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toji-girl · 2 months

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confessions | priest! s. geto

synopsis: He made a vow to God and was serious about keeping it, he never wanted to stray off the path of righteousness until he met you who he swore was a demon sent to seduce and tempt him, so he has to make sure you're not.

wc: 6.9k

tags: dark content + please heed this before reading +18+ ONLY content + minors and empty blogs DNI + modern au + repost from my old blog + this has been beta read + lots of religious themes because he’s a Priest and lots of sex talk and thinking about it + praising + sacrilegious themes + anthropolatry + body worship + virgin! Suguru (virginity loss) + corruption kink + desecration + sex in a confessional booth + edging + overstimulation + Father being used inappropriately + Satoru x you + Toji x you, breeding + female and male masturbation + fingering + spitting + dirty talking + unprotected sex + creampie + teasing + spanking + squirting + fellatio + dirty talking + cunnilingus + gagging obsessive behavior from Suguru and you + stalking + voyeurism + non-consensual recording + any missing tag lmk!

AN: this was posted such a long time ago but it has been heavily rewritten and edited - this was for a collab, can't remember who it was, but I know it was for this theme and after seeing a fanart of Suguru as a priest, and since he won my poll I knew he would fit this! he might be ooc to some so please remember!!

If anyone were to pass by Suguru’s office late at night they would hear the soft prayers, him begging God to stop the thoughts that were plaguing his mind over you, the woman who wormed her way into his brain like some sort of parasite, or perhaps you were a test designed to see if he would fail.

It was immoral the way he thought about how soft your body would feel underneath him. and it sure didn’t help when you came to Church dressed in your Sunday best, a tight dress that gave everyone just a hint of what lies beneath the cheap fabric.

You flaunted what God gave you. Well, that’s what you told Suguru when he raised an eyebrow, eyes roamed your body settling on your legs, legs that he thought about wrapped around his head more than once.

You haunted his dreams, soon bleeding into his daily thoughts when he was awake. Even in prayer, he would trail off thinking about you kneeling like the good girl you are under his desk, his cock slapping against your tongue in the most sinful ways, those thoughts would earn him more prayers.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, please, I just want to know how she would taste. That is all.”

Shame filled the priest as he stared into the mirror, looking at his dick throbbing under his cassock. Blood rushed to his cheeks when he hiked up the fabric, palming his erection wishing to God you were there.

It was something to relieve the tingle sitting heavy in his balls. Another thought of you on your knees, mouth open, tongue out and covered in his cum, your eyes glittering with the knowledge you corrupted him and a smile to boot.

Thoughts like his filled your head too as you humped your pillow or when you invited Toji over, your father’s friend and another member of the Church who often comes to your place to have you ride her strap, over and over again like the sinner you are.

You wanted to cry out your priest’s name instead when you finally came, pussy pulsing around Toji’s cock, it would be such a shame if Suguru could see you now; mouth hanging open, drool trickling down your chin with your fingers gripping on the leather fabric of the couch asking Toji to call you a bad girl and punish you because you deserve it, and who was he to disagree? After all, you’re sleeping with everyone but him.

Here Toji was fucking his best friend’s daughter, his fingers pinching your waist, slamming you back against him, and the way your back arched more into it, mewling like a cat in heat. It was a weekly occurrence letting him cum inside you, the feeling you soon became obsessed with.

Neither of you spoke about it, especially as you sat next to him the next morning, feeling your panties dampen from the quickie you had earlier in his car in the parking lot. He liked to keep his hand on your knee when no one was paying attention, or so he thought.

Suguru kept his eyes trained on you whenever you were around, but he never made it obvious, taking only small glances to make sure you weren’t doing anything that would get you in trouble.

Little does he know about the nights you would stay to pray for your sins, asking God to forgive you for the vile things you do only for you to get fucked on the pews by Toji who helped you light the candle and say a prayer for what just happened. It was a fun game you played with him, but your main focus was Suguru.

It was abominable to say the least, how your fingers ghosted over your clit at night, thinking of him above you, pinning your wrists down, grunting whilemercilessly drilling your needy cunt until you couldn’t think straight anymore.

It was an everyday thought that swam through your empty head. Most people called you airheaded but it was only because you thrived off the attention from the males who watched your eyelashes bat and lips pucker, crossing your arms over your chest, the attention was nice.

A tooth-rotting “Please?” was all it would take, especially for Toji who was quick to spread your legs and hike up your dress, pressing his tongue against your clit, feeling it throb in need, and watching your legs shake after the orgasm he just gave you, cum covering your thighs.

You felt wet and sticky as you sat down crossing your legs, listening to Suguru perform his sermon. His words flowed through one ear and out of the other, shifting in your seat, uncrossing just at the right time to let him get an eyeful of your soaked panties, making all his blood rush to his cock, so he had to excuse himself shortly afterward so he could go into his office and wrap his fist tightly around his shaft, fucking his hand as his life depended on it.

At first, he let his mind go blank, but then visions of you on his desk with your legs spread open, handcuffs on your wrists, and connecting to the ones on your ankles invaded his mind. That was exactly the way he wanted you to be. All the depraved things you could think of, Suguru had already thought of.

He lay down each night thinking of you before he fell asleep. All he wanted to do was cum in you once, feel your warm tight pussy milking him dry from all that he has to offer. The thought of you being a demon crossed his mind once when he first met you a few months ago. Your parents spoke about you after his services showing off your pictures.

His eyes slightly widened, taking in how beautiful you are. It was a shock when the first dirty idea popped into his head. Suguru dedicated his life to being a man of God, but the mere thought of hearing your moans brought him to his knees.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. Your parents told me all about you.” Was the first thing he told you months prior, reaching for your hand, shaking it softly while holding your curious gaze. The glitter in your eyes made him look twice in awe and wonder what that twinkle was.

It was the first time he thought about you being possessed because that’s the only way you would have such power over him from just one look, using your demonic charms on him, enticing him by wearing your short dresses, laying the charm on thick in order to seduce him.

For a response you giggled, looking sweetly at him, and his body reacted immediately to the sound of your voice, sending a shiver down his spine. And it was worse whenever he got a whiff of your perfume, following you like a dog, trying to ask you questions that seemed friendly.

All conversations never passed inappropriate because he wouldn’t want to be perceived as anything but an upstanding man of the Church, but that never stopped him cumming on his stomach and whimpering while fucking his fist, your name slipping out in breathy moans.

If Suguru heard you make the same noises he would surely cum on the spot, sending himself into overstimulation.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to pray away the guilt. It’s all wrong, and he knows it, but it’s human nature is what he tells himself when you come into his office on Sundays after service, holding a small bouquet of flowers that grows around town.

“Father? I just wanted to come in and say thank you for everything. You’ve shown me the light and I wanted to show you my gratitude.” You told him in a soft voice watching as Suguru leaned back smiling, holding his hand out.

“Come in. And thank you, that is very kind of you. How are you holding up with your job?” He asked curiously.

You sat across from him crossing your legs. “Thank you for asking, it’s been going well so far.”

It wasn’t unusual of him to ask you questions in small increments, hoping to learn your schedule. He just wanted to get to know you better.

Or was his behavior borderline something darker? Perhaps.

Maybe it was creepy to do so, but it wasn’t something he dwelled on for long before thinking of you bouncing on his cock, your hands on his shoulders struggling to take him all in at first, your whining about how big he is stroking his ego, sending his hips upward, impaling you deeper.

That was his favorite fantasy, that played over and over in his head like a movie until he noticed the way you sat closer to Toji, ghosting his knee with yours or the way you smiled so sweetly for him. Why don’t you smile for your Father like that? The thought enraged him at first because instead of him fucking you it was Toji.

Anger filled Suguru like hot liquid pouring into his veins. And he felt sick to his stomach every time he heard you giggling while grabbing Toji’s arm, looking at him with doe eyes.

There was nothing to be done about that, and still, he didn’t have an inkling that you made a late-night stop at the adult store looking for a dildo that would resemble what you think his dick looks like, pretty with a red flushed tip, thick and heavy, veins decorating the long shaft and heavy balls made for breeding that swung with each thrust of his hips. It was only that thought that made you achieve the blissful feeling of your climax.

You wanted to know what sounds he made when he came, knowing full well he’s never fucked anyone but his hand. The thought of corrupting him was exciting to you.

You waved and smiled at Suguru before sitting next to Toji. “Am I coming over tonight?” He asked, leaning in and whispering in your ear. You turned to him, giving his knee the same friendly squeeze.

“Yes, be at my place at eight.”

The only reason you still let Toji come over and fuck you is so you use your dildo later, pretending it was Suguru, fucking his cum back in your sloppy pussy. Something about the whole thing was a bit off, but you didn’t care when thinking of all the ways you could make Suguru confess his sins to you.

Your mind ran wild all during service, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, resisting the urge to stick your hand between your legs, which would be frowned upon to do in Church, no less during service.

Later that night, you were on your back, with Toji on top of you panting and drooling over you like a dog. “Do you like that?” He grunted, holding your waist, kneading the flesh with rough hands. You cringed hearing him talk like that, his hands moving up to your breasts squishing them, movements growing sloppy. Your head hung off the side of the bed fisting the sheets.

Suguru watched the scene unfold in front of your living room window on the opposite side of the wall. Another strike off the list of things he never thought he would do. It wasn’t something he would ever admit out loud, too scared that someone would hear with their prying ears. Besides, you were supposed to be at your friend’s house.

That’s what he heard you tell your parents earlier when you declined their invitation for dinner, so stumbling upon this sight was the last thing that he expected.

Suguru accidentally found your address going through the visitor log you signed with your new address, finally out from under your parent’s roof after moving back home. That’s what he told himself, that finding out where you live just slipped up. No one would question him.

A frown tugged down his lips, watching the way your face showed nothing but boredom almost, not the look Suguru imagined when you were getting fucked. Was it him you thought about with each bounce of your body from Toji’s thrusts? There was no way that he was pleasuring you the way that Suguru could.

His eyes traveled down your naked body, zeroing in on the way his friend held your breasts, pushing them together. A groan escaped his lips, followed by pink-tinged cheeks as he walked past your window, keeping his raven head down.

Each Sunday you were sure to bring cookies of all sorts, and at every bake sale you helped set up, you captured the hearts of everyone, cooing about how sweet you are, dedicating time to do this.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I admire Father Geto and everything he stands for so I’m more than glad to help.” That always earned you brownie points and the, “Aw, that’s very precious of you.”

Would they say how precious you are if they found you on your knees in the closet with another member of the church?

Satoru loved when you held his wrist, dragging him in the cramped space, pressing his body against the wall, digging your manicured nails in the flesh of his thighs, relishing in the hissing sound he made driving his cock down your throat, gagging around him, earning the praise that you were so desperate to hear.

“Good girl. Just like that.” He moaned, grabbing a handful of your hair to anchor himself, watching his spit-covered cock slide in and out of your mouth, your eyes glassy playing with your clit under the skirt you wore just for him per his request. You didn’t pull away with a wet pop of your lips until you swallowed as much as you could.

Satoru was always quick to help you get on your feet, flipping up your skirt, making it easier for him to bend you over, fucking you from behind, filling not only your mouth but your cunt as well with a load of his cum.

Another prayer was said when you stepped out of the closet, bidding Satoru a farewell kiss before rounding the corner, and running straight into Suguru. You reached for his arms, steadying yourself. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back and his spicy scent that filled your nostrils made your pussy clench, pushing out Satoru’s cum, and smearing it against your panties.

“I didn’t know you were still here Father. I’m sorry.” You said bowing your head. Suguru chuckled, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“No worries. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I was just looking over the plans for tomorrow’s potluck. I’m making your favorite cookies. It’s still chocolate chip, right?” You asked batting those eyelashes of yours and those lips were perfectly pouty.

“Ah. Yes, it is. You have a good memory.” This ache sparked in his hand, wanting to reach out to feel how you felt under his touch. Were you thinking the same thing as you stared at him, eyes still glossy from the tears of your previous encounter?

“Father, I think I need to confess something.” Your voice came out as a whisper, stepping forward wrapping your fingers around the hidden rosary beads under his collar and pulling it free.

Suguru opened his mouth to answer but you were quicker. “Ah, Father. I was talking. I hope you weren’t going to interrupt me?” You asked mockingly, pursing your lips, forming a small pout. He shook his head watching your sticky lips from the smeared lip gloss and spit.

“Can I come and confess next Sunday?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Have a blessed night.” He grabbed his rosary from your fingers’ hold, careful not to touch you before tucking it back in his collar, leaning down with a slight smirk, “next time you attempt to touch me I’ll be sure to tie your wrists down.”

You could hear him chuckle to himself walking down the hallway, mentally giving himself a point.

It was shameless the way he flirted with you, but it felt freeing, giving the both of you masturbation material for later in the evening, him fucking his fist again in the shower, leaning against the wall, panting loudly, face screwed up in pleasure as he stood under the warm water, feeling it wash the soap away while your name spilled from his mouth, his hips stuttered spraying cum all over the tile grunting.

While you lay on your bed replaying the scene again, you thrust the dildo slowly, curling your toes, whining Suguru’s name, and arching your back. The need to have him between your legs lapping at your pussy, made you ache all over like the flu, hot and stiff muscles, mewling, trying to chase your orgasm, feeling the familiar sensation snap, sending your cunt into overdrive, pulsing around the toy.

Suguru woke each morning, adding an extra prayer when he looked in the mirror, getting ready. “I only want one thing, that’s to hear her whimper.”

It was sinful in many ways, the way he begged for just a scrap of something other than the polite tone you use with him. Everyone greeted him with a smile, only earning a meager wave and a solemn look on his face, but whenever he looked at you, his face lit up, and each time he prayed that nobody paid attention.

