#Sermons of the Black Flame

[drondskaath]

Halphas | Sermons of the Black Flame | 29th February, 2024

German Black Metal

[onlyhurtforaminute]

SERMON OF FLAMES-CAULDRONS OF BOILING PISS

[bizarrobrain]

"Dancer of the 6 Agonies" by Sermon of Flames - From "I Have Seen The Light, And It Was Repulsive" (2021)

[jon-9000]

Sermon of Flames - I Have Seen The Light, And It Was Repulsive

[honeyynymphh]

Il Cuore Della Principessa Papa IV x Fem!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 1.7k tags/warning: thigh riding, daddy dom papa, kisses, cuddles, google translated italiano summary: overworked and exhausted, Papa insists you take a break.

ao3

“Sorella?” Bleary-eyed you look up and see Copia standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of him. The sight of him in his black suit with his meticulously painted papal paints makes you smile, albeit tiredly. You hum in response, stifling a yawn as you do. You’ve been in the library for hours now—what time was it? You glance at the large clock on the wall and notice it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Another glance out the large windows of the abbey library shows the darkened sky and you can hear the rain steadily pattering against the glass. There is barely anyone else in here. You’d only ducked out briefly for dinner and that had been hours ago.

You stretch your arms up, luxuriating in the feel of your poor cramped muscles getting a break from the hunched position you’d been cooped up in. You drop your arms and try to stifle another yawn, twiddling the pen in your hand.

“It’s time to rest, cara mia,” says Copia, coming around the large table and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“But I have to get this done for Sister Imperator,” you say with a sigh, eyes dropping down to look at the pages strewn before you. Why did you agree to help Sister with Papa Terzo’s taxes…a nightmare.

“You can do so tomorrow or the next day,” he says, taking the pen out of your unresisting grasp and throwing it on the table. “Pick up your things.”

“But Sister—”

Copia takes your chin gently, but firmly, between two gloved fingers to make you look up at him.

“I am your Papa, not Imperator, and I said pick up your things,” he repeats evenly. “Now, dolce.”

With a sigh, you grab all your documents, placing them back into the numerous folders. Really, you could have worked in Sister’s office. But it was so much calmer in the library—and there was so much more space. Also, you did not like all the prying questions she had about you and Copia. You know she meant well, but it was annoying…and also, you had no idea what your relationship was with the head of the church.

He effortlessly steers you out of the silent library and towards his papal chambers, taking the folders from your hands and carefully placing them on a nearby coffee table when you enter the room. The chill from the rain had permeated the old abbey, but it was currently being banished by the low fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. When he seats himself in the overly gilded, yet surprisingly comfortable, chaise lounge in front of the flickering flames he pats the space next to him. You follow, legs dragging with how tired you are to sit next to him. Immediately he pulls you into him so your head is in the crook of his neck and your legs tangled with his as you lie together on the lounge. The smell of chapel incense still clings to him from this morning's sermon, along with the heady mix of his cologne and that earthy yet undeniable scent that is so purely him. You bury yourself into him with a contented sigh, eyes closing as you relish in the feel of the warm fire and his arms around you.

“You’ve been working so hard, dolce,” he says, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been lonely without you.” 

Your eyes snap open at that and your hand fiddles with the fabric of his jacket as you listen to the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek. You watch the flames flicker low in the grate for a moment before you speak.

“You’re Papa, you cannot be lonely,” you say, trying to not sound like a jealous child. But you are. You are certain he’s still managed to find someone else to warm his bed while you’ve been working overtime. You try to keep your voice casual, despite the way your words make your heart ache in your chest. “You can have any sibling you wish to keep you company.”

“I only have one principessa,” he says, the words rumbling against your cheek as he speaks.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. It’s sweet. But it still makes your eyes prick as your chest is suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. You don’t want to share him. It doesn’t matter if he only calls you that, it still doesn’t stop the bitter feeling you have knowing he is still kissing others the way he kisses you. Or that he touches them with the same fingers that are now skating over your cheek.

“Mmm.” You keep fiddling with his suit jacket, fingers tracing over the embroidered grucifix.

“Principessa.” His voice is a gentle admonition. You ignore him, still letting your fingers worry the embroidery. He takes your hand away and forces you to lean back so his slightly unnerving gaze is upon yours and you quickly look down, unable to face it. “Principessa, look at me.”

Reluctantly you do and a gloved hand cups your cheek while staring defiantly at him, willing yourself not to cry. The smell of him and his hand on your face is overwhelming you, your chest aches as that unwavering gaze holds you.

“Just you, amore mio,” he says. 

You try to look away again but his hand holds you firmly. “Copia, I—” The words fail you. You cannot speak as they catch in your throat. Yet you do not need words, the man knows you too well by now.

“Shh,” he murmurs, sitting up and pulling you towards him so you’re in his lap, legs straddling him and habit bunching around the tops of your thighs. “Papa has you.”

Your throat closes with the emotion and you suck in a sharp breath to steady yourself. He removes his gloves before you feel his large hands in your hair, soothing against your scalp. When he brings you closer, tucking your head under his chin you can’t help the few tears that fall. You’re so tired, and stressed—oh, you are happy to help Imperator, but it’s a lot of tedious work. The possibility that you do not have to share this man with anyone else is too much right now and the inviting pull of sinking into his embrace is too hard to ignore. All you want is to stay safe in his arms, letting the soothing motion of his hands stroking your hair lull you into a gentle reverie.

“Do you need Papa?” he asks, once more tilting your head up to look at him. He sighs at the sight of tears on your face and you press your lips together to stop the sob from escaping. When you give a quick but fervent nod, he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “No more tears, principessa.”

He leans his, lips capturing yours effortlessly. Despite the paint, you melt into it. Or perhaps you have simply grown too used to the paint, and the taste of it is merely a promise of pleasure to come. The hands in your hair move to hold your face as his tongue snakes into your mouth. Your own hands are pressed against his chest, the solid feeling of it is a steadying comfort as you are consumed by the urgent way you respond to his kiss. Your entire body is suddenly on fire for him, the melancholy starting to slink away back into the shadows as Papa nips at your bottom lip. A whimper manages to escape and you press your mouth against his with earnest, grinding into his lap in your desperation to be closer.

“Papa…” you whine.

The man nips at your lip again and you feel the gentle rumble of his low chuckle when you press yourself down against him again. It’s impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against you when he is wearing those tight trousers and you’re overcome with wanton desperation at the thought of him buried within you. Hastily you move to undo his jacket but he grabs your wrists with ease and you catch the smirk on his smudged lips.

“You have such little patience, principessa,” he teases, releasing your wrists and shifting you over so he can spread his legs. With you now straddling a single thigh, he pushes it up against your clothed sex. Your hands move to grip at his shoulders as it sends a wave of bliss rolling through you, leaving only a want for more in its wake. “You need to calm a little…relax, si? Go slow.”

You nod and he presses his thigh up against your pussy again making you moan. The friction feels far too good and you don’t need any more words from him to start rubbing yourself against his thigh. It’s solid beneath you and whenever he presses it up to meet you, causing your clit to throb at the added pressure your breath hitches.

“Good girl,” he says, hands moving to hold your waist. “You use Papa.”

