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flowerandblood · 4 months

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The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Aemond as a Pope Edit

Series Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; his back turned to them, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

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didalexiabreakupwitholgayet · 20 days

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Could you explain the hate like train of alexia in the Spanish media causes one moment she's getting praised and all and all of a sudden their calling her names traitor etc.. like where did this originated from

oh boy. where to even start with this question because, unfortunately, the hate comes from a few different angles. you have to realize that in spain, rfef (the federation) has its supporters among various media outlets, so that's a major source of the hate.

let me break down some of the big ones because it's a lot:

#SeAcabo/Oliva - i would argue that the majority of hate nowadays stems from alexia's role in the #seacabo movement and her support of jenni in the rubiales sexual abuse/harassment case, and the tweet that launched the hashtag.

in the immediate aftermath, veteran players like alexia, irene, etc. were accused of horrible things like grooming younger players and alleging that they wanted vilda/rfef officials removed because it prevented them for sexually abusing young players. just the most gross and vile filth.

and alexia and irene both took a major role during the oliva conclave back in september 2023, which really was a turning point for the spanish nt. this was when montse was first named as head coach and called in a bunch of players like mapi/patri (but not jenni) and the players pushed back. this resulted in the oliva accords where rfef and the govt committed to measures to improve conditions for the athletes, including firing members of the rfef who were implicated in the rubiales case. obviously, this pissed off media who thought the women's team and their leader (alexia) had too much power. COPE, in particular, had tons of heinous things to say.

2. Las 15/Vilda - but even before the world cup, let's not forget the hate that was spewed due to the first "Las 15" protest and alexia's support of them. i won't get into all of the details but you can read about it here and here. now, alexia did not sign on to the email because she had done her ACL, but she RTd it and obviously supported the message behind it. alexia even talked about the poor conditions of the NT in her documentary. but the way the media treated the players and called them names like spoiled little girls was just appalling.

fast forward to the pre world cup camp, and alexia (and others) have returned to the national team. then you had people calling alexia and aitana rats and traitors for "caving in" and returning to the nt when players like mapi and patri stood their ground. (as an aside, i'll defend all these players and the individual decisions they made, and i think they each contributed in their own way to improving conditions for the team).

3. Barça contract renewals/will she or won't she? - this is got to be the dumbest controversy but in recent months there's been a lot of (unnecessary) controversy and hate spun up by the media in relation to alexia's contract negotiations. we've been thrown into this stupid dichotomy of a) either alexia is being selfish and greedy and asking for millions when barça is suffering due to financial fair play, or b) evil barça is unwilling to pay alexia after all the publicity and accolades she's done for the club.

to add flames to the fire, alexia is called up to the national team by montse last month as she is recovering from injury and now apparently the media is reporting that barça is pissed and alexia is acting in a manner that is traitorous to her club that she would allegedly jeopardize her health to play for the NT and that there have been disagreements between club/nt/alexia about alexia's fitness. blah, blah, blah.

i personally think this is all bs. contract negotiations are obviously tricky because you have to keep in mind that coming behind alexia and mariona this year, are a bunch of other players including aitana. so it'll take time to work out deals because the market is so inflated right now. at the end of the day alexia will re-sign will barça soon and all of this will be hopefully forgotten. after all, alexia is barça and barça is alexia.

4. Machismo/Facha/Nationalistic culture - no, i'm not just talking about athenea's bf. 🫢 there's a segment of spanish society that will always hate alexia and jenni and irene just for being who they are. whether it's their sexuality, playing a sport in a male dominated industry, or just being women. sadly, there are right wing groups (vox, etc.) that are on the rise everywhere in europe and spain is no exception.

5. Barça vs. Real Madrid - and finally, you have to contend with spanish history and the divisions between madrid/the royal seat of power and the autonomous communities in spain. alexia is catalana. and a proud one at that. barcelona vs. real madrid is more than just a sports rivalry. it goes way beyond sports to the political and cultural history of these areas. you will always find people using that excuse as a way to hate on alexia and barça in general. there are people who are still jealous and aggrieved that spain's female ballon d'or winners are catalan! get over yourself!

if you want to read more on fc barcelona and its political history, then start here and here.

at the end of the day, alexia putellas is a human being just like all of us. she isn't perfect. she isn't a saint. but you cannot deny that her actions around football have always been guided by her heart and wanting to do the best for her teams and improving the cause of women's football in spain. punto.