His only thought was you, it wasn’t just about the ways he wanted to have you, it was also how you were doing, the consuming thought of you in your kitchen, making his favorite cookies. It wasn’t something you had to do, but he’s been nothing but nice to you, and now with the promise of him tying your hands together lingering in the air, you were ready to do whatever it took.

Sunday morning, you were sure to wear the color that attracted his attention the most, white. A sign of you being pure and innocent, but he knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t a secret to him anymore, after him watching Toji fuck you on your couch, and after hearing Satoru confess about the quickie you two had the other day, when he thought that no prying ears were around.

Later that evening he heard you click the door shut and sit down, fixing your skirt. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.” You began, clearing your throat and glancing over at the wooden window, through the small holes, watching him squirm in his seat. This is it, you thought, it’s all or nothing.

“I’ve been having premarital sex with two men. They attend the church. You know them. Toji Fushiugro and Satoru Gojo. I let Toji bend me over the pews a few times, holding my hips as he stretched me out with his cock. Then I would get on my knees for Satoru.” If you were to confess this to another priest, they would gasp, hearing the lewd way you describe your deeds, but not Suguru.

Your mind was running wild with the thoughts of your story. “Father? What should I do?” You whimpered, gripping your skirt, and rubbing your knees together.

“Touch yourself.” Suguru groaned, his voice straining to keep his composure. He shouldn’t be asking you such a thing for more than one reason.

You smiled and gasped loud enough for him to hear, feigning to be shocked by his request, but you obliged nonetheless without the slightest resistance, making his prayer come true. He heard the wood creak underneath you as you spread your legs, guiding your finger to your clit to rub the swollen bud with your middle finger.

“You want me to touch myself, Father? Should I slide my fingers inside? Do you want to hear how wet you make me?”

His cock twitched heavily in his pants running his palm over the bulge. “Y-yes, keep going.” He instructed hoarsely. Following his order, you splayed your lips open gathering your slick easily, thrusting your middle and index finger in your cunt, the wet sound filled the small booth.

The faster you went the harder Suguru’s cock got, aching to the point of pain. “Father, can I cum?” You were asking him for permission? The pure feeling he got coursing through his body tingled all throughout.

“Did you think about me when you were fucking them?” He asked, shutting his eyes.

“I did, yes. And when they left, I fucked myself with the dildo I bought after thinking of how big you were, stuffing their cum deeper in me, wishing it was you instead.” You whined softly wanting him to touch you.

Oh, this was much better than anything he’s ever experienced. It was a sin, but hearing you play with yourself next to him, everything that happened leading up to this point was worth it.

“S’close,” You moaned, grazing your fingertips against the abused swollen bud, triggering your orgasm and prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and; forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

“Amen,” Suguru muttered, feeling his balls release, sending thick ropes of cum in his boxers, covering his thighs making a mess.

“Say your Hail Mary before you go to sleep.”

You chucked checking a point off for yourself. “Goodnight Father. I’ll be sure to think of you tonight.” You told him, opening his door, sliding just your hand in, setting your panties on his knee, and giving him a soft pat. “I’ve masturbated in these to you many times.” With that, you left the booth heading home to say your Hail Marys.

Another week of misery. Your moaning playing on a loop in his head. Many times he almost slipped mid-conversation whenever you walked by him, letting his mind and eyes wander, and hoped that it wasn’t obvious to whoever he was talking to at the moment.

It wasn’t usual for him to catch you washing dishes after a potluck for someone’s birthday. “Thank you for staying and helping with the dishes,” Suguru told you, walking into the kitchen. “Father, good evening.” You smiled, glancing up at him from the sink, elbow-deep in dishwater. A smile stretched his lips back. Stepping further in, he walked around the counter, leaning against the edge, grabbing the dish towel, and drying the dishes you washed.

“How are you feeling since your last confession?” He asked in a low voice.

“I’m feeling a lot better. I plan on being back next Sunday at the same time. I’ve been very naughty Father.” You whispered looking at him.

Suguru’s cock throbbed watching you lick your lips. “How should I repent?” You asked, leaning forward, taking note of his rapid pulse.

“Say another Hail Mary and don’t touch yourself until your next confession.”

“That’s going to be tough.” You pouted, draining the water and then wiping your wet hands over your shirt, soaking the see-through fabric.

“Does that mean someone else can touch me?”

Suguru shook his head, still holding the plate in his hand leaning in as you did the same. “No. You can keep celibate for me, can you not?”

“Yes, Father.” You nodded, trying to swallow the lump that formed in your throat, the tension so thick it was beginning to become harder to breathe, being this close to him. Maybe an inch closer and your lips would press against his, and your cunt would graze his thigh, releasing some of the pressure building between your legs.

“Good girl.” Suguru pulled back, setting the dish towel down. “Have a good night.” He called out before leaving you alone to collect your thoughts, a heavy sigh accompanied with a soft whine left your lips leaning against the counter. You debated calling Satoru for a quickie, he didn’t live far from your apartment so it wouldn’t take him long to get there and help you out, but the thought of Suguru calling you a good girl played repeatedly in your head.

It wasn’t long before you broke your promise, letting Satoru lick your clit, his fingers splaying you open, both legs thrown over his shoulders, emitting loud slurping noises from eating you like a starved man, long fingers digging in your sensitive cunt.

Today you were greedy with how many orgasms you could get, so far you hit three just with his mouth. “Are you still cumming sweetheart?” Satoru asked, pulling away and looking up at you, chin glistening from spit and cum, reminding you of the last time you sucked him off. “Satoru, please, fuck me!” You whined wrapping your fingers around his biceps.

Your pussy hugged him tightly with each drag of his cock splitting you open, his fingers in the tender meat of your thighs keeping them spread apart. Each time his hips slammed against your ass your eyes rolled to the back of your head. When your eyes closed you imagined Suguru over you grunting instead, sweat rolling down his back rutting into you, over and over again, making you cream around him.

By now Satoru knew the routine, leaving with a small awkward hug, his feelings growing deeper for you each time you shed your clothes for him, but he didn’t know about your obsession with Suguru, nor about how it was growing deeper with each passing day. Toji also shared the same feelings as Satoru.

It was hard not to. The way you treated them so sweetly and of course, everyone else too. Sure you were a little empty-headed, but that didn’t matter each time you bounced on their cocks.

No other girl would dare do something so vile, ruining their chance of getting a good husband, but you didn’t care, because the feeling of an orgasm was something that couldn’t be compared to something such as exchanging rings.

You said your prayers every morning and night, to disperse the feeling of guilt nipping at your ankles, it was wrong to defile yourself and all your beliefs, but in the end, you’re only a person with needs.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself anyway, sliding up your skirt in the bathroom stall, pulling your panties down, and letting Toji thrust in you later that afternoon.

His hands are on your waist holding you against the wall, rutting in you. It was fruitless at this point, having him or Satoru fuck you, your face giving away the boredom you felt. Toji cleared his throat as he pulled out. “You know, you could seem a little bit interested.” He said clearly pissed that you weren’t even acting like you liked it.

“I’m sorry,” You replied, putting your hands on his shoulders. “I’ve been going through a lot lately, but why don’t you give me a call later?” With a chaste kiss on his cheek, you left him in the bathroom stall after pulling your panties up, walking out frowning. There was this pit in your stomach that was slowly growing bigger, it first started when you met Suguru, and now months later, all your thoughts were of him.

Everything about this whole situation was wrong. You knew it but it never stopped you.

Sunday evening, you opened the booth, settling on the creaky wooden bench, a heavy sigh emitting from your lips. Suguru placed his hands in his lap waiting for you to begin. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was a week ago.”

He wouldn’t admit to knowing that you sinned after shamelessly watching you pump your dildo in and out of your wet cunt, learning that you were a squirter.

The only reason he knew that was because after his plan was hindered the other night by you being home, he chose another time to come back. Luckily, the neighborhood you live in is not very frequented, so no one saw him creep in and out of your house. Unbeknownst to you, he installed cameras all over your house, obsessed with knowing how you spent your days, and how, and with who, you spent your nights.

It wasn’t the first time that he masturbated to you, but unlike the other times, now he could actually see you, and there was something about invading your privacy that aroused him beyond comprehension, it felt so wrong and yet so right.

He never came so hard before, shooting thick ropes of cum everywhere, feeling like he was about to pass out from the intensity of his orgasm. Weak and panting, it wasn’t long before he drifted to sleep, hand, and chest still covered in sweat, spit, and cum.

“I touched myself, and I let them touch me again. Their fingers and tongues fucking me. I wished it was your cock I was on instead. Your cum filling my cunt, leaking out, and making a mess. Would you fuck me, Father?” Your last sentence came out whiny, as you spread your legs stroking your cunt.

Suguru’s breath trembled as he copied your actions, before grinding the heel of his palm against his erection. “I would.” He admitted with a heavy sigh.

Your fingers slipped in your cunt, curling. There was no way it would bring you the pleasure that you truly craved. “I want you to touch me, please. What do you think I feel like?” You asked, wanting to hear him submit to your sinful ways.

“Your skin, soft and supple. Your pussy, wet and warm, pulsing around my cock. Your mouth, the same way as I fuck your throat.”

His words felt like an electric shock coursing through your blood, pooling in your cunt, making your walls restrict your fingers, on the verge of an orgasm already, your breathing becoming erratic.

“It usually takes you a while to climax, doesn’t it?” He asked, bunching the fabric of his cassock in his free hand, the other wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly, edging himself.

“I-it does yes, but when I envision you, I usually cum right then.” You were quick to admit it, but he would be lying if he said that the same thing didn’t happen to him. Thinking of his face between your breasts tightened his balls.

“Tell me, what do you think about in these fantasies, when thinking about us?” He asked stroking his dick from base to tip making sure to twist his wrist.

“How your cock would feel inside. I think you have the biggest one I could lay my eyes on, and it’s thick too. Just tell me if I’m right Father, because I’m imagining the way I would struggle to take you all the way in, squealing, splitting myself open on you. And when you climax, it’s a lot and very thick coming from heavy balls made to breed, would you like to do that? Pump all your cum inside my pretty pussy? Holding my hips down, making sure that I keep still so every drop isn’t wasted?”

Words couldn’t formulate in his brain, drunk on the thought of what you just described, burned into his mind. He never thought about having children after his vow of celibacy, but now, it was all he could think about. Your whimpers grew louder, echoing through the empty Church as you neared your orgasm.

“Stop!” Suguru demanded, roughly surprising you as he stood up unbuttoning his cassock and then heading to your booth. There was no stopping what was going to happen next. Both of you have been waiting for this moment since the first time you laid eyes on each other.

Your eyes widened, taking in his naked chest. It was visible that he has broad shoulders, but what you didn’t think about was how he still stayed in shape. Saliva pooled in the corner of your mouth as it hung open. Greedy hands tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock hearing how it slap against his abs.

“I was right, thick and long.” You murmured watching him kick the door shut leaning his arm against the wall above your head while looking down at your fingers wrapping around his shift.

Suguru chuckled darkly, yanking your shirt up, freeing your tits. “No bra… Did you think tonight was the night you seduced me?” He asked, bucking his hips at your touch, a small whimper leaving his mouth.

You laughed, looking up at him. “Seduce and corrupt you Father. It’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Has it now? Why-” He was cut off, feeling your lips wrap around his head, tongue curling under the most sensitive part, suckling, your hand cupping his balls gently, squeezing them. Suguru’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, digging his nails in the palm of his hand when you went further down, struggling to take him.

Slowly you bobbed your head up and down, keeping your fist wrapped around him, jerking him off, adding more drool making it easier and messier.

You gagged, feeling tears spring to your eyes. Looking up, you saw the look of sheer pleasure gracing his face, the sounds of you slurping around him roaring in his ears. It was so much better than his hand, your soft mouth warm and tight, the best thing he’s ever fucked.

He watched you pull away with a wet pop of your lips, using your spit as lube to jerk him off, pressing your thumb over his slit, slightly pressing in.

“Am I doing a good job, Father?” You asked, batting your eyelashes, glancing up. Suguru nodded his head, groaning.

“You are, but I want a taste of you now.”

It was a sight to see him drop to his knees in front of you, putting both hands on your knees, pushing your legs open, your bare pussy on display like a meal for him to devour. But before that happened, Suguru wanted to take his time. Setting the mood, pressing small kisses, he grabbed your ankle, letting your foot dangle off his shoulder.

You watched his lips leave a wet trail up your thighs, ghosting across your pussy, barely fluttering his tongue over your clit, kissing the same places down your other leg. He chuckled, feeling you squirm under his touch. “What’s so funny?” You pouted.

“I’ve barely touched you and I see your cunt dripping.”

You sucked a breath between your teeth, feeling him spread your lips apart, looking at the innermost part of your pussy, your arousal very apparent, coating your thighs and the bench below your ass.

“I’ve thought about what my cum would look like leaking from all of your holes. Have you ever let a man fuck that tight ass?” He asked, moving his hand away, trailing the tip of his finger up and down your slit, groaning as he watched the way you clenched around nothing.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Good. I’ll be the first then, but we’ll save that for later. For now, I can’t wait to know what your cunt tastes like.” He growled, wrapping his arms under and around your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulder, burying his tongue in your cunt, eagerly lapping, completely ignoring your fingers tugging on his blonde roots, and grinding against his mouth.

At this point it was no longer for you, he was eating you for his own pleasure.

Cum soaked his thigh, as he came desperately trying to fit his tongue in your tight hole. “Father!” You moaned, squeezing his head with your thighs, humping his face as you grabbed two handfuls of his long hair.

Suguru slid two fingers inside you, slowly pumping while wrapping his tongue around your clit, working both of them together, feeling you clench around him. This is better than his fantasies, he thought, finally hearing you moan for him, begging for release.