Your movements get quicker as you feel your core tightening, the tendrils of bliss just within reach. You are sure you must be ruining his trousers, you can feel the sodden fabric of your knickers as you rub yourself against his thigh. It’s nowhere near as good as having his cock in you, or his fingers, but right now you are too keyed up to care. It’s friction, delicious friction, and the way Papa holds you in place has you keening. The tension snaps quickly when he presses his thigh against your clit and you come, the sweet relief making fresh tears prick at your eyes.

You ride it out against him, moaning as the pleasure ripples through you. Hands grip his suit jacket, creasing the fabric as you frantically hold onto him. A few moments pass as you come back to yourself, breaths evening out as Papa brushes a hand against your forehead before leaning in to plant a kiss.

“Does that feel better, la mia piccola principessa?” Another kiss is pressed against your forehead and you can’t help but smile. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Papa,” you breathe, sliding closer to him so you can tuck your head back under his chin.

“Sei l'unico per me, dolce.” Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close. “Just you, capisci? The only one for Papa.”

Amore mio - My love

La mia piccola principessa - My little princess

Sei l'unico per me, dolce - You’re the only one for me, dolce

Capisci? - You understand?

I have not proof read this and its like 12:30am but WOOH.

[kirishwima]

/ I have hands for building altars

Lips to pray to reckless gods

I was made to be a devotee /

- Geto Suguru -

- TW: Angst (?) -

Your knees are bruised.

The first time he asked you to kneel before him you thought it a joke. His smile seemed so soft and genuine, the same one he'd give you before a kiss, before his palm cusped your cheek and the gloom in his eye softened ever so slightly, as if just being near you made the shackles round his heart that much lighter.

You're not sure when that stopped happening.

You're in front of his altar, his gojogesa loose around his frame, pitch black hair reflecting the ember of the candlelights surrounding him, casting shadows on his face that ebb and swirl with the flow of the flame.

He's ethereal in a way that haunts you.

Those dark eyes never once leave yours, and yet again, his gaze commands you to bend the knee, to devote your all to him.

And you do, gladly, whole heartedly, every single time.

As if by instinct you lean closer, hands wrapping around his hips best as you can, cheek pressed against his lower abdomen.

It could be seen as sexual, but it's not really, moreso the desperate need to hold him close-or rather keep him tethered, as he seems ready to fly away from you at any given moment.

So you hold on. And you kneel. You'll hold that position before him as long as it takes, as long as it takes for him to sit back down, to run his fingers through your hair and grace you with his gentle voice.

Nowadays, his fingers graze your cheeks like claws of a talon on its pray. And yet some twisted, necrotic part of your gut is grateful for even this-at least the blood against your skin will remind him that you're his, his, his.

In front of others he's Geto, he's the one you bow your head to, listen to his sermons and hang by his lips, by his every word.

In private, under the candlelight, he's Suguru, and every so often, you find glimpses of the boy that used to tease you in high school, the one who'd wrap his jacket round your shoulders lest you catch a cold. 
Nowdays the lines between the two are blurred, dimming as the candle wax melts.

Your knees are bruised.

But you're starting to think they were meant to be black and purple all along.

Inspired by The Bog Bodies Dorm Version/ Rabbitology

[bonefall]

What Revelation did each leader get?

Gray Wing coming down from Heaven to bring revelations to the founders

To each founder, xe admonished the flaws that had lead them there on that day. Xe warned that if they did not change their ways, it would be the undoing of themselves as well as their Clan.

To Thunder Storm...

He had never heard the sermons of Gray Wing in life, and yet, he knew xeir teachings better than any of the cats many years his senior. He was already a leader when he should just be leaving his boyhood, and he'd gotten to this position by challenging that which he had been told, and acting in righteous fury when others held their tongues.

So for him, Gray Wing the Wise tells him that he is about to enter a new era. He will not be an underdog, but a powerful warlord, and he must must be weary of the line between justice and revenge.

"The flame that cooks creates, but beware the wildfire that burns away the wood. When you act upon your rage, you must be sure it does not act upon you."

To River's Ripple...

You have only ever acted on pleasure. For passion of your friends, for love of food, desire of things that shine. Like a petal on the river, you have let the flow of life lead you. It lead you into the claws of Clear Sky, your father and his army here to save you, and a dozen cats into their graves tonight.

Though you've tried to avoid it, you must realize now that the lazy river ripples with power in every muscle. Your people will look to you now, just as the water flows through the canal it has carved.

"The peace within you is unique, and meant to be shared with those around you. This is a strength; it is your truancy that is a weakness. Accept the responsibility of being the river that flows, or your own weight shall wash away your kingdom."

To Tall Shadow...

This is where xe began to get angry, but the black-furred leader bowed her head humbly.

Gray Wing laid into how she had used xis name to justify her own ends, putting clan-interest above forest-prosperity, making outsiders out of cats xe had commanded to enfold. She had turned cats into pawns for bargaining, and lost sight of their lives in the process.

"You have failed to break your own legacy, and will watch as someone you love is broken upon it. This is not a threat but a warning; make your heart a refuge for the lost and weary, for you will be judged on how you pick up the pieces."

(TN: "Dark Heart of the Forest comes from a translation quirk here, xey tell her to 'shade her heart' which in Clanmew means to make it a relief from the hot sun.")

To The Wind Runner...

Ambitious, opportunistic, and vindictive. She united many cats who had broken off from the River Kingdom, but only invented a brand new cage for them all. The Wind Runner was out for herself and her own family-- total self-interest.

To her, Gray Wing was furious but simple; "You came for a taste of war and now you choke on it. If you keep treating your cats as tools for power, you will find hounds behind you. It's time for you to serve them instead of having them serve you; let go of grudges, open your mind, grow."

To Clear Sky...

Lulled into a sense of smug security, he had relaxed. After all, at the end of the day... it was all their fault for trying to take what was supposed to belong to him. He was just trying to make sure his cats never go hungry; his littermate would see that.

"LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT"

"This all comes back to you, Clear Sky. You did this."

"What?! They were the ones who--"

"You killed our brother, Jagged Peak! Rejected a sign from your ancestors and twisted my words to suit yourself! Tried to kill your own mate and son!"

"I WAS JUST TRYING TO--"

A final clap of thunder shook the clearing. Perhaps Clear Sky could shout down anyone else who tried to stand up to him in the past; but not the Ancestors. Not at a graveyard of his own making.

"Never before have you truly listened to another person, nor changed your mind once you'd made it up. Do not take our mercy as foolishness, you will decide if my words are warning or prophecy. Your greed will split the sky in two, but the more you grab, the less you will hold. Greed will make all the gifts we will give you rot beneath your own pelt; Unite or Die, Clear Sky."

Before xey finish, they repeat it to all of them. "Unite or die."

After this, they explain that their next task is to properly bury all of the victims of the fight. As reward, each leader will be given nine lives to lead their people, and explore that which was revealed on this night.

Each revelation ties into what the leader will be doing next. Most are prophecies, some are just guidance. Like Gray Wing said; it is up to them if the words are warning or prophecy.

