#how to remove curses with prayer

[sukunahs]

This blindness I'm condemned to - ryomen sukuna

summary: you've spent your life as a priestess dedicated to the two-faced god known as sukuna. As war descends upon your treasured city you call upon your god for aid only to find that he's taken a particularly special interest in you.

this is greek mythology au, inspired by the story of apollo and cassandra.

word count: 11k

warning: there is some dubious consent in this one, if you’re not comfortable please don’t read.

content: 18+ mdni, smut, dubcon, fem!reader, greek myth, angst, character death, power imbalance, age gap (kinda - he’s a god and she’s mortal), spitting, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, piv, cunnilingus, blow job, depictions of war/sacking of a city, unhappy ending (sorry!)

authors note: was listening to cassandra by florence + the machine on repeat for this one.

Your whole life has been devoted to one thing, the worship of him. 

There’s no moment in your memory that exists without him, his being was intertwined with your very existence. As a child you would spend hours at the temple under the strict orders of your parents, engaging in prayer and offerings. As you grew and matured you underwent training to become a priestess, to dedicate your whole life to him, to Ryomen Sukuna. 

He was great, but terrible. An all-powerful being worthy of reverence. He could make or break nations with the flick of his wrist, cause great plagues or cure impossible ailments, bestow blessings or inflict terrible curses. Such was his nature of being a two-faced god, his mood ever-changing. 

Sukuna was a constant part of your life, and yet he always felt so distant to you. Like some far-off character from a fairy tale that your parents used to tell you. You had faith in his existence of course, the evidence was everywhere. But your modest little life was confined primarily to the four walls of the temple that you had grown up in, so far removed from those brilliant and terrible acts that Sukuna committed across the world. 

Until they weren’t. 

The sleepy city that you had lived in your whole life was drawn abruptly into centre stage, with the crown prince kidnapping a princess from a neighbouring country. 

He had claimed that it was for love, that the woman he had taken wanted to be with him, to be rid of her brute of a husband. But as with all matters of marriage, the woman’s say matters little. So, the offended party called upon his legions of allies and marched upon the city. Your beautiful city, which had only ever lived in peace, turned into a warzone - under constant siege from the enemy at the door, all over a single girl. 

For just one single girl, the eyes of all the gods were keenly watching. Waiting to see what would happen next, who would prevail. The gods all have their favourites of course, leading to them intervening with mortal squabbles in esoteric ways - not wanting to appear as though they’re actively aiding their chosen mortals to avoid open war amongst each other. 

You can’t understand the bloodshed, but you know better than to start questioning the gods and their love for war. That doesn’t stop you from despising the way that the city walls are painted red, the constant clashing of swords, the sound of soldiers taking their last breaths on the battlefield. You hate that no matter how hard you pray for safety, for yourself and your people, that your prayers go completely unanswered. 

But without your piety you have nothing. You’d be stripped of your entire being. So you lock yourself into the temple, spending day after day knelt at the altar, providing offerings for your god and hoping that for once you will be heard. 

Until one day your wishes are answered. 

Things had been perfectly mundane on that warm evening, with you being the only priestess left in the temple, humming to yourself as you went about your usual duties. 

You hadn’t noticed him at first, hadn’t bothered to turn towards the door when you heard it creak open. People were always coming and going, worshippers and priestesses alike. Especially in these troubled times, more and more of the devout would find themselves seeking out answers in the temple, in the hope that their piety would bring a swift end to this war. 

But as the minutes dragged on, it felt as though the air in the temple had grown heavy - oppressive even. Taking a moment to catch your breath, assuming that you must have overexerted yourself whilst sweeping the floors, you braced your hand against the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement, and you instinctively dragged your gaze up towards the door. 

The first thought that crossed your mind as you looked upon the hulking figure in the doorway was that he was beautiful. It was beauty in a devastating sort of way, like watching a volcano erupt - gorgeous, but only if you’re far enough away from the destruction that it will leave in its wake. 

As your eyes trailed over him slowly, taking in the four arms, four striking red eyes, tanned skin littered with tattoos and stained with blood; your second thought was that you were terrified. You found that in your heart was a deep-set sense of fear, screaming at you to look away, to run, to get as far away from him as you possibly could. 

But your body wasn’t capable of doing anything in that moment, feet rooted to the floor and your eyes glued to his form. 

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees, priestess?” His voice was deep and gravelly, the sound felt like it was reverberating through your bones. 

It was as if your body responded instinctively to his order, with you dropping to your knees at his command, head bowed respectfully. You wanted to mumble out an apology, but you found yourself unable to draw upon any sound. 

“That’s better.” He purred. 

There was silence for a moment, before the temple filled with the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing as he approached your kneeling form. He towered over you, heat rolling off his battle-hardened body in waves. You didn’t dare to chance a peek upwards, keeping your eyes firmly on the marble beneath you. 

You flinched a little as he chuckled. There was a sound of fabric shuffling as he crouched down, and all of a sudden a warm feeling of his fingers brushing against your chin, as he firmly raised you into a kneeling position. Tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Heart fluttering a little at his touch, your eyes darted around his face, taking in the striking black lines that ran down his cheeks, the twisted mask that sat on the right side of his face - responsible for his reputation as the two-faced god. Your eyes finally settle on his, which seem to be carefully studying you, a deep intensity burning behind those red irises. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He spoke, his tone almost soft as he dropped his hand from your face. “Tell me your name.” 

You tell him, your words coming out shaky and unsure. A smile spreads across his face at the sound of your voice - perhaps his response should’ve put you at ease, but there’s no warmth in his expression, an involuntary shiver running through you at the sight. 

“Ah, so you are the one I’ve heard of. Good.” 

“You’ve heard of me?” You hate how small your voice sounds. 

He gives you a hum of acknowledgement. “Plenty of the men on this side of the fight mention you, you perform your role diligently. Most of the offerings in my name are coming from this side of the wall, I suppose to some extent I have you to thank.” 

“I just do my duty.” 

“Indeed.” There’s that smile again, all teeth, never quite spreading up to his eyes. “I wonder though, if those men visit my temple so regularly because they are devout, or because they lust after the one who provides the services.” 

Your face went red with the implication. You paid little attention to the desires of men who entered the temple, it’s likely that any attempt at an advance would’ve gone unnoticed by you. You had sworn an oath of chastity when you became a priestess, the wants of men mattered little to you - your only concern was maintaining the sanctity of Sukuna’s sacred halls, anything else was inconsequential. 

“I can’t imagine that anyone would enter here other than for worship.” You responded. 

He stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter, a loud booming sound that echoed around the room. 

“Oh sweetheart, you should hear some of the things that those men out there say about you. The things that they would do to you, if they weren’t so afraid of me.” 

He paused for a second to take in the look of disgust that flickered across your face. 

“I had assumed that those men were exaggerating in their tales of your beauty, that they simply hadn’t had a woman in a long time - but if anything, I’d say they were underselling you. You are something truly divine. It's strange, all these humans squabbling over that fool of a girl, but she’s nowhere near as exquisite as you.”

Your heart was hammering desperately in your chest, wondering for a moment if you might be dreaming, to have him bestow such high praise upon you.

“Thank you…” You whispered. 

“I wish to bestow a blessing on you.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“A blessing?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. You’d heard of this sort of thing, gods providing all sorts of boons to their favored mortals. For the most part it was men, great heroes among mortals who would receive such gifts, very rarely women. You wondered what he would even expect you to with his blessing - you were no fighter, he couldn’t possibly expect you to wield one of his gifts out on the battlefield. 

“Yes, something to help you perform your role as my priestess more effectively.” 

“How would it work?” 

He seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “I can provide you with the gift of foresight. You’ll be able to see the future, like an oracle of sorts but with much greater clarity. You’d be able to see the outcome of this war.”

You thought about that for a moment. It was an excellent gift, one that would keep you and everyone else safe. It was an ability that most men would kill for. 

“What’s the catch?” You asked. 

Amusement flickered through his red eyes, his lips quirked upwards into a sly smile. “The catch?”

“Yes. You forget that I’m a priestess, I’m well versed in the actions of the gods, and I know that very rarely does a gift come without a price.” You watched his reaction carefully, scanning for any hint of deception in his face, only for him to bark out a short laugh.

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” He leaned forward, his fingers once again coming to rest on the underside of your chin, skin tingling beneath his touch. “You’re right. Nothing is granted without something being given in return. But, all I ask for now is that you stay true to the vows that you made to become my priestess. That you’ll live to those vows by the letter.” 

That was simple enough, you’d lived by those vows your whole life. A little voice in the back of your head nagged at you though, questioning whether that was truly it, turning over the wording of his statement in your head, trying to comprehend what loophole might exist for him to exploit. But who were you to question your god? You had devoted your life to him already, why would anything change now? 

“Okay.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I agree to those terms.” 

“It’s a deal then.” He responded with a smirk. “Stand up for me.” 

You did as ordered, shakily rising to your feet. You had already felt small on your knees before him, but now that you were standing you somehow felt even smaller, realising how tiny your full height was compared to his - he must’ve stood at around 8ft tall, a true monster of a being. 

“Good.” He purred. “Now open your mouth.”

Once again you followed his command, a light red blush dusting your cheeks as you parted your lips as requested. 

You felt Sukuna’s hands brush through your hair, lightly tugging your head back as he leaned down, his lips just above yours. Your heart was pounding at the proximity, your eyes wide as they gazed uncertainly into his red ones. 

He smiled down at you for a moment, before parting his own lips and spitting into your mouth. The sensation was odd and for a moment you considered spitting it out, but he was quick to bring one of his spare hands to your chin and push your mouth closed. 

“Swallow it.” He ordered. And just like an obedient little devotee should, you gulped down the glob of spit before parting your lips once more and sticking out your tongue to prove you had done as asked.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised you, one hand tenderly stroking your hair, with another gently cupping your face. “The gift will come in time. Don’t be alarmed if you get a little overwhelmed at first, you’ll improve.”

You leant into his touch as spoke, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. Even though his skin was tough and calloused, he radiated warmth. It was pleasant to be at his side, to bathe in that divine light that he seemed to give off. It was as though something safe and familiar was wrapping around you, keeping you protected. 

“I need to take my leave.” He said, a hint of disappointment seeping into his tone. “Things amongst the gods are tense right now, I cannot be away from my station for too long. But I will be back, my little priestess, to make sure that you’re still holding up your side of our deal.”

And with that, before you could say anything more, he was gone. The only evidence of his presence being the sweet aftertaste that his saliva left on your tongue.

—

For days after the encounter you wondered if you’d dreamt it all up. Life continued as normal, the war raging on outside the city walls, with you tending to your duties in the temple as you always had. Perhaps the extra pressure that had been on your shoulders since the war began had been getting to you, so desperate for a sliver of attention from your god that you had built yourself a pleasant little fantasy. 

But then the visions started. 

At first they were only present while you slept, distant and confusing dreams with meanings just out of reach. But slowly and surely they started to seep into your waking life. An embrace with your mother, brushing hands with a fellow priestess, your shoulder bumping against a stranger’s - each interaction led to vivid imagery filling your mind. You could see their lives, the near and the distant. You could see all the branching possibilities of choices that they could take, and the impact that those options seemed to have on their outcomes. The visions always ultimately ended the same way though, with the person’s demise - one way or another. 

Sukuna’s suggestion that his blessing would be overwhelming was something of an understatement. In reality, his gift constituted complete agony. So many images that it was impossible to really make sense of any of them, far too much input making your brain feel like it was overloading at any given moment. It was hard to even understand which vision belonged to who, whether what you were seeing was a memory of your own life or a future of another’s. 

A small mercy was in your inability to see your own future. You were able to see yourself in a handful of the visions that appeared for your mother, as if watching through her eyes - but the full extent of your own future remained a mystery. That was probably best for the sake of your sanity. 

Sukuna had said that you’d improve at using his gift, so perhaps all you needed was time, a greater amount of experience with those jarring images before they’d finally start to make sense. But that didn’t stop you from wishing that he’d given you just a little more guidance, a handful of tips to lessen the gift’s burden on you would’ve gone a long way. 

Several weeks passed by before Sukuna finally returned to your temple. 

It was late at night when he finally manifested in the doorway, and once again you were the only priestess present. You’d taken to sleeping in the temple since the visions had started. Sleeping at your home would conjure an endless stream of images surrounding your family’s fate, keeping you awake through the night. In the temple your brain was eerily quiet, as though residing in Sukuna’s holy place was shielding you from seeing too much too quickly. 

You were curled up on the cool marble at the foot of the altar, already half-asleep when his heavy footfalls reached you. He knelt down beside you as you stirred, your tired eyes taking in his form. 

“How do you feel, my little priestess?” He asked. “Struggling with your gift?”

You willed your body to sit up, wiping sleep from your eyes as you did so. 

“I see so many things.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, you hadn’t done much speaking in the last few weeks, doing everything that you could to avoid contact with other people, in the hopes that you could keep your mind as clear as possible.

“Hmm, I bet.” 

“I can’t be around my family. I can’t touch anyone or my mind becomes overwhelmed with how much I’m shown.” You continued. “I feel that it may be more of a curse than a blessing.”

You didn’t realise your mistake until you noticed a frown settle across his features. 

“Are you not grateful for my gift?” He asked.

“Oh, no I-”

“Because I don’t grant boons to just anyone.” He said, as he stood up to his full height. “You’re special, I’ve granted you my attention, you should be weeping at my feet with thanks and instead you’re complaining like some ungrateful little brat.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I didn't mean it that way, it's just I can’t control it - it's painful for me.” 

You looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, hopeful that he’d be forgiving enough to accept your explanation. After a moment his face softened slightly.

“Let me help you. I’ll show you just how much of a gift this skill truly is.”

He reached down to you, gripping your hand and tugging you to your feet. The second that your skin made contact you were faced with the familiar onslaught of imagery. This particular tidal wave was more intense than anything you had encountered so far, for a god’s life was infinite - no death to signpost the end of what you could witness. 

You pulled your hand away from his quickly, as though you’d been shocked. “Please don’t touch me! It's too much...” 

He looked back at you incredulously. 

“How do you think you’re going to learn if you keep running?” He asked. “You have to open yourself up to foresight or you’ll never get any better. Seeing my future is the most overwhelming thing you’ll ever encounter, if you can even slightly come to grips with that, you’ll have no problem sorting through the futures of boring little mortals.” 

He sat down on one of the marble benches situated around the perimeter of the temple, gesturing for you to join him. He was spread out across the seat, his hulking form taking up most of the space. You were just about to perch yourself right at the end when his deep voice echoed out across the temple.

“Not there.” 

You looked at him, tilting your head a little in confusion. Your eyes followed his hand as it reached down to his thigh, tapping the surface invitingly. 

“I- uh–, no it's okay.” You could feel heat blossoming across your face at the idea of being in such close contact with him. 

“I’m not asking. I thought your job was to comply with my wishes? You’ll do as you’re told.” His tone was stern and it sent your heart racing in your chest. You hadn’t intended your words to come across as defiance, your response instead formed from years of politely declining any advance from men. 

“Sorry.” You apologise for your second fumble with him that evening, shuffling towards him and delicately perching upon his thigh. Perhaps leaning was a more appropriate term for it, with you keeping the tips of your toes on the cool floor, trying not to place all of your weight on him. 

He said nothing, but it was evident that this displeased him from the flicker of annoyance that passed through his eyes. He wrapped one of his four muscular arms tight around your waist and pulled you closer, your feet raising off the ground as he sat you properly on his lap, your upper body pressed up against his broad, bare chest. 

Once again, the flood of images that filled your mind was unbearable. So many visions that the temple around you completely disappeared, all of your senses completely overrun by Sukuna and the future that awaited him. It felt like the very fabric of your mind was being torn apart at the seams and rewritten with only that which you could currently see. 

The number of images was so vast that it was impossible to make heads or tails of any of it. It was as though you’d been pulled under the surface by a wave, stuck tumbling beneath the water, desperately needing to breathe but unable to comprehend which way was up. 

For a moment it felt like you had lost yourself completely, that you were stuck in this infinite loop of Sukuna’s future. Until the sound of his gravelly voice pulled you back, anchoring you to something real. 

You could hear him speaking, from some distant place, soothing you - praising you. All of sudden you could feel the sensation of his large hand on your waist, rubbing gentle circles into your side. You could hear his thunderous heartbeat where your head was resting against his chest. Reality no longer felt like something far off in the distance, but something that you could reach out and touch if you just willed yourself to. 

As you focused intently on that rhythmic thud of his heart, you slowly felt your grip on the world return once more. The visions in your head were still there, playing along in the background, but they were passing by more slowly now, much more of a stream than a flood. Something that you could push into the very back of your mind if you needed to.

You let out a relieved little laugh, a sense of pride swelling up in your chest as you looked up to him, seeking out his validation. He was regarding you with amusement, a slight smirk on his lips. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“I- No, I suppose not.” You responded breathlessly. 

“You just have to tether yourself, never let it sweep you away, lest you lose your mind entirely.”

The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, his hand still pressed firmly against your waist. It was a comforting feeling, to be so completely enveloped in his warmth. 