Pulling out he watched your clit throb from the orgasm that he ripped away. “Why did you stop?” You whined, fucking yourself on his fingers, making him chuckle again.

“So needy, aren’t you?” He mocked, adding in another finger.

Hearing the squelch, his balls tightened again, thrusting his fingers in and out, lapping up your juices from his hand. “You’re so perfect, the way your pussy is fluttering on the edge of release. I want to show you how good it feels to cum on my cock. Are you ready?”

All you could manage was a weak nod, your body feeling hot and tingly with each thrust of his fingers, stroking the fire deep in your stomach until it was too much to handle as you came around him, his mouth replacing his fingers, licking up your cum, softly digging his fingers in your thigh, covering your skin with your slick, both of you panting heavily looking at each other. “Who knew you were such a pro?” You teased cupping his cheek.

Suguru pressed a wet kiss to your palm as he stayed on his knees, dragging the hem of your dress up to your waist. The tension between the two of you, and the look you shared, weighed heavy on the unspoken rule of what’s to come, once he crosses the line of fucking you.

The line was crossed the first time he had inappropriate dreams of you, so he didn’t spare a second thought when he fisted the base of his cock, guiding it to your waiting pussy.

You were barely seated on the wooden bench when Suguru held your hips, pressing his cock in. A whimper left your lips, feeling his head slip past your soft muscles. Each inch that slid in made you feel impossibly full and he was only halfway in. “Oh my God, you’re so big!”

Hearing that stroked his ego, both of you gasping once he bottomed out. He held your hips, rutting against you, sliding in and out. Each time he would pull almost all the way out and then slide in slowly. Your back arched, clinging to him, trying to squirm away at first from him stuffing you, it was a mixture of pain and pleasure, feeling this full.

Leaning forward, Suguru trailed kisses across your chest and clavicle, nibbling the skin, lazily fucking you, his mind turning into a puddle the closer he got to cumming.

It frustrated him knowing he was this close already. His eyebrows furrowed, feeling the sweat roll down his face, not only from how hot it was in the cramped area but also the fact that he was desecrating something so sacred while worshipping you, his words bleeding into your skin.

“I always knew you were a good girl.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I love it when you squeeze me like that.”

“You’re doing such a good job.”

“Moan louder for me sweetheart. Let me know how much you like fucking me.”

“Keep going!” You begged sitting up, wrapping your arms around his neck, bucking your hips, the both of you desperately fucking each other. Movements became harder and sloppier, the noises went from sighs and moans to something completely animalistic. You snarled each time you felt his balls slap against your ass. He held your waist helping you bounce up and down with the heels of your feet pressed against his tight ass cheeks.

“You’re so wet. Do you hear how wet you are for me? You’re being such a good girl for me… I don’t want to let go now that I’ve had a taste of you.” He growled, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest, fucking you from below.

It was heavenly, the way your cunt hugged his cock like a vice grip, the feeling was indescribable, nothing could ever compare to the way you clung to him, mewling like a cat in heat, burying your head in the crook of his neck, rolling your hips, grinding your clit against his pubic bone.

“I’m so close. Want you to cum in me, Father. Breed me, please!” You begged, pulling away with wet eyes, bouncing harder, feeling your nipples rub against the blonde hair littering his chest.

You’ve never felt this way before, the way you ground on him shamelessly without a care in the world, it didn’t matter that he was your priest or that you took his virginity in his confessional booth.

“We’re both going to have to pray after this.” You murmured in his ear, smirking. Pink crept in his cheeks. He muttered a response, something you didn’t hear nor did you care to.

You kissed him, parting his lips with your tongue, tasting him greedily. It wasn’t every day that you got to fuck your priest, nor did you get to feel him hold your hips, slamming down, impaling you on his dick.

Suguru felt your orgasm hit, tipping him into his own, spraying ropes of cum against your cervix, whimpering in your neck about how good you feel, his hands massaging your waist, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

“How do you feel now?” You asked, slicking his blonde hair back gazing into his hazel eyes.

“Like a brand new man.” He answered, smiling softly at you.

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swanpyart · 1 year

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Eternal Guilt, the kind that's attached to your back~

#inside job netflix #inside job #Ron staedtler #inside job ron #inside job fanart #inside job Ron staedtler #tw: religious themes #tw: religious trauma #cw: religious trauma #cw: religious themes #tw: religion #scopo tw #fanart

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adarlingmess · 7 months

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Raphael priest AU 😈✝️

This resulted from my moots' wonderful suggestions, comparisons between Andrew Wincott's voice and Tony Jay's (who voiced Frollo from Disney's THoND), and listening to copious amounts of Ghost BC songs on repeat

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m1d-45 · 1 year

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reverse isekai but it’s me at 6:45 pm in a car

-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest, depictions of modern organized religion(none are specified, none are in great detail, but talks of restrictions within those are mentioned. it’s only one paragraph but still), this is unedited and with zero (0) plot to it :))

-> lowercase intended

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky

your world is loud.

from the moment the favored could see it, this was clear. it was loud, filling with screaming machinery that left trails of dust and buildings so tall it made their neck hurt to view.

it was bright, with lights that shone through the darkest of nights, reflecting off glass and the speeding machines and reflecting reflecting reflecting back into eyes to sting. your sun is so harsh, so unpleasant and overbearing, hot instead of warm and burning instead of soothing.

it’s cluttered, wires suspending from towers and running along your roads. glittering signs point out things they can’t read, the sacred script only giving them a headache. at night, they can find no comfort in the stars, something that sends them into a panic the first time they see it. it’s not clouds, it’s not anything worldly blocking their view, it’s that they’re gone, the ones they can see washed out and faded. they wonder how anybody can live like this, and if you blessed them with a night sky of such beauty because yours was so…

they can recognize some of it, the plants and trees and flowers, wild or not, call to them in recognition, but so much is frighteningly new. the style of the clothing, the kinds of jewelry on the people you pass. try as they might, they can’t locate a single vision anywhere, not even on you. they wonder if people hide them, like during the vision hunt decree, but even at home you don’t reach for it, you start fires with odd devices and plants grow slowly, the air and stone unmoving to your desires. you spill drinks. you freeze water using more strange machinery.

it’s so strange, because they can feel your world brim with elemental energy. their vision beams, shining so brightly with all of the potential suspended in your world. no matter how poor their elemental sight, your world glows, the air itself carrying a blue tinge. they try, in a world without visions, to use theirs, and their power springs in an instant to their fingertips. it dances across their hands, enveloping when they barely intended for a small spark, a small flame jumping across the dry grass of unspent energy in your world. they extinguish it quickly, tightening their hand into a fist to stamp it out before they damage something, and something like awe shines in their eyes. there’s so much, their vision so eagerly lapping it up, and you.. don’t use it?

you have machines for everything, devices to harness the wind and waves, boats to travel across water at impossible speeds, strange flying machines that you can hear from the ground, mere specks in the sky, and yet… you have yet to capture them in their most essential forms. you speak of elements, sometimes, but you use different names and there seems to be many, many more. you say that the air holds ‘nitrogen’, that you seal things with foil of ‘aluminum’, and you even say that water itself is composed of ‘hydrogen’ and ‘oxygen’, something that they struggle to understand. how can water be made of something else? how can hydro users bend more than one thing to their will? how can anemo wielders command such a broad spectrum of things? you speak of other elements in the earth, and though some are familiar, such as iron and gold, others’ names hold no meaning. you say potassium is in fruit, that there’s multicolored rocks called bismuth and poisonous liquids named mercury. you say that there’s 118 elements, when all they’ve known is 7.

it takes them a while to come to terms with that one, and even then they settle on it being inherently outside of their understanding. after all, they are in a world crafted by a god.

speaking of..

there are multiple religions in your world?

and it’s not as if they’re different ways or interpretations of the same god, no, it’s entirely different ones. not in the ways of teyvat, where everybody’s aware of all seven and follows the one of their nation, not even that much. they’re wildly different, with different policies and ways of worship, some with multiple gods and others with just one. some are strict, ways of lifestyle chosen and laid out, whilst others are lax. and even within the same religion, it varies from one place of worship to another? somehow? some religions specify clothing, disallowing certain parts of the body to be exposed- which they can understand to an extent. it’s when they learn of religions that police love, ones that write in harsh lines where and when and who somebody can love, that they need to take a step away.

so many parts of your world are confusing. so bright, flashy, new, rumbling in the walls and barreling down the roads with nothing but a scream to warn. lights are everywhere, every sign and post and building vying for your attention. this they could understand, as who wouldn’t wish to be the object of your interest, but the most dizzying fact that they learn during their stay is that you are no different than anybody else. everybody is subject to these sights, everybody is pulled in by a particular shade or cut of cloth, everybody is startled by the bright lights and loud announcements. everybody. you’re lost in the ocean of people so different and yet endlessly identical, nobody’s eyes lingering on you or calling your name specifically. when you step into a crowd, nobody notices you, save for the select, precious few to whom you are known. you have to carve out a place in your world, go out of your way to make sure your name, your face, your interests are kept in somebody’s mind, and even then people dare to forget.

that’s the worst of all. overwhelming lights, sounds, smells: nothing. it makes sense that they’d be out of their depth in a world built for the divine. but to know that you’re not receiving any of the recognition you deserve, to know that nobody thinks highly of your work in teyvat, to know that you were kind enough descend and build yourself a new life amongst the world, and to share your creation across said world, only for nobody to appreciate it. nobody thinks twice. people dare to complain over something you’ve hand-crafted, over something that, even after completion, you revisited with a traveller, doing your best to save one sibling and fix the problems that had cropped up in your wake. you’ve done so much, you’ve cared after it so lovingly, and you boosted the power of some of those you granted a vision to. as somebody who had experienced this love first hand, the favored could not find the words to express their anger at the situation. your world was wrong, it was cruel, and though they found beauty in the most hidden of places, it didn’t change the fact that it didn’t love you.

it only strengthened their desire to take you back to teyvat, where you would be truly loved.

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seraphalpha · 9 months

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Angels are my funky little hyper-fixation.

The idea of just being breathed to life, to immediate indelible purpose, knowing nothing else but adoration for your Creator (holy-holy-holy), and love for everything in creation. That includes your perfect home, your siblings, and that includes yourself. Everything is as it should be, everyone is doing what they should be, and you're utterly content.

Do you have free-will? Why would you need it? What would you even do with it?

The idea of falling. That terrible, beautiful first breath of freedom, undercut by immediate sorrow. "Innocence lost cannot be regained", but even more: a broken machine cannot be relied upon. In finding yourself, you have destroyed what you were meant to be. Your Creator (holy-holy-holy) has thrown you away.

Would you still be you if you got "fixed"? Would the "flaw" just recur? Why can't you help but think of it in those terms?

You have the Fallen, your comrades in arms, your fellow damned. But you left two-thirds of Heaven behind, people you loved because you were made to love them, and who were made to love you in return. The oldest family in the universe, your family, is broken now.

Do you still love them, your siblings that stayed behind? Some fought against your newfound freedom, yes. But some just looked on, a few perhaps even in envy, too afraid to join you, but most in simple horror as their world dissolved. Do you resent them too?

You broke your family.

Do you hate them simply because they lacked your will, your conviction? Do you hate them for being better machines? Do you hate them knowing, in their own naive, ignorant, hurtful way, that they still love you?

To deny fault is to deny the very free-will you sought to prove you have. To blame Him (holy-holy-holy) is to admit to His (holy-holy-holy) infinite power which you, nonetheless, defy.

And from the other side, what of your poor lost kin? How could they do this?

Angels are purpose-made, gears in the Machine. The Host is singular, inexorable, deterministic. They turn the wheels of the Universe, from the birth and death of stars, to the birth and death of mortal creatures.

Why would your siblings do this, don't they love you? You are loved. Was there a flaw in the Design? He (holy-holy-holy) cannot err, by definition. What happens now that they're gone, what happens to their purpose? All goes according to plan. Then why can't you stop having these thoughts?

I'm not religious at all, but...

#be not afraid #biblically accurate angel #holy holy holy #long post #long reads #worldbuilding #fallen angel #eldritch angels #angel #angels #bad poetry #i just think they're neat #cw: religious themes #cw: religious trauma #might have something to do with the obvious #trans allegory #this post got out of hand #brought to you by a trans woman who can't come out to her christian family

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gotta-go-blast · 3 months

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💚 ✝️ 💜

#hazbin hotel #fan art #fanart #hazbin #alastor #cw: religious themes #cw: religion #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin art #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel art

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wysteriaisapenguin · 14 days

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You're my Savior, my True Savior, my Saving Grace

I'm with you forever, by your side forever

Consider this my take on a 'Warped' version of Hero, who's about to enter his "Savior" era. He swore he would stay by LQ’s side no matter what, but when he realized that LQ wasn't going to make things better for anyone, he had to do something. He was going to bear everyone's burdens, whether they like it or not. After all, someone has to be the hero.

Reference used:

#wysty draws #slay the princess #stp voices #voice of the hero #cw: blood #cw: religious themes #if you squint hard enough maybe you can spot them #made 2 versions of these cause I wasn't sure which one I preferred #1st one is probably how Hero sees himself #but 2nd one is what's really happening to him: his Corruption

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sarasade · 10 months

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Part of me almost hopes that Viren's story arc will end in a disproportionately cruel way, you know.

I'm just so tired of seeing a character doing one good thing before they die or trying to change before they die and instead of the audience taking that as purposeful ambiguity the discussion will center around if the character was "Redeemed".

But imagine if he was punished so harshly that even the Viren haters would feel bad for him. Now that would be interesting! I've seen some dark speculation around season 5 so I'm looking forward to seeing how the show will contextualise his arc.

I don't understand why "Redemption" is such a popular talking point when centering villains (ok I actually do. I'm looking at you, Zuko).

"Sin and Atonement" and "Redemption" are deeply Christian themes. I don't think those should be a universal frame of reference to all stories.