[ladystarksneedle]

I had a tiff with our lovely moot over whether Viserys was worthy of pity.... but then she almost swayed me 😩😭 So please Zae! Cure my fears and kick out these delusions, I beg you! 🥺

I just know I'm going to go off on a rant whenever you pop in here, for you my lovely Kalki🌹

Guts

Summary: The events of the life and court of King Viserys Targaryen narrated by one of the unnamed ladies-in-waiting of Queen Alicent Hightower.

Word count: 600

Warnings: This is an ANTI VISERYS drabble, if you have any sympathy for that crusty old leper DO NOT ENTER.

He cuts a sorry figure seated upon the Iron throne. That is the first thought that crosses her mind and perhaps the first real one she remembers upon being summoned to King's landing. Not the stench and the overcrowding, nor the lack of fresh air or the rats scurrying about at night, but the picture of the wilting royal occupying the highest honor of the realm. It seems almost disgraceful that the might and power of the dragon lords has come to this. He wears the crown of his predecessor with an air of importance, fruitlessly trying to hide the rotting flesh peeking out from underneath. She almost pities the man above her before she's graced by his patronizing smile. Some of the ladies back home had remarked on his agreeableness, easy demeanor and manner of welcoming even the humblest of subjects, however the sight in front of her could turn a healthy eye sore.

He wears his geniality worse than the mask that covers half of his face. Over the years the veneer seems to have faded, due to sickness, the maesters say and she wonders what could a man of two and fifty have done to beget such a malady.

She finds her answer soon enough. It lies in bloodied fingernails, in torn eyelids and wounded sockets, in wrung hands and bloodshot eyes, in tireless sermons and ramrod spines. She feels strained, stifled, angry and spent as the days go by, with no way to let it out. The Sept offers her little comfort, surrounded by the same incense that shrouds his very chambers and she wonders how the lady she's come to know finds peace in such a place. It is the only time she sees her lips straighten and her brows unknit, so she holds her tongue, clasping her own hands in inquisition before the Crone. Her obedience is soon rewarded by companionship. She trails behind skirts of green from dawn to dusk, silently observing, responding only when asked, eyes forever on the lookout. The Queen lives up to her reputation which seems to pierce her even more. Her lady in armor, as green as the flame of her maiden place, faces the years with a stiff lip yet a kind gaze, all while the dragon slumbers and withers like the skull beneath, waiting for a candle to be lit yet again at his altar. She wonders whether her lady prays for him, for death or mercy, or perhaps to find each in both.

Her invitation soon extends to dinners. She's a faithful servant of the crown attending feasts as well as intimate gatherings, still observing but not without a subtle jape passed at an opportune moment. Her children, albeit withdrawn and cold to an onlooker, burn just as brightly and she finds herself warmed by flames of gold, blue and green.

As the dishes in front of her vary in their decadence and texture her thoughts are often drawn to the grandiose salves and bandages changed soon after, varieties of both from all across the realm. His flesh peels like the breast she'd dig into, coated with honey, thick and juicy while he rots away in comparison. As the maesters advise caution, the yellows and blacks oozing out of his back do nothing to placate the morbid curiosity and satisfaction that runs through her and she realizes at last, just as the feasts she'd come to earn, the man before her wholly deserves his due.

[v-ternus]

in the clouds with you

Day 1 of Kinktober- High Sex

[prompts courtesy of the lovely @kroas-adtam ]

Aurora and Aeon (they both have big dicks-- cause I can do what I want) ||||||||||||||| anal, knotting, mentions of breeding

Summary: Rain gets them high and Aeon rides herrrrrr. That's all you have to know.

below for your reading pleasure (or also on ao3)

Aurora and Aeon are constantly joined at the hip, strolling through venues and the abbey with their tails entwined or their hands around each other's waists. They can't go anywhere without the other. So when Rain offers up a few joints to Aeon while they’re sitting in the common room with nothing to do, of course Aeon asks if Aurora can join. 

Rain gets them started, holding his lighter to the neat joint Mountain had rolled and blowing out the flame when it burns a little too far. He gives himself the first hit, drawing in that earthy air before passing it to Aeon who is comfortably laying in Aurora’s lap. 

Aeon turns his head, not wanting to risk getting ash on his face, before hitting it. He breathes in until his vessel’s still fresh lungs burn from the smoke, the acrid air making him cough and sputter. He manages to pass the joint into Aurora’s awaiting fingers. His eyes track her deft fingers as they raise the joint to those lips that Aeon thinks are eternally soft. If the smoke burns her lungs, she doesn't let on– she breathes it in easily and exhales it just as smoothly. 

The joint makes it rounds and before they know it, it's burnt down to nothing. Rain starts to light a second, which somehow gets smoked down to nothing faster than he thought it would’ve. Before long, a third is lit. Rain has done most of the smoking so far, and it's quickly becoming really obvious. Aurora has surprisingly managed to keep up with him. 

Aeon on the other hand, is absolutely losing his mind. He’s had to skip on more than a few rotations, being on the verge of greening out since they finished the first joint. He feels like the air around him is lighter, warmer. His eyes are held shut and he can't seem to find the ability to open them. All he can hope for now is a quick comedown. He buries his head in Aurora’s sweatshirt to try and ground himself. His overly warm face presses into the soft fabric and it makes him feel fuzzy in the best way- he swears he’s never felt anything this earth-shatteringly good.

He loses track of time and eventually, with the ruffling of the loveseat and the squeaking hinges of the door, he pieces together that Rain has up and left. He’s alone now, alone with her. Between the weed and his company setting him on edge, it feels like he’s got a mouthful of sand. 

They sit together in silence, with the peace only being interrupted by the soft sounds of their breathing. It’s a nice moment, calm and quiet.

Except for the fact that Aeon keeps moving. 

Well, he’s more so writhing. Each squirm of his loose body digs his weight into her lap, and more importantly, digs his weight right onto her cock. She manages to stave off any reaction, thinking of the boring sermons Copia has been giving lately. She thinks of the black mass they all have to wake up for at an ungodly hour tomorrow. But he wont stop moving. His head keeps knocking over her lap where she’s quickly filling out, cock pressing against her panties. She hopes to Satan that he can’t feel it. 

Her prayers fall on deaf ears.

Aeon mumbles her name into her stomach, making sure to nudge his head against her now very obvious problem. 

“Quit it,” She whines, as she tips her head onto the back of the couch. The pretty noise he draws out of her is to make him want to continue, and definitely has him tenting in his sweatpants. 

He pulls his head back, looking up along the column of her neck. “Let me help Rory,” he whispers.  “I’ll make you feel good.” 

She answers by bringing a hand up and lacing it into Aeon’s soft curls. Her thumb smooths over the base of a horn and Aeon rumbles under her touch, purring quietly, focusing on the warmth blooming in his chest. He’s close to letting out a breathy moan when she grabs his hair tight and tugs. She catches sight of his strained, red rimmed eyes. 

“Ride me.”

Neither of them know how the other manages, but suddenly Aurora has her pants shoved down  her thighs and Aeon has his tossed somewhere around the room. He’s sat in her lap, straddling her milky thighs and rocking his hips up so his cock slots against hers. Each time his cock glides against hers, he watches more and more slick dribble out of the reddened tip of her cock. He’s sure she could cure his dry mouth with how wet she is. He’d clean her up with each drag of his tongue and drink it down. 

