#a god's unwilling saint

[the-neo-corner]

The World We Knew

seeing the main trio is making orphan feel (and remember) some things

not necessarily canon (havent decided yet) but i loved the audio so

i colored the wrong side of his face yes ik

[semischarmed]

Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.  

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker  permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it. 

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out. 

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast. 

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me. 

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides. 

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching. 

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent. 

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible. 

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning. 

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand. 

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it. 

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around. 

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world. 

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.  

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

[qqueenofhades]

I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering this, but my mind is spiraling out of control and you’re the only person I know with the level of knowledge to where I can feel comfortable asking this without getting some form of “bla bla we live in a safe state don’t worry.”

I’m sincerely wondering if I need to be making plans to leave the country in the event of November bringing the most horrible of outcomes despite our best efforts (and yes I’m planning to vote blue in everything I can); as a AFAB in CA?

I know about project 2025. I’m terrified. Forgive my pop culture reference, but I feel like a version of Princess Zelda staring down a barrel of possible doom while everyone around me is like “nah that future you literally had a nightmare about where they made it illegal for a woman to have a bank account without a guy co-signing it and took the money from everyone who didn’t comply by a certain date isn’t even a possibility!”

I’m just confused about my life and am trying to take it day by day, and exercising every right while I still have it to prevent this outcome, but it feels weird making plans and retirement accounts and just general Setting Up Adult Life And Future Things™️……while wondering if I even have a future in this place at all and I’m just making it harder to escape if need be.

I’m sorry I’m rambling, and I guess I don’t know what I’m asking since no one has a crystal ball.

But I guess, it’s stuff like how much can the feds effect state’s policies? Is it possible for them to immediately block international travel for all women practically upon inauguration? How much time would I even have to gtfo if the worst begins?

Bc honestly this whole thing feels like the lead in to a very nasty chapter of a history book, and even though I have hope we’ll have another blue tsunami, it can be hard to try and figure things out when it feels like there’s barely any historical precedent for any of it.

Welp. Okay. First of all, I am giving you a comforting hug, I am walking with you to your favorite coffee shop, I am paying for your favorite beverage and also a baked goodie of your choice, and we are sitting down in a corner where we can talk honestly. So that's where I want you to imagine us having this conversation.

To start with, yes, I completely understand this feeling of utter, paralyzing doom, where I am trying to go about my daily life and make plans for my career and carry out daily tasks and Be Responsible while there's still just this total void beyond the end of the year, the utter impossibility of knowing if we will have dodged an absolutely massive bullet and finally be safe (since if Trump loses again he is 100% going to jail in the next four years) or, well. You know. That is a very hard way to live, when you're wondering if anything is going to matter and you can't see beyond that black cloud of fear on the horizon. It sucks you down and tells you that nothing is worth doing now in case it just gets so much worse. I am not going to tell you not to feel that. We all do. We are all scared. That in and of itself is a perfectly normal way to feel.

However, there are things you can do both now and if (I repeat, if) God absolutely forbid, the worst was to happen (again). First of all, we have already lived through a Trump presidency once. It was terrible and scary and awful and demoralizing as fuck, but we can do it again if we absolutely Goddamn fucking have to (once, again, God forbid). Second, you are currently about as safe as you could be in California. Newsom has proven himself to be smart, tough, able to run rings around Republicans, and unwilling to comply with their stupid performative-cruelty directives. He's not a saint or a magician, but you don't need that; you need a shrewd politician able to fight back, and he has proven himself willing and capable of doing that. So as long as he is governor, you're going to be more safe than not, and I'd also like to ask all the shrieking Online Leftists if, should the shit go down, they would rather live in a state with a Democratic governor who will fight Trump 2.0 every step of the way, or a Republican governor who will just roll over and obey. (But that would destroy their BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME talking point, so you know.)

Next of all, even if the Republicans are doing their best impression, America in 2024 isn't Germany in 1934. There are different tools, different ways to fight back, and different awarenesses/social media/visibility factors. I also need everyone to remember that just as Biden can't just sign an executive order and fix everything everywhere, Trump can't just sign an executive order and fuck everything everywhere, just like that with no more discussion ever. He tried that last time, it generally didn't work, and trust me, at least this time nobody is sleeping on the danger he poses. His candidacy in 2016 was dismissed as a long-shot joke that nobody took seriously until it was too late, and for better or worse, people aren't doing that this time. He will be sued instantly, incredibly, and repeatedly with everything his band of wannabe fascists try, and since we have had four years of Biden fixing the courts from where Trump trashed them, that does mean something. There is no scenario where even if he does issue some outrageous order against women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, etc (which to be clear, I'm sure he would try) it would just be carried out completely, immediately, and with no feasible way to stop it. Evil is evil, but it is also stupid, clueless, determined to hurt people just for the hell of it without any regard for what is possible or which will be allowed, and there's a lot more grey area in there than just "Trump says something terrible and it's instantly done, the end."

Once again, I'm not going to say that the worst-case scenario is not possible, but I don't think it's likely, and even if that does happen, there are ways for us to survive and fight back (again). Nobody wants it and it should not have to be asked of us due to the utter collapse of the social, civic, political, and intellectual fabric of this country thanks to the TrumpCult, but once again... these people are so loud and dangerous and cruel and stupid because they are in the minority. Etc. etc. polls are garbage, but we did just have an interesting piece of empirical data from the Iowa caucuses. Trump -- in one of the whitest, most rural, most conservative, most religious, most Trump-loving states in the country -- struggled to break 50%. Almost half of a rabid Republican fully-Trumpized electorate, among the diehards sufficiently motivated to get out and caucus in extreme freezing weather, voted for someone else (Haley and DeSantis took about 20% apiece). Now, no, we don't know how that will translate to the general election, and if registered Republicans will flock back to the nominee even if it's Trump, but as almost half of Haley voters said they would vote for Biden if it was a Biden-Trump matchup in the general, there is some sense that Trump is an aberration to their otherwise ironclad party loyalty. Now, Republicans are the fucking worst and nobody should be relying on them to save us; we still need to get out and vote for Democrats with all our might. But Trump is no longer barn-burningly popular even in core Trump heartland, and it'll be interesting to see how things go in future primaries.

My point is: I know the feeling that evil is awful and unstoppable and all-powerful, and will crush our lives and our futures no matter what we do to resist it. I really, really do. But Trump is a terrible candidate, he's running literally only to keep himself out of a long, long prison sentence, and if he had crushed the Iowa caucuses regardless, we might be having a different conversation. However, we need to remember that it is possible, again (God forbid) in the worst scenario, to resist, to live, and to win. Everyone who is motivated to work for a better world will still be here. Everyone who can help you and all of us will still be here. And there are more of us than there are of them. Yes, I do understand the feeling that we need to have contingency plans in place, I do absolutely know that it could get very bad, and all that (as you say, nobody has a crystal ball). But for now, I want you to take a deep breath, try to take this day by day, and remember that this is not a crushing and inevitable future that will sweep over you and destroy you without you (or any other person of good will) having a say in the matter. You still have agency, you still have the ability to protect yourself, and you still have others who will protect you in turn. You're not alone. The bad guys want you to think that, because when you're isolated and terrorized, you're easier to pick off and/or recruit into their cult. But you're not.

In conclusion: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

[corpsebasil]

oooh I see you’re taking requests for my favorite prince

this is kind of a stereotypical plot, but perhaps if you wouldn’t mind, what if Nikolai has a friend that’s in love with him. one day, she sees him being more nice than usual with the latest visiting princess that his parents have asked him to court, and it makes her very upset. she knew they’d never really work out, but she had always had a sliver of foolish hope that was just crushed. she doesn’t want to risk being openly rude to anyone, so she just kind of. avoids him. for a while. he notices of course and eventually coaxes a confession out of her

jeoejqlfbd that was kind of long, sorry!

Ugh that sounds lovely

Nikolai was going to marry a princess.

He was a prince, after all, and even though you had been his closest friend since childhood, it never bothered you until the recent years when he’d treat you the way he would a sibling, never inclined to romantic gestures or physical touch in the way you wanted him.

But that night was the absolute last straw.

The girl was stunning, of course, and you didn’t blame him for his attentions, but…it hurt to see the man you were in love with flirting shamelessly with the Shu princess, his hands reaching out to touch her hand, to adjust a strap on her dress, his eyes bright and his grin flashing.

You swallowed, knocking back your drink—you’d gotten your hands on the vodka, somehow, while everyone else sipped wine—and strode towards the Queen, giving her the respectful nod she deserved.

“Goodnight, Your Majesty.” You said, refusing to meet the woman that had always treated you like a daughter’s eye. The queen reached out to lay an affectionate hand on your cheek before she bid you Goodnight, and you strode towards the exit, your breath beginning to shorten in your chest.

His hands on her. His smile. Saints, you felt delusional, but—

“Hey, hey,” Nikolai was there, suddenly, grinning down at you, and a flash of rage you had no business feeling rose up so white and hot you almost saw stars. “where are you going? I need my strongest ally to beat the princess’ guards when we play cards later.” He paused, then, taking in your expression, and his eyebrows furrowed together. “Y/N?”

“Why don’t you team up with the princess.” You snapped, instantly regretting your tone when he flinched. “I’m sure she would love to help you out.” In more ways than one. You muttered, unable to control yourself, and pushed past him towards the hall.

Your rooms, that’s what you needed. Just a bit of rest and maybe a nightcap and something to read and—

Nikolai grabbed your hand and you yanked it away, almost pulling your wrist out of the socket with the movement. His eyes were wide and hurt as he stared at you, that gorgeous blue gaze of his filled with an unspoken question.

“Don’t—don’t touch me.” Your voice was too low for anyone but him to hear but you two were beginning to gather some stares. Unwilling to embarrass him or yourself by causing a scene you left, choking down the tears that threatened to spill at any minute.

You’d barely made it to your rooms before he caught up to you, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and a box in the other. You didn’t speak as you let yourself into your rooms, then pulled out two glasses, allowing him to fill them both as you walked away towards the window.

“Want to tell me why you’re pissed?” He asked, his tone careful. “Did someone say something? Because I’ll—”

“More like you did something.” Gods, you were practically drunk. This was so, so, stupid. He was your favorite person alive and this was your reaction? Over a girl?

Nikolai was silent for several long seconds before he moved towards you, offering the parcel in his hands out to you. That’s when you noticed his face was flushed, a line of sweat on his forehead, and the tightness in your chest eased a fraction.

“Did you run here?”

“Had to get this.” He explained, pushing the box into your hand. “Come on, take it.”

You hesitated for a long beat, eyes holding his, then opened the lid of the box and gasped. It was a copy of your favorite book, the expensive looking edition shining with threads of gold and green, and you looked up wordlessly, unsure of what to say.

“I um..” he started, looking for the first time you’d ever seen him embarrassed, and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I was waiting for the right time. I had a whole grand gesture thing planned but um..” he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at you. “Why are you mad at me? What did I do?”

“You—” you set the gift down and looked away, that familiar ache in your chest rising back up. He was your best friend. He was—he was—

Hands. Eyes. Smile.

No. Not yours.

“You and that—that girl—”

“What girl?”

“The princess you idiot.” You snapped, chest heaving as you gasped for a breath. “She’s beautiful and—and you—and I can’t be around to watch. I won’t.”

Nikolai stared with a stricken expression for a long moment before moving carefully forward, reaching out to take one of your hands in his. He shook his head slowly as if that conveyed the answers to your questions and sighed.

“I was being polite.” He said, and you almost ripped your hand free. “I’m supposed to peacock around when they come. What am I to do? Be an ass? Is that what you want?” He stepped closer, getting into your face. “All I want is to kiss the hell out of you in front of every stupid, sniveling courtier in there, but I can’t. So please find it in your vast heart to tolerate a bit of posturing and play cards with me when I beg you to. I cant do this alone.”

You felt out of breath, staring up at the blatant desire in his eyes, but felt more confused and sad than anything.

“What are you saying to me?” You asked, voice quiet.

He reached up to run a hand over your hair and pull you closer, that familiar, gorgeous grin crossing his features. Gods, you’d fallen in love with those features. You loved everything about him.

“I’m saying I need you on my team, Y/N.” He told you, pressing his forehead lightly against yours before pulling back. “Stop brooding and maybe I’ll let you kiss me as punishment later.”

You scoffed and followed him towards the door then froze when he suddenly whirled, grasping your face and pressing his mouth hard against yours faster than you could register. You opened your eyes, dazed, heart having had dropped into your ass, and that stupid, cocky smirk of his was all over his face.

“For the record,” he started, before tugging you both back to the party. “I care about you, too.”

Hello hello I hope this was to your liking! Short but I had fun writing it <3

[whoretan]

ARK 45 | 02

Summary: After what turned out to be an unsuccessful night, Jimin invites you over to his apartment where things certainly go in another direction.

WC: 3.5k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader (ft. Jimin)

tags: um, so reader n jimin, yeah, fuckin against a window, slapping, dirty talk, murder and torture, possessive jimin???, jimin is a sadist, im sorry for what ive done, theres like 10% plot, 90% porn, reader will smash jk soon i swear

Chapters: 1 | 2 (ur here)

The screams of ache bouncing across the wooden walls are only driving your frustration further. 