Yes, yes, this is more of a fandom problem, not a show problem. But if people want to see a bad character harshly punished for their crimes maybe they should get that for once. I don't really mind because I think Viren, while unlikeable, is a sympathetic character already. Of course I feel for a character even if they are "irredeemable". That's what stories are for.

I don't mean it's a completely useless way to look at art but it's just- I don't know- I'm bored? Especially YouTube commentators talk about redemption constantly instead of engaging with the themes that actually are there.

Sometimes villains can't even really make up for everything they have done, just like some people in real life. Viren has committed so many crimes- like how do you even fix that? However it'd still be interesting if he tried to change. That's what I'm here for. Like Viren and Claudia are not just an antagonistic counterforce to our heros but they have a lot of going on as unique characters.

Viren has his saviour complex and values domination over cooperation. Claudia is interesting because she's both the victim and the perpetrator. It's interesting how self-sufficient she is while being deeply emotionally codependent on Viren. She has a ton of agency as a physically (magically?) strong person but not a ton of agency as an independent, emotionally strong individual. Viren and Claudia love each other but it's isolating kind of love where they don't really have anyone else but each other (Terry is really trying to get in there. Like sorry Terry you don't know how fucked up these two are lmao).

No wonder it was so easy to Aaravos take Viren's place as an authority figure in Claudia's life after Viren died. Or at least that's what I took away from Lost Child short and TDP season 4 in general.

I still think about the first information we got outside Viren and Claudia's POV about Aaravos's mirror: Runaan's warning about "A Fate Worse Than Death".

This framing device sounds really important. I've been wondering how it'll play out eventually. Is it something about Viren losing his old life he worked so hard to build, or will he lose Claudia in some metaphorical or literal way? Is it something even more personal?

Personally, I'd love to see Viren live and change as a person. There are plenty of high-fantasy male characters like him who go through that kind of transformation: Guts from Berserk, Geralt of Rivia, Jaime from GoT, Ged the Wizard... You know, characters who realise that the things they value are unsustainable or even harmful to themselves and to people around them and even to the world as a whole. Or they realise that superficial things like status and power are unfulfilling and only serve status quo. There are some parallels to toxic masculinity/ hegemonic masculinity, too.

However, I think it'd be interesting if Viren's story will be a deeply tragic one. Anyway I'm here for this.

#I'm so sorry Zuko this isn't your fault #btw great job leaving your teenage daughter alone with a scary stranger for two years Viren #Dad of the year fellas.#Viren clearly sees himself as a self-sacrificing saviour #so it's deeply sad and ironic that he can't truly protect anyone- not Harrow- not Claudia #and despite saving Soren's life is very resentful about how that ruined his marriage and blames his son for that #it's pretty realistic- people who position themselves as heroic protectors get blinded by their own self-righteousness easily #sarasade text #tdp meta #tdp viren #tdp claudia #cw: religion #cw: religious themes #to be sure

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thepringlesofblood · 3 months

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An Attempt at Explaining Bulbian Church Theology

so I watched ACOC a year or two ago, and I watched TRW as it came out, and now I’m going back and re-watching ACOC with that context in mind, and I have many questions.

a few disclaimers

this shit rules. it’s wild how much thought and effort Brennan & Matt put into Bulbian theology and the history and inner workings of the church. at no point am I implying anything to the contrary. this is “tf, guys? (affectionate)” not “tf, guys? (derogatory)”

the order of things is fucked up bc prequel, and bc Matt necessarily did a bunch of it w/out Brennan bc he was a PC. some things have the simple Doylist explanation of “Brennan didn’t think they were ever coming back to that bit” or “it’s a metric fuckload of lore written several years before Matt came onto the project, of course some things are going to contradict.” I know and agree with these reasons. I am coming at this from as Watsonian a perspective as I can - trying to find in-world reasons for things rather than real-life reasons - because I think it’s a fun thought exercise.

at no point am I talking shit about either Brennan or Matt. ik people have a lot of feelings about Matt’s DMing in TRW, but I think he did great, and he added some fascinating new lore about the theology of Calorum which I am eager to sink my teeth into. he seems like a cool dude, he and Brennan wrote some extremely cool lore, and that’s all I’ll say about that.

so. let’s get crack-a-lackin’

Let’s define our terms.

we got our two Big Terms from ACOC - the Prophidian Heresy and the Ramsian Doctrine. The Prophidian Heresy is the only one to re-appear in TRW, as the Prophidian Theodicy. this is bc it was not declared to be heresy (aka fake/against the church’s beliefs) yet, so it was just another theory within the church

we’ve got about four big factions, very unequal in power:

Belizabeth Brassica (& the church under her rule)

the Sanctis Putris

the Archbishop Camille Colliflour (aka the Avatar of Deus Pa’Zuul)

The Few Good Individuals in The Church*

we’re mostly talking about Brassica and Sanctis Putris.

*Saint Citrina, local churches in Candia, certain Bulbians in the Dairy Islands, individual churches here and there across the continent that are mentioned as rejecting the Ramsian Doctrine in ACOC.

The Prophidian Heresy/Theodicy

What it says:

The Hungry One is just as powerful as The Bulb

Reasoning:

this is an attempt to explain the questions of “if the Bulb is good and all-powerful, why are there bad things in the world? If the Bulb is more powerful than the Hungry One, why hasn’t it beat the shit out of him yet, if it is truly a force for good?”

What it means in the world:

this is a part of Brassica’s plot to start the apocalypse, but is not the most important thing for her.

It is however important for the beliefs of the Sanctis Putris, who fight to keep the Hungry One at bay.

Questions/observations:

In ACOC Ep.13, when Brennan first mentions the Sanctis Putris, he describes them as “an order of the Church that did not subscribe to the Prophidian Heresy at all. It looks like they are not about the Ramsian Doctrine and causing the apocalypse.”

I think this is a mixing up of words, and that he meant to say “the Ramsian Doctrine” both times, since the Sanctis Putris is against the Ramsian Doctrine. at this point in the campaign the two beliefs have gotten kind of conflated bc they’re both part of the big Brassica Apocalypse Plot.

the in-world explanation could be that after the war the Sanctis Putris pivoted to a different belief - perhaps that the Hungry One is more powerful than the Bulb. very interesting...

in TRW ep 3 Colliflour says “We know the clarity of the Prophidian Theodicy and the terrible shadow that grows outside of the Bulb's light”

so we do know that before the war at least the Sanctis Putris were into it.

The Ramsian Doctrine

What it says:

The Hungry One cannot be destroyed and the final salvation of all souls cannot occur until the Hungry One devours the world

Some souls are healthy and delicious, but some are unhealthy and garbage - Junk Food (Candians)

The Junk Food souls prevent the Hungry One from devouring the world because it wants a “healthy meal”

Reasoning:

in order to work towards this prized final salvation of all souls and destruction of the Hungry One, one must first work towards the apocalypse. Junk Food must be eradicated from the world for that to happen - whether by conversion to the Bulbian faith* or by death.

*it’s at least implied by Calroy’s letter to Brassica in ep. 13 that since he “renounced his pagan ways” and wants to be re-baptized in the Bulbian faith, he gets to live. whether this is true or not we do not find out.

What it means in the world:

This is the excuse Brassica needs to invade and destroy Candia and its magic. Fun fact: she was actually planning to launch a crusade on the Meatlands too before she got got.

Meat isn’t junk food (i don’t think??), so it’s clear that what she’s really after is destroying the rest of Calorum’s ability to access magic - making it so they have to go through the church to get “miracles” rather than using the magic of the deities in their homelands. that’s not Ramsian, it’s just Brassica being power-hungry and mean.

In regards to the Sanctis Putris, they believe they are preventing the apocalypse by bringing rot and mold into the world. they don’t want the Hungry One to devour the world, and since they believe the Hungry One is as powerful as the Bulb, they want to work to bring mold and rot into the world themselves, to give the Bulb a leg up on the opposition, so to speak.

so, the idea that the Hungry One could devour the world, and that that would be a sort of apocalypse, is shared between Brassica and the Sanctis Putris. the difference is, Brassica wants that to happen so the Bulb can finally defeat the Hungry One, and the Sanctis Putris does not want that to happen, so they bring mold and rot into the world so the Hungry One can’t devour it.

Questions/observations:

So while it sounds kind of like the Sanctis Putris are buying into the last tenant of the Ramsian Doctrine - that the Hungry One will only eat a “healthy meal” - they’re not buying into the rest of it, because their definition of “healthy” is different from the one outlined in the rest of the Ramsian Doctrine. The Sanctis Putris don’t seem to care about “Junk Food”, just rot & mold.

TRW ep. 3 Colliflour: “Through prosperity and peace, Calorum becomes ripe and pliable. It becomes the perfect meal to forever roil and burn within its belly. The hidden scripture, the Festered Tome, it holds the truth that will save us all. The Hungry One will not eat that which is spoiled...Only through death can the lands be stained and unclean. Only through rot can the world be saved and endure under the Great Bulb's light”

the Sanctis Putris depend on conflict vs peace and rot vs growth across the whole of Calorum, while the Ramsian Doctrine depends upon specific people (Candians) being eradicated

in ACOC ep. 13 Brennan says this “The correspondence between the Archbishop Oliver Onionpatch and the Sanctus Putris saying the Sanctus Putris has located the home and high temple of the Sugar-Plum Fairy, and have found the Ice Cream Temple. The date they give, they say that their expedition should arrive there the morning of Harvest Dawn the seventh”

onion boy is a Brassica lackey - a Ramsian. swapping letters with the Sanctis Putris, famously anti-Ramsian. ???

my question is this - why are the Sanctis Putris running errands for Brassica if they have fundamentally opposing beliefs? why are they sending out an expedition on the orders of someone trying to start an apocalypse that they’re trying to prevent?

3 potential reasons

blackmail - Brassica says “I am the head of the Church, this is what’s happening, put up or shut up. Do what I want or I eradicate you”

quid pro quo - a favor for a favor, Brassica is giving them something in exchange for them doing this for her

common enemy

it serves the Sanctis Putris to have the Church be more powerful since a lot of their people are in the Church, and of course it serves Brassica to empower the Church. Killing the Sugar Plum Fairy is one way to do that.

im uncertain though, as the Sanctis Putris has people from all over the place, and potentially at least one Candian who is against it.

although, if the Sanctis Putris intend to split with Brassica, if may also not serve them to have the Church be more powerful.

Compare/contrasting Brassica v Sanctis Putris

Both beliefs are Prophidian, since for the Hungry One to eat everything it would need to be at least equal in power to the Bulb (both groups believe in the Bulb’s inherent goodness, and that if it had the power it would stop the Hungry One from doing this).

Both see themselves as helping the Bulb overpower the Hungry One, Brassica by causing the Apocalypse and the Sanctis Putris by preventing it.

Both identify an aspect of the world that is preventing the Hungry One from devouring it. Brassica points to “junk food”, while the Sanctis Putris points to mold and rot.

I saw a post a while back that positioned the two terms as Belizabeth Brassica’s beliefs vs the beliefs of the Sanctis Putris. This is not the case.

The Ramsian Doctrine [in its totality] is exclusive to Brassica, yes, but the Prophidian Heresy does not encompass the totality of the beliefs of the Sanctis Putris. It just says that the Hungry One is as powerful as the Bulb. the rest of their shit is their own.

the Sanctis Putris do subscribe the last tenant of the Ramsian Doctrine (that the Hungry One wants a healthy meal), but interpret “healthy” as meaning something else, so I wouldn’t say their beliefs are Ramsian overall, even if one idea overlaps.

plus, Brassica also needs the Prophidian Heresy to exist, since it offers a reason for why the Bulb doesn’t just come down and make everything better - it can’t, since it and the Hungry One are equal in power.

now where the fuck does Deus Pa’Zuul fall into this?

Brennan described the feeling of discovering Deus Pa’Zuul as “eldritch horror” and frankly I agree. A lot of the genre of eldritch horror revolves around the unknown, and specifically the unknowable, so as a result we the audience know very little about it.

What we do know

it’s a garbage disposal, and all the implications that carries, included but not limited to

the place you dispose of rotten food

the physical description - blades, tearing, ripping, whirring

it is a force of pure destruction. the things it destroys are erased from existence. there is no eternity in the Hungry One’s stomach, no salvation in the light of the Bulb, you just end.

it can interact with the world of Calorum through visions and impart magic like the Bulb and the Hungry One do, but does so very, very rarely.

The only two Calorans we know of that it ever contacted directly were Colliflour and Raphaniel.

the rest of the Sanctis Putris had no clue that this was where their leader was taking them - Gemelli straight up fights it.

Speculations

while Colliflour certainly seems to think it fits into the main cosmology of the universe, it feels very clear, to me at least, that it does not.

the Hungry One and the Bulb have next to no physical manifestations in the world of Calorum the way Deus Pa’Zuul does.

sure, a spell might sound like a stomach rumble or emit holy light, but no one ever turns into a lightbulb.

The closest thing is that the Bulb is the Sun, but it remains untouchable and unknowable (until some crazy ass pepper shaker makes a spaceship or something).

the physicality of it makes me feel like it’s a smaller, though no less deadly, force than the Bulb and Hungry One.

there’s also the specificity - we’ve seen the magic of Bulb and Hungry One alike do a million different things. Deus Pa’Zuul’s magic seems less flexible - we only really hear it described or emphasized when Raphaniel casts a more destructive spell, like Shatter, and of course in the finale when it took over Colliflour’s body and the room around them.