#i did not expect to get this political today but here we are #alexia putellas #irene paredes #jenni hermoso #fcb femení #barca femeni #barca women #futfem #woso #espwnt

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blueseachelle · 1 year

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Hi I just saw your post!

Could I ask you do an imagine with percy or vax (or both😅) where they find their soulmate and what it is like. Smut if you like.

Thank you 😊

I can do that! I gotcha! This will not be NSFW. Some spoilers for Season 2 will be in this. I have many other requests in the web I’m creating right now. So, we’ll have an easy one today!

Percy De Rolo

You would join Vox Machina off a whim. Got caught up in a tavern brawl and got kicked out with them.

You actually hit it off with Scanlan and Grog out of the rest of the group first. Then, Pike, Vax, and Vex. Percy didn’t accept you at first. He was wary of you because of his past.

You made it your entire effort into wanting to become Percy’s friend. You slowly gained more feelings for him the more you harassed him into a friendship.

He slowly became comfortable with you. Of course, you would never know that. He loves your company. He will never admit it.

You both are on the same wave length with everything, be it his crafting or to strategy in battle. Always by each others side.

You could sense something familiar about his aura. He found the same in you.

Soon enough, he found comfort in you. Just your presence can help ease if spiraling spirit.

He would always tell himself this is nothing more than a friendship but, he always felt deep down that he was lying to himself.

You knew you loved him with all your heart so, you would always remain by his side. No matter if he got with someone else or never at all.

He wouldn’t realize you are his soulmate until the falling of Whitestone.

You were the only one that could calm down his inner turmoil and was the one to sacrifice everything you could to keep him and his friends safe.

He finally knew it for sure when he was getting taken over by the spirit his gun possessed and accidentally shot you in the side. (As we know that never happened but in this little imagine, it did).

You went down and it snapped him into reality. He ran to catch your body only to be stopped by Scanlan and Grog as Keyleth got to work after being brought back herself.

After that day, for a while, he couldn’t stand to be out of his quarter’s at the Keep. He even refused to look at himself in the mirror.

You made a swift recovery and was told by the rest of the group about what Percy has been doing, Isolating himself.

You went to his door and knocked on it.

Percy was hesitant but opened the door. Before he could do anything, you hugged him and told him that it wasn’t his fault and that he’s okay.

He was caught off guard as he hugged you back. He listened as you consoled him, telling him that it was the spirit inside that did it, not him, and that he didn’t need to worry anymore because its gone and she is okay now.

He slowly pulled you inside during the hug and closed the door. After it shut, he let out the tears he didn’t know he was holding back.

He let himself spill, telling how he felt and that he is sorry. He needed to tell you that he wants to be by your side forever.

Of course, you feeling the same told him that you will never leave and that if you can handle what just happened and can make amends, you can get through anything.

Vax’ildan

I feel like Vax is really in tune with himself.

When he first meets you in a market place, he stole your coin purse but, your keen eye saw him do it and you stole it back and his on top of it. Sending him a wink as you walked away.

He was starstruck. He at least knew that he was in love with you.

When they moved on, he hoped to revisit and see you again but, he didn’t hold to any hope because people have lives and move around too.

He long forgot about you after that because he and the group were really busy and he got caught up in other feelings for Keyleth, which didn’t end well for him so, he hasn’t thought much of you.

After the Chroma Conclave destroyed Emon, He and his friend departed to Vasselheim in search of allies.

Guess who’s there? You!

You are actually are a mercenary. You help whoever pays you, be it the Slayer’s Take or other people.

After being rejected by the clergy, the group was making there way over to the Slayer’s Take and that’s when he spotted you.

You were walking out of there as they walked up. You a large sack of gold that you finished your bounty for and was about to head out.