You enjoy hurting people, but tonight, you have no patience for the whiny asshole Jimin left you to deal with. 

And typically, you have the patience of a fucking saint. 

About fifteen minutes after you left ARK, Jimin texted you the geo-coordinates to a random location that won’t show up on any Google searches. 

Jimin doesn’t trust anyone but you to do his dirty work. So while he gets to pounce around the city like an angel in a suit, you’re stuck dealing with the tedious and messy portion of the job. Then again, it pays well, so, there’s no room for complaining.

“I’m about three seconds away from slicing your tongue off,” you warn. “And I don’t plan on being nice about it either, John.” 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ lady,” he cries like a little bitch. “Jungkook don’t tell us which warehouse he keeps the shipments in, that’s for the upper guys.” 

 John has about five seconds left before he goes knocking on God’s door. 

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re useless?” You deduce, grabbing his chin roughly to part his saliva-covered lips. 

“No, no, no,” he pleads. “There’s someone at ARK that can get you the information you want.” 

Sweat drips down his nose, mixing with the blood riddling his face. John’s bald, somewhere in his late thirties, and a whiner. He has a wedding band on his left hand, probably some kids too, not that any of it’s your concern. 

You’d already cut off two of his fingers, stabbed his Achilles heel, and are coming close to slicing his tongue off. Normally, you like to play this thing slowly. The slower the better, the more likely the chance of getting whatever unfortunate fucker landed in your hands to spill the information you need.

John cringes away from the knife, tears bubbling out from beneath his lashes. 

“Dude name is Tony. H-he’s one of the security guards. B-big n’ tall, huge snake tattoo on his face.”

You roll your neck, groaning as the muscles pop. It’s been a long fucking day, and you’re still wearing the damned hooker dress that Jimin had dropped off for you.

“Great, thanks,” you say casually as if you haven’t spent the past hour torturing him. 

His breathing calms, and he looks up at you through his dull, ugly eyes and hope radiates from them. You almost laugh.

“So, y-you’ll let me go, right?” he asks, staring up at you like a little kid begging for a toy. 

“Sure,” you say. 

“Are you serious?” he pleads. 

“No, John,” you grin. “I’m not.”

You swing your arm back and plunge the entirety of your knife through his temple. 

He dies instantly, slumping forward against the rope that bonded him to the chair. 

You slide your knife from his skull, the noise threatening to ruin your dinner plans. This is unfortunate because you’re really fucking hungry. 

The knife squelches against the skin, taunting and unwilling to leave the flesh. And sure, while you enjoy a good torture session, you don’t get off on the sounds that accompany it.

Typically on a night like this, you’d dismember poor little John and then dump his remains into the cremator you and Jimin keep at a warehouse off the grid. 

But, not tonight. 

You weren’t even supposed to be on the clock, besides the obvious shit show that happened at ARK. 

You sigh, pulling out your phone from your bra, and cringe at the sight of blood smudging onto the screen. It’ll be a bitch to clean later, so you wipe it down on your matching red dress. 

going home. going to light a cig first.

Light a cig being code for burning down whatever building you’re in. 

Shoving the phone back into your bra, you bend down to John’s level, searching through his pockets. Dude’s like him almost always have a smoking problem, and besides, the fucker smells like it too. Mixed with his own piss that is of course. 

Your hand lands on the familiar plastic and you sigh thankfully, one less headache for you.

There’s a vibration against the shell of your tit and you straighten your back, pulling out the device again. Jimin’s name is written in bold letters atop your notification center.

good. come by my apartment.  

Something inexplicably dark arises in your chest.

 Jimin never asks you to come over. 

You suck in your bottom lip, biting back a groan. Goodbye dinner it is.

Sure, why the hell not?

A ping sounds, and the doors to Jimin’s penthouse apartment open. 

He lives fifteen or so minutes away from your own apartment, but on top of the already fifty-minute drive home from the barn— you’re not exactly thrilled by any account to be here.

He stands by the door, gaze entirely locked on yours and you can’t help but scowl. So what? It’s four in the damn morning and no human being should look this well put together at this hour. 

Jimin wears black lounge trousers, a low-cut robe with embroidered flowering, and that damned rosary he can’t seem to ever take off. 

“Come in,” he motions his head toward the inside of his apartment. 

You nod, locking in your bottom lip as you slip past your boss. A sliver of something that shouldn’t be so pleasant curls in your stomach— the smell of the deep and citrus oceanic cologne he always has on invades your senses. 

Jesus. 

The feeling is so strong and sudden that you exhale a breath to try and push it away. 

He steps into the apartment after you, and with a click, locks the door. This feels all too intimate. 

“So?” 

You blink.

“So?”

He sighs. “Jungkook.” 

Fuck. 

The chance of you admitting you performed a lap dance for Jeon Jungkook is zero. You’d cut your own tongue off before you ever admit that you might’ve slightly enjoyed it. 

You sigh. “He wasn’t in. I’m going to call the front desk tomorrow.” 

Jimin quirks a brow, and the playful tug to the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. He doesn’t believe a single word you just said. 

You groan and turn around, making a beeline to the cloud couch he had you order last year. You sink into the white cushion and moan at the softness that envelopes your frame, it feels like heaven on Earth. Soft as hell and a hundred times better than the one in your own home.

“Where’s the dress?” Jimin appears from behind you, the hint of that smirk still remaining on his face— just the slightest curl in his lips. His eyes travel over your body, and you feel the intrusion. 

You roll your eyes. You’ve changed into a skirt and long sleeve shirt. Not your best look, but it’s better than what Jimin deemed to be a dress. “I gave it to the hooker outside.” 

He chuckles and the sofa beside you dips.

A beat passes and then Jimin says, “I’m going to have to fuck the information out of Miranda.” 

You release a heavy breath at the sudden change of atmosphere. What the fuck is going on with him tonight? 

Turning your head to face your boss, you watch his tongue travel over his bottom lip. His gaze drops to your exposed legs, and you subconsciously clench your thighs in response. 

It’s too hot in here. Way too fucking hot. You have to divert the conversation somewhere else, somewhere where he isn’t devouring your skin like it’ll be his last meal.

“Jimin, is everything okay?” 

He doesn’t break eye contact but the darkness envelops his eyes. 

“No ___, it’s not.” He looks away momentarily to sigh, then meets your gaze again. “Jungkook wants me dead, and once he finds out about you he’ll kill you too. I just found out that he’s already on Hobi’s trail and now I’m gonna have to spend almost all my time playing prince charming for his annoying fucking sister when I just really want to spend my time fucking you.” 

Your breath hitches and you have to look away from the fiery gaze. Diverge. Don’t think.

Not once in your career has Jimin made any moves on you. Hell, before tonight you hadn’t even stepped foot into his apartment. The thought of having sex with your boss had been only a mere daydream on your first night on the job, never again.

“Jimin, I don’t think that’s a good idea.“

Without hesitation, he shifts closer to you, hand touching the bare skin of your lower thigh. “Why not? I’ve had people breathing down my fucking neck every day all week. I can’t even fuck anymore because I’m too paranoid they’re a spy Jungkook’s sent on me.” 

The confession has you blinking, shell-shocked. Since when has Jimin become this paranoid about Jungkook?

His body presses against yours, sandwiching you between him and the cushion. You stifle a gasp when he leans in and the warmness of his breath courses your lobe. “He knew who you were tonight.”

Everything stills, one second Jimin’s hovering over you, warm breath tickling your skin as your stomach does laps. The next, you’re pushing him off of you, sending him hurling off of the couch and backward. He regains his composure and inches forward again, like a predator about to devour its prey. He grabs both of your wrists to prevent you from clawing his eyes out of their sockets.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Jimin sent you into ARK when Jungkook knew what you looked like?

Holy shit.

Jungkook knows what you look like. 

He knew tonight and still had you grinding on his hard cock. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the hurricane brewing in your chest. 

Fuck, fuck. You’re going to lose your shit and possibly strangle your boss.

“I need you to calm down,” he grits against your hold, pushing his body completely onto yours, leaving you limp in his hold. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see what his reaction would be.” 

You lock your gaze with his, anger dancing in all the curvatures of your face. You feel tiny and helpless encased in his hold. Even more, you’re surprised he has the strength to hold you like this, unmoving, unfaltering like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

What if Jungkook decided to kill you?  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

He leans in, warm breath caressing your lobe. “Doesn’t it excite you? That he played along with your little game, Joanna?” 

“Jimin, I’m fucking serious, I—“ 

He’s so heavy on top of you, his chest moves rapidly as he presses further into you. You feel the apples of his cheeks rise against your neck, “Did you fuck him?” 

This is too much. Too much all at once. You’re suffocating in Jimin’s scent, his breath, his voice. 

You shake your head and close your eyes. 

“You wanted to though, right?” He whispers amusingly. 

He’s enjoying this. He’s bathing in your discomfort, the way your twitching against him, withering away from his hold, pushing your neck away, he basks in it. This should be wrong, it should terrify you. 

Yet, it doesn’t. His weight feels good, it feels exhilarating to lose control for once. To be the given instead of the giver, to have your freedom stripped bare. 

So, instead of screaming you confess, “Y-yes.” 

Jimin hums, sending a wave of vibration through your neck. He licks a strip from the bottom to the shell of your lobe, “And do you want me to fuck you, too?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind draws a blank and the only thing that pounds through it is, yes, yes, yes. 

“Yes.” 

“What’d he tell you?” Jimin asks as he releases your wrists from his grip. You let them drop to the cushion without a fight. 

He doesn’t stand from the couch, instead, he digs his knee further into the space between your opened legs and straightens his back. When your eyes meet, his eyes are dark, low, and filled with an intimacy you’ve never seen before from him. 

“He said he doesn’t hire whores,” you sigh at the recollecting memory. The sounds of Jungkook’s laughter as he walked out of his office to call the guards fills your mind. 

It’s Jimin’s very own laughter that drags you back to the present. 

“How ironic,” He muses.

He’s terrifying like this, dominating you in every way possible as he looms above you. He undoes the piece of fabric keeping his robe pieced together and lets the sides fall. You flinch subconsciously when he raises his hand to grab your chin.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a whore, ___?” 

You catch your breath at the monster before you. It’s not the words that leave you breathless, it’s the sweet smile accompanying them. The same one he gives you when he walks into the building in the afternoon, or when he hands you a check after a mission saying you’ve done a great. It’s welcoming, friendly, and utterly fucking terrifying. 

This is a horrible idea. Slowly, you nod. 

“Good.” 

The sound comes first, then the realization. You blink repeatedly as your vision blurs, the impact so brutal it’s left you looking in the other direction. Then, the pain. Sizzling, stinging, and painfully hot. Your cheek will bruise, without a doubt. You moan. 

When you turn your head around to face Jimin his smile only grows, wider and wider. He pushes his knee further into your cunt, the friction bringing it alive.  “Again.”

This time, he hits the other cheek. 

Adrenaline courses through your veins, it pulses in every one of your nerves, and it sends your body ablaze along with it. The pain feels so fucking good. 

You want him to cut you open and eat you alive. 

Without another word, Jimin pushes his knee off of the couch, cracks his neck, and points toward the exposed windows, “Strip.” 

You oblige, following the command like a lost puppy. He backs away, giving you space as you push off of the couch and toss your clothes. Avoiding the intruding stare, you turn around and walk to where you know he wants you.  The air in his apartment is freezing, leaving you with hard nipples and goosebumps.

The windows are completely open to the world. 

Anyone in the other high rises will be able to see you. They can see you.  

The city’s beautiful, shimmering lights keep it alive in the darkness. In the reflection of the glass, you see Jimin stalking toward you as if he has all the time in the world. 

He stares at your legs, ass, and back, then he meets your gaze in the reflection. When he reaches your heel, his hands graze your stomach, and his lips meet the back of your neck in soft slow kisses. It’s when his hand pushes past your stomach and below your underwear that the ecstasy hits you.

He’s slow, painfully so, his middle finger slides through your folds and you feel teeth etch themselves into your shoulder. The cold metal of the ring grazing your clit finger sends a shiver down your spine, you release a groan and he bites harder on the flesh. 

He rubs your clit with two fingers, allowing you to savor in the warming pulses rippling through your cunt. Through the pleasure, you feel him pushing his hard cock into your ass, grinding onto the exposed flesh. 

You’re moaning like hell, unable to contain how good it feels to have someone dominating you, relishing in your body. He releases your clit and moves his fingers downward, instantly sticking two digits in your hole. The pain from how hard he’s biting into your shoulder, undoubtedly drawing blood, with how fast his fingers pulse in and out of you sends you into another dimension.

In the back of your mind, you hear the slow rhythm of The Weeknd’s song filling the air, transcending you back in time. Jungkook’s low growl and how hard his dick felt on your ass as you danced for him. 

The fact that you made him hard even though he knew who you are.

The fact that he wanted to fuck you regardless of the idea that you possibly murdered his father.  

He let you grind on him, feel all of him. 

He wanted you. 

