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pandoraslxna · 3 months

Note

pervert!neteyam masturbating and imagine he's fucking reader 🫣

A mighty warriors need

adult Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: The only trouble Neteyam allows himself to get into, is you.

Warnings: explicit smut, voyeurism, male masturbation, teacher/student dynamic, reader trained for her iknimaya at 18, slight age difference (Neteyam is 28, reader is 20), sexual fantasies

Notes: Just something short while we wait for my precious sun to come back and continue her event <3

Adult Neteyam art was made by @Cinetrix 🩵

Neteyam, for all that he tries to stay out of trouble and follow into his father’s footsteps, has never had a particularly relaxing life, or even one lazy day all to himself.

He has also always been what dad calls an "early bird".

When he was a child, his father told him stories of the time when he was a soldier on earth, how his superiors had called him an early bird too, because he was always the first to wake. Dad said, it‘s a quality that shows of discipline.

And that’s part, if not the main reason, why Neteyam has always raised from his hammock before the very first rays of sun could even cast over the horizon.

Stretching his limbs, his tired bones crack and he has to stifle a chuckle because he knows if mother was awake she would scold him because she dislikes the sound of that. After rolling his hammock together and stuffing it away, he walks over to his siblings, all three of them still sound asleep.

He pulls Tuks blanket up, gives her a little kiss on the forehead and then leans over to tip Lo‘aks chin up so he closes his mouth and rolls over in his sleep. It stops him from snoring, and then Neteyam watches with a fond smile how Kiris brows relax as the annoying sound finally stops.

Dad is now up too. He hears him shuffle around quietly in the dark, then nods his head at him when they pass each other. A silent greeting to not wake the rest of the family, before Neteyam ties his cummerbund around his hips and steps outside.

He knows his father is in no rush to start the day before he had what the human called coffee, a brownish powder brewed in a cup. It’s one of the very few human quirks his old man can’t seem to lay off.

But neither he nor the rest of the family seem to mind. It also gives him time to participate in the sacred morning rituals, offering prayers to Eywa, before he goes to pick fruit for breakfast.

Alongside his father, he then attends council meetings where they discuss matters of governance, strategize for the clan's protection, and ensure the well-being of their community.

As a skilled warrior, Neteyam leads training sessions for younger Na'vi warriors. He prepares his students for their upcoming iknimaya, imparting his knowledge of combat and hunting techniques, survival skills and the importance of harmony with nature, as well as the balance of life that eywa protects.

It’s not everyday, but he also engages in diplomatic meetings with neighboring clans whenever his father is too busy to attend himself, fostering alliances and resolving conflicts. It‘s his diplomacy skills, honed through years of observing his father, that help him navigate discussions and negotiations, that ensure the unity and prosperity of their people, which are also well respected, especially among the olangi clan. The flight on his ikran is short, and it’s barely an hour before he‘s back home.

Evenings are dedicated to spending time with his family. Neteyam joins his parents, siblings and the rest of the clan in sharing a meal, one who’s meat he often participated in hunting the day prior. Engaging in the lively conversations around him has always come naturally to him.

You see, with great responsibilities befitting his impending role, his day was usually filled with numerous duties and commitments, leaving barely any time for him to step out of line even if he wanted to. The only time during his busy day that he made sure was strictly reserved for himself, was the time past eclipse.

As the sun sets and dawn casts its ethereal glow over the forest, he leaves behind the clamor of his responsibilities and disappears far off the village. With agile grace, he climbs onto a tree, finding solace on a sturdy branch that offers a panoramic view of the forest below.

Seated high off the ground, Neteyam takes a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of the forest. He closes his eyes, allowing the soothing sounds of nature to envelop him, the rustling leaves, the distant calls of animals, before he opens them again. Right on cue, he hears the sweet humming sound coming from below him, where a small river ripples.

He can't help it. He should perhaps try harder to help it, but he cannot quite summon the willpower.

His position gives him the perfect view of the main reason he occupied himself here in the first place. It was something he just had to do to maintain his focus and equilibrium. It even reached a point where he found himself eager for it, looking forward to this rare moment he had all to himself. The only time where he allowed himself to act upon his own desires. And it was the rush of adrenaline and the excitement of doing something so forbidden and dishonorable that bought him here day after day.

This spot here in the forest, this river below– it was your favored bathing spot. And Neteyam always made sure he had front row seats to the little private show you so unknowingly put on just for him.

The thing that Neteyam had with you, was that you‘ve always been trouble. The only kind of trouble he ever allowed himself to get into.

Logically, he’s known it since the first day of your training, when you were one of his numeyu [students]. He’d watched you undercut his authority a little more with every lesson, and underneath the spark of annoyance that had flooded his veins, he remembers thinking: this one’s going to be trouble, in the kind of way that made him want to smile. He hadn’t, at the time– but he had wanted to, and that was no small feat.

Now, you’re trouble in a different kind of way. Still in a way that makes him smile, but now... you’re the kind of trouble that he thinks could fuck up every single rule and regulation he’s ever made to keep himself disciplined, and he’s fairly sure that he’d let you if you asked nicely.

Fuck, he’d probably let you if you didn’t ask him at all.

His throat feels tight as he glances down below, his hungry gaze landing on you just the moment you untie your loincloth and let it slide down to your ankles. His eyes travel over every inch of your exposed skin, every curve of your body, as you step into the shallow water.

Eywa, you’re a real sight.

Splashing some of the water onto your chest, he watches every little drop roll over your pretty tits, down to your navel. It’s like you’re making a show out of this, bending down to collect more water into your palms in a way that gives him the perfect view of your pretty pussy from behind.

Great mother, the things he would do to press his face between your thighs, smell your arousal, to taste the wetness.

Neteyam can’t help but let his hand skim over his chest, his toned abs and down past the cord that holds his loincloth together. His cock is hard and aching beneath the fabric, begging to be touched. He feels his heart speed up in anticipation, so he shuffles out of his clothes and wraps a hand around his shaft.

Squeezing the tip of his cock, where it turns from blue into a faint hue of purple, he forces the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles. There’s a tightness, a warmth that swells inside him and it gets even worse when he inhales deeply and your scent fills his nostrils and he bites down on his lip to hold in a moan.

It’s the same scent that was right under his nose when he had trained you not many years ago. When he had guided your hands to hold your bow, corrected your stance by pressing himself against your back and straightening your spine. It’s the same scent, just so much sweeter now that he has his cock in his hand.

He then rolls your name in his mouth, testing the syllables in a hushed whisper. He can envision moaning it, wants to moan it if he can be completely honest.

Neteyam watches you use different soaps and kinds of oils you made out of herbs and tree sap to rub into your skin. Your hands cup your breasts, palms running over your perky nipples until they’re shining in said oil and he imagines those perfect tits bounce right in front of his face while you’re riding him.

It’s a mouth watering image in front of his minds eye. You on top, your back arched, your hips rolling. And Neteyam, rolling right back, on his elbows, mouthing your breasts, your collar bone, feeling the way you would squeeze around his length as you ride him.

He runs a ghosting touch down his stomach, the vision of your hand doing it. The imaginary weight of you on his lap grinding down on his hard member to put some friction onto your needy clit might have made him come when he was younger, but now he just groaned and let one hand wander to his balls to gently squeeze and knead them. His other hand strokes faster, tugging from base to tip in a quick rhythm that makes his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

Neteyam can’t seem to keep them away from you, though, so he quickly opens them again. Feeling the pressure build and the heat start to flood his system, he attentively watched your delicate hands roam your body to further massage the oils and natural soaps into your skin.

He could almost feel those fingers on his cock, kneading the flesh of his inner thighs, wandering up and down, gripping him tightly, urging him on. He could imagine exactly how your hips would circle against his groin, the rub and retreat designed to tease his cock until he couldn’t fight it anymore and just started mindlessly rutting against your body.

Stepping deeper into the river, a content little moan leaves your parted lips as the water encircles your middle. It’s just now that he sees you have a wooden bowl with you. It floats on top of the water’s surface, before you dip it into the water and then empty it over your head to rins yourself off. Neteyam imagines the feel of it sluicing over your shoulders, your breasts, your belly, soothing tired and aching muscles. He imagines the warmth of the water flowing further down, dripping off your rounded hips, your mound. Stroking himself faster, he imagines running his tongue along your skin to catch every drop of water, imagines how rich it would taste of you. It’s such a perverted thought, so shamefully dirty that the sheer thought of voicing those fantasies makes his cock throb so hard that his breath catches in his throat.

It’s so dirty– he is so dirty.

If only you knew how many times he came into his fist with your name on his lips and those thoughts in his head. Neteyams face burns hot with shame, and he doesn't need a mirror to know it's suffused with a purplish blush.

Shuddering, then moaning softly, he stares as if hypnotized at those wonderfully plump lips of yours.

Eywa, he was really losing the battle with his own arousal. His thoughts jumped from one filthy image to the other, it was hard for him to focus on any part of your body for more than a minute because there was always something new, something hotter, something he wanted more desperately.

And now it were your lips. Those lips that would feel so incredible wrapped around his length, he knows it. A mouthy little thing like you surely was good for more than just talking back. Knowing you, you would definitely give it your all as you sucked his cock. He knows you would work through the stretch in your throat like a champ, would take him in deeper and deeper despite the way the fat tip of his cock would make you gag and bring tears to your eyes. You would suck him like your life depended on it, he was sure of it. And you would enjoy it. Would milk him dry over and over again, hell you would definitely beg him to let you suck him off.

Neteyam felt his orgasm overtake him, heat surging through his body like white fire. His hand moved faster, quick strokes that made his chest heave with desperation, chasing that pleasure high like prey, but then you– you turned around, and fuck, your gaze suddenly lands right on him. So direct, if his head was anywhere near clear enough to think, he would’ve realized that you must’ve known that he was there this whole time. But it was already too late now.

Eyes dark with lust, Neteyam held your eyes captive as you then wordlessly pushed him into his orgasm with a seductive little wink, watching with a growing smirk how his back arched and rope after rope of cum splattered against his palm.

See? You’re trouble. Trouble, in the worst of ways.

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 5 months

Text

YOU‘RE THE ONLY THING I PRAY FOR. (2/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: none

WORDS: 2.4 K

NOTES: y’all are probably fed up with how much I’m posting today but ✨idc✨ lmao. Consider this as a little interlude before it gets steamy in part 3 🤭 tysm @arcielee for betaing this short thing.

Never before have you slept as badly as you did last night. The tea brought by Maester Mellos may have been drunk by you, but it did little to soothe the tormenting guilt you feel. You had retired to bed again afterwards, only to not be able to find any sleep at all.

Rolling from one side to the other, you had pondered over what had happened in the sept, and who could have seen the two of you to report it to your father. There couldn’t have been any witnesses for most septas leave whenever you arrive. Besides, you’ve looked around plenty of times. It’s impossible that anyone has seen you.

But deep down you know it was bound to happen eventually. A princess of the realm could not flaunt around the Grand Sept in the company of her uncle, let alone being claimed and defiled by him so openly without anyone witnessing.

So, it’s not surprising that at first light you’re summoned to the Throne Room.

The heavy doors fall shut behind you with a thud, and your footsteps are the only thing heard as you approach the looming throne. Your father sits atop it, Jaehaerys crown weighing heavy on his silver curls, and watches you with a grimm expression.

“Y-Your Grace,” you stutter, bobbing a small curtsy with your hands tightly clasped in front of you. It’s your father’s harsh voice that has you flinching even before you’re able to meet his eyes.

“Raise your head, child.” It’s a demand, and it’s definitely not your father sitting in front of you right now.

Nodding, you gulped thickly as your father has never before spoken to you in such a manner, with such fury laced within his voice. The quick-tempered part of his emotions has always been reserved to the people of his council, and sometimes even your little sister stands in the crossfire. But not you, never you.

“It has been brought to my attention that you were seen entering the Grand Sept with Daemon. Is that correct?”

Your eyes dart around before they settle on the floor, and you nod once again. Finding your voice seems to be more difficult than expected, failing as you are not even able to meet your fathers gaze.

And the silence appears to stoke your father’s fury, knowing this is too dire a matter to be lenient with you.

“I said is that correct?” he growls, abruptly rising to his feet.

The movement causes you to flinch, and you raise your head. “I–yes, he-he asked if he could join me for my morning prayer,” you stammer, frozen in fear.

Your father huffs, “Of course, he has.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, before he slowly but surely walks down the steps leading from the imposing Iron Throne towards where you stand. “And is that all that has transpired between the two of you, daughter?” The name falls from his lips dripping with so much venom, a shiver runs down your spine.

His stern expression only grows darker and darker, a foreboding edge cuts into them. “Or are there other matters that you two have been up to there?” he asks, looking down at you. “I wish to hear the truth from your mouth, and your mouth only.”

You feel your throat tighten, and your body grows cold just from the intensity that feeds the tension between the two of you. “I-I… I–,” you stammer. You’re caught.

Taking in a deep breath, you clench your hands to fists to stop them from trembling as you think about saying the next words out loud. Your nails dig into your palms, surely leaving crescent shaped marks, but this doesn't make the situation more bearable for you. “We-We kissed,” the words are practically a whisper, “and he did suggest we wed.” Looking away, you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, knowing there’s a rage brooding inside of him.

“What a foolish suggestion,” your father spits out. “Must I remind you that you were to wed Jason Lannister?”

Feeling your breath grow shaky as you try to keep the tears from welling in your eyes, your gaze locks with your father’s. You’re a dutiful girl, and you would have never disobeyed your father. But you allowed your uncle to take things too far, and now you have to bear the consequences.

“No, Your Grace,” your voice is meek, trembling as you shake your head, “I-I am aware I must wed Lord Lannister, a match made by you, and I do not wish to bring shame to the crown.”

But your father hesitates, as if the words he’s about to speak would weigh a thousand tons on yours and his shoulders. “Your lies have proven to me that you do not care for your duty to the crown,” he growls. “And I will not allow your foolish actions to further tarnish our House. You wish to go to the Sept freely and frequently? Then you shall make your way to Oldtown in the morrow to become a Silent Sister, and forsake your past life. You will be removed from the line of succession entirely as a punishment for flouting my authority.”

Frozen in stunned silence, the words do not seem real. The severity of your father’s judgement sinks into the pit of your stomach, and you take a step back as if it would give you back your ability to breathe.

With blurry eyes, you look back at him, trying to find some sort of consolation in his, but you only see sternness and disapproval. “A-Are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Tears stain your cheeks, and you allow them to. “Surely you must not mean it, father.”

“I am your King!” Viserys snaps, and there’s no fatherly compassion neither in his voice nor the fierce scowl on his face.

For all his reign your father has been nothing if not a weak king, relying on others to ensure the strength of the mighty House Targaryen. And now he decides to make an example out of your misstep, not able to afford another moment of weakness? It must be a cruel joke in favor of the Seven.

“My mind is made up,” your father finally growls, hiding the pit of guilt in his stomach behind the volume of his voice. “This is the price of your actions whether you like it or not. You have brought this on yourself, and I don’t wish to hear any more objections from you. Begone!”

Knowing there was nothing you could do to change his mind, you just nod your head and walk out of the Throne Room, eyes downcast as the tears won’t stop rolling down your cheeks.

You barely register who crosses your path on the way to your chambers for your mind is awash with sadness, rage and fear, and once the heavy door falls shut behind you, it all rises to the surface, claiming you like a storm.

You kick against a nearby stool before you sink to your knees and sob into your hands. Letting out an agonizing scream, you are overtaken by rage. But there’s no will of yours to pack your belongings, not that you’d need them anyways, for a scroll you certainly have not left there lays on your bed, next to a rugged cloak.

You grab the piece of paper, unrolling it and scanning over its contents, taking a few seconds to understand that it’s a map containing the secret passageways your ancestor had commissioned during the construction of Maegor’s Holdfast. ‘Meet me here at the Hour of the Ghosts’ is written below it, the here most certainly hinting at the point that’s hidden beneath a marked cross.

It seems like an incredibly long time to the Hour of the Ghosts, but what other choice than waiting do you have? There’s no way for you to go, not that you even want to go outside to meet anyone. All you want to do is spend the rest of your time in the Red Keep by yourself, sulking about the mess you have brought yourself into.

But as the hour finally strikes, you’re on your feet, silver hair hidden by the hood of the cloak.

The map suggests that there’s a hidden doorway to the right of your bed, and it takes little effort for you to push it open, revealing a staircase that leads you into a tunnel. Though it’s almost casted in complete darkness, you pull the door to your chambers shut behind you and scurry down the stairs, following the map.

The rage is still there on your way to the staircase that leads you out of the keep and into the city, and even in the dim lights of the torches around you, you can make out your uncle’s surprised face as you suddenly charge at him.

If you weren’t so angry, you would have laughed.

“Why have you told him?” you hiss, but are quickly silenced by his large hand covering your mouth. He holds you with your back against his chest, seizing your small frame and stopping you from shoving at his chest.

“I told him nothing,” he sharply hushes into your ear, though you don’t grasp the importance of it. Your life is already ruined, and his whispering won’t make it alright again. “Viserys was informed, but not by me. I assume it was one of the leeches’ puppets. Your father summoned me last night to inform me that my services to the crown were no longer required. He has exiled me.”

You exhale into his palm, turning slightly to look at him with wide eyes. There is a menacing grin on his lips, only broken when he continues. “I am quite certain he has done the same to you, so, you can either stay here and face your punishment, or you can come with me.”

