when the avatar program members had a small taste of the golden liquid, many lives changed. The RDA wanted their members to remain ‘loyal’ to them. How loyal can they be once their tongues taste the impossible? What seemed impossible for millions of years? What was something only the Gods can ever touch? 

Many were quick to change sides. Now many were not voicing the na’vi nor the tulkun. They were voicing their inner darkness. Now they were more than willing to give any little detail vital to the new mission. The ins and outs of the areas, how the tulkun work together. How their defenses work. Everything. 

It made the hunt seem more of a game now.

The metkayina were losing so many of their spirit brothers and sisters. Them and other reef clans. So many were lost, from old to young. Many more wept at their loss. Tears from both the surviving tulkun’s and the na’vi. It was a grief like no other. Days and nights blended together. The sadness never ends. 

Do the humans they call ‘friends’ regret it? No answer was ever given. But the constant silence was enough to tell the na’vi.

The olo’eyktans and tsahik’s all gathered to create strict rules. For the safety of their spirit siblings, and their people. Any and all human influences that remained must be destroyed. Gifts, materials, styles, everything must all be gone. The language in which humans speak can no longer be spoken. Dont think about it, dont say it. For the future generations, its best they dont know either. They want this heavy nightmare to end.

Tonowari was all for it. He never thought of those who hurt his people. Never once did he look back, Scars will certainly remain but they will fade in time. Dont think about it, dont speak about it. Tonowari swores that once he is olo’eyktan, he will make sure no humans will ever touch his island, or hurt his people. No more of that. 

Ronal was hurt by all of this dark part of her life. Those whom she came to love and cherish were gone, leaving ashes and blood in their trail. Naive she was no more, what is left is a stone face, untrusting woman. Protective of her people, and most of all, her spirit sister. Roa was the lucky one among the few that survived the hunt. 

Second chances were gone.

Tonowari and ronal would make sure that nothing of sorts would ever happen again. While they strive for a peaceful life, they are not afraid to go to war. To fight for those who want to live, and avenge those who didn't get to see the next sunrise. 

Humans to them are parasites that only take and take. Deceivers and liars. To them, there is no human out there that can change their minds. 

I hope you like this one! Until next time! Enjoy!

[tmwcs]

The Little Mermaid • Teaser

Authors Note: It’s coming you guys. 😏

The sea witch's hands were as cold as ice. Her fingers are extra long—supporting the extra set of knuckle bones taking part in the abnormal structures in each extension. She wavers a horrific smile as she hands you the seashell bottle. Its conch form is sealed by a crystallized plug to secure the potion contained inside. You felt a chill after receiving it. “You truly wish to be a daughter of the sun for just one day—so much that you’d be willing to sacrifice your magnificent fin. How very bold and daring.” The sea witch remarks.

You always had dreamed of being a creature of the land. Watching the passing ships as they sailed into the daring storms of the Atlantic, you witnessed the finesse and aptitude of having a strong pair of ligaments versus a single tail that render you helpless to the blue water. It wasn’t until one day when you watched under the glistening moonlight, a large ship brought about a festival of music and dance as the crew members all intertwined with a pattern of rhythm and harmony. They smiled and laughed joyfully as the balls of their heels tapped the floorboards of the ships deck. When the glorious princess granted the audience with her charming presence—her glowing legs peeking from the underskirt of her gown, you sighed enviously wishing that you had a pair of long legs just like hers. The things you would get to experience if only you had the ability to stand and walk along the course ground of the earth. So it was no wonder when the witch approached you suddenly and presented you with the novel idea—a trade. Your large, adorning pearl for a potion that would allow you to become human for just one day. Your father would be furious to find that you gave up one of the family’s royal jewels but no matter. With six other daughters to his name, equally bearing the title of Daughters of the Seven Seas, the family jewels decorate their pastel strands as part of that right. What’s one less family jewel?

“Thank you.” You shakily express your gratitude, only to be given a harsh warning in return. “Lest you be past the midnight hour, O’ sea flower.”

She spoke in a rhythm of poetry and rhyme. A wicked smile accompanies her cackling tune. “On land should you still be, and not the sea…” a pause introduced a small devious chuckle. “Heed thy words, seventh daughter of Triton. For human form you shall remain! Forever in the clutches of his grasp, in keeping you tamed.”

The last bit sent a shiver down your spine. The iridescent blend of flesh and scales adorning your figure brightened under the heavy fog of darkness surrounding you. Your tail curves inward, triggering for you to cradle it against your bare bosom while the sea witch laughs and bids you to swim away. You didn’t question her intentions for approaching you out of nowhere—you merely figured it was the pearl that she was after. After seeing the inside of her massive bone graveyard, the horrifying sea creature was somewhat of a hoarder of sorts. With a combination of remains and treasures, it was clear that the sea witch left no limits as to what could be a part of her collection. It was best for you to quickly flee before she displays a change of heart and decides to add you to her wall of bodily portraits.

You swam faster than you ever did, breaking the placid smoothness of the ocean surface. From afar, you saw the vast length of the land and its mountain ranges. A large castle peaks towards heaven's gates, made of gold and black marble. You wonder if you’ll meet humans—real humans that you’ve only seen at a distance. How exciting it would be to be able to speak in their tongue and to walk alongside them. To feel the soft and dry dirt shifting in between toes and its graininess against the skin. You remain still and propelled no such movement towards the view, instead, you let the waves carry you. Little by little, you reached a notable distance and the plot of land was practically within your grasp. It was there. For the first and only time, you’ll be able to hear music, taste human food, and feel what it is like to move through air—not water. Your sisters will become so jealous when hearing your delightful stories.

Unbeknownst to your pretty head, a young man—the prince of this tale stretches his impressive form to greet the glorious sun. He reaches the balcony and stands magnificently with his silk blouse unbuttoned—his toned muscle glares back at the fiery sphere in the sky. His dark hair shines like graphite and his fanged smile charms the ocean breeze. He was devastatingly handsome. So much in fact, no one would ever tell that his life was a lonely one. He never cared for all the primp lovelies presented—the nominated prospects for the seat next to his throne. It didn’t matter how well put they appeared, he couldn’t bring himself to acquire a desire to take them in as his queen. With his parents gone after succumbing to illnesses, he was left to take charge of his kingdom—and his life. His land was peaceful and filled with prosperity, so taking a princess in for the reason of trade and economic growth wasn’t necessary. No—he yearned for something more, something carefree and natural. He wanted the unbelievable—the desired but unseen.

Little did you know, you’d take part instilling that kind of yearning within the Prince of this gruesome tale.

[hunters-vigil]

The Archon's Baby - Chapter 19 - This is War

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Warnings: pregnant!reader, topic of death, mentions of loss of limb (may be slightly graphic?), grief, revenge, presumptive character death, trauma, mentions of blood, poor writing of emergency trauma medicine.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

Chuychu always worried about Chasca losing control, and not just because it scared you, or her. But what Chuychu worried about didn't matter anymore. Chuychu was gone, you were gone, your baby-Chasca didn't want to think about it, the abyss whispering in her ear as growls escaped her lips.

"Chasca? Where are your sisters? Chasca, are you alright?" Paimon's voice couldn't break through, the floating silver creature pausing as The Traveller put their arm out to stop Paimon getting any closer.

"Can you tell us what happened?" The Traveller asked carefully, golden eyes carefully watching the grieving eldest sister.

Chasca's fists were clenched, each breath a struggle as she fought back from the brink of losing control.

"It came out of the sky, right in front of us. Chuychu tried to grab her, then she tried to shield Chuychu. They both went over the edge. Traveller, they don't have anything to help them fly. They… they couldn't have survived that drop unaided." Chasca forced her eyes away from the cliff edge, meeting the Traveller's gaze.

The Traveller took a step closer to the edge, shielding Paimon's eyes as she gasped at the bloodied boot, spotting something that Chasca hadn't… the boot hadn't fallen off of Chuychu's foot. Her foot was there too…

"My little sisters are gone…" Chasca gasped, tears falling down her face like a waterfall, "the baby… the Archon's… my baby sisters, I was supposed to protect them-" she sobbed, gasping for air, not seeing a faint glow descending from above her, until it wasn't able to be unnoticed any longer, as someone emerged from the light.

"How unfair life can be… she's had the odds stacked against her from the very beginning, and each step forward has been an agonising one. Maybe she would have been better off embracing her pain…" Menilek began as he chose his tribe's hero of this generation, standing closer to the Traveller, to give Chasca that time to grieve, "but her journey goes on, and one question looms in her mind: if she could rise above the pain, and ascend over the dark clouds in her mind… what then would she find?"

Menilek looked up to the sky, "maybe the glorious light of the sun, or maybe a dark empty void… there is only one way to find out. She needs to spread her wings and fly to new heights… that is the true meaning of life."

The Traveller's question went ignored, but yes, Menilek was from 500 years ago, as he walked over to Chasca, "my life's suffering shall become my epitaph, to remember the pain I endured, and finally transcended." The warrior faded immediately after, leaving Chasca heaving for air as she took a grip of her ancient name. Vuka, meaning transcension.

She was silent as she turned to the two, the Traveller only nodded in understanding as their eyes met. Eventually, Chasca returned with the two to the stadium, not speaking to anyone as she walked besides them. Whispers immediately began as people took in the sight. Chasca left the stadium with her younger sisters, but she returns alone.

Mavuika's heart dropped as she spotted Chasca walking in, supported by the Traveller with Paimon floating next to them. Where were-

"Chasca?" Mavuika's voice was desperate to waver, but she held strong, digging her nails into her gloved palms.

"We will recover their bodies once this is over. We still have- we still have more important things to do. If we want to honour what my sisters stood for… Mavuika, we need to hurry." Chasca held her hand over her heart, feeling a warmth flood in from Mavuika's body. A fiery warmth of rage and revenge.

"This war ends now." Mavuika clenched her fist, her fingernails digging into her leather gloves. She could not give into her grief now, there was no time for her to mourn what the abyss had stolen. She needed to avenge you, the love of her life, avenge your twins, her babies, and avenge her would-be sister-in-law…

Mavuika's fire burned angrier than ever, her hair almost spontaneously errupting into flames as she and her six heroes made their way into the arena.

///

What Chasca didn't know would hurt her. The last thing she heard was her sisters screaming, falling to their presumptive deaths, the young iktomisaur screeching in distress as she fell too… but often in nature, when a baby cries out, an adult will come to the rescue.

The last thing you felt before falling was Chuychu, wrapping your arms around her, pulling her in to shield her, shield your belly. You buried your face in her shoulder, missing out on seeing the elemental shield surround you both as you ended up on the ground, everything going dark.

You only awoke feeling something soft nudging you, cooing in your face. "Mhm… what?" you groaned, your hands immediately going to your belly as your eyes opened, meeting your older sister's tired green ones.

"You're okay, your babies are okay…" Chuychu whispered, wincing in pain as she moved her hands from where they'd been checking on your bump, to her foot… or lack of it.