As you sat, you started to take notice of the visions that were reeling through the back of your mind. You hadn’t thought much of them at first, witnessing grand events that seemed to take place so far from your lifetime, in foreign lands that were unrecognisable to you. But as you watched for longer, the images became more familiar. Places that you knew, people that you knew, all encountering great despair and ruin. All viewed through Sukuna’s eyes. 

You encounter a scene that has you as the centrepiece. You, on your knees outside the temple, sobbing over the bodies of your family which were strewn out across the blood-soaked cobblestones. The city was burning around you, and all you could hear was Sukuna’s booming laughter. 

You were quick to jump to your feet, distancing yourself from him and by extension the images that his touch provided. He looked towards you, red eyes questioning. 

“Something wrong?” He asked. 

You frowned, barely registering his question. That scene was playing on a loop in your mind. You had to be looking at it the wrong way, right? You were misinterpreting things. Sukuna had provided you with this great gift, had taken time to teach you how to use it - he wouldn’t bring about ruin to you. You were far from an expert on foresight, it was foolish to jump to conclusions. 

And yet, as you looked at him, his expression quizzical, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that sat in your gut. 

“No - I’m fine.” You lied. “Just a little disoriented.”

You knew that he didn’t believe you, your hesitance to answer was far too telling, and he made no effort to disguise the skepticism that was written all over his face. But instead of questioning it further he just shot you a cunning smile. 

“Make sure to practice more on mortals now you’ve got the hang of it - you should find it easy now.” 

He rose from his seat, giving you a once over, waiting to see if you had anything to add. Perhaps he was hoping you’d share whatever you were hiding, as after a few beats of silence he let out a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll return in a few weeks to check on you, little priestess.”

And just like the last time, a moment later he was gone. 

—

The next few weeks were far less painful than the last. It seemed that following Sukuna’s lesson you had finally gotten to grips with your newfound ability. 

You wasted no time in putting the new skill to use, greeting disciples at the temple each day and offering to peer into their future. You would take their hand briefly and inform them of their fate - occasionally you would bring up different pathways they could take, which choices they should steer clear of to avoid tragedy. 

However, it was rare that you would share absolutely everything with a person whose future you were seeing, it didn’t feel right to explain to them how they were going to die, especially when this was generally a fixture in every one of their potential futures. Death was the only certainty for mortals after all. 

It felt good though, to be able to help with the smaller things. Offering the people of your city advice on what actions to take day to day to improve their lives. More and more of the soldiers had been coming in recently, asking about the outcomes of their upcoming battles, and what they could do to outmaneuver the attacking forces. Wherever you could see an answer to give them, you would provide it willingly - eager to help put an end to this war. 

Your prophetic abilities had become well known across the city, with even some of the invading force slowly becoming aware of your feats. But this fame was something of a double edged sword - it was hard to find a moment alone anymore, with crowds of citizens flooding to the temple to get their fortunes told. 

Not to mention, your renown brought in plenty of sceptics who either claimed that your skills were a hoax, or branded you as a witch who needed to be disposed of. But as a priestess of Sukuna you were used to drawing the ire of certain groups, so you simply brushed off all the criticism and continued on with your duties - that’s what Sukuna had demanded of you after all. 

Yet, as you read more and more fates, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been sitting in your stomach since your last meeting with the god. The most common death that you encountered in all of your visions, was the individual perishing violently in this very city, fire burning all around them. 

You had informed several of the soldiers of this, concerned that it may be a plot of the invading force, something that they could perhaps avoid if they were made aware of it in the first place. But unlike most other scenes that you encountered when learning a person’s fate, the image of the burning city was never preceded by anything useful - nothing that could tell you how the situation manifested, as though a connecting scene was being intentionally obscured from your view.

And as you watched more and more futures, all with the same fate, you began to dwell on what you had seen in Sukuna’s own future, on the image of you on your knees amongst all of that fiery chaos. 

You didn’t like to doubt him, it wasn’t your place to do so. As a priestess your entire role was unmoving obedience to him, but there was a tiny voice in your head telling you that something was amiss, that he wasn’t quite what he seemed. 

But what were you to do? As long as your visions were obscured there was no evidence of foul play beyond your own uncertainties. It was better to trust him. After all, it’s well documented that no mortal who turns against a god ever ends up happy. 

—

The next time he came to visit you were in the midst of prayer. Knelt down before the altar at the back of the temple. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him approach, only registering his presence when a large hand came to rest on the back of your neck. 

“I’m not really listening, you know.”

You flinched in surprise, quickly sitting up and twisting to look at him. For once he looked quite pristine, no blood marring his tanned skin in the way it had been on his previous visits. His expression amused as he gazed down at you. 

“You…aren’t?” 

“No. I’m a busy man, if I had to listen to every prayer and pay attention to every offering I’d never get anything done.” He said, matter of factly. 

“Oh…” 

“I always know when someone’s doing it though, I get this warm sensation deep in my bones - it's pleasant.” 

“I see.” You paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I suppose that’s why you never responded to me then?” 

“Hmm?” His brow was raised questioningly. 

“When this war first started, I spent day after day making offerings and praying, begging you to do something to bring an end to this. But nothing ever happened. I suppose you just never heard any of that.” 

He shrugged. “I suppose not. The list of people begging for my help at all hours is endless, I can’t give everyone attention.” He shifted forward, reaching out a hand to tenderly brush your cheek. “But you have my attention now, my little priestess. I answered your wish for aid didn’t I? Granted you your foresight, is that not the miracle that you had been praying for?” 

You hummed softly. You had been bracing yourself for another tidal wave of imagery to overcome at his touch, but none appeared this time. Your confusion must have been evident on your face because he let out a low chuckle. 

“Even with your control, it's not good for a mortal to see too much of a god’s fate, I’d prefer for your sanity to remain intact, so I’m keeping you out of my head for now, sweetheart.”

You frowned, irritated by this development. You were desperate to see those visions again, to seek out answers on the fate of your city. His sharp gaze was carefully fixated on you, his expression unreadable. 

“Something wrong?” He asked. 

“I– I saw something in your future, something that I couldn’t explain. It’s been weighing on my mind.” You spoke. 

His expression remained neutral, almost bored as he waited for you to continue. 

“In the vision, this city was burning. Everyone other than me seemed to have perished, and you were there, laughing.” Your voice came out a little shaky as you spoke, not wanting to draw his ire in any way. You directed your gaze down to the floor, almost fearful to witness his reaction. “I mean- it was probably just a misunderstanding right? It's not like I had mastered the gift back then, but I see fire and death in many people’s fates so I have to bring it up.”

He studied you for a moment before speaking. 

“It's likely not a misunderstanding.” You raised your head up to stare at him in shock. “It sounds like something I’m capable of.” He continued, his voice lacking in any real emotion. “But what you were witnessing was simply one of many outcomes of how things can play out, you should understand how it works by now.”

You flinched a little as one of his hands slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point, not applying any pressure but just resting there as a silent threat. 

“That vision is likely your fate should you do something to displease me, should you break our sacred vow.” He explained. “Perhaps, you’re already on the path to betrayal, my little priestess.” 

His grip on your neck tightened slightly and you let out a tiny little gasp. 

“After all, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were doubting me. Doubting that I’d take care of you after I’ve been nothing but generous.” 

“No- I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything by it!” Your hands reached up to his, trying to pry his fingers from your neck, but he was immovable. 

“Hmmm. I’ve been so good to you, have offered you nothing but kindness and guidance, and now you repay me with suspicion? It hurts, you know?”

“Sorry-” You rasped. It was becoming harder to breathe with his firm grip on your neck. 

“I’m going to need more than that, little priestess. How about you show me a little gratitude for once?” One of his hands moved into your hair, playing gently with the strands while a third hand moved to your shoulder, toying with the strap of your dress. His fourth hand finally came to settle on your waist, pulling you in closer to him. 

“Gratitude?” You squeaked out, your gaze dropping down to his hands resting on your body.

“Mmm.” He moved his hand slowly from your waist to your ass, squeezing gently. “You’re going to give yourself to me. Show me how grateful you really are for everything I’ve provided to you.”

Your blood ran cold at the realisation of what he was asking of you, your hands moving up to his chest to try and push yourself away from his grip. 

“I’m s-sorry, I can’t...I can’t break my oath of chastity, to be a priestess I must remain pure.” Your heart was thumping in your chest as you denied him, suddenly aware of what a precarious situation you were in. All alone in a temple, with a god who could nullify your existence with a flick of his wrist. 

Fear spiked through you as you looked up at his stormy facial expression. He didn’t budge at your attempts to move away from him, gripping you firmly.

“But your body belongs to me, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what you promised when you became my priestess, that your body, mind and soul are all completely devoted to me?”

“Yes, but-” 

“But what?” He scoffed as he leaned closer, breath fanning your face. “Do you honestly think that you, my little inconsequential priestess, are in a position to deny me?” 

The fingers tangled in your hair were tugging a little on the strands now, pulling you close so that his lips could brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Besides, be honest with yourself, you know you want me - I‘m your god.”

And with that he released you, dropping you unceremoniously back to the floor. Both sets of his arms were crossed as he examined you.

“Stand up and remove your clothes.” He ordered. 

You remained frozen for a moment, before slowly pulling yourself up to standing. Your cheeks started to burn and you diverted your gaze to the ground as you slowly removed your dress, leaving you standing in your undergarments. A shiver ran through you as the cool air in the temple kissed your skin, the hair on your arms standing up. 

“Take off everything.” He said, “I want to see all of what’s mine.” 

You could barely hear him, a battle warring in your head. This was wrong - you had made a promise to live your life in purity, to remain untouched by any man. And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. He was no man after all - he was the god that you had taken your vows for in the first place, surely that changed the rules? Besides, there was no denying the tingling feeling in your stomach at the thought of his closeness, the way your skin heated up whenever he touched you. 

To deny him and lose everything: your gift, your position as a priestess, even your city. Or, to fall into sin for him, to give yourself over fully in exchange for his favor. What choice did you really have?

So, as requested, you shimmied yourself free from your undergarments, heart racing as you stood completely bare before him. Nervously you looked up, meeting his enthused expression, his mouth drawn back into a wide grin.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised as he admired your form, taking in every inch of your body. You felt a little shy beneath the intensity of his gaze, for no man had ever seen you in this state of undress before. 

He approached slowly, savoring that sweet, unsure expression that sat on your face. It suited you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked softly, his breath warm against your skin as he brought a hand to your waist, pulling your smaller body against him. “Just let me take what I want…” 

Keeping you flush against him, he crashed his lips into yours. It was rough for a first kiss, not tender and romantic as you had imagined it to be when you were young, but dominating and all-encompassing. 

One of his hands snaked around the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss, as his tongue pushed against your lips, demanding entrance. You were quick to comply, opening your mouth a little. It was an odd sensation, feeling his tongue brush against yours. It felt a little humiliating, that you were so clumsy with your movement, clearly lacking in experience compared to him. 

He pulled back for a moment, grinning down at you. “First kiss, sweetheart?” 

Your face turned a deep shade of red, embarrassed that he’d draw attention to your obvious innocence, making you feel small and foolish beneath him.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He dove back in without waiting for a response, leaning down over you to make up for your height difference. It was a little uncomfortable to crane your neck up to meet him, a discomfort that he must’ve shared, for he reached two arms behind your thighs and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist so that you were closer to his level. 

Slowly the kisses become easier, more familiar, his tongue flicking against yours as you sink in against him. You were so focussed on the kiss that you were caught off guard when one of his hands made its way down to your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. You jumped a little, pulling back in surprise. 

He smirked at you. “Problem, little priestess?” 

Maintaining eye contact with you, his fingers moved to your nipple, deftly pinching it. You let out something between a yelp and whimper, the action sending heat pulsing through your legs, and in that moment you became acutely aware of your position - completely naked and wrapped around him.

“Oh? Does that feel good? Can feel that pretty pussy of yours leaking against my stomach.” 

He brought another hand up to your other breast, his remaining hands clutching at your thighs and holding you up. He ran his fingers over the other nipple, watching as it peaked under his touch, before bringing his lips to your neck, sucking marks into your soft skin. 

Whimpering, you arched your back, your legs squeezing against his waist as you tried to bring yourself closer to him. It was hard to think straight with his hands on you like this, your body acting on its own, desperate for more of him. 

You were just starting to get used to all of these new sensations when you suddenly felt a foreign wetness between your legs. You yelped out in shock as you looked down, met with the sight of a large mouth that had opened on his stomach, a monstrous tongue sticking out from it, lapping at your pussy. 

There was a part of you that felt as though you should be horrified, but that reasonable section of your brain was quickly overruled by the pleasure that this new appendage was granting you. He was lapping at your pussy without restraint, the tip of the tongue running up and down your folds, occasionally flicking at your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting through you. 

Sweet cries of his name left your lips, echoing across the chamber as your fingers dug into his biceps. He chuckled as he continued to bite at your neck, still paying great attention to your nipples. You could feel an odd sensation building up in your abdomen, like a dam about to burst. 

“S-Sukuna!” You whined. “Something’s wrong-” 

He ignored you, continuing with his ministrations. He was no fool, he knew exactly what you were referring to and was certainly not going to stop now. The multiple sources of pleasure were becoming too overwhelming, and that knot in your stomach tightened further. 

“Please-” You begged. One of his hands moved down to your clit, applying a little pressure which finally sent you over the edge. That knot in your abdomen snapped and you came, letting out a cry of his name as you had your first orgasm on his tongue. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, petting gently at your hair as he carried you over to one of the marble benches, taking a seat and carefully positioning your naked body in his lap. “That felt good huh?”

You nodded, your mind still a little hazy from what had just happened, your body felt limp, as though you’d just swam a great distance. Before you could have much of a chance to recover, one of his hands was between your legs, fingers running through your folds, getting you used to his touch. 

“Need to get you ready for me.” He spoke as he slowly started to press a finger into your opening. He held you still as you started to struggle in his grip. “It’ll hurt more if you move about too much.” 

Placing your trust in him you stayed as still as possible, letting him slowly ease his finger into you. It was painful, the burning sensation of having something inside you for the first time, but all it took was a few moments for the discomfort to subside. He curled his finger inwards a little, letting it rub against a pleasant spot inside you and causing you to clench around him.

“Mmm, there we go.” He hummed as he slowly pushed in a second finger, repeating the process over again until you seemed comfortable with the stretch. He rubbed at your clit with the palm of his hand as he started to move his fingers more quickly. 

You braced your hands against him, burying your face into his chest to try and hide your embarrassment at the obscene sounds that were echoing with each movement of his fingers inside your wet pussy. He was revelling in it, loving how tight you felt around his fingers, wondering just how good you’d feel wrapped around his cock instead. 

“Feel good?” He asked. 

You nodded, unable to find any words in that moment. You could already feel that pressure building up once again, each careful flick of his fingers driving you wild as he struck that spongy spot inside you over and over again.

Leaning forward, he captured your lips with his, and the affection of that action was the final push that you needed to reach your second release, gushing around his thick fingers as you let out a sweet little whine against his mouth.

He pulled his fingers out of you before bringing them up to your mouth. 

“Clean them.” He ordered. 

You complied without any complaint, parting your lips and taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them obediently until he deemed them to be clean enough. 

“You’re so eager to please.” He praised, lifting you off his lap and placing you back down on the marble floor at his feet, propped up on your knees. 

He kept his eyes on you as he removed his own clothing, dropping his robes to the ground. You’d never seen a real man bare before, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting - but it certainly wasn’t this. The statues that you’d seen of naked men couldn’t hold a candle to the immense magnitude of the cock that hung between Sukuna’s legs. The sheer size of it had your mind riddled with fear at the thought that he was going to try and fit it inside of you. 

His expression was smug as he watched the horror play out across your face. He was fully aware of how big he was and revelled in watching your reaction, already thinking about how lovely you were going to look all stretched out around him. 

“Let's see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” He suggested, gesturing down to his cock. “You do want to please me, don’t you? After how much pleasure I’ve given you.”

Reluctantly you shuffled forwards, crouching before him as you gripped his cock with your much smaller hands. Experimentally you brought your lips to the tip, giving it a few tentative licks. He left you to your own devices for a few moments, waiting to see what you would do.

“You need to do more than that, sweetheart. No need to be scared.” He soothed as his hand came to rest on the back of your head, pushing you towards his cock. 

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around him. It was a tight fit, with you struggling to open up wide enough to take him in. He let you adjust for a moment, watching as you became more comfortable with the feeling of him in your mouth, before he started to push his cock further down your throat. 

You felt yourself starting to gag at the sensation as he slid deeper into your mouth, struggling to breathe. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose and tried to centre yourself before slowly starting to bob your head, taking him slightly deeper each time, finding your rhythm as you did your best to appease him. 

He let out a groan of pleasure, loving how your warm mouth felt nestled around his cock. He could feel his own release building as he stared down at you. You looked so pretty on your knees before him. Drool was dropping down your chin, and your eyes were glassy as you looked up at him - a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks, a sight that made his cock jump. 