Before you went too far, Kashaw opened the door and called you back in, telling that the Patron needs to talk to you.

He watched as you sighed and headed back inside.

He raised and eyebrow, You’re so important that the Patron needs to speak with you directly. Interesting.

You were a mystery to him and he loved every second of it. He thought he was the most mysterious person he knew. Not by a long shot.

When they walked in, the quarrel happened until the Patron lets them down to speak with them.

You waited down there on Osysa’s throne was she dealt with each member.

When Vax was encountered, a number of things were said but, one of the most important ones was, ‘You sought love and it wasn’t found but love is a mysterious thing. Soulmates will always be drawn back to each other, no matter the distance or time it takes. Remember what has happened and reflect on this. Love will never always be right in front of you always. Follow your spirit and you will know.’

Vax knew she was talking about you. His spirit was saying it over and over was she spoke to him.

After the dust cleared and they proved themselves worth, you were introduced by Osysa herself.

Osysa knew your heart that you hid away from everyone, she knew that you would help them and not screw them over. Plus, you are preferred to handle in the affairs of God’s, given that you are a Warlock.

Vax couldn’t take his eyes off you. He repeated your name over and over in his head. His spirit seemed to scream out to be next to you.

As Osysa sent you all away, she gave you a knowing look. You two were best friends. You were always there for Osysa ever since you have been confirmed to be of a righteous heart.

The glacé she gave you made you grin and tease back, ‘I’ll tell your hubby you said hi!’

Vax immediately as you all were walking out went up next to you, ‘Hello, I’m Vax’ildan. It’s nice to actually know your name now.’

You just smirked at him, ‘Maybe ask a name before yanking there coin purse next time.’

With that, you passed him as he stood in shock for a second. He watched as your hips swayed slightly back and forth.

It took Scanlan to break him from his thoughts, ‘Someone’s gots the hots’ He semi whispered to Grog in a singsong voice. Grog laughed and covered his mouth.

Vax just rolled his eyes and continued walking.

You hit it off with Pike, Grog, and Scanlan immediately. Everyone slowly pulled there way into your conversations.

As your journey continued, Vax admired you more and more. You’re beautiful, smart, cunning, stealthy, and just a wonderful person in general. He loved it.

After you an everyone made it successfully into the tomb, Percy found the armor.

Instead of hitting Vex’ahlia, it hit you. Killing you in an instant. Vax lost it.

He ran to your corpse and held it tightly as he cried. He just got you. He will not lose you this quickly.

As everyone was trying to resurrect you, Vax had his vision and told the Raven Queen to take him instead of you.

She excepted and you came back. He was so relieved. Yet, his emotions couldn’t express it. He just went and put on the armor.

You realized something was off immediately about Vax. You didn’t know him long but, Osysa told you he was the one. You knew it too but, it’s nice to hear it from your best friend.

After being sabotaged and Vax clutching up, you sat by the fire and watched Vax. He stood and stared into space.

You walked over to him and rested your hand on his new armor.

You knew what he did because of your affairs with the Gods and Goddesses themselves.

You looked at him, ‘Can you go on a walk with me?’

He agreed and you both started walking.

‘I know what you did. You aren’s the only one that see visions and Gods.’

Vax stopped in his tracks and looked at you, ‘I did it to save you. Nothing more.’

‘You lost part of your soul when you did that. That’s why you’re cold and distant now. Don’t worry. I used to be the same. I made a pact too. My feelings came back after I met you.’

Vax felt a rush of emotions come over him. He knew that he had someone to rely on now. He knew that you shared the pain he feels right now.

He hugged you tightly like you were going to disappear again. He let the tears flow as he held you. You held him back as he sobbed. You whispered to him that everything will be okay and that you will be there until the end.

At that point he knew for a fact, you were his soulmate. Be in life or amongst the Gods.