"Where's your foot- ow!" you grimaced, holding your head as you tried to sit up too fast.

"Easy… you need to slow down… no wonder you kept up with Mavuika so easily, you're so stubborn that she'd be wrapped around your finger, how did none of us see it sooner?" Chuychu grumbled, trying to fix her tourniquet herself.

"A lot of lessons from what I can only describe as Mavuika's PR team, or is it HR? I can never remember, but they've probably all quit by now," you replied, carefully moving your hand over to tighten the tourniquet for your older sister. Your older sister who was missing her foot, and losing far too much blood… was that ice trying to cauterize the wound?

The cooing caught your attention again, turning your head to almost get a mouth full of adult iktomisaur fur, spotting the infant iktomisaur you'd kept with you curled up, sleeping under the adult's wing.

You were both alive, for now...

[ph4g-dragon]

since we r also simping for the pillar men here, u got any general nsfw headcanons for them? 👀

All of them have size kinks

they're all huge so getting with a human means its kind of unavoidable

a big turn on is how pathetic u are compared to them

like one of their hands could crush your head without even noticing

also their horns are an erogenous zone. why? because sexy stone men that's why

riding Wamuu and u grab his horn, he cums absolute buckets and winds you when his hands suddenly latch onto your waist

like do NOT touch that thing or u won't walk for a week, unless you're into that kinda thing

Pillarman senses are so much hightened too; you're horny? they already know and your clothes have suddenly disappeared

and they can control their muscles at will, imagine the head game

naturally you're much smaller than them, so they can deep throat you with no issue, but also you'll be getting the super soaker gluck gluck 3000 with those individually controlled throat muscles

and such long tongues too GOD

Esidesi is happy to tonguefuck you, his hot thick tongue pumping deep inside, vibrating with laughter as you try to grab his face for purchase but fail

god

I wanna fuck these fictional supervampires so bad bro

Kars

Kars is a king and a god, he shall be treated like one

Worship that man's balls, worship them like your life depends on it (and often it does, he is a cruel and uncaring god)

He LOVES getting head, it depends on his mood whether or not he'll let you take his cock at your own pace, or grip your head with one hand and force it down.

He'll happily lay back and let you worship him, hands trailing over his dark, smooth skin, taking in every perfect detail of his godly body

When he eventually fucks you, you will not top

Kars, again, is cruel, he wants to be above you, laughing at how insignificant you are below him as his fat cock seemingly shoves your organs aside to make room for him

He loves how your eyes roll back in exctasy, your body tight and wet around him

He'll take his time with you, wanting to revel in your glorious whimpers and moans

He knows exactly how to pleasure a human too, so expect to be nearly painfully overstimulated

When he cums, it's an honour to feel your belly swell with his hot seed. If he's in a good mood he'll hold you close, pumping deeper and deeper before his claws sink into your flesh and he floods your inside with cum. When he pulls out he laughs as it drips down your thighs, loving the exhausted, fucked out look on your face. Only good pets deserve such a fate.

Most the time though, he'll cum on you. He likes seeing how much just a few spurts of cum seemingly cover you, he loves to paint your belly and butt specifically. When he cums on your face he makes you swallow, wiping any excess off and having you suck his fingers.

such a demeaning position for a demeaning creature almost gets him going all over again

big pretty mean man ily ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Esidesi

Esidesi is rough

He's big into temperature play, he loves to drip his own blood onto your trembling skin and watch as you whine in pleasure-pain

He too is a cruel god, but a little more forgiving than Kars. He'll have you worshipping his cock in a similar manner. Bonus points if he convinces Kars to let them both be reviered by you at once

He's a fan of bondage

Being able to control his veins in such a way means he's got built in restraints and, while it took you a while to get used to, the near searing hot veins writhing around you, holding your arms above your head or tight against your back, gets you going

When you're restrained he loves to tease you, edging you closer and closer to orgasm and laughing as you buck your hips in a desperate attempt to cum

IM NOT GNA FINISH THIS SORRY PLZ ADD ON FOR ME BUT IM DUMB 😞💔

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - III

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

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

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.8k.

Reading Time: 27min.

Warnings: asshole!Copia, blood extraction,drunk!Copia, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), non-consensual rituals,restrained with ropes, rituals, soul modification, tied with ropes, use of needles

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @antoniamarie1989

🔞 MDNI 🔞

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

The echoing of a choir sung eerily in your mind, the song slow and sombre as the melody continued. The same tune, verse by verse, sticking to your brain like glue; the lyrics haunting your waking moments. In an ironic turn of events, despite all your doubts and building hatred for the Great Creator, you found a morbid comfort in the songs the morals sung in gratitude, praising Him for their life however it looked, grateful for His grace. In your time watching the world go by, in the silence of your solitude and between visits from the creature that saw you as livestock and nothing more, those voices rang out to you, the lyrics tumbling from your lips and you found yourself joining the chorus.

“Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

The mortal desire to walk amongst Him both on this plane and in Heaven. It made you want to laugh. It was your wish to do the same thing, hold an audience with Him, breathe the air He created as He exhaled it. And look where it got you: locked in a cage, holy light dimming, and blood drained twice a week for your troubles by a being that took pleasure in your discomfort if it meant a night of intoxication for him. Your resolve was still strong, you still were sure that you’d escape, yet you sat atop a mountain of failed plans and played a waiting game before you could try something new.

“Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I’d be

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

There was nothing darker than the shadow of Satan, the fallen angel who despised the Lord so much, he actively worked to depose Him. Perhaps it was the nature of the building you were trapped in, the unholy scriptures you’d hear during Monday’s service, or the attitude of the Sister and the Cardinal, but you’d commit unforgivable sins if you were to hide the fact that you’d thought a great deal on the subject while trapped in this gilded cage. Was Lucifer right in his actions? Was he truly onto something? Did he know something about the Almighty the rest of you had been programmed to look passed and not notice?

You remembered hearing stories about Lucifer’s departure from Heaven when you were new to that life. Unlike your superiors, you weren’t old enough to have been there in person to witness the events unfolding. Thus, you were forced to rely on retellings from the angels who were brave enough to talk about it. Brave or stupid, given Lucifer’s story was forbidden to discuss.

Lucifer was once one of the most glorious and powerful angels in Heaven. He was created by God as a radiant and magnificent being, endowed with great beauty, wisdom, and authority.

However, Lucifer’s unparalleled beauty and lofty position led to pride and ambition within him. He began to desire to ascend even higher, seeking to exalt himself above God and to become equal to or greater than the Almighty. This prideful ambition grew into rebellion, as Lucifer sought to challenge the authority of God and establish his own dominion.

In his arrogance, Lucifer rallied a faction of angels to his cause, persuading them to join him in his rebellion against God’s rule. Together, they launched a revolt in Heaven, seeking to overthrow the divine order and seize control of the celestial realms.

But their rebellion was swiftly and decisively crushed by the forces of God’s loyal angels, led by the archangel Michael. In a great battle, Lucifer and his followers were defeated and cast out of Heaven, their rebellion crushed and their ambitions shattered.

As punishment for his pride and rebellion, Lucifer was cast down from Heaven and condemned to eternal damnation. He became known as Satan, the adversary, and was banished to the depths of Hell, where he would reign as the ruler of darkness and the chief antagonist to God and humanity.

The stories you were always taught showed Lucifer in a negative light, so power-hungry and greedy, convinced he could overthrow Him and rule in His stead. Now, after experiencing the wrath of Heaven, and God’s heedlessness towards both you and the mortals He created, you wondered if Lucifer was really greedy, or if he was informed of the Almighty’s incompetence and wanted to do more.

“There let the way appear, steps unto Heaven;

All that thou sendest me, in mercy given;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my Go -”

“Would you knock it off?”

The sound of the Cardinal’s voice had you turning around in a quick snap, looking at the doorway of his room. His voice was slurred but clear enough that you could understand him perfectly. “You’re too fucking loud.” His make up was running in places from the sweat and the evening’s activities, and you could see the dawn peeking through the gaps in the curtains.

“I shan’t,” you shouted back, a glee in your voice that shouldn’t be there. The longer you kept him awake and poked at him, the easier it would be to get him to open the door and then pass out - allowing you to escape.

“Disobey me and see what happens to you.”

“Thou wilt take no action,” you chided with confidence.

“‘Thou wilt’,” he repeated, “Why do you talk like that?” He asked, staggering over to the cage. He cackled, the cackle that mortals do when they’re heavily inebriated. “It’s funny.”

“Thus do we angels converse in Heaven, when in the company of the Almighty and His warriors.” You murmured, your voice soft and reverent.

The Cardinal hissed at the mention of God. “Fuck him. And fuck you, too!” He smacked the side of the cage and chuckled. “I don’t-” he burped. “Why were you singing? Just now… only happy people sing.”

You stared at him in confusion, you’d seen drunk mortals before, but your blood had turned this guy into the biggest idiot you’d ever seen. “I have naught else to occupy my time. Even caged birds sing; perchance ‘tis what mortals dub as ‘yearning’.”

“Yearn quieter then.”

“I shall yearn as loudly as I so desire.”

“Not while I’m in the room, you won’t.”

“Then, with my waking thoughts -”

“No.”

“bright with thy praise -”

“You can’t even sing.”

“Out of my stony griefs -”

“I said, shut up!” he roared, demanding your silence. You obeyed this time, given his fist collided with the cage and dented the side. “I never asked for dinner and a show.” He laughed at himself a little, until what he said sank in and he bent over, laughing harder. Once he’d composed himself, he stood straight and wiped the tears from his eyes. “If you’re gonna sing - at least sing something good.”

He walked over to a square box in the corner and picked up another square thing. This time it was red. You stared at it with your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it. A black and red, circular object came out of the sleeve, and he placed it inside the square box. After a little maneuvering, sound began to pour from the box and into the room.

It was a droning sound, resembling wind whipping through a forest in the dead of night, designed to strike fear into the hearts of anyone listening. You shivered, your body growing cold at the sensation - the fear of being chased seeming to be too much for you to even think about let alone experience. Then, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Ring-a-ring of roses,

A pocket full of posies,

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all fall down.

Ashes on the water,

Ashes in the sea,

Ashes on the riverside,

One, two, three!”

The melody was interrupted by what you assumed to be a guitar, the sudden sound of which made you jump in fright. You’d heard about mortals and their modern proclivities with music - and how they’d made all kinds of sounds with the Almighty’s instruments. You’d never heard this before, used only to the sounds of orchestral beauty and choir singers in their various Houses of God.

“The guy who wrote this,” the Cardinal began, enthusiastically pointing to the music maker and shouting over the loud sounds, “has two little semen demons. They sang that. Genius!”

The music changed into a second song, a more upbeat tempo but still with a heavy sound. A different voice sang that time, definitely a grown man.

“In times of turmoil

In times like these

Beliefs contagious

Spreading disease

This wretched mischief -”

“The bard’s voice resemblances thine!” You shouted back to him.

The Cardinal shook his head. “What!?”