The grip that he had on your hair tightened and he took control of the pace, moving you up and down on his cock as he chased his orgasm. A few thrusts later and he was cumming in your mouth, your nose pressed up against his abdomen as he released deep in your throat. 

“Swallow it.” He muttered out through gritted teeth, his ego satisfied as he watched your throat bob around him. 

He pulled himself out, and in an instant he had you down on the marble floor, all spread out in front of him, your legs parted allowing him easy access. He admired you openly, his gaze trailing down to your pussy, liquid dripping to the floor below from the two previous orgasms that he’d granted you. 

“So pretty…” He mused as he positioned himself over you, pushing your legs further apart to allow space for his body between them. 

Fear was clouding your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart beating desperately within your ribcage. To him, it was a beautiful sight, to have you completely at his mercy like this. He rubbed his cock teasingly up and down your slit, occasionally catching your clit with the very tip and eliciting a moan from you, leaving you shaking a little each time - still overstimulated from your previous release. 

“You want this, pretty girl?” He teased, staring down at your tear-stricken face. 

“Yes, please–” you rasped. 

“Mmm, I don’t know…I think you could want it more.” He said, intent on dragging this out, to make it more humiliating for you as your cheeks began to burn. 

“Please Sukuna, I want it, I want you-” 

That was more than enough convincing for him as he slowly started to push the fat tip of his cock into you. More tears sprung to your eyes at the immense stretch that he was causing, your body struggling to cope with his massive size. You let out a cry of pain, your fingernails digging into his arms desperately as the pain grew in intensity. 

“No, please- it's too much!” You begged. 

“Shhhhh.” He cooed affectionately, one of hands moving to stroke your hair gently. “You’re doing such a good job, being such a good girl for me, just relax and take it.” 

You took a deep breath, trying your best to adjust to the stretch as Sukuna edged his way further into you, letting out a satisfied little sigh as he bottomed out inside you. You were so warm and tight, he felt like he was in paradise with you wrapped so snugly around him. 

It was less pleasant for you, your legs quivering as you tried to grit your teeth and withstand the pain. You’d heard plenty of tales from women about how it felt to have your innocence taken, that it would be painful at first but eventually it would give way to pleasure. So, with Sukuna completely filling you up and overwhelming your senses, you found comfort in those tales - you just needed to push through the pain. 

Whilst you were battling your inner turmoil, you felt Sukuna snake a hand down between the two of you, his fingers brushing against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you which momentarily overwrote the burn of having him inside you. 

“Just relax.” His fingers rubbed circles against your clit, slowly leading the pain to give way to pleasure. “Feels good doesn’t it?” His eyes were locked on yours, watching you closely as he felt your pussy tighten around him. 

You let out a little whimper of agreement, and that was all he needed to hear before he started moving, filling you up with deep and hard thrusts, his fingers still pressing against your clit. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase on his back, nails digging into him with each brutal thrust. 

He leant down, bringing his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin and leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. He continued a path down your body, kissing softly at your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at it meanly for a few moments before sucking on it, leading you to arch your body into him with pleasure. 

As he continued to thrust into you, you felt that familiar warmth building up in your stomach, sent spiralling over the edge once more as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you which had you seeing stars. You let out a cry of ecstasy, your vision going white for a moment as you clenched around him. 

His laughter was echoing around the chamber. “There’s my good girl, huh? You look so pretty cumming around my cock like that, squeezing me so fucking tight.” You could barely register his words, your ears ringing as you slowly came down from your high. 

A few thrusts later and Sukuna was pulling out of you, leaving you a little confused and disoriented as he pulled you up onto your feet, manhandling you over to the altar at the back of the temple. He stood you before it for a moment before placing a large hand between your shoulder blades, bending you forward over it. 

Your body felt exhausted and you complied without a concern. In the back of your mind you could hear a faint voice telling you how sacrilegious it was to dirty an altar with lust like this, in a place that was meant to be a sanctuary - it was unforgivable. But in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, giving yourself to him fully. 

His hands ran tenderly down your back, tracing along the curve of your spine until they rested on your ass. He paused there for a moment, admiring your form in the moonlight, before positioning his cock back against your pussy and slowly easing himself in. 

You let out a little gasp, but the stretch wasn’t nearly as painful this time, not after he’d already had you cumming around his cock once. It was as if he’d moulded you to his shape now, which was far from a problem considering that he was the only man who would ever lay hands on you. 

He watched with amusement as you scrambled to grab at the marble of the altar, knuckles turning white as you struggled to hold on under the weight of his thrusts. Two of his hands were gripping your hips tightly, holding you still as he fucked into you at a merciless pace, balls slapping rhythmically against your clit and adding to the pleasure. One of his hands curled into your hair, pulling your head back so that he could more clearly hear the cute little sounds leaving your mouth - the moans and whimpers of his name. 

This position felt even better than the last, his cock reaching so deep in your pussy, hitting that one spongy spot inside you over and over again, your orgasm building up even faster this time as you teetered right on the edge. 

“O-Oh, I’m going to–” 

“Are you going to cum for me again, pretty girl?” He asked, his pace increasing as he leaned forward over you, the tip of his cock reaching an even deeper spot inside you. “F-Fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight, feels so good.” The stutter in his voice had your heart leaping with pride, the idea that your god would be so proud of you, so contented with what you had to offer to him meant everything to you.

And just like that, he had you cumming again. You probably would’ve collapsed to the floor after that one if not for his hands on your hips keeping you up. The speed of his thrusts didn’t relent, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing across the temple. 

“T-that’s it pretty girl, just stay still.” He was groaning against your ear, so much of his weight resting on top of your much smaller body. “I’m so close. Need to fill you up.” You let out a small strangled whine, feeling utterly helpless beneath his body. 

A few thrusts later and he was cumming, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he did so. He let out a low groan and held you still beneath him, wanting to make sure that you took all of his seed into you, not wanting to see any go to waste. You let out a whimper at the foreign sensation of him finishing inside you, feeling entirely too full as that hot, thick substance was released into you. 

You lay still beneath him against the altar, unable to move until he finally pulled away, removing his cock from your sore pussy. As you pushed yourself up from the altar you felt some of his cum dripping down your leg and for a moment, in some far off part of your brain, you registered how much of a sin you had just committed, how much of yourself you had just given away. But before you could dwell on it, Sukuna was holding out his hand, pulling you over to one of the benches where he placed you carefully in his lap, holding you close against his body. 

Contrary to popular belief, he took good care of what belonged to him. 

—

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there in Sukuna’s arms, not long enough for the sun to have risen, for silver moonlight was still floating through the window when you awakened. The god was still there below you, breathing softly as though he were at total peace with the world.

For a moment you felt happy - glad that you had been provided with such undivided attention from him. You were just a mortal, completely insignificant to most, but not to him. What more could you ask for? 

And yet, as soon as that thought crossed your mind the visions returned in full force. It was as though Sukuna had let his guard down in his slumber. They weren’t overwhelming this time - you’d gotten far too good with your foresight for that. But part of you wished that they were still incomprehensible to you, for that would’ve been a greater mercy than coming to terms with the fate that you were witnessing. 

Because this time, you saw everything. 

The city aflame, the invading forces spilling out of a great wooden horse that they had presented as a gift, a sign of peace. A cunning betrayal that led to them ransacking the streets, slaughtering and pillaging as they went. You watched in horror as citizens were ripped from their homes, the men killed and the women taken as prizes for the victors. 

Sukuna was there in these visions, standing by and watching the massacre, making no move to provide any sort of aid, a cruel grin stretched across his face at the sight of such glorious bloodshed. He’d always been such a fan of war. 

In an instant you were brought back to reality, scrambling desperately out of his lap, desperate for some distance from him and the horrors that you had just witnessed. 

He awoke with your movement, red eyes fixing on you with interest as he noticed your defensive figure, eyes wide and your body trembling. 

“Bad dream?” He asked calmly. He was no fool, and the look on his face made it clear that he was well aware that there was more to it than that. 

“You– you’re going to let this city fall to ruin.” You accused, your voice shaking. 

He tilted his head at you. “So?” 

It felt like your heart stopped at his blatant dismissal of your accusation. You couldn’t comprehend how he could respond in such an uninterested manner. This place was your whole world, the citizens of your city were everything to you. You’d just become aware that he was going to stand by and allow tragedy to take place, that he was going to let everyone you’d ever loved die, and all he could care to say was ‘so’?

“You promised–” 

“I didn’t promise you anything.” He cut you off, raising to his full height. “I said I’d give you a blessing, and I did. Don’t you think it's greedy to demand more from me? You should know your place.”

You were shaking with anger now. “But, you said it was likely only the outcome if I were to betray you! I gave you everything - I laid with you to show you my loyalty and gratitude, surrendered my very innocence and you’re still going to let this city burn.” Tears sprung to your eyes, running down your cheeks. 

“Yes, I am.” He said simply. “But I won’t let that be your fate. I want to keep you for myself, little priestess.” He reached out for you, hands caressing your hair for a moment before you stepped away. 

“Don’t touch me.” You spat. It made you feel sick, the way that he spoke about you. It was as though you were nothing more than a pet to him, something pretty and easily appeased with no existence or desires outside of your relation to him. He didn’t consider you to be a citizen of this city, didn’t consider that you were a daughter, a sister, a friend. He couldn’t comprehend your care for anyone other than him.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it mere hours ago.” Your face twisted in disgust at his words. “Perhaps I just need to fuck you again, you seemed plenty compliant when I had you bent over that altar.” 

You took another step back, fearful of what he might do should you get too close. “Don’t come anywhere near me. I saw the whole plan, I’m going to tell my people not to accept that gift, I’m going to make sure that this city stays standing.” 

He sighed. “So be it.”

His body was on you before you could move, taking you down to the marble floor. One of his hands grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head, the weight of his body keeping you still beneath him. 

Another hand caressed your face tenderly as he gazed down at you. But as you met his eyes, you found that there was no warmth behind them, just the cold and calculating stare of an immortal being who couldn’t care less about the life or fate of any mortal. 

“Last chance, sweetheart.” He spoke. “You can survive this. You can belong to me completely, stay at my side, be mine to enjoy whenever I choose. Wasn’t that what you always wanted anyway? To have my attention? I’ll grant it to you.” 

“In exchange for a whole city?” You asked incredulously. 

“What do they matter, really? What can silly little mortals provide you that I can’t? Don’t be foolish, my pretty little priestess.” He could see your expression waving, a feeling of total helplessness washing over you as you lay beneath him. “Besides, you enjoyed getting fucked by me, didn’t you? I could see how good I made you feel - I can give you that all the time.” 

His tone was almost convincing, but as you studied his face you found that his facade was entirely transparent. He didn’t care for you, he wasn’t capable of care. Even if he saved you from your fate today, one day he would tire of you and dispose of you in the same way that he’s disposed of thousands of other mortals. You’d just be his pet, a temporary source of entertainment. 

“I’m telling everyone what I saw.” You said evenly. “I’m done being your priestess.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile which reeked of mockery. 

“What a shame.” He whispered, one of his hands made their way up to your mouth, forcing your lips apart as he lent in close to you. “No one will ever believe you.” And with that he spat into your open mouth before quickly forcing it shut with his hand.

Your eyes widened in horror as you felt the globule of spit sit in your mouth. He was staring down at you expectantly, and you did your best to hold it there in your mouth, hoping that by some divine intervention you may be able to escape your fate.

You struggled against him, trying to push him off you, to remove his hand from your face. If you could just spit it out and tell one person what you had seen, you could save everyone. But Sukuna was far stronger than you, and he had nothing but time - keeping you locked in position until your mouth grew so dry that you involuntarily found yourself swallowing what he had given you. 

Your blessing had become a curse. 

“There we go.” he purred, before standing up. He looked down at your body with disdain. “I’m disappointed. I would’ve liked to play with you longer - but I’ll settle for witnessing your despair instead.” He turned to leave. 

“Why?” Your voice came out ragged and broken, and he glanced over his shoulder at you, waiting for further elaboration. 

“Why does this city have to burn?” You asked. 

He shrugged. “We gods always use these silly little mortal wars to settle disputes amongst each other. In this case I stand with the gods who favor the men laying siege, so I’ll allow this city to burn for them.” 

“But, they’re my people–”

“And what does that matter to me? All of you mortals are always so petty - they’d all be dead in 80 years anyway, what difference does a few years make?” 

You opened your mouth to respond but he was already gone, nothing but empty space where he had previously stood.

Gathering yourself together as best you could, you ran out into the street. The sun was rising over the city now and the battlefield was quiet. Perhaps if you were quick you’d be able to pass the message on before Sukuna’s curse set in. 

You banged on doors and cried out in the street, approaching every person that you saw to warn them. But it all fell upon deaf ears. Your tale of the great horse and the men hiding inside it was brushed aside with ridicule and laughter. 

Even your family, when you finally made your way back home at midday, were unreceptive to your message. They suggested that maybe you needed a lie down, that you’d been spending far too much time at the temple and were losing your grip on reality. 

It was just as Sukuna had said: no one will ever believe you. 

It was regret that filled you as the men wheeled that great wooden horse into the city - as the enemy jumped out of it in the middle of the night and slaughtered your city, setting it ablaze. You were hollow as you knelt over the corpses of your family, babbling out prophecies that no one would hear. 

Sukuna was there then, watching you in your despair, allowing you to be taken away as a war prize for the invading force. After all, who were you to deny him? You deserved this. And as you were pulled into your new life far from the only home you’d ever known, you wondered if you should pray, if his prior fondness for you would bring him back to your side. 

But you knew it was foolish. 

He wasn’t listening anyway.

a/n: thank you for reading, had a bit of a cry writing the end of this one honestly.

I adore mythology so if anyone has any fic recs please send them my way! I'm considering doing an orpheus and eurydice retelling as a choso fic but we'll see how I'm feeling!

© sukunahs

[starsofarda]

I have seen that post about Maedhros being found in Moria by the Fellowship after being woken up by the longest unvoluntary nap ever. And yes, I know "Archaeology", anfic on a similar premise.

But today I wouldlike to linger on the comedic aspects of "the Fellowship expected a Balrog to come, but instead First Era Maedhros Feanorian appeared, albeit slightly charred, and now the Fellowship is adding a 10th member to the Fellowship".

For the sake of story I am still gonna say that Gandalf fell down the bridge, because ACTUALLY there was a Balrog.

Anyway the Fellowship minus Gandalf and plus Maedhros waltz in Lothlorien giving Galadriel a whole new range of emotions.

"I WAS EXPECTING GANDALF YOU ALL HAVE BROUGHT BACK A WAR CRIMINAL FROM AN ERA BYGONE AND ALSO MY COUSIN THRICE REMOVED."

Maedhros picking up IMMEDIATELY on the effect that the Ring is having on everyone and having a heart-to-heart with everyone and explaining the whole Silmarillion ordeal.

"Yikes." Everyone nods in agreement to the sentiment epressed by the Hobbits.

As an extra layer Mae asks if they are bound by any oath. "No, Elrond was quite insisting that we would NOT swear ANY oath."

Cue Mae crying.

Somehow Sam clicks immediately with Maedhros and when Frodo leaves the Fellowship Sam is already there all geared up for literal war and with all advice and tips on how to effectively kill orcs.

Somehow Merry and Pippin manage to make Mae smile. Their next mission is to make him laugh.

This reminds him of the Ambarussa. Mae cries again.

Gollum will underestimate that and it will be his doom.

"No Mr.Frodo, Sir Maedhros explained to us very clearly what happens with cursed artifacts, we are leaving Gollum here. Sir Maedhros was so kind, he explained to me everything I need to know."

Boromir lives, because killing Orcs turns out way easier with someone who can instill in them the very fear of the Valar.

Saruman has an incredibly short span.

"Oh? A palantir? My father's invention? Here? Yeah, I am gonna take that."

Somehow everything is a little easier?

Gimli crying because somehow he heard (ancient) Khuzdul from an Elf and now Maedhros has to understand since when Dwarves and Elves do not get along.

The company coming back to Imladris and causing Elrond to break down crying uncontrollably and in a very undignified manner.

"Lindir" hears the cries and when he sees Mae he's crying as well. It is revealed that "Lindir" is actually Maglor.

When the last ship sails for Valinor, the Valar grant M&M to come back due to repentance and various services in aid to destroying the Ring.

Galadriel is still not over the fact that MAEDHROS FEANORIAN was in Lothlorien and she could not even slap him.

At least in Valinor M&M can now hug mama Nerdanel and stay with her. Eventually all brothers will be reimbodied.

Thoughts? Comments? Prayers? Silmarils?

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea. 

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. 

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer. 

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light. 

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city. 

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm. 

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses. 

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead. 

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. 

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. 

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm. 

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda. 

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark. 

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs. 

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination. 

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold. 

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants. 

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars. 

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak. 

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren. 

Dangerous and inviting. 

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm. 

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money. 

A reminder of their lethal potential. 

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone. 

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed. 

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.” 

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither. 

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers. 

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph. 

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift. 

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding. 

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed. 

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh. 

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers. 

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand,  “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.” 

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw. 

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.” 

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist. 

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light. 

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar. 

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains. 

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake. 

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. 