You want him right now. Want to feel the swell of his cock again, hear him say those nasty arrogant words, and steal them from his lips. 

“Just like that,” Jungkook growls against your ear.

You open your eyes, panting hard, it’s Jimin who stares back into the reflection, smirking at your battered form. You’re spasming all over his fingers, pussy pulsing in a rhythmic beat as you orgasm. You’re moaning, hands pressed flat against the glass. 

Jimin doesn’t wait for you to finish riding the waves of your orgasm. He takes his fingers out of you, leaving your cunt clenching against nothing. You’re too occupied with calming your breaths to hear the fabric of his trousers tossing, to hear him his as he hisses when he uses the same fingers he used in you to wet his cock. 

You do, however, feel him push your thong to the side and the swell of his cock at your entrance. You’re so ready, you’ve never been more ready for anything else. It’s been two fucking years. God, you can’t fucking think straight.

“Fuck me al—“

The words are stolen from you when Jimin pushes himself into you completely, he doesn’t let you catch your breath, doesn’t give you time to formulate any words, he just goes. 

With one hand, he grabs the back of your neck and slams your face into the glass. The coldness of it feels good on your cheek, the mixture of the hard surface and the pounding has you grinding through your teeth, it’s too much. It encompasses you, filling you like nothing else in the world can.

Jimin fucks you relentlessly, pounding in you at light speed. He’s breathing hard, but he doesn’t stutter. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh fills the quietness of his apartment, you can’t help but moan. 

“The world’s watching you.” He releases your neck, quickly switching over to grab a bundle of your hair and yank your head toward the flashing city.  

It’s blurry, all over the place, and you moan like a whore for it. 

“Watch them,” Jimin growls. 

He’s fucking you faster than before, your stomach bubbles with the formation of a second orgasm. You can’t think, can’t breathe, you’re just taking. Taking Jimin’s cock as he gives it to you, as he takes everythingfrom you.

You close your eyes, and your head falls limp. Everything feels so slick, so wet. Jimin’s cock is easing in and out of you, his free hand grips your exposed boob, massaging it. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” He releases your tit, slapping it before grabbing your chin to face the world before you. “Watch them as I fuck you.” 

A muffled sound escapes you, he’s let go of your hair, exposed chest flat against your back as he continues thrusting. 

“You’ll kill anyone for me,” He says, voice wavering in pleasure, “I just need to say the name.” 

Your heart and head pound because he’s right. The second he says a name, the life has already been taken from them. They’ve been handed over to the Grim Reaper, and fuck, does Park Jimin own you. 

Every command is his, and every action of yours is done by his accord.  

Jimin’s hips are stuttering now, he’s mumbling something but you can’t get the thought out of your head, can’t hear the words.

You’ll do anything to fulfill his command. Anything. 

Your stomach coils, and your pussy pulses faster than before. You feel Jimin’s falls hitting your cunt with each thrust and it feels too good. It’s too good, too overwhelming. 

“Mine,” he moans, and then he’s stuttering, sloppily thrusting until he stops. He allows the milky liquid to spill into your cunt.

He continues to slowly thrust in you, pushing his cum further and further back into you. He’s claiming you. He’s fucking claiming you. 

Your head falls limp, forehead against the glass and you breathe hard. 

Jimin pulls out of you, hissing as the cold air envelops his dick. He slaps your ass and tugs his cock back into his trousers. 

You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think.

Mine, mine, mine. 

Jimin’s words replay in your mind on an endless loop. His.

If you’re supposed to be his, then why can’t you seem to get a certain arrogant son-of-a-bitch’s face out of your head?

Reply 2 be added. Ty for reading.

@callmejimmeo @jasminperez18 @yoon2jk @jungkookminthairwhen @emogyus @nochuntae @hopesflwr @jmnrl @dracujin @bbyjmmns @virgojimi @jikukker @dollbabyg @ieonkrive @iholdkoo @namaslaylife @mini-mouser22 @greetieweetie @ohyeakjk @sugatalus @kooikk @vanteskku @duskvk @ggukssluvrr @sweetempathprunetree @monilyv @jkoomimi @jessieeq1986 @koozip @jjkuteu @naaktj @kooliv @yourslut16 @luvrkoo @jamlesstars @purrbangtann @scientisterror @darkuni63 @prudyhoo @nochubabystarcandy @wonieeee @st3ft0n3s @manjir0 @mdibby

[dirtytransmasc]

Regard this post

It's funny that some fans believe that Rhaenyra and the green children didn't have any relationship because of Alicent( in some fics they depict her as Cersei, and if she was a Cersei in the show, Nyra's children and Viserys wouldn't be still alive😑)

Some fans need to accept that Viserys and Rhaenyra have never cared for the green children at all(we have forgotten that Rhaenyra was going to make tortured her 10 year old brother for calling her childrens bastards? Her brother that has lost an eye to one of her children and called it a regrettable accident.

Rhaenyra never once looked apologetic because she doesn't care.

It is frustating to see the narrative treating Rhaenyra as a saint, when she isn't, she's not a hero.

Some of hers and Daemon's fans justify every actions they do because they are morally grey but when Alicent does it, she deserves to die????

exactly. Rhaenyra was never a good sibling, never wanted to be, never made herself someone Alicent could trust her kids to be around (after the hunt at least, where we saw her happy to see her and Aegon in the same space, showing she wanted there to be good will before Rhaenyra went and showed she was more than unwilling to be there sister).

Rhaenyra couldn't feign care or compassion for her 10 year old brother, couldn't pretend to feel sorry, not even before she found out about the comment Aemond had made. after that she held no anger towards Luke, forgot about the 4 on 1 fight where her son brought a knife, and only sought to punish Aemond.

other than that she was never in their lives other than when she was making their lives harder. she was no saint they looked up to as a sister or wanted to even engage with.

she was living her life and they were living there's and they crossed every now and then and in that time Rhaenyra would only serve to fit her divide them. that's just the fact of the matter.

and that part about Rhaenyra and Daemon? so fucking true. they've murdered, maimed, and faked people's deaths to get what they want. Daemon was a vile man I could spend forever listing off his crimes. the things they do compared to Alicent are fucking wild, yet she gets treated like the god damn devil and they practically have the ground they walk in worshipped.

[captainsvscaptains]

Round 2 Part 5 Poll 2

Propaganda

Inej (propaganda by @paul-hectus): She was kidnapped from her family when she was very little and brought oversea to become an unwilling sex worker when she was FOURTEEN. She is an amazing acrobat and skilled with knives. She's also a great friend and deeply devoted to her saints. The boy she is in love with got her freedom, knives and her ship. Now she kills and hunts slavers❤️

Jay propaganda : SHE IS A CRINGEFAIL GIRLBOSS !!!! i love her so much oh my god she loves her friends she loves her crew she loves her family.... . iwahhjjhsh

[agnerd-bot]

Fate Fanservant: Judas Iscariot, The Traitorous Disciple(Avenger)

Ascension Stages:

First Stage: Judas is clad in tattered clothes, an a large red scar is cut across her stomach, in the shape of a demonic toothy maw. A mask covers her mouth, and her hair is blood-red with white streaks. She is hunched over, with a hangman’s noose around her neck, and a string of silver coins wrapped around her hand.

Second Stage: Judas’s robes have become even more torn and ratted, and the markings on her stomach have shifted and morphed, revealing a massive, demonic mouth lined with rows of teeth and dripping blood.

Final Stage: Judas is now clad in more kept-together cloth, covering the mouth on her stomach. The pieces of silver hang around her neck, and she stands up much straighter. She has a small smile on her face.

Theme:

SCORN RAP by JT Music - "Sick of Myself"

Hell's Comin' with Me

Traits:

Class: Avenger Alternate Class: Assassin, Caster, Ruler, Alter Ego, Beast True Name: Judas Iscariot Source: The Bible Region: Israel Alignment: Lawful Evil Attribute: Star

Known as: Yehûdâh Ish-Kerayot, The Traitor, The Liar, The Woman from Kerioth, The Thirteenth Disciple, The Woman of Pollution, the Thirteenth Seat

Voice Actress: Asakawa Yuu

Deck: QAAAB

Parameters: Strength: C- Endurance: A+++ Agility: B Mana: A+ Luck: E- NP: EX

Passive Skills:

Magic Resistance EX:

As one of the original Thirteen Disciples, Judas Iscariot’s Magic Resistance is at the highest rank, on par with that of Saints. It is nigh-impossible for Magecraft to seriously affect Judas, even those from the Age of Gods.

Even for a fallen prophet, the psalms song still ring true in her heart of hearts:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

(FGO Effect:)-Increases own Debuff Resistance by 25%.

Avenger A+:

Judas Iscariot is defined by hatred and resentment. In the New Testament, the Thirteenth Disciple was known as a callous misanthrope, always willing to accuse others of heresy and wickedness, even when the prophet from Kerioth performed the same sinful acts she shunned others for. So great was her hatred that it is said that the Devil was able to enter her heart, influencing her to betray the person she believed in more than anything.

In return, upon her treacherous actions and death, Judas Iscariot became one of the most despised figures within the biblical canon, seen by many as the incarnation of betrayal itself. Those who wrote of the Twelve Disciples have all remembered Judas as the Traitor, the Betrayer, and the Sinful One. The very name of Judas Iscariot has become synonymous with evil and treachery.

Hatred of others and hatred unto oneself. Perhaps more than any other Servant, Judas Iscariot embodies the defining attribute of the Avenger Class.

(FGO Effect:)-Increases own NP generation rate when taking damage by 22%.-Reduces party's (including sub members) debuff resistance by 12% except themselves. [Demerit]

Oblivion Correction C:

As a penitent, Judas Iscariot cannot and will not forget the reason for her self-inflicted damnation. The betrayal of the one man who showed her such unconditional love. The kiss that betrayed Him to his enemies. The failure to redeem herself of her sins. Her hatred will never subside, even in death. Where so many found their salvation from their sins, she alone remained behind, unwilling to accept her Teacher's hand. She has chosen the path of her own Hell, alone, painful, and cold. And yet, it is one she will never waver from.

"O Lord... May you never forgive me for my sins... And may I never forgive myself for my treachery..."

(FGO Effect:)-Increases own critical damage by 6%.

Self-Replenishment(Magic) A:

As a Servant of God and embodiment of the Gates of Hell, Judas Iscariot's magical power is near-limitless. Her rage is unyielding, pushing her through even the most horrific types of pain without even flinching. It doesn't matter how badly or how many times her body is broken. It doesn't matter what kind of opponent she stands against. The answer is always the same: an unyielding march forward, until all who stand in her path are left to face the consequences of their actions.

It is the memory of her treachery that drives her, the fuels her every waking moment. Her sins call out to her each and every day, haunting her, screaming at her. Blood must be repaid with blood. Pain must be repaid with pain. Grief must be met with grief.

So long as the hatred pulses through her veins, the lashing, the torment, the sorrow, it will all drive her forward.

(FGO Effect:)-Charges own NP gauge by 4% every turn.

Pieces of Silver EX:

According to scripture, the price Judas Iscariot received for selling out Jesus of Nazareth to the chief priests was thirty pieces of silver. Upon realizing what she had done by betraying her teacher and friend, she attempted to return the pieces of silver to save him, only to be coldly rebuffed, with the priests scolding her for daring to bring blood money to the temple. Ultimately, these very same silver coins were used to pay for Akeldama, the Field of Blood where she hung herself in despair over her greatest sins.

Even in death, these damned coins follow Judas, strung around her neck as a reminder of her gravest sin. Each coin holds incredible amounts of magical power, and they can be offered up in order to boost Judas's own power, at the cost of the demon within gaining more influence over her. If she offers all thirty at once, she can activate her personal Noble Phantasm, Akeldama, the very same field that she bought with these thirty pieces of silver.

"I hear them... Always. Their clattering reminds me of what I've done... And why I can never accept forgiveness..."

(FGO Effect:)  -Whenever Judas Iscariot attacks, apply 'Pieces of Silver' buff to self, one time per turn(Can stack with other 'Pieces of Silver' buffs). 'Pieces of Silver' Buff: -Gain crit stars equal to half the amount of ‘Pieces of Silver’ buffs -At 30 Pieces of Silver, fill NP Gauge to 300%, and boost NP Damage by 30%. -After NP is used, clear all 'Pieces of Silver' buffs[Demerit].

Active Skills:

Damned for All Time B:

For her role in the death of the Messiah, for her treachery and sin, Judas Iscariot is believed by many to have been subject to eternal damnation, cast within the deepest pits of Hell for eternal torment. Judas herself believes very much the same. Believing herself to be irredeemable, she willingly accepts any and all punishment given to her without complaint, fully awaiting her return to Hell.

However, thanks to the blessings imparted as a Disciple of Jesus, the Thirteenth Disciple recovers quickly from any and all enemy attacks, shrugging off grievous injuries such as limbs being removed, bones being broken, and even her heart being crushed. As a result, her body goes through a constant vicious cycle of being reborn, put back together, and being destroyed once more.

Judas herself claims that this is further proof of how God despises her, refusing to let her die to punish her for her wickedness and faults. A sign that she can never be redeemed or forgiven, and will suffer until the end of time for her evil actions.