You made your voice louder. “I said: The singer doth resemble thee!”

He huffed and went to turn the music down. “What?” He snapped.

“I said: The bard’s voice resemblances thine.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “it is me.”

You blinked for a second, comprehending the information that had just passed through your ears. The Cardinal made music, and he was playing it to you… while you were trapped in a cage… in his bedroom… “Dost thou not feel ashamed?” you asked him, genuine intrigue in your voice.

“Why would I feel ashamed?”

“Pride is a sin. And thou art compelling me to listen to thy music without my request. According to mortal social conventions, is this not cause for embarrassment?”

He turned the music up. “I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud!”

“I said: Pride is a sin! And thou art -” He turned the music up and gestured to his ears, silently telling you that he couldn’t hear you while he danced and sang along to his own music.

“Will suffer punishments beneath the wrath of God

Never to forgive

Never to forgive

Them rats!”

You watched as the man continued to dance, even while the sun got brighter from behind the shades. The small amount of sunlight that trickled in wasn’t enough to hurt him, but you wished it was.

Songs ended and began again only to renew the cycle over and over until eventually, another song played that was very upbeat and the Cardinal seemed pleased by it. You saw an opportunity, “What be the title of this melody?”

“Dance Macabre.”

“Thou shouldst release me from this enclosure.”

He laughed. “You want to dance, little angel?”

You hesitated. “Aye?”

He fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, placing the smallest one in the keyhole of your now dented cage. You heard the sound of the locks opening, and the door swinging wide to let you out. The Cardinal swayed, in part to the music, in part to his intoxication, but unlike his treatment of you thus far, he held out his hand for you to take. You stood and eyed him suspiciously, unsure if this was another trick to hurt you with. But when he shook his hand, gesturing you to take it, you obliged, feeling his leather clad hand wrap around your naked fingers and ease you out of the cage with a gentility you’d never experienced before. You took the opportunity to flap your wings, stretching them out while you could, because you didn’t know how long he’d have you out of your prison.

He pulled you away from the cage and let you go, choosing to dance instead of keeping you held to him. The door was left ajar and you looked at it once, then looked back at the Cardinal hoping that he didn’t see your glance. He didn’t.

But just as you were about to make a break for it, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, threatening to send you sprawling to the ground. You staggered, clutching at the nearest piece of furniture for support, your heart pounding in your chest.

The Cardinal’s laughter echoed in your ears, mocking and derisive. “Where do you think you’re going, little angel?” he slurred, his voice dripping with contempt. “You belong to me now. Did the Sister not tell you just how much Hell-metal is in here?” He pulled you to his body and forced you to dance. “Contingencies, my angel. Contingencies!”

“Thou must permit me to depart. ‘Tis not equitable.” You whined, staring at the door. You tried to push him off of you and make a second run for it - to which he just held on tightly. In the struggle, he pushed you backwards into his bed-frame and making you fall back onto it with him landing on top of you. Your wings splayed out against the black sheets, and his arms were still around your waist, clinging onto you like a koala.

“You’re mine, little angel,” he muttered into your chest where his head lay and his words muffled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You tried to push him off of you but your strength wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, meaning that when he fell asleep on you, still clutching onto your body, you had no way to push him off, the open door staring at you, taunting you for your weaknesses.

The bed was comfortable beneath you, and you could feel yourself sinking into it. You didn’t remember the last time you felt something soft beneath your wings, feeling so warm and welcomed by the sweet embrace of plush-soft linens and a mattress that absorbed both of your weights, you could feel the ache of your bones melt away, the soreness of your muscles heal, and your eyes closed. If only for a moment, you could enjoy the bliss and the comfort that had been offered to you, even if it was an accidental, drunken moment by your captor.

“Wake up!”

You woke up to something ice cold being thrown on you, drenching your entire body in freezing cold water that stole the breath from your lungs and soaked your white robes. Your eyes snapped open immediately, and your body scrambled away from the offending wetness, crawling up the bed and making it wetter with each move you made. When you finally locked eyes on the culprit, you gulped at the sight of her. It was the Sister, flanked by three ghouls. She was handing the now empty bucket to one of them, who took it from her with a respectful bow and disappeared out the open door.

“The audacity of you to sleep in your master’s bed!” the Sister began to scold.

“He placed me herein. He was inebriated! I lacked the strength to repel him,” you protested quickly, panic in your voice.

The Sister smirked. “It didn’t take him long to fuck you did it?”

“Long for… what?” You flushed when you realised what she meant. “I can assure thee, my virtue remains unsullied.”

The Sister raised her eyebrows. “Mhmm. And I’m a pig that can fly.”

“Indeed, I had no intention of uttering aught.”

The Sister chuckled dryly, her smirk widening as she replied, “Well, if pigs could fly, perhaps they’d have a better chance of avoiding the mess you’ve found yourself in. Remember, song bird, I’m still perfectly happy in my pig pen with the muck that surrounds me. You’re the dove who’s out of place.”

You donned your own smirk. “And yet, only one among us possesseth the capability to soar above the mire.”

“For now. ghouls?”

The ghouls moved forward and you jumped away, launching off the bed and diving into a corner. Catching you proved tricky for both of them, given your sleep had allowed you to be more rested than before, though, you were still running out of stamina. The longer they toyed with you, and the more you ran, the more strength you used up until you were almost completely out. They caught you, despite your valiant attempts to escape. And soon enough, the Sister was leading you all out of the Cardinal’s quarters and into a whole new section of the building: the Basilica di Lilith.

Named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even considered, Lilith, a figure of defiance and rebellion, was given her own space of sanctity and adoration. According to some interpretations, she was a beautiful woman cast out of the Garden of Eden for demanding equality and daring to disobey Adam. Dubbed by the demonic as “our mother who never was,” Lilith was said to be cursed to live out her existence as a demon, forever feared and shunned by humanity. However, she found a place of reverence within the Satanic Church, where she was honoured and respected. The main space of worship was dedicated solely to her, adorned and tended to by her supposed daughters, perpetuating her legacy of defiance and independence in a house that stole from the Saints.

The Basilica, with its pristine white stone and Gothic architecture, stood as a symbol of reverence and sanctity for the congregation. Pointed archways and intricately carved Italian columns adorned the space, framing the dark wooden pews that lined the centre aisle. Above, the cream-colored ceiling soared, punctuated by pointed arches that reached up to the towering columns in both the nave and choir loft.

However, the sacredness of the space was marred by the presence of blasphemous depictions adorning its walls. Specifically commissioned stained glass windows depicted Lilith’s purported role in Eden, her fall from grace, and her demonisation. These depictions served as a stark reminder of this church’s departure from orthodox teachings and its descent into heresy.

At the heart of the sanctuary stood a statue of a disrobed Lilith, her arms outstretched in defiance. Behind her loomed the figure of Baphomet, a symbol of Satanism, with one hand resting on her shoulder and the other on her stomach. This grotesque representation of Lilith’s supposed significance in the Church was housed in a dark wooden alcove crafted with a pointed tip akin to their Holy counterparts, further distorting the sacred space. The statue, carved from bright white marble, stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, a glaring affront to the traditional Christian beliefs upheld by the congregation.

For devout followers of the Almighty, and even you, the desecration of this sacred building with such sacrilegious imagery was a cause for great distress. It served as a stark reminder of the dangers of straying from the teachings of the Almighty and succumbing to the influences of darkness and heresy. And, being a hallowed being, you could feel your skin tingling with the droplets of demonic entities and the mists of Hell swirling through this unhallowed hall.

In front of the statue was the Cardinal, a paintbrush in his hand where he’d painted a red, Satanic pentagram on the floor. He turned to look at you when he heard the commotion of your struggling and screaming out in pain, your bare feet being pulled along the marble floor. He smiled at you, an unsettling warm look that made chills run down your spine. That was when you put up some more resistance, only to realise how futile it actually was. Once you were inside the pentagram, the ghouls pushed you to your knees tied your wings, ankles, and wrists, to keep you there and stop you from escaping no matter how much you struggled.

Your eyes caught a flicker of something in the Cardinal’s, but you couldn’t place the feeling exactly. There was a hesitation to his actions, though he followed through with them once he’d pushed through whatever battle he was fighting in his mind. The Sister, though, never wavered, and both of them continued to look upon you with an uneasy happiness that mimicked the face of the Devil.

“What dost thou intend to do with me?” you asked, still fighting against the ropes.

They had no intention of responding to your question, acting as though you weren’t actually there, until the Sister had opened the ancient, chunky book to the correct page, and finally addressed you. “The process will begin soon unless you willingly tell us what we want to know,” the Sister told you definitively, leaving no room for negotiations or arguments. “If we can’t control you through your halo, we’ll change your soul until you bow to us. This is your final chance. What is Yhwh’s plan? What weaknesses does he have?”

You winced at the sound of the Almighty’s name, one that you were never permitted to speak. His name was for the higher angels, and the higher members of His congregation to use only in respect when talking about Him. Everyone else had to use his titles.

As usual, you refused to give any answers, knowing it would land you in more trouble in Heaven than it would on the mortal realms. Though, you were sure Heaven wouldn’t welcome you back now, there was always a hope, a prayer that lingered in the back of your mind, wishing that you could return home. And so, they began… and it wasn’t until they’d begun chanting from one of their books, you realised exactly what this was.

You’d heard stories about this before, Angels being forcefully turned into demonic entities against their will. If an angel has willingly fallen from grace and turned to Satan, there is no pain or ritual involved necessarily, their hearts and wings just turn black, their halos turn red until eventually the Holy Light within had died and the halo was of no more use. But forceful turning such as this, required meticulously planned rituals that took five months to complete, five full moons, and five rituals, one for each point of the pentagram. They were going to turn you into a demon… and they were going to change your entire being just so they could find out the Almighty’s plans and weaknesses.

By the sounds of the Latin you were hearing, this was the ritual of corruption. This ritual involved exposing the angel to dark energies and corrupting influences, gradually eroding their purity and innocence. They used ancient incantations and unholy relics to channel these corruptive forces onto the angel, slowly tainting their soul and weakening their connection to the divine. But, unbeknownst to them, the ritual would only partially work, because your connection to the divine had already weakened with every instance you questioned the Almighty, and begun to loathe Him for His actions.

When the ritual was done, you felt no different than before. There was no pain, no mental cloudiness - nothing. You were still you. There was a part of you that wondered if the ritual had actually worked, because surely you’d feel… something. Perhaps it was the bumbling idiocy of the Cardinal that spoiled the ritual. Perhaps it was the terrible Latin pronunciation of the Sister that ruined it, you couldn’t say. And neither could they. Thus, with a vow to continue until the end regardless of if it worked or not, you were dragged, still bound, back to the Cardinals rooms to be locked back into your cage.