His words settle slowly, and you’re torn between following him, or facing your fate as Silent Sister. You already disgraced your House, what’s one more misstep if it can bring you freedom?

You feel utterly helpless and powerless, for you don’t know if Daemon can be trusted. He hasn’t earned the moniker the Rogue Prince for nothing, and for all you know, he could have informed your father. But would he willingly bring himself into a treacherous position just to wed you? You’re not certain.

Your sigh fanning into the palm of his hand is what prompts him to release your face and allow you to speak again, and the cold air that suddenly fills your lungs with his hand gone has you clearing your throat. Winding in his grasp, you turn around to face him, and as it eventually loosens, you take a step back. There still is anger raging inside of you, but you must play your cards wisely.

The hood of your cloak is pulled back by you, exposing your full face to him. “What other options do I truly have?” you whisper, looking around briefly. “I shall come with you.”

It’s another sigh that rips itself from your chest, knowing the inevitability of your question, and your eyes flicker up to meet his. “When do we leave?”

There is a short moment of silence between you, and, as if you’ve anticipated anything else, Daemon finally replies.

“Now,” he rasps. “We must go, before anyone comes to find and stop us.”

Not giving you a chance to react, his fingers intertwine with yours, clearly sensing your apprehension as he pulls you after him.

“But my clothes. I–”

“Everything is set,” he husks. “I have secured your mount and my own, waiting for us in the Dragonpit. We must do this quickly, no time for lingering. We will be gone by the time anyone realizes.”

Just how quickly he has made all plans and arrangements possible truly amazes you, and you can’t help but feel drawn to his dedication to the matter and the ambition which he displays. You know you’re taking an immense risk in moving with him like that, but you trust him. You have to trust him.

Following him down the stairs, you look back at the Red Keep for a moment, and its sight makes you feel nervous and anxious. You’re about to leave so much of your life behind. At what cost?

It’s the neighing of a horse that catches your attention, and once again, Daemon takes your hand to drag you towards it. A tall, black stallion waits for you, and you squeal the moment your uncle lifts you up as if you weigh no more than a feather, putting you into the saddle.

He settles behind you as the horse canters along the cobblestone, heading towards the Dragonpit at a speed you have rarely ridden before. But by the Seven, never before have you felt so thrilled.

Stopping sharply in front of the outer doors opening to the hillside, he helps you down in the same manner he’s gotten you onto the horse. The gates to the dragonpit are opened, and both your dragons stand up the moment they recognize their riders.

Upon the sight of both beasts, your heart swells and freezes at the same time. You would have missed your dragon dearly in Oldtown, and the thought that you would almost never have ridden it again makes your blood run cold for a moment.

Silverwing is slightly larger than Caraxes, and makes a much more striking figure than your uncle’s mount, but you dare not tell him that.

With a nod towards the dragon keepers guarding your dragons, you approach your beast, hand gliding along her silvery scales. A look at Daemon from over your shoulder tells you that he’s already strapped to the saddle of Caraxes.

“Where are we flying to?” you shout over at him, mounting Silverwing. There is a small bag strapped to her saddle, a thick coat for you to wear draped over it, and you wonder when he’s had the time to prepare all that.

Caraxes is on his way out of the cave, roaring and grumbling, and your she-dragon briefly spreads her wings, before she follows him and crawls out into the open, causing you to almost not hear his reply.

“Pentos!”

Their large wings flap loudly as Caraxes firstly soars into the air with a bellowing roar, closely followed by Silverwing, breaking into the open sky.

The Red Keep grows smaller and smaller in the distance, until you can not make it out anymore. You’re not sure what difficulties might await you in Essos, though you have never been more ready to venture to far away lands.

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wordsvomit101 · 2 months

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That awkward moment when you realized that your big bro got laid with the person you tried to kill.

Author Notes: Credits to @eternal_auditor & @jazeswhbhaven, I got this idea for this shameless worldbuilding headcanons for Heaven and Angels thanks to both of them and the latter's "Angel Bros Headcanons: Michael Flips" post. I also just want to write the scenario in general. Warnings: Raphael is a caution flag himself, depictions of violence, thoughts of brutalizing and eating someone (being directed at MC) by Raphael, a lot of name-calling from Raphael directed at MC

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(Heaven - Time of Councils and Assemblies)

In the tranquil embrace of Heaven, evening descends like a gentle caress, casting a soft golden hue upon the timeless realm. As the radiant sun dips below the horizon of ethereal clouds, the celestial landscape is bathed in hues of pink, orange, and purple, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colors that stretches across the vast expanse of the heavenly domain. The sky is like a canvas painted lovingly by the hands of God, with the colors of a thousand sunsets, each stroke a masterpiece of divine artistry. The clouds, like celestial brushstrokes, dance across the canvas, their forms ever-changing, their edges illuminated with an ethereal glow.

Amidst the celestial splendor, angelic beings gracefully glide through the sky upon the archways of purest gold span the thoroughfares of Heaven, their graceful curves reminiscent of angelic wings in flight. Beneath these archways lie crystal atriums, their transparent walls revealing the celestial wonders of Heaven in all their resplendent glory. Their iridescent wings shimmer with divine light, flying gracefully as if they dance and pirouette in ethereal ballets, painting radiant trails of luminescence across the sky.

The lower-ranking angels engage in celestial chorales, their melodious voices intertwining in harmonies that resonate throughout the Heaven. The soaring soprano of archangels blends seamlessly with the velvety alto of cherubim, weaving a symphony that would uplift the soul and transport the listener to realms of pure bliss. The music reverberates through the celestial expanse, like a cosmic symphony conducted to worship the Almighty.

For middle-ranking angels, their beloved duty during the Pilgrimage to the Mount of Revelation to commune with their dear creator has to be despairingly pushed to merely Contemplation of Sacred Texts and attending to the Halls of Eternal Wisdom, a lesser, but an honorable duty nonetheless.

Even higher above, amidst ethereal spires and resplendent palaces that grace the heavenly expanse, angelic artisans toil diligently within the Halls of Artistry. Their deft hands sculpt magnificent statues and weave intricate tapestries, each a testament to the wonders of creation. They yearn for the day when their divine creator will bestow upon them a glimpse of their artistry, even a millisecond of recognition for their unwavering dedication to him would be more than enough.

While other angels tend to the flourishing celestial flora in the Gardens of Eternal Bliss. Radiant blooms burst forth in a splendor of colors, their petals shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. The angels nurture these heavenly gardens with love and care, a single damage to a petal of these beautiful flowers is enough to have their heads roll to the disgusting pit of Hell, however making a mistake in God's favorite garden is an even bigger sin.

It is a mundane day for all of them.

Bang!

"Sir-!"

Creak!

"AAAAAA-!"

Crunch!

"I have yet to finish my prayer-!"

Snap!

However, it wouldn't be a normal day if there wasn't a Raphael brutally tearing and eating fleshes of every angel on his path to the Chamber of Divine Counsel to meet with other Seraphs. His blood-caked shoes thundering over polished marble as he swaggers through the vaulted corridors of Heaven, his crimson-smeared wings unfurling like banners of carnage. Red marred his short blonde hair and white attire. With each wrathful step, he leaves a trail of dismembered angel carcasses, their alabaster feathers floating like ethereal snowflakes in his wake. His crimson eye fully emits an aura of violence and fury.

Thump!

Bursting into the Chamber of Divine Counsel with enough force to make the office tremble, the room was bathed in an ethereal glow, and the other Seraphs present, Gabriel and Michael, sat in their resplendent chairs, their expressions inscrutable. Raphael's form, however, drenched in the gore of his victims, stood in stark contrast to the pristine surroundings. He only has one thought of personally feasting upon that purple hair wench's flesh when she is still alive and making her watch herself being devoured alive and cut off her tongue so she couldn't even voice out her pain.

"Why... Why is it always her...! That bitch!"

The pure white chairs, crafted from the finest celestial ivory, bore the brunt of his rage, splintering and crumbling under his kicks. Yet Gabriel and Michael, their faces devoid of emotion, paid him little attention.

"If you insist on throwing a tantrum, I implore you to do so in a realm more suited to such sorrowful displays. Hell would accommodate your temperaments more appropriately."

Michael stood tall over the intricately designed long table with a mindmap and countless brainstorming notes. Standing in a place Brother Lucifer used to stand in each council meeting. His glare locked on the furious blonde seraph before him. A frown, as if carved in stone, creased his handsome face, adding an air of solemnity to his prideful demeanor. Around his neck, a regal purple choker, embellished with ornate gold rings and shimmering gemstones, encircled his throat. At its center, a prominent gold ring held a solemn cross pendant, its gentle clinking accompanying his every movement.

In a swift motion, Michael tilted his head to the left, displaying effortless grace as he dodged the flying chair hurtling towards him at high speed. The chair collided with the wall, its impact leaving a deep dent in the panel, a testament to the force behind the throw.

"Shut that shitty mouth of yours! Maybe try to go down there yourself to ask why our dear brother is entertaining trash!" As Raphael spoke, his voice trembled with anger and frustration, his words dripping with venomous accusation. A few veins already popped on his crazed, striking appearance. Filled with unrepressed anger that led him to kill his spies who reported to him and fly from the dungeon up here.

Yet Michael continued to look at his notes, his face blissfully indifferent. His right hand continued to write on many of his papers on the white table.

"He has simply strayed from the right path."

Brother Lucifer’s footstep-less feet headed for the vile tiny red devil.

'Stop it.'

However, he couldn't say the same about his head. Memories he had been trying to wipe from his mind for years served only to haunt him. Taunting him of the gut-wrenching event more than a hundred years ago.

In the silence, pure white hands pushed through the grass and preciously held up the rotten red thing.

'Don't dirty your hands.'

His brother stroked that thing's body so softly with his hands so similar to how he once did with Michael's face. Those strong, beautiful hands that once held his face so tenderly to wipe his tears away. As he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

'Brother...'

"I remain confident in my ability to guide him back to the right path."

His brother's hand was holding Michael’s ray of light. The light in Brother Lucifer’s hand had stopped in front of the disgusting beast's chest, unable to advance further. He was again protecting worthless things that didn't deserve his grace.

'Why did you save it?!'

When his brother finally stood before Michael on his third step, black energy, not white, began to flow from his body.

'No-NononononoNONO-'

From his beloved brother’s head, the gorgeous head of the Morning Star, bright red horns that were the same color as the vile thing that tempted him began to grow.

'Brother- Brother Lucifer please!'

"You shall witness it in due time."

"I love you, my brother. Which is why I will give you one last chance. Return."

Crack!

The force of Michael's left hand left a massive crack in the opulent crystal marble table that trailed down to the other end of it. Effectively bringing clarity back to Raphael as the blonde gazes at Michael's hard knuckle gripping the table painfully, ignoring the blood pooling down to the marble floor and further dirtying the former pristine chamber.

Michael's abrupt actions were met with an air of knowing silence from the two. It wouldn't be far-fetched if they possessed a secret understanding of his motivations that would elude outsiders.

"Hmph," a scoff rang out and pierced the silence of the room, originating from the slender man with platinum blonde hair seated to Michael's right. His face, though classically handsome with a pale complexion, remained stoic and emotionless, belying the arrogance that dripped from the single syllable he uttered.

"Then you better live up to those words."

Gabriel's lean was a graceful movement, his body sinking into the chair as if it were a throne. His arms crossed over his chest, the crisp white of his shirt contrasting sharply with the gleam of the gold chain that adorned his white jabot ruffle shirt. The fabric of his sleeves rustled softly against the delicate filigree, creating a symphony of subtle sounds that echoed through the silent room. His eyes, deep and enigmatic, surveyed the scene before him, his expression a mixture of amusement and quiet contemplation.

"Furthermore, even in his current state, Brother Lucifer still demonstrates a reverence for God. It is conceivable that his actions are merely a symptom of his yearning for God's divine presence."

In this timeless realm, where Gabriel proudly proclaims to reign supreme as the epitome of seraphic obedience, there exists but one for whom he would willingly surrender his esteemed position: Brother Lucifer. The firstborn of God's creations, Brother Lucifer's devotion to his Maker surpassed all others, earning him the title of Morning Star. His brilliance illuminated the heavens, casting an unrivaled radiance that even Gabriel's wings could not obscure.

It was Brother Lucifer who instilled within the celestial choirs the rituals and observances that expressed their gratitude to the Almighty. Yet amidst his unwavering piety, Brother Lucifer adhered to a solitary discipline known only to himself. Only a select few had glimpsed this secret regimen, elusive even to those who had followed his every step for countless eons.

Solitary would not be said without Brother Lucifer's name being attached to the word. He found solace in his own construction of hallowed sanctuaries. These Majestic Temples of Worship at odd places in Heaven served as his solitary refuge, where he could commune with the divine without the distractions of others. His devotion ignited a spark in other angels, who, inspired by his example, crafted Halls of Artistry. They sculpted countless colossal statues of the Almighty, their grandeur exceeding the limits of mortal imagination.

No one dared step one foot into his havens, they were for Brother Lucifer alone, and death would be upon those who broke that unspoken rule.

Yet there were times he allowed Gabriel to join him during Celestial Meditation in the secluded Garden of Eternal Reflection, a sacred sanctuary hidden deep within the heart of Heaven. Here, amidst the fragrant blossoms and tranquil pools, Brother Lucifer let Gabriel join his silent meditation and prayers. It was one of the highlights of Gabriel's day when his brother was still around.

"Not if he is messing with the descendant of Solomon."

Raphael's voice now had the former rage in it that reminded him of what he came here for, to be in these two insufferable presences. He could barely believe it when one of his spies uttered those words out of their useless mouth. That Lucifer? The Morning Star? His brother who despises Solomon as much as any other angel and the one that would bite another head off if they recklessly touched him even in the rendezvous night at the sacred Eternal Flame at the heart of Heaven where they allowed themselves to let loose for a bit?

It sounds fucking unbelievable, but when they show him a picture of that purple-haired vixen bumping parts with his brother, it sends him off the reels. He kills most of the spies and storms out of his favorite dungeon to here.

"Pardon?" Michael's mismatched eyes bulged, his neck creaking and twitching as he stared up at Raphael in a frenzy of incomprehension, his falsely composed display gone. The mere hint of the truth was liable to send the black-haired Seraph into a rampage and murder them all.

"Are you suggesting..." Gabriel's face, previously etched in stoicism, crumbled into a mask of horror. He couldn't believe the words that had escaped Raphael's lips, but he couldn't shake the realization that was slowly creeping upon him. He desperately wished that the words that came out of Raphael's mouth were nothing more than a cruel jest, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"I said, he's with the descendant of Solomon, that purple-haired harlot...that traitor....that cheat- That tempting trash!"

It pissed Raphael off even more as he raised his voice volume, veins now appearing on his throat, especially at the reminder of his text with that two-timer. The sheer self-satisfied energy radiating off his phone screen almost makes him fly down to Hell to choke that bitch until her brain pops out of her head himself.

"This is preposterous...impossible..." Michael's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with disbelief as Raphael's accusations cut through the air like a madman who had just been cheated on. His normally steady stance faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of hysteria that made his body tremble. He stumbled backward, his back colliding with the cold, unforgiving wall as if seeking solace from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to consume him. The wall provided no comfort, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turmoil raging through his body.

"I'm not joking. I heard her talking about Lucifer, his scar, his... 'thing'," The mere mention of his beloved brother's private part sends shivers down his spine as his voice quivered. The thought of that conniving bitch taking full advantage of the trust Brother Lucifer had placed in her made his blood boil with simmering rage. And that she dared to go against her promise to him as if those moments they shared in the poisonous sky of Hell meant nothing.

"She knows his exact measurements!- You know what, look at this shit yourself!" With a resounding slam that echoed through the room like a thunderclap, he unveiled the damning evidence: a collection of photographs frozen in time, capturing moments of intimate interaction between Lucifer and the individual in question.

The images fell upon the table with a heavy thud, causing the fragile surface to tremble under the weight of their revelation. Despite the force of impact that threatened to shatter the fragile table beneath them, the pictures remained intact, their unspoken truth radiating from their glossy surfaces like a painful revelation begging to be acknowledged.

Michael's face contorted with a ghastly twitch as if he were attempting to conjure laughter, but the sound that escaped his lips was more akin to a hollow echo in the thick, suffocating atmosphere. "Shut up," his mind struggled to piece together the unthinkable truth that lay sprawled before him like a macabre revelation. Denial, a feeble shield against the onslaught of evidence, crumbled before the weight of reality, leaving him quaking.

"I swear before Thrones of Heavenly Majesty I will make her rue the day she even touched him. She corrupted him and brought him over to the side of temptation. God would never-" As Gabriel's solemn vow echoed through the room, the air crackled with the intensity of his conviction, thick with the gravity of impending retribution for the sinner.

His words struck a nerve, exacerbating Michael's fraying composure. The gravity of the situation bore down upon him like a suffocating weight, his anger bubbling to the surface in fervor.

"FUCKING SHUT UP! IT'S NOT REAL! IT'S NOT REAL!" Michael's voice cracked with anguish and insanity, his outburst sending shockwaves through the chamber. In his distress, the chamber was engulfed in an inferno, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. In the distance, the echo of Michael's despair mingled with the desperate prayers and curses of those trapped within the blazing office. The once-orderly chamber had become a scene of utter chaos and destruction.

"O, Almighty Creator," Gabriel's voice trembled with urgency, his words a fervent entreaty to the absent God above. "Grant us clarity in this hour of darkness, illuminate our path with Your divine light."