Primal and carnal. 

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns. 

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire. 

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.” 

“An audience?” I ask. 

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure. 

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens. 

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern. 

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. 

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns. 

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.” 

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain. 

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city. 

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment. 

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper. 

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here. 

As we all must. 

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit. 

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies. 

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.  

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar. 

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.” 

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm. 

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. 

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more. 

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads. 

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss. 

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” 

[cinnamonlouu]

I thoroughly enjoyed "What he deserves"; how do you think Smoke would be throughout Marie's entire pregnancy?

Early pregnancy

• Smoke would be quietly overwhelmed the kind of man who processes big things by watching, thinking, and planning.

• He’d stare at her stomach when she’s not looking. Run his hand over it like a prayer when she’s asleep.

• when she works, he’ll quietly buy her out or pull strings so she can rest.

• He doesn’t like her carrying anything. A grocery bag? He snatches it from her hand. “You carryin’ enough already.”

• Will not tolerate stress around her. He’ll remove anyone who causes it.

⸻

Mid-Pregnancy

• she catches him time to time murmuring low against her belly at night. But doesn’t say anything

• Starts building things. A crib, a rocking chair. He won’t ask for help. He just does it.

• Doctors get side-eyed. Especially male ones. He’ll be quiet, but the tension will be thick.

• get irritated at the baby shower prep. “Why all these folks need to be at our house? They ain’t helped raise nothin’.”

• The touch gets gentler. The sex gets soft meant only to please you. Still possessive but now with a quiet worship in it.

⸻

Late Pregnancy

• The house must be safe. Doors replaced. Cameras checked.

• She can’t bend down without him there. Can’t even reach for a pan without him saying, “What you need? Sit down.”

• Doesn’t want her going anywhere alone. “You got me. You don’t need to do all that by yourself no more.”

• as much as he likes to see you waddle around with his baby he gets nervous and makes you sit down.

• In the delivery room? He’s not pacing. He’s still. Hands clenched. Breathing slow. Doesn’t say much just there focused completely on her.

⸻

Postpartum

He’s the softest he’s ever been with the baby. The scariest he’s ever been with everyone else.

• Sleeps light. Always half-awake if the baby makes a sound.

• Holds the baby like he’s holding a piece of Marie’s heart. Always careful. Always in awe.

If she’s emotional, tired, or unsure of herself?

He pulls her in and murmurs: “You made life, baby. You don’t ever gotta prove nothin’ to me.”

Tag list: @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae @cocooned-butterfly

Divider by @cursed-carmine

[ohangeleyes]

⎯⎯ IF YOU LOVE TO FUCK, CUZ SOULLESS SAM LOVES TO FUCK

Ever since you found out Sam had lost his soul, it felt like he had lost his dignity and morals in the cage too.

That thought started lingering in your mind after you noticed that his sex drive had gone worse than his brother's, which you didn't think was possible for anyone.

All those times he didn't return to the motel until late in the morning, or in the middle of the night with his hair and his clothes messed up, marks around his neck and shoulders. Many times when you walked in on him passed out on the bed with another girl next to him.

You would have to have at least 10 hands if you wanted to count how many women he had been with on your fingers.

You thought about that a lot. At first you tried to play it off as worrying about Sam and wanting to help him, but the drop in your heart every time he eyed another woman told otherwise.

And you would be lying if you said he didn't look a hundred times more attractive or if it wasn't a hundred times easier to get you soaked because of him.

Yes, he was always attractive but there was something about him now that was making you want him even more.

Making you want him to leave you shaking and moaning on the bed.

Well, today was your lucky day.

Except, it happened in the bathroom of a bar instead of a bed.

After a long day of hunting down a ghost in an abandoned hospital and you thirsting over Sam in his FBI suit, Dean decided to drive back to the motel to sleep, and you both decided to go to a nearby bar.

It only took you 3 shots of martini to grab him by his tie and whisper "I couldn't take my eyes off you all day".

And that's all Sam needed to hear to make a quick bathroom run with you. To have you pinned down on the sink, his teeth biting down your neck, his fingers dug deep in your hips.

His hands quickly pushed up the short black dress you wore, removing your underwear, gripping your hips and pulling your lower body closer to him.

He gave your neck another kiss before whispering just below your ear, his breath hot on your skin, "Your little dress had been driving me crazy all day baby."

A small chuckle left your lips at his words, your hands found his hair, trembling fingers gripping it, as his lips roughly worked its way down to where you needed him the most.

He kissed your lower stomach, an action leaving you more frustrated than it should have, as he reached his two fingers between your throbbing folds. A shaky breath left your lips, your thighs twitching, as he cursed under his breath, feeling your arousal dripping on his fingers.

"Fuck, I got you this worked up?" He said with a smirk, his voice was so seductive, he could easily talk you through triple murder and you would do it without a doubt.

You nodded to him. His eyes met yours, glued on your gaze, as he finally trailed his tongue from your folds to your clit.

A moan escaped your lips, as your hand desperately gripped his hair, worried he might pull away and leave you a whiny mess.

But he didn't. His mouth worked wonders on your clit, making your legs tremble around his neck, shaky exhales leaving your lips.

Your head dropped back, eyes rolling back from the pleasure Sam was inflicting on you.

For a second, you cursed yourself for not doing this sooner, if it meant that it would feel so enjoyable.

His lips sucking on your clit and his fingers rushing inside you was what sent you over the edge, leaving you moaning out his name like a prayer, gripping his hair even tighter now.

His fingers and his tongue didn't let go until you almost screamed out, your legs shaking and tensing around him.

You cursed under his breath the second he did pull away, kissing your body up to your lips, letting you taste yourself, as he slid his tongue in your mouth, low moan escaping your lips as he did so.

Your hands quickly found its way to his tie, discarding it in a second, your shaky fingers unbuttoning his shirt, reaching down to his belt.

You wanted to touch him everywhere, his neck, his abs, huge biceps and his muscular back, his bulge that has been growing harder on each moan he drew from your lips.

You settled on his belt, hurriedly unbuckling it, as you bit down on his bottom lip.

"Someone's eager today" He spoke as he looked down to you, a smirk appearing on his face as he did so.

"Today? more like since the day I met you" You spoke in between the kisses, feeling his smirk on your lips.

He let you drop his pants on the floor, palming his huge bulge through his boxers, earning a groan from him.

"If I knew you wanted this so badly, I would've given it to you much sooner."

"Yeah?" you almost moaned out, slowly moving your palm on his dick.

"Yeah baby" He spoke in ragged breaths, his eyebrows almost connecting, as he felt your hand move in a teasingly slow pace, "how about you be a good girl and turn around for me."

And how could you say no to Sam Winchester.

You did as he asked, getting down from the sink and turning around, only to be met by a huge mirror you were too busy to notice when you first walked in.

You saw him smirk at you in the mirror, as his hands pushed your body against the sink, your arms resting on the cold marble in front of you, his fingers pushing your dress up a little more.

He gripped your ass with both his hands, pulling your body closer to him, feeling his clothed dick brush up against you, earning a shaky exhale from you.

He quickly lowered his boxers down, as his dick sprung free, hitting your ass. You cursed under your breath at his size.

You never expected him to be small or average, but you also never expected him to be this huge too. Fuck, you would be getting destroyed.

And you were proven right, as he slid himself inside you, both of you groaning at the feeling.

He pushed himself all in the second time, a loud moan escaping your lips this time. His hands rested on your hips, as he slowly started picking up his pace.

He was strangely not rough for a guy who didn't have a soul.

But then you felt a sharp sting on your ass, followed by his tight grip.

Never mind.

His dick filled you up whole, hitting all the right spots that made you think you were made for each- other.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous like this," He said under his breath, almost inaudible. You wanted to respond, to tell him how hot he looked like that, fucking you from behind, but his voice and his pace made your mind shut off, your eyes roll back and close tightly.

His one hand quickly found your hair, gripping it as he made your head rise up, leaning down to you.

"Open your eyes," He whispered in between the groans, "look at me."

He spoke in such a tone that would get him anything he ever wished for, so you opened your eyes, finding him leaned down to you, staring at you in the mirror.

"That's right" He said with a smirk, as your mouth opened, letting the moans escape. It was a miracle that you didn't cum right then and there at the sight of him.

His lips found your neck, biting down right below your ear, moving his hips in the perfect position, "I'll stop if you close your eyes."

He moved his hand to your jaw, grabbing it to make you look at him in the mirror, primal hunger written in his eyes.

"You don't want me to stop do you? So, why don't you be a good girl and just look at me."

A moaned out "Yeah" is all you could answer, to which he smirked to, once again.

His hand stayed on your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek, his muscular chest brushing up against your back, as he moved deep inside you.

The push, which you swore you felt in your stomach, made you squint your eyes and almost scream out, which was followed by Sam's grip on your jaw growing tighter.

"I said don't close your fucking eyes. Keep your eyes open." He spoke right below your ear, biting down on your neck once again.

And that was the tone and the words that made you clench around him.

Moaned out "Fuck, Sam" and "Oh god" Is all you could say, to which Sam teasingly chuckled.

"Yeah, baby, just like that" He spoke with a smirk, his eyes glued on yours. You felt your orgasm wash over your body, your legs starting to tremble, your body slightly pulling away at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of him still keeping up with his pace being too much to handle.

"Push back" He whispered in your ear, which made you curse under your breath, whimpering in exhaustion.

"Push back." He now ordered, as you obliged to him, a loud groan escaping your lips at the feeling.

You heard him chuckle again, which told you he wasn't done with you. Not yet.

He had just started.

Maybe you would regret this in the morning when you sobered up, but the stars taking over your mind was all you could think about right now.

Wrote this quickly before bed.

Goodnight my freaky little tumblr users, hope u liked it :)

[vrystalius]

How would Sanemi react if Maeda made a uniform similar to Mitsuri's for Sanemi's girlfriend?

❕Sanemi’s reaction to your new uniform.

That perverted kakushi strikes again… how will Sanemi react?

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

(Sanemi is very angry, there’s just a paragraph of him cursing, you have a worse uniform than Mitsuri’s)

Sanemi was staring at your uniform you were wearing. Your chest was straining against the fabric and almost spilling out of the hole in the center. Your skirt barely covered your bottom, your panties peeking out ever so slightly. You felt incredibly uncomfortable and kept pulling your skirt down, trying to cover yourself up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

His voice was incredibly deep and eerily calm. Sanemi wasn’t yelling or insulting the kakushi that made this, wich was somehow even scarier than him being openly angry. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover up the your chest-hole, wich he’s been staring at. That made him look into your eyes.

“Maeda was his name? The kakushi?”

You nodded quietly. Sanemi took his cropped haori off and unbuttoned his sleeveless uniform, wrapping it around your shoulders and buttoning it back up. He sensed how uncomfortable you felt in your poor excuse of a uniform.

“I’ll take care of it. There’s hakama pants in my closet. Go change.”

Sanemi was still calm as he grabbed his katana and headed out, his footsteps heavy and fast. He was rushing past the other kakushi and hashira, intentionally bumping into a few of them to make them go out of his damn way. He has a kakushi to murder after all.

“Sh-Shinazugawa-sama…!-“

Maeda was already shaking once he saw the wind hashira standing in his doorway. He seemed to be absolutely fuming, gripping the handle of his katana. The kakushi already fell onto his knees and slammed his forehead onto the tatami as a gesture of deep apology. He wanted to start begging for his life, but Sanemi interrupted him before he even started.

“You worthless piece of shit. You’re absolute FILTH—lower than the dirt I scrape off my blade after shoving it down a fucking demon’s throat. The fact that you breathe the same fucking air as the other kakushi, WHO PUT THEIR OWN FUCKING LIVES IN DANGER TO SAVE OTHERS, SOMETHING YOU COULD NEVER EVEN DREAM OF DOING, is a fucking insult to even the worst kakushi and the corps as a whole! You were too pathetic to become a slayer and save others and kill the scum of the earth, so instead YOU BECAME A FUCKING PIECE OF WORTHLESS SHIT.”

Sanemi was yelling his throat out, his hand trembling and itching to just use his sheathed katana to beat Maeda into a pile of broken bones.

“You’re worth NOTHING! Your mother would be fucking ashamed of you if she knew what a fucking pervert you are. I should be fucking killing you or feeding your worthless body to a fucking demon, even though YOU’RE PROBABLY NOT EVEN WORTH EATING, you fucking piece of shit.”

Sanemi stepped his foot onto his head, pushing him down. Maeda was shaking and sobbing, frantically apologising, but Sanemi just kept screaming at him. He took a deep breath at took his sheathed katana out of his belt, about to slam it against the kakushi’s back, before his arm got dragged out of the room and pulled into the hallway.

“Shinazugawa-sama, you should control your anger more. I’ll make sure to send a crow to Ubuyashiki-sama and make sure that this kakushi will be appropriately punished. Please let me handle this.”

Gyomei’s words were calming. He removed his arm from Sanemi’s bicep and returned to his usual gesture of prayer, rubbing his hands together. Sanemi was still shaking and seething in anger, itching to punch something. He quietly eyed Gyomei, then the kakushi

“You better make a normal fucking uniform. It will be done by tomorrow. I’ll be picking it up personally.

Sanemi grunted at him. Maeda wet himself while he was screaming at him, fearing for his dear life, shaking and sobbing, but frantically nodding ans apologising over and over. Gyomei started crying quietly.

“Your perverted actions are disrespecting the Demon Slayer Corps itself. You will soon learn your lesson through Master’s punishment.”

Sanemi glared at the kakushi one last time and then turned to Gyomei to mumble a quiet “thanks”. He stormed off, making his way back to you and his estate.

How dare he disrespect you like that? At least Sanemi now has an excuse to make you wear his clothes for even longer. That’s the only positive thing about this situation. He hopes that Kagaya will punish this excuse of an kakushi properly. If not, Sanemi’ll make sure he’ll never be able to make another uniform like this ever again.

💠

Sorry if this was underwhelming or not according to your liking, and sorry for randomly throwing Gyomei in. I hope you enjoyed anyway!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves!

My masterlist for the hashira

My masterlist for the demons

[heliosunny]

I really like your Anaxa x mage reader very much!! but I wonder how Anaxa would react if he saw how mage reader was willing to break something apart of her just to remove the binding curse

Yall love 2 see him suffer huh

Yandere!Anaxa x Mage!Reader

Visit [main timeline]

The Magic Fall churned violently. It sensed what you were about to do. It knew you were about to break yourself. But you did not hesitate. You had to be free. You had to sever the curse, to rip Anaxa’s magic from your veins, no matter the cost.

And the cost was steep.

Something unseen, something vital tore apart inside you the moment you forced the incantation through your lips. Pain unlike anything you had ever known devoured you.

And Anaxa felt it. The spell cracked.

His magic snapped away from yours, the connection severed, the binding shattered. And then you collapsed. Your body slumped forward. Your vision flickered.

Something was missing.

Something was gone.

But you didn’t know what.

He caught you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you too tightly, too desperately.

"…Master?"

His voice broke.

You couldn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t want to— But because your mind was blank. Something important had been stripped away, but you had no idea what it was. His fingers dug into your arms, as if holding you would put back the missing pieces. As if clutching you close would undo this.

But it wouldn’t.

And he couldn’t accept that.

You woke up in the tower.

Soft sheets. The scent of incense. The faint hum of magic and a weight beside you, solid and unmoving. You turned your head. Anaxa was there, kneeling at your bedside, gripping your hand in both of his own. His fingers tightened the second your eyes fluttered open.

"…Master" he breathed.

He sounded wrecked. As if he had spent days searching for something he could not find.

Your mouth felt dry. Your limbs were heavy. Your mind was

…Empty.

You swallowed, throat aching. "What…"

What did I lose?

The question never left your lips.

Because the moment you tried to think about it, it slipped away.

Anaxa watched you. His grip did not loosen.

His gaze dull, haunted, never wavered. He could see it.

See the blankness.

See the part of you that had been ripped away.

And he was shaking.

"…You’re still you" he whispered, more to himself than to you.

As if saying it would make it true.

As if repeating it would keep you from slipping further away.

You frowned, your pulse uneven.

Something felt wrong. But you couldn’t grasp it.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his forehead, pressing it there—

Like a prayer.

"I will never forgive you" he whispered, the words trembling, breaking, unraveling. He exhaled, shuddering. "You threw yourself away....for what? To be free of me?"

Then his arms wrapped around you, crushingly tight, desperate, unrelenting.

"Why?" His breath ghosted against your neck, grief seeping into his every syllable.

"Why would you do this?"

You did not know the answer. Because you could not remember.

After that, he never let you out of his sight.

You breathed? He was there.

You walked? He followed.

You studied? He sat beside you, refusing to let go of your wrist, as if he thought you’d disappear.

And when you woke up, trembling in the middle of the night, a hollow ache in your chest, he was already holding you. Already whispering, already trying to mend what could not be fixed.

"I’ll be whatever you need" he murmured against your temple. "You don’t have to remember anything, Master. You only have to remember me."

You didn’t know what you had lost.

But he did.

And it was eating him alive.