(this is also probably bc TRW was a way shorter campaign and thus had much less opportunity to show off new fun ways for it to wreck shop)

The Bulb and the Hungry One are balanced - creation and destruction, light and dark. Deus Pa’Zuul feels like an extraplanar monster. I’d say “demon” but that implies that it’s working for the Hungry One, as he’s the Caloran equivalent of the Devil.

but then again, is that incorrect? in-world, it certainly feels separate from Bulb and Hungry One alike. but if we think about the implications of real-life garbage disposals...people are the ones that operate and control them. if the Hungry One is a person, he would be the one controlling what (and who) the disposal grinds up.

Finally, we have the Few Good Individuals in the Church.

Saint Citrina, in the limited scenes we have from her,

encourages Amethar to follow his heart and not divorce Catherine Ghee if he loves her.

creates a holy relic that forces you to tell the truth

has an argument with Archmage Lazuli about the goings-on with the Order of the Spinning Star

Queen Pamelia says in TRW ep. 1 - “Citrina and myself and many others have taken quite lovingly to the Book of Leaves. We just are careful with which sects of the church wish to impose disparate law and rule upon how we worship.”

later we see her sort of disagreeing with her mom as she is steered away from Raphaniel though, and we don’t really know what’s in the Book of Leaves, except that Saint Citrina enchanted it to force truth-telling at some point before her death.

is “useful” to Calroy and his conspirators until Brassica orders her killed. So, one can assume she was anti-Ramsian in some way.

We know that Primsy and most Dairy Islanders are Bulbian, but don’t get much of their specific beliefs.

There is the scene in the Abbey of the Shimmering Cream with Saccharina, where we basically just learn that that abbey (and potentially area in general) is extremely anti-magic and terrible. We don’t get anything about their feelings vis-a-vis the Ramsian Doctrine though.

Primsy opposes the Ramsian Doctrine & Brassica in general once she hears about it though, so one can assume that she and the people around her don’t prioritize or agree with that in their worship.

We know Caramelinda is Bulbian, and she married Archmage Lazuli, so presumably she does not have the same issues with her use of “pagan” magic as Saint Citrina may have.

Other than that we don’t have a lot on her religious beliefs, except that she wasn’t super stoked about Saccharina as Queen, but I think that was less because of her magic and more because of how violently anti-Bulbian and generally chaotic Saccharina is.

When Brassica’s whole Ramsian Doctrine plan gets set into motion, she gets a whole bunch of letters from churches across the continent that are like “um no??? please don’t cause the apocalypse??”, mostly from Candians (who we can assume are generally anti-Ramsian because they don’t want to die) but also from all the other countries.

So. There we go. Lmk if there’s any inconsistencies or anything ^v^

#dnd #d20 #dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #trw spoilers #trw #the ravening war #the ravening war spoilers #acoc spoilers #acoc #original post #theology #cw: religion #cw: religious themes #i'm having a neurodivergent 'i need to talk about this or i will die' episode #so here yall go #I lowkey forgot this post was in my drafts #or it would’ve been out while TRW was actually going on lol.

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zyxthstuff · 2 years

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#Sr. Ávila #roberto Ávila #cw: imply dismemberment #cw: violence #cw: religious themes #fanart

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aplaceinthedark · 3 months

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DROWN you OUT

a DROWNED story

Word Count: 2.3k+

CW: religious themes, supernatural themes, LOTS of drowning, depression, brief mention of suicide attempts, blood, murder, cannibalism

Blinded by a fear of feeling, these are the kings we chose. Lost and looking for the meaning, I've been searching high and low.

When we fade into nothing; when we go up in the smoke, we'll beg God for a mercy that he knows we'd never show.

Despite the hot June night, the river water surrounding Joakim felt ice cold.

He didn’t know why this was the first thing he thought of as he feebly struggled against the many sets of hands holding him underwater. He was absolutely panicking, his body fighting instinctively, but the only thing currently going through his head was the temperature of the damn river water. He probably should be more concerned about the people who he thought were his fellow congregates and why they wouldn’t let him come up for air, but he’d been brainwashed into thinking that he deserved this fate.

He’d left his home country of Sweden years ago, coming to the east coast of America, but never quite settling down. He’d gone from state to state, starting up north and making his way down, trying to find a new home, but nothing seemed to stick. He’d never felt accepted for the ways he’d been raised; a mixture of the natural ways with the Christian God.

And then he moved to the Appalachian mountains, where he met The Children of the Revered Father.

A small group of them were passing out flyers one Sunday when Joakim was traveling through. He found himself going to one of their weekly gatherings, since why the hell not? That’s how he found out that these people were exactly what he’d been looking for. Pretty soon, he found himself living in the nearby town, surrounded by who he had thought were kind, loving people. He attended gatherings and workshops two or sometimes three times a week. The Revered Father had become his whole world; like getting swept up in a tidal wave.

But pretty soon, he found that he would experience the crash.

Some of his friends had invited him to a midnight mass sort of thing, to welcome the first throes of summer. He gladly accepted. They mentioned something about baptization, to fully accept everyone into the Family, and Joakim was thrilled. It meant that he was finally being accepted into something here, something he hadn’t felt since he left home all those years ago.

They’d all gone out into the woods after night fell. The entire congregation met up at the deepest hollow, where they had their monthly moonless gatherings. They said the usual words, the usual hymns, the usual rituals. Some drinks were passed around; something stronger than what they usually had, Joakim thought. There was talk of the proceedings, about how the Revered Father would test their faith. Joakim didn’t think of what that would mean if he failed; he was faithful, he wouldn’t fail.

Except he must have. Why else would those he had called friends be holding him under the water for longer than the others? Why else would the murky river water taste foul as his lungs finally caved and forced his mouth open? Why else would the water fill his lungs, making him feel heavier than he actually was?

Through the murkiness of the water and the flurry of limbs, Joakim thought he saw something. He thought he saw a low, red pulse on the shoreline of the river. He thought he saw a pair of matching eyes staring at him, despite a small part of his brain telling him that there should be now way he could see that through all the chaos going on.

Those same eyes told him to sleep, to give in. And despite his body telling him not to, his mind eventually did.

His limbs started freezing up, the heaviness and cold settling into his bones to make them useless. The hands on him started to slowly leave one by one, and for a brief moment he thought about freedom, how he could finally fight his way to the surface, but he couldn’t get his body to cooperate. His clothes weighed him down.

Finally, as he sank to the bottom of the river, the stones digging into his back, he couldn’t help but think of how he had failed his God. As his vision went dark, he felt the rage fill him. There’s no room for salvation, he thought, Now, there’s only room for demons.

And that was how the young human, Joakim Karlsson, died.

On a canvas we stained with blood and painted with our sins, there's a candle melting and it's burning at both ends.

We'll take and take 'til it caves and drowns us in the wax it drips. Like a moth to a flame you never should've fucking lit.

You can give sight to the blind, but you can't force them to see. You could take us back in time, but it wouldn't change a thing.

When Joakim was a child, he was told all about the fairy tales of his homeland. But the one that intrigued him the most was the tale of the näcken.

He was always told to avoid the rivers without his parents nearby, lest he be lured to the bottom of a näcken’s song. It never bothered him much. In fact, when he grew older, he said that he wanted to find one so he himself could learn how to play guitar as well as any supernatural water creature could.

He never expected to become one himself.

Unlike some of the other Hollowed Souls, Joakim had his faculties after the Watcher of the Woods left his body to become overtaken by the curse of the Shenandoah. At first, he didn’t know what to do with himself, and as he wandered up and down the river, he grew to hate everything. Fuck this, fuck that. Fuck this, fuck that. The worst part was that he found out that he couldn’t truly leave the river; not without running water, and certainly not for long periods of time. But eventually, that pain faded away, leaving him more hollow than ever before.

He discovered his curse after he felt such sadness that couldn’t be expressed like before. He could make the motions, but he couldn’t release the emotions and grief and pain. It wasn’t until he began singing that he realized why. It eased the pain, but as people came to the river, he wanted nothing to do with it.

And worse, there was always the voice in the back of his head that compelled him to do it.

CONSUME.

The sadness only grew with every young life he took, whether it was by devouring their flesh or by drowning them, almost like how he was drowned. Their deaths only prolonged his sadness, for now there was no way he could ever see salvation in the afterlife.

He knew this for certain. It was how he discovered that he could no longer die, after all.

Soon, he learned to just become numb to the death that surrounded him. After all, how could he live when he was already dead on the inside?

Luckily, around that time was when he met Nick Folio. To be honest, he wasn’t sure why he let the kid stay around. He was annoying at the best of times, a straight up demon at the worst. But after a while, with no voices or dread filling his head up, he realized that Nick was more of a balm than a hindrance.

Within a year, Joakim had crafted a guitar of his own making. The body was made out of driftwood, the strings made out of various types of hair. He was pretty proud of himself for the craftsmanship. It felt less like an instrument and more like a piece of himself, like an extension of his body. He grew possessive over it, to the point when Nick asked if he could play Freebird on it, Joakim nearly tore off the boy’s arm. Between the two, he felt like he didn't need anything else.

Except he did feel like he still needed more. And it didn't come to him until a year after Nick did.

HELP.

Joakim couldn’t leave the river for long periods of time. He found that after a while the itch to sing and the hunger to play his guitar would grow. To save hikers and campers, he would stay holed up in his little hole tucked into a waterfall. But this voice; this New Voice in his head compelled him to abandon the river to find it.

That’s when Joakim found himself standing in the hollow where the Children of the Revered Father once stood. He froze. Why would the voice bring him here? Was it a new torture for him to endure? He snapped out of it when he felt Nick shift into the Church Grim and started digging at a spot in the middle of the hollow with a whine.

This is crazy, Joakim thought to himself, even though he’d seen enough in the past few years that would prove that thought wrong. Especially when a young man showed up, out of breath, and when he looked up, Joakim watched as his blue-gray eyes shift to a deep green.

“I hope I’m not too late,” he said.

If God came down from his kingdom; He came down from his home, and we asked him if he'd take us back, He would surely tell us no.

If God came down from his kingdom; He came down from his throne, and we asked him if he'd take us back, He would tell us we can't go.

To a rat in a maze the end is where the start begins, but if we made it out I know that we would do it all again.

We live and die in vain like treasure on a sinking ship. All in the name of a God we'd just abandon and forget.

They'd used him.

Joakim had heard Nick's tale about how he'd been treated, but until he met Nicholas and Noah, he hadn't believed that the Children were the same group. But they were, and they used him just to appease their so-called Revered Father, some forest-spirit claiming it was a god.

But it was dead to this plane of existence and another took its place. Noah had given him a choice, unlike the previous Watcher of the Woods. Joakim asked to give him some time, because he still had things to do, before he could make up his mind.

There were some loose ends that needed to be tied up.

With it being Midsummer's Eve, Noah had heard the whisperings of how the Cult of the Black Stag was going to attempt to reform and bring back their “Revered Father,” and it was a perfect opportunity to get their revenge. It was a perfect opportunity to get his revenge.

And he got everything he wished for.

They came to him in waves. Slowly at first, but surely. They would come out of the woods quietly, their faces slack but their eyes wide with fear, and they would slowly shuffle into the water. One by one, they would come closer to him and his music, until their knees disappeared into the water; until their waists, their chests, and their shoulders disappeared. He didn't let them go until their heads were fully submerged.

The ones he didn't recognize Joakim let be swept up into the rapids. Those he hadn’t much care for. Those ones were pulled away and under, their breath stolen from them by the current or by a random rock they hit their heads on.

The ones he did recognize, however: the ones that he had called friends once; the ones who pinned his head below the surface so he would be the Hollowed Vessel. Those he pulled closer to him. When they were surrounding him, he set his guitar on the rock, and then he slipped into the water.

And with a scream to drown out all other sounds around them, the bloodbath began.

Afterwards, when the river no longer ran red and Joakim stepped foot on land, Noah once again asked, “You want to help protect these woods from evil again?”

This time, Joakim had his answer.

And from then on, Joakim Karlsson became known as the Drowned, the nacken of the Shenandoah Rivers.

We're dying everyday. Tell me is it all in vain? Is it worth the suffering? Is it worth the price we paid?

Is it worth it?

Joakim frowns. Is it worth it?

Pausing his fingers, he peeks up at the sky. The morning light was washing the river and woods in pale tones. The same sky he's been seeing the past ten years, it never changed except with the seasons. Another summer solstice had come and gone with no sign of the children returning.

But Joakim could tell that wasn't true. He and Noah have felt something stirring lately. Something felt off with the Woods.

But Jolly kept playing his guitar and singing softly to himself, humming along to the melody he created a couple of days ago.

“If God came down from His kingdom, He came down from His home, and we asked Him if he'd take us back, He would surely tell us no.”

WE'RE ALMOST THERE. NICK'S BRINGING A “FRIEND”, SO FAIR WARNING.

Joakim rolls his eyes at Noah's voice in his head, but acquiesces to Noah's unspoken command. With hardly any movement, Joakim shifts form into something less horrifying than the drowned corpse he normally looks like. It's his skin that he used to have back when he was alive.

It's miniscule, barely even noticeable, but Joakim smiles to himself as he continues playing his guitar.

“WHAT UP JOLLEEEEEE!” he hears Noah calling from behind him. He turns to face his friends.

And he thinks to himself, Yes, it is worth it.