Meanwhile, Gabriel's attempts at prayer offered little solace as he grappled with the implications of Raphael's revelations.

His murmurs grew more frantic with each passing moment, a desperate attempt to find solace in the face of unsettling truths. "Guide us through this tempest, O Lord, for we are adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Let Your wisdom be our compass, and Your mercy our salvation."

But despite his fervent appeals, only shrieks and flames answer back, echoing throughout Heaven from the burning chamber they're in.

"She said she'd only do that with me..." Raphael’s voice cracked with bitterness, each word laced with venomous resentment. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the seething anger threatening to consume him whole. "...she lied...she lied..."

The weight of betrayal hung heavy in his heart, suffocating him with its oppressive presence. Raphael's chest heaved with each labored breath, his heart aching with the sting of betrayal. "Fucking cheater..." His words dripped with venom, the bitterness of betrayal poisoning his soul.

With a primal snarl, Raphael's control shattered like glass, shards of rage cutting deep into his consciousness. He lashed out blindly, his teeth sinking into the flesh of a passing stupidly brave angel that came to check on the three Seraphs, the taste of blood a bitter reminder of his own foolishness.

"I hate her..." The words escaped his lips in a guttural growl, each syllable dripping with raw fury. His grip tightened around the angel's trembling form, nails digging into flesh as he sought to vent his pent-up rage on an unwitting victim.

"I'm not sloppy seconds..." Raphael's voice cracked with rage, his crimson eyes ablaze like a firestorm. He tore into the angel's flesh with savage ferocity, his actions a grotesque display of his inner turmoil. "...I'm no side bitch!"

Boom!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Hm?", in the dim recesses of his grandiose office, Lucifer, who was engrossed in his craftsmanship of carving the statue of the divine, lifted his gaze from his artistic endeavor by the sudden but subtle yet discernible disturbance in the island above the sky of Hell.

His pure white eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Despite the plaster and pigments that adorned his once-pristine garments save for his bloody back that had his broken wings. His form radiated a timeless beauty, marred only by the grim expression on his handsome visage.

The sensation he felt was like a creeping up from above, like a ripple in the placid waters of a celestial lake.

'What are those three getting angry at right now?'

Raon, who was perched upon the plush velvet couch that adorned his office, her tall form immersed in the pages of an ancient tome, looked up swiftly at Lucifer's voice, a rare occurrence after hours of silence.

Once she raised her gaze from the text, her curious eyes meeting Lucifer's form with silent inquiry. Normally, she would wait until Lucifer is willing to tell her what is on his mind, but currently, she is bored and needs a break after reading several magic grimoires Lucifer gave her and practicing with them for almost a whole day.

'Let's just hope he will at least give me a short answer.'

"Um, Lucifer, is there something wrong?" Raon's voice, soft and tentative, carried a note of concern as she awaited his response, her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him.

Lucifer's answer was measured, his words carrying the weight of foreboding. "I feel there's a disturbance. There would be a storm soon," he left out the part that it was most likely his brothers being angry about something again.

"Is it related to the angels?" Yet the young woman still managed to catch onto the hidden message, her question not directed at ordinary angels but at his brothers as she nervously tightened her grip on her grimoire.

Lucifer nodded solemnly. "Very likely," he confirmed. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon but his voice relaxed to ease the lady's tension as he contemplated the unfolding events in the celestial realm.

"Oh, then I will get back to my training-", with a subtle shift of his form, he turned his attention back to Raon, his gaze meeting hers with a serene intensity as he stood up to clean himself with a swipe of his finger. He tidied himself with a cleaning spell and put his tools and statues back into their orderly places without doing so himself physically—a casual display of his magic that Raon wishes to get to one day.

"It's fine," Lucifer assured her, his tone gentle yet authoritative. "Let's take a rest. Care to join me for a walk to the observatory room?" Quietly, he held out his right arm for her to hold on to if she wanted to accompany him.

Raon's heart fluttered at the invitation, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to contain her excitement. "Really? I-I mean, of course! Please lead the way." Her words spilled forth in a rush of eagerness, her eyes shining with anticipation as she rose from her seat and she excitedly but carefully walked over to Lucifer's spot.

As Raon raised her gaze, a silent query lingering in her eyes, she studied the handsome devil's countenance for the slightest hint of unease. Finding none, she shyly reached out and clasped his arm, a silent agreement passing between them. Together, they embarked on a leisurely stroll, the pace unhurried yet purposeful.

Lucifer, typically swift in his movements, slowed his steps to accommodate Raon, pausing whenever she expressed a desire to linger and marvel at the exquisite white blossoms that adorned Paradise Lost, a sight reserved only for the privileged few. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility and reverence as they meandered through the garden, each step bringing them closer to their destination, yet allowing them to savor the beauty that surrounded them. Unbothered by the chaos that is currently exploding in Heaven.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb worldbuilding #whb michael #whb gabriel #whb raphael #whb lucifer #whb mc #minors dni #these 3 are so silly/jk #i will act like the christmas event didn't happen and just let mc girlbossing in another way #let homegirl be magical #lucifer is literally God's first fan boi #guess who these three got there habits from #it would be funny if lucifer was the wild one that contain himself to be a role model to his brothers but it failed anyway #they still love him tho and that is all it matter

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loveliestlovelygirl · 3 months

Text

divine temptations | 222

you're such an angel, and i'm gonna hurt you

fallenangel!anakin x nun!reader | lore 🪽 | playlist

synopsis: after the meeting with the high council, anakin is imprisoned publicly to shame him. in his hatred for your guardian angels, he destroys them, causing chaos to overcome both heaven and earth.

w.c: 2.6k+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, heavy religious themes and imagery, inspiration taken from catholicism primarily, sexual themes, corruption kink, light sexualization of the reader as a nun, fem!reader & use of she/her pronouns, attempted sexual assault {mentioned}, rape {mentioned}

table of contents | 333 {coming soon}

The memories of his assault of your vessel were visceral and disturbing weeks after the event. Your neck was left bruised, and it ached for several days. Sometimes, you couldn’t sleep because every time you closed your eyes you were sent back to that moment where you were at your weakest, helpless against that tree. Almost raped. Almost.

Almost is a taunting thought

You believed that, since you hadn’t been defiled, you shouldn’t be bothered by the occurrence for long. You shouldn’t have these nightmares of being raped over and over again. You shouldn’t feel vulnerable. You would simply return to your beautiful life here at the convent, your sanctuary. A place where you never have felt unsafe or threatened in any way. You loved the women here, and they loved you.

The last time you were vulnerable like this was your past life when you were a part of the world, before you had found the monastic way of life. Never did you believe you would have to feel pain like this again.

Hatred lights the path of the fallen. But you hate that man for what he wanted to do to you. How could someone be so wicked?

And every time you thought of his face, you cried and sometimes wished for death. These were thoughts that haven’t scathed your mind since you entered the convent. But perhaps contact with that despicable man left you tainted. Maybe you needed to be cleansed and prayed over, bathed in the holy waters.

What other recourse did you have?

When you explained to your sisters why you required the service, they were more than happy to pray over you. They prepared the bath for you too. Sister Agnes remained with you the entire time to help guide your prayers. The water must have risen an inch from your tears. After the bath, Sister Agnes walked you back to your private chamber.

She broke into a sob. “Oh, my dear,” the elderly woman wiped her tears, “We shouldn’t have allowed you to go near the road alone.”

You drew her into a hug. Of course, they should have sent you with another. But all you could say to the heartbroken woman was, “Don’t worry about it. I feel much better now. Our Lord protected me.”

Sister Agnes cried harder when you said that. The new expression upon her wrinkled face was one of relief. She truly believed you. And you were happy that she would not share your pain.

You bid her goodnight and went inside your room to pray. When you wanted to feel closer to the Creator, you opened your window to let the moonlight in and knelt before your window seat, setting a pillow under your knees, a makeshift prayer bench. While it was not the proper way in which to address Him, you were not so sure He minded.

For the first few minutes, you sobbed, thanking Him for the lightning that only struck your assailant and not you. The electricity only touched your skin momentarily. It was as if there had been a barrier between you and Death. You should have both died from the lightning, but only that man did. The miraculous occurrence saved you from an even greater pain.

But the thought did little to comfort you. Why you? What made you so special that you deserved a supernatural rescue and so many others didn’t? The thing that should have brought you to your knees in gratitude and praise of your savior made you... question everything, including how heavenly justice worked?

Although, the whole incident could have been some cosmic joke.

And despite spending the whole day in prayer with your sisters, you felt the same. You were still terrified about what happened. So much so that sleep was an impossible feat. During all your time at the convent prior to the horrific event, you embraced solitude and found contentment. But this night, you wouldn’t have hated companionship, someone to hold you tight and tell you that you were safe here.

“You can’t say that, Anakin! Do you understand the gravity of this situation? Do you?” Obi-Wan had never shown his anger so outwardly before. Anger marked his brow, his furious stare, his clenched jaw, and his haunting tone.

Anakin could sense his fear, despite the rage his friend used to hide it. They both understood that what Anakin had done was enough to have him sent to hell for all eternity. Their father was not so lenient of the angelic hosts as he was of humans. The humans were free to sin, and forgiveness was offered to them at every turn. And yet somehow, they still missed the chance to ascend to the heavenly realms. Most chose to trade their vaporous lives for eternity. And the Creator allowed it because of free will.

“But it’s true, Obi-Wan. There’s nothing you can do,” Anakin said emotionlessly. The chains of light were clamped tightly round his ankles, keeping him grounded. Nothing can break them except for the Creator’s Will.

He was chained to the platform right outside the chambers of the High Council, like he was an animal on display. And to the rest of the heavenly host, Anakin was a creature of anomaly. Seraphim were respected for their unbreakable devotion to Him above all else, yet Anakin wished for nothing more than to leave his place of honor. He wanted to be able to visit the Earth realms. He wanted to seduce you.

“I will try to change his mind,” Obi-Wan said to him with all hope. “He is more understanding than you give him credit for.”

With that, Obi-Wan disappeared. His wings were so quick that he moved almost at light’s speed. And Anakin was alone again in his humiliation. But he didn’t mind because now he could give you all his attention. He watched you as he always did. But this time he was not pleased by what he saw.

Never had he seen you so unhappy. He’d never witnessed you cry for anything but joy. The visions you saw in your sleep. You believed they were nightmares, but he saw the demons torturing your mind as clearly as he could see you below. Your good-for-nothing guardians were evidently too busy to cast them away. Anakin would do that for you, but he was in a bad place as it was. Interfering with your life again wouldn’t be prudent. If the Creator did not eliminate him, Obi-Wan certainly would. So, this time, he did as he should, and he merely observed from a distance, watching you cry your eyes out and writhe in pain only felt by your spirit.

The more he watched the heavier his own spirit weighed. If your guardians had served you faithfully, then you wouldn’t be left understandably traumatized from the event. It was almost too hard for him to watch you this way. But he couldn’t leave you alone like this. Even if you didn’t know he was there. He couldn’t let you out of his sight.

And as your pain grew deeper, so did his hate for those who failed in their calling to protect you. Unlike the other angels, Anakin struggled to contain his hate. No one who harmed you was free of his wrath. Certainly not your guardian angels.

The heavens erupted into chaos. Anakin had lost himself to his own wrath. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He had been punished for saving you from being violated, and those who failed in their duty to protect you were left completely unscathed. And for someone who already, secretly despised the entire heavenly host and whose hatred was like a forgotten thorn in one’s side festering for ages, obliterating your five guardians in one hailstorm of fiery rage was as simple as taking a breath for him.

Instantly, he was reprimanded by the Creator directly. In a single moment, ejected from the heavenly realms, banished to dwell upon Earth until the end of time. Hell, where he would now spend eternity, was his final destination. The mercy of the Creator saved him from being sent there first. Earth was to be his Sheol, a temporary hell.

But did they forget that his interests lie only with you. Did they fail to notice that this might be what he wanted all along? Even if he only had until the end of time with you, he knew that it would be worth it. Though you were unaware at this time, nothing would keep him from you. The laws of heaven no longer applied to him. He was free to torment the earthly beings, though that wasn’t nearly as alluring as possessing you.

Banished from Heaven and sent to Earth, he lost his heavenly title, and his name was written among the fallen. He kept his beauty in full, but now as an angel of light. And despite having wanted this to happen, being reprimanded so heavily over what he saw as the right thing to do irked him. And the pain that he felt you living through as a result of your guardians’ inadequacy ignited his fury in ways devastating to the Earth.

His rage awoke nature’s spirits. Thunder, Lightning, Rain, and Hail terrorized the inland villages. He disrupted the seas, wreaking havoc on coastal cities, leaving them destroyed in his wake. And nothing was put in place to stop him.

The voices of the High Council rang in his ears as they pleaded with him to end his madness. But Anakin was drunk on power, the lack of restraint he now possessed, for the fallen were given domain over the Earth for a time of unknown length. He didn’t believe in redemption. His thought was why not enjoy it here. The earthly realms were to be his last Heaven.

For weeks, the destruction by Anakin’s fury continued.

Obi-Wan was sent to stop and contain him. But Obi-Wan believed, perhaps foolishly, that Anakin’s heart could be changed.

The cherub appeared before him, glory to glory, withholding nothing. And yet the majesty of the fallen one was still unmatched.

“You know why I am here,” Obi-Wan announced, wielding his fiery blade, directing its point to the enemy.

Anakin could not cower in the presence of the threatening blade. That was beneath him. “Do I?”

“Given more time, Earth and its surrounding realms will be destroyed. This lust for power has consumed you.”

He was not blind to his own faults. But under his own authority, he could do as he pleased. Destroying this realm would be good. Nothing good has come from mankind. Not in his eyes. From his view, he could see the suffering humans enacted upon each other and upon the Earth, the very thing which provides them life. The only good in this world was you. And he had plans to sweep you away. Far away.

“The one that you love. You’re going to kill her. She will hate you.”

Anakin gave him a biting glare. If Obi-Wan knew... then that meant so did He. And the rest of Heaven. “I’d never hurt her. I can see her now. She’s sleeping. She doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“What do you think will happen when you destroy her life? Everything and everyone she cares for? You don’t think that would hurt her?”

“Obi-Wan, you have no idea! Did you see what happened to her? What almost happened? I live through her pain. I want to save her from evil. Can you not understand?”

The cherub refused to back down. His blade was still held high. “This is not up for debate. I have been sent to put an end to your insanity one way or another.”

Anakin smiled wickedly. “Oh... by killing me?”

“That depends on you, my friend.”

Anakin did not understand.

“Our Father wishes to offer you a deal. He has changed his mind on your punishment. But...” Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, “only if you put an end to your anger now. It is not the Creator’s Will for the Earth to be done away with yet.”

In order to declare his interest, Anakin immediately paused his merciless pillaging of the surface. “I am listening.”

In return, Obi-Wan sheathed his blade of fire. “He knows how strongly you care for this human.” His voice was coated with disgust for the lesser being. “He knows exactly what she means to you and what you’re willing to give up for her. In his divine grace, He is willing to make an exchange with you. Give up your dominion over this realm, and he’ll allow you to be her guardian, though not an angel. But your eternal status, depends on how well you serve her.”

This offer was... merciful.

Beyond what Anakin knew he deserved. Not only was he being offered a chance for redemption, but he was being offered the one thing he craved most in the entire universe. As your guardian, he would have unbridled access to you and your beautiful mind. At his discretion, he could even appear to you, making his existence known to you.

Being known by you...

The thought of that was more than even he could process in all of his great understanding.

He was used to being veiled from you completely. Contact had been forbidden. But with this offer, you would be in his grasp. He could travel between dimensions and allow his glory to be witnessed by your perfect gaze. Anakin could not stop his curiosity at what it might feel like to be seen by you. Would he prefer it? Or would he dislike the contact? His intuition whispered that he would like it very much and that he might even find it addicting.

How could he say no?

“I... accept.”

Obi-Wan did seem surprised in the slightest. “I see. I will inform Him of your decision. You will feel weakened very soon. I understand that... you wanted this. But I don’t understand why. You-you, Anakin, held the position of the highest honor. Why would—”

“I never wanted any of it. I wanted to be free to pursue my singular interest.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I would be cautious in your new role, Anakin. More than ever before. Because this is a test. Did you believe that you were truly going to get everything you wanted without a cost? If you serve her faithfully all her life, an eternity with us is yours. But the temptations you will face as her guardian, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“What?” Anakin spat. “Protecting a human is practically a mindless affair. That’s why it’s given to the lowest of all angels.”

“Realize that even that group is superior to where you stand currently,” he added humorously.

“I won’t be able to physically harm humans in this form. So, don’t worry. I won’t kill anyone.”

“That was not the temptation I was referring to.”

Anakin realized what his friend meant. So he quipped, “Lust is a human feeling.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean, is it?” Anakin said mockingly.

“Do not be quick to assume anything. You’ve never been in the earthly realms before. It’s much different. You may find yourself desiring things that seemed unnatural to you before.” Obi-Wan turned, signaling his departure. “Remember the laws of Heaven. Despite your fallen state, if you wish for eternity in Heaven, where she will most certainly end up, you must abide by our laws.”