A strangled cry slips from his lips as he lets his imagination run from him. 

Aurora’s hands find their way to Aeon’s hips and use them to hold him steady.

“Don't tease.” She barks, just stern enough so that Aeon knows she isn't playing any games. He listens and sits up just enough to line his hole up with her throbbing cock.

“It’ll feel so good Rory,” He says as he starts to drop his hips, pushing the blunt head past his tight ring of muscle. Aeon lets his head find solace in the side of Aurora’s neck. He takes a particularly deep breath when he gets halfway onto her, and oh what a mistake.

She smells sweet, and clean and intoxicating and any other word his sober mind would usually think of. But clouded by lust and substances, all he really knows is that he can't get enough of it. 

He presses his nose into her damp skin and he breathes in again. It damn near gets him higher than the weed. It’s certainly relaxing him more because suddenly his ass has met her hips again. 

“You nice and full baby?” Aurora asks, breathless from the way Aeon is stretched tight around her. Aeon cant speak. Between the weed and the way she has him filled, his tongue is far from being functional so he just nods his head against her shoulder. 

Aurora gives him time to adjust, to reckon with the new sensation and Aeon doesn't know if he wants her to pull out or if he needs deeper.

After a while, Aurora comes back down from the high heavens she’s been stuck in and rocks Aeon’s hips, using what little strength she has to chase her pleasure that has so far gone neglected. 

“I thought you wanted to make me feel good?” He knows what she rea

Aeon pushes himself up off of her chest and plants his hands on the back of the couch. His head hangs between them with his hair falling in front of his face. It hides the way he’s got his lip in between his teeth as he feels her shift inside of him. 

“I’m trying.” 

“Try harder.” She says through gritted teeth. 

He musters up the strength to start moving himself and thank Satan he can actually manage it. He grinds himself down onto Aurora, somehow pushing her cock even further each time. Each roll of his hips prods his cock into her belly, adding to the mess of her own slick that has started to dry. 

Aeon can hear each breath that's knocked out of Aurora from every bounce, a high pitched stream of ‘ah, ah, ah’s. He doesn't know how long it's been since she carved herself a new home in him, but Aeon starts to feel that familiar bump against his rim on each down stroke. He drags his tongue against the shell of her ear and revels in the salty musk of her sweat on his tongue. 

“Make me catch baby,” He breathes against her ear and it makes her shudder.

“Not here,” She struggles through her words. She’d move heaven and earth to pop her knot in and hold him steady as she drained herself into the deepest parts of him, but the small part of her mind not clouded by weed or pleasure tells her that it's a bad idea to do it in the middle of the common room.

“Please, Rory” She scoffs at herself, knowing that the way his voice is dripping in desperation will demolish her resolve. It makes her want to fuck him silly– it makes her want to give him heaven and hell and anything that falls between them. He has her wrapped around her finger and against her better judgment, she thrusts her hips up to match his strokes and she can feel her knot working in a little closer each time. 

“Gonna give it to you love,” Her words are split up by her panting breaths. “Get you nice and full for me.”

Aurora keeps her arms wrapped around Aeon’s lithe waist as she hammers into him, hitting that spot that makes his vision white out. He’s twisted up tight and he’s ready to snap. 

It doesn't take much more for Aurora to come undone, something in her taking over as she jerks Aeon down with a particularly rough thrust, finally popping her knot in. She yelps as she cums, coating his soft walls with her spend and fucking it in for good measure. 

Desperate for his own release, Aeon weaves his hand between them and barely gets a full stroke in before he’s making a mess of Aurora’s sweatshirt. Aurora holds him tight to her chest, gently rocking her hips up as they both ride out their orgasms. 

Aeon somehow finds the strength to peel himself off of her just to crash his lips onto hers. It's like he’s a desiccated man with the way he pushes for the kiss, like water is flowing from her lips to his and he has to drink it all down. She lets him push her tongue as far as it can reach, lets him get his fill of her– she’s more than happy to swallow the whimpers that rise from his chest. 

Whatever rush, whatever urgency there was before, has up and left. What remains are two fucked up ghouls, basking in their afterglows and riding the high from Mountain’s special strain.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Maso’s Krampus Christmas 2022

Morpheus

Summary: Dark!Christmas Special Edition 🎄

Song inspiration: Hypnosis - Sleep Token

Pairings: Reverend!Malakai x Reader

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

Lift, oh lift me out

Of my own skin

Of all my doubt

Oh, and take, take from me

Leave nothing left

Take everything…

The bright shade of white covered the asphalt and ceilings, given the deserted street a peaceful atmosphere. The yellow, almost orange-like streetlights cast a faint glow inside the isolated church, making the black walls and altar appear even more daunting than before.

Purgatorio - as it was known - was not an easy place to find. The church was constantly changing cities and states, gathering new followers and stopping wherever Reverend Malakai felt drawn to.

No matter where The House went, only a handful of people ended up finding the church in the midst of their darkest times. “Just the ones who need purification are the ones who will deserve a seat in these benches” Was the Reverend’s mantra that never changed. Alas, today was the final day the church would be in this city. The moment the sun rises on December 25th, the House of Black would retreat into the darkness until their next calling.

For reasons you could not explain, the sight of the thick coating of snow over the church didn’t fill you with the usual feeling of comfort and safety. On this day, the visual brought deep emotions of despair and sorrow comparable to the feeling of death.

After the special Mass Of The Damned and the big celebrational feast you were the only one remaining in the empty church. All the members of The House had left along with their followers, and the only thing left behind were the last remnants of black candles and yourself.

The dead silence could be considered sinister to some, but not to you. You were familiar with the emptiness, having flirted with it for years, but no longer scared by it thanks to him and his powers.

Reverend Malakai was truly a blessed man, he showed you the path within the darkness, taught you how to find your strength within the shadows instead of letting it scare you away. But if that was the case, why do you suddenly feel consumed by the black flame of loneliness? The control seemed to be nothing but an illusion now that you are faced with the prospect of not having him with you anymore, leaving you consumed by feelings of rage.

The strong emotion presenting in its most ugly version, blinding you and blocking reality. Your eyes focused on the still smoldering candles, giving a mere illusion of warmth that served only to mock your feelings as they grew colder.

Without thinking, you pressed your hands against the cool dark wood of the altar, pushing it until a deafening BANG echoed through the church, the trembling of the ground beneath you matching your emotions.

“You’ll never be alone, Sugarplum. I’ll always be with you” Was what he whispered to you after tonight’s sermon. But if that was the case, then why do you feel so empty?

“FUCKING LIAR!” Reverberated from the church’s walls after you screamed. You wanted nothing more than to see him once more, just so you could unleash this anger towards its rightful source.

…You know you hypnotize me, always…

From the darkness he watched. Mesmerized by your outbursts of rage and how easily you could express such powerful feelings. The lack of control looked incredibly powerful and even inebriating. Malakai felt himself under the spell of your cuss words and aggressiveness, feeling drawn to your burning fire, like Icarus being drawn to the sun.