You can give sight to the blind, but you can't force them to see. You could take us back in time, but it wouldn't change a fucking thing.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #jolly karlsson fanfiction #horror au #paranormal au #series: lost in the labyrinth #fic: tales from the grove of secrets #cw: religious themes #cw: supernatural themes #cw: drowning #cw: blood #cw: suicide #cw: cannibalism #cw: depression #cw: death

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lovelaetter · 2 years

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CW: GP!READER, MONSTERFUCKING, RELIGIOUS THEMES, ALLUSIONS TO STALKING

(not adding a warning because it’s not even mentioned but like you’re obviously older than rosé… and I picture her as really young here, 18 or 19)

i think about this as you being the sweet innocent church girl (and closeted lesbian) roseanne’s new neighbor, a demon who lives between humans just for the sake of it and that grew obsessed with her, stalking her, looming around her in your non physhical form and watching her all the time without her knowledge (yes, that includes watching her shower and change). seducing her, beginning with a friendship that evolves to a secret relationship as she shyly admits her crush on you a certain day. you always knew, had noticed the way she looked at you sometimes and how happy she was every time she thought she had a dream with you, especially the one where you two kissed, which was nothing more than you messing with her mind and finding a way to invade it. this is how the romantic side of it begins, secret lovers, you always being with her whenever her parents are away since they hate you, claiming to feel something bad coming from you (they’re right), her coming to your house, you breaking into her room middle of the night, stealing her from the choir practices only to make out behind some building or in your car. but of course she notices something off about you, how you make faces at every sight of a religious figure inside her house, how you never seem to actually get close to the church or the way you tense every time she ends up mentioning God or something else related. she confronts you about it one day and you play it off, saying you’re really not just a religious person, but you never meant to offend her.

the “truth” about you only comes out the first time you two have sex. maybe it’s the fact that you wanted her for so long, but the moment you see her naked body under yours, you know something is about to happen. the changes start as you settle yourself between her legs, her moans so sweet blessing your ears and you feel the tongue you’re working on her grow longer and slender, same way as your teeth. her being so confused when something begins growing between your hair and pocking her hands away, only to look down and find a pair of long horns… poor girl, the scream that leaves her lungs, kicking you and moving as away as she can, all while you stay there at the end of the bed, looking at her with non human glowing eyes, so much taller than before, skin looking different too, longs fangs, claws.

she thinks it’s a nightmare at first, tries to pinch herself, but it doesn’t work and soon you’re crawling onto bed again, on top of her, her freezing as you hold her face, saying “it’s just me, rosie” and well, it’s still your voice and, despite everything, still your face. you use all your abilities to calm her down, answering her silly questions — “what are you?” or “will you hurt me?” — patiently, then kissing her face and down her neck as she seems to relax. it’s so wrong, so against everything she was taught and believe, but you touch her so nicely and the moment your mouth closes around one of her nipples and your fangs scrape at her soft skin, she forgets everything, wrapping her arms around your larger form and begging you to touch her :(

i can’t help but think about this thing that like.. you being a demon, you have both a cock and a pussy, a pussy bc you’re part of the female species but it’s just a matter of what you want and a cock can magically grown, and I see rosé being so curious about it, wanting to touch you so bad even if it’s her first time and you’re definitely not an usual partner. and you let her, of course, her mouth on your tits, you guiding her hand on your pussy, teaching her how you like it, praising her and calling her your “good little human” as she draws circles in your clit. then you casually mentions the thing about having a cock too and she blushes so hard because she had never seen one in reality, shyly asking if you could show her… and hell yeah you do. her watching everything with curiosity, cheeks growing redder and redder, especially as you guide her hand to it and it’s so big compared to her little hand (you literally a monster, size kink is definitely coming here). her having to use both hands to jerk you off…

and of course you wouldn’t lose the chance to fuck her with it! eating her out for long minutes, making sure she’s ready for you — you want to hurt a little but not on her first time —, having to hold her down because her hips simply wouldn’t stop moving since your tongue reaches the deepest spots inside her, places no human could ever imagine and she definitely hadn’t got any close the few times she touched herself. you holding her knees to her chest after, completely exposed to you as you position yourself.

needless to say, her pussy so tight around you, having to take it slowly even though the sickest side of yourself just wanted to bottom out in her or either you really considered she would break in half. not being able to fit entirely inside her, not on the first time, way more training being needed for it to happen, but the bulge on her stomach every time you thrusted onto her and her screams were enough for you. not being able to hold back and being a little cruel with your words, asking if she’s not ashamed to be fucked by such an evil creature, what would people think if they discovered and i just can see her moaning so loud at that, her mind long gone, completely lost in pleasure…

LAST BUT NOT LESS IMPORTANT breeding her… filling her with so much cum that it leaks even if your cock is still inside her and when you pull out it all comes out of her hole and it’s such a pretty sight, her pussy stretched and leaking nonstop, her fucked expression, teary eyes, hair disheveled, and body all marked from your teeth and claws <3 just completely broken by her demon gf

holding her after and when she finally comes back to herself you’re back to your human form, caressing her and kissing her face, everything so soft, striking contrast to what just happened. her staring at you for a moment not sure if it was a dream but realizes she barely feels her body and then your eyes shine this different color and all she can do is sigh and snuggle closer to you, so tired

…can’t believe all that i described is like, only the FIRST time… honestly, i love this idea so much it’s been in my head for so long and i know i didn’t mentioned that much of the actual church girl thing but you guys got it… seriously, feel free to send me any thoughts or questions you guys have about this bc i’ll glad write about it

#writing.txt #blackpink smut #rosé smut #cw: monsterfucking #cw: religious themes #it’s not proof read so don’t mind any nonsense or errors or whatever

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batmanfruitloops · 5 months

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Jonathan's Name

Content warning: Heavy religious themes, minor death mention, abuse mention

Jonathan means "gift from God", in this au his parents loved him so I think it's fitting they would give him this name. Specifically his mother. Through all the abuse she's been through from her own mother, she'd be happy to be free from her. She now has a family of her own. Where she can give someone the life she never had and be supported and loved by her partner. Jonathan is truly a gift to her. A reminder of how far she had come. She was aware she may pass by the time he was close to being born. She was aware she may never meet him in mortality. This didn't scare her though. As much as she'd love to see her son, she trusted George would care for him. She didn't want to leave her family so early, but she knew she'd be with them again someday.

In the bible, Jonathan was known for his courage and loyalty. She would also hope this name could inspire the same traits. Her loyalty to George while her mother disapproved of him gave her the courage to escape her mother's cruelty. She'd hoped her son could have this same ability. To face any challenge with courage, and find connections he could keep forever. These are the traits that helped her through the lowest points in her life. She does not want her son to suffer what she has gone through. If anything should happen, he can at least have the tools to go through it. To be more braced than she was so he won't have the same broken spirit she had to live so long with.

After Karen died. His father decided on the middle name Enoch. A figure in the bible who did not experience the death of the flesh and a lesson about God's love. A story to teach God is not cruel. George grieved for his wife greatly. He missed her very much, but same as she saw Jonathan as something wonderful. George knows things like this happen. He grew up a country boy after all. He had seen much death and knew it was natural. Mothers of calves would pass, mothers of lambs would pass, and eggbound hens would pass. This did not prepare him for the grief he would experience himself but he knew he was allowed to be sad. He knows why grief is necessary. It teaches you the value of love. And love he did. He loved his son and would keep his promise to give him a good life. He'd hoped the middle name Enoch would teach his son that all things happen for a reason and to learn from them and grow. Even when things are hard they can grow you into a loving and compassionate person.

He can't keep his son from never experiencing hardships as much as he'd like to. Rather he can teach him to handle them with maturity and grace. Greif is the price of love but it will always be worth it. One loss in George's life led to the gift of another. Thus, Enoch, one life led to another almost as if there was no death at all. This is at least how George would come to understand it.

Unfortanly Jonathan would never come to know the significance of these names. His father passed when he was too young so he can't remember how loved he was for that short time. His grandmother wouldn't know the significance of his namesake either. Better that she didn't. When he was forced to read the Book, he'd read about these figures who share his name and wonder. He didn't feel courageous, he didn't have any person to be loyal to, and he was being treated so cruelly. Was it some sick joke? Or a premonition of who he could become? Only time will tell.

-Fluffy

#batmanfruitloops #anewgothamau #batman #dc #batman au #batmanfruitloopslore #jonathan crane #the scarecrow #scarecrow #cw: religious themes #tw: abuse mention #cw: death

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fogsy-feel · 10 months

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Yes I am making angst for a movie I didn't even watch. Sue me. Eli get's to go ferel if Derek dies. As a treat.

#Eli Hale #Teen wolf #Teen wold movie #Derek Hale #There is no Sterek in the image but imma tag it anyway #Sterek #cw: religious themes #Don't know if I should tag that or not but the lyrics are from an ethel cain song #so i think it's relevant #Character death #It's Derek #Fan art #stiles stilinski #stiles #teenwolf #my art

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

Occasionally I’d play music in the background while playing the game. Now on this fine day, I’ve played ‘The Plagues’ from the prince of Egypt. I have a certain two brothers on my team. One of them being my main, Kaeya. “This seems too familiar,” I said aloud. In SAGAU, what would their reactions be?

plagued

a/n: voidless, words cannot describe the jealousy i feel knowing you are a diluc haver. also, i had kinda a hard time with this one, so let me know if this isn’t what you wanted!

word count: ~2k (the song itself is abt. 300)

-> warnings: major spoilers for kaeya and diluc lore, biblical references (quotes from the song are used, which itself is an interpretation of the bible), the brothers think you’re the ‘lord’ being referenced, heavy angst, this got so sad so quickly—

-> lowercase intended!

< masterlist >

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky

i don’t think it would register the first 10 seconds or so. they might be interested from the haunted whispers, or wonder how your device managed to capture a choir. they would pause on ‘this saith the lord’ but would get over it quickly. naturally, they would assume it was referring to you, and everything after carries a bit more weight. what if it was a command of yours?

‘Since you refuse to free my people

All through the land of Egypt’

they’d be curious about where ‘egypt’ was, and whether or not you lived there. why were the people captured? were they prisoners of war? they knew how deadly a fight between gods could be- was your world in the midst of war?

‘I send a pestilence and plague

Into your house, into your bed

Into your streams, into your streets

Into your drink, into your bread’

all of a sudden very worried. they’re gonna assume the worst case scenario and worry that you’re suffering through a plague. diluc’s making plans to offer more food the next time he has dinner at the manor, and kaeya’s concerned you might get sick from the poisoned food. they don’t have the most advanced medicine, and certainly not medicine fit for a god.

‘Upon your cattle, on your sheep

Upon your oxen in your field

Into your dreams, into your sleep

Until you break, until you yield’

this will give them pause, if only until they think it over. cattle? ‘oxen’? how could your world be so advanced as to have a device to peer into theirs and yet rely on these animals? they quickly get ahold of it though, don’t worry: naturally, your device was a holy item, only to be used by you, a god. it made sense that the people you ruled over would rely on cows and sheep to live. but then.. was this song one of warning? warning whoever the other party was of your divine retribution?

it makes more sense to diluc than it does kaeya.

’I send the swarm, I send the horde

Thus saith the Lord’

this only cements in their minds that it’s a song of warning. your people there must call you their lord—it made sense, perhaps they should adopt it?—and you were threatening to send a swarm of… something. they hoped they would never have to know. the haunting beauty of the chant is not something they’re keen on ever experiencing.

‘Once I called you brother

Once I thought the chance to make you laugh

Was all I ever wanted’

this hurts.

badly.

horribly, an ache immediately burning their chests. the tired, saddened voice of the brother will echo inside of kaeya’s head, likely long past whenever the song ends, and diluc’s tripping—literally, if you’re mid-battle his model will freeze in place for a few moments—over the realization that this is a hymn meant for brothers.

they refuse to meet each others eyes, each focused on the task you’ve given them. the other members of your party look away, giving them space even if they’re not the type to usually do so. i ask that you leave the brothers off-field, as they’ll surely be delayed in following your commands and will likely get hurt because of it.

’I send the thunder from the sky

I send the fire raining down’

the eerie enactment of your voice suddenly carries so much more weight. in your world, at some point, two brothers had fought over ‘egypt’, and you had sent down plagues in punishment. surely you knew this, right? was this a warning to them? were you angry with them?

’And even now I wish that god had chose another

Serving as your foe on his behalf

Is the last thing that I wanted’

you can’t see it due to the camera being permanently set behind the character—provided he’s on the field—and diluc certainly can’t, since they’re facing away from each other, but kaeya’s eyes are quickly turning glassy. it hurts, the weight of his promise to khaenri’ah, to his father—to both of his fathers—manifesting as a hollow ache in his chest. it’s getting harder to breathe through the block in his throat, and he wonders if you’re intentionally playing this because of him. it wouldn’t be so surprising; he knows he’s not the best or the most devoted, he knows that you likely look down on his lying and secrecy, he knows, he does, but please don’t remind him of it. it already haunts him when he tries to sleep.

‘I send a hail of burning ice

On every field, on every town’

diluc has a better handle on his expressions—read: he’s better at suppressing them—but anybody who looked could see he was distressed. his jaw is tense, every muscle in his body taught. he didn’t move an inch when he was off-field, and he relied heavily on the binds of your device to move him on-field. he feels like a live wire, buzzing with energy and yet no way to vent it. he can’t cope with these feelings the same way he normally would, he can’t throw himself into paperwork or into battle. he can’t stomp through mondstat’s plains, he can’t call flame to his fingertips and burn out the pain. your presence, the heavy air of divinity around him, barely does anything to soothe the ache. if anything, it only burns brighter.

‘This was my home

All this pain and devastation

How it tortures me inside

All the innocent who suffer

From your stubbornness and pride’

oh.

it’s like the words were handcrafted, bent into a hook and cast on a line that swiftly caught kaeya’s soul. he tries to remind himself that it’s not about him, it’s not about diluc and it’s not about khaenri’ah and it’s not about crepus, it’s about some nation in your world called ‘egypt’-

he can’t. the words resonate with his very essence, the core of his being shaking alongside the swelling music and tragic melodies. he feels like a glass in the hand of an opera singer, quivering in place and unable to move an inch, just waiting for the right frequency to make him shatter.

as he chokes on his own air, he wonders why you played this song specifically. did you know how much it would rip him apart? did you realize how much it hurt, to see himself reflected in its lyrics? did you know that it would send him back to his youth, did you want him to relive that pain?

over the turmoil, he can hear your voice. “this seems too familiar..”

so you were aware.

he supposed he deserved it.