#vox machina #d&d 5e #x reader #dungeons and dragons #percy de rolo #percy de rolo x reader #percival de rolo #critical role #dragons #vax’ildan #vax x reader #tlovm vax smut #vaxildan #vax’ildan x reader #tlovm vax #tlovm x you

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vigilskeep · 9 months

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cadash who went to the conclave “on a job” but secretly was just looking for a circle mage she’d fallen in love with while trading black market lyrium. is that anything

#thinking thoughts dont mind me #i love um. vengeful lesbians

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narukyuu · 2 years

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People are being annoying on twitter again.

"CR LIED about c3 being accessible to new viewers!"

No. They didn't. It is.

Most of the people I see complaining about this are people who are NOT new viewers, and have most of the context new viewers are missing.

C3 is about new characters discovering the world of Exandria. They don't know the history, they don't know the people. A new viewer gets to explore this with those characters for the first time.

Are there references that new people won't get? Sure. Are they in any way relevant or important for understanding the story, the characters reactions to events and npcs, and history of the world as it is being told during this campaign?

No. They are not.

A new viewer might get confused as to why certain names get certain reactions from the players, but as a non-american I often get confused about a lot of references the cast makes that are intrinsically embedded in American culture - and that is about as relevant to me as a viewer as story references that I don't know about or remember.

On the other one, someone who DOES have context can see what new people are "missing", and to them is seems like context that is so important for the world that you couldn't possibly understand the story without it.

But it isn't.

A new viewer doesn't need to know who vox machina are, they don't need to know about the chroma conclave, they don't need to know about the Briarwoods or the Cerberus assembly in order to understand the things that are happening or the power struggles that are occuring presently in their time.

It's history. We got to experience it, the players got to experience it - but those characters didn't, and they are learning about it, and new people are learning with them.

That knowledge does give some added value, but so does being a new viewer and getting to experience those things for the first time, it gives you the option to form opinions divorced of what you think you know, and instead form them based on the facts presented to you currently.

The Taliesin showdown between Percy and Ashton is a great example of this.

People who know vox machina and know who Percy is, have a certain pov regarding this argument. We understand why Percy is being a butthole. But new people are going to see Ashton's pov more clearly, and experience Percy in a completely different way.

Same goes for Delilah in Laudna's case. If you don't know the story you get to find out the horror of it bit by bit, you get to watch the BH try to reason with her and consider if they might succeed and experience the fallout of that as a new experience. It's invaluable.

"C3 is just a marketing ploy for The Legend of Vox Machina!"

This is one of the most uncharitable takes I have seen and it's driving me nuts.

First of all - tlovm is not in any way oversaturated in cr's content. They shout it out when there is new information available and when they are just feeling excited about having their own cartoon series. Which is exciting. They are allowed to be freaking excited.

It's barely mentioned unless they have an announcement to make, they are not hiding secret messages to wash your brain to pay Amazon. They are promoting their twitch channel subscription more than anything else because that's where the content they want people to engage with is.

There is no heavy handed or out of place advertisements sending people to watch lovm, there is no information in lovm that you have to watch in order to figure out what happens in the rest of their content. It's just another depiction of the events that happened.

2 out of 7 PCs have connections to VM.

Laudna is one of, if not THE BEST concept for a character this season, and she would still be that if her trauma had nothing to do with VM at all. But they are playing in the same world where that happened, and it is freaking cool to use an event your previous character was part of as a motive for a new character. Players want to create cool ass characters.

Orym was a backup character for VAX. Liam had him forming in his brain ever since campaign 1. And he is finally getting to use him because Matt eased up on the "no connections to previous campaigns" rule.

If not for Laudna's death, we might have not even seen Keyleth for the entire campaign.

3rd - lovm does have an influence on c3. These people have been working on it, writing it, reliving their earlier games, seeing it all come to life in animation. Can you fucking blame them for being sentimental and wanting to visit those characters in game again? See how they grew and how they influenced the world?

I wish I get an opportunity to experience that one day.

It's crazy how much people want to stick CR into the "soulless corporation" box. How much they want to condemn CR for succeeding at building something creative and awesome that just gets better and goes up in quality with every consecutive year and -gasp- making some money off of it. How dare.

