I was possessed by a thought
Modern-ish au but in a "thousands of years post-canon universe"
In which Lamb did not spare Narinder and when they saved the Bishops from Purgatory, actually put them to rest (aka sent them to the After) and oops, the Bishops + Narinder accidentally reincarnated while the Lamb wasn't watching
(Part 2 here)
In this life, the Bishops are still siblings and all were born with magic; Narinder became a priest, and though the other Bishops were raised in the temple alongside him they chose to pursue careers outside of the priesthood. Heket runs a restaurant (of course), Kallamar makes jewelry and sells crystals (he has healing magic so his crystals are literal healing crystals :) ), Leshy is a gardener and Shamura runs a bookshop (I'm sure you're noticing a theme here- their past lives are affecting their new ones). Their past lives' injuries have actually carried over, only instead of being injuries they're disabilities they were born with; Shamura their memory issues, Kallamar is deaf, Heket is mute, Leshy is blind, and Narinder has chronic pain (he WAS in chains for a thousand years, his muscles were ATROPHIED and his joints destROYED, and you cannot convince me otherwise). Not shown here; Narinder also uses a cane and on his really bad days a wheelchair.
Heket: Get a whole pumpkin
Narinder, who can't lift more than 20 pounds:
Why do Narinder (and the Bishops) look the same and have the same name? Well. The world may have forgotten them, but the universe hasn't.
Aym and Baal are immortals from their time in the After in this world, and though at first they were resistant to helping the Lamb, eventually they saw they needed Help™ and had no idea what they were doing, and having been witness and aid to Narinder's job for centuries they knew how to help. Over the millennia they fell into the old familiar role of being the guardians of Death (Forneus is also an immortal so don't worry they're not separated again) and are in a constant state of Done With Lamb's Shit (/affectionate).
... I actually really love how Lamb turned out here. It was fun drawing them Older. And quite a flip with making them look older than Narinder. The society that's been built up is still religious but no one recognizes Lamb because they've changed so much over the last two thousand years, and the fact they're a sheep doesn't raise any red flags as sheep have migrated to the Lands from other continents. They're rare but not unheard of.
The Crown fits in by disguising as various types of pets, though no matter its form it always has one eye. This time it's a bird, and it recognized Narinder from a mile away :) The mind forgets but the soul remembers....
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one of the reasons i object to the random assignation of words like "mythology" and "folklore" to some medieval literature (and by random i mean interchangeably and with no real consideration of what they mean) is that when you look at what gets called mythology and what gets acknowledged as literature, it's very othering, it's very noticeable that english and french material generally gets to be literature* and lit in celtic languages is folklore, and it often obscures the actual historical context of that material. in particular it obscures the literate, learned institutions that produced that literature whether courtly or ecclesiastical in favour of attributing it to some nebulous voice of the people that ignores the complex web of influences and powers that shaped those stories
if chaucer isn't folklore then a fourteenth century irish text isn't either. if shakespeare isn't folklore then a sixteenth century irish text isn't either. etc etc. the anonymity of the author does not make it any less a self consciously literary production within a learned environment with influences from classical and contemporary literature written to support political aims or to respond to contemporary events
folklore exists, and is not these texts (it does a disservice to folklore and folklorists to assume you can approach them in the same way methodologically tbh!). mythology exists, and is a difficult-to-discern thread that runs through some of these texts (i find the dindsenchas elements particularly convincing as mythological, but otherwise it's hard to identify what's what, particularly when authors are making classical allusions all the time). but what the majority of these texts are, at face value, is literature. the way that they get othered and made out to be somehow more primitive and magical just bc they're in celtic languages and (usually) anonymous really pisses me off
*arthurian material is the exception but this usually relies on some vague notion of celtic origins so it's actually the same phenomenon wearing a different hat
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@qsmutslut posted something that made me so hard to I had to write it immediately. It's currently 9:03 am. I feel like I'm going insane. This was so hot to write. Anyway! I hope you enjoy :)) I hope it's what you wanted
It's been a while since they've done this.
Pac would call it "clearing dungeons," but he's really not doing much on his end, Etoiles is ripping through the hoards of mobs and stepping back to let Pac get the loot. It's adorable how Etoiles is just here for the fight. Pac finds it sweet that Etoiles chooses him to spoil.
They're nearing the end, but Pac can tell that the adrenaline is unbearably buzzing under Etoiles' skin. Pac knows because he feels it often enough himself. Etoiles finishes off the boss in the final room and turns to Pac with a proud grin, nodding towards the chest.
"You take?" he asks, putting his sword away as Pac approaches him. Pac nods and giggles, opening the chest and digging through it. The loot is excellent; since the server reset, it's been a bitch to get materials. Pac is honestly really thankful that Etoiles is doing this with- for -him.