And yet... Can this really be the truth?

(FGO Effect:) -500% Chance to draw attention of all enemies to self by 300% for three turns. -Recover 1500 HP at the end of each turn for three turns.

Protection of the Faith EX:

While infamous as 'The Traitorous Disciple', Judas Iscariot has among the highest levels of Protection of the Faith. Unlike many prophets, zealots, saints, and kings who praised their gods from a distance, Judas walked alongside her Messiah day to day. From the day she was cured of her own illnesses, she walked with him, broke bread with him, and preached alongside him. She knew of his dreams and aspirations, as well as his faults and imperfections. She loved and was loved in equal measure.

Even now, in her state of agony and pain, her thoughts are always centered around the man she called Teacher and Friend. While Judas Iscariot does not believe that she can ever be forgiven for her sins, nor does she believe she will ever reach the Heaven that was promised to her all those years ago, she still holds faith in the power and goodness of the King of Men. As a Servant, Judas uses the holy knowledge she was imparted, even when she proclaims herself a vile sinner, all because of the faith she keeps.

More than any Disciple, more than any follower, more than any person who ever lived, Judas Iscariot believed in her Messiah.

(FGO Effect:) -Increases own debuff resistance for three turns. -Recovers own HP. -Increases own defense for one turn. -Increases own attack for three turns. -Apply Guts to self, two times, five turns.

Kiss of Judas A:

It is said that the thirteenth disciple betrayed her Master with a single kiss upon His cheek, signaling to the crowd that came to arrest Him. It is this single act that damned Judas Iscariot for all eternity, fully cementing her as the traitor to God and setting in motion the events of the Crucifixion as well as Judas's own death by hanging.

This moment manifests as a powerful ability, allowing Judas to gain every last fragment of knowledge of an enemy once she kisses them, seeing everything they've done, everything they've seen, and everything they will be. In a Holy Grail War, this ability is especially powerful, granting Judas knowledge to be used against enemy Servants. If used against a divine figure such as a god or demigod, this ability is even more powerful, cursing anything divine and holy with her very existence.

"Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?"

(FGO Effect:) -Lower one enemy's defense for three turns. -Decrease one enemy's charge. -Increase own NP Gauge by 30%. -500% Chance to draw attention of all allies to one enemy by 300% for three turns[Demerit]. -If used against a ‘Heaven’ Enemy: --Remove all Buffs(activates first). --Decrease one enemy's charge. --Increase own NP Gauge by 30%. --Inflict Curse on an enemy for five turns. --Inflict Evil Curse on an enemy for five turns. --Increase damage against 'Divine' enemies for all allies(five turns).

Noble Phantasms:

Noble Phantasm: Judas Iscariot - It Would Have Been Better If I Was Never Born

Rank: A+ Maximum Targets: 1 Range: 10m Classification: Anti-Unit(Self)

The very noose the twelfth Disciple hung herself with on that fateful day. This symbol of her eternal shame manifests as a snapped noose tied around her neck. This rope is taut as ever, but even though its rope seems severed, it can extend to impossible lengths to reach whatever target she aims for. Judas can use this noose as a grapple, allowing her to clear vast distances in a single leap or to grab onto a fleeing opponent. However, its most dangerous feature lies in a hidden property of the rope.

If she wraps the rope around an enemy, it forms a knot around the opponent’s limb, and their lives become ‘bound’ in a sense to Judas. Any damage that her opponent strikes her with is mirrored upon her foe, and vice versa. Even if one tries to cut this rope, the strikes will merely be reflected back onto both Yehûdâh and her opponent. Combined with Judas’s Protection of God skill, the battle becomes one of endurance that the victim is likely not to live through. The only way to possibly escape this deadly Noble Phantasm is to cut off one’s own limb that is attached to the rope, or inflict a wound that one can survive but their enemy cannot.

Noble Phantasm: Gateway to the Inferno - Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

Rank: A++ Maximum Targets: ??? Range: 2000m Classification: Anti-World

A powerful Noble Phantasm that manifests as the wound Judas incurred upon her failed hanging. A jagged scar is displayed prominently on Judas's stomach, sharpened into a wicked grin. In reality, Judas Iscariot’s stomach functions as a passageway into Hell itself, and by activating it, the scar morphs into a monstrous maw of a creature, who drags victims into its jaws with its tongue. 

Alongside the innate threat of the Beast's maw, this Noble Phantasm also serves as a pseudo-Marble Phantasm. Due to the mouth on her stomach serving as a gateway to Hell itself, Judas can impose parts of Hell onto the world, creating rivers of boiling blood and towers of fire and bone. With a mere thought, she can change her body's attributes and access a different section of Hell to match the sins of her adversary.

Limbo: Reserved for the unbaptized, the lustful, the greedy, and the gluttonous, that which is known as Limbo is nothing but pure darkness that encompasses an area. A monstrous wind blows strongly in the darkness, and unseen monsters can be heard snarling and growling in the shadows.

Styx: Reserved for the wrathful, the putrid waters of the River Styx flow from the monster's jaws. The waves choke the victims on their own rage, dragging them further into its depths as the damned souls of the wrathful reach out to pull those above them down with them into eternal torment.

Dis: Reserved for the heretical and the violent is the City of Dis. Massive, red-hot spires pierce the earth, forming gnarled and wicked trees made of iron. A boiling river of blood courses through this forest, incinerating those who step too close. Some say this is where the Harpies make their home, clawing and scratching at those foolish enough to enter the forests of Dis.

Malbolge: Reserved for the fraudulent and liars, the Malboge manifests as several pools filled with flaming tar. Those who are caught within the pits of the Malboge are engulfed with flames that will never extinguish. Even those who escape from the pits of the Malboge leave twisted and deformed, inside and out, before they are inevitably dragged back into the depths.

Cocytus: Reserved for the treacherous is the frozen well of Cocytus, the ninth and most fearsome Circle of Hell and the resting place of Judas Iscariot. When invoked, a white mist slowly flows from the devil's maw, and the surrounding area slowly crawls to a temperature beneath absolute zero. Those who are caught within the mist find that their bodies rapidly begin to freeze over, locked in eternal suffering and agony. For some, if they are caught in Cocytus's chill, they will eventually be shattered into dust, with not even their souls remaining. This is the final circle, where even the Devil weeps and mourns in eternal torment, never to be freed.

Whatever punishment the demon's maw wishes to mete out, whatever evil stands before the Thirteenth Disciple, the message is always the same.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Noble Phantasm: Akeldama - The Field of Blood

Rank: EX Maximum Targets: 1 Range: 18m Classification: Anti-Evil

In the Bible, it is said that after Jesus’s death, Yehûdâh Ish-Kerayot, in a mix of remorse for her betrayal and fear that after Jesus rose, he would take his vengeance upon her, she bought a field with the thirty pieces of silver and tied a noose around her neck, aiming to hang herself. Unexpectedly, the rope snapped underneath her weight, and her stomach tore open on a sharp rock, spilling her innards and blood throughout the field, leaving the traitor to die in agony. And so, the field was known from that point on as Akeldama, the Field of Blood.

This very same Field manifests as Judas’s Reality Marble, a graveyard with a single massive tree hanging up in the middle, towering over all. Nooses hang all around the tree’s branches, swaying in nonexistent wind. A noose drops down, wrapping around the victim's neck. As the foe writhes in agony, they slip and fall, snapping their neck before the branch their noose is tied around snaps, sending their body plummeting into an open grave.

Due to Yehûdâh’s infamy as a traitor amongst traitors, this Noble Phantasm can be positively deadly in the right situations. The area of effect covers a wide range, allowing Judas to entrap multiple targets simultaneously and subject them to their judgement.

Akeldama has a unique property that few other Noble Phantasms share. The resultant damage dealt is different upon each person it is used upon. The Field of Blood harms foes not through the physical realm, but the spiritual, inflicting wounds on opponents based on the lives they have lived. If one has lived a virtuous and relatively clean life, such as Jeanne d’Arc or Xuanzang Sanzang, the Field will only feel like slight pinpricks across the body. But if one has lived a life filled with slaughter, debauchery, and evil like Nobunaga Oda or Nero Claudius? Akeldama will show no mercy to its victim, inflicting the same pain that the sinner has inflicted upon others tenfold.

All Servants, no matter their defenses or Authority, are equal beneath Akeldama’s judgement. No one, god, devil, or man is without sin, and so everyone can and will be judged within the Field of Blood.

(FGO Effect:) -Deals heavy damage to all enemies. -Do increased damage toBeast, Saver, Star, and Demonic Servants. -Do reduced damage against 'Saint' enemies[Demerit]. -Apply Curse to all enemies. -Apply Disastrous Curse to all enemies. -Inflicts Penitent status on all enemies for one turn(effect increases with overcharge). -Apply Penitent status to self for one turn[Demerit]. -Penitent: Grants these effects: --Decrease Noble Phantasm Gauge each turn. --Increase damage taken each turn. --Decrease damage dealt each turn. --Apply Active Skill Seal one time for one turn. --Apply Passive Skill Seal for one turn.

Voice Lines:

Summoned: You… wanted to summon me? I… no, despite my summons, my penitence remains the same. I am Yehûdâh Ish-Kerayot of the Avenger Class. You may know me better as Judas Iscariot. I know not why you have called upon me for aid... But if this is what my penance decrees, then I shall be your monster.

Level Up 1: …why?

Level Up 2: I see you felt I was lacking. Understood, I’ll try not to be as much of a disappointment.

1st Ascension: Ghhh...! S-so... now you see me for what I truly am... A monster. My own transgressions turned me into this creature... A beast borne of sin and evil. Hahahahaha. What a fool you are. Do you understand now? You have opened the gates of Hell... and nothing you do can ever seal them. 

2nd Ascension: I see the way you look at me. I'm horrifying, aren't I? But I don't need your pity. This is simply what I deserve for my wickedness. Through suffering, I grow stronger. Through agony, I grow more resolute. The pain from each battle drives me to move forward, and by my soul, I swear I will not fail you.

3rd Ascension: …what is this? Why... Why do I not feel the pain anymore? Why am I dressed like... like I was back then? I don't understand... Is this meant to mock me? To remind me what I cast away? Or... maybe it means I can... ...no. Never mind me. This is just the rambling of a fool.

4th Ascension: *sigh* ...you truly are a pain, Chaldean. I will never understand people like you, who extend your hands to sinners like myself. You do know who I am, correct? I am the Thirteenth Seat at the table, the Traitorous Disciple. I sold the person that showed me nothing but kindness for thirty worthless pieces of silver, killing a man loved by all for nothing but spite and greed. And yet... here we are. I will never understand someone like you... But I suppose it doesn't matter if I do. I renew the vow I made before: I am Judas Iscariot, and for the sake of Humanity's survival, I will be your monster.

Fight Start 1: Some say that it is through pain that we learn the greatest lessons. Allow me to make you very wise.

Fight Start 2: Repent, ye sinners… Your judgement has arrived.

Fight Start 3: Have you come to join me in penitence?

Skill 1: *clinking of coins*

Skill 2: O Lord, this unholy pilgrim invokes thy name…

Skill 3: If that is what you wish.

Command Card Select 1: Thy kingdom come.

Command Card Select 2: Thy will be done.

Command Card Select 3: On Earth as it is in Heaven.

Noble Phantasm Select 1: O, Lord… Turn your head as I do what must be done.

Noble Phantasm Select 2: You hear them, don’t you…? They’re asking you to join them.

Attack 1: Repent. Or perish.

Attack 2: Hmph. Trying to run?

Attack 3: Your judgement has been passed. Guilty.

Attack 4: There you are. Your time has come.

Attack 5: There is no true escape from your sins.

Attack 6: Scared? I would be too.

Attack 7: You cannot escape your final judgement.

Extra Attack 1: Go. To. Hell.

Extra Attack 2: AMEN!

Noble Phantasm 1:

I am The One Who Sold the World…

There is none whose sin is greater than I…

Now… the time has come for judgement!

Suffer as I have suffered! Come forth, Akeldama!

Noble Phantasm 2:

Can you hear them? The people you have hurt…?

You can’t turn away from your transgressions.

You can’t ignore your sins.

They’re calling you… asking you to join them in this pain…

Now… embrace them.

Noble Phantasm 3:

I am the Heroic Spirit of God’s Vengeance.

While I have long abandoned the right to act on God's will…

Tonight, I will happily reclaim it.

AKELDAMA!

Damage from Noble Phantasm: This pain… is nothing…!

Regular Damage: Nnn.

Defeated 1: N-ngh… I guess this is what a traitor like me deserves.

Defeated 2: *sigh* I should have known this was going to happen.

Defeated 3: So… back to Cocytus, is it…?

Victory 1: Thus. Ends. The lesson.

Victory 2: Be you Man or God, Devil or Angel… You answer to me.

Victory 3: It’s not enough… Never enough.

Bond Level 1: You wish to talk? With me of all people? You truly are a fool... It would be better for your time to speak with someone worthy of your kindness. I am nothing more than a bitter misanthrope waiting for a forgiveness that I don't deserve.