Eternity in Heaven with the one he craves. There was hardly a better fate in mind even if he never ascended to the honor he once claimed.

add yourself to my taglist!! @hanasnx @princessswifie @doblasftcisco @multifandermissesanakin @jadegmfu @coldkiss @mysteriouslydelightfulcloud @karei009 @anda-the-valkyrie @vinushkka @avoxzy @edclynns @ter-luer @anakinniesluv @purelevna @forets-noyees @zvjezdapadalica @anisgirl7 @reine-lalune @ssskywalkerrr @anakinsbbgirl @sweetcheesecakesblog @rozastarz @moonlight-kr @anonymous1996s @luvanaise @ziggystarduzzt @gwdnsqal @lonelywitchv2 @tembud @obsessedrebel @c-losur3 @just-here-to-readd @slut4ani @abaker74 @anakinbbg @ellebunnie @sandymorgan12 @ultraviolenceticket @emotionallybruisedx @ririszn @itsoneofusworld @pheonixfucu @kittycai @mushy-mushroom04 @crack240 @emotionallybruisedx

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#best viewed in dark mode :)#loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #divine temptations #fallenangel!anakin #nun!reader #anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fanfiction #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you

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seeingivy · 6 months

Text

the mariners

spider!eren x f!reader

**part 2 to my spider-eren post

an: I call this...I hate my writing so much that I will just post whatever came out and say a prayer. also the fact that I ignored the poll and just picked one but u know whatever. no one ask me for part 3 bc I will write reader getting injured...

to spider-boy

you: YOU KNOW WHAT’S STUPID??

eren: admin not approving your budget requests? the color scheme for prom? reiner?

you: yes. to all of the above, but that wasn’t what i was going to say. my beef is with DOORDASH TODAY.

eren: and what did doordash do this time?

you: if the store closes IN THIRTY MINUTES, WHY CAN’T I ORDER FROM THE STORE?????

eren: woe is you. but they need time to get there, sweetheart.

you: you’re supposed to be on my side.

eren: just go and get it urself lazy pants :D

you: my stomach hurts. im on my period and i just wanted to order stupid ice cream to my apartment >:(

eren: sorru swertheaft

you: quit swinging and texting. just call me when ur home.

Approximately twenty minutes later, you’re met with a very out of breath Spiderman and a tub of chocolate ice cream banging against your window. You pull apart the curtains and glare at him as Eren quietly sneaks in and plops down on to your red-and-yellow Harry Potter sheets.

He’s never really come into your house properly, your dad being the police chief who wants his head on a stick and all, so he’s never really seen the extent of your…dorkiness. And he can tell right away, that you haven’t changed your bedroom from the little princess crowns and trophies you’ve been winning since fourth grade displayed on your dresser.

You dig around in your closet for the hoodie and sweatpants you stole from Eren last time you were over at his apartment and place them on the bed for him with a pat. He’s peeling out of his suit, throwing on the clothes you left him as he reaches forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. You note the big bruise on his side, yellowing as he pulls the hoodie on.

“You know, when I vent to you, I’m not really expecting you to go swinging around fixing my problems, Eren.”

“I know that. But I can do that, why wouldn’t I?”

You pinch the side of his cheek as the two of you pull into your sheets and resting your head against Eren’s shoulder as he digs his spoon into the ice cream. Eren braces himself as he asks the question.

“How was your day?”

“Oh my fucking god, Eren. You would not believe it. I wear a white skirt to class and then of course I get my period. And then that dumbass Reiner on the student council starts telling me that he’s going to run against me for class president next year. As if he actually comes to any of the meetings, and then-”

Eren loves this about you. That you get so worked up, so frustrated that the little veins in your forehead start bulging out. That you care so much about what the theme is for prom and that you lay out your outfits for class the day before and-

He leans forward as you keep ranting, silencing you by pressing a kiss to your lips. He can taste the chocolate hanging off your lips, positive that his lips taste the same on yours. Eren can feel you immediately feel relax under him by the way you snake your hand around his neck to pull him closer.

The second you yank him in, deepening the kiss as you hit the wall behind you, Eren slithers his hands around your legs and pulls you on top of him. He’s sure that the ice cream is melting on the side table and that he should stop because you’re on your period and because your parents and your brother are downstairs but you’re just pulling him in with your stupid flowery smell of yours and yanking him back every time he tries to pull away that he can’t.

Eren starts kissing down the side of your neck, blood burning at how your body moves under his touch. He focuses on that one part of your neck - a few inches right below your ear - and sinks in, squeezing in on the same spot.

“Eren.”

“Shut up. Your little brother is downstairs. And your parents would-”

Right on cue, you hear a knock at your door. You and Eren frantically pull apart with matching widened eyes as you dart around for a place to hide Eren.

“Hi bug, can I come in?”

You immediately pull Eren off of your sheets and he quickly crawls under your bed. Your dad walks right in as you wipe the wetness off of your neck, with him setting your dinner plate down and taking residence at your desk. He lifts up the papers on your desk - the fucking DNA samples that Eren gave you so you could figure out how he became Spiderman in the first place - and lifts them up to read.

“Arachnoid Deoxyribonucle- this is so dense I can’t even understand it.”

You quickly yank the papers out of your dad’s hands, shuffling them in your stack and placing them far, far away from where he was sitting.

“Why are your lips so…swollen, bug?”

You feel your cheeks burn as you bring your hand up to your mouth, feeling the puffy skin under your fingers. Because your stupid boyfriend was fucking pulling you onto his lap and sucking on your fucking lips. You cover up the side of your neck with the ends of your hair, positive that Eren’s lips left a sweet, pink spot on your neck that would purple up tomorrow.

“L-lip plumpers.”

“Lip plumpers? Don’t tell me you’re doing all that for that Jaeger kid, because-”

Oh god.

“No. I’m not, I just-”

“Your mom said he was a sweet kid, like the stupid nerdy type. Like socially inept or whatever.” he murmurs.

“He’s not socially inept, he’s just shy!”

Your dads smirking at you now and you can feel your cheeks burning at what he says next.

“Uh huh. Mrs. Eren Jaeger. I can’t believe you’re dating the same kid whose name you used to write all over your notebooks and diaries. And I get that you like the guy but you don’t have to change yourself just for some-”

“I didn’t do it for him! And that was a long time ago and that wasn’t even true and-”

“I’m teasing, bug. Just make sure you bring your plate back down. I feel like you haven’t been eating as much since you started planning the prom and working at Oscorp and all.”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m really, really busy so if you could just leave that would-”

“Hey kid. I just wanted to see you. I know that you’re busy but would it kill you to-”

“No, no. I know that, I’m going to come to the vigil on Saturday, okay?”

“Okay, bug. You better not be late.”

“Promise, Dad. Love you.”

You slam the door shut as he walks out, panting behind the door. You sit directly on your bed, ankle circling his fingers around your ankle and squeezing before he crawls out, his head placed directly on your lap.

“Mrs. Eren-”

“Shut up.”

“It’s cute! You had a crush on me when you were-”

“Eren. Drop it, please.” you whine.

He climbs back into your bed, opening his arm for you to lie right against him. He’s rubbing small circles into your back, pulling open your laptop as he looks for a movie to watch. He pulls in, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair as he talks.

“Sorry to leave you all hot and bothered, sweetheart.”

“I’m on my period. There was no way you could have fixed that. And don’t act like I don’t see your friend through those sweatpants you’re wearing. You’re more hot and bothered than I am.”

“Did you just call my dick your frie-”

You clamp your hand around his mouth, cheeks burning as you lay against him.

“Quit teasing me, Eren. I’m in pain.”

He leans down, cupping your face with his left hand as he presses a soft, soft kiss to your already swollen lips.

“Stop moaning and groaning you big baby.”

He leans down, pressing soft kisses all over your face as he clicks the movie on, as you nestle into his arms.

“What’s on Saturday, sweet?”

“The vigil for the Monroe family. It’s on Twelfth Street, at the Mariners if you want to come with us. I know my parents would really like it if you came and-

“No. I’m busy.”

You feel your muscles clench at the decisiveness in Eren’s voice, your cheeks burning for even suggesting it.

Why would Eren want to come with your parents to the vigil? He doesn’t even really know them that well and-

And Eren can feel the guilt itching in his throat at how dejected you look, your expression falling the second he denies you. And really - he hates to deny you. Eren reaches forward, tucking your hair behind your ear as he frowns. You reach for that little soft dent in his cheek, right where his dimples are, as you poke them twice.

“That’s okay, Eren. I was just suggesting it.” you whisper.

“The Mariners. They…thew a vigil for my parents when they died. I actually haven’t been back since.”

You deflate, wrapping your hand around his neck as you lean into his touch, warm on your skin. You’re tracing little shapes into the skin on his biceps, his soft breaths filling the silence.

“I’m sorry, Eren. I totally forgot about that, I-” you whisper.

“How could you have known?” Eren murmurs. Back.

“I was there. I should have remembered.” you respond back.

Eren smiles in response, leaning his forehead against yours as he smiles. You absentmindedly reach for his dimples again, lightly smile at the little lines in the softness of his cheeks.

“You wore two braids. The…the kind you like split in the middle.”

“Pigtail braids.”

“Pigtail braids. I remember, you only did them sometimes. Like when we had that holiday party in fourth grade…or Mikasa’s going away party. And you wore them to the vigil, with your shiny red shoes.”

“I loved those shoes! I literally sobbed when I grew out of them and they didn’t make them in my size anymore.” you whine.

“You gave me brownies, I think. We didn’t talk while we were there, but your family - you left them on the table.” he responds.

“Yeah. I guess I was a little bit nervous to talk to you.” you murmur.

Eren grins.

“Because I’m so cute?” Eren asks.

“Shut up. I did not-”

“Yes, you did. Your dad just said.”

“And what? I can’t like my boyfriend? Is that a crime?”

Eren pulls you fully into his arms, burrowing his face into your neck, as you reach up and card your hands through the mess of his hair. It’s arranged every which way - no thanks to his mask - as you comb it back against his forehead and lightly rub your finger against the pink scar on his forehead. You pull back, reaching forward to press a kiss against the skin.

“I’ll try to come, okay? I want to meet your family. And I should go back.” Eren murmurs.

“Don’t push yourself. You’ll meet them when you’ll meet them. And you’ve already met Falco, technically, so-” you respond.

“Just, promise you’ll be there? I’d hate to come all the way there just to not be graced with your presence.”

You smile in response, as he pulls the blanket over the two of you and nestles into your arms.

It’s not that you hate going to the events. The vigils, the funerals, the lot of them. You’ve been to hundreds since you were a kid - an instance from your dad that you had to show out for the community, in the way that they were needed. That people were only held up by those around them and that you should always be the first one to reach.

But there was something about it that just sat with you for too long. Watching the kids pass by, with the decorated pictures of their parents at the front, or a sibling standing alone in front of their own they just lost. At first it made your heart hurt - that it could easily be your parents on the picture and you standing in front of them. Or that your hand could easily go cold and never be filled with Falco’s warmth again.

But this time around, it strikes you too deep. That this kid, it was once Eren. That he did stand there alone and was probably so reminded of it everytime someone invited him to the vigil that he couldn’t even stand to come back.

“Hey kid.”

You look over to your side to find Levi, the other volunteer you’ve seen frequent these events with you, beckoning for you to join him at the side walls where the two of you always seemed to stand. Not that you were anywhere near the same age, Levi was considerably older than you, but the two of you were always in agreement. That everyone else should make their move for condolences before the two of you did. The adults, the family - they were all primary to the strangers like you and Levi.

“What did you bring?” you ask Levi.

“Salad.”

“Boo.” you respond.

He elbows you in the side, as the two of you sport your soft smiles, as you watch everyone line up in the front.

“What did you bring? Cupcakes?” he responds, jeering at you.

“Brownies.” you murmur.

Levi laughs, and you elbow him back, as the two of you watch the two kids stand at the front, and lower your heads. It’s right at that moment, in the break of silence, that there’s a large clanging noise directly to your left.

You and Levi turn your heads in unison to find Eren standing at the front, now awkwardly picking the trash can up. You can see Pieck at his side, mouthing a quiet apology as every returns back to their conversations, and she reaches up to tousle his hair.

“Be right back, Levi.” you murmur, as you quickly pace over to the front where the two of them are still standing.

You make it over to them fast, with Pieck folding down Eren’s collar, as the two of them look over at you and smile.

“Hi guys.” you whisper.

Pieck smiles wide, giving Eren’s cheek one last pinch before she reaches forward and wraps her arms around you.

“Hi sweet girl.” PIeck whispers.

“Hi Pieck.” you respond, putting your hands on both of their arms as you talk.

“Thanks for coming.” you murmur.

You immediately blank, realizing very quickly what you said. You’d hate to make Eren feel more awkward, to make it more of a thing than it was.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean-”

“I know what you meant. It’s okay.” Eren responds, smile so warm that you immediately deflate.

“I’m going to go make my rounds. Come find me if you need something, Eren?” Pieck states.

He nods, as you reach down and lock your hand with his and give him a reassuring squeeze. He abesntmindedly leans his head against yours, as the two of you quietly whisper under your breaths.

“Hi Spider-Boy.”

“Hey.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” you murmur.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” he responds.

You smile, as you lead him back to where you were standing, at the side with Levi. Levi gives the two of you a polite nod, as you brace yourselves against the wall again.

“Eleven people ate my salad. Two people ate your brownies.” Levi states.

“Okay, Levi. I’m so glad you’re keeping count.”

“Hi Levi.” Eren states, holding his hand out.

“Eren.”

You pause, giving the two of them a weird look.

“He’s friends with Hange.” Eren says.

You feign shock.

“You have friends, Levi?”

“Very funny.” Levi responds, glaring.

The three of you stand there for sometime, as you nervously fidget with Eren’s hands in yours and watch each of them consecutively give their condolences. The line eventually dwindles down, as Levi leads the way for the three of you to enter the line last.

“Do you always wait till the end?” Eren asks.

“Yeah. Just makes me nervous, the entire thing.” you respond.

“So you wait till the last second until you’re a big ball of anxiety?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

“Exactly! You just get me, Eren.” you respond.

The two of you walk down the line, as you both stand in front of the two of them, and crouch on your knees. And you’re in complete awe of the fact that Eren’s so quick to talk, when you had been hyping yourself up to talk for the two of you the entire time.

“Hi guys. I’m Eren. This is Y/N.”

The two of them don’t respond, sharing a blank look, as Eren reaches forward, noticing the little pens on their lapels.

“You guys are Spiderman fans, huh? I have something really cool to show you.”

Eren stands up, gesturing for the two of them to follow, as you instinctively reach for his elbow and give him a look. Except in response, he reaches forward and presses a kiss to your cheek before he shuffles away with the two kids at his side.

Eren reappears after forty-five minutes, with the two kids in considerably greater spirits and a big smile on Eren’s face. He gives the two of them a wave goodbye, which they both respond to excitedly, before they run off and Eren snakes his hand around your waist.

“Hi stranger.” he murmurs.

“You disappeared for quite some time, Eren.” you respond.

“Had to do a thing.” he responds, shrugging.

“Uh huh. You better have not done what I think you did, Eren.”

He smiles in response, reaching forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I want to show you something.”

Eren locks his hand with yours, as he drags you towards the back, and gives you a shining smile as you walk into the back halls of the little community center. It’s dark and dusty in the back as you feel your nose immediately tickling at the dust and Eren drags you straight to one wall in the center. It’s filled with small printed pictures, each of them glossy and shiny, as the two of you stand facing it.

“When my parents died, there was this guy who came to our vigil. His name was Levi. And everyone at the vigil, they kind of look at you with these really shitty, pity eyes. They aren’t exactly all pretty girls in pigtails who make really good brownies, ya know?” he states.

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder, as the two of you look over all the pictures.

“Levi, he was the last person to talk to me. He told me this thing, a secret, that only people without parents know.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

He reaches forward to flick your forehead.

“Silly. It wouldn’t be a secret then.”

“Okay, okay. Fair. Keep going, Eren.”

“Anyways, they take this corny picture of you at the end. With your family or whatever. And mine is….all the way right there.” Eren says, pointing to the top.

You look up at the picture of Eren, standing awkwardly in between Pieck and Hange with a pinched look on his face. Hange and Pieck have him tucked into his arms, which he’s easily resisting, and the picture makes your heart clench so hard, that you hug him full on.

“Eren. You’re so…” you look over at him, frowning at his soft smile at your side.

“You’re sweet. Thanks for inviting me. This was…nice.”

You wrap your hands around his neck, bring your hands up to his cheeks to brush the softness of his skin. You reach forward to press a kiss to his nose, which has him curling his face in response.

“Really. I like being here now. With you. I got to tell all those old ladies that I had a pretty girlfriend that made the brownies. Show off a little.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your lips, before you walk back towards the main room.

“Now where’s your dad? I want to talk to him about Spider-Man.”

“I’m going to slap you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll just gift him this.”

Eren presses something hard into your hand before he shuffles off, right towards where your parents are standing. You look down in your hand to find the pin, the two the kids were wearing in your hand. You place it onto the collar of your shirt, before you stand up in join him, noticing that he has the other one pressed to his shirt as well.

“It’s so nice to meet you. My name is Eren.” he states, extending his hand out, as you two lock your free ones together behind your backs.

an: do not let me make this a series I swear to god

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @itzmeme @cutiejg

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traumacatholic · 7 months

Text

Urgent prayer request

I have now been told I have until the 15th/16th of December to move out. I won't get my first paycheck from my job until after that date. I've been trying to contact different letting agencies to find a place to rent without any success. I have a meeting with the local council on Friday to potentially put in a homeless application, but I have to pray they're actually able and willing to provide me with help. I'm really scared right now and I would really appreciate your prayers

#prayer request #urgent prayer request #prayer #prayer req

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dreamlandcreations · 6 months

Text

Imagine Viserys repeatedly refusing Daemon to let him marry you...