Remember when they released their copyright policy which was very lenient and gave people a lot more freedom than most policies of the same vein and copyright law in general and people lost their marbles because it was written in scary legalese and people thought CR was going to come after them for selling keychains? Fun times.

Just, over and over, finding the most uncharitable (and let's be honest, less probable) interpretations of actions and words and applying them indiscriminately.

It's grasping at straws to find a reason not to like them.

And, you know, you are allowed to not like them. You are allowed to prefer one of the older campaigns over the new one, you are allowed to prefer and watch any other actual play show.

Just maybe stop trying to make it seem like you are morally superior for it. You are exhausting.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #discourse #critical role campaign 3 #cr campaign 3 #cr discourse

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varina-has-a-gun · 3 months

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Do can druids get an infinite amount of animal products like milk and eggs, or does anything they produce just vanish after they wildshape back? Are the real con artists druid conclaves at a farmers market?

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 2 years

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Below you will find a (mostly) complete list of all the aus created here on my blog! Do you have an idea? Send me an ask about it! You can tip me on my ko-fi! (seriously y’all I’ve spent a lot of time on these aus so it’s really great to have my work appreciated!)

#happy ending au - The Raven Queen doesn't come for Vax, instead he's able to build a life with Keyleth after everything. (also on ao3)

#hunger games au - Pretty self explanitory, a vox machina hunger games au. (Do not send me asks or prompts based on this au)

#ballet au - The vox machina are members of a ballet company, this is mostly vaxleth and percahlia with a shit ton of angst but also some fluff (also on ao3)

#childhood friend au - What if Keyleth had met the twins before they left Byroden? This is mostly vaxleth, but also some percahlia

#twitch au - All of vox machina are twitch streamers, this is mostly fluff (but with occasional doses of angst)

#soulmate au - Soulmates can feel sensations from the other, pressure, pain, etc. vox machina

#medieval au - Keyleth is a princess and the rest of VM are knights/hunters/healers (also on ao3)

#percy’s deal au - Percy took the deal with the Raven Queen instead of Vax, giving his brother the remaining years of his life to spend with his family

#modern au - Pretty self explanatory, it features EMT Vax and farmer’s daughter Keyleth

#foster care au - A modern au where Percy and Cass are fostered by Kima and Allura after their family’s murder and grow up along side Keyleth.

#famers market au - Vax and Keyleth meet at a farmer’s market and she offers him and his sister a safe place after they run from Syldor. A few months later Percy wanders onto the farm covered in blood.

#firefighter au - All of vox machina are EMTs, firefighters, or social workers.

#bookstore au - Keyleth runs a small bookstore and Vax is working for the Clasp, things don't go well. (also m9 is here and forcibly adopting Keyleth)

#biker au - All of VM are bikers when Vax and Vex are forced to take in Velora.

#vampire vax au - Vax was turned into a vampire by Sylas.

#aasimar percy - Exactly what it sounds like

#lighthouse au - Vax gets sent to work at a remote lighthouse as a punishment but meets the very bubbly Keyleth, the daughter of the owner.

#arranged marriage au - Beau and Bren get married, Bren to find information about the Cobalt Soul and Beau to find out how to break Volstrucker programming.

#kiki and percy arranged marriage au - Keyleth and Percy get married and live in Zephrah and have a qpr

#kiki and percy childhood friend au - Keyleth and Percy are nextdoor neighbors and family friends born three weeks apart. They meet the rest of VM at a fancy private school.

#space au - A future version of Exandria is corrupted by magic and uninhabitable, Exandrians take to the stars. VM and M9

#paranormal au - Percy has always been sensitive to ghosts, something that comes in handy when he joins Vex and Vax's paranormal investigating team.

#lavish chateau au - Vex, Vax, Scanlan, and Grog are courtesans at the Cheateau.

#teacher au - All of VM are teachers at a public school, the M9 are some of their students.

#keyleth’s wife - Many years post VM, Keyleth finds love again in widowed Tempest Blade Elenora.

#rock band au - Vox Machina is a rock band.

#ashton de rolo au - As a teenager, Ashton was adopted by the de Rolos. Years later, he and Vesper joined the Bells Hells.