Your actions only proved that you learned nothing - which most times would infuriate him - but not now, not when such anger came from you. Your lack of discipline and control triggered something in him, something not even he knew he could feel until now. The pathfinder for once felt lost, so lost. Lost in the depths of your most primal being, of your absolute instinct…the real animalistic instinct, the one that shows no signs of control or end.

Malakai thought he could only watch you from the shadows - at least that’s what his original plan was - but now he felt like it would be impossible to not do something. Isn’t that what pure rage does, though? Obliges you to act, to fight the demons you once feared and avoided until there’s only one survivor: you or them. Isn’t that lack of control a twisted form of disciple too? Isn’t surviving by pure and sheer instinct the most primary form of survival? Isn’t that what he preached about?

“In the search for balance and control, first and foremost chaos needs to exist. For there is no order without chaos”. Isn’t that what you are? Chaos in its richer and foulest form?

The House already had order and discipline, but for the first time, Malakai felt the lack of chaos. In reality, control brings you nothing more than coldness and the constant feeling of being numb as if you’re under some sort of tranquilizer. And this is what The House lacked: the burning and painful livid fire of rage.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the low light, Malakai began “One must have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star”

The sound of his voice made you momentarily stop your assault on the church benches to look over your shoulder “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster” The tone in your voice made it clear that the phrase was directed towards him.

With a faint chuckle Malakai asked “I see you know a bit of Nietzsche then?”

“Ik ken hem heel goed”

The cheekiness in your dutch comeback only served to draw a throaty laugh out of him. “Aren’t you full of surprises?” An amused smile was plastered on his lips as he watched you threatening him with the broken leg of the side chair you were now using as an improvised bat.

“What do you want here? I thought you were supposed to be gone. Aren’t you and your people like vampires? Can’t go out in the sun otherwise you’ll burn to death?”

“Is that what you’d like? For me to burn?”

“Well, I’d only wish you’d be dead. The way you meet it is irrelevant” You shrugged while pressing the tip of the wooden bat against his chest “Although I guess I could test my vampire theory right now” You applied more pressure into the wood, making it sink into his black dress shirt and bite his skin under the thin fabric.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid that the only thing you’ll find out is that I’m as human as you are, Sugarplum” His chuckle made you frown, not understanding how he could be so peaceful under such threat.

Truth is, Malakai felt alive for the first time in many years. He could feel his heart beating, ferociously pumping warm blood through his veins and keeping his senses alert of your smallest move. Adrenaline, oh yes, this incompatible feeling of being alive and indestructible, unstoppable by any rational measurements or actions. He missed this, oh how he missed this.

“Do you want to kill me?” His voice was stern yet light, with no true reprimand behind it.

Your loud scoff only served to make him smirk “Yes, at least a part of me does”

“And what does the other part of you want?” Malakai asked, curiosity lacing his every word.

…And you make it more (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Than I (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Could ever feel (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Before (You know you hypnotize me, always)...

“To love you” Your eyes locked with his in the semi-darkness “To be hopelessly devoted to you. To let you consume me until there’s nothing left behind”

“The deeper the love, the deeper the hate?” He smirked before slowly pushing the bat away from his chest. Your eyes stared at his hand, admiring how the ink adorned the light skin and made it look ethereal beneath the faint glow of the streetlight.

“No” You locked eyes with him again “They can exist without each other just fine…but the thing is that when they coexist, they make each other stronger. They enhance the other”

“There is always madness in love” Malakai quoted, as you took a step closer to him “But there’s also reason in madness”, you finished the sentence for him before feeling one of his arms closing around your waist.

“Is this what this is?” He whispered against your cheek. His temple pressed against yours, softly rubbing your skin together “The dance of chaos?”

“Perhaps it’s all just a dream” Your lips brushed against his when he pulled back to caress your cheek.

Malakai grinned before tracing your bottom lip with his tongue “Or a beautiful nightmare”. The minute you felt his hand closing around your throat, the black candles went out in the wind and the street lights flickered before they turned off.

Leaving behind, on the inside of the church, nothing but a dark, cold abyss.

[cosmiccalliope]

In the beginning, for it was the beginning, there was an egg. How many eggs were in that original void is uncertain, but there was an egg, shelled in limitless potential, and it would one day be named the Azathoth-Ubbho-Satlha. The Demiruge.

When is uncertain, for it was before time and space and matter, but once the shell shattered in the blinding light of plasma symmetric, and it was Chaos, Nu, Tiamat, it would know many names but it would always be at core The Azathoth, for it was the Primordial Chaos, The Deep Dark Sea from which all sprung, The Big Bang that tore creation the Black Tapestry.

When the Chaos of Nature Cooled, twins became of it, The Milky Mist In The Void and The Darkness Between The Stars, and with their birth, Creation became a realm threefold. At the center was chaos-born Azath, and from it came the Dark Realm of Shogg and the Material World of Shugg.

From the Mist In The Void would spawn Yog-Sothoth, who is all of Time and all of Space, who is the All Encompassing Lurker At The Threshold, for Yog-Sothoth is the Key, Yog-Sothoth is the Gate, Yog-Sothoth is the way to see the Beautiful and Horrible Truth of Creation.

From the Darkness Between The Stars, Life Mother Shub-Ningkuratlh would spawn who would birth a Thousand Young in her image.

With the spawning of the Life Mother, Chaos Changed. The Original Chaos of Nature grew, expanded, and from a fissure was born The Dream Walker, The Crawling Chaos of a Thousand Faces, Nyarlathotep, Father of the Lucid Dream-Realm of Shagg. It would walk amongst the whole creation where there was life, a more personal chaos than its originator.

From the union of the Shub-Ningkuratlh and Yog-Sothoth were born twin blasphemies, Yeb The Black Flame of Whispering Mists and their twin, Nug The Torch of the Force of Mind. Unto Yeb would become the Gaseous Stars, unto Nug would become the Planetary Spheres. Unto them would be given the power to wipe clean, the Furnace to ignite the Torches and scorch at the whim of The Chaotic Azathoth.

From Yeb would birth Tsathoggua, the Sleeping Seal of the Dark Night-Stars in N'kai.

From Nug would birth Cthulhu, Sleeping High Priest of Deep-Sunk R'lyæxh Who Is To Come And Rise Again, for his sermon is Truth, and Truth is unavoidable. The Truth of the Stars was sealed once in those ancient days, but it shall rise in full again, seeping through cracks where Wandering Nyarlathotep travels.

The Literality matters not, there need not be a shucked oyster at the center of the galaxy for there to be Chaos in Nature, and Nature in Chaos. There need not be a three legged shapeshifter for there to be Dreams and the Chaos Amongst The Crowds. There need not be a 13 Irridescent Sphered Entity for there to be time or space, and there need not be a literal giant goat-adjacent monster for there to be Life, just as there need not be for a man with attitude issues and a cool beard to give and create thunder.

The story remains true, for there is life, and they simply Are. Life Is, Time and Matter Are, Chaos in Nature Is. It Is, They Are, and that is all they need to Be.