Because you were different now. The way you moved, the way you spoke, the way your magic hummed, it wasn’t the same.

Something fundamental was gone. And it was his fault.

Because if he had been stronger, if he had just kept you closer, you never would have done this to yourself.

So he clung. Tighter.

He buried himself in your existence, refusing to let another piece of you slip away.

If you tried to push him back, he only held on tighter.

If you tried to tell him you were fine, he laughed, bitter, hollow.

"You’re not fine."

"You’re missing something."

And the worst part?

Even without knowing what you lost, you could feel it.

Every time you looked at him.

Every time you caught him staring, his hands trembling, his breath uneven, his expression unreadable, you could tell.

He would never stop grieving. And he would never stop loving you.

Your fingers drifted through his hair.

Soft. Warmer than you expected.

Anaxa froze. His breath caught, his shoulders tensed, as if your touch was something he had longed for but never thought he would receive.

Your voice was gentle.

"I don’t know what I lost."

"But I know you’re still here."

He broke. A sound escaped him, something strangled, something raw. His hands clenched at your robes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder and then he was trembling. A slow, painful tremor that shook through him, through you, through everything.

"Don’t say that" he rasped. "Don’t—"

He exhaled sharply, but it didn’t steady him. Nothing could.

Not when you, the one thing he could not bear to lose, had been hollowed out before his eyes.

Not when you, who had once been so sharp, so untouchable had become this.

This kind, empty thing.

His arms tightened around you, desperate, as if holding you harder would keep you from fading further.

"You’re not supposed to comfort me" he whispered, voice shaking, utterly ruined.

"I don’t deserve it."

And yet, you still held him.

Still let your fingers run through his hair.

Still stayed.

And he- he shattered.

Tears slipped onto your skin, quiet, unrestrained, unstoppable. He buried himself in you, clinging, breaking, unraveling.

And for the first time, he felt what it was like to lose something you could never get back.

[jujutsukgojo]

goodnight

satoru gojo x reader

Summary:

Satoru likes to mess with you when you sleep.

tw: spoilers, nibbling

Satoru kisses your fingers. They wiggle at the contact. You frown in your heavy sleep. It is amazing how well you sleep despite the past. Killing curses and seeing death every day takes a toll on the mind. He knows it firsthand. As the strongest who has died twice in his life, misplaced out of his body, and knows the Grim Reaper's phone number by heart, Satoru is well aware. Yet he is finding complete peace. Before, there were moments like this, but it isn't the same. There's nothing outside the window covered in slime and remains. In the morning, it'll be just as calm with everyday noises; no bloody cries or the screeching sound of a curse. 

 He kisses them again and again. You wake up from the sensation of his lips against your skin. Satoru watches you intently, loving how your sleepy eyes find him holding your hand. You frown and growl lazily. “What’re you doin’?” you ask. When he doesn't answer in time, you fall back to sleep.

 Satoru chuckles and turns you over to face him. He wants to look at you. He went without for a long time; so, he cherishes every second of it. You huff at his disruption of what he assumes was a good dream. 

“What in God’s name do you want?” Your voice is muffled from your guard and there is some drool on your cheek and the satin pillowcase. Years ago, during high school, you slept together on the couch. You were embarrassed because you drooled on his sweater, but now that you’re together, what he hopes is forever, you’ve chilled. 

 “Ew!” He pokes your face. You swat his hand and groan. He promises to mess with you every day. He’ll never tell you how he looks forward to seeing you sleep and wake up, drool and all. 

 You turn around to go back to sleep on your side and he flips you on your back. “I’m about to pinch you-stop! What do you want, man?”

 “Pay attention to me.”

“Satoru,” you groan, “it’s too late for this.”

He shrugs. It’s been a while since everything finished. All he had to do was die again to have this. What a wonderful choice.

“Gimme kiss!”

You push his face. “Satoru, I’m serious. I’m sleepy and I know you are too.”

 He puts his head on your chest. “I’m not used to sleeping, sugar plum.”

You sigh and rub his head. A sweet hum fills the room with peace and comfort. Your fingers thread through his hair gently. He listens to your beating heart like it is its song. For him, after everything, it is. Satoru traces his fingers against your skin showing from your lifted shirt. It’s all finished now, yet he will never get used to serenity. Not because he doesn’t love it, but because he’s gone without it for so long.

You kiss the top of his head. “You smell good.” Satoru perks up. Even though he had everything in the world, power, money, admiration, hate, anything and everything, your compliments mean more. Plus, he gets to rile you up.

“Yeah?” You hum in response. He sighs. “I wish I could say the same for you,” you scoff. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll help-”

“Get out.” You push him repeatedly to get him off the bed. His solid body doesn't move. Satoru gives you peck after peck of his soft lips.

He removes the guard so he can continue. You frown. “You’re so annoying, you brat!”

Satoru playfully growls and nibbles on you. “Will-will you stop that!” You bite him back with each word, “Go. To. Bed!” You turn back to your side, facing the window. 

He flips you over and kisses your lips several times. “I. Want. Attention.” 

You huff and bring him close to your chest again. You pet his head. “Such a big baby.”

Satoru smiles warmly. You groan, “What a pretty man. Such a handsome boy. The most special there is-”

He pinches your side. You stop and then kiss his head. "Satoru, I love you.” After years of being called the strongest and revered, you and Suguru answered his prayer and treated him normally, even Shoko a bit. However, you were the only one not even mention his abilities. All you did was beat him in games, feed him, and watch movies together. You never cared who he was and that made-no, makes him feel like he’s home. 

He fell for you after several times trying to get under your skin and he never won. You have had his heart for almost half his life. 

“I love you now,” you say in a low voice. “I loved you then,” you continue to pet his head softly. “I’ll love you forevermore.” 

Satoru blushes and looks up at you. Your eyelids are getting heavy. “I’ll love you even more if you shut up and go to bed.” He shoves the guard back in your mouth, making you grunt.

He kisses your chest and settles. “Fine.”

“Night.”

“I still want attention though…”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’ll just dream of you or something. Maybe dream you will treat me better.”

You sigh and close your eyes. The moonlight peeking through the small gap from the curtains shines on your eyelids, resembling the lighting of an old golden-age Hollywood movie. When you’re good and asleep, Satoru remains awake. He’s no longer jumping at every sound. Not when he’s got his ear on your heartbeat. Satoru’s at peace and it's wonderful. He can’t wait for the morning. He’ll surprise you with breakfast in bed and the ring he got for you.

[crimsonbubble]

cw. nsfw, afab!reader with big tiddies, hot springs, Johnny has a major staring problem, Kenshi has his eyes, nipple play, oral, threesome, overstimulation, finger sucking *not proofread, just pure horny

[ty @partycatty for being my enabler <333]

It’s hard work to be one of earthrealms champions, so some relaxation is in order.

The hot water of the hot bath is perfect for loosening your taut muscles, sinking further into the water as you let out a quiet moan in satisfaction. You were too absorbed in the warm embrace of the water to notice chatter from just outside the bathhouse.

It was only when you heard a soft ring of your name, opened your eyes and peeking over your shoulder. Kenshi and Johnny stood there, adorned in nothing but towels around their waists. Your eyes widened comically, your arms immediately covered your chest as you moved across the bath.

Kenshi had the decency to avert his eyes away, a rising pink blush sitting high on his cheeks while he muttered out apologies. Johnny stood silently, his eyes downcast at your chest. With your arms over your chest, it pushed them up, merely having your now stiff nipples hidden behind your hands.

Your eyes don’t stay still for long either. Trailing them down the expanse of their bodies, watching the twitch of every muscle and staring incredulously at the bulges forming under their towels. The bold tattoos that covered Kenshi’s skin fit his character too well, highlighting his impressive figure and making him too good-looking to not stare at.

You’ve been meaning to ask to see more of his tattoos and it seems like your prayers have been answered. You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes above the hem of their towels but the bulges there make it hard not to look, praying to whatever god out there to have them drop the towel.

Words are lost in your throat as once you come back to reality, Johnny is caging you against the edge of the bath, while Kenshi is throwing his towel off to the side. From Johnny’s view, he can see the tops of your supple boobs, droplets of water rushing down your skin. You can see the gears turning in his head, making the first move to show him just how much you wanted it.

You carefully uncovered your chest, leaning back against the edge of the bath and cupping your arms under your tits. Johnny’s eyes raced down, cursing as he slotted his lips with yours. His hands easily found your tits, tweaking your nipples between warm hands. You let out a soft moan into Johnny’s kiss, tugging him closer by his damp hair.

Johnny sat on the edge of the bath just out of the water before tugging you into his lap. He kissed down your face, nipping and biting at your neck. His hands continued to grope your chest, his hips bucking up into you. Now without the towel in the way, you can feel just how hard he is. Warm, heavy and pulsing against your clit.

It didn’t take much convincing before you reached between your bodies to take his cock into your hand. You stroked him quickly, getting too impatient to wait any longer. You quickly sank onto his length, your body shuddering as you took him down to the base. Johnny moaned into your neck, taking his kisses down further. His tongue swirled around your nipple before sucking the puffy bud into his mouth.

The feeling of Johnny’s cock resting heavily in your slicked cunt and his mouth playing with your nipples had you writhing, coming undone so easily around him. Kenshi reeled your head back, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Johnny steadily pumped his cock into you, his thumb tracing circles on your pulsing clit.

You moaned freely into the kiss, your pussy clenching around Johnny. Johnny moans brashly, not caring who hears. Kenshi pulled away from your lips, sliding two fingers against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, greedily pressing your tongue to his skin. Kenshi pressed down on your tongue, forcing your mouth to open. Drool spilled from your lips, cascading down your neck and tits.

Kenshi removed his hand from your mouth, making use of his strong hands to fondle your tits. He stood behind you, forcing you to face Johnny as he played with your nipples. Johnny held your hips as you bounced on him, before abruptly pulling you off of him. You whine at the loss, looking over at Johnny with hazy eyes.

He kisses you furiously, moving you to bend over the edge of the warm bath. Kenshi is now sitting in front of you. With how you’re positioned, your tits brush against his aching cock. Stiff nipples brushed against his leaking tip. You press a chaste kiss to his tip, swirling your tongue around his thick head. Kenshi caressed your face softly, as Johnny quickly filled your pussy again, not so softly.

The sudden movement of Johnny bottoming out inside you, had your mouth swallowing around Kenshi. He moaned at the way your throat constricted around him. He gently guided your mouth, shallowly thrusting his cock into your pretty mouth. The constant in and out had you reeling, over the moan as you drowned in pleasure.

Johnny dragged his fingers over your needy clit, laughing breathlessly when you jolted and tightened around his cock. You bob your head slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside of Kenshi’s dick. The constant push and pull of Johnny’s hands and hips had you sputtering around Kenshi’s cock. Johnny presses a hand to the middle of your back, indirectly forcing your head down to the base of Kenshi’s dick.

Kenshi places a hand on the back of your head, holding your mouth at his base as he twitched and bucked his hips. With a few shallow thrusts, Kenshi stiffened, holding your mouth on him as he came in short spurts, coating your mouth in white. You pulled off of him with heavy breaths, too dizzy from the pleasure to focus on anything.

Johnny still had a tight hold of your hips, mesmerized by the way your body shook and jolted against him. Johnny’s orgasm followed soon after, his fingers continuing to toy with your wet clit. Your messy cunt clamped around his cock, pulsing with each sticky rope of cum that he poured into you.

Johnny pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of you, coating your sore pussy in a scandalous white.

Of course, one round is never enough though.

[smallratboy]

'Their Beloved' - Final Chapter - Ch. 7

Geta X reader X Caracalla

You were a concubine, a servant of the emperors. Below them, grateful for even being given the chance to be near them. You had developed feelings for them over the course of your servitude, but you never expected those feeling to be reciprocated. You start to notice, however, that they start to treat you as more than just a favorite toy.

smut! 18+

masterlist

previous chapter

Life is different between the three of you after that night. A feeling of peace settles over you when you are with Geta and Caracalla. Your worries of your past life, the whispers in the hallways, even the glares of the senators can't hurt you when you're around them. 

It feels easy to be with them, and you spend most of your days with one or both of them. They lavish you with attention and love, and although they have not said it, you felt your love for them mirrored in their actions. 

One night, as you are reading in your quarters, Caracalla comes to find you. You smile when you see him, and pat the bed next to you as an invitation to join you. He walks over wordlessly, falling onto your chest. 

“How are you, my love?” You ask, putting your book aside and giving him a soft kiss. He doesn't answer, instead threading his fingers through your hair to deepen the kiss. You follow his lead, opening your mouth to him and returning his desperate fervor. 

“Dianthus,” he whines, pressing hot kisses to your cheek, down to your neck. You groan, baring your neck to him. His sudden need leaves you reeling and dizzy, his desperation palpable. 

“How do you want me?” You ask, and he groans in response. His face is buried in your neck, and his legs are wrapped around your hips. You can feel his desperation through your robes, and buck your hips against him. 

“Slow,” He breathes, lifting his head to look you in the eyes. His eyes are bright and beautiful, and he puts a hand on your navel to hold you steady. He kisses you again, gently but still full of want, before slowly taking off your robes. He kisses each piece of skin he reveals, his mouth moving up from your thighs to your stomach, over your chest. He kisses each breast, your collarbone where the sun pendant hangs, and up your neck to your mouth. 

You flush under his intense affection, unused to such worship. He looks at you like you are a god, complete devotion and love on his face. He kisses his way back down to your pussy, which throbbed in time with your heart. He leaves featherlight kisses on your folds, lapping up your wetness like a man starved. You jolt under each touch, the warm wetness of his mouth sending shivers up your spine. His hot mouth works against you like he's whispering prayers, driving you crazy. 

Your whines and jolts only spur him on, and he buries his mouth in your dripping cunt. His nose brushes up and down against your clit as his mouth laps and sucks. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, kneading the soft flesh. You grab his fiery hair and pull him closer, arching your back and moaning wantonly. 

Your thighs shake as your orgasm crests over you, leaving you gasping for breath. Caracalla kisses you desperately, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. Caracalla is still fully clothed, and you pull at his robes with a pout. He chuckles, and removes them. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you pull him flush against you. You can feel every dimple on his skin, and his cock is hard against your thigh. 

One of his hands plays with your breast, fondling it and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You gasp, still sensitive, and reach down to stroke the head of his cock. He breathes out a desperate curse and pushes himself up so he stands over you. You spread your legs for him, letting him sink to the hilt inside of you. You moan in sync, wrapped in a gauzy haze of pleasure. 

The spell is broken suddenly when the door opens, and you whip your gaze over to see who it is. Your panic subsides when you realized it is Geta, and you offer him a fucked-out smile. Caracalla is heedless of his brother, and doesn't stop fucking you even when he turns to see who has entered. 

The feeling of Geta's gaze is intense, and you relish it. You arch your back seductively, moaning as the new angle brings Caracalla deeper inside you. Geta's hands clench into fists, and you smile wider, loving the effect you're having on him. You want him to watch Caraclla make you come, have every sound and every shiver absorbed by the deep pools of Geta's eyes. 

“Come to join in the festivities?” Caracalla asks, his voice breathy. He lays on you possessively, covering your body with his own. You whine as he thrusts into your sweet spot, making you see stars. 

“I came to fuck my husband,” Geta says, disrobing as he makes his way to you. Geta's cock is standing at attention, the tip flushed pink. “I see you've beat me to it.”

“Our husband,” Caracalla growls, his thrusts becoming quick and erratic. You can tell he is close, and you press hot kisses to his face and shoulders. He comes with a needy whine, holding himself close to you as his hips stutter and his thighs shake. 

When he pulls out, you are able to think more clearly. Had they said husband? 

“Wait,” you whisper. “What?” 

Geta joins you in the bed, Caracalla shifting so your head rests on his chest. Geta begins to play gently with your nipple, rolling and punching the hardened bud. 

“We want you to marry us,” He murmurs, looking intensely at you. You nod, trying to think. It would be much easier if he would stop toying with your breast, but you weren't about to ask him to stop. 

Geta draws close to you, pulling one of your legs up around his hip, his cock flush with your dripping pussy. You can feel him throb against you, making you clench around nothing. You look up at him, gorgeous and golden like a rare bird. 

“Be our husband,” Caracalla says, running a hand through your hair. “Be ours forever.” You turn to look at him, his face lit up by an adoring grin. Your gaze turns back to Geta as he kisses your collarbone, sliding into you. You gasp at his girth, opening your legs further to let him in. 

“Ours forever,” Geta repeats, looking at you intently as he thrust slowly into you. You arch into him, moaning as he wraps his arms around you. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, his thrusts reaching a deep, wonderful place inside of you that makes you lose your breath. You feel a second orgasm beginning to pool in your belly, and whine at the feeling of his pelvis grinding against your clit. 

Caracalla kisses the side of your face, your cheek, your neck and shoulder as Geta fucks you, both of them consuming you completely. You claw at Geta's shoulders, fingers brushing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

Both of them overwhelm you, taking you as theirs. The feeling of their worship is new to you, and your body is on fire with their touches. With every kiss, every touch, every reverent groan, you begin to understand why the gods demand sacrifices, and you want Geta and Caracalla to sacrifice themselves to you. You can't tell where obsession ends and love begins, and you want to live in the elysium of their adoration for the rest of their life. 