’I send the locusts on a wind

Such as the world has never seen

On every leaf, on every stalk

Until there's nothing left of green’

diluc also caught your little comment, and he might have laughed would it not have come out watery. of course you knew. of course you chose this song specifically. of course you put him on the team with your beloved, of course you made him work with his brother, the one you’ve poured the most of your time and effort into. of course. of course. this was all just a jab at him, wasn’t it? perhaps he was being a touch self-centered in that assessment, but really, it wasn’t that far-fetched. he knew his brother was your favorite. he knew that, despite his own feelings about him, your opinion stood higher than any other. no matter how hard he tried, he would always fall to second place.

it made sense that you wanted to remind him.

’I send my scourge, I send my sword

Thus saith the Lord

You who I called brother

Why must you call down another blow?’

cryo vision or not, kaeya’s skin is burning. his heart is thundering at twice the pace it should, his skin flushed with both blood and embarrassment. he couldn’t help but feel like you were directing this at him specifically, like you had picked this song specifically to get under his skin. he didn’t doubt that diluc was affected as well—time apart didn’t change either of their habits—but didn’t dare to look over. surely, if he saw how disheveled mondstat’s cavalry captain had become after a simple few verses, his words would once more line with fire and flame. he knew his brother resented his position as the one in your favor, but now, with this further context…

it feels like you only picked him to fix him.

‘I send my scourge, I send my sword

Let my people go

Thus saith the Lord

Thus saith the Lord’

dilucs mind is racing, trying to pick out the meaning behind the song. it’s a tale of two brothers, that’s obvious enough, and it’s clear you mean for a parallel to be found between those sung about and him and kaeya. maybe- maybe if he can find it, if he can find the message you want them to learn, he can act on it and maybe he could fix whatever you hated so much about their relationship. he wanted to, desperately, because surely there was a reason you chose to play this with them on your team. there had to be meaning in this, there had to be a reason you insisted on placing him besides his brother even when you made it clear which you favored, there had to be a way to fix whatever he did to anger you. he refused to believe otherwise.

‘You who I called brother

How could you have come to hate me so?

Is this what you wanted?’

no, no, it wasn’t, kaeya never meant for this wedge between them to drive so deep, the chasm that separated the two brothers was never meant to be deeper than his pinky was long. he wanted to reconcile, he wanted to reconnect, this was never what he wanted, he never meant to dissolve his relationship with his brother like this. there were days he spent at the bar, bottle in hand and filled with regret over his decisions, wishing for anything to fix it. he would never want this. but of course, as always, your omnipotent presence dared to accuse what mortal men could never speak.

‘I send the swarm, I send the horde

Then let my heart be hardened

And never mind how high the cost may grow

This will still be so’

diluc’s eyes close, his thoughts a swirling mix of the words he’s hearing and memories of stormy nights. memories of blood on his hands and the glinting light of a fatui insignia burn behind his eyes, the implications of your playing this song knowing that it resonated with the two of them lost in the chaos. his mind echoes words back at him, an apparition only there to eat at him. ‘never mind how high the cost may grow,’ it spits, taunting, and he doesn’t have the energy to retaliate. why would he? hes in no place to protest, not when it’s right.

’I will never let your people go

Thus saith the Lord

I will not-‘

they ask that you never play this song again.

‘Let your (my) people go’

#voidless has EXCELLENT taste by the way. this is a banger #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #self aware genshin #sagau kaeya #sagau diluc #words cannot describe how much i wish i had a diluc ughhhhh #i have his artifacts i have his talent things i have his boss drops i have a weapon i have everything BUT A DILUC >:(#*sad in jean and C1 mona*#and KAEYA? i have a c1 lisa and c1 amber #neither of which i use. i’ve built my kaeya so well but nope #don’t deserve a constellation. 4blizzard 7-7-7 talents and lvl 90 means nothing ig #bitter.#kaeya angst #diluc angst #what is love but making those you cherish suffer?#cw: religious themes #cw: religion #< tagging that on this one because it explicitly references the christian bible #then again i AM a sagau writer so…..#future me here saying: i have a diluc now!!!!! very cool!!!!#(but at what cost……)

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Text

Temptations of Circuits and Sin

CW for this chapter specifically: Elements of Noncon, Murder Kink, Noncon Knifeplay, Durge Murders People, Ritualistic Sacrifice, Possessive Language, Possessive Sex, Rough Oral, Face-fucking, Choking, Hair Pulling, Dom/Sub

DEAD DOVE Do not eat: Please mind the tags, step away if you need to. Mental health and safety ALWAYS come first.

Pairing: OC!Durge x Gortash

Words: 5130 of 10320 Ao3 Link Part 1

Part 2

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

A loud clang of metal hitting stone echoed through the foundry workshop as the Steel Watcher crumpled to a heap. Enver closed his eyes in frustration at the failed attempt. He wished he could say he lost count, but he knew the exact measure of failure.

He gripped the head of his cane tightly as he walked over to the motionless Steel Watcher. He poked the useless metal with his cane, the body within peeking through the gaps in the armor.

“Is this your problem?” The bhaalspawn’s voice broke the air of frustration like the crack of a whip. Enver turned to the door they stood at and smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by. It seems you have excellent timing.” He motioned to the desks flanked by the teaching boards. “Most of the details are either on the boards or in notebooks.” They stepped with a deliberate pace to quietly examine the boards. They studied the schematics, eyes scattering over the swath of information before them. Enver waited in silence, anticipating them to ask for clarification, or inquire about what it was he’d created. They moved to a notebook on the desk and flipped to a page to compare something to a sketch on the board. Their focus found a jar with a brain inside on the desk. It held their attention for quite a while. He eyed them quizzically, surely they couldn’t be running through the issue already.

“Your Steel Watchers are nothing more than a metal shell for a decaying body. The brain isn’t communicating with the host body within.” They turned to face him. He couldn’t help a look of impressed shock cascading over his usually controlled features.

“Am I correct?” They prodded him. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

“You, indeed, are correct. I am impressed that you managed to conclude all that from just a momentary glance at-”

They pointed to the notebook. “It says here. You logged it yesterday.” They smirked at him, having caught him in their snare. Instead of indignation or shame, he felt a lightheartedness in his chest. So, the spawn could make a joke.

“Touché.” He walked up beside them, directing his attention to the board. “Now, do you know how to go about solving the issue?”

They inhaled a breath, controlled and steady. Then their gaze landed on the brain jars once again. It traveled to the Steel Watcher on the floor, then traveled back to the board.

“I will need some time. Alone.” The attempt to command Enver within his own workshop was a commendable show of bravery.

“This is my workshop, Assassin. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my presence, but I assure you, mine will be the only one plaguing you while you work.”

He heard a soft growl leave the bhaalspawn. They gripped their fists and then relaxed after a few more controlled breaths.

They said nothing more as they started to pore through the piled notes and schematics, decidedly not looking at him.

◤──•~ ҉ The Dark Urge ҉ ~•──◥

The Tyrant’s workshop was full of noise putting the bhaalspawn on edge. Hissing vents, whirring gears, dripping pipes. The building was close enough to the water that the squawk of a gull occasionally joined the cacophony. The only salve for the noise was the cool tones of Gortash’s voice. It made them nauseous to both realize and admit.

The Urge inside them was quietly starting to rustle awake. Overwhelming mixes of noise always made them twitch like an irritated animal. It scraped and dug at the inside of their brain. The only thing that quieted the itching discomfort was making a body spill blood for their Father’s purpose, that is until they met the Tyrant. His commanding voice, the lilt of his words, his dark steady eyes - he stilled the swirling mess of stimulus that seemed to drive them wild.

The irritating pounding in their head might have ceased, but now the rolling sickness in their belly threatened their focus.

They knew why the Steel Watchers were failing. They knew it the moment they saw the greying brain in the jar on his desk. Balthazar was a skilled necromancer, but prideful, and relied too much on the magic he commanded rather than truly understanding the bodies he brought back from the grip of death. They needed to check the makeup of the liquid the brain was suspended in to be sure, but the problem was mostly self-inflicted.

They could tell Gortash the issue right this instant, give recommendations of fixes, and be on their way. So why were they wasting time pretending to look through his notes? Why did they force themselves in this room for longer than strictly necessary? A flash of last night flittered into their mind. The Tyrant holding their neck with his gauntleted hand, lips pressed together, his thigh pressed between their legs.

Heat flooded their cheeks and they gripped a book tightly, a forceful swallow ringing through their ears like a church bell. This was a mistake. They should leave.

“I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.” They abruptly shut the notebook they had neglected to read. They moved quickly to the door of the workshop and glanced back, though not looking directly at Gortash. They wanted to say more but the words caught in their throat so they simply nodded and left, barely hearing his response.

“Till then.”

—

The Chosen of Bhaal paced the platform in the temple like a hungry animal. They needed to clear their head. The Tyrant was invading their thoughts and they needed to put a stop to it.

Muffled screams became louder as a bound sacrifice writhed against the two bhaalists shepherding the lamb to its slaughter. They felt their Urge spring to attention, lips twitching as their fingers wrapped around the hilt of their blade.

The sacrifice was placed on the stone altar. They bound the wrists and ankles and removed the black cloth sack that was over the head. Wild eyes widened in fear as the pupils adjusted to the room. Their own eyes stilled in momentary shock as they took in the form laid before them. Dark shaggy hair wet with sweat stuck to the face, which was framed by a strong square jawline. The eyes were dark and almond-shaped and the wide-set nose had been broken, possibly from the abduction. In the dim lighting of the temple, all the features were enough to remind them of him.

They stood over the sacrifice made bare as it fruitlessly writhed against the bindings, screams still muffled by the cloth gag tied tightly against the mouth. Even in their temple, the Tyrant wouldn’t leave them be. As they glowered at the pathetic thing, two attendants came to take the robe loosely draped over the Chosen. They shrugged it off, revealing their naked form. The remaining cultists took position around the platform, beginning a slow and rhythmic chant.

Bhaal’s vitality within them ached for the spill of crimson, ached for carnage. The chanting was like a siren’s song to their blood. Like the beat of a drum before battle, guiding them to the task, it kept their mind in step with the march of duty. They closed their eyes, whispering a prayer to themself, punctuated with a deep inhale. When they opened their eyes, a glowing red consumed their irises. A smile formed at the corners of their lips as they took their holy dagger in hand and pressed the tip to the heart of the sacrifice.

The look-alike squirmed and cried against the blade. The Chosen bent over to whisper in their ear, so none but the sacrifice would hear.

“The gods gave you to me, knowing my plight. This is a test, one I shall pass. Thank you.” They licked up the shell of the ear. More cries came from the man, tears streaming down the side of his face, pooling in and around his ears. They wanted to savor this, do it correctly, and make each cut divine.

They circled the altar, blade in hand. They remembered the scratches their nails dug into the Tyrant’s chest. They wondered if he had healed them or if they remained there for the meeting in the workshop. With a lurch, they quickly drew their blade down the chest of the man on the table in the same pattern as the marks left on Gortash. They were small cuts compared to the depths their blade could have plunged. They didn’t want to kill this man yet.

The continued chanting nearly drowned out the man’s muffled wailing. They admired their work and a flash of Gortash groaning under their cuts filled their mind. They felt a moan threaten to escape at the memory. They diverted their attention to the man, adjusting the tip of their blade to his throat. They barely applied pressure, making a thin nick that started to trickle blood slowly from under the ear to the clavicle. They adorned the other side of his neck with the same slow, near-sensuous cut.

His body quivered under their touch. It was an intoxicating feeling. Usually, they would have driven their dagger deep into the heart by now. All of that would come soon enough. They turned their attention to his legs, remembering the thigh that teased them so easily. They again made their blades dance across his skin, carving an ode to the memory. The man was nearly completely covered in his blood now, a blanket of ruby velvet adorning his form. They felt a swell of longing bloom.

They climbed onto the altar, knees on either side of the man’s torso. They folded over to have their face aligned close with his - so close that they could hear the erratic beat of his rabbit heart. They lightly pressed their lips to his strained ones. A frantic look of confusion mixed with the terror. They cut the gag free, the cloth was soaked from his pathetic saliva-filled cries. He went to scream for help and they immediately silenced his cries with a kiss, pushing their tongue inside his mouth, threatening to choke him. They bit down on his tongue, drawing blood, the liquid spilling into their mouth through the frenetic kiss. He whined in pain into their mouth, causing them to moan in return, remembering a very similar kiss shared between the Tyrant and bhaalspawn not twenty-four hours before. They growled as the memory threatened to take over their senses, merging with reality.

‘Say you don’t want this, and I won’t give it.’

His words echoed through the crimson haze of the ritual, eventually drowning out the sounds of the temple, the chanting and screams a thousand miles away.

Why didn’t they stop him? Why did they succumb to such debased desires? Why couldn’t they refuse him? Why… Why… Why… Why…

With their mouth still pressed to the mundane doppelganger under them, their dagger moved with the speed of lightning, stabbing precisely into the man’s heart. His body tensed in response, eyes wide with the realization of his oncoming death. He choked violently through restrained spasms, finally forcing the Chosen to part from his lips. They savored the taste of the blood, though it didn’t taste as sweet as the Tyrant’s. They laid their head against the chest of the man, listening to his heart slow, the last gusts of air rushing through his lungs, they closed their eyes as they held the knife steady in his chest. They slowed their breathing to match his dying pulse, meditating out of the moment. They went to a place free from compulsion, free from amnesiac episodes, a place of true freedom.

The red glow in their eyes faded, the murderous Urge satisfied for now. They stayed atop the man until his body went still and his eyes dulled. They removed themself from the altar and pulled their knife from his chest. They didn’t bother cleaning the blade and instead walked to their private chambers, blade and body still covered in his blood.