Besides, ever notice how in Lovecraft's stories the main "heroes" are all well to do White guys and everyone associated with the Mythos itself are all disenfranchised in some way? The cultists are all either poor white guys or just anyone Not-White, and the next example that comes to mind are the Shoggoths, which are a slave race created by the Elder Things which then rose up and killed their masters. The mythos has a Legacy and Image of being horrible and calamitous, but notice that the perspective is from people so disconnected from reality that they've crafted themselves a throne of lies they're afraid of being torn down.

[bizarrobrain]

"Vacuous & Disjointed" by Sermon of Flames - From "I Have Seen the Light, and It Was Repulsive" (2021)

[soldier-requests]

https://www.tumblr.com/soldier-requests/742779174051364864/hello-can-i-ask-for-a-playlist-for-a?source=share

hello, sorry for not specifying. nothing from a certain media, the kintype in general. but if a character can help with it, something like Barbatos from obey me!, but I don't kin him. he isn't stated as a realitywarper anyway-

and about songs.. things like Six Forty Seven by insupendo ; Solitude from Candlemass and Vermillion by Slipknot?

thank you for your hardwork :). [please tag @orderling when you're done.]

hello!! okay i gotcha now, thanks for clarifying; hopefully you like whatever i ended up finding ^_^.

and thank you! i appreciate the compliment :]].

(@orderling)

under a cut because this one's pretty long XD.

songs go like "song" + "artist"

dividers from @/just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @/baexywth

"Falling" + "Instupendo"

"128" + "machingum"

"This Could Build Us a Home" + "The Garden"

"Where Is My Mind" + "Safari Riot" and "Grayson Sanders"

"Vanished" + "Crystal Castles"

"Suffer With Me" + "líue"

"LOVELY BASTARDS" + "ZWE1HVNDXR" and "yatashigang"

"Catalysts for Her Awakening" + "Avith Ortega"

"Insidious" + "joseph bishara"

"The Sound Of Your Fear" + "Midi Blossom"

"Key" + "C418"

"It's Playtime" + "MOB Games"

"Browser History" + "Graham Kartna"

"A Burning Memory" + "Reece Moseley"

"warm nights" + "Xori"

"Lavender Town" + "8-Bit Arcade"

"Lavender Town" + "Bitmaster"

"you not the same" + "TileKid"

"Judah's Lullaby" + "REPULSIVE"

"Kyomi's Lullaby" + "REPULSIVE"

"バラ��ク集落" (In English: "Barrack Settlements" or "Barracks") + "Kikiyama"

"PP1" + "Frakkur"

"Deep Swim" + "Windows 96"

"Sony" + "VHS LOGOS"

"Implanted Memories" + "Infinity Frequencies"

"The descent" + "Infinity Frequencies"

"Agony" (Instrumental) + "Scammacist"

"Echoes of Tranquility" + "Nocturne"

"Stars Will Fall" + "Duster"

"Choking on Flowers" + "Fox Academy"

"Dust Collector" + "YG Hypnos"

"Memoir #02 [06.12.09]" + "Maria Pseftoga" and "May Roosevelt"

"The Lobotomy" + "Maebi"

"Year Zero" + "Ghost"

"Con Clavi Con Dio" + "Ghost"

"Prime Mover" + "Ghost"

"Call Me Little Sunshine" + "Ghost"

"The Killer in My Skull" + "Alastor"

"I'll Cut You Down" + "Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats"

"Them!" + "Acid Mammoth"

"Strong Reflection" + "Mars Red Sky"

"Prehistoric Dog" + "Red Fang"

"The Culling" + "Chelsea Wolfe"

"Christ is Dead" + "Crypt Sermon"

"Beneath the Torchfire Glare" + "Crypt Sermon"

"Mare of the Night" + "Below"

"The Coven" + "Below"

"Seeds of the Desolate" + "Solitude Aeturnus"

"Fallen Empire" + "Dawn Of Winter"

"Ragnaradi Eve" + "Scald"

"In the Open Sea" + "Scald"

"Black Colossus" + "Funeral Circle"

"Scion of Infinity" + "Funeral Circle"

"Spiritus Mortis" + "I Am a Name on Your Funeral Wreath"

"Lost Horizons" + "Memento Mori"

"The Sword Woman" + "Smoulder"

"The Poltergeist" + "Count Raven"

"Beyond the Horizon" + "Isole"

"Among the Exalted" + "Godthrymm"

"Wolf God" + "Grand Magus"

"Here Be Monsters" + "Apocalypse Orchestra"

"Bring Me To Life" + "Evanescence"

"Break Stuff" + "Limp Bizkit"

"Bodies" + "Drowning Pool"

"Down with the Sickness" + "Disturbed"

"Yuve Yuve Yu" + "The HU"

"Up to the Flames" + "Ludovico Technique"

"Framed In Blood" (Remastered 2006) + "The 69 Eyes"

"Heavy Lies The Crown" + "In Fear And Faith"

"Last Man Stranded" + "In Fear And Faith"

"A Fire On A Hill" + "Hands Like Houses"

"Let Me In" + "Dead Silence Hides My Cries"

"Murder Mitten" + "I See Stars"

"Melancholia" + "Dark Sarah"

"Every Little Thing" + "Dishwalla"

"The Air-Conditioned Nightmare" + "Mr. Bungle"

"The Diary Of Jane" + "Breaking Benjamin"

"Truth" + "Seether"

"Woohoo" + "Fleshwater"

"Waking the Demon" + "Bullet For My Valentine"

"Orchid" (Remastered 2014) + "Black Sabbath"

"Neon Knights" (Remastered 2008) + "Black Sabbath"

"Holy Diver" + "Dio"

"Rainbow in the Dark" + "Dio"

"Anesthesia" + "Type O Negative"

"Nettie" + "Type O Negative"

"Love You to Death" + "Type O Negative"

"Haunted" (Per Version) + "Type O Negative"

"Rev 22-20" + "Puscifer"

"Dragonaut" + "Sleep"

[princetorn]

VERSES .

⋆ verse — to be a boy among the boys ( 1939 – 1954 )

canon . A childhood spent in the shadow of the Appalachian mountains – long summers, Little League, sweet tea, Sunday sermons – and a briefly awkward adolescence of braces and coltish limbs.  A child prodigy, they say.  He is a scab-kneed boy marked for sporting greatness.

⋆ verse — six cylinders underneath the hood ( 1955 – 1957 )

canon . Baseball was once his greatest love, but now he fixates on hot-rodding and his ‘Little Sweetheart’ – a Chevrolet Corvette that he spends his weekends diligently working on and his nights racing.  Royce has grown into himself.  He has motor oil under his nails, Brylcreem in his hair, and butane in his blood.

⋆ verse — all a ghost can do is haunt ( 1958 – )

canon .The end came sharp and sour, in a twist of shrieking metal and the lick of flames.  Murder, though he does not know it. Royce Clayton is dead, buried in a small plot overlooking the baseball field.  He has become a cautionary tale to the people in the town of Marshall, and his ghost is doomed to walk the earth.

⋆ verse — caged within jars like fireflies ( 1997 – 2001 )

Captured by wealthy explorer, collector and ghost hunter Cyrus Kriticos – with the aid of his psychic assistant Dennis Rafkin – Royce is transported to Pennsylvania and kept contained by Latin barrier spells.  He and eleven other spirits form the Black Zodiac, with Royce representing the Torn Prince.  Cyrus intends for the enslaved spirits to power the Basileus Machine, a contraption designed by a fifteenth century Italian astrologer while under demonic possession.  If successful, the device will open the Ocularis Infernum ( ‘The Eye of Hell’ ) allowing him to see all things, past and future, divine and damned.

