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ma1dita · 7 months

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to love is to rest

words: less than 1k

summary: Regulus whispers sweet nothings to you as you sleep.

warnings: none :) regulus x gn!reader, sleepy babies in love, he is an overthinker poor baby, children at war

a/n: had to get this sleepy little regulus oneshot out of my head! thanks for the love & feel free to send more requests & yell at me in the comments ; barely edited sorry i just want to be HELD

(posted: 10/17/23)

—

Regulus doesn’t even remember falling asleep. It was hard to, with the war looming over the horizon. He’d lay awake in bed for hours, pouring over strategies on how to take down the Dark Lord until sleep would rob him of consciousness, without permission. He fights back with fists, wrangling it in his smooth hands with copious amounts of dark roast coffee and ambition. Sirius always said he was a fighter, but he moreso believes that he is one who endures. There isn’t much of a choice in it all, despite the fight he puts up. One must fall victim to sleep, and Regulus is familiar with having to endure the choices life makes for him.

“Baby? What time is it?” he mumbles, sleep still clutching at his eyelids.

The room is dimly lit and the candles are burning low. Blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the darkness, he observes his surroundings and notices that you are nestled into his side, nose against his heart and lightly snoring. Cheekbones framed in moonlight and a little pool of drool over the beating in his chest, Regulus would’ve never thought love to be so soft. Love has been portrayed to him as a scary, unsightly thing—proclamations that cut like swords, a fierce grip that bruises, a performance that marks one forever. But as he smiles and traces your spine over the shirt you stole from his trunk, he realizes he’s never known a love like yours.

“I didn’t know how much I could love until I met you.” he whispers.

Having you here in his arms with only the moon as his witness, he worships you as if you’re something divine. He believes this so strongly because loving you is easy, with no expectations to uphold the family name, no etiquette to perfect, or punishment other than the one he brings upon himself if he gets it wrong. He wonders what must’ve gone right in his past lives so that he can hold someone so closely—someone so angelic. He's far from religious but he’d do anything you ask him to, and you believe in him too much for him to fail. The faith you have in him could give him the strength to survive any unforgivable curse, any death sentence the Dark Lord orders him so as long as he can run home to you. There’s so much he has to do at 17, so much to more to live for— and it’s inconceivable how much he prays to survive long enough to see you at ease.

“You don’t even know how little I loved before I loved you. You don’t even know…”

Should his chest dare give in at this exact moment, he reckons he could make his bones a home for you to live in. At least you’ll have something to remember him by, and his love will be immortalized by you, echoing into the next lifetime until you find each other again. There is nothing more mortifying than to be forgotten. Your hand reaches his forearm and for once, he doesn’t flinch. Regulus presses kisses onto your wrist so that you can carry it with you tomorrow, until you ask him to replenish you with more. His nose glides along your hairline, pressing kisses so that your mind won’t forget. He hopes these acts of love reach your subconscious, that in every plane of existence, you know of him.

“I cannot wait to live the life I stayed for. This is all for you, my love. I promise.”

A sharp inhale comes from your nose as you shift, waking from a dream. Your lips carve another soft spot onto his chest, and he is utterly yours. Fingers reach to cradle his jaw, smiling sleepily as you settle back into his space. His mind is finally empty, finally at peace—even if it’s just for tonight, he can be just a boy in bed with the person he loves.

Sleep covers the both of you slowly, and gently. He shuts his eyes once more and lets it envelop him without a struggle. Yes, he doesn’t know much about love, but for you, he’ll figure it out. For now, Regulus Black is at ease.

—

Love,

you claim, comes close to this,

no space

between your words, a hand

over the other’s heart. How do you live

with this distance?

-Nick Flynn

taglist: @jsjcue

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#marauders era #marauders x reader #regulus black x reader #regulus black is my baby #for my gn babies (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

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vmpiires · 1 month

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﹆₊吸血鬼‧₊˚ TOLD HER BABY I EAT HUMANS, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ you encountered the famous vampire hunter. wc, 2.27K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. got this idea from a fanart i saw on twitter. MY LORD HE WAS FINE..erm anyway,, JOIN THE DISCORD AND THANKS AGAIN FOR 400 FOLLOWERS. hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meee

␥ tags. vampire AU, half-vampire vampire hunter!choso, female anatomy, blood, light smut (?), etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

the cathedral stood tall and imposing, its intricate stone façade glimmering in the moonlight. each stained-glass window depicted a different biblical scene, casting colorful patterns on the ground below. inside, the soft murmur of hushed prayers from the townspeople reverberated through the halls, creating a serene ambiance. but choso's purpose for being there was not to pray.

his heavy footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls as he made his way through the dimly lit crypt, guided only by flickering candlelight. the musty smell of ancient bones and earth filled his nostrils, sending shivers down his spine.

choso cut an imposing figure, his tall frame draped in a black cassock that nearly fell to his ankles with black pants underneath. a matching mozzetta hung from his shoulders, fluttering in the air as he walked, adding a sense of solemnity in his presence.