"Thank you so much, Etoiles, really, you're too generous," Pac says, looking up at the man from under his lashes. Etoiles smiles at him, pulling his hood off to clear his vision entirely.
Pac won't lie and say that his crush on Etoiles ever disappeared. He can't be blamed. Etoiles is a beautiful man. He's powerful, he's generous, he's funny. Watching him tear through the mobs, hearing his wild laugh bouncing off the walls, Pac is reminded why he fell for him in the first place. Etoiles is a shaken soda bottle, full of too much energy and pressure and ready to explode at any moment. Pac adores his power and the way he throws himself into everything full-heartedly.
Someone so kind, so wonderful, shouldn't go unthanked.
"Will you come to my house? Let me thank you?" Pac asks softly, reaching out to rest his hand on Etoiles' waist, making the man under him jolt. Pac watches the way his eyes widen and his lips part.
It's not the first time they've slept together. Stories of how Etoiles acts in bed are enticing, and Pac is as greedy as Etoiles is giving.
"My bro, it's not necessary. Only if-" his voice trails off as Pac's hand slips under the edge of his armor, pressing against the thin shirt underneath "-only if you want," he finishes, voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver through Pac's spine.
"I do. You have been so helpful. I can't just let you leave after doing all this for me," Pac mumbles, smiling at Etoiles and pulling away. "Warp to my house, okay?" Pac says, and before Etoiles can argue, he pulls out his stone and warps away.
Pac goes inside, his house is shitty, but Etoiles isn't here to judge his decorating abilities. He's here to get fucked. Pac digs through his things until he finds his strap and harness. He hears the door open and smiles.
"Take your armor off, sit on the bed," Pac commands; he doesn't have to look to know that Etoiles is doing precisely what he said. Pac can hear the sound of removing armor, shuffling, and shifting clothes. Etoiles is so good; he's going to make him feel amazing. Pac steps into the next room to put the harness on and then grabs a length of rope. He returns to Etoiles and is pleased to see him sitting in just his undershirt and boxers, hands in his lap. He's so good.
Pac coos softly and walks over, straddling Etoiles' lap and pulling him in for a kiss. Etoiles' hands go to Pac's waist and run up and down his sides, affectionate even with Pac's tongue halfway down his throat. Pac likes that he doesn't try to fight for dominance; he follows Pac's lead. He tastes sweet, like healing potions and golden apples. Pac groans softly and rests his hands on Etoiles' chest. He pulls away from the kiss, and Etoiles is panting under him. Pac can feel the hardness of his dick pressed against his ass, and Pac thinks it's so fucking cute how worked up he gets just from kissing.
"Take your shirt off and lay back; I'm going to tie your hands," Pac mumbles, nipping at Etoiles' jaw. Etoiles nods and does as he's told.
When Pac has him how he wants him, laid out on his knees, chest pressed against the bed, hands tied in front of him, naked, he takes a few minutes to admire. After all, Etoiles works so hard on his body. Pac's hands drag up his thighs, digging his nails in and scratching down the sensitive skin. Etoiles whines softly, dick twitching between his legs. Pac coos and leans forward, dragging his tongue against his hole in a broad swipe before pulling away and standing to get lube. The choked sound Etoiles makes his music to Pac's ears. He giggles and digs through his chest until he finds the well-used bottle of lube. He slicks up his fingers and returns to Etoiles.
Pac takes his time stretching Etoiles and listens to his little whimpers and groans, the way he moans Pac's name. Pac feels so powerful to have someone seen as the most powerful man on the server, squirming and whimpering with his hands. The idea makes heat curl in his stomach and dampen the space between his legs.
He feels Mike's presence fill his head and laughs a little; of course, Mike is here. Etoiles is his favorite toy. He can take so much and still beg for more. Neither of them speaks as Pac pulls away and attaches the dildo to the harness, pressing it inside of himself and gasping softly.
Pac pushes inside of Etoiles in one mean thrust, and Etoiles chokes on his moan. He pulls at the binds around his wrists, and Pac feels a little hot at the way his muscles flex.
"You're so pretty, Etoiles, so good. You're so good to everyone. You need to be rewarded. Maybe I should call everyone here and let them say thank you," Pac purrs, fucking him hard and fast. Etoiles is already a mess under him, Pac's words making his moans kick up in pitch.
Pac manages to wring three orgasms out of Etoiles. The final one has him yelping Pac's name and pressing his face into the bed. He's got tears streaming down his cheeks, and when Pac looks, he sees there's nothing coming from his dick. A dry, painful orgasm. Etoiles is still gasping and shivering when Pac cums, nails digging into Etoiles hips and shivers wracking his spine. Etoiles is perfect through the whole thing, whining and crying but still and pliant.
Pac pulls out, unties Etoiles' hands, and pulls him against his chest.
"Thank you," Etoiles rasps out, pressing his face against Pac's chest and breathing through the pleasure rolling through his body.
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