#werewolf kiki au - I mean, it's what it sounds like.

#four seasons au - All of VM represent different times of year.

#baby box au - Kaylie is left in the hospital as a baby with only a phone number, when NICU nurse Pike calls it, she finds her college friend Scanlan.

#dragon au - All of VM are dragons, the Chroma Conclave are an adventuring party trying to take over the world.

#age swap au - What if Percy and Cassandra’s ages were switched? Normally this au features 18 y/o Percy, Kid!Percy denotes him being 15.

#orym's baby au - A few years into their marriage, Orym and Will adopted a baby halfling girl.

#empire siblings neighbor au - Caleb is Beau’s tutor as she grows up, they lose touch when he’s taken to the Soltryce only for them to reunite as adults.

#surfing au - Keyleth, Pike, Grog, and Vex are all surfers while Vax is a lifeguard and Percy makes surfboards. Scanlan plays loud music on the beach.

#keyleth’s brother - What if Keyleth had an older brother?

#cassandra in vm au - Cassandra was the one to escape Whitestone instead of Percy.

#circus au - all of VM are circus performers

#once upon a time au - All of VM, M9, and BH are stuck in Storybrooke. With only Vesper and Vax to save them.

#royalty au - Vex and Vax are a prince and princess, the rest of VM are commoners who befriended the twins without knowing who they are.

#cassandra is julius's daughter au - exactly what it sounds like

#zombie apocalypse au - Exactly what it sounds like, VM

#broadway au - All of VM are broadway performers

#reincarnated au - Vax is brought back to life with a single purpose, to kill Keyleth

#fight club au - Inspired by Creator Clash, Keyleth is a boxer in an underground ring.

#wild west au - a cowboy retelling of the Chroma Conclave are

#cheerleading au - all of VM are cheerleaders on the same squad

#volstrucker au - Caleb is sent to kill Princess Jester of Nicodranas. She tries to break is programming

#siren au - Vex is a siren and she draws Percy in, but falls for him before she can kill him

#pixie hallow au - all of VM are pixie hallow faries

#byroden au - Percy goes to Byroden after his family was killed

If you want to request that I write any fics in in these aus, or any fics in general, please refer to this post about my request guidelines before sending anything in And if you want to write a fic in any of my aus or based on any of my headcanons, all I ask is you credit me with the idea/au and tag me or link to my blog if you post on Tumblr. And if you post it on ao3 please list it as a related work if it's an au I've already written or link to my Tumblr or AO3 page here’s the link to a post with the rest of the aus tagged, this should make it easier to find all the posts for each au!

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isagrimorie · 11 months

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For my own personal files and resource, I decided to compile Star Trek timeline relevant to Seven of Nine and the Star Trek Picard timeline.

/Edited Jun 13 8:30PM

2344 - Stardate 25479. Annika Hansen is born to Erin and Magnus Hansen in the Tendara Colony.

2350 - The Hansens go to the Delta Quadrant and shadow the Borgs.

2355 - Annika Hansen is assimilated and becomes a Borg.

2353 - April 9: Raffi Musiker is born on Earth.

2368 - Seven of Nine and other drones from her Unimatrix crash land. Seven forcibly reassimilates her fellow Unimatrix drones to return to the Collective with her.

2374 - Seven is severed from the Collective and becomes part of the Voyager crew.

2375 - Raffi becomes security officer on Starbase 39

2378 - Voyager returns Home to Alpha Quadrant with the help of Admiral Janeway from a now alternate future.

2379 - Raffi is assigned as Romulan Affairs Analyst in Starfleet Intelligence. Captain William Riker takes command of USS Titan (Luna Class) together with Counselor Deanna Troi.

2380 - Romulans discover their sun will go supernova soon and the Romulan Star Empire requests help from the United Federation of Planets.

In the upcoming Seven of Nine novels, Firewall. Starfleet continued to reject Seven's application to Starfleet. Despite Janeway's recommendation to bring Seven of Nine and even threatens to resign from Starfleet if they won't accept Seven. After two years Seven decides to join Fenris Rangers.