Bond Level 2: *sigh* I appreciate your kindness, I truly do. But all the same, I think you have the wrong image of me. You seem convinced that I am some wayward soul who holds some good in their heart. That I can be 'fixed' with genuine words of friendship. Allow me to make things clear between us, then, as friends often do. I hate humanity. With all my heart. With all my being. I despise the human race. And in turn, humanity despises me. Is that understood?

Bond Level 3: Heh. Back for more? I can’t help but respect that. … When I was young, I was born sick and blinded. They called me cursed by God, punished for my sinfulness. Only one man chose to approach me back then. They called Him the Messiah, God Incarnate, the Savior of the Jews. ...I was just happy to call Him my friend.

Bond Level 4: You have no idea how happy I was to know that the first people to lay eyes on me were so kind, so understanding… But I could never understand what people like them thought. How could He look at this world and think it deserved redemption? How could He see the ugliness of the people around Him and think they deserved to be saved? I'll be honest… I still don't understand, not even now. But it's not my place to understand Him, is it? I simply need to have faith.

Bond Level 5: …it's funny, isn't it? Despite every reason I have to hate humanity... I'm fighting for them. Not because of any obligation to Proper Human History. Not because it's my job as a Heroic Spirit. Not even because I believe it deserves to live. The only reason I'm bothering to fight for this wretched thing called humanity… Is because I know He would want me to.

Dialogue 1: You called upon me to help save Humanity. I answered, and will hunt down all who seek to do mankind harm. That is the extent of our relationship.

Dialogue 2: Whether you be a person of faith or a person of secular manner does not matter to me. I will protect you all the same, as He would.

Dialogue 3(Clear Lostbelt 1): Your sins weigh heavy on you, don’t they? The bodies that you’ve amassed, the lives you can never bring back? Good. That penitence means you haven’t lost your humanity.

Dialogue 4(Unlocked at Bond Level 5): “Does it hurt?” That’s a foolish question. Of course it hurts. Every day, every moment, my life is defined by pain and anguish. …but I simply choose to endure. Because what does my pain matter with the knowledge that I hurt the ones I love a thousandfold?

Dialogue 5 (If you have Martha): So, Martha is here as well… She was one of the kindest of the disciples, always concerning herself with our well-being, keeping the peace among ourselves. Even now, I suppose she’d scold me for not taking care of myself. …but I won’t let her burden herself with my problems.

Dialogue 6 (If you have Martha(Unlocked at Bond Level 5)): Martha… I… Why do you bother with someone like me? Me, the traitor who killed the Savior? Me, the sinner who is bound to damnation? Why…? Why won’t you let me rot in Hell?! I… I don’t understand you.

Dialogue 7 (If you have Martha(Summer)): Martha…?! W-what are you wearing?! I-I should go… I’m sorry, but-ACK! W-wait, don’t put me in a headlock-! Damnit all, why do you always have to be such a bullheaded punk?! … *sighs* Hehehe. Never change, Martha.

Dialogue 8 (If you have Martha(Santa)): …who did this to you? Tell me, Martha, so I may introduce myself. Eh? No, no I’m not angry. Why would I be angry? I’m… perfectly… calm…!

Dialogue 9 (If you have Yù Tù): YOU-?! How…? How the Hell did you escape? …tch. Seems like the Chaldeans have you under control for now. But I swear, if you try and pull another one of your ‘games’ again, I will make your last fate seem like a mercy.

Dialogue 10 (If you have Hernán Cortés): Cortés… You haven’t changed a bit since then, have you? No, I suppose you have. Judging from the look in your eyes… You know your place.

Dialogue 11 (If you have the Harpy Sisters): The trio of torturers… They were in the last Holy Grail War I had entered. Celaeno in particular and I had a contract with each other. …hm? Friendship? No, it wasn’t like that. We simply had a desire to see the same person die.

Dialogue 12 (If you have Awilix): The Goddess of the Moon… I didn’t interact with her much before, but even back then, her power was terrifying. Now? It feels like she’s on an entirely different level than before. What happened?

Dialogue 13 (If you have Baron Samedi): The good Baron. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Hm? No… No, I don’t think I’m in the mood for drinking now. Perhaps another day.

Dialogue 14 (If you have The Golem of Prague): Tch… So the Guardian of the Lowi Family is here as well… I’d suggest keeping an eye on that one. That monster… Even if they claim to care for you, they won’t be satisfied until they’ve controlled every aspect of your life. Don’t give them an inch.

Dialogue 15 (If you have any other Fate/Undead Crusader Servants): That rowdy bunch from the battles in Jerusalem is here as well… How annoying. If nothing else, I suppose I’m grateful that we don’t have to fight this time around.

Dialogue 16 (If you have Jochebed/Samael): …thank you. Genuinely.

Dialogue 17 (If you have any Angel Servants): So the envoys of Heaven are here as well? I suppose I’d better make myself scarce then. Nothing good can come of one such as myself being in the same space of angels.

Dialogue 18 (If you have Nero or Sodom’s Beast): You… I’ve heard tales of the mad Roman Empress before, but I never thought I’d meet you in the flesh. I may be a lowly traitor, but I still hold the faith. If it wasn’t for the Master, I would not have hesitated to pay you back a thousandfold.

Dialogue 19 (If you have Mordred or Mordred Alter): The Knight of Treachery, is it? Heh, to think the Chaldean would take in not one, but two traitors… I’m glad you’ve found your true family, Sir Mordred. Treasure them.

Dialogue 20 (If you have any ‘Blessed Conqueror’ Servants): Such arrogance… Such pride… You truly think yourself an agent of His will, don’t you? That your life’s work has all been in His service? Allow me to correct you on that… All the suffering? All the war! All the pain you’ve meted out in His name? Your life’s work… makes Him puke.

Dialogue 21 (If you have Lancelot): Heed my words, sir knight… please… find it in your heart to forgive yourself. My soul is damned for all eternity, and it is a burden I will accept. But you? You deserve your happiness. Take it.

Dialogue 22 (If you have Medusa): Such a terrible fate… forced to live blind and alone, hiding such a beautiful face from the world. The Greek ‘gods’ are such cruel and vile beings.

Dialogue 23 (If you have Hassan of the Serenity): Death by a kiss? How fitting that the two of us should cross paths, Assassin. Though which is worse? A kiss of poison? Or a kiss of betrayal?

Dialogue 24 (If you have David): I… It is an honor to make your acquaintance, King of Israel. An honor I do not deserve. I betrayed your descendant, led him to his execution. So why… Why are you so openly kind to me?

Likes: I’ve long forsaken any chance to be happy.

Likes(Unlocked at Bond Level 5): Interests? You wish to ask about the hobbies of such a loathsome creature like me? Well… I guess I’d have to say fishing. I was never as skilled as Peter or his brother, but just being out on the sea, watching the waves go by… it reminds me of better times.

Dislikes: Do I even need to say it?

About the Holy Grail: …pfft. *visibly holding back laughter*

During an Event: A festival? No, I shouldn’t be there. I’d just bring down the mood. I-hey, quit pulling!

Birthday: It’s your birthday. Hmph. What does it matter to me? I told you already, our relationship is merely that between coworkers. Go enjoy yourself with your friends.

Profile:

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Back when the Son of God walked the earth, He took on twelve Apostles. Among the Twelve, perhaps none are more known the world over as Simon Peter, His right hand, and Yehûdâh Ish-Kerayot, known nowadays as Judas Iscariot, the Betrayer. A selfish misanthrope to her very core, Judas was nonetheless one of the Original Twelve chosen to preach the Word of God to the masses. Her motivations and history with her Master have largely been lost to time, save for one moment.

She is the one who betrayed Jesus Christ to the Sanhedrin for a mere thirty pieces of silver, leading to her Master's execution upon a cross To this end, she led the officers of the law into the Garden of Gethsemane where her Master lay praying, identifying Him with a kiss on the cheek. Since then, the name ‘Judas’ has been synonymous with the word ‘traitor’, and Judas herself has been marked as damned by God, a soul who will forever rot in the coldest depths of Hell, furthest away from Heaven.

"Son of God… Son of Man…! Take pity on me! Save me…!"

… 

"Please… someone save me…”

Bond Level 1:

Height/Weight: 166cm • 51.3kg

Source: Historical Fact, New Testament

Region: Israel

Alignment: Lawful • Evil Gender: Female

Judas is a servant of a constant dour mood, rarely if ever allowing herself to feel any happiness. She constantly puts herself down, even when attaining the greatest victories, believing that, after her betrayal, she does not deserve praise or adulation. It’s for this very reason she keeps the noose she hung herself with around her neck, and carries around the thirty pieces of silver that she betrayed her Master for.

The sound follows her with every step. An echo that rings to her very soul, reminding her of her sins, of her greatest mistake. A song of mourning that will never end.

CLINK... CLINK... CLINK...

Bond Level 2:

For years, Judas followed her Rabbi as He preached to the masses, witnessing as He saved many like her through the power of his miracles. Though He was God made manifest, He chose the life of a mere man, taking solace in the little things. Many a night, when the stars were out, Judas found herself nestled in the comforting presence of her fellow Disciples and her Rabbi, happiness found in her heart.

However, life was not perfect as a Disciple. Nothing ever truly is. For many nights, they found themselves having to go to bed hungry, having to resort to sleeping in the harsh streets. This ended up being the source of many an argument between Judas and her Rabbi. As a former beggar, Yehûdâh tried to convince her master to let them keep any of the monetary offerings that they received for their miracles, while her teacher refused to allow any of his disciples to receive payment for what they did.

It was after one of these very same arguments that Yehûdâh made her most grievous mistake. In a fit of passion and temptation, she chose to sell out the very man who saved her life, in exchange for a handsome sum of money. That evening, whilst Jesus lay in the Garden of Gethsemane, Yehûdâh made her move. Whilst the chief priests and their guards waited within the forest, the traitorous disciple made her way to her Rabbi, and planted a gentle kiss upon his cheek. The signal had been given. But her teacher’s next words would haunt her until the day she died.

“Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?”

Bond Level 3:

While still haunted over her teacher’s words to her before he was taken away, a new revelation had come to Yehûdâh later that week. Jesus was not going to merely be tortured at the hands of the Romans. He was to be put to death, executed via crucifixion.

Overcome with grief and horror at the realization of her mistake, Judas ran back to the temple where the high priests lay in wait. She desperately tried to bargain for her master’s life, offering the same thirty pieces of silver she received from them days before. But there was nothing to be done. Jesus had already been taken away to face his execution. Even if he wasn’t, the Sanhedren refused Judas's money on account that it was ‘blood money’, money that was now forever tainted with sin.

Fearing for her life’s end at the hands of her fellow disciples and utterly distraught at the knowledge that she had knowingly sentenced her beloved Rabbi to death, Judas made her decision. Buying the area known as the Potter’s Field, the traitor Apostle chose to end her own life, tying a noose around a tree and hanging herself.

And in that moment... Judas Iscariot's fate was sealed.

Bond Level 4:

A scar runs over Judas Iscariot's stomach. A jagged, red line on her torso, symbolizing not one, but two wounds.

The first was the scar from her death at the Potter's Field. It is said that upon the death of the Messiah, Judas Iscariot hung herself by a noose, only for her hanging to fail as the rope snapped beneath her weight. Her body hit the sharpened rocks below, before splitting in two along the stones. Her death was slow and painful, and she died that day alone and afraid.

The second comes from her eternal torment within the deepest pits of Hell itself. Bound to the icy pits of Cocytus for all eternity, her fate is to be eaten alive by the Devil, constantly bitten and crushed beneath the fallen angel's teeth until the time comes when even Hell will be no more. An eternal reminder of her sins and her treachery.

For many who see this scar, it is a symbol of suffering and pain. A horror to shy away from and flee. To Judas, it is merely a reminder. A reminder of the life of sin and the mistakes she has made throughout her life. Some claim that she can be seen tracing her finger along the scars. Musing. Wondering. Mourning.

Bond Level 5:

In many Christian works such as Dante’s Divine Comedy, Judas Iscariot's final fate is to be damned to Hell for all eternity, her body being ripped apart by Satan alongside Brutus and Cassius as penance for her betrayal. But perhaps this isn’t the case. What if the true torture comes not from without, but from within? After her betrayal, the Traitor Saint sees herself as unworthy, putting herself through agony and pain without complaint in a feeble attempt at reconciliation.

But despite how much she thinks herself irredeemable, Judas was and still is a chosen Apostle of Jesus. Like the rest of her brothers and sisters, she wandered the lands, choosing to help the needy, curing ailments and preaching the word of God. She genuinely loved the Rabbi, following him to the ends of the earth and hanging onto his every word. Signs of that same Judas still live on as a Servant, dutifully helping her Master in any way she feasibly can, no matter how much doubt she has within herself.

Perhaps even for the most wicked of sinners, a spark of goodness can be found deep within. All it takes is the right person to reveal it.

Extra (Clear Interlude “Reunion of Apostles”):

“Yehûdâh…?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Come now. I thought I told you to refer to me by my real name.”

“Right… Apologies, Rabbi Yeshua.”