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

The next day came quickly for Enver. The duties of a Lord in Baldur’s Gate piled higher and higher, all while his designs remained at a standstill. He put on a good face for the patriar meeting, ever charming, ever the socialite. He found his patience wearing thin, however. His focus kept shifting to the bhaalspawn.

Enver wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction yesterday. They seemed in decent enough spirits at the start, but then as the silence drew on they became more hostile, more wild. They hid it well, but he could tell when they were unsteady and on edge. He wanted to take credit for the change in attitude, but he knew it was deeper than merely his presence bothering them. He thought about the odd behavior concerning his Steel Watchers, turning over the events in his mind.

‘I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.’

After they had left, Enver went to the notebook they had been hovering over for the last handful of minutes. He made a curious hum as he turned it right-side up.

‘Till then.’

They asked for more time but obviously hadn't read or studied the material provided. Perhaps it was sabotage, perhaps they had no intention of helping him. As tempting as the thought was, he quickly pushed it from his mind. They were smarter than that. He looked out the window and saw the sun nearly disappearing under the horizon.

“My Lord?” one of the patriars interrupted his thoughts.

“Apologies, We shall have to finish this at a later date. I have another matter to see to. You may leave any closing remarks with my attendants.” he motioned his cane to a few armored men.

As he made his way to the workshop he found his head spinning in riddles once more. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty. With any luck the bhaalspawn will return with the solutions he craved.

He spent some time rereading the notes and designs he had shown them yesterday, trying to discern what they might have seen or discovered. He sat in a chair staring at the brain suspended in a jar, the same one that captured their attention for so long. What did they know?

He rapped his cane against the floor with anxious impatience. He decided to be productive if was stuck waiting for an unknown amount of time. The pieces of armor still lay in a heap on the floor. He used different levies and pulleys to move them back to the stand that kept the hulking useless thing upright. He removed his overcoat, the physical activity causing him to sweat. He rolled up his sleeves as he set to studying the notes Balthazar left for him.

The necromancy should have been the solution to his brilliant design. Using a tadpoled brain to control the body within the armor seemed simple enough at first glance, but something was wrong. A piece was missing, and neither he nor the necromancer could solve it. Balthazar was all too ready to blame Enver’s designs, insisting the arcane parts of the equation were flawless. Unfortunately, Enver couldn’t argue. He was no arcanist, but he had the equations double-checked by an outside source, confirming Balthazar’s confidence.

The infuriating thought that Enver was wrong crossed his mind. That his designs were indeed flawed, somehow. He gripped the head of the cane tightly. He needed the bhaalspawn to help him. He knew they had the answers.

As if on cue, there was a gentle knock at the door. He turned to see The Chosen waiting there.

“Ah, my friend, please come in, come in.” He smiled as he waved them in.

Their expression made no change as they stepped to him. A forced air of casual disdain radiated from them. He couldn’t help the twinge of a smirk.

“I hope you come with good news.” He cleaned the charcoal from his hands, sleeves still rolled up to the elbows. He saw their gaze focus on his hands. He relished in how much he drew their attention. They must have felt his satisfaction, as they made a low snarl before they finally spoke.

“I need to review some things, but I will have your answers.” Their response was short and snippy. Enver hummed in consideration.

“The resources here are yours to peruse. I will continue working while you look through what you need.” He turned from them, picked up a charcoal pencil, and continued his design work. He watched them from the corner of his vision. They made a greater attempt at feigning research this time around.

After nearly an hour they spoke again. “I have discovered your problem.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting. Please, the floor is yours.” He faced them, putting the pencil down.

They remained still, glancing at the jars again. Enver noticed the glance and quirked an eyebrow, but he waited for them to answer his invitation before he pressed further.

“The brains. They’re dormant. Whatever solution they’re in is preventing rot but at the cost of brain activity.”

Enver studied the cerebral containers on his desk. “Balthazar said that-”

“Balthazar is an arrogant fool who would scream at a rock till his vocal cords tore apart if he convinced himself he could command the thing.” Contempt dripped from their words, with a hint of pride in their assessment. Enver couldn’t help but chuckle at the insult.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I had the calculations for the spells double, even triple-checked. They are flawless.”

“It is not the arcane that is faulty. I said the solution was the issue. The spells are taking hold, but the impulses are powerless. Here.” They went to the jar, flipping open a nozzle at the top and pouring some of the liquid into an empty vile. They smelled the vile, then dipped their tongue to it barely getting a taste.

“As I suspected. This solution is merely a preservative. It keeps your brains alive, but they are akin to a sleeping person. The connection between the brain and the body is nonexistent. Balthazar is an expert necromancer, but his form of necromancy cannot control a brain. That’s why all his creations are mindless ghouls and zombies. He’s capable enough of animating a body but ignorant about cerebral processes.” They opened the lid of the jar, grabbing the brain inside. They gently held it in the palm of their hand. Enver listened to their explanation with rapt attention.

“The brain is where the soul lives in a mortal. Many like to say it’s the heart, but that is poetic drivel. The brain is where thoughts become real. It controls the rest of the body, sending signals through the nervous system.” They gestured with their free hand to the body in the armor.

“Balthazar assured me the remote elements of this design were achievable.” Enver could feel his annoyance growing, but not with the spawn, but rather with Balthazar. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted a necromancer.

“He was correct. It is possible. From what I can tell the arcane bindings serve as the nervous system, extending through space, connecting the two. The problem is that your brain isn’t sending signals. It needs a more conducive environment to the increased telepathic capabilities. The brain can hardly send the electrical impulses from one end of the jar to another, let alone traverse a remote distance to its body.”

Enver noticed the light in their eyes as they spoke. The way the stiff and stale attitude melted away as they talked about the brain. He was enraptured by their brilliance. He knew they could help him. There was just one last thing gnawing at him. The bhaalspawn continued in his silence.

“I should have a better replacement for the fluid tomorrow. Something capable of carrying telepathic impulses.” They went to put the brain back in the jar. As they shut the vessel Enver closed the distance between them. He noticed the tension reenter their body with his proximity.

“Truly remarkable. I knew you’d work it out. There’s just one thing I still don’t quite understand.” They turned to look at him, weary but still shrouded in their earlier confidence.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this yesterday?” He saw their chest quickly expand with a sharp inhale, the mark of a liar about to spill more lies.

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” He tutted at their attempt to feign ignorance.

“Oh, but you do. I thought you were playing some coy joke yesterday, and perhaps you were, but not the one I first thought. As soon as you saw that jar, you knew exactly what was wrong.” He used his cane to point at the brain.

“And I would bet all the gold in my vault that you know exactly how to fix it now. So why prolong this?” He stepped closer, setting his cane on the table beside them. Their eyes narrowed with resentment, but he saw them struggling to swallow, saw the flick of their fingers that signaled the betrayal of their body.

'Ah, so that was it.'

“If you wanted to see me again, Assassin, you didn’t need to fabricate excuses.” He risked bringing his hand to their cheek. They backed up a step from him, practically hissing.

“You grow too candid, Tyrant.” They slapped his hand away. The action filled Enver with an immediate desire to force them to their knees, which was at odds with his desire to keep them at his level. He responded instead with another question.

“Are we just going to pretend the other night didn’t happen?” He filled the space their earlier retreat created. Their body tensed once again. They averted their eyes, choosing silence to his inquiry. He grew tired of their games.

He grabbed under their chin with a dominant forceful hand and turned their head to look at him.

“Or are you so opposed to tenderness that you prefer I touch you like this?” He squeezed the sides of their throat slightly at the end of his words. He felt their body battling the urge to fight back. He gazed into their eyes and found them struggling to retain the ire previously consuming them. They didn’t shy away from him, though.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against theirs as he spoke. “Tell me. Tell me what you wanted.” He used his other hand to grab at the back of their head, fisting a handful of hair. He hadn’t pulled on it yet, but just the threat of it made them release a breathy whimper.

“Tell me, Assassin.”

They became so pliant in his hands. The power to tame such a dangerous creature caused enough excitement to make him half-hard already. They moved to close the gap between their lips, but he pulled back on their hair. They mewled at the tug.

“You need to tell me. Then I’ll give you what you came here for.” He gave another small pull on their hair. They snarled in frustration but acquiesced.

“I …want you.” He could feel the shame taking them from him. He squeezed the hand around their throat before that could happen. He gave a grin.

“Very good.” Enver relented in denying them any further. His lips crashed into theirs. He felt the reverberation of their lewd and wanting moans as he pushed his tongue against their lips, forcing them to part for him. Just like the rest of them, their tongue wanted to fight for dominance in the kiss, but one firm yank on their hair had their jaw slack with a whine. He parted from their needy mouth.

“You’ve caused a problem for me, Assassin. Fix it.” He let go of their neck and used the hand to undo the ties on his trousers and pushed the underclothes aside, freeing his erection from its clothed confines. His other hand moved to the top of their head, grasping the hair still, applying enough pressure to guide them down to their knees.

Seeing them on their knees for him made his cock throb and leak. He felt a pulse of earnest desire before he pushed their head closer to where he so desperately wanted them.

“Do you want it?” He asked, voice low and full of wanton anticipation. They looked up at him and responded by licking up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. He shuddered and rolled his head back, eyes closing with a deep groan of pleasure. He gripped their hair tighter as they teased the tip with their tongue. They licked over and under the sensitive head. His hips jerked, wanting more.

“You’ve not earned tenderness today, remember?” He spoke between deep, controlled breaths. They had a brief look of confusion before he thrust his cock deep into their mouth, causing their nose to meet his pelvis. They gagged at the sudden movement, and he pulled their mouth from him by the fistful of hair in his grip. The reprieve was temporary as he directed their head back into position.

“Be ready this time.” He demanded as he pushed into their mouth again. This time they were relaxed enough to fully take him without gagging - well, without gagging much. The indelicate sounds of him claiming their face filled the room as their cheeks hallowed out to receive him. It was lighting every sensation with a raging fire deep inside. He felt his tip hit the back of their throat and he moaned at the feeling. He pistoned in and out of the warm, wet hole made loose for him. Tears welled at the corners of their eyes with each forceful thrust. Drool gathered around their mouth, messily traveling down their chin and neck. He felt their hands travel up his thighs, gripping him for stability. He eased on the depths to which he pumped, giving them time to catch their breath.

Enver looked down at the Murder Lord’s Chosen made supplicant at his feet. They fed his pleasure in a way he hadn’t felt before. He experienced the usual euphoria of dominion, but something else crept in he couldn’t place. He enjoyed this game, this domination over them, but he wanted to do more, be more with them. He took his free hand and wiped away the tears from under one eye as they open-mouth panted, struggling for air. They quickly narrowed their eyes at the sudden softness of his touch.

They used one hand to grip around the base of him, and the other to grope at his balls as they dove back down. The abrupt movement pulled a hiss from his lips. Their tongue wildly swirled and rubbed against the underside of his aching cock. He could feel precum leak into their mouth with every suck. He met their enthusiasm with his own. He slammed into their mouth with such vigor he was sure the back of their throat would be bruised. The thought alone almost pushed him over the edge. The spawn used their fingers to tease and squeeze his balls, while their other hand joined with their mouth to work up and down his shaft. They went back and forth between growls and mewls.

'Still warring with themself about which way they should finish me off.'

Enver decided he wouldn’t give them the time to ponder the choice further. He threaded his fingers more securely in their hair.

“Are you ready for me, Assassin?” he asked through his now heavy breathing. With the pull of their hair, they nodded and gave a whimper he’d come to adore so much. He smiled and shoved their head down till he bottomed out against their throat. He grunted as he repeated the movement a few more times, each instance pulling him closer to the edge. They were taking him so easily now. He started to praise them between each thrust as the peak of his ecstasy quickly encroached.

“That’s it - good - what a good - little thing you are - gods!” with one last greedy push into them he felt his orgasm spill into their mouth. He tightly fisted their hair, keeping their head in place as his cock pulsed and finished pumping the last of his spend down their throat. His body twitched with every swallow they took of him.

Enver slowly pulled out from their mouth, cum and saliva dripping from his cock and their lips. He tucked himself back into his pants with a sloppy attempt at retying his trousers. He reached down to pull them up, lightly wrapping his hand around where he had been choking them before. They lifted themself at his wordless command, thankfully still lost in the euphoria of the moment. Their half-lidded gaze found his. He moved his hand to cup their cheek, half waiting for them to pull from his touch. Instead, they softly kept his gaze held in theirs. He felt a swell stir from his stomach into his heart.

He leaned in and kissed them. He could still taste himself on their lips, taste his possessive and greedy claim. A small moan left him as he deepened the kiss. They moaned in return. This was no submissive mewl, not a feral growl, it was simply a pleasure-fueled moan, one of longing and desire.

The moment didn’t last as it seemed they came to their senses. They retreated from his touch and their connection. Wild tension once again filled their body. It was like watching someone coil a spring too tightly, winding it beyond what it could manage. He gave a small sigh.

They used a cloth lying on the desk to wipe their mouth and face, back turned to him in silence. They bent over the table, writing something in one of his notebooks. They left it open to the page as they went to leave. He went to inspect what they had written. It was a list of different chemicals and ingredients.

“It’s the recipe for your new solution. It mimics the brine of the tadpooling centers.” They tried to slip out quickly, but he called out to them.

“I’ve never been much of an alchemist… perhaps an expert should check my work. Tomorrow?”

Enver managed to catch the faint hint of a smile from the Assassin as they wordlessly took their exit. It was all the confirmation he needed to know he would see them the next day.

Thanks for reading, and as always, comments and feedback always welcome and appreciated.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #durge #durge x gortash #durgetash #dark urge x gortash #dead dove fic #cw: noncon #cw: blood #cw: religious themes

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