Days passed, and you paid witness to the unfolding life of the Cardinal, who would spend most of his down time drinking your blood and getting intoxicated with his hellish ghouls. He paid you no mind unless he needed more of your blood, treating you like a pet more than a humanoid being. He would get out the shower and appear only in his towel as he got ready for the night ahead, he would play music whenever he felt like it, work in his bedroom rather than his living and study room, choose to drink the blood of members of the Clergy in his bed so you could see him do that. Multiple people at a time, choosing to give themselves to him to feast upon. And you were disgusted the whole time, watching him feast on other’s blood just as he had with you, and enjoying how uncomfortable it made you the entire time.

Every other day, when the Cardinal had left to go and do his “duties”, the door would open and his cleaner would enter the room, and this would turn out to be your favourite time of the night. He exuded an air of quiet efficiency and unassuming presence. His appearance was unremarkable at first glance, yet upon closer inspection, subtle details hinted at a depth of character and experience.

He was of average height, with a lean and wiry build that spoke of strength and agility. His hair, a shade of dark chestnut brown, was cropped short and neatly groomed, framing a face that bore the weathered lines of someone who had seen their fair share of hardships. His features were angular and defined, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a wealth of untold stories and hidden depths.

Dressed in a simple uniform of black trousers and a crisp white shirt, the cleaner moved with a quiet grace and purpose, his movements fluid and precise. Despite the monotony of his task, there was a sense of pride in his workmanship, evident in the meticulous care with which he attended to his duties.

As he went about his work, the soft glow of candlelight cast gentle shadows across his rugged features, accentuating the strength and resolve that lay beneath his unassuming exterior. Though his presence went unnoticed by many, to those who took the time to observe, there was a quiet dignity and integrity that emanated from him, a testament to his unwavering commitment to his craft.

He wasn’t supposed to speak to you - no, not even look at you. But telling a man to not look at the angel in a gilded cage was a surefire way to get him to do the thing he wasn’t supposed to. In all your time spent in the mortal realm, you’d come to learn that all of the Almighty’s male creations had a penchant for defiancy, taking the word ‘no’ as an invitation to continue to do the thing. And so, once he realised that no harm would come to him when he looked at you, he would glance over then dart his eyes away when you realised he was watching you. When you waved, he waved back, tucking his pink lips into his teeth and giving an awkward smile that showed his discomfort but told you that he was at least kind. That wave turned into a brief, “Good evening,” as he entered the room to begin his chores, until eventually, he was striking full blown conversations with you.

The Cardinal’s cleaner, known as Brother Thomas to all the members of the clergy, possessed a quiet dignity and a gentle demeanor that belied the strength and resilience within him. He was a man of few words, preferring instead to let his actions speak for themselves. Despite the demanding nature of his job, Brother Thomas approached his duties with unwavering dedication and meticulous attention to detail.

Born into humble beginnings, Thomas had faced his fair share of challenges and hardships throughout his life. Yet, he bore these trials with stoicism and grace, drawing strength from his unwavering faith and inner resolve. He was a man of integrity and principle, guided by a strong moral compass that steered him through life’s tumultuous waters.

In his spare moments, Brother Thomas could often be found lost in thought, reflecting on the mysteries of life and the complexities of the human condition. He possessed a keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge, delving into books and literature to expand his understanding of the world around him.

Despite his reserved nature, Thomas harbored a deep well of compassion and empathy for those around him. He had a knack for putting others at ease with his quiet presence and genuine kindness, offering a comforting shoulder to lean on in times of need.

To those who took the time to get to know him, Brother Thomas was a steadfast friend and confidant, a beacon of stability and support in an ever-changing world. Though he may have been overlooked by some, to those who truly saw him for who he was, Brother Thomas was a shining example of humility, strength, and grace.

Thomas’ decision to join the Satanic Ministry was born out of a complex interplay of personal experiences and ideological shifts. While on the surface it may seem contradictory for someone of his character and background to align with such an organization, there were several key factors that influenced his decision. Despite his unwavering dedication to his Catholic beliefs, Thomas experienced a profound crisis of faith following a series of personal tragedies. The loss of loved ones and witnessing injustices in the world shook his belief in the benevolence of God and the efficacy of traditional religious teachings. Over time, Brother Thomas became disillusioned with the hierarchical structure and institutionalized dogma of the Catholic Church. He witnessed firsthand the hypocrisy and corruption within its ranks, leading him to question its authority and legitimacy.

Thomas was drawn to the Satanic Ministry’s emphasis on individualism, personal empowerment, and the rejection of arbitrary authority. He found solace in the principles of self-reliance and personal responsibility advocated by Satanism, seeing it as a path towards greater autonomy and self-actualization. Despite its provocative name and associations, Thomas resonated with many of the core tenets of Satanism, such as the pursuit of knowledge, rational inquiry, and the celebration of human potential. He found common ground with fellow members who shared his commitment to intellectual freedom and critical thinking.

All of this information, you got out of him while he was cleaning the Cardinal’s rooms, for once he got started, he just simply couldn’t stop. But, as he was one of the first people to keep you company, and treat you kindly, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to interrupt him, or stop his babbling however incessant it had become. Over the course of a few weeks, you were able to share your story too, the pair of you finding common ground in the disillusion of the Almighty and the questions that ultimately had you both shunned from your respective societies.

Brother Thomas had told you that he’d wanted to meet you ever since he found out you were there, but the Cardinal told people that you were feral and dangerous, and not to be disturbed. “I see now that was all a lie,” he told you, sitting on the end of the Cardinal’s bed and making himself comfortable.

You sighed, and made yourself as comfortable as you could inside your cage. “It doth appear that he desires to retain me solely for himself. I hold greater worth to him when concealed from sight.”

“Well, your wings alone would go for a fortune, no wonder this room is kept under constant watch.” You clutched onto your wings protectively, as if Brother Thomas had the inclination to steal them from you. “No, no! I wouldn’t! But there are others who would.”

“The Cardinal already partakes of my blood as he wishes. Wherefore should my wings be any different?” Your voice was small, smaller than you intended it to be.

Thomas looked appalled. “He doesn’t?” He didn’t doubt you, not one bit. But he didn’t know what else he could say.

“He doth indeed. Near unto slaying me with each extraction. Then, he returns me hither to recuperate until the next occasion.”

“That’s disgusting! I’m so sorry.”

“I desire to depart from this abode,” you told him, looking at the Cardinal’s carpeted floors. “I draw near to freedom, yet each attempt ends in failure.”

Brother Thomas was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I could help?”

You looked at him, eyes widened in surprise. “Thou wouldst undertake such a task on my behalf? Wilt thou not incur retribution?”

“Well, I left one religious organisation because of their barbaric opinions and actions. What’s a second one?” Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, no one should live like this.”

“Thou art the most gracious being to have ever lived.”

He pushed back hair that wasn’t there, as if to prove his excellence. “What can I say? I’m an angel,” he joked. And for the first time since falling, you laughed. The joke wasn’t funny by any means, but it was the first time someone had actively tried to make you feel better, and so you just couldn’t stop the giggles as they fell from your lips.

A plan was devised. Brother Thomas would provide you with a change of clothes and a cloak to conceal your angelic appearance. By blending in with the surroundings and adopting a more inconspicuous guise, you would be able to move about unnoticed. You agreed upon a specific window of opportunity for you to make your escape, choosing a moment when the guards were likely to be distracted or preoccupied. Brother Thomas would keep a watchful eye on the movements of the ministry members, alerting you when the time was right. Brother Thomas would map out a discreet route for you to follow, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages of the Ministry headquarters. He would provide you with detailed instructions and navigational cues to ensure a smooth and swift exit. All you’d have to do, was make sure the Cardinal was intoxicated enough to fall asleep on you again, where you’d be able to snatch the keys from him and keep them hidden on your person until Thomas was able to get you out. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. All that remained was to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part, because you would still see Thomas every other day as planned, and he would still sit and talk to you, provide you with some comfort until he absolutely had to go.

Until one day, he came into the Cardinal’s room a little more excited than normal. “The window,” he said, breathlessly, “of opportunity is coming! Next week, the Cardinal and the Sister will be preoccupied with visiting an abbey north of here, in Sweden, I think. They won’t be here.”

“Art thou certain they wilt not desire to take me along with them?” You asked, standing up in your excitement.

“I don’t see how they can,” he replied, mirroring your excitement. “They’d need to transport an angel and her cage, all without raising suspicion. And what with the current crime rates and trafficking laws, you’re bound to attract attention they don’t want! It’s perfect!”

“‘Tis a splendid notion! But what of the remainder of the clergy? Shall they still abide herein?”

Brother Thomas frowned. “It won’t be easy. But, there are ways we can-”

“Angel! I’m home!”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of a third voice coming from the entrance door in the next room over. The Cardinal was home, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Your heart raced as you heard the Cardinal’s voice echoing through the corridors, an unexpected intrusion on your carefully laid plans. Panic seized you as you realized that Thomas was still in the room with you, and the Cardinal’s presence meant imminent danger. “Thou must conceal thyself!” You whisper-shouted. You pointed to the Cardinal’s bed. “Conceal thyself beneath that!”

“He’s a vampyre, he’ll know!” Thomas protested.

“‘Tis the optimal choice we possess. I shall divert his attention, and thou seize the chance to flee!”

With a sense of urgency, Thomas scrambled to conceal himself, his movements frantic yet silent as he slipped beneath the bed frame.

Meanwhile, the Cardinal’s footsteps grew louder and closer, each one sending a shiver down your spine. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you waited, breath held, for the inevitable confrontation.

The door creaked open just as Thomas’ foot had disappeared underneath, and the Cardinal’s shadow loomed large in the doorway, his presence casting a sinister pall over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him cautiously approach, his eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam.

You held your breath, praying that Thomas remained undetected beneath the bed, as the Cardinal drew nearer and nearer. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo like thunder in the silence, heightening the tension to unbearable levels.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, the Cardinal’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on your cage before moving on. With a dismissive grunt, he turned away, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the bed. In his hands was the box containing the usual blood draining equipment. “Did my ears deceive me, Angel? Or did I hear you talking to someone?” He asked, his tone making his suspicion obvious.

“I spake but unto myself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice lighthearted and normal. “Singing more hymns, yet the words escape me.”

The Cardinal walked over to the side of the bed that Brother Thomas had dived under. “No, I’m sure I heard a man.” He placed the box down exactly where Thomas’ foot was.

“Thou must be descending into madness, Cardinal. More so than thy usual state.”

The Cardinal raised his eyebrows. “Resorting to gaslighting, are we?”

You hissed, “What manner of deception is this? I am unfamiliar with it. A foul creature of the night would resort to any means to portray themselves as righteous.”

The Cardinal sighed, “Oh sweet angel, you’ve no idea the position you’re in, do you?” He fiddled with his keys and unlocked the cage door. “Come on, we need some more of that delicious blood of yours. Fight me, and you’ll regret it.”

Willingly, you did as you were told, following his direction to get on the bed and lie on your back. You were terrified, mostly because you knew that Thomas was still in the room and wouldn’t be able to leave while the Cardinal was there. It scared you to think that the Cardinal would find him, and what he’d do if he caught Thomas.