“I have something to tell you. It concerns the both of us. Together.”

“M-my Lo-I mean… Yeshua?”

“Our lives are connected, Yehûdâh. Our fates are destined to be forever intertwined with one another, in life and in death. My Father has told me this in his messages to me, and I felt you needed to know this.”

“What are you saying?”

“Yehûdâh… Yehûdâh, I want you to promise me one thing above all else.”

“Anything for you, Yeshua.”

“Promise me… promise me that when the time comes, you won’t lose sight of who you are. Promise me that your faith, in me, in the world, and above all yourself, will remain true.”

“I promise.”

Spiritron Dress:

Avenger of Jerusalem: Judas Iscariot is clad in a leather jacket that goes down to the small of her back and a pair of jean shorts. The noose around her neck has vanished, revealing a set of scars around her neck where the noose once was.

Theme:

Judas Priest - Hell Bent for Leather (Official Audio)

Description:

A punkish outfit from a Grail War only a few know of. A gift bought my Avenger’s previous contractor, as a means of helping her blend in more within society. While more often than not, Judas Iscariot is a bitter, angry woman, she finds herself far more amenable in this state, even if only a little. She lets her barriers down, allowing herself to smile more often and relax her rage. Perhaps it is because even now, the voice of her Master pushes her onwards, encouraging her.

“Avenger… Selfishness is not a sin. To have your own desires. To want to take things for yourself. To want to achieve your own happiness! That is not evil! That is simply what makes us human!”

Voice Lines:

Unlock Spiritron Dress 'Avenger of Jerusalem': …hah. Well what do you know...? To think I'd wear this outfit again. A dear friend of mine took me shopping once, he told me it'd help me 'blend in'. I didn't really care to argue with him, so I just threw on what I felt suited me. It's... nice, getting to be able to dress like this again.. That being said, I can't help but wonder how he's doing now, without me? Did he ever find that peace of mind he so wanted? ...huh? 'I'm smiling for once'? ...I suppose I am, aren't I?

Level Up 1: I suppose I should thank you for this.

Level Up 2: How very… rock ‘n roll.

Fight Start 1: Alright then… Let’s rock.

Fight Start 2: Sorry that I have to get in your way.

Fight Start 3: The time for judgement’s here.

Skill 1: I would start praying. A lot.

Skill 2: You’ll get no mercy from me.

Skill 3: Hmph. Guess we’re doing this now.

Command Card Select 1: If you think this is best.

Command Card Select 2: No choice, huh?

Command Card Select 3: *cracks knuckles* As Martha always said…

Noble Phantasm Select 1: This place is no longer a House of God. Now… it’s merely a tomb.

Noble Phantasm Select 2: I am no redeemer of souls… I am merely the angel of retribution.

Attack 1: Hah!

Attack 2: Sei!

Attack 3: C’MERE!

Attack 4: GET OVER HERE!

Attack 5: Stop. Running.

Attack 6: Hragh!

Attack 7: You’ll get no pity from me!

Extra Attack 1: Guilty.

Extra Attack 2: You’re mine!

Damage from Noble Phantasm: Damnit…!

Regular Damage: Hands off the jacket.

Defeated 1: Not… the jacket…!

Defeated 2: Ngh… Sorry…

Defeated 3: I can still…!

Victory 1: Well then. Are we done here?

Victory 2: I want to let you know I took no pleasure in this. …well maybe a little.

Victory 3: Understand now? This is why I didn’t want to fight.

Dialogue 1: Hmm~ Hmm~ Hmm~

Dialogue 2: Impressed? My Master has quite the taste in clothing, if I must say. Perhaps you might like trying this for a change.

Dialogue 3: Apparently a band has chosen to take upon my name. ‘Judas Priest’ as it were… Call it vanity, but… I quite like the idea of having a band named after myself.

Dialogue 4: You remind me of him, you know that? Not in appearance, nor mannerisms, but how you choose to live your life. You make your own path, independent of what others say you can or should do, but what you believe is right. That’s a good way to live, Chaldean. Never forget that.

Dialogue 5 (If you have Martha): *sigh* I still don’t understand you, or how you can still show kindness to me after all I’ve done… but thank you. It’s… it’s nice, knowing that I can still be loved after all this time.

Dialogue 6 (If you have Martha(Summer)): I have to admit… that look suits you Martha. Those gauntlets that can crush a man’s skull in a single blow. That jacket that screams ‘omen of death’. That piercing gaze. Yes it suits you quite well-ow! Hah! Hey, quit it! Can’t you take a joke?!

Dialogue 7 (If you have Yù Tù): I recommend keeping an eye on that one… The Lunar Rabbit is cruel, duplicitous, and will do anything to get her way. She trapped an entire city in an endless loop for her own amusement. I shudder to think what she can do now that she seems to have become stronger.

Dialogue 8 (If you have Furbaide Ferbend): Oh it’s you. I suppose you’re wanting a rematch for the last time we met, aren’t you? I hope you have more than cheese to throw at me this time.

Dialogue 9 (If you have Baron Samedi): If it isn’t the good Baron himself. Hm? A drink? …I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. Why are you smiling at me? I don’t plan on making this a habit.

Dialogue 10 (If you have The Golem of Prague): Adama Lowi… Or do you prefer Yoselle? Either way, don’t think your usual schemes can get past me. I know what you did to your own grandchildren, and I won’t let you do the same to the Chaldean.

Dialogue 11 (If you have the Harpy Sisters): Celaeno… It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m glad to see you’ve reunited with your sisters. Would you care to introduce me to them?

Dialogue 12 (If you have any other Fate/Undead Crusader Servants): …why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?

Dialogue 13 (If you have Mordred(Memories of Trifas) or Caeneus(Summer)): …*silent nod of affirmation towards a fellow punk*

Likes: …back in a Holy Grail War, my Master and I bonded over music. He said ‘if you’re going to dress like a metalhead, might as well listen to some of their music’. I admit, I’ve grown fond of rock music since then. It reminds me of him.

Dislikes: …chickens. Poultry of any kind unnerves me, but above all else, keep chickens away from me. Is that understood?

About the Holy Grail: The Holy Grail… Pfft… Ahahahahaha! Ahhh… I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t make fun of your efforts, but the thought of a ‘Holy Grail’ is just… ridiculous. If the Holy Grail truly was a cup that the Master drank from… Well it certainly wouldn’t be a Grail. And they certainly wouldn’t be rare.

During an Event: Hehe. You want to bring me to a party? I believe that there’s entire scriptures dedicated to how bad an idea that would be. That said, if you insist… what else can I do?

Birthday: Happy Birthday, Master. I can’t thank you enough for letting me in. Someone like me… I don’t deserve everything you’ve done for me. … But hey. It’s your birthday. Let’s not focus on the sad stuff for once. I got something to perform for you. Lemme just get that guitar I borrowed…

[hydrae]

Oldish art of my tempest cleric, Etienne, that I don’t know if I ever posted here!

Selkie, theology professor, former (unwilling) saint to a doomsday cult, and now there’s a newly born god in the ocean that periodically hijacks his body to show him shiny stuff

[twola]

Seven Deadly Sins - IX

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Perdition: a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unpenitent person passes after death.

➵ AO3 Link

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“I’m really sorry for you son, it's a hell of a thing.”

Arthur’s world slowed. It shrunk down to the room in this doctor’s office in Saint Denis, closing in on him, choking, like something pressing down on his chest. Making it even harder to breathe than it already is. 

“Wha- what d’ya mean?” He hoarsely asked the doctor, who frowned before turning toward the sink opposite where he sat.

Tuberculosis. Consumption.

“You’re real sick, it's - it's a progressive disease. You’ll be… well, the best thing is rest. And getting somewhere warm and dry and taking it easy now. Is that possible?”

“Sure, I can just take my winters in my country club in California. No, it's not possible.” Arthur retorts icily.

“Well.. like I said, I’m real sorry.”

The doctor moves toward the table, grabbing a syringe. “Let me give you some more energy today, at least.”

Arthur barely registers the pinch of the needle in his arm, but he does feel the rush of energy through his blood, a warming that goes to his head and jolts his weary bones.

The doctor goes back to the table, fiddling with the syringe he just emptied.

“Doc - does it, how - c’n I give it to someone by…?”

He turns around, slowly. The doctor’s eyes flit down to Arthur’s hands - his left ring finger that was conspicuously empty.

“Are you talking about a woman? One you’re intimate with?”

Arthur nods, an even larger pit growing in his stomach.

The doctor’s frown deepens.

-

Arthur Morgan has always been an unrepentant man. He stole, he robbed, he shot and he killed his way through life. He was sure he would get his someday - at the end of a revolver perhaps, or the hangman’s noose. 

He supposed he deserved it, that the higher power he’s never truly believed in would smite him down one day for his deeds - and he had accepted that. Bad men don’t get to have a good life. Why bother changing if all of that blood was going to damn him anyway?

The horse beneath him whinnies as he pushes his spurs into her side, urging her faster, faster, through the tepid and humid marshes of Bluewater, north, north to where the gang had taken refuge after Lakay, at some old blasted hill country camp in the damp and dark hills of Roanoke Ridge.

Arthur found himself praying - to a God he’s never prayed to before - that the punishment he was going to receive would be enough - enough to satisfy the divine being his justice. 

You don’t deserve that punishment.

You don't deserve to die. Eliza didn’t deserve to die. Isaac, that bright and bouncing boy, he certainly did not deserve to die.

The thoughts of damnation and punishment invade his psyche so much so that he does not even realize he’s reached Beaver Hollow, absentmindedly going through the motions of hitching his horse and starting to walk toward Tilly, at the edge of the camp reading a book on a blanket.

“Miss Tilly.”

Tilly looks up and smiles. He doesn’t even have to ask, “She took laundry down to the river.” She nods her head to the left, motioning down the hill toward the winding Kamassa carved out of the Roanoke Valley.

Arthur nods and quickly heads down the trail, unwilling to speak to anyone else at the moment. Thoughts of his impending demise were shoved to the back of his mind - he would face them later.

He needed to see you first.

-

You’re singing, singing, of all things. Scrubbing a shirt against a rock. One of his shirts. The domesticity of it all warms his heart for a short moment - a moment before he remembers he’s a dying outlaw on the run and you are not his wife doing laundry at your homestead. Your soft laugh, your sly smile; the way you sigh his name when he’s buried between your thighs. How could he ever be deserving of your love, of all things, with this much evil he’s done?

You’re a petty thief. A saint compared to him.

You’re simply the object of his transgressions.

He’s lusted after you, your nude frame in the moonlight in Flat Iron Lake. He saw you and lusted for you and took you, that night under the bright moonlight as you sighed his name.

He’s gluttonous with your body - the sweet tang of your slick, feasting upon you in some old boathouse, head between your thighs taking of you far more than his fill.

He’s a greedy, greedy man - collecting your moans and sighs like a rich man collects gold coin - to drown himself in the pile he’s ripped from you.

He’s envious of any man who touches you - to brush against your soft skin that should be blessed only for him.

He’s killed, he’s murdered and maimed, for you - a wrathful punishment against men who dared disrespect or hurt you.

He’s guilty of slothful want - ignoring and shirking responsibilities and jobs and getting money to lock himself in a room with you and spend the hours worshiping your body.

He’s prideful in his possession, wanting all to know that you belonged to him - that you chose him, the miserable bastard that he is, above all others.

Just when he thought he was given his deliverance, laid on his knees next to you after Guarma - the karmic forces of the universe threaten to take him away from you again.

Your song falls into humming as you move to lift the wet work shirt of his - the blue one he always manages to stain, wringing out the water from it before laying it out on a large, flat stone to dry.

God almighty, does he love you. 

Maybe he will be spared this tiny bit of retribution for his incalculable sins and be damned to never touch you again. Never feeling your kiss or your warmth or the sweet clutch of your cunt on his cock again. That certainly is punishment for both of you.

Christ, he just wants to lay you down in the mossy grass and take you apart, loving each and every inch of you until he physically can’t. 

But he won’t.  If by some divine providence, he hasn’t cursed you, he swears he will never touch you again. He’ll put you atop his horse and take you to Annesburg and put you on a train with every penny he has socked away. To go on living, away from the gang that seems to be splintering by the day, away from him, slowly dying under the weight of his failing lungs-

“Oh, Arthur, there you are.” You turn and catch sight of him, a smile gracing your face as you slide across the rock to sit on the edge closer to him.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” you sigh, but cannot keep the smile from your face as he steps closer, a cold sweat breaking out over the back of his neck.

“Sweetheart, I-“

Arthur is cut off when you cover your mouth to cough, a wet, eerily familiar sound that sends his heart sinking to his feet.

“Sorry - think I’ve got a cold. Haven’t been feelin’ well since we got here, these damn hills….”

He’s been so busy since coming back from Guarma, moving the gang up to Beaver Hollow. The Pinkertons and the Indians and Annesburg and… he’s barely been around. He hadn’t heard a cough. His mind works a million miles an hour as he’s back in the chair in the doctor’s office in Saint Denis. 

“There’s a good chance you’ve given it to her, son.”

“What were you going to tell me, cowboy?”