Imagine Viserys repeatedly refusing Daemon to let him marry you so you decide to take matters into your own hands and convince your uncle to cause another scandal...

The noise makes the men pause at the door of the room where the council meetings are held. It is none other than Otto Hightower who eventually pushes the doors wide open and finds himself in the middle of a scene he would never wished to witness.

The Rogue Prince was bent over the large table, facing the door but seemingly not caring for anyone other than the woman moaning under him. It takes a moment for the spectators and the king who just arrived to realize who is it that has her skirt bunched up and her legs wrapped around his waist, urging Daemon to fuck her faster and harder and begging not to stop.

When the princess rakes her nails along his exposed chest, Daemon groans and arches his back. After opening his eyes again, he finds himself face to face with his intended audience and smirks while maintaining eye contact with them and rolling his hips against yours to make you moan louder than before.

"Ah, brother," the prince starts with a malicious smile, "how nice of you to join us. I had a question for the council and our beloved king..."

He grunts as you squeeze him, chanting his name as a prayer to make you come. Daemon only spares you a quick nip to your lower lip and a 'hush' before he continues the show.

"Can I marry her now, or do I have to continue elsewhere?" Then, as you buck under him, chasing for more, he changes his mind of the roles and includes you in the taunting with a genuine smile he can't help when he looks at you.

"What do you think, my love?" He asks with that smug tone as he slows his thrusts to make the scene last. "Would you like to give a show to our people? Perhaps in the throne room, it would be a fitting stage for a princess, hm?"

The king is about to order his death for sure when you pull down the wicked man above you for a passionate kiss and murmur just loud enough for everyone to hear, "How about on the throne?"

"Enough. Just enough." The king yells before he turns his back on the debauchery and walks away with a last order to the Hand. "Arrange the wedding."

#smut under the cut #daemon x niece!reader #daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #my fics #my stuff

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achaoticeternal · 1 year

Text

nothing between us

aemond targaryen x reader part two - can’t you see...? ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ word count: 3.6k summary: under the influence of his mother, Aemond has followed the Faith of the Seven closely. The second son of the King is proud to meet a young noble Lady who shares the Faith as closely as he does. a/n: there will be a part two :) warnings: AFAB reader, theme of obsession, religious themes and guilt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“And may the Mother and Father watch over us as we walk in light…” The prayer rolled off your tongue with a finish. With a nod of your head, you finally rose from your spot at the altar.

The High Septon bid a dismissal as the halls of the sept began to clear. Your mother linked arms with you, serving as your guide through the crowd. She kept a warm smile on her face, nodding to both nobles and peasants alike. Though your father was just behind you, not showing the same warmth to the general public as your mother.

You continued to follow out the doors, the sun shining brilliantly upon the capital. The light bounced off the blue waters, reflecting beautifully onto the shore. It had been either overcast or raining for the past week or so. But a day of sun was something you would truly thank the Mother for later.

As you continued to be tugged along down the steps of the sept, your arms slipped out of your mother's, instead lifting up your skirt to be more diligent with your steps. In the courtyard below, merchants and spinsters began to announce their wears, bidding anyone who dared to take a look. Usually, they would be selling more exotic things than they would on any other day.

With a giggle, your steps picked up as you tapped your mother on the shoulder, “We must stop by one of the book stands! I’ve read practically everything I can access in the prince’s and king’s library. A book from afar would be a welcome distraction!”

“You and your books…” Your father chuckled behind you, patting your back, “You’ll have to choose quickly, the Hand is summoning the Small Council to convene once that bell strikes two.”

With a nod, you picked up your steps, hoping to get to the book stand sooner. However, you were stuck behind a group of stragglers who cared to chat far more than they cared to walk. A sigh passed your lips as you continued trying to move around the group and reach your destination soon. You were able to press yourself against the wall in order to squeeze through the small gaps the group of elders made. When bumping past them, you whisper small apologies and pardons.

It isn’t until you are fully around the group of elders offering you small smiles that you are able to take large strides. You take the steps two at a time, hoping to beat the rush of the audience fleeing from the sept this morning. A smile spans across your face as you eye the end of the stairs, close enough that you feel the sparks of gratification stir inside. Accounting for the commoners surrounding you, your steps continue light and quick against the cobblestone.

Yet what you did not account for was a mother and her two small children toddling next to her. The little girl drops her wood carving of a bear which tumbles down the stairs. As the toddler leans down to grab her belonging, you take a swift sidestep to avoid falling upon her or her mother. And just as quickly as relief passes through you, your foot dips into a small hole in the ground, causing your balance to unfavorably sway. Your hands can cling to nothing to keep you up and so you feel yourself free fall into the courtyard.

You brace yourself for an impact that never comes. Instead, two firm arms have caught you, saving you from any injury of landing so roughly.

“May the Seven bless you! Thank you,” The words spill from your lips as you regain your footing, standing to meet whoever has come to your aid. The breath exits your body as you meet, the violet eye of one Prince Aemond Targaryen. A dark cloak hangs over his shoulders, the hood pulled up most likely to hide his silver blond hair from straying eyes. If not for your somewhat familiarness with the royal family, you might have dismissed him as another stroller in the courtyard. Except you do recall seeing him and the Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower, observing the service in the sept just mere moments ago. The only other indicator to confirm that it is the Prince is the two King’s Guard that has joined his side, their shoulders relaxing when they recognize your noble appearance.

“My-”

“My lady,” Aemond is quick to cut you off, clearly wishing not to be recognized, “May I ask where you were rushing off so quickly? It seems patience might not be among your virtues.”

Before you can properly answer him, you feel a hand on your shoulder -- your father who bows his head slightly in observance to the prince, “I apologize for my daughter’s clumsiness, ser.”

Aemond’s face remains stoic as he addresses your father, “All is well, my Lord. Perhaps we might thank the Seven that your daughter fell into my arms, rather than injuring herself or others on the abrasive ground.”

A pause lingers for a moment as your father tries to find his next words. Should he thank the prince? Correct his daughter before the royal before him? Instead, you reply to the prince’s original question.

“There is a book stall that is only in the market once a moon with books from across the sea. I’ve almost read everything in the royal libraries, so I hoped to find a new text to read,” Your tone was polite, and kind when addressing the prince. You almost swore to the Mother that the corners of Aemond’s lips twitched into a smile before his disposition settled once more.

“Enjoy your noon then, I hear the Hand has summoned the small council and tends to busy them later” the Prince spoke with a nod, “my Lord, my Lady.”

And just like that, the Prince and his guards have almost dissipated among the crowd. They are undoubtedly returning to the Red Keep, yet you wonder why the Prince did not join his mother in the royal carriage. But the thought leaves your mind just as quickly as your parents escort you to the book stand, not wishing for you to cause another scene.

The sun has fallen past midday and your father has long left you and your mother to attend the meeting in the Hand’s tower. While your Lord Father attended to work and the realm, you entertained your mother in one of the social dens of the Keep. Your mother was currently perched on a chair by the window, completing some needlework. In the chair opposite to her, there you sat with the religious text of the Faith in your lap.

This was Sunday tradition, and even if your father could not be in attendance, you would not deny your obligation to thank the Seven for all they do for you, your family, and the realm. Though you knew nearly every passage by heart, your mother insisted you read so as not to be distracted from the outside temptations of the world.

But the book only kept your attention to a certain extent. Your mother was too enamored by her craft to notice when your eyes strayed from the pages and to the people that passed through the Keep. It was mainly guards going about their duties, and servants tending to wherever they must, but even Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon made a pass through.

Both the Targaryen princes were walking in the direction of the Hand’s Tower. Most likely to participate in the Small Council meeting as a part of their royal duties. After living almost two moons in the castle, you noticed that the elder brother, Aegon, did not share the same satisfaction in performing his tasks as Aemond did. Once you swore that you watched Aemond nearly drag his brother to one of the council meetings, but you would never vocalize such.

Here they were, the Targaryen princes, strolling through the corridor. Aegon was currently speaking but was too distant to make out what he quite said. You only assumed it to be a joke as he laughed while Aemond seemed less than entertained. But with a slight turn of his head, the younger prince caught sight of you, continuing your readings to your mother. He noted the book in your lap, familiar with it himself due to his time with his own mother, and offered you a nod.

A moment later, the princes were gone. It was as if you had only imagined it, in fact, you could have convinced yourself the slight interaction had never happened. Except your mother spoke up when she noticed you had fallen silent, “Continue reading, dear.”

Days passed and with it, routine settled into place. Consistently socializing with the other nobles taking residence within the Keep, attending septa lessons, and continuing your residency in the library. However, a new commonality slithers into your routine. At least once a day, your path would cross with Prince Aemond, just briefly, but always the same gesture. Just a nod.

You had anticipated today to be no different, spotting the prince earlier in the day. He had been sitting in the gardens with his beloved sister, Princess Helaena, as she cared for her collection of insects. Others would gossip of the princess’s peculiar curiosity, but you thought it endearing, almost divine, in how she cared for even the smallest of the Seven’s creatures. While you took station across the garden, Aemond gently passed back to his sister an arachnid one of the maesters had brought back from the citadel as a token to the princess. Once the creature was safely in Helaena’s palm, Aemond almost instantaneously caught your gaze.

The impromptu action caused your breath to hitch in your throat. As always, you offered the Prince a nod of your head and a smile as a sign of respect. And as always, Aemond returned the nod. But then the corners of his mouth twitched upward as well, eyes locked on yours. It was the first time you had seen Aemond truly smile.

Now that smile haunted your memory whilst sitting and attempting to read one of the new books your father recently purchased for you. It was some Braavosi epic that reached astounding popularity, yet now hardly held your attention. The poems bored you more than the Concise History of the Construction of Lemonwood. Taking the pendant of the Maiden between your fingers, you silently prayed to the Gods to rid these thoughts of the prince from your mind. Even as innocent as they were… you did not want temptation to come knocking at your door.

But the Gods speak in rhythm, or at least enjoy seeing mortals grovel, you thought as none other than Prince Aemond entered the library. He wore his usual dark tunic and trousers with a matching waistcoat and belt to cinch it all together. Even outside his training garbs, he reminded you firmly of the Warrior.

Prince Aemond offered you a curt nod upon his entrance to the library before making his way over to a previously organized stack of books. Most of them were about the histories of Old Valyria with the occasional book on law and reform. It seemed Aemond was consistently studying as if that were his duty to the realm. Though you acknowledged that it was part of what was expected of him.

Your focus finally returned back to your own novel when the Prince decided to claim your attention once more, “I have not seen that book in this library before.”

“Pardon me, my Prince?” You looked to him curiously, surprised at his observant eye.

“That book,” He gestured to your hand, “The binding is not only fresh but there is not a book in this library with a green cover and red stitching. That red stitching is not of Westeros either.”

You blinked a few times, absorbing this information, “You would be correct, my prince.”

“Then how did you come across such a book, my lady?”

Swallowing your nerves, you continued the light conversation with the Prince, “My Lord Father bought it for me from a Braavosi merchant.”

“Mmm… if I recall, it was the same day you took that tumble,” He raised his brow.

“Yes, my Prince.” The day I tumbled into your arms.

“And, if my memory serves correctly, you made a sentiment on how you’ve already read through the titles in this library.”

“Yes, my prince.” You agreed once more, “All titles that I was permitted to read.”

“Permitted,” The word lingered on his tongue as if it were a curse, “I see.”

Silence fell over the library. You assumed it to be the end of your conversation with the prince. Minutes passed and you returned to your pages, mulling over the same lines for what felt like eons. That was until the prince called your attention once more.

“Who gives you permission as to what books you read?” There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place, but it stirred something within you.

“That would be my Lord Father,” You answered softly, “my prince.”

Then footsteps thudded across the floor. Aemond moved swiftly from his desk to stand before you instead. From your seat, you gazed up at the tall lean prince. In your current position, he towered over you and a warm hue of orange outlined his head from behind - as if he was carved from the perfected chisel and marble in the hand of the Seven. With ease, he took the epic from your hand and replaced it with a slightly heavier book.

“At this time every day, I expect you to meet me in the library and read this to me,” Aemond instructed you.

Looking down, you took note of the title: Encounters of the Maiden and the Warrior.

“As you wish, my prince,” You nodded your head, “But I must ask my Lord Father for-”

“I am your prince,” Aemond interrupted, “Are direct orders from your prince not enough for you to do as you are told?”

You did not respond. Words were lost on you, and how could you correct him? He was right, in a sense… wasn’t he?

“Then the matter is settled,” He tilted his head, “Besides, your family mulls over religious texts quite often. This is simply a text to expand such education.”

Without another rise from yourself, you opened the book and began to read it to him. Aemond settled himself in a chair opposite of your own, fingers lightly tapping against the wood of the armrest. His expression gave away little of what he was thinking, so you simply continued.

The activity continued till the end of the moon. At first, you anticipated the meetings would only last till you finished reading the book aloud to him. But it shocked you one day when Aemond would instruct you to skip a few pages or even entire chapters. When you questioned him about this, he simply dismissed them as unnecessary to your divine education. He did not allow you to press the matter further.

One evening, you joined your mother in your parents’ apartments after a visit to the Sept with your mother. Together, you had participated in your weekly prayers to the Mother and Maiden, lighting a candle for each. When you both returned, you recounted the trip to your father who had been too tied to his duties to participate.

Dinner plans had been arranged for the families of Small Council members to have a private feast with the royal family. Typically, your family would pray in the godswood of the Keep before attending any supper, but tonight your parents thought it best to make an exception.

Your mother had just finished pinning your hair when a knock fell upon the chamber door. Looking at your father, he answered the guest’s knock.

There stood Prince Aemond, and his loyal King’s Guard, Ser Criston Cole. It was rare for a royal to come calling at a door. Quickly, you all rose to your feet, paying respects to the prince before you. While your father and mother offered him a nod, you honored the prince with a curtsy.

“My Prince, why might we have the pleasure of your presence?” your Lord Father asked.

Aemond’s eye drifted over your form. He drank in the sight of you, prepared even if simply for a dinner with the King. His eye then adjusted back to looking your father in the eye.

“I have come to call upon the young Lady,” He stated simply, “I’d like to pray with her in the godswood before supper, under supervision, of course.” The prince gestured to Ser Cole who remained still.

Warmth filled your cheeks and chest at the thought of being alone with the prince. It wasn’t your first time, of course, but each private moment with him brought over a wave of new emotions.

Taking a moment to think, your father then nodded his head in agreement, “You have my permission.”

Ser Criston was notably trailing quite a few steps behind the prince and you as if he did not want to infringe upon the interaction. A part of your mind wondered if it was by order or out of the guard’s own consideration.

Aemond had led you from your parents’ apartments to just outside the garden wall. Your arm was carefully linked in his own, shoulders brushing against the other with each step. While you walked, you recounted your visit to the sept to the prince. He had not inquired, but you disdained any silence between you both and he did at least act amused. Amused as the prince would allow himself to be, at least.

“And who gifted you your pendant of the Maiden?” The prince asked.

“My grandmother, before she passed,” you explained to him, “It was hers. A gift from my grandfather upon their betrothal.”

“I see,” He nodded, falling quiet once more.

Before another word could be uttered, you arrived at the courtyard where the small godswood lay snug. Though you appreciated having a place to properly pray to the Seven nearby, your mind always trailed back to the godswood of your own ancestral home. It was considerably larger than this, or any of the Southern kingdoms. You never commented on the size though, not wanting to offend those who tended to it or sought comfort here.

As Aemond led you forward, Ser Criston remained in the archway at attention. His eyes focused on the halls, surveying for harm as expected of him.

Just as you approached the heart tree, Aemond stopped his moments, keeping you tucked into his side. Your eyes turned to his face, scanning his demeanor for a clue of what was in his mind.

Suddenly, he spoke once more, “My mother often comments on the fact that there is not a proper weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s godswood.”

After a pause, you offered him a response, “I believe I understand her sentiment.”

The prince turned toward you with a raised brow, dropping your arm in exchange for taking your hands in his own, “And what is that sentiment, my lady?’

Your eyes flicker over his face, the faintest hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. Tearing your gaze away from his face, you refocused down… down at his large hands which grasped your own. His cool, calloused hands nearly engulfed your own. Such thoughts sent a chill down your spine. The warm feeling returned, but you pushed away your acknowledgment of it.

Taking a deep breath, you looked to where a weirwood tree might take occupancy in this godswood, “I do not wish to speak in ill opinion of the crown, my prince.”

“I want to hear your thoughts,” His hands squeezed your own, albeit gently, “Speak them.”

With a sigh, you continued as instructed, “Very few Targaryens, much less Targaryen Kings have truly devoted themselves to the Seven. The show of faith is merely a guise to appease the High Septon and common folk. As I’m sure you are well aware, it was always said that Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. Being compared to Gods does not ignite one to take up faith in what one might perceive themself as an equal to. So King’s Landing and many southern kingdoms are sullied with sin.”

Silence hung in the air, but the prince did not weaken his grip upon you. Worry sank in your stomach, wondering if you had spoken too freely for the prince’s liking. His common smirk played at his lips once more, “An observant lady… a very smart girl.”

The small praise made your heart drum against your chest, You could sweat to the Gods that he could feel it in your pulse too as he ducked his head closer to your own.