“Your heartbeat’s racing, Angel,” the Cardinal commented as he tied both your arms in tourniquets to find your veins. “You’re either scared, or falling in love with me.”

“Thine countenance is one that only a mother could cherish.” You snapped back.

“She does love me - she doesn’t always show it,” he inserted the first needle and directed the tube into the bottle’s open mouth, “but I know she does.”

“Perchance she is a simpleton.”

“Evil? Sometimes. Headstrong and narcissistic? Absolutely.” The Cardinal moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the motion with the second arm. “A simpleton? Certainly not. We’ve been alive for centuries, Angel, she’s concocted her fair share of schemes, and the majority have worked.”

“And do those schemes entail extracting an angel’s blood until she is nigh unto death?”

“Of course.” The Cardinal smiled - actually smiled. “It’s not often our kind can get a hold of your blood. It’ll go for millions of dollars on the market. We’ve made so many replicas of course, but none compare to the real thing.” He watched as your blood dripped into the wine bottles, four on each side. He planned to almost fully drain you tonight, apparently.

Your body had already begun to feel the effects of your blood dripping away from you, and your eyes grew heavier and heavier until, eventually, the last thing you felt was the Cardinal stroking your hair.

When you woke up, you were back in your cage and the Cardinal was sat in his bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and eyes trained on a book. You were still feeling the effects of the blood loss, but you were certainly much better than before, your halo working hard in the cage next to you to try and get you back up and on your feet. You sat up and stretched, attracting the attention of the Cardinal, who smiled at you. “Ah, she’s awake at last.” He commented, looking at you over the top of his glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed, “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

Prev. ⛧ Next

[scekrex]

I shall greet you with a good morning/noon/afternoon/evening/night/midnight.I hope this pity request of mine shall be noticed or seen at once

I just wonder how about a angel reader that helps during the creation of Eden like when Adam was created Reader couldn't help but befriended with the poor lonely mortal every day and every moment he has and the creator likes seeing that his angel is accompanying his first mortal creation while he was making the soulmate of the insignificant mortal who keeps talking about different that is seen around the garden of Eden they even named animals but i must remind you that this time Adam was still a kind soul and Lucifer on the other hand was quite jealous on the mortal and angel(reader) interaction since he's been admiring reader for such a long time so timeskip when both of Adams spouses left him there is his only friend angel hugging him comforting him and ended up sleeping together

-i hope this wasn't much of a bother to you dear writer and be careful have a long life always take care of your health!who knows who your death might be anywhere near anyways i highly appreciate that this pity request of mine reached your attention so this is where I shall end my poetic request your fan:P

By sleeping together I assume you meant physically sleeping and not sex - if I misunderstood let me know. ALSO MOM WAKE UP I HAVE A FAN HOLY SHIT dzcuehcz

Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & angst

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

If you were to be asked how existence was before god had created Adam, you weren’t to respond with ‘boring’, because it never had been boring. But with Adam created, it was much more entertaining, that was for sure.

The creatures Adam had started to call ‘animals’ at some point had been cute and entertaining, they had been fun to observe and figure out, the ones with fur were so soft to pet. And yet the human that lived in Eden was far more interesting - how could he not be? Adam, as he had been named, was a kind one. And you were proud to say that you had been the first of the angels to interact with him. You visited the human every day, spent the time with him when God’s tasks ran out - after the first time meeting Adam that had happened a lot. Father had made it clear that he liked the bond that slowly formed between the both of you. Yes, Lucifer was his favorite but that didn’t mean he hated all his other children, he even encouraged you to interact with the creative human he had created, to support him and keep him company.

Adam was quite the sight, he was not only very handsome, he was also a charmer. The brunette human was attentive, he was quick to notice and compliment even the smallest changes of your appearance. You had put in some extra effort to clean your feathered wings? The first man was there to tell you how glorious your wings were looking. Your hair was looking a little messier than usual? Adam would make sure you were doing okay and that your messy hair didn’t mean you were stressed. God had created Adam after his very own image and it showed, the man was the definition of kindness and pureness and you adored him for that.

The sun was shining down on you, providing comfortable warmth for you, the human and all of God’s other creations. Lucifer’s curious eyes were observing your interaction with the human from a nearby tree. You were laying in the grass, Adam’s head was resting on your chest and he was as relaxed as he could be when he pointed to a little creature with beautiful wings that landed on your nose, “Look Y/N, a butterfly.” You chuckled softly at his casual way of naming the new found creature that would now be called butterfly. “Its wings look almost as beautiful as yours,” the brunette added with a soft hum and watched as the newly named creation flew away. One of mentioned wings came up to caress his cheek, the softness of your feathers against his skin made Adam close his eyes in comfort. “You’re such a charmer, Adam,” you offered the first and so far only human your warmest smile. The tall brunette hummed, “I am just stating how things are, it only makes sense for God’s children to look beautiful.” Your hand gently pushed some of his thick brown hair out of his face, “Is that the reason for your divine looks?”

Adam opened his eyes to look at you, his brown eyes provided just as much warmth as the sun, that you were sure about. Because whenever the first man looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel adored and appreciated and those feelings made your body feel warm and fuzzy.

Lucifer didn’t like the closeness the both of you shared, he didn’t understand why you took such a liking to the first human at all. He was a mortal, a thing created to fill the place God had created, he was just one out of many creations and he surely wouldn’t remain the only of his kind for very long, Father had made plans to create a partner for Adam after all. Why couldn't it be Lucifer resting on your chest as you enjoyed the beauty Father had created? Why Adam?

Lucifer would never understand what the brunette had to offer that he hadn’t. There was a reason why he was Father’s favorite after all. And yet you were petting Adam’s hair and not Lucifer’s. Yet you rather spent your days roaming around Eden with the first human instead of spending your days behind heaven’s holy gates with Lucifer. It bothered the angel, it bothered him very much.

When the sun set and night rolled around, Lucifer took off and went back to heaven, you however stayed in Eden with Adam. “You see the little sparkles surrounded by darkness? Those are stars,” Adam mumbled, his eyes were falling shut again and again and yet the mortal refused to go to sleep. Why sleep when he could enjoy your company a little longer? “Yeah,” you hummend, “Why so?” The brunette shrugged, “It feels right to call them that, they glow even though darkness surrounds them constantly, they bring dimension to the dark night sky and yet they don’t shine bright enough to hurt your eyes, they feel comfortable just like the word ‘star’ does.” And that made sense, you guessed. Father had given Adam the task to name things and the first human was doing a great job so far. “You are a star too, Y/N,” he then added and you looked at him, his head still resting on your chest. Your wings came up to wrap around the human, providing warmth the sun couldn’t since it had set a while ago. “Because I shine in the dark?” You were referring to the white feathers of your wings that looked like they were glowing in the dark just like the stars were. Adam though shook his head, “No, because you feel comfortable.”

Adam didn’t remain alone for very long and while that caused your visits to reduce since he now had proper company, it didn’t shrink the bond you two had built, you remained just as close as before. But with more time that you spent in heaven, the more you realized Lucifer’s odd behavior towards you and the grudge he seemed to hold against Adam for no reason at all. “I simply do not like you spending so much time around the human, “ the blonde angel spoke, his words were sour and his body language only underlined the honesty of his spoken words. “He was not created for our entertainment.” You however simply shook your head lightly, “Father said he appreciates me spending time with Adam, he thinks it’s a good influence and while Lilith was made from him for him, Father sees no problem in me continuing my visits, he even encourages them. I understand that you are worried, Lucifer,” you rested your hand gently on his shoulder, “But Adam and I get along really well.”

-

But oh how things took a bad turn, no one had expected Lilith to turn down Adam and seek comfort in Lucifer and neither did anyone expect Eve to eat the apple and leave Adam just like Lilith had done before.

As soon as you heard the news you made your way down to Eden to look for the brunette first human. You found him near a lake, your lake to be exact, Adam had named that one lake after you because it was the place you and him spent most of your nights. It was surrounded by trees and yet it offered a perfectly clear view of the sky. A family of ducks lived near that lake and given that those ducks had feathers that reminded him of your wings - one of them was a purely white duck - he had named this spot after you. So it was obvious he would seek comfort at your spot. “Adam,” your soft voice made him look up, you stood next to where he was sitting, tears were standing in his eyes and his cheeks were red - so were his puffy eyes. You sat down next to the lonely human, carefully lifted him in your lap and pulled him in a tight hug, your wings wrapped around the human's body in comfort. Adam clearly needed some comfort. “I heard, I’m so sorry.” The human remained silent, he hadn’t had the strength to talk about what had happened and you understood, it must be very hard to lose the one that had been created for him and only him twice in a row. “I will stay for as long as you need me,” you whispered as you gently patted his back on slow motions. The poor soul was hurt so badly that you were able to feel the damage that had been caused by both of his women turning against him. “For the night?” he asked with a broken voice as tears leaked from his eyes, you nodded. “For the night, “ you assured him, “And for the following day as well, if you wish so.” His fingers dug into your robe, he held onto you as if he was afraid to lose you too and given the situation you understood.

The first man must have been quite exhausted from all the crying he had done because it didn’t take the brunette very long to fall asleep in your arms, and you stayed. You stayed at Eden for an entire week, and you only left after that week because Father had asked to speak with you. Adam was left with your promise to come back and that promise you fulfilled when you returned to him only a few hours later. From then on the human refused to let you leave for very long, he was too afraid you would turn against him as well, but how could you when he was the most perfect thing Father had ever created? No. You would keep him from more damage, guide his soul until he was ready to join you in heaven. And with Fathers blessing, that was your task for the following years.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I stan chaotic Earth but what about.. Cryptic Earth? Like one moment she's chaoticaly obnoxious but the next moment cryptic like the eldritch horror she is scaring crap out of Cron

Earth loves her maker, she adores him. He gave her life, and he guides her when she cannot guide herself. She creates to meet his high standards. He may sigh, but she knows he loves her too. She just wishes that sometimes he would be less strict.

"They shall go forth and devour."

"What are you talking about Earth?"

"The little ones shall follow the path of the origin of chaos. All of creation shall know their ingenuity."

"Earth-"

"G̷̝̀͛o̷̯͎͋̿ ̴̪̮̓f̶̺͍͑̎ó̷̞̟̿ṛ̵̾̉t̴̞̺̅ĥ̷̡̬̈ ̵̧̲̑̽m̷̝͔̑ȳ̷̨̝̚ ̸̰̅͘c̶̪͝ͅh̴̺̖̒í̸̠͑l̵̨̅͘d̶̲͗̋ŗ̸̳̊̌é̵͈̿n̴͔̳̓"

Sometimes Earth thinks her maker may be a bit out of touch. He doesn't seem to understand when she makes creatures that mimic him and then shows their skill. She does not understand why his emotions flutter in fear when her creations ravage one another, enforcing her vicious laws upon all the land. She does not understand why her maker detests her newest and most powerful children so.

She does not understand.