⋆ verse — college is fun as long as you don’t die ( 1958 – 1962 )

Royce doesn’t die that fateful October night.  He lives to see prom, to graduate, to take up a baseball scholarship and move on with his life.  He still harbours a great love of hot-rodding, but baseball is his ticket out of small-town misery and he grabs the opportunity with both hands.

⋆ verse — it ain’t over ‘til it’s over ( 1963 – 1968 )

He did it, he made it, he’s finally famous.  Royce is a Major League Baseball player, his face is printed on posters and in the newspapers.

⋆ verse — when you’re over the hill you begin to pick up speed ( 1969 – )

By 30 years of age, Royce is past his peak and his time in the spotlight comes to a close. Retiring from baseball, he starts coaching the up-and-comers – but it isn’t the same as standing in the home plate with a crowded stadium screaming your name.

⋆ verse — professional crash test dummy ( 1958 – )

Royce doesn’t die that fateful October night, nor does he seize the chances baseball presents. Instead, he follows his hot-rodding dreams, and goes on to become a sports car racer.  James Dean would be proud.

⋆ verse — we’re gonna be together forever baby

exclusive to @shellcrack . Royce Clayton is in love with Miriam Ross – the prom king has found his queen, and he is saving for a ring.  What started out as a jockish bet has ended in something serious, with the hot-rod playing for keeps, making big plans for them to leave their small town behind.  Whether they make it or not, Johnny refuses to get out of the picture.

⋆ verse — crazy fun park

A teenager from a quiet corner of North Carolina is offered a baseball scholarship in Melbourne.  Generously bankrolled by Henry Clayton, Royce and Johnny jet off to Australia to tour the university.  Following an argument, Royce is involved in a fatal car accident.  Many years later, a theme park is built on the crash site.  It thrives, it dies, and it collects spirits along the way.  Alternative premise:  Royce is attached to a vintage baseball glove or card which Violetta gifts Nimrod, unwittingly bringing Royce’s ghost to Crazy Fun Park.

[probablyspooky]

The old ways (Revenant x Fem! Reader) Part 1

Next

Routine was all you knew, wake up, eat breakfast, tend to the farm animals before the morning sermon, clean the temple, and rest for the night. This became your day to day ever since you became of age to participate in your village's religious activities. Today's sermon was like every other, your leader, Alastor, was preaching the word of your God, the dark one of red flame.

“Thou who do not believe shall not be granted the Dark one's gift of immortality, to travel the worlds side by side with the one who brings us hope,” he spoke.

Looking down at your hands, you fumbled, not looking up from them, surrounding you was your family, simple farmers of the village, you mainly provided livestock, meats, eggs, and milk for the members of your community. The stone walls of the church seemed to keep in all wonder and thought of the outside world.

The world you called home, it did not have a name that you knew of, you simply called it your home. Covered in ice for most of the year, and a small summer season for around 2 months. The village in which you lived banished any form of technology, anything that wasn’t from the dirt and plants around you was considered taboo, and against the teachings of the church.

Once the morning sermon was over, the rest of the villagers left, but all the other girls around your age remained, soon your chance to meet him, would be coming soon.

He, or the Dark one, would come every year or so, and take one of the girls becoming a woman, not much is known what happens to her once he takes them, perhaps they become immortal and get to leave this place, or something much worse happens.

You knew the sinister meaning behind the Dark one, as once, when you were younger, you stumbled upon her corpse, freshly impaled, her blood staining the pure white snow. Looking up from the steam from her body, you saw him.

His eyes seemed to be filled with the sunlight, despite the time being nightfall, he knelt down before you. His body shined, a material unknown to you, something like the iron you used to make shovels and axes, but much tougher…much more refined.

Tears welled up in your eyes, fear poured into your heart, as you began to shake with fear, his large hand rested upon your shoulder, causing the fear to jump from your heart into your throat. 

He raised a slender finger to his non moving lips, and mimicked the sound of shushing you.

“Shhh…this is all a nightmare,” he said.

That's all you could remember, as your memory fades to black. 

Back in the present day, you were awaiting your Leader to give you further instruction.

“Now as you know, young ladies such as yourselves, will be hand picked by our glorious leader, He, will take you to a place of pure nirvana, as you gain the immortality the others were not able to receive.”

Your body shook at the fear of seeing him again, and the fate similar as your sisters coming your way, Alastor walked around the pews, taking a look over the candidates for tonight's gathering, stopping at you. “As we all know, young (y/n)’s older sister was the last of us to get chosen by him. Just because they’re related, doesn’t affect your chances at traveling the stars. You’re all dismissed.”

All of you got up to leave, but Alastor stopped you lastly from leaving, holding a firm grip on your shoulders, he led you to the front of the church, sitting you down.

“My my…young (y/n), look how you’ve grown, now I know this ceremony is gonna be a tough one for you, but think about this! I have spoken to him, as he has given me his word, he is especially interested in you!”

If your heart could jump out of your chest right now it would, fear overwhelming your body as he stood there, behind the podium, a golden diamond totem with a skull at the middle stood in front of it, a gift from him.

“T-thank you father…” you stammered, “I…I hope I don’t disappoint”

Alastor smiled at you from the stand, a creepy smile that he gave all the young ones who he gets to speak to. Tapping the wooden podium with his long slender fingers.

“I doubt you could, young (y/n), you have very valuable assets that I can see he likes…”

He stepped down, sitting next to you, his long fingers grazed the top of your skirt. He began to make a walking motion with his fingers towards your knee.

Nervously you forced your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to do to you. But before he could go any further, the eyes on the totem lit up, signaling He would be here soon.

“Oh!” Alastor chimed, “Better go get ready for the ceremony, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

With that, Alastor shoved you out of the church, and shut the large wooden door behind you.

With a sigh of relief, you walked home, you had to get ready for the ceremony, you had an hour.

Alastor watched you from the church window, sighing. He turned to the totem, and he was already there.

“You’re early” Alastor grunted, loosening his collar, approaching the podium.

“And you’re messing with whats mine.” he growled

“I was simply testing the waters,” Alastor chuckled, “Did you bring what you promised? “

He threw a case onto the ground with a thud. Alastor smiled, and opened the case with a click of the buckles, guns, guns filled the brim of the case.

“These are lovely thank you” Alastor smiled, sliding the case under the podium stairs, standing up to look for the sinister bot, there was nothing there. He had gone somewhere else to watch the ceremony, the ceremony just for him.

You stood in your room, which was really a loft area above the cattle in the barn that your family owns. When you became of age, your parents forced you into the barn, to keep their eyes away , trying to save themself the heartbreak if you were to leave.

So there you were, dressed up in ceremonial robes, beads around the neck that symbolizes the ones before you that have been chosen to dance among the stars with Him. “(Y/n)!” your fathers voice echoed, “It’s time.”