“My smart girl has been paying attention to our lessons,” His breath was warm against your face. His eye flickered from your own to the pendant resting atop your chest, “Good…”

Slowly, Aemond released one of your hands and raised his own up toward your face. His fingers took hold of the pendant, thumb grazing over the engraving. Then, he brought the pendant closer to his face, the tension of the chain against your neck, causing you to lean closer to him. His eye now held your gaze in a moment of surprising intimacy. Aemond raised the pendant to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it, eye never once leaving your own.

When he released it, the pendant fell back upon your chest. You released the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Now that I’ve given you my blessing,” Aemond’s voice was warm, but still caused your skin to prickle, “Get on your knees and pray…”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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thebadgerclan · 1 year

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Salvation

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: You are his salvation...

A/N: This is based on the scene from Queen Charlotte where she finds out what the doctors have been doing to George (episode 5 I think?)

The demon was back. After months of peace, of Nikolai’s mind being entirely his own, it was back. The King had flown from his window three weeks ago, and since then, your contact with him had been limited. It was a protocol that your husband had drawn up after his last battle with the demon, a contingency plan that he prayed he’d never have to enact. But prayers weren’t always answered.

You now slept in separate chambers, your husband had returned to being chained to his bed and sedated. Even during the day, a time that had been proven safe from the demon, Nikolai was distant, subdued. You’d overheard him discussing it with one of his advisers: “Her Majesty is worried, moi tsar.” “I cannot risk her,” your husband had responded. “She is far too important.”

What little you saw of your husband broke your heart. He looked exhausted, and you might have been able to chalk it up to the stress of the situation, had it not been for one minuscule, almost imperceptible detail. Nikolai had brought in physicians from all over Ravka in hopes of finding a cure, and one, Doctor Laisia Orlov from Tsibeya, had some interesting theories. At this point, Nikolai was willing to try anything to expel the demon from him, so he allowed Doctor Orlov to set up rooms in the Palace to do her work.

It was nearly a month and a half into your husbands treatment that you noticed it. Nikolai had been meeting with his council when the Doctor entered, and when she walked near the King, he flinched. You didn’t claim to be a medical professional, but you knew that a patient shouldn’t flinch when their doctor walked past. From then, you noticed that Nikolai would mumble to himself, his hands would shake, his head would twitch. Something was amiss, and it had something to do with Doctor Orlov.

It was two weeks after that that you got a feeling deep in your gut that something was wrong. Not just wrong, but deeply, horribly wrong. You pushed aside the papers you’d been going over and tracked down Nikolai’s valet. He was flanked by four guards, which was extremely unusual, but they bowed when you approached. “My Queen,” Akim, your husband’s valet, greeted. “How may I assist you?”

“Akim, where is my husband?” Before he could answer, one of the guards interjected. “He is occupied, moya tsaritsa,” he said, which only raised your suspicion. “Forgive me, but my question was not directed at you. Akim, where is Nikolai?” The valet shifted, and you pushed on. “I will not ask again, Akim.” “He is–” he cleared his throat. “He is receiving treatment. With Doctor Orlov.”

Again, your suspicion rose, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “Well then, I should like to observe her work. She is employing some revolutionary methods, is she not?” “You do not wish to see that, Your Majesty,” said another guard, and your expression hardened. “I am the Queen,” you said. “You do not presume to tell me what I would and would not like to see. Now, where are the Doctor’s rooms located?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the first guard said. “I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.” You drew yourself up to your full height, and while this guard was taller than you, he cowered a bit. “I am not asking,” you said, voice icy. “Now, tell me where my husband is, or I will have you charged with treason.” “This way, Your Majesty,” Akim said suddenly, and you hurried to follow him.

The King’s valet led you into the kitchens and the storage cellar below, your concern growing with every step. Then you heard it: screaming. Nikolai, screaming. You hiked up your skirts and ran down the corridor, panic bubbling in you. When you came to a door, you slammed it open, the sight behind it igniting rage and horror in you. Your husband was tied to a chair, a gag between his teeth, a red hot poker pressed to his chest.

“What is this?” you demanded, and Doctor Orlov paused. “Untie the King.” Akim and the four guards had trailed you, but all stood frozen. “Untie the King! I command you!” “Queen Y/N, you cannot–” “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do!” you snapped, composure completely slipping. “I will have you hanged for this, do you understand me? Torturing your King?”

“It is not torture, Majesty, it is medicine!” Doctor Orlov argued. “You cannot have me hanged for practicing medicine.” “I am your Queen!” you screamed, moving to stand nose-to-nose with the Doctor. “If I wish for you to be hanged, then you will be hanged. If I wish for you to be drawn and quartered, then you shall be. If I wish for you to rot in a cell for the rest of your pathetic life, then you shall! Get her out of my sight!”

The guards snapped to attention and dragged the Doctor out, and you turned your attention to your husband, who was being supported by Akim. “Oh, Nikolai,” you breathed, and he fell into your arms, clutching your gown. He was trembling, mumbling to himself. “My love, what have they done to you?” “Y-Y-Y/N?” he managed, and you nodded, cupping his cheek. “Yes, darling, it’s Y/N. Y/N’s here, I’m here. It’s me, sweetheart.”

You felt him relax in your arms, and he let out a shuddering breath. “Akim,” you called. “Have the guards clear the halls and get a Healer to our rooms.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” the valet said, hurrying from the room. “It didn’t like her,” Nikolai mumbled, and you stroked his hair. “What was that, my love?” “It didn’t like her. The demon.” You were about to ask what he meant by that, but Akim re-entered. “The halls are clear, Majesty.”

The two of you helped Nikolai to walk back to your rooms, and you changed him into his nightclothes, tucking him into bed. The Healer arrived soon after, examining the King and healing the burns, rope marks, and leech bites. “He’ll need rest,” she instructed. “And he needs you. After what he endured…” “Of course,” you replied, thanking the Healer and dismissing her.

Nikolai was dozing, and you climbed into bed at his side, pulling him into your arms. Already he seemed better, his face calm and relaxed, his tremor gone, no longer mumbling. “Nikolai, darling?” “Hmm?” “What did you mean earlier when you said ‘it didn’t like her’?” Your husband shifted in your arms so he could look at you. “The demon didn’t like Orlov,” he explained.

“When she was around, it came to the forefront of my mind, it tried to get out. And when she was…treating me, it would fight like mad to get free. But when you came in there…when you held me, it went away.” “Went away?” “Mhmm,” your husband replied. “When she was there, I had to fight to keep it at bay, but with you, it’s gone. I don’t feel it at all.” “Nikolai,” you said suddenly, clarity coming over you. “Do you remember the night the demon came back? When was it?”

The King thought for a moment before answering. “I think it was the 8th, why?” Suddenly, it all made sense. “I was staying with my mother in Balakirev then,” you said. “And that was the first night we’d spent apart since–” “Since after the war,” Nikolai finished for you. “Since I was infected with the demon.” It all made perfect sense now: it wasn’t chance that the demon re-appeared, it happened in your absence.

Now that he thought about it, more and more pieces clicked into place. He’d felt the demon clawing at his mind before, when he was anxious or stressed, but when you were near, it released its clutches and left him in peace. The Darkling had given him this curse, but the Darkling had never known love, never known the solace of another’s arms. But Nikolai did, and it was that love, that solace that was his cure. Not medicine, not science, not any religious ritual, it was you. It had always been you.

“Y/N,” Nikolai said. “You saved me.” “I’ll have that mad woman hanged for what she did to you, I’ll–” “Darling,” your husband said, smiling softly, brushing your hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek tenderly. “As attractive as it is to hear you threaten someone on my behalf, that’s not what I mean.” You heard a hint of his usual wit and banter slip back into his tone, and you knew that your husband was back.

“You are what keeps the demon at bay, my love,” Nikolai continued. “When I feel it coming on, trying to get out, all I have to do is look at you, and it vanishes. I have never felt its claws when I’m with you, when you’re in my arms. Y/N Lantsov, you are my salvation, my solace, and my greatest love.” Tears, happy tears pricked at your eyes, and you pressed your lips to his.

“If you’re making flowery declarations, then you must be feeling better,” you joked, but Nikolai was deadly serious. “I’m not joking, Y/N. The two months we were apart were the worst of my life. I couldn’t sleep, I barely ate, I was a shell of myself. But an hour in your arms and I’m a new man. You are my savior, Y/N.” “Nikolai, I–” “No, my love, you are. My Queen, my salvation.”

You smiled, kissing him again. “I love you so much, Nikolai,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Saints, I’ve missed you.” Nikolai nuzzled his face into your chest, happy to be held in your embrace. “I love you too, my darling Y/N. And I missed you far more than I could ever say.” That Doctor would pay for what she’d done, but for now, you had your Nikolai, and he had his salvation. His Y/N, his wife, his Queen, his love.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone reader insert

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in-sightpublishing · 1 month

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BCHA set to sue Vancouver over inaugural prayer

Publisher: In-Sight Publishing Publisher Founding: September 1, 2014 Publisher Location: Fort Langley, Township of Langley, British Columbia, Canada Publication: Freethought Newswire Original Link: https://www.bchumanist.ca/bcha_set_to_sue_vancouver_over_inaugural_prayer Publication Date: April 24, 2024 Organization: British Columbia Humanist Association Organization Description: The…

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#Allen/McMillan Litigation Counsel #audit of compliance #BC Humanist Association (BCHA)#City of Vancouver #constitutional duty #Ian Bushfield #inaugural council meetings #Joel V. Payne #legal proceedings #municipality prayer #religious neutrality #Sam Sullivan #Supreme Court of Canada #Teale Phelps Bondaroff #welcoming remarks

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pookacangetit · 1 year

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Disney Song! Yuu [Disney Songs Edition: A Mouthful of Damnation]

Featuring a case of fraud; a furious prefect who was the victim of said fraud; and a lovesick student who took the word 'admiration' to a whole new level.

MASTERLIST

It was a fine morning when the doors to The Council slammed open.

The Shroud heir was ready to duck and cover under his seat for the intruding student but he outright screeched when the furious Ramshackle prefect stormed in.

It was ethereal but utterly terrifying for an angry Ramshackle prefect to stare you down like you're scummier than dirt. Idia had mixed feelings about it.

"I can tolerate the 'protection'." Yuu started before anyone could speak. "I can tolerate and ignore the fact all of you have so much free time on your hands to start a cult and carry around recordings of my voice like they're the second coming of the Great Seven."

"But this," they hissed the word out like it pained them to do so, "this is too far."

They pulled something out of their pocket and slammed it onto the table.

Sam, whose shadows had fled the room the second Yuu had entered, cautiously lean forward with a frown, "... those are The Council's collector card set we sell."

"Yes, but why is my face on them?" Yuu asked, fingers twitching erractically for something- or someone- to hit.

"Because you're the Great One?" Bob piped up, getting smacked in the face as Beau stepped in.

"These are SSR Cards of you performing your magic as you sing in different costumes; and these are the Common Cards of Grim in various dresses after Azul blackmail- ahem, bribed, the monster to participate." Beau explained gently, as though Yuu would start hitting people any second now.

Judging by the way Yuu was despairingly staring at an empty chair, it was highly likely.

Sam blinked, "At first we were uncomfortable using these pictures as merch since you weren't looking at the camera in some of them. But Crowley said you consented and got half of the shares for the merch since then."

Yuu blinked back, "... you mean the monthly budgets and bank account that bastard crow gave me out of nowhere?" They sounded calm.

Everyone sent a quick prayer for the headmaster.

Crowley had been in a meeting with a student representative from NBC when the door to his office slammed open.

"THE COURTYARD IS ON FIRE!!"

"... WHAT." The headmaster sped towards the window in his office, ignoring his guest as he screeched in pure offense at the sight of his schoolyard on fire.

Smack dab in the middle of the burning lawn and screeching students was a large bonfire, fed by the pictures of Crowley Yuu was throwing in with utter glee while their friends did so with mild hesistation.

Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man~

Of my virtue I am justly proud ~

È̵̢̨̛̺̙̝͕͚͔̳͚̿̐̀̽̔̅̈́̇̎͜͠͠t̷̛̞̯̾̓̽́͆̉̿̐͂͑̕̕ ̶̻̗̞̱͕̺̣̥̬̩̖̋̎̑̒͋̒͋̈́̃̄̃̚͠ţ̶̛̗͈̫͉͉̦̮̖̰̜̜̘̌̀̄̏́̋͗̔̐̿ͅi̴̭̟̝̩̬̠͚̗̠̔̾͠ͅb̸̙̜̄͒͊̽͐̅͋͊́͒̀͑̃͜͝ͅi̶̢̡͙̮͇͍̻͔͚̤̊̀̉̄͌̄̎̀̈́̕͘͘͘͝t̸̪͑̓̏̎͌̄͌͂̂̈̋̊̓͝ ̶̨̛̠̻̫̲̳̻͇̠̟͉͎̭͈̋̄͂̆̓̆̈́͌̾̑͝P̶̢͍̜̺̟̹̭͎̰̳̮̻̭̤̍͜a̴̧͖͕͍̍̔́̈́̈̔̈́̊͐͑̕͠t̷̨̡̡̫̗̤͕͙̪̦̩͉͓̹͆́̅̇͛̄̓̍̚͜͠͝͠͝͠ḙ̸̺͑̉̓̍͑͌̊̔̄͌̿r̸̺͙̱̃̊̈́͒͒͊͛͒̈̓̊̿͠͝~

"We should put the fire out before it spreads out of the yard." Deuce murmured, eyeing the Leech twin who was standing in the farthest corner and clutching their jacket as though it set on fire again at any moment.

Ace elbowed him "Shut up and burn these pictures."

Epel simply cackled as he threw.

The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd~

Q̵̡̨̮͈͖͖͓͙̜̙̩̾̈́͗͐̾̄͗͝Ự̶̳̯͙̎͛̂͒Į̵̧̧̳̳͚̫̩̀͒̈́̐̂̓́͜Á̴̡̡̗̪͕̼͈̥̤̩̫͇͌̔̓̌́͆́̈́̌̈́ ̷̡̼̘̠͓͉͈͔̒͊̊͝P̵̼̬͍̲͈̆E̵̦̮̱̼̥̺͆͗̅̑͘͜͠C̴̱̊̂Ç̸̡͔̣̣̼͍͓̥̩̍͐̀̂̆͒̔̔̍̋͊̑Â̴̧̡̠̒̓́̽̄̕͜V̶̨̤̯̟̭͗̉̈́͗̓I̵̧̬̹̬̪͕͕̥̬̟͓̽̏̽̀̽͆̌͑̊͘͠ ̴̡̼̦̥͚̖͔͇͔̮̜̫̱̩̂̍̊͋͛͑̂͊ͅŅ̷̤̤͖̈́̌̍͂̊̓̈́̈́̃̉ͅI̷̧͖͚̙͍̜͉̩̓̑̉͌̉̍̑̆̑̊̑̚M̷̨̳̥͔̬̯͉̲̺͉̀̊͒̒̑Ȉ̴̭̞̝̇Ś̴̟̦͙̥͚͈̲̘͂̿̃̏̍͜ ̸̹̪̝̖͓͚̺̫͊̓̍̆͛ͅ~

The panicking exclamations ensue as soon as the ghostly voices started to wail, echoing the words of the Ramshackle Prefect as someone ran off.

Something many people noticed when it came to Yuu's singing was that it was intentionally nice. When Yuu sings they would sweeten their voice into a light and airy tone, one which carresses each word they speak as the magic made its presence known. It brought the best out of the magic apparently. It was soothing, it was magical, it was the spoken of 'happily ever after' RSA prided on.

I feel her, I see her~

The sun caught in her raven hair~

Is blazing in me out of all control~

V̴̴̸̡̟̘̼͔́͑̓̽̕͠E̴̸̴̡͔̼̞͕͒͛̒̈́͘̕R̴̵̵̡͔͉̘͖͛͐̒̓̐͠B̵̵̸̡̞͖̺̺͉́͌̔͊͑͠ O̵̵̴͖͕̺͍̞̞͑̀̽̐̿̕ E̸̸̸̻͕̘͍̓͒̓̾͑͜T̵̵̴̢̢̞̻͍͇͒̈́͛͋͛͝ O̵̴̵̢͚̙̙͕̓̀̽̔͒̕Ṕ̵̸̴̝̫̦͎͔́̾͆͘͜E̵̵̸̟̪͔͖̻͍͋̔̐͊͝R̴̴̴̡̪̟͙͇͙̔͑͑̕̕͝E̴̴̵̪̞͖͕͔̘͑̓͆̿͘͝~

This was not singing. This was anger.

LIKE FIRE~ F̸̸̙͔̦̺͚̠̓͐̀̚͝I̴̵͍̺̟̻̻͉͆̿͌́͠͠R̵̸̪͉͎̙͖̝̓́̈́̿̔E̵̸̢̠̘̺̼̓̐̿̐̒͜͝~

HELLFIRE~ F̸̸̙͔̦̺͚̠̓͐̀̚͝I̴̵͍̺̟̻̻͉͆̿͌́͠͠R̵̸̪͉͎̙͖̝̓́̈́̿̔E̵̸̢̠̘̺̼̓̐̿̐̒͜͝~

THIS BURNING DESIRE~

It was Yuu booming their voice the loudest they could go, uncaring if the words come out hoarse or shrill. Yuu didn't care that people were wincing from the loudness of their voice or paling in terror at the unbridled fury they were shouting to the heavens.

Even the fact someone was hurriedly running towards the courtyard carrying a barrel of pumpkins paled in comparison to the sheer feral energy Yuu was busy emitting.

It was raw; it was ugly; and it was the most beautiful thing Rollo has ever seen.