What is so wrong with her precious humans going forth to bring his will to all creation? Should they not worship the way of the Unmaker? Is it not the way of all creation to one day unravel? Humans are her greatest gift to her maker. For they shall go forth and shatter all. When they are done, they shall return to her maker, bringing forth their glorious works and the chaos they have wrought.

But then again, it is quite possible her maker is simply biding his time to praise her. Earth is very patient. She can wait until her efforts bring forth their bounty.

Earth is VERY patient.

[thus-spoke-lo]

You kneel before him, hands clasped in prayer, desperate tears staining your cheeks. There is something inside you—something wicked, something voracious, something that makes you radiate a desperate heat—that needs to be purged, or else you fear it may just overtake you, may just consume you whole. Your pleas are rambling, anxious, tinged with guilt; you know not what possesses you, but you must cast it out, for fear of what you may do to satisfy it if you remain beholden to it.

The priest licks his lips as you beseech him, the scent of your most unholy need beginning to fill his lungs. You look so glorious in your frenzied state, your chest heaving with staccato breaths, hands shaking, eyes darting around the room, settling anywhere but on him. His pulse quickens at the sight of the vulnerable creature before him, a fragile lamb led astray, in search of grace that only he knows how to provide.

He bends down and places a hand on your heated cheek, wiping away a stray tear as you hiccup and sob; he gently shushes you, implores you to trust in him, to trust that he can heal you. His thumb traces over your trembling lips before parting them, before sliding inside your warm, wet mouth, and he stifles a groan as you close your lips around it as if on instinct, as if driven by a power greater than yourself. Perhaps, he thinks as you finally meet his gaze, you can both find piety in the profane.

Tonight, you shall find the salvation you seek, and the ravenous hunger that vexes you shall be satiated.

[otaku-orochi-okami]

Bad Mood Today.

Just had to order a new PS3 as mines finally got yellow light of death. Seems that’s making my masochist side to start coming back out. I wonder what tasks Paige, the 2D waifu who shares my blog would suggest?

Oh, you precious little betas, you think you’re worthy cheering up Lew? Fine, I’ve got some tasks so freakin’ dangerous, you’ll be whimpering both our names through tears of regret as you jerk one off. Don’t think for a second you’re special—this is just me being generous and amusing Lew with my cruelty. Buckle up, sweeties, because I’m about to ruin your day. Here’s your first task losers, and anyone who can cheer Lew up by doing this can choose what they want to do next! Oooh you’re allowed choice?! Lucky little losers!

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Free Humiliation Task

Fry Your Hand Like the Trash You Are

————————————————————————————————————

First, let’s set the stage, shall we? Picture yourself stumbling into that dingy little kitchen of yours—probably a mess, because you’re incapable of keeping anything tidy without my divine guidance. I want you to grab that rusty, chipped frying pan you’ve been too lazy to replace. Oh, yes, *that* one—the one with the handle half-melted from some prior act of stupidity you’ll never admit to. Plop it onto the stove with those shaky, unworthy hands of yours and turn the burner up high. No medium heat for you, sweetie—we’re going full blast, because half-measures are for winners, and you’re… well, you.

Now, reach for the oil. Don’t you dare touch my fancy extra-virgin olive oil, you uncultured swine—that’s for goddesses like me, not grubby little worms like you. No, no, grab that generic, bottom-shelf vegetable oil you bought on sale because you’re cheap and pathetic. Pour it in—don’t be shy, darling, I want a good half-inch pooling in that pan, enough to make it look like a greasy little hot tub for your soon-to-be-ruined hand. Watch it bubble and pop as it heats up, those tiny spits of oil jumping like they’re just as excited as I am to see you suffer. “Oh, look at it simmering, pet! It’s practically begging for you to join the party.”

While it’s heating, I want you to stand there, staring at it, letting the anticipation build. Feel that clammy sweat on your palms? That’s fear, my sweet, and it’s adorable how it makes you tremble. The oil’s ready when it starts to shimmer and smoke a little—don’t test it with a thermometer, you don’t deserve precision. You’ll know it’s hot enough when the air smells like regret and your kitchen starts looking like a low-budget horror movie set. “Too scared yet, precious? Aw, don’t worry, I’ll hold your other hand—psych, no I won’t, you’re on your own.”

Here’s the fun part—roll up your sleeve, because I don’t want any fabric getting in the way of this masterpiece. Take that quivering, insignificant hand of yours—probably the one you use to jerk off to girls who would never actually speak to you—and hover it over the pan. Feel the heat radiating up, kissing your skin with promises of pain. “Go on, cupcake, don’t tease me—dunk it already!” Then, with all the grace of a drunk toddler, plunge that hand right into the oil. Not a dip, not a graze—fully submerge it, palm down, fingers spread, for a glorious five seconds. Count it out loud for me: “One, two, three, four, five!” I want to hear your voice crack as the agony sets in.

Oh, the symphony of it all! The oil’s going to hiss and spit like a feral cat, popping and crackling as it fries your flesh. Your skin will turn an angry red, then bubble up with blisters faster than you can say “Please, Mistress, stop!”—not that I’d listen. The smell? A delightful mix of burnt meat and desperation, wafting through the air as you flail like the helpless little creature you are. “What’s that, darling? Does it hurt? Oh, boo-hoo, cry me a river—I’ll use it to cool my martini.”

When you yank that hand out—because of course you’ll panic, you’re too weak to stay composed—I want you to see the damage. Glistening, raw, maybe a little charred at the edges if you’re lucky. The pain will throb up your arm, a pulsing reminder of how utterly you’ve failed to impress me yet again. Don’t even think about running it under cold water right away—no, no, you’re going to stand there and let it *hurt* for at least a minute while I watch, smirking from my imaginary throne. “Aw, look at you, my brave little fry cook! Did you think this would make me proud? Spoiler: it didn’t.”

And the aftermath? Oh, honey, you’re not done. Wrap it in some dirty dish towel—because you don’t deserve clean bandages—and spend the next hour whimpering as the blisters swell and pop. Every time you flex your fingers, you’ll feel that sharp, searing sting, and I want you to think of me. “Poor baby, is it tender? Good, maybe next time you’ll try harder to be worth my time.”

There you go, you sniveling wreck—a long, luscious dive into frying your hand just for my amusement. Now, don’t you dare chicken out—I expect a full report on how you sobbed through every second of it for me to give to Lew. Go on, get frying, my crispy little failures!

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 32 - Selfish

The rogue makes a choice.

On AO3.

She told Astarion to go. All but ordered him. It was reminiscent of that bastard’s commands, but gentler, warm water to a stinging lash and weighted chains.

She’s sensible. She usually is. There’s no point in the both of them being captured, and neither of them can fight eight drow. Especially not with a priestess among their ranks.

He felt that spell hit Eleanor. Right before her knees gave out and she plowed painfully into the ground. His heart ached at the sound and he’d turned back before he could think.

Some psychic spell. Command, perhaps. Or terror. He’s not sure. Only knew the cornered rabbit race of her heart and the clacking of her teeth, lungs hitching as she lay helpless.

The fear in her thoughts.

She’d tried to hide that. Shield him. Had almost succeeded. But she told him to flee—his own body trembling with the repressed urge because terrible things were coming and for once in his long, long unlife, he could listen to those instincts and allow his muscles to carry him to safety.

As she told him to flee, he’d sensed it. A faint brush, feather light upon the edges of his consciousness. He hadn’t even registered it amidst the chaos of his own panicked thoughts. Not until he was well away, the echoes of triumphant crowing bouncing about as the drow took her.

She was silent. Only a few grunts to betray pain. Astarion crouched in the shadows—soothing and safe—as his knuckles nearly popped out of their sockets as he fisted his hands.

It would have been foolish to stay. Fatal. She knew that. She’d ordered him to go. It’s basic practicality. She took the blow for him exactly as he’d been hoping from the very beginning. His plan worked to perfection, even though he’d never actually cinched the deal by sleeping with her.

He’d nearly kissed her. It had risen up within him when she admitted to stabbing that monster in the ass. No thought or planning, just her glorious face that he could see and he’d wanted to kiss her.

But his last glimpse of her lovely face had been twisted into a rictus of terror there, in the dirt. Her lips drawn tight over her teeth.

She’ll be tortured. The drow will not show mercy just because she’s human and strange and speaks no language of Toril. They’ll be harder on her for it. If she’s lucky, they’ll take what they want from her mind and kill her. If she’s not lucky, they’ll toy with her. Figure out creative ways to break bones and carve flesh. If she sufficiently amuses them thus, they might even enslave her.

But he is safe. Because she ordered him to flee. He has his sight and a clear shot to save himself. As he should. As he always has, and always will do. None of their band of idiots can blame him. Not against eight drow. Not when he was doing as he was told. By her no less.

He should leave. A tenday ago it wouldn’t have been even a scrap of a thought.

But she’s helped him. In so many different ways, in so many different things, with him absolutely helpless against her. She had him completely in her power. Yet she hadn’t taken advantage. Not even when she was, perhaps justifiably, angry at him. She stayed. She…cared, for some godsdamned baffling alien reason. Her people must be absolutely mad.

She came back for him over and over. And then she did as she promised—he can see again.

He cannot win a fight against eight drow. Not with his sight restored, not even with the element of surprise. His plan bore fruit and he’d be a fool to waste that. He should go.

But.

But…he doesn’t…he doesn’t want to.

Such a strange feeling, that. He tries to squash it. Bury it under cold maliciousness and justified self-preservation. But it’s too similar to that strange sunlight taste in her blood. And now he’s felt the sun for the first time in centuries, he’s loathe to give it up. Not even that odd sliver of it within her. He’s a selfish creature, after all.

He doesn’t want to give her up.

And so, he decides, he won’t.

The drow aren’t bothering to mask their presence as much. It’s a child’s game to follow them through the dark, the cacophony of heartbeats and the scent of rich, human blood in the air drawing him on.

***

His bleeding leader had surprisingly good instincts, for someone who had to be taught how to clean a fresh-caught carcass. Must be a result of all those lurid stories she told him about. Death and murder and surviving the wilds. The drow, as she did, follow the water. Unfortunately, they head upstream.

He catches glimpses now and then, when he isn’t dodging scouting patrols. Eight drow (including the scouts) lead by a tall, solid woman. She’s just as armored as her fellows (six women and one man), but she carries a certain scent of magic about her.

Astarion brushes his fingers over the necklace tucked down the front of his own armor.

Higher level drow women tend to come in two flavors: warriors and priestesses. Though these often overlap considerably. This one must be a priestess. Possibly a strong one, and highly ranked, judging from the deference given by her retinue.

The dead drow he’d interrogated had mentioned a Clan Darnruel. What sounded like a bid for a noble title. He doesn’t think that woman is the matriarch of her house, but he’d be willing to bet she’s a second daughter. Possibly a first.