The streets were filled with torches lining the streets, head of the families were wearing the skulls of the cattle (cows) all were dressed in black robes, while the ones who were to be chosen from were wearing the red, the same red that stained the snow that very night.

You and the other girls stood in a group, and walked down the street, closing behind you with every step as the families began to walk after you.

Your heart was racing as your reached the town center, where Alastor was waiting, his face painted the same way as His. The girls filed out and circled Alastor, you all knelt down as he lit the totem of Death in front of everyone, and with a flash. He stood center of all of your friends and family. Whispers began to erupt from the crowd, as he hadn’t shown himself this early before.

“Bow you fools!” Alastor yelled, kneeling down, the rest followed. The girls began to giggle at the thought of being chosen, but you yourself, couldn’t stop tearing up at the thought of your painful death coming so soon, you were so young, you weren’t ready to die, but as fate has it, the cold feeling of his hands lifting you up, he carried you bridal style, his golden eyes piercing through yours.

A gasp in the crowd made all the others look up.

“He has chosen!” Alastor declared.

The crowd began to cheer, but confused murmurs could be heard, as this style of his choosing was unheard of, he would usually grab them by the collar, and drag them away. But here you were cradled in his arms as if you were a glass doll.

As swiftly as he came, he left with you faster. Leaving your family and friends behind.

[ruiniel]

Míriel slips through the tall gates of the dome, cloaked and hooded, her robe black and inconspicuous, as trusted servants keeping a trained eye on the Zigúr and his damned cult had advised. She enters the tall hall lit with flaming sconces, and promptly her eyes are drawn to a pyre burning high before an elevated dais.

Gathered there are other black-robed presences, faces concealed by hooded cloaks. Míriel steps forward slowly, though none seem to take heed of the stranger wandering into the temple sermon. She sees others, cloaked in deep crimson, mingling among the black-clad ones like stains of bad blood. There is a ripe smell of heavy black lotus incense and myrrh, burning embers, and the woman raises her gaze to the lithe figure clad in gold, now standing on the dais barefooted. A fine goldweave mask conceals the upper half of his face, and tendrils of rich, fair hair tumble down his shoulders. He lifts his hand, presenting the slender side of a thin blade.

“Zigúr…” murmurs rise among the worshippers, most of awe melded with fascination. They appear to lean forward, as though feasting their eyes on the slow, seductive movements of their high-priest.

Fear tightens in Míriel. Blind fools, the lot of you.

Her spine tingles like lightning and under the heaviness of a boiling gaze of gold, Míriel knows she is found. She swallows, though her throat is dry, her limbs trembling at her sides.

The high-priest extends his arm and points the tip of his blade straight at her. Before the queen can react, hands are grasping her arms, firmly leading her through the rows towards the front and up on the dais.

Crying out, revealing herself suddenly would make her a laughingstock; more ridicule than she can now bear, added to all the former indignities. Further, a covert, disgusting part of her wants to know what happens next. She gasps as figures in red drag her through the throng and with ceremony hand her to the priest.

Míriel stares at him, shoulders squared, though behind his mask his gaze is smiling and his eyes flare with dark flame.

Her heart urges a desperate escape, bursting out of her chest. Míriel is taken and held facing the crowd, one strong bejeweled hand gripping her arm as the other lifts the ceremonial weapon in the air, the flat of the blade held before her face.

He’s not moved at all but he’s too close, and Míriel sucks in a harsh breath as she stares into the mirror-like surface of the metal now level with her eyes. She sees their reflection: her fear, showing from the nether of her lowered hood, his shining hair in shades of pearl grey; a warm breath hisses in her ear.

“You've come prepared. A gracious offering.”

It escapes Míriel why he would purr the words like a prayer, but in a twisted way, it sizzles her when they slip past his lips. The woman gazes at the crowd, and it strikes her: the dark robes came as voluntary sacrifices? “My lord, I am not...” her breath hitches as his other hand slips down from her arm, seeking beneath the folds of her cloak. She grits her teeth; a carefully filed nail grazes her ribs. A faint huff of triumph tickles her cheek, for the rightful queen did come prepared and her robes hide nothing but her, naked and trembling. She'd followed the rules to the letter, but never imagined or fully comprehended the reason: to make it as easy as possible to…

The high-priest retrieves his hand, and their gazes collide again in the smooth blade surface. A smile tints his cold, otherworldly features and his golden eyes still burn. “You will make a selfless sacrifice for the oath-taking this night,” he says, keeping to the ruse. He knows. Míriel sees it in the cursed twirl of his horrifying, perfect smile. He toys with her like prey, and soon will strike. “In a moment, my blade will shear through your heart, and I will place you on the dais,” he whispers, lowering the blade, “chants will rise as you bleed.”

“Stop this, now!” Míriel shrieks, “you know very well who I am!”

His chest rises with contained mirth. Míriel shakes her head. She should loathe him; she does loathe him, but is so close to begging as she does not want to die. Still, living with the imminent shame of exposure is worse.

Fingers claw into her arm, and she is forced into his long frame. “Why have you come here, Ar-Zimraphel?”

The crowd stirs, expectant. His words are so low he might have whispered them from inside her head. He smolders like a furnace, and Míriel squirms in shame for the division of her mind and body, cursing her decision to come alone.

“I wanted to speak to you,” she murmurs.

“You know I could end you now, and none would be the wiser?” his words come warm through the material of her hood. “I would smear your blood over my skin, and burn you on the pyre.”

Míriel closes her eyes, lowering her head. “I thought we could speak somewhere, after the… the sermon.”

“Playing the game with only half the rules?” the high-priest sneers. “Hear it from me. It is not worth the gamble.”

“You worm!” her voice trembles as his hand grips her chin, tilting it back slowly but firmly. A scented thumb softly grazes her bottom lip, and she barely keeps from biting angrily into it. Míriel watches the others, waiting like silent pillars of stone.

The gilded blade is cold as it rests against her throat. “Manners, Ar-Zimraphel,” the high-priest mocks. “Or ... Let me guess. You wanted me alone.” Not a question.

Moments draw by like ghostly moths, her heart leaping into her fingertips. It is time, now or never. “I wanted you alone,” the words struggle on the tip of her tongue.

The wizard slowly turns the woman around to face him, steadies her. His masked gaze narrows, golden eyes like fire lapping at her fear. “You're out of your mind,” comes the surprising retort.

Her ears are buzzing. The bright shards of her gaze cut back at him from the darkness of her hidden features. “Perhaps,” she says, pliable in his hold as the color in his irises changes to a deep, blooded sunset.

He gestures with his hand, where an attendant reaches him on swift steps.

“This one is unfit to be bled for our Lord. Take her to my chambers as she is. Do not harm her,” he adds in a voice that crusts Míriel's bones with fright and loathing.

The wizard turns and watches her with his masked sneer. “As long as we negotiate you are safe, Míriel,” he whispers, his words crumbling into her; his hand burns at the back of her head, long fingers warm and pulsing at her nape. He brings his forehead to hers, murmuring in a language she cannot understand. He smells of naked flames, of ash and sweet, nauseous death. Míriel clutches at the rich velvet of his robes, a futile attempt at resistance; her clawing proves useless. Her knees buckle, and she falls, carried out of sight by the faceless servant.