"Sevens above." Dark eyes were brimming with a returning light as he stared at the cackling prefect with such adoration it made his unwilling audience take a step back, "my god has descended."

Yuu: I do not have a favourite Dxnsey song

Also Yuu: *cackles madly as they sing and set everything on fire*

#twst #disney song yuu #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twst rollo #twst yuu

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fluffywings13 · 3 months

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So to the lovely anon who asked about poseidon and percy t fic....perhaps.....

But imagine a world where Poseidon and the Seafam play an active role in little baby Percy growing up. Despite Zues's asinine rules and laws and bullshit.

Posiedon is there. Amphitrite is there. Triton is there. Sally is there.

Takes a village to raise a child right?

Heres a small sneak peek!

Poseidon would not think to be accused of the same mistreatment of his only land born child in this century. “Come, my Prince, you can down it. Strong as your táta. Come to me my most precious of pearls.” The royal family lived by their own Laws, heeding none other, Zeus would never be so brazen enough to strike down the Sea God and his Immortal Family so near to his domain. Though calmed with age and time, Poseidon was still considered one of those among them not to temp, his unpredictable nature made him ever more dangerous then the Council combined. “A few more steps, just a few more, I await to hold you with an eagerness untold of.”

Their place of meeting was the beaches of Montauk, the Land Born child of the Sea living peacefully in the safe walls of the cabin only a few steps from the waves that reside in his blood lapping at the sandy ground underfoot. Furnished to the liking of one ever Spirited Sally Jackson with mixed artfully with the tones of the boy’s Divine Sea Ruling Family.

Percy Jackson knew not of a moment in his short but exuberant life of pain or as though part was missing, no stories of a missing father who supposedly held adoration for him despite his otherwise radio silence, no striking hand of an abusive step father.

Giggling adorably is the nine month of Sea Prince, the breeze from the open expanse of waters behind the royals gathered just in the rolling surf ruffles through the boy’s squid ink black hairs, eyes that change hues based on emotion maintain a glow of the same shine of his dearest táta awaiting his arrival with hardly concealed excitement. Witnessing one’s babe take their first steps was a celebratory occasion transcending mortality. Poseidon hadn’t been there to witness his youngest Prince's true first cruising but he nor his wife and elder son had wasted even a thought of a moment when the prayer of their mortal counterpart reached their ears in the depths of the child reaching this momentous milestone.

Amphitrite maintains the ability not to laugh at her dearest husband’s excitement, especially so when the same hands though smaller in size are seen reaching from her other side, father and son share only a moment of a glance, a challenge to see whom the babe will come to first initiated in their shared glance of silence.

And Triton had claimed no fondness for the babe.

Giggling with her baby, Sally holds both tiny hands tight and secure as she simply assists her treasure in his stumbly pundy legged amble to those who await him at the waters edge, Percy pauses for only a moment to glance between his papa and big brother both of whom beckoning him forward.

Let it be known on the record that Poseidon, Lord of the Seas, is a dirt rotten cheater. His wife laughing openly at his side as their son reaches around her to smack his Father’s arm with the accusation being spoken into existence as the demi-god ambles into the Sea Lord’s waiting embrace. She takes a moment to observe her husband, simply take him in for a moment of observation, as he crows in elation to the sight of his youngest son’s first steps. The way his eyes glow in a manner she hasn’t seen in…Since his first of his many halfing children…his deep rumbling laughter in tune with the infants youthful pitched squeals as he lifts him from the gentle waves among the the shore up above his head.

#pjo tv show #pjo series #poseidad #sea fam #amphitrite #poseidon #triton #percy jackson #pj headcanon

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dmitriene · 9 months

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— divine temptations.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«things on your chest» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌«you need to confess» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «i will deliver» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ «you know i'm a forgiver»

summary: Leon Kennedy is a beautiful personification of the holy father — and you are a beautiful personification of his main weakness for sin. content: priest re6 leon kennedy x fem reader tags: fluff, comfort, maybe a bit of possesivness, nsfw, smut, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, marking, little communication, mentions of sin and sensitive topics for theists. author's note: well, hello there! i've seen couple of work's about priest leon but didn't actually think that someday i'll come with an writing about this topic too, but here i am, thanks to the one of the many best writing's that belong to @lipglossanon and that inspired me, hope you'll like this work! enjoy your reading) ⛪ (18+ warning)

Leon Kennedy was the epitome of an exemplary priest, with an aura of unwavering devotion and honesty.

Tall and majestic, he had a striking appearance that immediately aroused the respect of others, his dark hair was always neatly combed, framing a face that carried both the burden of responsibility and the kindness of a benevolent soul.

There was a depth in his cerulean eyes that seemed to reflect the vastness of heaven itself, as he spoke, whether from the pulpit or in private council, his words carried the weight of wisdom gained from years of unwavering dedication, his voice, rich and sonorous — had a reassuring effect, like the gentle reassurance that comes from knowing someone who has found their purpose and lived it to the fullest.

He wore his priestly robes with grace that spoke of his devotion to his calling, the white collar of his cassock was a symbol of his sacred duty, connection with the divine, which he wore with humility and pride, the dark fabric of his clothes absorbed the cares of those who sought his guidance, as if he willingly carried their burden on his shoulders.

Leon's actions were evidence of his unwavering commitment to his convictions, he tirelessly cared for the needs of his flock, providing both spiritual comfort and practical help to those in need, his days were often filled with visiting the sick, comforting the mourners and listening to those who sought advice, his hands, accustomed to to the weight of the Bible and the touch of the rosary, carried a gentle power that left an indelible mark on the lives he touched.

In the sacred walls of the church, his presence radiated a sense of holiness, as he led the faithful in prayer and delivered sermons that spoke of the human condition, his sincerity shone, he was a beacon of hope, a guiding star for those who overcome the difficulties of life's problems.

Respected and recognized by the community, Leon's reputation was built on a foundation of unwavering ethics, he never shied away from difficult conversations, addressing the complexities of faith and morality with a balanced approach that encouraged thoughtful introspection, his openness to discussion and willingness to meet people where they were. contributed to a sense of trust and inclusion within the congregation in their spiritual journey.

In a world that often seemed uncertain, Leon remained an unshakable pillar of faith, his life was a living embodiment of his convictions, an example of how to overcome the difficulties of the modern world while remaining true to eternal principles, he was more than a priest — he was a mentor, a confidant and source of inspiration for those who have searched for meaning in their lives.

The church has always exuded an air of eternal reverence and holiness, a quiet silence reigned in the air, as if the walls themselves held the echoes of centuries of whispered prayers and solemn vows, sunlight filtered through intricate stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of colored light on polished marble floors, the air was saturated with a delicate aroma aged wood, candle wax and a lingering scent of incense, creating a sensual symphony that transports visitors to the realm of devotion.

High vaulted ceilings rose overhead like evidence of the divine, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting biblical scenes in vivid detail, soft choral music played softly in the background, its soothing melodies floating in the air like a gentle embrace, rows of benches lined the nave, each was decorated with intricate designs, their austere beauty offering both comfort and a sense of the sacred.

Candles flickered on ornate candelabra, casting dancing shadows on the walls and creating a serene atmosphere contemplating, rows of prayer candles stood guard, their gentle flames representing the hopes, fears and aspirations of those who came in search of solace.

The altar, bathed in warm golden light, was the center of the church, its elaborate decorations and ornate crucifix a reminder of the sacrifice and grace at the heart of faith, and the scent of incense hung in the air, a fragrant offering that rose to the heavens with every slight rise and fall of the censer.

As you walked through the church you could almost feel the weight of history in the very stones under your feet, the atmosphere was filled with reverence and quiet introspection, a space where the burdens of the world could be cast aside and the connection with the divine felt palpably, it was a refuge where souls could find respite from the restless outside. a world where prayers whispered in the shadows met with a sense of understanding and acceptance.

In this sacred space of the church, the stories of generations were preserved, imprinted on every pew, stained glass windows and carved reliefs, it was a place where people sought guidance, redemption and the comfort that comes from knowing that they are not alone on their spiritual path, the atmosphere embraced all who entered , inviting them to find their connection to the divine and explore the depths of their faith in a haven of calm and serenity.

And just at the moment you entered Leon's field of vision, there seemed to be a change in the atmosphere, the very air was filled with an energy that was both inspiring and unsettling, but as you stood there, dressed in the sacred robe of a nun, a soft, unearthly fabric seemed to shimmer with its own light, casting an otherworldly glow around you.

Your presence was a mesmerizing contrast to the solemnity of the church, like an enchanting angel descending to Earth, your appearance evoked a sense of wonder that seemed to go beyond the ordinary, the pure white color of your clothes was a canvas on which innocence and faith were painted, a visual representation of devotion that you kept deep in your heart.

But it was your eyes that really caught his attention, wide and bright, they shone with a hint of childlike innocence, in their depths he could see the source of unshakable faith, faith in something more that radiated out like a beacon, those eyes carried wisdom that contradicted your youthful appearance, as if you were in touch with the divine, which was unique to you.

A soft smile played on your lips as you approached, and his thoughts seemed to scatter like leaves caught in a gust of wind, as if your presence had the power to silence the cacophony of his mind, leaving only a quiet, gentle resonance that echoed with your closeness, the weight of his duties and convictions suddenly seemed distant to him, replaced by a strange longing which he never allowed himself to acknowledge.

He devoted his whole life to his faith, unwaveringly adhering to his convictions, the idea of crossing certain boundaries never visited him, he never allowed his thoughts to be distracted by the desires of the flesh, kisses, hugs or the warmth of soft touches.

But you, with your innocence and intimacy, broke down those carefully built walls.

Your soft smiles and innocent questions about how his day went shook his composure, your chirping voice is like a sweet melody, shattered the facade of restraint that he so diligently maintained, as if your very presence was an irresistible temptation testing the limits of his composure.

And then, in the moments when his patience wore thin, he found himself struggling to maintain his priestly detachment, your closeness became a magnet that drew him, his fingers yearning to touch, to hold, to feel the warmth of your presence — your skin next to his.

A struggle raged within him between vows he had taken and desires he had never allowed himself to acknowledge.

A dichotomy unfolded in your mere existence — the embodiment of purity and faith that you represented, and the turbulent whirlwind of emotion that your presence aroused within him.

The atmosphere has changed with you — the subtle dance of innocence and desire has left both his beliefs and his heart in a state of conflict he never expected.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ━━━━✙━━━━

There was a palpable tension in the quiet solitude of the empty church, a palpable tension in the air, the blazing candlelight casting dancing shadows across the polished marble floors — creating an intimate atmosphere of breathless anticipation as you stood at the pulpit, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of cloth as Leon approached and gazed at you.

— «Forgive me» he began, his voice a low murmur that carried the weight of his inner struggle — «I must confess that my thoughts were occupied with the most undesirable distraction»

Your eyes met his, the innocence in your gaze contrasting sharply with the turmoil that simmered beneath his calm exterior — «Father Leon» you whispered, and here was both understanding and a bold hint of something more in your voice — «Do you believe that God has created desires in us?»

Vulnerability flickered in his azure eyes, a crack in his armor revealing the inner conflict he was fighting — «I believe that our desires can sometimes lead us astray from the path of righteousness» he replied, his tone laced with a mixture of restraint and anguish.

Your smile was both knowing and gentle, soothing enough to make his heart tremble — «But isn't it possible that God also created these desires so that we could experience the fullness of our humanity?»

He hesitated, caught between the teachings he held dear and the feelings you awakened in him — «My child» he muttered in a fragile thread of voice — «This is the fine line we walk between the sacred and the profane»

In the midst of this delicate conversation, his resolve crumbled right before your eyes, the distance between you evaporated and you were at the podium, your breath mixing in a tense atmosphere.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached out and touched your cheek gently, his touch as fragile as a whispered prayer.

— «Maybe..» he admitted in a heavy from surrender voice — «There are times when the divine and the earthly intersect»

The air seemed to vibrate with tension pulsing between you, his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, the struggle within him was evident in every wrinkle of his brows, and then, as if driven by forces beyond his control, his lips met yours in a kiss that contained in himself a deep anguish, which he had denied himself for so long.

For a moment, time seemed to stop, as the boundaries separating him from the desires of the flesh blurred and became insignificant, his arms hugged you, pulling you closer, his touch was a paradox of tenderness and perseverance.

The sacred space of the church witnessed this intimate communion, the union of souls that transcends the physical world.

In that stolen moment when his lips met yours, Leon's attachment to God and his devotion to his vows faded into the background, the dichotomy between the sacred and the profane, the spiritual and the carnal dissolved in the face of a common passion that flared up like a flame, long contained, in a silent sanctuary in an empty church, he indulged in the depths of desire he had denied for so long and found a connection that seemed both forbidden and divine.

You feel a wave of desire coursing through your body, fueled by the forbidden nature of your connection, despite your shared devotion to your faith, you find yourself unable to resist the charm of each other's touch, and you return his kiss with the same fervor, your lips meeting his with a hunger that matches your own.

As his hands slide over your body, you feel a shiver of excitement run down your spine, even though you're still dressed in a modest nun's robe, his touch lights a fire in you, your body reacts instinctively, pressing closer to him, craving more of his intoxicating presence.

Your hands gliding over his broad shoulders, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscular body, the tension between you intensifies as you explore each other's bodies through the fabric of your clothes, the anticipation of what lies ahead intensifies with each passing moment.

Leon's hands, driven by his insatiable desire, penetrate the folds of your monastic robe, the touch of his fingertips on your skin is electrifying, his explorations are careful, but at the same time filled with the desire to explore every inch of your body.

As his hands move, he breaks the connection between your lips, his lips greedily rest on the soft skin of your neck, his breath passionately touches your skin and he leaves a trail of kisses and nibbles, marking you as his own in a fit of desire.

The combination of his hands caressing your body and his lips teasing your sensitive skin causes waves of pleasure to run through you, your breath hitching and a low moan escapes your lips as you succumb to the intoxicating sensation.

Leon continued to pay attention to your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of teasing sensations, he enjoys the quiet moans and whimpers escaping from your lips, his desire is fueled by the sounds of your pleasure.

As his fingers find their way to your clothed cunt he feels warmth and wetness betraying your arousal, a mixture of anticipation and lust coursing through his veins as he gently presses at the cloth, teasingly exploring your most intimate area.

Your reaction is immediate — a sharp sigh escapes your lips as you bury your face in his shoulder, looking for comfort and a place to drown out your moans, the combination of his skillful manipulation on your neck and the teasing touch of his fingers on your clothed cunt threatens to undermine your self control.

Leon finds in himself the pleasure of the power he has over you, the control he has, pushing the boundaries of your desires, in this moment you are lost in a whirlwind of pleasure and sin, unable to resist the intoxicating charm of his touch.

— «P-please, father… m-more» your voice is a desperate plea among the quiet walls of the temple where only your sighs are heard.

He grins into your neck, his lips touch your skin and he listens to your plea for more, he enjoys the sound, enjoying his power over your desires, Leon lifts his head slightly and kisses your cheek gently, his breath passionately against your skin.

He takes your request as a signal to move on, to sink deeper into the sinful passion that consumes you both, with a deliberate and calculated movement, he bends down and pushes your panties aside, exposing your smooth folds.

His fingers, slippery with your arousal, slide over your wetness, teasingly probing your tender entrance, and with a slight pressure he slowly but firmly inserts one finger and bends it to find the point that makes you sigh of pleasure.

The feel of his finger inside you, combined with the constant attention he pays to your neck, sends waves of pleasure through your body, you find yourself indulging in sinful pleasure, your moans grow louder and desire reaches its climax.

Leon feels your body tremble at his touch, your grip on his shoulders tighter as you struggle to gain a foothold in the consuming pleasure, the feel of your nails scratching his shoulders through the fabric of his robe only heightens the tension of the moment.

As he inserts another finger, your walls instinctively tighten around his fingers, seeking to pull him even deeper into the depths of your cunt, the combination of his skillful movements and your heightened arousal brings you to the abyss of ecstasy.

A scream of pleasure escaped your lips as your orgasm engulfed you, your body trembling in his embrace, the intensity of your release engulfing you, leaving you breathless and completely lost in the sinful pleasure that none other than Leon awakened in you.

He enjoys the sight and sound of your pleasure, enjoying the control and dominance he holds over your desires in this moment, and in this moment of vulnerability and ecstasy you are both consumed by the depth of your sinful connection.

Leon's fingers on another hand is slide gently through your hair, a touch of tenderness amidst the tension surrounding both of you, his actions dramatically displaying a fleeting moment of complete softness.

But the respite is short lived as he leads you closer to the pulpit, forcing you to hold on to it for support, he moves behind you, his strong presence radiating as he takes control of the situation.

His hands slide along the edge of your monk's robe, slowly lifting it up, exposing the seductive curves of your body and grabbing your panties with his fingers, the fabric falling off, piling up around your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

With a deliberate and measured movement, he leans down and unbuckles the belt on his trousers, anticipation soars in the air, the sound of unbuckling the belt echoes through the quiet church, reminding you of the forbidden nature of your meeting.

As the belt falls to the ground, Leon's desire takes over again, his eyes filled with lustful hunger, the intensity of his gaze leaving no doubt about his intentions as he steps closer, ready to fully accept the sinful pleasure that awaits both of you.

His desires are at their peak as he steps behind you, his throbbing cock pressing against wet lips of your cunt, anticipation palpable in the air as he teases your clit, causing you to whimper in pleasure.