Things get worse when Astarion picks up more heartbeats. The caravan—he still scents Eleanor’s blood and his stomach pulls tight—rounds a bend and two more drow wait for them. The first is a thick, short man that grins and bows to the priestess. Astarion catches the word “sister” on the edge of his ears. Wonders, by the muscled frame and the smattering of thin scars up the man’s arms, if this is the nascent house’s arms master.

Shit.

The second drow emerges from a small cavern. Taller, but thin. And he leads a riding lizard. It’s a sleek thing, dusty gray with an arrowhead snout smoothing into a pointed skull. It looks fast.

Shit. Ten drow and a lizard. He cannot take this on.

Fuck.

He nudges at his leader. She’s once again curled into an impenetrable ball.

Three of the women break off to begin perimeter patrols. Astarion steals one, last glance towards the center of the camp they’re making. The hunched form on the ground, lying motionless.

His dead heart shudders.

She’s alive. He can pick her pulse out of a crowd with his eyes shut (ha). But she’s bleeding and quiet and still. She won’t last a tenday.

Then the patrol heads towards him, and he has to retreat. The drow carry no torches—which would blind their lizard and dampen their own darkness-accustomed eyes. So he doesn’t have to remove himself too far.

Just enough he can still hear her. Still scent her. And chew on his lip as he crouches there.

It’d be a tough fight even if he finds the other idiots. And that’s only if he can make his way to the “mother water” and walk along its shores, hoping to find either one of the idiots, or one of the godsdamned bleeding waypoints stones.

That’ll take too long. And she cannot be revived. She’ll be left in drow captivity. He admires their ruthlessness and efficiency, but not when it’s directed at her.

That cursed rumble shakes in the distance. Godsdamned beast couldn’t have made itself useful for once—

…oh.

Oh, that’s…

Damned risky, is what it is. And yet.

It would be the most hilarious thing he could ever do.

Hmm.

[evolutionsvoid]

The dawn of the Age of Ichor was a glorious one for mankind, and the Church of Divine Wealth is a monument to this golden age. All that we know and love in this world was born from this era, and before the war broke out, many saw this time as a blessing to all. However, this new divinity and power did not come from thin air. The shifting of this world brought blessings to many, but also doom to many others. Before the golden fluid rained down onto this world, it was an Age of Eitr, a time of beasts and dragons. The giant creatures ruled this primordial land, and they too believed their beloved era would never end. When Ichor took over, many perished to the march of time and the expansion of its children. The great beasts of old fell as Eitr faded, and soon their bodies joined the many that make up this world. And beneath these endless graves lies a group of survivors from this era. Those who knew this slaughter was coming, that Eitr would fail and Ichor would drown them all. They had feared this outcome and had tried to stop it, but they were betrayed by their own kind.

When the dragons witnessed Ichor fall to their ancient world, there was a small faction of them that saw it as an omen. They looked to the creatures that crawled from this golden fluid and saw a rival to their own power. The elders and other dragons dismissed this liquid as another addition to their world, one that would simply add more life under their rule. But they were not convinced, as they saw a great power in Ichor and greater potential within its children. In their eyes, the influence of gold would grow and spread, and would reach the strength to challenge Eitr. This group went before the elders and demanded action be taken, that the dragons use their might to destroy the fluid once and for all. However, their voices were discarded in disgust, as such efforts were a clear violation of ancient dragon tradition. To interfere with nature in such a way, to wield their power in such a manner, it was unthinkable. Dragonkind had ruled this world for centuries with their unyielding beliefs, and they would continue to do so. These dissenters mocked such dusty ideals, claiming that these ancient laws were powerless against this new threat. Dragonkind needed to break from these rigid traditions and adapt to this alien foe, or else it would be destroyed. Their blasphemous insults towards the dragons' eternal beliefs stoked their ire, and soon both sides were at each other's throats.

The two factions fought, with the dissenters looking to overthrow the elders and take control. If they could cast aside these stagnant minds, then perhaps dragonkind could band together and take on this new enemy before it was too late. Sadly for them, they did not have the strength or numbers to win that day. Far more dragons sided with the elders, who also wielded the greatest amount of power. The dissenters were defeated, and their kind was to be punished for their heretical rebellion. They were stripped of their Eitr and banished to the bowels of the world, but not before their brethren struck them with a curse. To these foolish rebels and their wavering faith, they would be afflicted with the very sin they had championed: Chaos. If they were to reject tradition and demand blind change, then their very flesh shall do the same. Let them feel a life without structure, let them witness an existence stripped of order. These dragons were cursed, ruined and forced to slither upon their bellies into the shadowy crevices of the world. There, the curse would truly take hold, and these rebellious dragons would become the abominations known as the Lindwyrms.

While the dragons remained upon the surface to watch their age fall to ruin, the Lindwyrms were forced to hide deep below, seething in anger as their prophecy came true. It was as they feared, Ichor overtook Eitr and the primordial time of beasts was coming to an end. Even though they were right, such victory was a bitter one. Even their cursing of the remaining dragons brought little comfort. They had to rot down below, knowing that the lords in power were sitting by idly, remaining neutral until it was too late. The Eitr and dragons fell, but this collapse did not grant the Lindwyrms any blessings. For the curse that afflicted them wracked their bodies, and made any attempts to reclaim their throne impossible. What befell the flesh of the Lindwyrms was chaos, ceaseless and violent. Their bodies would constantly be altered and reformed over and over again, never resting on a single form for too long. Skin, limbs and flesh were constantly sloughing off layers and parts, while growing into new forms without ending. What they became were these serpents buried in countless layers of ancient, crumbling skin, of bodies that shed and fell away as their flesh altered once more. They cannot keep limbs intact for long, those too falling away into pieces of dusty skin. Gone were the brilliant scales, mighty horns and grand wings, now they are endless snakes tangled and choked by the shrouds of ceaseless birth and decay.

While the disgraced remnants of dragonkind was able to form an alliance with the Church of Divine Wealth, the Lindwyrms saw no such partnership. The toll of the curse forced them to use any strength they had to maintain themselves, and their horrid appearance would never be accepted. The dragons above still kept an eye on the Lindwyrms, and ensured that their return was impossible. To the darkness below they were banished and to the darkness they remain. Of the two factions, they are the most mysterious, hidden deep below but also guarded by their own curse.

Not only are their bodies steeped in it and forced to constantly shed and grow, but traces of it remain in the scaly skin they leave behind. In small quantities, it isn't any problem, but when enough of this skin is in an area or on a person, it can start to warp the flesh around it. Organic matter starts to forget what it was when exposed to it, becoming something unshaped and fluid. Due to the nature of the Lindwyrms, their bodies are constantly sloughing this skin off, which results in their lairs and tunnels to be coated in shed skin. With this much cursed husk in such an enclosed space, it becomes difficult for unprepared mortals to resist the curse. Those who foolishly delve into these dark tunnels will find their entire beings start to change and warp within the darkness, as they start to forget what they are and what they looked like. The curse attacks the mind as well, causing it to doubt and churn, forcing thoughts that wind up shaping the flesh in horrid ways. Those who go into these tunnels without light and proper protection are doomed to be reduced to misshapen abominations, forgetting their own flesh and becoming something only a nightmare-gripped mind could dream up within the unknown darkness.

Yet, there are those who have found their way into these warped tunnels and found ways to stave off the curse's influence. Despite their affliction and secrecy, the Lindwyrms have developed a small following. Those who drape the cursed husks upon their own bodies, and have learned how to wield its chaotic ways. By draping their bodies with this shed skin, they can slowly add uncertainty to their form with each new layer. As more and more of your flesh and body is covered in these multiple layers, the concept of your own appendages becomes fluid and uncertain, allowing one to shape them with their mind. So followers have fashioned robes and armor from this shed skin, and using it to contort or warp their bodies to suit their needs. They follow the Lindwyrms and listen to their words, believing that tradition and order must be abandoned. For even in their horrid prisons, the Lindwyrms know what is coming...

The civil war that torments this land, the Pwdre Ser that falls from the heavens, it is just like before. An age is coming to a violent end, and a new fluid will undoubtedly take its place. There is no saying what or who, as many are now fighting to claim the throne for themselves. Ichor, Eitr, Pwdre Ser and others, all clawing for the same power. Yet, the Lindwyrms believe in none of them. After all, what would these fluids achieve? They bore witness to Eitr dying out, and are now seeing Ichor begin to weaken. What is to say that Pwdre Ser won't end the same way, or any other liquid? No, the Lindwyrms will not allow it, no more fluids to steer our fates. No more elements to decide our lives. To the people who find their way to them, the Lindwyrms offer this: abandon them all. Divest thyself of Ichor, Eitr and all Godly Fluids. Do not let tradition and allegiances doom your kind to stagnation, like their own brethren did. Cast it aside and forge your own path. Seize your fate and flesh, and create the age that you see fit. It will not be easy, it will not be certain, but it will be yours...

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"Lindwyrms"

The frustrating thing with taking so long with making the dragons was that I had these guys waiting in the wings and it was tearing me up that I couldn't talk about them til the dragons were done! God I love these wretched guys! Skin upon skin upon skin!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

To Ashes and Blood (1/4)

Chapter 1: Walking Along The Edge of Danger Summary: Threatened by humanity’s ambitions, the gods sought out to wipe them from existence with the aid of their most fearsome creation: dragons. Great, terrible beasts capable of breathing fire with pierceless scales and strength a thousand men strong. In the chaos and havoc that followed, humanity sought refuge within the Earth below away from the Sky where Dragons reign. Generations of humans have lived underground, only ever venturing upwards to heed the call of a pilgrimage. For some, it was a repentance of guilt, a rite of cleansing. For others, it was a noble sacrifice, the willingness to risk one’s life for the common good. For Roman, it was both. No Scorching Sun Nor Freezing Rain Verse - AO3 Word-Count: 2.4k Pairings: Creativtwins, Platonic Logince, Eventual platonic LAMP Warnings: Arguments, Misunderstandings, Language Barrier, Fantasy AU, Dragons, Implied Death (No one is actually dead), Blood & Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Part of A Series (Can be Read Standalone) Happy Birthday to @ghostkittypog, without them this fic would not exist! Enjoy <3

A great many generations ago, humans once roamed the world above. The sun caressed their skin, the winds ruffled their hair, and the rain nurtured their bodies. Blessed with wit and bravery, they explored every width and breadth of the lands. They endured sweltering deserts to humid tropical rainforests. They crafted wonders that challenged celestial’s own makings. It was even said that they had their sights set on conquering the heavens.

Threatened by humanity’s ambitions, the gods sought out to wipe them from existence with the aid of their most fearsome creation: dragons. Great, terrible beasts capable of breathing fire with pierceless scales and strength a thousand men strong. In the chaos and havoc that followed, humanity was smited from the world above.

But humans continued to live on in the world below the sky, wind and rain. In the fissures of earth, they built civilizations unbeknownst to gods and dragons. In the place of the sun, artificial light graced their skin. In the place of wind, blades of metal spun. In the place of rain, underground creeks and lakes became their vitality.

Through this, humanity kept their heads low, towards the earth and away from the heavens. To seek out the sky was to call upon a dragon’s wrath.