2381 - Raffi starts work with Jean Luc Picard as First Officer.

2385 - Thad Troi-Riker is born.

- April. Utopia Planitia is attacked. Synth ban is enacted. The Federation plan to help Romulan Empire is abandoned. - Picard resigns in protests. Raffi is left in the dust because of this action. She continues her investigations about Tal Shiar, Zhat Vash, and the Conclave of Eight.

Around this time Seven gets romantically involved with Jay, who was helping out the Fenris Rangers. Unknown to Seven that she's actually a Black Market fencer. Real name: Bjayzl.

2386 - Icheb is captured and dies.

- Raffi asked to be dishonorably discharged.

2387 - Ambassador Spock tries to save Romulus Prime. Romulus Prime explodes.

2396 - Captain Liam shaw takes command of USS Titan. The Titan was badly damaged and is reconstructed and redesigned mid-refit. Using the Luna class frame USS Titan-A becomes the Neo-Constitution III Class.

2398 - USS Titan was pulled from service after getting heavy casualties. Under Riker Titan and its crew stabilized the Beta Quadrant.

2399 - Dhaj, Soji’s sister is attacked and contacts Picard

- Seven finally avenges Icheb. Tracks down and kills Bjayzl.

- Hugh is killed, and Seven is summoned to the Artifact. Seven pilots the Artifact out of Romulan space and lands the Artifact on Coppelius for the remaining xBs to live in.

- Raffi's conspiracy theory is proven RIGHT. Zhat Vash conspiracy to destroy the Synthetic citizens of Coppelius.

- Late 2399 Raffi and Seven begin their on again and off again relationship.

- Events of No Man's Land happen with Seven and Raffi.

- Rios is reinstated in Starfleet, and becomes Captain of the Stargazer. Rios gives/sold La Sirena to Seven.

- Raffi regains her commission for Starfleet Intelligence and is immediately dropped into the situation in Ordeve. (Star Trek Picard: Second Self).

2400 - Raffi joins Starfleet Academy as an instructor, Elnor joins Starfleet as a cadet.

2401 - Raffi and Elnor join the Excelsior.

- The events of season 2 kicks off. A new transwerp is born, Jurati Borg requests to join the Federation.

- Rios decides to stay in 2024.

- Seven receives a field commission as captain and briefly commands The Stargazer.

- Janeway and Picard leans on Starfleet Command to make the commission official. Starfleet Command gives Seven full Commander rank and assigns Commander Seven of Nine to USS Titan.

- Frontier Day / The Borg Attack. USS Titan-A led by Captain Seven of Nine (field promotion) and Commander Raffi Musiker engages the Borg infected Starfleet Armada in defense of Earth and Spacedock. Enterprise-D crew finally destroys the original Borg Queen.

2402 - USS Titan-A is fixed and rechristened into the Starfleet Flagship: Enterprise-G, captained by Captain Seven of Nine with First Officer, Commander Raffi Musiker. They launch for a Shakedown cruise.

These are the adventures of the Starship Enterprise...

#star trek #star trek: picard #star trek voyager #seven of nine #raffi musiker #timeline #star trek timeline

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bugpysforge · 6 months

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Butterfree takes Ranger levels as an extra class to help with her shady endeavours. She directs bee swarms away from their hives and towards her farm for the black market.

Race: Fairy Class: Ranger Subclass: Swarmkeeper Conclave Location: Postwick Farm Alignment: Neutral Evil

View the pokedex of all dungeon pokemon by following the link in the menu.

#Butterfree #Fairy #Ranger #Swarmkeeper Conclave #Neutral Evil #farmlands #plains #Gigantamax Butterfree #pokemon #dnd pokemon #pokemon dnd #fan art #dnd #dungeons and dragons #hero forge #hero forge minis

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aardvark-123 · 20 days

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Drathyna visits the Bruma Fighters Guild Hall, and is hired to put up posters.

Drathyna visits the Bruma Synod Conclave. It might not have been a good time.

Drathyna despairs over what "Tamrielic Grass" has done to Bruma's market.