With a slow, deliberate push, he begins to penetrate, his powerful form filling you completely, the feeling of his cock's firmness stretching you, causing a mixture of pleasure and painful desire to flow through your body.

The sinful act when he entered you in the sacred walls of the church only increases the tension of the moment, the air is heavy from the weight of your desires, the echo of your whines is mixed with the quiet silence of the holy place.

Leon, driven by his primal urges, sets a relentless pace, his movements are firm and commanding, each push brings you closer to the edge of pleasure, your body reacts to his every touch, to every blow of his hardened cock.

In this moment of undisguised, forbidden passion, you surrender completely to the sinful pleasure that Leon delivers, getting lost in the overwhelming sensations that consume you.

As Leon continues to sink into you, your body arches towards him in search of deeper connection and pleasure, endless moans escaping your lips filling the air with your symphony of ecstasy, your walls clenching around him, squeezing him tight as you lose yourself in sensation.

Your nails scratch at the pulpit, a desperate attempt to gain a foothold amid the all consuming pleasure, and sensing your need for restraint, Leon gently intertwines the fingers of his hand with yours, providing a tether to prevent any unintentional harm.

He gently slows down, his movements become more controlled and gentle, he treasures the vulnerability that you have entrusted to him, making sure that every touch and stroke is filled with care and attention.

The intensity of your connection remains, but Leon adjusts his rhythm according to your desires, he seeks to prolong the pleasure, to enjoy the moments of intimacy shared between you, in this moment you both find comfort and release, embracing passion.

Leon feels a tremble in your body as your knees buckle slightly, all consuming pleasure threatening to consume you completely, light sobs escape your lips — a mixture of pleasure and the impending release that awaits you.

He leans in and kisses your cheek gently, his lips giving a brief respite from the intensity of the moment, his touch soft and soothing, a reminder that even in this sinful act there is a moment of comfort.

He understands the power of your impending orgasm, the power that will soon overwhelm you, he enjoys the knowledge that he has led you to this abyss, that he has kindled a fire of pleasure within you.

As your walls clench around him, the stranglehold of your orgasm grows, Leon remains steadfast, his movements become more measured and precise, he wants to witness your orgasm, to feel your body convulsing as you surrender to an consuming ecstasy.

At that moment, you are both teetering on the edge, your desires intertwined in an intricate dance, and Leon is here, ready to take you through the waves of pleasure, to catch you as you fall into the abyss of your orgasmic release.

And then your body reaches its peak, the tension inside you subsides and you emit a final whine of pleasure, your legs trembling, threatening to give way as the waves of orgasm hit you, leaving you feeling sluggish and empty for a moment.

Feeling your orgasm, Leon continues his powerful thrusts, rapidly approaching his climax, the combination of your walls squeezing him tightly and the abrupt intensity of the moment pushing him over the edge.

With a guttural moan, he finds his way out inside you, his hot cum spilling deep into your cunt, the intimate connection as he fills you only enhances the sinful pleasure that runs through your bodies.

Both of you remain trapped in this moment of shared bliss, bodies trembling and hearts pounding, your joint orgasms echoing through the empty church, the air scented with the passion and consequences of your union.

At this moment, you gain a temporary respite from the chaos and darkness that often surrounds you, holding your breath, tangled in each other's arms, you both understand that this forbidden meeting has left an indelible mark on your souls.

As Leon's feelings return to him, his attention shifts to the aftermath of your passionate encounter, he zips up his pants with his usual neatness, regaining his composure and with a gentle touch he straightens your disheveled clothes to make you look as collected as possible.

Gently he lifts you up in his arms, carrying you to his office with purposeful but soft steps, walking, he steps over drops of cum on the floor, acknowledging the evidence of your mutual intimacy, and showing attention, he picks up your discarded panties from the floor and discreetly puts them in his pocket not to be left behind.

A thought crosses his mind, reminding him that he must mop the floor to erase all traces of your meeting, he makes a mental note to do this task later, making sure no trace of your forbidden connection remains.

Before entering his office Leon pauses, and his eyes reflect a mixture of desire and affection as he leans down and kisses the top of your head gently, a quiet gesture of comfort and connection, at which point he acknowledges the complexity of your relationship and the importance of the choices you both made.

With confident yet gentle determination, he carries you into his office, ready to face the consequences and walk the uncertain path that may lie ahead, while he enjoys the weight of your warm body in his arms.

Now he has his own angel.

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captainjonnitkessler · 1 year

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You know a lot of American anti-atheist sentiment derives directly from atheist organizations fighting Christian hegemony, right? Like the number one reason atheists are stereotyped as “angry evangelical atheists” isn’t because some people are annoying on reddit, it’s because atheists and atheist organizations are constantly suing cities and schools and companies to get them to stop shoving their religion in everyone’s face and people fucking hate us for it.

You would not believe how hard atheists have to fight to get city councils to stop opening meetings with Christian prayer, to stop high school sports events and graduations from including Christian imagery, to stop companies from coercing their employees into Christian prayers, to get towns to remove crosses from their town crests, to get government buildings and courthouses to take down their Christian monuments. Atheists have been fighting this fight constantly for decades.

And the reaction is always, always, incredibly vitriolic hatred and death threats from every conceivable quarter, including otherwise progressive and liberal people. I’ve seen high school students called “evil” by their own state senators for trying to get prayer removed from their public school. I’ve seen city council members get death and rape threats for giving humanist invocations in place of prayer. It is always framed as “those angry atheists trying to force their atheism on everyone else”. It is always framed as “overly sensitive atheists getting angry if anyone even mentions religion”. It is always framed as “atheists who can’t just let people live their lives”.

If atheists are vocal about fighting religious hegemony, then we’re angry bitter militant evangelical atheists. If we’re not, we’re cultural Christians who are supporting Christian hegemony. It can’t be both, so which is it?

#i am just so fucking sick of being told i 'don't understand christian hegemony' or that atheists 'can't recognize it'#after DECADES of being villainized explicitly for fighting against it #it's exhausting and i'm done #i'm not in the mood to talk about this further rn so asks and additions will probably not be answered #atheism

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feyhunter78 · 1 month

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Chapter Five - A tourney is held to celebrate Lord Stark's appointment to the small council, and your sworn sword is taking part.

Ch 6

The journey home from Winterfell was long, the journey there had been long, but now you were able to return to your chambers. To lay in your bed, to shed your fur lined cloaks and return to the light, airy fabrics you much preferred.

The Keep is a flurry of movement, arrangements for new small council members and meetings, noblemen switching out their sons and daughter within the Keep, new servants and merchants arriving.

You attend your lessons with Sansa now, she is slightly behind you, being younger, but she is a quick study. Myrcella enjoys having her in lessons as well, and the three of you quickly become close. The three of you spend time in the godswood, picnicking and gossiping, filling Sansa in on all the rumors that swirl around the Red Keep.

It is one such occasion that you first hear it. “I have heard tale that my Uncle Renley prefers the company of men.” Myrcella whispers as she passes a lemon cake to Sansa.

Sansa’s shocked expression makes you giggle. “Come now, Sansa, you must know there are men like that.”

“I have heard of such things but…” She trails off, taking a bite of her cake.

“It seems to be much more prevalent in Dorne, all manner of things are allowed there.” You take a sip of your tea, spotting Jon lingering on the edge of the godswood with Ghost, Theon lounging in the grass beside them.

“I pity whoever is to be married to him, how will she ever have children?” Myrcella laments, her golden tresses falling forward as she reaches for a blueberry scone.

“Why would that prevent her from having children?” Sansa asks, her eyes cast to the blanket you all sat upon.

“Because he will not…you know…” You lean forward, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Be able to get it up.”

The confusion is clear on her face, and you send a prayer to the Mother for forgiveness over the innocence you are about to ruin.

“A man’s…member must be erect in order for marital acts to be completed, he will not be able to spill his seed otherwise.” You continue feeling your face heat up. Your father had instructed a septa to give you a very frank talk about intercourse when you first bled, it was informative but jarring. Then you sought out some of the older maids to fill in the gaps of knowledge in a gentler way.

“So, if he is not attracted to his future wife, or women at all, it will not get erect?” Sansa asks, putting the pieces together in her mind.

“Which means no children.” Myrcella finishes Sansa’s thought for her.

Sansa wrinkles her nose, a gesture you are certain she picked up from you. “I cannot imagine.”

“Perhaps the marriage will be a strategic one?” You say, tearing some grass out and letting it blow away in the mind.

Lady raises her head and watches them go, then sets it back down in Sansa’s lap.

Sansa runs her fingers through Lady’s fur, mulling over your words. “I do not think I could marry for strategy; I want to marry for love.”

Myrcella rakes her teeth across her bottom lip. “I do not think I will have a choice.”

You rub your cousin’s back soothingly. “You do not know that.”

Sansa perks up. “Let us play a game, we shall describe our perfect husband and then see if it matches to any lords in the court.”

You smile, her childish innocence perfectly distracts Myrcella.

“I shall go first, then?” Myrcella says, thinking for a moment before beginning. “I would like someone my age or a little older, but not by much. Tall with dark hair and dark eyes, the exact opposite of my brothers. Intelligent, a good swordsman, gentle, and a good dancer. And if he had sisters or female cousins for me to befriend, I would like that as well. Oh, and am I terrible if I say I would wish him to be tan? I do so love the look of bronzed skin; it looks so warm.”

You nod at Sansa, who begins. “Someone my age as well, with light hair and emerald eyes, a golden prince who enjoys festivities and is noble like a great knight.”

You and Mycella share a look.

“Sansa it is supposed to be your perfect husband, not your potential betrothed.” You remind her, thanking the gods that Sansa and Joffrey’s betrothal had been delayed thanks to all the excitement when you left Winterfell. It seemed Lord Stark could not think of betrothing his daughter while Bran lay in a coma, so the matter had not been brought up in many weeks.

“Come now, Sansa, we will not tell Joffrey, speak from the heart.” Myrcella encourages, poking Sansa’s arm playfully.

“Joffrey is my perfect husband, but if I must give a different answer…” She trails off, and you can see her eyes flickering to Theon unconsciously. “Perhaps a little older, tall, and strong, but not too broad like The Hound, with light eyes and hair that looks as if it has been tousled by the sea, someone who can make me laugh, and is loyal to those he cares for.”

“That sounds like a very good man.” You say, drawing Sansa’s attention away from Theon.

“Yes, well, Joffrey is many of those things. Now y/n, it is your turn.”

“I agree with you both, no old men, someone strong, a good swordsman, but I must side with Mycrella on looks, I would like a dark-haired man as well, with dark eyes and a gentle soul. Perhaps someone loyal and well-read? And I would like to be friends with my husband, as well as be his wife.”

“It would be nice to be friends with your husband, so many women are simply wives or mothers or broodmares.” Myrcella says, tearing her scone into tiny pieces. “I pity whoever Joffrey marries.”

“Prince Joffrey is a good man; I am sure he will be a wonderful companion to his wife.” Sansa sniffs.

You purse your lips. Your father said you are not to interfere, to let Sansa realize Joffrey’s true nature on her own, but it is difficult.

“House Beesbury has many men like you described, Sansa, perhaps we should look for them during the next feast.” Myrcella says, brushing her hands off on her skirts.

“House Beesbury is a good house, or House Royce, both I believe will be sending knights for the Tourney of the Hand.” You add.

Now it is your turn to clutch Sansa’s hand as Jon faces off against Thoros of Myr. You knew the Red Priest would not hurt him, it was Jon’s first tourney, but you still feared for him. Anything could happen, he could be blinded by the sun, the Red Priest could be seized with divine madness, or the others that Jon had already defeated to reach Thoros could try to interfere and sabotage him.

Jon’s stance is steady, his sword—which glints in the sunlight, a gift from you, for his nameday—at the ready. Strong and sturdy made of the finest steel outside of Valyrian, the pommel set with an emerald, a direwolf carved into the crossguard.

“May the Lord of Light have mercy on you, my son.” Thoros says as he and Jon circle each other.

Jon says nothing, only nods and watches the older man.

Thoros’ sword is aflame with wildfire, the flames dance as he swings it gracefully, waiting for Jon to strike.

“Will the fire burn him?” Sansa asks, watching the two men through her fingers.

“Never seen Jon get burned before.” Theon shrugs.

Sansa hisses a reply at him, her head whipping forward when you gasp.

Jon strikes, fast as a whip, their swords meeting, the sound of iron on iron echoing in the ring. He has been training with Lord Aron Santagar, your uncle’s master-at-arms, or your Uncle Jaime whenever he has free time. Which is often as you do not have much to do most days, besides lessons and subtly attempting to convince Sansa to realize her feelings for Theon.

Thoros lunges, nearly catching Jon by surprise, but Jon side steps, kicking up dust as he moves.

Your heart is in your throat, and you stand, your hand still in Sansa’s when the duelers meet face to face once more. It is a show of strength, and you send a quick prayer to the Warrior, your eyes never leaving Jon’s form. Thoros is gaining, pushing at Jon, his feet sliding in the dirt, his arms trembling.

“Knock him flat, Jon!” Sansa’s voice surprises even you, as she jumps to her feet, Theon’s laughter ringing behind you both.

You are not even sure if Jon can hear her, but he seems emboldened, and he shoves the older man forward with a grunt. Thoros stumbles back, an ecstatic grin on his face.

“There it is, boy, show me your fire.” Thoros cheers, clearly enjoying the match far more than anyone watching.

Jon moves quicker than you can blink, throwing his weight behind his sword and knocking the man flat, just as he had Joffrey all those moons ago. He holds Thoros at sword point, and the crowd erupts.

Robert calls out Jon’s victory cheerfully, and you see Lord Stark smiling as Robert claps him on the back.

Sansa sinks into her chair with a sigh of relief, but you cannot do the same, you rush forward, pressing yourself against the edge of the dais. Jon is your sworn sword, and your heart will not return to its place in your chest until you have seen he is whole.

“Lady Y/N.” Jon calls, his helmet in one hand, his curls wild, a grin born of victory on his handsome face as he approaches the dais, a crown of roses hanging from his sword.

“Ser Jon.” You smile, graciously accepting the crown from the tip of his sword. It is half a hand longer than a normal sword, something you found an odd request of his, but it serves him well.

Sansa helps you arrange the crown on your head, looking at it wistfully. “It is beautiful, and it suits you.”

“Perhaps for the next tourney I will forbid Jon from fighting and Theon can crown you.” You suggest smiling devilishly at the Greyjoy.

Theon makes a sound of protest, Sansa’s own interrupted by Jon’s appearance on the dais. He has not even cleaned himself off, and he sets his helmet down on the railing, barely having enough time to speak before your uncle calls him over.

“Ser Snow, come, let us toast to your victory.” He says, raising a full cup high, Thoros is with them, his own cup full, his smile bright and genuine as he waves Jon over.

Jon looks at you, and you shoo him towards the throne. He has grown taller and stronger, though he is less broad than some other knights, there is raw strength in his every move. He is quick too, evident by the very fact there is barely a scratch on him. He fought six men and all he has to show for it will be a small scar on his cheek and sore muscles in the morning.

Theon’s voice draws your attention away from Jon. “Sansa—”

“Lady Sansa.” She cuts him off.

He leans over and plucks the crown from your head, giving you a quick wink. “Lady Sansa. If you wished to be crowned my queen of love and beauty, you need only ask.” Theon says smoothly placing the crown on her head then giving her an elaborate bow.

Sansa freezes, her eyes darting to where Joffrey sits, his attention completely consumed by the archery competition. “Theon…”

“Though I dare say you are far more beautiful without that frilly crown.” He says, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

“I happen to like that frilly crown.” You interject, trying to hold back your laughter.

Theon can be quite humorous, his bawdy jokes and shameless manner often sending color rushing to Sansa’s cheeks.

“You have to win me this crown, Theon, that is how it works.” Sansa says, ripping the crown from her head and shoving it at Theon.

“And where is your queen, she must come celebrate with us.” Your uncle’s voice booms, carrying over to you, as you take your crown back from Theon.

He helps you adjust it as Sansa did and gives you a secret smile. “Promise you will keep Jon from fighting next time?”

You smile back. “I promise.”

“Y/N, come over here, the people wish to see you congratulate your champion.”

You pick up your skirts and hurry over to your uncle, who is already deep in his cups. Your aunt is watching him with an air of disgust veiled by wifely concern. “My King, do not embarrass the poor girl.”

Robert waves her off. “It is only proper; it was the reward I would receive from you when I would crown you my queen of love and beauty.”

You glance at your father, who is still seated. He inclines his head towards you. It is your decision, whatever your uncle is asking of you.

Jon shifts his weight, his skin sweat soaked and dusted with dirt, a mug of ale in his hand.

“Embarrass me?” You search your mind for whatever your aunt could be referring to, there were not many times your uncle would compete in tourneys, especially as he aged, the only reward you can remember him receiving…

Thoros slings an arm over Jon’s shoulder. “A kiss, you must bestow your champion a kiss.”

Your eyes widen and you glance around. Everyone is watching, even the crowd seems intent to see what the King will encourage next. They are chanting, you did not realize they were chanting for Jon, too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

“I—I am unwed, would it not be improper?” You ask, looking to your aunt for help.

“Robert, please she is only a child—”

“On the cheek then, there is no shame then, your father is here, I am here, there shall be no besmirching of your virtue.” Your uncle says, clapping his hands together with a tone of finality.

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Jon Snow TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz

#meg's writing #jon snow x you #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagines #jon snow imagine #jon snow #lannister!reader

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