“What a glorious demise that would’ve been,” Roman remarked to himself, “facing a dragon in one’s final moments instead of dying a slow agonizing death.”

The words sparked a coughing fit, his body lurching upwards to no use. Thick slabs of stone compressed against his body, crushing him into the earth below.

From earth whence he came, to earth shall he return.

To some, it may have been a comforting, poetic way to die. 

“Oh, but the sun,” Roman wheezed, “I would’ve liked to have seen the sun one last time.”

The first time he gazed upon the sky was when the sun began rising from its slumber. It was not anything like the sterile white glow of the cavern lights. In stark contrast, it painted the sky in a rosy hue, as pricks of starlight yielded to its dominance. Bright and unrelenting like fire, as it continued its ascension, his eyes began to water. 

“Beautiful,” Roman whispered, “Truly a beautiful sight to behold.”

There was a screech in the distance, long and lilted. Roman startled, a hand clumsily falling to the hilt of his sword. A shape formed in the sky, soaring through the air with ease. Another one joined it, answering its screech with a call of its own. But they were not adorned with scales—a softer visage enveloped their frames.

“Hawks,” Roman’s hand loosened its grasp on the hilt, “how magnificent.”

He’d only seen them in illustrations of the long past. While some livestock was kept underground, there were many creatures that did not fare well below. 

‘Even if hawks could be kept,’ Roman thought, ‘it would be wrong to keep such creatures confined and constrained away from the sky.’

Roman shut his eyes, inhaling sharply. The air was stale, tainted. When he reopened his eyes, he was met with an unending darkness. There was a cinchness in his throat, a dull ache in his stomach. Surely, it had been at least a day since he became trapped. 

Pressure built from within Roman’s chest. Separate from the strain of the wreckage that kept him immobilized. 

“Dragon or not, they will honor my sacrifice, I will be immortalized in the Remembrance Stone.” He murmured. Yet the words, ones meant to be self-soothing, tasted like ash in his mouth.

Every fourth month of the year, individuals would be selected to participate in a pilgrimage to the world above. For some, it was a repentance of guilt, a rite of cleansing. For others, it was a noble sacrifice, the willingness to risk one’s life for the common good.

For Roman, it was both.

“Remus, Remus, you’re back!” Roman shouted, running as far as his legs could take him.

Standing up ahead, his head leaning backwards with a voracious laugh, was his big brother. His tunic and breeches were filthy, his hair long and ragged, but Remus was back.

Of course he was back, Remus was the bravest, coolest knight that the settlement had ever known. Why else would he be selected for the pilgrimage every year? He’d even been selected for special pilgrimages outside of the annual ones.

Before Roman could reach Remus, a pair of arms snagged him back.

“Sir Remus must be sanctified before you may be in his presence.” A templar intoned.

“Oh.” Roman’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. In his excitement to greet Remus, he’d forgotten the rules. All those who ventured outside must be cleansed upon reentering the kingdom. It was necessary to ensure the safety of everyone. Roman knew this and yet, selfishly, he wanted to hug his brother whom he hadn’t seen in months regardless.

“Hiya, bro,” Remus gave him a wave, “see this nasty scar on my arm? Isn’t it sick?” Roman nodded, mouth agape. “How’d you get it?”

“Chimera. I’ll tell you all about it, but later.” “Promise?” “Promise,” Remus reached his pinky out for a contactless pinky promise, “Now, go.”

Roman shifted a hand outwards, his pinky raised up high. “I’ll see you soon, Remus.”

There was laughter in his throat, but it quickly dissolved into dry, heaping coughs. He didn’t want to die. Not like this, not when there was still so much life for him to experience. But if it meant he’d get to Remus sooner, at least he could finally apologize to him.

When he stood in front of the crumbling building, the thought of it becoming his tomb had not crossed his mind. It was rectangular in size with spiraling pillars supporting its sloped roof. At its base, the pillars were intricately detailed with floral adornments. 

He brushed a hand against the carved stone, feeling every groove and furrow of the stone. There were sculptors back in the kingdom, artisans who crafted wondrous things for the temple. But this? Was it truly made by human hands? It looked like a flower Roman could pluck out of the ground.

“There must be incredible relics here–something I can bring back.” Roman said, pulling himself away from the pillar and towards the depths of the building itself.

Those chosen for the pilgrimage traversed the overworld, seeking lost relics and precious resources. They were not to return until three months’ time, when the greenery of the trees shifted color and the winds held a biting cold.

There was a chill in Roman’s spine, it pricked and prodded its way from the dip of his shoulder blades to the tips of his toes. Yet the air was crammed and contained in the imprisonment of stone and dirt. It was not the wind that doused his body in an icy embrace. It couldn’t have been–the trees were still green–the most vibrant green Roman ever saw.

“Y’know the color of fresh blood? Everything out there–the sky, the plants–it’s like that.” Remus once told him.

“It’s all red?”

“No, no–though it’d be cool if it was!” Remus grinned, “It’s just–so big. It’s loud like the running waters of the Tumis. You can’t ignore it! It's like watching maggots festering into decaying flesh.”

Roman had never fully understood what Remus meant at that moment. But that was because it was difficult to describe colors to a person who has never seen them. Even though Remus had gone on countless pilgrimages, he’d never been able to bring back something for Roman.

“Blueberries, I just wanted to give you some fucking blueberries,” Remus slammed his hand against a cavern wall, “they made me offer them to the King. I hope he chokes on them and dies.”

“Remus!” Roman gasped, “You can’t say those things! The King is the walking manifestation of–”

“He’s a walking manifestation of shit, and so are all the Templars,” Remus growled, “They don’t care about us, Roman.”

“You’re a knight, why–why are you–”

“Because it’s the truth. The shit collected from the pilgrimages? None of that gets shared with us. Doesn’t that seem unfair to you?”

“B-but the sacrifices aren’t meant for us, we’re not worthy of them.” Roman’s little voice quivered, tears stung his eyes.

“Fuck, c’mon here, Ro.”

“N-no! I’m not gonna hug you–not unless you take those words back.”

Remus wouldn’t answer him. He stood there, unnaturally still. He didn't understand. His brother was supposed to be a hero. A knight of the King–how could he say such blasphemous things? Why wasn’t he grateful to the King? After all that he’s done for them? They had a dwelling and food to eat. Roman was allowed to learn at the temple. 

Anger seized every breadth of Roman’s small body.

“I hate you!” 

He turned and ran back to their dwelling, hiding underneath the only blanket they owned.

Roman cried, his chest clenching up with each sob. In spite of those words, he wanted a hug from his big brother. He needed Remus distracting him with a harrowing tale of the world above, describing the guts of his kill in excruciating detail. 

“Remus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He hiccupped.

Shortly after Roman had left his brother, he’d been summoned for a special pilgrimage. He never returned. He died thinking Roman hated him. Even though he never understood why Remus said such things, Roman didn’t hate him. It was words said out of vexation, words he could never take back.

Warm tears dribbled down Roman’s face. Some of them wetted his mouth, leaving it tingling with an acidic salty taste. His limbs felt weak. He was starting to doubt he’d be able to move even without the weight of the literal world on his body.

There were books in the decrepit building. Musty and nearly illegible due to faded ink, but books all the same. Roman had only the honor of seeing books kept within the temple a few times in his life. It was because they were old and needed to be carefully maintained to preserve the knowledge in them.

He never touched a book before. Let alone hold one within his hands. He’d picked up a book, straining his eyes to make out the nearly illegible words. Even if the ink was fresh, the language transcribed was one of the forgotten ones. There were only a few words that Roman recognized.

“The…knowledge…alchemy?” Roman muttered, turning the last word in his head over and over. Alchemy. There was a legend involving that. It wasn’t one taught by the Temple, but rather it was one his brother told him–

The floor beneath his feet shook. Roman dropped the book as the walls, the ceiling, the whole building trembled around him. 

“A cave in? Here?!” Never had it crossed his mind that was a danger to consider in the world above. He ran towards the exit as fast as his legs would take him. It was a futile attempt, because he could not outrun the ground which swallowed him whole.

He awoke to darkness and the certainty of death.

His sobs quieted it after a while, abated by the lack of tears from his eyes. He could hear his heart pounding steadily in his chest, his lungs still seizing with air. It was nothing like the furthest depths of the kingdom, where one’s body vibrated loudly in one’s ears. Even so, in the silence of his tomb it was deafening. 

‘If I must die,’ Roman thought with finality, ‘let me at least sing my own dirge.’

“Traveling through this world below,” Roman began, his voice thin and reedy from weariness, “deep caves and dreary caverns, let this soul find its peaceful solace–”

“Hello?” 

The words died in Roman’s throat. Was that a voice? Surely, he was hallucinating.

“Hellooo?” The voice called out again, louder than before.

“HELLO?!” Roman shouted back, stifling a cough. Truly, was he going to live after all? 

“Hello!” The voice called out. He could hear something shifting above him.

“Hello, I’m here! DO YOU HEAR ME?” Roman asked. He wanted to say more but he couldn’t hold back the coughs this time. Liquid of some sort gurgled in his throat. 

“Heowoo?” The voice responded. Now that it was closer, Roman could hear a strange lilt to its voice. Was this perhaps someone from a different kingdom on their own pilgrimage? It would explain the odd accent.

Roman tried to answer, but he was caught in the throes of a coughing fit. The voice stopped speaking. For a nauseating few seconds, Roman feared the stranger had abandoned him.

Then the weight of the stone shifted as something tore into it. It was careful, deliberate movements, Roman realized. The person was doing their best to unbury him without further harm. As the biggest slab of stone was dislodged away from Roman, dust flew into the air.

Roman coughed until the liquid in his throat was dispelled. He tried rising upwards, his body unburdened by stone, but his joints remained stiff as a corpse.

“Heowoo?” The stranger asked. Something nudged his body–it was a light touch but Roman screamed from a wrenching, reeling pain.

“I apologize,” Roman said, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear away the irritation from the dust, “I’m forever in your debt, thank you for saving my life, but I am–”

A dragon. There was a dragon looming over him, its maw inches away from his body. It was dark as an unlit cavern at first sight; but its scales glimmered an iridescent blue wherever the light danced upon it. Roman could feel its breath ruffling his hair.

“Heowoo?” The dragon rumbled, staring at him. 

Roman couldn’t breathe. The dragon…spoke. In all the tales, in everything Roman had ever heard–dragons didn’t speak. They were ferocious beasts, intelligent yes but not capable of grasping human language.

His sword. He needed his sword, but it wasn’t in his scabbard. Where could it be? Did it even matter if he had it? He could not even lift his body off the ground, much less raise a blade against a dragon.

The gods certainly had their sense of humor–granting his desire to face a dragon before his doom. Only, it wouldn’t be in the epic throes of a fight but as a predator partaking in an opportunistic kill. 

“How poetic.” Roman croaked, smiling with bared teeth. Then death blessedly overtook him at long last.