“Yours,” you whisper, the end coming out in a whine. Your whole body begins to tremble, and your mouth forms a silent ‘o’ as you come again. Geta's hips shake against yours as he comes, holding you tight for long moments as you both catch your breath. 

Finally, you sit up between the two. Geta is wrapped behind you, holding you to his chest. Caracalla's head is in your lap, and you play with his hair. You three are completely naked, and you are enjoying the warmth from both their bodies. 

Geta works a small gold ring from his left hand, a red stone embedded in it. He places it on your left ring finger, holding your hand as he says;  

“I love you, dianthus,” You feel the words whispered against the shell of your ear. “Will you be mine?” 

“I love you, Geta,” you whisper back, turning your head to face him. Your lips capture his in a needy kiss, and the air is thick with a thousand unsaid promises. 

When you break the kiss, Caracalla has removed a ring from his own hand. It is also gold, but has a blue gem glinting up at you instead. Putting it on your right ring finger, he sits up and places himself in your lap. With his face inches from yours, he whispers; 

“I love you, Y/N,” his blue eyes sparkle. “Make me yours.” 

You bring your mouths together in a needy kiss, allowing yourself to devour him entirely. He submits to you, allowing you to take what you want.  

“I love you too, Caracalla,” you whisper, a giddy smile spreading across your lips.

You trade kisses with both of them, whispering passionate promises between desperate kisses. Their bodies are warm and welcoming, holding you securely and safely. The rings on your fingers glint like the gold pendant at your neck, a physical manifestation of your connection to them, precious metals symbolizing precious love. 

You want to devour them, want to let them own every fiber of your being, want to fold them into your chest until you are indistinguishable from them. With every kiss, you can feel parts of them settling into your soul. They fit against you like puzzle pieces, creating a picture that reflects all you had ever wanted. You were theirs, they were yours. You were tethered together, forever. 

an: thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! It was definitely a labor of love for me, and I'll be uploading lots more fics about these freaky gingers.

[mdhwrites]

TOH Fans Don't Know What Redemption Is

TL:DR: TOH as a show uses the tropes and veneer of redemption a lot but fails to actually engage with the fact that redemption is not about no longer being a dick. Your kind of a dick friend does not need to be redeemed for calling you names, they just need to stop calling you names. No, redemption is about making up for past sins... Which TOH never does.

You do not go to confessional to tell someone you did something bad and then ask them to forget about it. You go there to be told what you must do to be redeemed in the eyes of the Lord or to be assured that there was no sin in the first place. If there was, you are asked to perform a service, even if just a set of prayers, to make up for your slip in faith and show your devotion to the path of good. You sacrifice your time and seek to do better. That is inherently a part of redemption. I frame this religiously but hey, if you get rowdy in your buddy's house when they asked you not to and you break something of theirs, you don't just apologize. You usually actually try to make it up to them if you can because otherwise all you've done is give them words when it's actions that spoke for your disregard to them. You might even ask what you can do to make it up to them.

For an absolutely classic and genuinely amazing example of this: Megamind. In the middle of his arc, Roxanne makes it clear that what Megamind has done has hurt her. Hurt what she cares about. That it has made her world worse. What does Megamind do? He returns the art, he cleans up the city... In his own way and in general UNDOES HIS CRIMES. In that one moment, he stops being selfish and actively attempts to make up for it for someone else by righting his wrongs. The worst you can say is that he's doing it because he likes someone and wants their affection but like... Yeah, that's the motivation to change and Megamind even admits himself that he's finding doing good to be enjoyable now. It's a powerful moment because it so clearly contrasts who he was in a way that would be impossible if he were not seeking redemption and being redeemed.

The ONE TIME TOH actually manages this is Lilith. She recognizes that cursing her sister was wrong. She recognizes that her attempts to be the most powerful person on the Isles was wrong. As such, her betrayal of Belos is NOT her redemption. If she chose to betray Belos because she personal gain in it or saw that it was a dead end in life, it would not be redeeming (this will come up later). Instead, she is truly redeemed because she gives up potentially everything but especially her ability to be above others and her sister by taking the curse unto herself. By sharing that burden she was responsible for first and acknowledging that what she did, specifically, was wrong.

People don't champion Lilith though as some great redemption, do they? Not when it comes to TOH. She's overshadowed by the ones given more of a to do like Hunter, Amity and The Collector. Especially those first two though. So, how do they manage?

Amity has crimes. She bullied Willow when she did not have to as Odalia's demand was ONLY to stop being friends with her. She bullied Willow regardless. She attempted to murder Luz. She tried to remove Luz's ability to use magic and was overall just a general bitch who was more than happy to keep taunting Luz for entertainment. She is genuinely a fucking AWFUL human being at the beginning of the series. Does she even bother recognizing this?

No. Not with more than words. That's all Willow gets. In fact, Amity is so disinterested in making up for being a bitch to Willow that she ignores EVERYTHING about her for almost an entire season after they 'make up' which they only make up with words. Amity just says the right thing and seems to think that's all it takes. She still uses Willow for her own selfish needs in Falls and Follies and she doesn't respect Willow during Labyrinth Runners. She does literally nothing to actually redeem herself for this.

How about refuting Boscha or her mom? Those are pretty big deals and against her old self, right? Well, yes and no but we need to interrogate the why for that. To the audience, it is meant to signify Amity giving up her past influences to be a better person. As I stated at the top, it is a common trope in redemption arcs which TOH does engage with. However... She's doing them for Luz and not because of the past. She tells Boscha to go fuck herself not because Amity was a grade A bitch with Boscha but because Boscha is now bullying someone she cares about so she can dropped just as fast and brutally as she did Willow in the past for the sake of pleasing someone else. NOTHING about her behavior is different except now she's doing it for someone as good. That's not redemption. We don't praise the Punisher here just because he murders bad men. Odalia is similar. It's not to make up for Odalia's influence or the things she did because of Odalia, it is to selfishly proclaim her own personhood... And more importantly, save her girlfriend. It's not even to make up for the expulsion, it's JUST to keep Luz alive. Yes, she gets them unexpelled but only once she first acts for the sake of Luz not dying. She has NO INTEREST in getting involved until then and at that point, it's not her crime, it's Odalia's. That's what makes her motivation being Luz not work because the motivation might be Luz, but the result isn't her facing her past, it's just facing a cartoonish villain.

And if your argument is "Well, all she did was because of Odalia," I would respond with, "Okay, that not a redemption then, that's just a regular character arc." If your character does not actually try to IN UNIVERSE redeem themselves, how can you call it a redemption arc? Sasha is ready to DIE for all of Wartwood to make up for the fact that they're gonna get wiped off the face of the map because of her. She acknowledges that she was wrong and always wrong and goes out to do something about that. She gives up command to Anne in order to try avoid her old mistakes because she is so actively trying to do better than she used to. Redemption is never easy and requires shit like this. The best way to do it fast is, well... Death.

This is why the heroic sacrifice trope is so beloved for redeemed villains. They go from spending an entire life causing misery and being selfish to making the ultimate sacrifice against that which they stood for. In one moment, they seek that redemption... But expect no reward which only further bolsters how this is redemption. Redemption is selfless. You never HAVE to redeem yourself. You never expect a prize or even a better life from redeeming yourself besides being able to sleep better at night. It's a powerful trope...

And Hunter's version of it is literally the worst example I can think of for the trope. Yes, we technically get him rescuing the Emerald Entrails before this as a moment of redemption but what about just redeeming his time under Belos and as the Golden Guard? Well... Essentially no one even gets more than a token apology for that. He just sob stories his way into people's hearts instead of actually do anything to earn their affection outside of Willow KIND OF. But hey, that should be fine since he does sacrifice his own life, right?

Well, again, context. What does he sacrifice for? Because it's not anyone other than him. Just listen to literally the words he's saying. He talks about how much better his life is now. How much he likes the perks of being a good guy like friends. He barely remembers to include that stopping Belos needs to be a part of this without him just looking like a mooch of a friend because he never mentions how it feels good to help people, how he hates what he did with the Emperor or even that he believes more in self expression now. It's ENTIRELY selfish. He doesn't even expect to die, he's just telling Belos to go fuck himself and ends up dying in the process, which is actually pretty normal for a selfish henchman betrayal it's just that the show doesn't realize that's what he's doing.

This is indicative of the show's approach to redemption as a whole and we even get a thesis statement on that. The Collector. If you just say you're sorry and are on the correct side, you're redeemed! Making up for all the damage you did when you absolutely can fix it in like a week? Actually putting yourself up for punishment by those who's autonomy you took away and then tortured? Fucking ANYTHING besides unpuppeting people that he did for months to terrorize the entire Isles? No. He said he's sorry and he's just a goofy little guy so he's redeemed! Right?... Right?

And then the Collector takes this very basic idea of redemption, of just needing to show a bit of kindness and people will magically change, and applies it to Belos. For only the second time, in the whole series, does it not work. The problem with saying that means the show understands this topic and has nuance is... The other example is Kikimora. Neither of these characters are people. They caricatures of villains. They're so pure evil that the idea of redeeming them is, well... A joke. Literally, in the show, the attempt to redeem Belos is a joke. Why would you think the baby eating psycopath was just going to need a hug? That is the level of cartoon villain we are dealing. That's not nuance, it's bullshit, which is why it has never functioned as a critique of SU like it clearly is, especially not when the person who does it JUST NEEDED A FEW KIND WORDS. Like the Collector literally IS just the arc they describe and then try to mock and never even blinks at this fact.

But we call these redemption arcs because they were tokenly villains before hand. I would at this point argue that we need to stop doing that. If we think TOH even purports the concept of redemption, that implies you can learn how to write redemption through TOH. You can't. Bluntly, you cannot because it barely ever tries and when it fails, it fails miserably.

The Diamonds at least promised, and kept their word, to undo their damages. I don't think you get to mock that with your redemptions when you can't even manage that much 75% of the time. See you next tale.

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[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

The Art of Torture

(Aemond x oc/reader)

Concept: Aemond takes your home town.

CW: parental abuse, sex, titty sucking, incest, rape (not oc/aemond) childbirth, forced adoption, blood, gore, extreme descriptions of extreme gore and blood. torture. Murder, blood licking, tasting, tons of blood. Murder of innocents. Smut. Sex. loss of virginty, Aemond's sexual trauma, Aemond's eye trauma. Aemond being an idiot. I love forshadowing. Pay close attention.

There is more to torture than just killing. Torture, is an artform in a way. Only those with the right skills should perform it. Torture is breaking into someone's mind, understanding their thoughts, their fears and swaying them into trusting the enemy. An art on its own. Lost to most. You, you have been raised by the cruelest man alive. Brutus Bolton, your own father. And now, the gods, fate, destiny, however you want to call it: Has caught up with him at long last. And soon, your story will change.

The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air, choking the oxygen out of it. Aemond Targaryen’s long legs strut through the muddy snow, as he and his men look around for any survivors who can tell them where that coward fled to. It’s humiliating. 

Aemond wipes his brow, putting a loose hair behind his ear, as he tightens his braid, barely keeping his locks together. Everywhere he looks, he sees dead corpses lying in the snow, their throats slit or heads removed.  I’m not his dog.

A soldier runs past Aemond, barely paying him any mind, running off with a captured screaming, crying woman. They don’t respect me. He doesn’t respect me. I’ll never not be a shadow.

Screams, cries, begs, grunts, moans, all noise for Gods who do not listen. Prayers and begs for mercy that gods don’t have. A typical and yet unheard of war scene where Aemond’s troops play the main role. What did I do, but what was expected of me?

He would normally be disgusted by the behaviour of his soldiers. But today, today he does not care. He cannot bring himself to care about the life of the smallfolk on a regular basis. Today, they truly cross paths on an awful day. Let them rot in the deepest, seventh hell.

Prince Aemond had returned, carrying Lucery’s eyes with him. He offered the eyes to the Queen Dowager, his own mother. She slapped them out of his hands, cursing his name and embarrassed him in front of his brother’s court. Aegon agreed that Aemond had talents better suited elsewhere and now he’s up in the ‘’frozen shithole’’ as he calls it, capturing traitors no one truly gives a fuck about. Who cares what Brutus Bolton or his deranged sons are up to? They’re Boltons. They’re not Starks, they’re not Lannisters. Aemond being used to capture petty thieves is an insult that grazes and cuts him deeply. 

A little girl runs away from a home he passes, tripping over a corpse on her way to freedom. Aemond watches as the soldier catches up to her, slamming the axe on the back of her head. The axe hits so deep, that Aemond can hear how it leaves her skin and hits the stones of the road. At least, he thinks he did. He might be imagining it. 

One of the soldiers becomes a little bit uneasy, at this child dying. Aemond finds it strange. Why does a child matter above a adult? Is this some hypcrosim he’s too noble to understand? Or some matter of humanity he’s too dead inside to get?

One of his soldiers stares at the murdered girl. ‘’My Prince,’’ he falls before Aemond. Aemond feels the urge to kick him with his boots but resists the tempting urge for now. He knows this man. Lewin. Lewis? Lendry? Luckey?

The man reminds Aemond of his name. ‘’Aeron, my prince.’’ Ah. Not even close, oh well.

He does not like that name. ‘’You have something to say, Aeron?’’ 

Aeron seems to understand what a terrible mood Aemond is, and hesitates. But he does speak up to his Prince. ‘’I do. I know the Boltons offended you in great ways, but surely…This village belongs to the Starks. We should not loot, rape, pillage, and destory. We should only punish the Boltons.’’ The Prince laughs, barking with laughter at that idotic request. So he’s one of those fools.

Aemond leans in closer, staring at the woven small wooden beads the man wears. ‘’You think if the roles were reversed, they would think twice about raping your little sister in her maiden cunny? I have seen your sister. She’d be luckily if they slit her throat afterwards.’’ He waits to break eye contact to make sure the message is received. He pats his sword after.

‘’Either way you walk on, or you get on your knees and I’ll kill you for deserting. Your choice but make it fast. I’ve got other things to do.’’

As suspected, Aeron does not kneel and walks on, a lot paler than before. He reaches a strange house in the village. No warmth comes from it. No fire is burning inside. Who in their right minds-

‘’The Boltons have run. Can we now go join the others?’’ One of the other men asks Aemond, whining as a brat. Aemond looks at his face, filled with red spots, his crooked nose and his rotting teeth. Of course he would want to rape a woman. There’s no woman who would even touch that with a ten feet pole.  ‘’King Aegon promised us rewards.’’ That’s when Aemond snaps. 

Aegon is not here. He is. Aegon is laying in his bed, sleeping, warm, comfortable, when he’s out here, freezing, walking with blisters, wearing swords and daggers and protecting the kingdom, doing his duty when Aegon puts another bastard in some whore.

He does not warn the soldier. He just smacks him on the back of his head. ‘’You want to join your fellow soldiers? You can choose. You can join them into raping these whores after we are finally done, or you can join them in the afterlife after I’ve impaled your throat. Your choice.’’

‘’What a butch of men. Half of you are cowards, others of you would be better off at the wall.’’

And what does that say about Aegon? Either he didn’t know…

Or worse.

Aegon didn’t care to send good men with Aemond. Aegon wanted Aemond humbled, humiliated. Well, it looks like he’ll get his wish granted.

Aemond and his men pass the house, not paying any mind. Until Aemond hears a soft little noise that would go unnoticed for most inside the house. A very subtle breathe. Someone releasing their breath. He takes his sword out, and kicks the door open of the house. The door has been rotting from within, worms and other vermin greet Aemond as they slither and crawl outside, paying no mind to him or his men.

He pushes through, ignoring the darkness. The entire cottage is dark, said for the middle of the room, where a corpse is surrounded by four small candles. A young woman sits by the corpse, wearing a grey sack that barely suits her beautiful roundings. Aemond keeps the sword nearby, but does not bother to attack. It looks like he found Brutus Bolton, at long last. ‘’Who is that corpse?’’ Aemond asks.

One of the soldiers sets a step closer, but not too much. They seem to fear the woman. ‘’It’s Brutus. That must be his bastard. His daughter.’’ He says. ‘’We found no traces of her brothers. Maybe she knows where they went.’’ Aemond’s mouth makes a disapproving line when he hears the word bastard. But that does mean, she likely won’t have a husband. Her brothers fled, and her father is dead. She’ll comply, make a lovely hostage and if need be some company for the road. 

You hear footsteps approaching, and via the broken glazing plate you put by the counters of the kitchen, you can see the fearsome prince approaching you. You keep your head down, your body shaking as you look at your father’s corpse. Your hands red, stained with blood after hugging him after the unspeakable crimes committed upon him. You repeat the same prayer over and over. The knife is just a reach away. The knife that was used to murder him. Your hands are stained with patterns and prints of sin, death, murder. Crimson drips from your fingertips as you clutch your dress, leaving bloody prints.

The Prince seems to halt in his cold approach. He sees you the way a man sees a woman. He sees you weak. He sees an orphan girl, now at the mercy of a group of killers. He sees a deer lured into the wolf’s den. You allow him to approach closer.