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and he sees the faintest red staining your teeth.

This is his comeuppance. This is everything he’s ever deserved. Every terrible decision in his life, every person he’s ever hurt - it has all come to this. Damnation and hellfire and all of the pain he’s ever dealt out to others - it comes back in a crushing feeling in his chest far worse than the sickness slowly killing him.

He should have known. He should have known.

People around him get hurt. 

They die, because of him.

Because he’s a bad person.

“Arthur? What is it-”

He moves to you in quick steps and falls to his knees, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips before moving against his cheek.

“I’ve damned us both.”

Your eyebrows quirk up in alarm, “What are you talk-”

“I- I’m dyin’. I got TB.”

“What? How - ?” You mumble incredulously, eyes like saucer plates.

“One o’ Strauss’s debts - beat him, he was already dyin’ and I beat him goddamn bloody….”

Your eyes start to lose their focus as you look down at your hand, small, pinkish splotches of blood faintly stain your fingers. You look back to him as color drains from your face.

A dawning of realization sweeps through your eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I - I…” he stumbles as his heart breaks. 

Words fail him.

He’s sorry, he’s sorry he’s sentenced you to death, a terrible fate of drowning within your own body. That you’ve been caught up in the punishment he was fated to receive in the life he’s lived. 

His bloodshot eyes water over as he can’t look at you anymore. He presses your hand to his lips again.

You pull it away violently. You may as well have shot him, the searing, visceral pain he feels piercing his heart - he would rather be shot than feel this.

“I…I need… I need to...” You whisper, standing up from your seat on the rock. You stumble a step away before catching yourself, eyes distant.

You may as well have stabbed him in the chest and ripped out his beating heart. He reaches out to you on his knees and you bat his hands away.

“I need to be alone right now,” Your voice has gone low and you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Sweetheart-“

“ Leave me alone.” You snarl back at him.

You turn away from him, quickly walking further down the riverbank, stumbling across the smooth river stones. He jumps to his feet, quickly following you, catching up to you after several steps.

“Darlin' - let me- let me take you to the…”

You stop in your tracks, not turning around. Arthur tries to grab your hand, and you nearly hiss at him, drawing away. You finally turn your head partway toward him, and a burning, smoldering, naked hatred reflects back at him.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Your frame shudders as you try to hold in a cough.

Arthur stops - painfully close to you. Close enough to reach out and draw your small frame to his, but his arms don’t work. 

Your eyes narrow before you turn and walk away, your body language obvious that you do not want him to follow.

He’s watched before as someone he’s loved walked away from him. The stabbing, crushing feeling as real as any bullet or knife, or blow. The slow bleed of being left alone. The exsanguination of his beating heart - where love is given, but not received in return. 

-

Arthur lies in his cot. It feels so empty. It truly is only made for one person, especially one of his size, but he’s gotten so used to you being in it that he can’t bear to sleep without your warmth next to him.

Roanoke is cold. Damp. He’s stripped to his dark blue union suit, underneath a heavy blanket on his cot, staring at the flicker of the oil lantern as darkness settles in.

Arthur stumbled back into camp as the dusk was falling in, he somehow managed to avoid needing to interact with people and was able to pull the canvas shut on his tent as the hours wore on.

He’s listening for you, your soft voice or shy footsteps. Staring at the pocketwatch he left on the bedside table again, vowing to wait just a bit longer before storming out of his tent and going straight for his horse to scour the countryside for you. The nagging feeling in his chest was compounded by the damn Murfrees around.

Fortunately, for his sanity, he is not forced to make that decision.

The tent’s flaps are drawn back and a form slides between them. The burning lantern throws light on you, as you step closer, wringing your hands and staring at the ground. Your bare feet peek out from under your skirts.

“Sweetheart?”

You quietly pad toward the cot, and sit yourself down on the edge, swallowing and finally meeting his gaze as he sits up, shedding the blanket and placing his legs over the edge of the cot. Your eyes are red and bloodshot, and he knows that he’s the cause of it.

“If we’re dyin’, then I don’t want to spend any more time bein’ cross with you. I want to be with you as much as I can.” You say softly, almost a whisper.

“I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t. We’re here now. Ain’t nothing gonna change that.”

You settle in to sit next to him, and he puts his arm around you as he kisses your shoulder. For a moment you stare at the pitch of the tent before turning your head toward him.

His hand gently cups your cheek as he leans to kiss your forehead. “You’re… you’re the best thin’ that’s happened to me.”

You’re silent, and each moment that goes by drives the stake deeper into his heart as your eyes search his face.

“Darl-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. By throwing your arms around him and pushing your body against him. By crawling into his lap and weaving your fingers through his hair.  He pants gently, eyes wide as you pull back only inches. He thought he’d never taste your lips again. 

“Make love to me, Arthur.”  

“Are y’sure?”

Your eyes flit downward to his lips before coming back up to his eyes. Your hand moves to cup his cheek as you lean into him again, pressing your forehead against his. You nod, slowly, to answer his question. 

You press your lips to his and he drinks of you as if he were a parched man. His arms wind around you, pulling you against him, plastered against each other.

“Oh, darlin’…” He sighs between kisses, having maneuvered you to straddle his lap, his hands settle on your hips as you begin to slowly roll your hips against his.

Your knees settle on either side of his hips as he sits on the cot, and through the layers of cotton of your skirts and his union suit, he swells. A groan escapes his throat as his blood settles hotly in his lap.

With one slow undulation, you cant your hips so that his burgeoning cock settles against your folds, parting them through fabric. Arthur’s eyes flutter open as you sit up straight in his lap, and your fingers slowly move to the collar of his dark blue union suit, undoing the first two buttons with practiced ease, as if you had been undressing him all of your life instead of only a couple of months.

More and more of his chest becomes visible to you as you work your way down, the bones of his ribcage much more prominent under the layer of muscle than they ever had been before.

He wheezes. Your fingers stop haltingly, the third button of his union suit halfway undone, falling back against his sternum. His bloodshot eyes catch yours once he has recovered his breath, pained, vulnerable. 

“We don’t have to do this.” He mumbles, gaze locked on yours, the blue-green of his irises betraying that while the low tones of his voice say one thing, his tortured soul pleads for another.

“I’m not leaving.” You whisper back at him, your fingers slowly moving back to the buttons of his suit. Your gaze flutters down to his chest again as you continue your work of disrobing him.

You’re completely caught by surprise when he lifts you from his lap and easily maneuvers your body to lay on the cot before he climbs atop you, pressing his hips into yours again before chasing your lips as he settles his elbows on either side of your head.

Even ill, even dying, Arthur has more than enough strength to move you however he pleases.

His lips trail from yours down your neck, nuzzling his beard against your skin, leaving warm, wet splotches as he works his way down. He pulls back, balancing on his knees, shrugging out of the arms of his union suit, letting the fabric hang at his waist. You pull your shirt from your skirts and up and over your head, letting it fall to the wayside over the side of the cot.

He leans down and catches your lips briefly before sitting back up again, unbuttoning his union suit completely and pushing it down to his knees. His swollen cock bobs before he places his hand upon it and strokes a few times.

You shimmy your bloomers down from underneath your skirts, kicking them away as you draw your skirts to lay limply around your waist, baring your lower half to him as he hovers above you. 

Arthur’s hand moves slowly from his cock toward you. He slides the sleeves of your chemise down, and the cotton falls from your skin as his fingers tug at it. He traces the pad of his thumb over your nipple, and you shiver as the skin pebbles as he passes it over. Arthur’s large hand then moves to cup your breast, squeezing lightly. His other hand weaves into your hair as he kisses you breathlessly. 

The hot line of him settles against your soft belly as he settles between your hips, your legs falling open for him as the cotton layers of your skirts fall away.

Arthur wants to spend every waking second he has left in his miserable life in the gentle warmth of your embrace, skin to skin, about to bury his cock in your hips.

And when both he and you are bare and tangled in each other in his dark tent, with nothing but the heavy beating of your hearts and panting of your breath in the tent, Arthur gently, slowly slides his cock into your folds. A soft groan escapes his mouth as your hips touch, and you wrap your legs over his hips, crossing your ankles over his back as you whine back, the stretch of when he enters you sweet and overwhelming.

He takes his time, waiting for you to grow used to his intrusion into your body. When he does start to move his hips, it’s slow, gentle, as if he were savoring each and every second of being locked inside you. He slides down your chest, leaving small love bites upon your skin as you squirm underneath him with each thrust of his hips downwards to press you into the cot.

Your fingers spread out over his back, his hands weaving through your unbound hair, and your hips moving together in the dance of lovemaking without rush or the ferocity of your normal coupling. His hips roll and you accept: the sound of wet skin on wet skin periodically interspersed between soft moans, cut off gasps, and the creaking of the cot as your bodies move together.

You come and it’s completely by surprise, a choked-off whine as you clutch at Arthur’s shoulders, trying to smother your noise into his neck. He grunts and continues his pace through your orgasm, whispering soft affirmations into your ear as he fucks you, until the clutch around his flesh is too much to stand.

“I’m gonna… god-” he rasps into your ear, you can feel the muscles in his stomach clench against yours as he careens toward orgasm, “Where d’ya -”

“Inside - always inside, until -” you whisper, and he presses his mouth over yours to stop you from continuing further, from speaking into the world the terrible, unfailing truth.

He hitches his hips into yours, and a stifled moan rumbles from his chest against your mouth, as you can feel his cock twitch within your cunt. Arthur pours himself into you, coating your inner walls with his warm spend. How many more times would he be able to do this before he or you couldn’t?

He gasps, far more winded than he should be.

Arthur pulls out and you feel the slow drip of his cooling spend from your body, knowing it doesn't matter anymore. He quietly settles himself next to you, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

The tears in your eyes spill over, and he knows, it’s not from joy or physical satisfaction. He pulls you into his chest and his throat gets tight as you sob into his skin. Your hands are gathered tightly between the two of you, and he’s afraid you’re going to feel the rattling of his failing lungs under your fingertips.

He’s afraid that he’s going to feel the rattle from your lungs as you’re wrapped in his arms.

You weep into the curve of his neck. You weep for the impending death of dreams, of futures, and for your collective demise.

He cannot stop the tears from spilling from his own eyes. They track down his cheeks, hollowed and gaunt, as he stares at the pitch of the tent where the two of you are slowly dying in each other’s arms.

He weeps for you, that you are a casualty of the damnation he was always destined for. 

[the-neo-corner]

Collector and MC as songs

[multifandomwaifu]

Dreams do not last forever [Scaramouche x GN! Reader]

Pairing: Scaramouche (The Balladeer x GN Reader)

Fandom: Genshin Impact (Video Game)

Notes: Angst, Fluff, Marriage Life, Character Death, Mentions of Death, Father Scara? Also kinda smutty? , OOC and kinda spoil-ish for the 3.2 quest line

Word Count: 1,475

I love him, I love him, I love him, I love hi--I waited 2 years for this and his banner comes 2 days before my bday, he's guaranteed and I am going to pull for him on my bday so it's kinda our wedding day <3 XD

.

.

The uncontrollable rage swelled in his heart, his creator, his dearest mother. Sealed and casted away by her, he could only spend his time, wandering alone around the desolate land of Seirai Island-- like an abandoned, lonely and little marionette that wasn't needed anymore by it's creator. A failed creation.

Though, there was a god up there, taking pity on the misfortune that followed him like the plague. A saint was sent to his aid, bestowed upon him at such desperate times. He saw you as pure perfection, the only precious being that could still bring some type of joy in his world. How did you know he was here? Why were you here? Oh,how did that wonderful mind of yours understood the pain in his "heart" ?

Goodness, the obsession he possessed towards this being. The way he would listen to your stories, never minding in the slightest of how long you would speak for -- so long as he can hear you, see you, touch you. 

You would hum lullabies with that sweet voice of yours while his head rested on your lap, threading your delicate and gentle fingers through his silky purple locks of hair. The lovesick smile that he wears whenever you nuzzle your nose with his for and eskimo kiss. The tips of his ears would turn red, shifting his gaze from yours in a shy manner. 

His "heart" would always be filled with pure glee at the fact that you would be unwilling to leave him-- unsupervised, in fear of.. what was it? Were you afraid that someone might whisk him away and become friends with him? Hah! No way. He only had you close to his "heart".

If only he knew, that the truth wasn't that simple.

Many decades passed in such a flash, and the both of you were finally roaming free out of that barren land of an island. Now settling in the peaceful village of Tatarasuna. It was refreshing, being out of that isolated place. Whenever you indulged in a few games with the kids of Tatarasuna, treating everyone with such kindness with that pure soul of yours, he felt a warm, fuzzy burn in his chest. 

What was this feeling? 

Flushes of red rose to paint his cheeks as the both of your hands were intertwined, along with a toddler whom he had never met, wondering where in the gods did this child come from? Kunikuzushi couldn't help but stare at you in awe. He wanted you for himself. He wants to hold you close to him, to cherish you forever, and perhaps start a more... sophisticated life with you. 