Drathyna peers up at Frostcrag Spire.

Drathyna finds Wisp Stalk Caps.

"What's that, Meeko? You're saying I have draugr on my face?"

Drathyna has a much-needed bath in the Jerall View Inn.

Drathyna goes to bed.

#the Elder Scrolls #Skyrim #Beyond Skyrim #fun with pixels #gaming

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blorbologist · 2 years

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(first of all I'm so sorry you missed your flight) but ALSO Keyleth/Vax/Gil? Any fluffy comfort for them would be absolutely incredibleeeee

“You need a vacation,” Keyleth declares. Corrects: “Really need a vacation.”

Gilmore’s Glorious Goods is… well. Not glorious, devoid of goods. It’s pretty much just Gilmore, right now, in a ruin of an office. He’s leaning back to smile at them, but the disarray of his hair speaks to resting his face in his palms, to running his fingers through the rich length of it.

Vax swallows heavily - he knows he looks worried as hell and doesn’t bother to hide it.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gilmore agrees, beating the sound out of himself. “After all this? I’m sleeping for a week.”

“No after,” says Vax, skirting around a pile of what might have once been a chaise. “Now.”

Gilmore grimaces. Gestures, broad and generous, to the neat disaster of notes haloing his workspace. The stack of his wares recovered from Thordak’s hoard, with new additions carefully sorted to the side. “Love - I have so much to do. Not just for my franchise - I am not nearly that selfish - but for Emon. Some of this could be useful for rebuilding, or resettling, and I-”

Keyleth sits herself on the desk, interrupting the trajectory of his hand reaching for another stack of papers. Gilmore scoffs - exasperated, affectionate - as she tilts her head.

“There are a lot of people working on this,” she says, “and only Allura was also super busy during the war with the Conclave. She’s got Kima looking after her - let us look after you? Please?”

“I’m undoing the please,” Vax adds, a hand on Gilmore’s shoulder. “We’re stealing you away, Shaun.”

“Oh?” A luxurious brow quirks up with the tilt of his mouth - for all his protests, Gilmore is certainly enjoying the attention. Bastard. “To where, then?”

Vax glances to Keyleth. It takes her a moment to catch that Gilmore’s agreeing and smile wide. “Zephrah!” she declares. “It’s absolutely great this time of year - any time of year, really - and I think you need, y’know. A little fresh air.”

“Whitestone’s air was lovely,” Gilmore teases.

Vax shrugs. “Still had that tang of undead. A good whiff of dragon, too. And a lot of pressure, there - on you and us.”

He offers Gilmore his hand. The overture is accepted, used to haul Gilmore up and into a brief hug. Keyleth hops down to take the free hand (Vax loves the contrast of it - Gilmore’s dark, broad, soft fingers with Keyleth’s pale, fine ones), beginning to tug both men away.

“C’mon - I know just the tree to use, and I can ask it to keep an eye - roots? - out just in case.”

Gilmore pauses. Looks back at the ruins of his shop. It wouldn’t be noticed, except he’s in the middle of their little chain, so Keyleth stumbles and Vax bumps into his side.

Shaun is good at hiding his hurts and fears. Or, no - he makes them marketable, highlights and uses them as a shrewd businessman should. So the unguarded pain in him, as he takes in the corpse of his livelihood, of years of work, slips into Vax’s chest to pierce his heart.

(Not unlike a dagger.)

“Everything important will still be here when you get back,” Keyleth promises, quiet. Squeezes his hand.

“I know,” Gilmore sighs. “I know. Doesn’t change that this is how I’m leaving it.”

“Not for long,” Vax vows, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The beard curls against his chin, trying to pull him close. “Not long, okay?”

Gilmore smiles at both of them in turn. “Right - right. Yes - now, let’s get some of that TLC, shall we?”

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxmore #vaxilmore #SORRY FOR TAGGING BOTH INDIVIDUAL SHIPS idk if this trio has a common name?#keyleth x vax x gilmore #airplane saga #fic prompt #my writing

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flowerandblood · 3 months

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The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Aemond as a Pope Edit

Series Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

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