He does pity her. She has a lovely face, said for a ugly scar by her throat. He wonders how she got it. She smells horrible. Like death and rot. But he does not care. He will have his answers. 

You scootch forward, ignoring the prince that was ready to put his hand on your shoulder, to alart you of his presence. Your father’s eyes are wide, and open, staring at the rotting ceiling.

His eyes describe horrors, Aemond notices right away when inspecting the corpse. Whatever killed him, it was gruesome. It was merciless and it was deadly. He smiles at the corpse. Whoever killed him, will be granted a reward. ‘’Find me who killed this fuck. They will be rewarded.’’ Aemond says, instantly. The soldier rushes off to spread his word, while the other four share confused looks. All but one.

The ugly soldier steps forward, and Aemond takes two step to protect his own nose. ‘’I killed him.’’ The ugly soldier says. Aemond does not even respond to that idiot. ‘’My Prince? I claim this girl as my reward…’’ He walks to the weeping girl. Aemond’s head bends in their direction. 

You shriek, backing away from the smelling soldier. You smelled some corpses in your life. Saw some rats. Lived in a room filled where hounds live. But none of it smelled as he did. You just don’t want to be near his smell. ‘’How did you kill him, you were with me the entire time, you idiot. That girl is my only lead. You’ll let her be or I’ll have your head.’’ Your eyes sparkle at that threat, smiling at the prince. He does not return your smile, ignoring your thankfulness. 

You think it’s time to let him now know. You played with them long enough.

You clutch your father’s dead corpse, and bend your head on his chest.  You open your mouth and instead of weeping…

A horrifying, disturbing, unworldly, and utterly terrifying sharp chuckles of pure joy escape you as you clap your bloodied hands in delight. The soldier that wanted to rape you earlier now quickly puts his tiny cock away, staring at you in shock. You don't even acknowledge him. You begin to tear and break the bones of your father, putting the knife in his skin as you pry loose bones and skin alike.

The Prince sets a step towards you, intrigued by what you are doing. Aeron, horrified, hides behind his commander, the Prince. He never saw such bloodthrist. “Good gods-” one of his men begins to mutter but Aemond silences his wordlessly, his eye resting upon the youngest Bolton as you begin to remove the skin of your victim. Your father. 

He watches with his breath as you remove the one after the other piece of skin; first timid and gentle, small pieces but eventually you learn what is in your blood, one way or another. The flesh tears loose and you rips it from the skin, flaying him fully. You release a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. You always pictured this moment, every time he beat you, every time he starved or hurt you: You pictured this moment. And now, now it’s here. You revel in his blood, smearing it over your face and body as a cry of happiness.

You revel in the delight and the blood as you happily lick off your fingers and hands, staring at the Prince as he clears his throat interrupting you. “That man was to be my hostage.” he informs you, staring at you.

You need to take a closer look at him. So you do. You stand up, your grey dress following you around because it's so big. You tilt your head at the strange man. Studying his hair and his lovely scar. You never saw a Valyrian. He seems surprised by your length as most men are. 

Women are not supposed to be tall. Women are supposed to be fragile, weak, small, tiny and to be easily mastered. It is unlike their nature to assume that even the tiniest woman can reach up to grab a crown. And that even the largest woman can be seductive. 

He has to admit to himself, you have a pretty face. A face too pretty to be wasted on some Northern savage. “You're the Prince.” You say, your head tilted sideways, your eyes and brows betraying that you found his approach confusing. “Have I done something wrong? I thought you ordered the death of the traitor.” You let out another harrowing cackle, patting your father’s skull, stroking it as if it is a mere flower. “He will look so lovely when the crows pick his eyeballs out.” you fantasies out loud, sharing your disturbing fantasies with the Prince.

She stares at the ugly soldier, licking blood off her thumb that she did not quite reach the first time. ‘’And you, you wanted to claim my kill. Quite rude.’’ Aemond ignores confusing feelings as he stares at you lick blood. He is supposed to be repelled. Why isn’t he? Why does he find her…pretty?

You smile, offering the prince your father’s skull. ‘’Your skull, my Prince.’’ You make a clumsy curtsy that fails miserably. ‘’I’m afraid the rest of his body is not for you. I have my own plans with it. But you can show your brother that you did a excellent job, here in the North.’’ You think back of all the delicious cries and screams you heard earlier, and chuckle. They were never friends.

Aemond inspects the skull, or the head, rather, and nods, giving it to a very disgusted Aeron. ‘’Now I need to figure out what I’ll do with you.’’ Aemond says, hoping the girl offers him some options. He has a few things in mind. She smiles. ‘’My men are quite lonely.’’

You snort with laughter, so hard that you sound as a pig. Aemond’s mask of stoic seems to break as a slow smile appears. ‘’Your men are little boys and cowards. I would not call them ‘Men’.’’ You say, turning around to collect your dagger. ‘’I do have one suggestion. You can take it or leave it. But I bet you want my brothers too, don’t you, Prince Aemond One Eye?’’ You smile, staring at the lovely detailed scar. He scowls, offended you brought up his scar. You reassure him by walking around him, giving him a flirty smile. ‘’I always thought every man should have scars, each for every victory they fought. And I heard, you are quite the victorious man. Or did I misheard?’’

Aeron does not trust this strange woman. He does not like how half of the crew is afraid and Aemond is hanging on her lips. ‘’My prince, this woman is clearly a witch or mentally deranged. I think we should count our losses and leave this very instant-’’

‘’Shut up before I’ll take your tongue out.’’ Aemond growls. ‘’She’s right about you lot. Cowards and one ugly raper. You’re not men. Next time, I’ll set out with women. They clearly know what they’re doing.’’ He says as you remove a stubborn piece of nut from one of your teeth with the dagger. ‘’Continue. You were going to offer me something. Something even sweeter than the blood on your face, perhaps?’’ He leans in, scooping a bit of blood off your face. You do find him attractive. You watch as he mirrors your action, tasting the blood and licking his own fingers off. You chuckle, delighted.

The woman claps her hands, delighted and even jumps up and down. Aemond is confused. She seems very childish, in some ways. But he kind of adores it. He likes that free spirit. He likes her innocence, and yet her dark rotten nature. ‘’Oh, you have no idea. My brothers, I know where they are.’’ He can feel that this will end in a good way.  He can’t help but stare at her breasts.

The ugly soldier sadly tugs his coat, ruining his daydream.‘’You can’t believe this heathen. Who even would kill his own kin? Nothing so accursed as a…’’ The man stops talking, realising that Aemond has taken out his sword. He glares at the man, challenging him to continue. Kinslayer.

She smiles, lowering his blade subtly. ‘’I can find them for you. You’ll be back in your brother’s good graces.’’ But Aemond is not a fool. He knows that nothing comes without a price.

‘’And in return?’’ He asks, brows raised slightly.

You chuckle, liking the way where this is going. You could list all sort of beautiful rewards. Hm. What could you possibly want? ‘’You let me kill them. I want them to die a slow, painful death.’’ You tell him, staring at his hands. ‘’I want them to crave death. I want to inflict so much pain and misery on them that they already feel as if they parted this world and are in the deepest seventh hell.’’ You stare at the dragon pins on his coat, suddenly your interest peaking at seeing a dragon up close.  ‘’Oh, and I want to ride with you on the dragon's back. I heard you have one.’’ You didn’t hear anything, truth be told. You kind of guessed it.

‘’Vhagar and I would be honoured.’’ Your whole world stops spinning at that one moment. You pull your necklace in your dress, your walls crumbling and you feel exposed and vulnerable. You had no comfort growing up. Your own family were monsters. And so you longed for your own monster. A monster to protect you. To keep you safe. One day, you heard stories of Visenya, a woman who is according to some monsters too. She rode the big beast Vhagar. You fell asleep, wishing you had a visenya. You fell asleep, crying, wanting anyone, someone, to protect you.

And now here he is. The protector. Your chance for freedom. With Vhagar of all dragons.

‘’You have her dragon? Visenya’s dragon?’’ Your voice becomes soft, timid, unsure, something you weren’t sure you could even hear in your own voice. Hope.

Aemond seems to notice her changing body language right away. ‘’Indeed I do.’’ He folds his hands on his back, tilting his head, smirking at her big eyes, and her stunned expression. That might be the first time she’s genuinely sincere and in awe of him. He likes this genuine excitement more than whatever she tried to do earlier. 

You try to keep your walls around you, protecting your heart.

‘’Well, I must meet her.’’ You say, as a matter of fact.

The Prince stops you before you can rush off. ‘’First things first. Shall we go to my camp, mayhaps we can discuss our plans, and share a nice cup of wine while we’re add it?’’

–

His camp is nearby. You are allowed to bathe the blood away. You are led into the royal tent, the one where Aemond sleeps in. You marvel at his royal bed linen and his collection of books and swords. ‘’You can stay here. I don’t trust others enough.’’ He reveals to you, as he prepares two cups of wine. You know who he refers to. His soldiers. 

Aemond and you sit down. ‘’You want to work with me then? Even after I killed that village?’’ He keeps his sword closeby. It does sound like madness….

If those villagers weren’t the deepest cursed creatures of the seventh deepest hells.You feel the anger rise up inside of you. ‘’I wasn’t friends with that village. They knew. Everyone in that godsdamned village knew. If they didn’t end my pain, why would I end theirs?’’  Aemond is silent, but nods along, as if agreeing with your anger. ‘’My only regret is that their suffering was just a night and not from days to years.’’ You say, and you mean every word. No suffering is enough.

You notice you become distant, so you mask your emotions. ‘’You want to talk strategy?’’

You want to put your hand on his knee but he moves position so you cannot. ‘’Yes. Where are they?’’ Aemond does not wait for your schemes, waiting impatiently for answers. That is a complicated answer.

You laugh. He is funny. He thinks you’ll answer him right away. ‘’I’m not telling you. I’m worried you’ll drop me off and don’t let me come along once I tell you. But rest assured, I’ll lead you to them.’’

‘’That sounds like a trap.’’ Aemond says, observant. You roll your eyes, showing him your dagger. He nearly jumps, seeing the blade you had hidden away. You shrug.

‘’I have you alone here. If I wanted you dead, you’d be such a pretty corpse by now.’’ You say, touching his lips with your blade. You put it away, smirking, oblivious to his longing stare, and his silence. You notice his bloodied sword and his silent glance. You smile, crawling on his lap as you begin to clean the sword for him. ‘’You don’t mind me sitting here, do you? It’s a bit cold.’’ You lie.

You only feel his hands wrap around your throat. You are worried for one split second, afraid he’ll finally kill you. But his eye says something else. You are kissed the next moment. You allow yourself to nibble on his lips, feel his face, and quickly remove the eyepatch. Aemond pushes you off, hurt and shame burning in his eye. ‘’No.’’ He manages to croak out.

You freeze, eyepatch in hand. He covers his eye. ‘’I don’t…’’ He says, breathing heavily. You see yourself. You drop the eyepatch, but do return to his side. You take his free hand, feeling the long fingers. You gently remove his hand from his eye. He stares at you, ashamed as only one eye looks back now. One eye, and a hideous scar that no doubt brings him so much pain and shame.

‘’I told you before, men should have scars. I don’t mind that you have them.’’ You repeat, feeling the scar gently with your fingertips. You leave a kiss on his lips. You don’t expect him to return to whatever was happening, but you notice some determination breaking through him. He grabs you by your hips, kissing you back, first gently, then hungry, almost needy, as if he will die without you. You and him kiss as Aemond removes your dress, kissing your breasts and he halts by the scars on your throat. You don’t want to talk about it. But you know you must if you want to earn his trust. ‘’They threw me to the hounds when I was three.’’ You admit. Aemond doesn’t say a word. ‘’I didn’t die, unfortunately. I instead befriended them. I became their leader.’’ He is speechless still.

You carefully kiss him back, eager for something now that that pain comes back out of its shell. A distraction on your part, you are certain. You play along however, for now.

“What is it that you want?” He whispers in her ear. She has got to be the most haunted and cursed soul he ever saw. And yet he cannot deny that he wants her. But he has a mission, so he must bed her easily, and then she’ll leave his mind for good. “I'll be gentle.” He promises her. “And kind. You'll be taken care of.”

Her chuckle betrays that she feels better, and less upset, reminded by her traumas.

“What if I don't want it to be gentle and kind?’’ His mouth slightly opens in a confused manner, as you begin to undress him now too.  ‘’What if I want that man…” she reaches for his manhood, surprising and arousing him. “that took my home town?” You grin. 

He is aroused you can tell by all the signs. Yet he seems to deny himself this pleasure.

“You want that?’ He asks, confused. 

You roll your eyes, playfully. “I want you, Aemond. I want the Kinslayer and the one eyed prince. I want to see your darkness and that you poison me with it from within.” You bow your head to his cock and begin to gently suck on it, as Aemond relaxes, sighing.

“Gods be good,” He whispers. She laughs much softer and begins to trust her hips to his front, gently beginning what both of them wanted. She puts his hands on her hips, learning him a new exciting thing. He normally fucks women lying down.

“I am not very …” He knows he should tell her. But he cannot bring the words over his lips. Instead he stares at her, with a heartbreaking sadness in his eyes. She caresses his face again. 

You are dumbstruck. How can such a mighty creature think so lowly of itself?

“You'll be fine.” you promise him instead of laughing. “You ride fiercer creatures. You ride a dragon. How scary can a girl be, once you have tamed and claimed a dragon?’’ He seems to lighten up at this joke, joining you at long last. You feel him penetrate and you hold back the first soft moans. 

You smile, enjoying your position. But suddenly, something seems to click in Aemond’s mind. He seems to wake up for the spell you put him under. You are flipped within a moment, now under him. He pins you down and begins to roughly fuck you instead. ‘’You wanted me? You’ll get me.’’ He whispers, before slamming inside of you. You ignore the jab of pain and betrayal and let the man do as he wishes, knowing well you still will get pleasure out of it. But you aren’t sure if Aemond trusts you more or less after you and him have done this. Aemond isn’t happy with how things are going, and instead resorts to an older technique he learned in the brothel. He yanks her up by her long hair, bending her on the bed, ass towards him. He forces her down, climbing slightly on her body and fucks her from behind. He hears her approving cries as he begins to reach his height, ecstasy blinding him.

You never had done this before, and you are thankful for it. It is true that Aemond is not the most considerate bed partner, but you would have to be blind to not notice something is deeply wrong with him. He has some disdain and shyness towards the bedroom that seems to remind you of how girls who served your father acted. He might pretend he’s a tough prince, but deep down, you know he’s broken from the core, and only a few strings keep him standing up. Aemond groans, reminding you of your duties as your thoughts race, and you buck back, allowing him to take you as he likes. ‘’Fuck me, kinslayer.’’ You whisper, rubbing his legs. He groans a reply, in a strange tongue you don’t know and takes you much faster, much rougher. It’s less elegant and less gentle, it hurts, if you’re being honest. But you like it way too much to call him to a stop. You hear Aemond finally come, and its the most amazing feeling in the world, aside from killing as he fills you with his seed. He thinks he holds the power, but you do. You made him lose control. You made him come. You smirk, glad Aemond is still facing the other side. 

‘’I do mean it. I want to know where your brothers are. This distraction, it won’t save you.’’ He adds, panting heavily. ‘’I…’’

You ignore his stuttering and turn back around, gaze upon him as some smitten maid and kiss his lips again. ‘’Do not worry. I will have my revenge.’’ You say, clearly.  Aemond nods, agreeing to your words. ‘’And so will you.’’ You add. ‘’You will have it all. The realm..’’You rub his legs as he lays next to you, panting still. You are breathless too. You are also still aroused. You didn't get to finish. You kiss his balls. ‘’The throne..’’You add, making direct eye contact. Aemond’s brows frown, but his eyes are closed. He seems to know that its wrong to want, but he wants it regardless. You place yourself back on his cock. ‘’The world.’’ You finish, and begin to trust your hips, chasing your own pleasure. Aemond allows this, and holds you and takes you as well as he can but its clear that he didn’t keep your pleasure in mind. You come, crying out as you soak his cock. Aemond has his eyes still closed, but now there’s a pleasant cheeky smile on his lips. 

‘’I do want it.’’ He admits, holding your hands suddenly.

‘’The realm?’’ 

‘’The world.’’

‘’’Then what is stopping you? I saw you with the flock you call men. I saw you riding your horse, I saw you commanding your men. You are meant for all of it.’’ You tell him, smirking.

‘’You care for what?’’

‘’Maybe I’m hoping once you’ll become King, I’ll become your Queen. And we burn villages atop of Vhagar together. Drink wine out of our enemies skulls, burn houses of traitors with them locked in the basements, dance in blood, play games with bones.’’ You whisper, letting the fantasy take over.

Aemond avoids your eyes. ‘’I must marry to keep my blood pure, if I were the King.’’ He says, and you don’t like how much pain he causes with that little sentence. You nod, blinking as some idiot at his rejection. His eye sparkles, however. ‘’But, if you have some villages in mind, we can go now. I have a free hour.’’ He says. You dive atop of him, kissing his lips as you eagerly get into your clothes. Aemond follows, much slower, but also eager. 