After returning the toddler to their worried parents, Kunikuzushi couldn't help but pull you aside, gently resting the veil that was previously on his head, to yours. You gaped at him, rendering speechless from how lovingly he looked into your glowing eyes. He was delighted to see you under his veil. It reminded him of those humans in books wearing veils right before a "marriage", making vows that they would forever keep. 

Perhaps, he could just marry you right here, right now. He would dedicate his whole life to you if it meant that he could spend the rest of eternity with you. His thoughts of admiration were interrupted, hearing you giggle lightheartedly as you pressed your fingers against his chest, where his "heart" was supposed to be. You could feel the beating of a heart beneath your fingertips. You looked up and smiled.

"You do have a heart, darling. You just never listened to it as close as me."

Kunikuzushi was rendered speechless from that statement. He had always believed that he never had one, until you showed him something else, something better. You were what he needed most. Not a heart, not power, nothing else-- just you and you alone. 

After meeting, he realised that all he ever needed was you, and look what you've given him: everything. He was frozen in place, staring at you in admiration and awe. The next few words slipped his mouth-- such words that he was not able to give a second thought before he spoke.

"Marry me." 

Ah?! 

There it was, two simple words but they shook all your world. Two words that held so much meaning behind them.

You finally snapped. The calm composure you had built for yourself collapsed and rumbled down the drain the moment he spoke those words. Your face turned beet red, almost melting away when one of his hands cup your cheek, the other tucking the loose strands behind your ears to have a better look at your face. He leans in, lifting the veil just above your lips, but he hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if your features changed or gave him the impression you didnt want this, when none happened and you eagerly leaned into his touch letting his lips meet yours. You pulled him in, unable to wait any longer, and pressed your lips against his very own. "I love you too, Kunikuzushi." 

He felt like the happiest man alive. His heart was filled with glee, deeply infatuated with you. He dips down for another kiss, another one, and another. He couldn’t stop. 

Years passed and you vividly remembered the kind, innocent little lamb that Kunikuzushi used to be. Now, he's such a menace to society. Though, his demeanor towards you barely changed, except for the more teasing and bold remarks that would now slip from his lips. 

Scaramouche smiled in content, feeling your arms wrap around his neck as he peppers kisses down your neck softly. The sky now fading dark, the moon shone through the glass, barely enough light to illuminate the room. Frost tinted the windows of the balladeer’s office, as the dimming candles on the ceilings were utterly useless. 

He was addicted to you. 

The need to touch you, hold you, kiss you all day long, was something Scara couldn’t live without. Unfortunately, his role as harbinger restricted him from doing as he pleased. But is he ever gonna listen? No. He would kiss you in front of the fatui recruits if he had to, he would drag you to all the missions that he would attend to, regardless of how people would perceive of him. He wouldn't pay any mind to any fatui recruits if they walked in to him kissing you while you were sprawled on his table beneath him, he would shoot them a glare, one that was enough to shut them up. 

He needed to be with you forever. 

"I love you so so much." Scaramouche coos softly, so in love with you and your presence alone-- and you weren't any better. “You’re so beautiful, my angel, my savior... my spouse.” Your husband dives down to kiss you again and again, never growing tired of your lips. 

His ring gleamed in the dark room as he combs the hanging strands that were resting messily upon your face, behind your ear. His ring was engraved with your name, and so was your ring engraved with his. 

Oh, how he wanted to kiss you silly, leave your lips sore from all the kissing. He feels so drunk, drunk on your love. He continues his assault of kisses on your neck, leaving a few marks to his satisfaction. Oh, the way the love of his life would let out a string of giggles— such melody charmed his ears. Keep this up, and your husband might as well give in to his desires of giving you a child, in any shape or form he could. 

Oh, how this felt like an endless, happy dream. Such a beautiful dream that-- he forgot the very thing that he had taught himself: Dreams do not last forever.

His gaze moved down to his dominant hand, the ring there gleaming under the purple zips of lightning wrapping around his digits, soon curling them into a fist while his gaze moved to glare up at the darkned sky, a storm forming.

His hate for humanity would never falter and his thirst for revenge would never quench. He had lost the very last drop of sanity to keep him afloat in this mad world, finding it upon his shoulders to fix the mistakes of the gods that he was supposed to serve under. 

[misty-caligula]

Y’know it’s funny... Lottie’s correct about 50% of the time, which is pretty good but not exactly reliable. The rationalists have a similar success rate.

But is it possible that Laura Lee specifically is wrong 100% of the time on every single thing?

She believes wholeheartedly that she crashed the plane with her thoughts which is... probably wrong. She tells Lottie her hallucinations are God’s visions, with nothing to back that up at all. She just... thinks it. She tells Lottie that she thinks that past prophets “knew because they believed.” And she doesn’t seem to understand psychosis, so... she doesn’t get that Lottie can’t tell what’s real or not. She believes... everything. She just doesn’t know if she can trust what she believes. Or believe what she knows? She’s mixed up.

So Laura baptizes her, believing that God will guide her if she does. And Lottie has a vision of Laura exploding, and Laura misinterprets it as her seeing the holy ghost, because she’s not interested in LISTENING to Lottie, she’s just so excited to be guiding a saint. Her own confirmation bias is really guiding Lottie as well, it’s the blind leading the blind.

Then she believes that flying a plane is “easy.” and that you can literally just book learn your way through it.

(notably her grandpa didn’t learn to do it from a book - he couldn’t read.)

Then she believes that God will protect her and that she can fly a glorified scrap pile to their salvation and... well she’s VERY wrong about that.

This is WHY Laura Lee died, because she was so blinded by her own empty faith that she was willing to believe absolutely anything without question without any amount of proof or even suggestion. Her pure lack of skepticism meant that she couldn’t see the dangers right infront of her face, and she just walked off the cliff peacefully, absolutely confident that if she didn’t believe in gravity it couldn’t hurt her.

I think that’s why Lottie succeeds where she failed. Because Lott’s afraid, constantly, of everything. It makes her question what she sees, it makes her an unwilling and hesitant leader, and it’s only the faithful around her that really push her towards becoming more comfortable in trusting her intuition and letting go of that uncertainty. By the time she’s completely confident in her perception she’s going to have a powerful core of disciples around her who will manifest her reality and confirm everything she says, and the process to becoming a full on priestess/prophet/saint will be complete.

[nyantodamax145]

I JUST FINISHED THE STULTIFERA NAVIS STORY AND I HAVE THOUGHTS.

Let me preface this by saying that I am also part of the demographic of “EN Sucks at Reading”. Well, I can *read*, but I kind of suck at interpreting characters sometimes so bear with me and share your thoughts because I’m very bad at literary analysis and can only understand surface level themes without anyone to guide me but I’m trying my best

I

LOVED IT

And not JUST because my husband played a pivotal role in the event okay

Spoilers under the cut!

I haven’t played through Under Tides yet so I’m missing a teeny bit of context, but oh my god

Laurentina “waking up” and recovering her memories? Alphonso and Garcia doomed to sixty years alone aboard the Stultifera Navis and sailing her towards her slow decay? High Inquisitor Dario’s sacrifice and the light of his lantern refusing the burn out, JORDI being WAY MORE TALENTED THAN HE GIVES HIMSELF CREDIT FOR, STRAIGHT UP REPAIRING A LIGHTHOUSE AND A BOAT BASED ON OLD BLUEPRINTS AND FINDING THE STULTIFERA NAVIS AND SAVING ALL THREE HUNTERS AND IRENE AAAAA

Wait ok let me try to gather my thoughts cause there’s specific things I want to talk about.

Thiago being unwilling to let the Inquisition into his town because he still held a grudge against them ultimately led to his death. He wanted to puppet the Church of the Deep who had infiltrated Gran Faro into pushing the Inquisition out of the town, but was selfish; he wanted to have his cake and eat it too; he wanted to preserve Gran Faro and its legacy, but in the process he let the Seaborn fester and take over the whole place silently, while the Inquisition couldn’t do anything to help because he was simply a stubborn old man. It’s doubly ironic because as Carmen reveals, his Aegir wife was also a part of the Church of the Deep. I would like the theorize that his wife was the one who perpetrated the spread of the Nethersea Brand in Gran Faro, but that’s just headcanon.

Laurentina and Amaia. They’re connected to each other through the Seaborn Cells in their body, and the experiments Specter was put through, and in many ways you could consider Amaia “Specter’s” creator in a sense. Laurentina and Specter really are two different people, and we can see the moment Specter disappears and Laurentina wakes up. But even after Amaia “becomes one” with the Seaborn, Laurentina still calls the abomination by the name of “Amaia”, and I wonder if it’s due to a lingering sense of connection, if only in the sense that they are mortal enemies. It’s kind of like Laurentina knows that Amaia is still in there. Which, well she is, she became part of We Many.

I seem to have missed a critical piece of information regarding Skadi that was covered in Under Tides, so I’ll be skipping over that. Once the Under Tides record restoration comes around I know what I’ll be up to.

JORDI! MY GOD YOU DID SO WELL! Can you imagine piecing together incredibly complex technology only through luck, instinct, and some tattered, centuries old blueprints?! He says he’s an ordinary person but what kind of ordinary person can do all that?! He’s at the very least got incredible skill to interpret old blueprints, and make something as old as that lighthouse to work! Like AAAAAAA I’M PROUD OF YOU ALSO YOU NEED MANY BLANKETS AND SNUGGLES YOU HAVE SO MUCH TRAUMA.

Irene reporting to Dario’s lantern at the very end made me cry ok. She wanted her Maestro to know that she gave it her all, and although the conclusion wasn’t satisfactory she still accomplished a lot. It hurts to know that she had to find out through the very things she was fighting, the things she saw as abominations of sin. It’s like the refused to believe it until she saw Saint Carmen’s face and accepted it.

And the fact that the Stultifera was circling above an Aegir City the whole time… so close, yet so far. The Abyssal Hunters both succeeded and failed, and while they found “home”, they couldn’t return.

There’s… a lot. And I’m no good at literary analysis. I just point out things that I like…

It’s 11 pm, I’m tired, and I’m trying to process everything I just read.

[gabessquishytum]

Do you know what i think the we the dreamling fandom are greatly missing out on? There's a lack of the. sacrifice trope i think.

So - Imagine Hob being you know, offered as a sacrifice to whatever god his village thinks they have angered - and he doesn't really expect to live or anything, he's just a peasant who was at the wrong place at the wrong time and they snatched him up - and the god, Dream obv, just. gets completely obsessed with him. Full on head over heels love at first sight omnipotent being falls for just some guy. They have an excellent time,hob is enjoying being fucked seven ways to Sunday and Dream is enjoying the undivided joy Hob brings to any new thing he encounters in Dream's realm. And if he completely forgets to mention the demands of the village to his god-now-husband? Well, that's on them for just plucking an unwilling peasant from the street. Hob is a saint in Dream's eyes, not in someone else's.

:))))

MMMM yes. There is an excellent sacrifice!Hob series on ao3 which very much recommend seeking out. And I agree that we need MORE of this trope!

I do really love the concept of Dream taking one look at lil dumbass human Hob and immediately falling in love. Especially when Hob is falling expecting to be disembowled and eaten by the eldritch horror in the woods.

Instead, he's seduced and fucked within an inch of his life. Dream is so accommodating, such a gentleman (despite being 8 ft tall with black holes for eyes). He lays Hob on a bed of moss and works him over until Hob declares that he'll never, ever leave, he'll stay forever as long as Dream keeps fucking him so deep and so well. He's no poet, but he tells Dream exactly how beautiful he is - compares him to the stars and the sparks in the blacksmith's forge. Dream marries him in the eyes of the universe literally right there, on the spot. He probably should have asked first, but Hob doesn't mind too much.

Next time the village send some poor soul into the woods, Hob is already waiting. Decked out in furr and silk, wreathed in flowers, he unties the intended sacrifice and politely sends them right back to where they came from. Dream accuses Hob of being jealous of anyone else taking his husband's attention away, and they laugh about it together as he carries Hob off to the bower where they first made love.

Dream already has exactly what he needs.

[cliozaur]

The one in which Hugo tries to explain why some insurrections fail.

Meanwhile, our barricade goes through the death agony. Some of Hugo’s descriptions are painfully beautiful, like the contrast between the summer weather with an amazing “sky filled with sun and clouds” and the violent attack at the barricades. I love how he mentions that the tocsin of Saint-Merry “had the accents of a sob.” And this brings another contrast – with the dead silence of the houses, which turned into fortresses, unwilling to open the doors and let insurgents in.

After that Hugo ascends into the stratosphere and proposes his understanding of the failure of 1832 revolt. It was not the right moment; people were not ready. As a historian, I hate his grand-narrative explanation based on notions such as Progress, Providence, and an act of God. He also projects his own feelings and sympathies onto Les Amis, stating that they were not against Louis Philippe and “did justice to this king.”

And the last paragraph seems rather self-deceptive. Hugo claims that his book is “the march from evil to good, from the unjust to the just, from night to day, from appetite to conscience, from rottenness to life, from hell to heaven, from nothingness to God.” Aha, it’s especially “just” that Thénardier not only survives but is rewarded and becomes a slave-trader in America. I will not mention other spoilers, but there are moments that do not quite align with this claim.