Aemond prepares for Vhagar as you patiently wait, picking your dagger back up, hiding it in your boots. You hear Aemond laugh as he greets his dragon. You walk behind him, the dagger burning in your boots. The soldiers don’t mind the two of you, as night has befallen the camp. You wait until Aemond has come to fetch you. ‘’What is the matter? Have you changed your mind?’’ He asks. You feel the dagger burn. You stare at Vhagar. Vhagar roars, in warry.

‘’I have.’’ You proclaim.

Aemond’s smile dies as you take out your dagger.

You look at him. ‘’I was sent to kill you, Prince Aemond. I was sent and hired by your sister to kill you. She would give me so much riches if I did.’’ You recall your deal with Rhaenyra as Aemond gawks, the guards quickly surrounding you. You put your dagger back in your boot. ‘’However, I suggest we do something more fun. I suggest, we make her think I’ve captured you, and you show up with your dragon and burn her to a crisp. How does that sound?’’

Aemond only smiles. ‘’I accept. On one condition.’’ You wait, staring at him.

‘’You will ride beside me when I burn her and the other bastards. You will also tell me where your brothers are.’’ He says. ‘’Or I’ll kill you right now.’’

You chuckle again. ‘’My brothers are at different locations..’’ You say, grinning. ''One is at the Red keep. Another, at Oldtown. Another again, marches in the North.''

He frowns. He looks at your face, again, and again and it finally hits him. It hits him so hard, that the sword clatters from his hands and falls to the ground. He begins to cough, violently. You open your arms, smiling. Brutus didn’t father you. Brutus raised you. On behalf of someone in the Red Keep. Someone who wanted to keep you alive, but a secret. ‘’Hello, brother. It is a honor to finally meet you.'' You fold your hands on your back and wait for Aemond to speak. You give him a grin, but its a bit too much for Aemond. He is caught by two guards before he faints, hitting the ground as Vhagar huffs, returning to her sleep at last.

A/N

Idk whats even going on she was so keen on being Brutus' daughter what do you mean she is LARYS daughter with Alicent or maybe Cole and alicents daughter what do you mean?! WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN.

yeah, i dont write outlines so this is a surprise for me as much as its for you all! I do like Aemond fainting like thats fair, man. I'd faint too if that was my sister. Girlie needs help.

thank you if you read.

let me know what you think if you stomached through it.

[apollophanes]

Spiritual Pollution in Hellenic Polytheism

In Helpol, we have three concepts known as lyma, miasma, and agos.

To some, humans are seen as naturally pure beings, but because we are living mortal creatures, spiritual dirt can cling to us and make us impure.

Here, I will discuss these three types of pollution

(Disclaimer: Some of this information comes from my own personal interpretations, and therefore may not apply to the beliefs of everyone)

Lyma

Lyma means "something to be washed away". Itis generally just physical dirt. It isn't much of a big deal when it comes to spiritual matters. However, it is still best to be free of it when approaching the gods.

Miasma

This is where things get complicated.

Miasma is essentially general spiritual pollution. Miasma is something that is completely unavoidable and should not be shamed (well, depending on the cause). Miasma is mainly caused by things related to life and death. This includes sex, childbirth, visiting a cemetery, blood, sexual fluids, etc.

However, miasma has different degrees of severity. More severe miasma comes from acts such as rape, hubris, murder, etc.

Miasma also spreads from people to people. If you walk past someone on the street who just came back from a funeral, their miasma will cling to you as well. This also highlights how unavoidable miasma is. But usually, this kind of indirect miasma is not as bad.

We are not allowed to approach the gods in a state of miasma. Luckily, miasma is not difficult to get rid off (excluding the more severe cases listed above).

All you need to do is wash your hands.

If you get a cut on your leg, the blood is miasmic and therefore you can't approach the gods. But all you need to do is wait for the bleeding to stop, wash away the blood, wash your hands, and then you're good to go.

There is a debate I once had on whether miasma prevents us from praying, giving offerings, and participating in festivals. To me, the answer is yes, but not with prayers. Let me explain why.

In a very simplified description of a certain myth, Orestes killed his mother. This caused him to enter a state of severe miasma and a state of agos (which I will explain later). Long story short, he prayed and asked Apollon to help purify him, in return for a grand offering later on. Apollon heard the prayer and came to help purify Orestes.

In this example, we see that Orestes was still able to pray to Apollon in the worst state of miasma, but promised to give offerings later on.

This implies that prayer is not an issue with miasma.

Here is another example: You don't need to wash your hands when talking to someone, but you should wash your hands if you want to give that person food.

In a similar way, in my opinion, you don't need to wash your hands for a casual prayer, but you should wash them before giving an offering. Although, I also prefer not to pray when I know I am in a miasmic state.

However, this is my own interpretation and others may have different views.

There are other ways to cleanse miasma such as khernips, incense, and scapegoats.

Ocean water is also said to cleanse miasma extremely well.

Agos

Agos is a cursed state and is the most extreme form of spiritual pollution. However, agos is not easy to get.

If you commit a horrible act such as murder, you will be in a state of extreme miasma. However, when the gods notice your crime and get enraged (keep in mind that it is usually not that easy to anger the gods), the miasma evolves into agos.

Miasma is a naturally occurring thing, but agos only comes from the wrath of the gods.

Agos is difficult to remove and is a pretty big deal.

Luckily, you don't need to worry about agos unless you're a horrible person who commits heinous acts.

Aaaand that is my interpretation of spiritual pollution in Helpol. I hope this post can be helpful to you!

Blessed be!

[queenlucythevaliant]

Just to clarify my thoughts (since I've had a number of people ask me about it) re: Job and cursing God. There's a big difference between cursing God as used in Scripture and how we generally would think of cursing at God today.

Cursing someone, in the Bible, has a lot of depth to it. It's not just saying "screw you " in anger, it's got a sense of forsakenness to it. It's the opposite of a blessing, a removal of blessing. If the blessing is presence, your face shining on the person you're blessing, then a curse is absence. In some translations, Job's wife tells him to "renounce God and die," which I honestly think makes a lot more sense to modern ears.

Job says a lot of unpleasant things to and about God in his anger and grief. So do the Psalmists. A number of the Prophets. So can we. God can take it if we come to him with honest expressions of our emotion, including those not-so-nice ones directed at him. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting mad at God and saying, "How dare you, you bastard" when you suffer unjustly. You can say much worse, I think, without sinning, though I don't feel particularly inclined to give examples. But as long as it's an honest expression of your heart, I think you're doing exactly what prayer is for. You're presenting him your heart with an open hand. He can use that. Opposite of love is not hate but indifference, etc.

Job doesn't renounce God. Neither should we. But I think when you're truly suffering, you're gonna have those feelings toward God either way. He'd rather you address them with him directly than try to avoid them. Cursing at God in the modern sense is actually a great way to keep the relationship strong and not end up cursing/renouncing him in the Biblical sense.

[liviawildrose]

𝐞𝐠𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞

hey loves, let’s talk about one of my favorite energy-cleansing rituals: egg cleansing. it’s a practice rooted in ancient traditions (think mexican curanderismo, filipino spiritual beliefs, and other cultures) and is all about removing negative energy, bad vibes, or even spiritual blockages. i’m obsessed with how simple, yet powerful it is. if you’re feeling drained, stuck, or like something just isn’t right, this might be exactly what you need.

here’s a step-by-step guide to help you try it out:

ingredients

• 1 fresh egg (organic if possible—keep that energy pure!)

• a glass of water, salt, (chilly flakes and black salt)

how to perform an egg cleansing

1. set your intention:

• before starting, center yourself. light a candle, burn some incense, or say a quick prayer/affirmation like:

“i release all negativity and invite peace and clarity into my life.”

2. prepare the egg:

• rub some salt on the egg (massage the egg with salt) hold the egg in your hands and infuse it with your intention. visualize it absorbing all the bad vibes, negativity, and heavy energy that’s been lingering

3. cleanse your aura:

• starting at the crown of your head, gently roll the egg over your body. move downward head, neck, shoulders, chest, arms, stomach, legs, and finally your feet. don’t forget your back and sides if possible.

• as you do this, visualize the egg soaking up all the negativity. you can say something like:

“this egg absorbs all that does not serve me.” “this egg is absorbing all the negative energy” “i can finally start on a clean slate now”

4. crack the egg into water:

• once you’re done, carefully crack the egg into a glass of water (add some salt too in the water). be gentle; you don’t want to break the yolk right away.

• look at the egg and water for any patterns, bubbles, or shapes. these can symbolize the energy it picked up:

bubbles or spikes: negativity or tension.

cloudy whites: emotional heaviness.

cloudy water: signifies confusion, stress, or emotional overwhelm.

blood spots in the yolk: can indicate psychic attacks, curses, or unresolved trauma.

multiple bubbles in the yolk: represents people or situations contributing to your stress.

floating yolk or egg white: suggests unresolved emotions or health concerns.

a clear yolk and water: you’re in the clear, babe!

5. dispose of it properly:

• pour the chilly flakes and black salt mixture in it and flush it down the toilet or bury it far from your home. never keep the egg it’s carried away the energy you want to be free from.

pro tips for the best results

• perform this ritual during the waxing moon or full moon for heightened power.

• try doing this while in showers (naked) i did it like that

why it works/ why i did it

it’s not just about the egg. the act of intentionally focusing on your energy, visualizing negativity leaving your body, and creating sacred time for yourself is powerful af. combine that with the natural spiritual conductivity of an egg, and you’ve got a low-key yet magical ritual.

if you’ve ever tried this or plan to, let me know your experience! spiritual hygiene is just as important as physical hygiene, and rituals like this remind us to check in with ourselves.

so, yesterday something huge happened in the cosmos—pluto shifted into aquarius. if you know anything about astrology, you know this is massive energy. like, i felt it immediately. this shift brought this overwhelming urge to reinvent myself, release the old, and just become. but before stepping into this new chapter, i knew i had to cleanse myself energetically, spiritually, emotionally. i needed to clear all the stuck energy weighing me down. that’s why today, i pulled out one of my favorite rituals: the egg cleanse. it felt symbolic, like cracking open a whole new version of me. with Pluto entering Aquarius, this is the time to embrace transformation, growth, and that next-level glow up.

if you want to join me on this journey of becoming a higher self. please comment, like, reblog, and follow let's embrace the glow of together.

[noneatnonedotcom]

feeling better so here's MCU jaune

basic idea is as follows i have 1000 cp for a MCU version of jaune plus 1 free roll, jaune will not have access to any abilities not rolled. and obviously aura and such isn't a thing in the MCU so no aura for him.

Shinsengumi Way: (200 CP)

"The samurai code is in reality, a thing mostly of fiction. The many restrictions and honourable rules that the noble warriors supposedly lived under were fabrications of a later age. Mostly. There were

indeed good men who bound themselves in vows and promises to show their morality, as well as those who did so to restrain their own dark sides. But the sacrifices made through a warrior’s vow can have it’s own benefits, the loss becoming new power for battle.

You are able to take vows that restrict your own life, receiving increases to your overall combat ability in exchange. The more restrictive the vow is to you personally, the more significant the

increase. Sacrificing a few hours of your time in prayer each week would be a minor boost in power at best, whereas constant limitations such as never breaking your word or always fighting in an

honorable manner could improve your power by half or even double the normal level. Breaking a restriction removes the benefit and applies a proportionate penalty to your power on top, as well as

a damaged mental state. These penalties will disappear in time and slowly removing a vow over a few days will allow you to drop the restrictions without cost. A vow’s power is based on how it

affects you personally at the current moment, something strong for others but weak for you will give weak benefits."

Fairy Weapon: (400 cp) "All of the Knights of the Round have their own special weapon. A magical sword, a enchanted bow, a special shield. These weapons are often crafted by the hands of the fairies themselves, creating immensely powerful weapons for the greatest protectors of Britain. Now you too have a legendary weapon in your hands, on the same level as things like Excalibur Galatine, Arondight or Lord Camelot. You might choose an enchanted sword that can unleash gigantic blasts of energy at will or a bow that fires a dozen shots for every single one you loose or even a flail that can command the wind as it slams into your foes. You could even have a magical prosthetic arm that unleashes blades and blasts of light on command."

Ankle Protection: (200CP) "A usual problem of this place is that when you make enemies and don’t finish them off, they will manage to somehow get back at you out of pettiness, now you are exempt of this big issue, if you beat sense into someone, they will listen and behave, that is, if they aren’t one of the madman who roam around, these people might need a more “permanent” solution, call it culling the weeds."

Break it Down for Me: (200CP) One of the most interesting concepts in jujutsu is that of binding vows. By intentionally putting oneself in a disadvantageous situation, such as by imposing extra restrictions upon the usage of a cursed technique, a sorcerer can gain power proportional to the extra risk they took on. One of the most common variants of this is the increase in power sorcerers get by disclosing how their technique works to their opponents, since giving up such information discards an advantage they might otherwise possess.

As a fundamental part of jujutsu, any sorcerer is capable of making such a binding vow by default. With this perk, however, you are able to apply this concept to any of your other powers. By voluntarily explaining how one of your powers works to your foes, that power will become noticeably more effective against them. Fires will burn hotter, energy blasts fly faster and hit harder, and so on. With clever wording, you can even use this to mislead your opponents on how your ability functions while still gaining the power boost, such as through lying by omission. Naturally, if those you’re up against already know how the ability you’re using functions, you won’t gain any power by telling them how it works.

You’re also capable of applying other restrictions to yourself and your powers. Perhaps you limit yourself to a certain level of output for part of the day, increasing your power proportionally for the rest of it. Or perhaps you drastically increase your speed by significantly reducing your durability. However these self-imposed vows work, the power you gain will always be directly proportional to the risk you take on. Be aware, though, that placing or removing such a restriction upon yourself takes a fair amount of time and focus, preventing you from changing them on the fly during combat. Removing a restriction also removes any power gained from it.

Family properties: (100CP) You gain a series of properties that your family uses to train the whelps. Some are hunting grounds, some are foundries for sacred items, and some are places to contemplate your path. You gain 8 of them, split between any purposes your family used them for. You can travel to them instantly via the warehouse.

1: castle, this castle is somewhere in the united states now, though originally it was in brittain, then france, in truth it's in the lands of the fae. and acts as a bulwark against invasion by both sapient and non sapient enemies. 2: training field, a massive field for training, flat open ground large enough for entire armies to fight on. 3: stables, now empty this property can hold all manner of mount.

4: armory, a hidden armory that can be used to hold dangerous items away from anyone's reach.

5: treasury, a large building for less dangerous but more valuable items.

6: hunting grounds, a large swath of woods stocked with all manner of game.

7: garden, well kept garden truly massive in size that houses fae flowers for healing mental health. also just a really nice place to visit.

8: cathedral, a trully massive cathedral that anchor's the fae wild away from the real world, wounds heal much faster while here and it houses many nuns and monks who tend to the grounds and any visitors. located somewhere close to the castle.

free roll: Flower of Chivalry: (200CP) You have come a long way in your training, always holding code of chivalry in your mind and actions, you became able to apply it without doubt or complications even in a grey world like this. You possess the heart of a lion which never backs down, the leadership of a true captain, the mind of a great strategist and the luck required in finding a worthy master to serve and gain greater glory for you both. Truly you are what all other knights aspire to be. It’s not only your heart which holds strong, but also your mastery over magic and swordsmanship is now equal to any Great Knight.

alright, the free roll was actually a pretty low level roll but I can work with that.

The arc family is famous for 1 thing, they will always keep their word, few know that vows made by an Arc are supernaturally binding though and the more hardship they willingly take on, the greater their power. this is further enhanced by their family sword, the holy sword gwr dywydd or oathkeeper, a blade that enhances the effect of their binding vows and oaths.

while the Arcs typically take up an oath to the constitution when they join the military putting them well into the physical and mental abilities of special forces in the modern era jaune found that taking a vow to live by the code of chivalry came naturally to him putting him already on the level of supersoldiers like captain America. while he's incapable of casting spells, his study of mystical arts has left him as one of the major scholars on the subject and his skill with the family blade is second to none.

but as technology advances he finds himself fighting greater and greater enemies, even a heritic god has joined the fight. can jaune survive this new world? and just what will he need to give up to obtain it?

that's my idea for it. really wasn't expecting the flower of chivalry roll but the TLDR of it is jaune's main power is just keeping his word. the binding vow and shinsengumi way stack and the sword multiplies that even further. meaning that while his oath of chivalry binds him he's physically on par with Captain America.

jaune in this is 18 and a fresh recruit for the US military branch of your choice. so the oath to the constitution also increases his abilities.

The oathkeeper is an unbreakable sword that is even stronger than vibrainium though it can't cut through it. it also just outright improves all physical parameters for it's wielder out the gate no oath's needed. it's a very good sword.

a third oath to only use the sword is more than enough to put him in the upper levels of Earth's powers.

TLDR: magical Captain America.

@howlingday @weatherman667 @heliosthegriffin

this is just my take on it, how would you write a version of jaune with these traits? any ideas for his Super hero name? BTW home state is gonna be central PA no new york for this country boy.