his black boots were sturdy and well-worn, a testament to the countless hunts he'd been on over the years since the church recruited him. his black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, letting his bangs hang just above his eyes, revealing his pale skin. and his violet eyes were piercing, they seemed to glow with an inner fire.

across the bridge of his nose, a blood mark stood out, a stark reminder of his vampiric nature. a battle he waged within himself. around his neck hung his rosary, a symbol of his faith, which he wielded as fearlessly as any weapon.

the hunter's struggle with his vampiric nature was a constant battle. despite his determination to suppress his undying thirst for human blood, he could still feel the deep-seated urges simmering beneath the surface. he likened it to a constant humming in the back of his mind, a temptation that was always there, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

it took every ounce of willpower to resist the pull of his instincts. choso had finally developed several coping mechanisms over the years, from meditation and prayer to sheer force of will. but still, the thirst lingered, his mouth suddenly going dry at the sight of a human and the distinct smell of their blood, imagining the flavor.

as choso continued to make his way through the crypt, his senses remained on high alert. he could feel the weight of silence, the chill of the stone walls, and the oppressive air of the tomb. but what captivated his attention was the scent of human blood.

his steps faltered as a sudden wave of hunger washed over him. his fangs ached to sink into soft flesh, his body craved the sweet taste of blood. he closed his eyes, willing the thirst to subside. he couldn't afford to lose control, not here.

the hunter's body was tense, his breaths shallow and controlled as he focused on calming himself. he reached for his rosary, the smooth beads cool against his skin, a symbol of strength and protection. in his mind, he conjured the faces of those he had sworn to defend - innocent men, women, and children who relied on him for their safety. with each bead he passed through his fingers, the hunger that threatened to overtake him slowly began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in its wake.

choso's eyes snapped open as he sensed movement in the shadows once again. he whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the blessed dagger made from his own blood at his hip. that's when he saw you, the human he had been sensing, huddled in the corner of the crypt.

for a moment, he was struck by your vulnerability, your fragile humanity. but then his gaze was drawn to the pulse beating in your neck, the blood flowing beneath your skin. he felt the thirst rising again, stronger this time, harder to resist.

choso took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours. he could see the fear in them, the knowledge of what he was. he felt a sudden shame, a revulsion at his own nature. but still, the hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the character he tried to suppress.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his body trembling with the effort of resisting the urge to feed. "what are you doing here?" he growled, his voice low and threatening. "it's not safe down here...not for someone like you."

the man's gaze flickered around the crypt, taking in the dusty tombs and the eerie silence. choso's mind was racing, trying to piece together how you had ended up in such a place. had you been lured here by another vampire? or did you sneak in?

he took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "you need to go," he said, his tone firm. "now, before you get into some trouble." even as he spoke, he could feel the thirst rising again, reminding him of the danger he posed.

silently, without another word passing between you and the hunter, you swiftly exited the cold and dusty crypt, choso’s mozzetta fluttering behind him as a draft flew by him. your footsteps echoed through the dark tunnels as you made your way back to the main floor of the church, leaving the solitary hunter behind in his thoughts.

the smell of damp stone and old incense filled your nostrils as you ascended the stairs, anxious to escape the unsettling atmosphere of the crypt. finally, you emerged into the warm light of the cathedral, relieved to be once again surrounded by familiar surroundings.

choso watched you go, his body tense and coiled like a spring. he didn't relax until he heard the soft click of the crypt door closing behind you. only then did he let out a ragged breath, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

he sank to his knees, his head in his hands. he felt drained, both physically and emotionally. he had come so close to losing control and biting you, to becoming the thing he had sworn to fight against.

the male stayed like that for a long time, until the muffled sounds of footsteps in the church above finally spurred him into action. he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. he knew he had a job to do, and he couldn't let his own weaknesses get in the way.

choso looked like a fallen angel, his pale skin glowing in the light streaming through the stained glass windows the following morning. the nuns fussed around him, their adoration plain to see. but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

he sat in the pews, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling above him. his white collared shirt open, revealing a hint of his toned chest. his hair was tied back as usual, but a few stray strands had escaped, framing his face.

his thoughts kept returning to the events of the night before, to you, the human he saved. he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the others.

he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. he needed to focus on his mission, on his duty as a vampire hunter. but your face kept intruding on his thoughts, your fear and vulnerability etched into his memory.

choso's thoughts were interrupted by movement at the sound of the church doors opening. he turned his head, his gaze instantly drawn to you as you walked down the aisle in his direction.

his eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a jolt of something he couldn't quite identify. you looked different in the daylight, your features softened by the warm sunlight streaming through the windows.

as you drew closer to choso, your steps faltered, and your eyes showed a mixture of uncertainty and genuine gratitude. but he could also see the fear in your gaze, knowing the potential danger he posed to you with his presence. his sharp features were set in a stern expression, adding to the tension between you both. as you stood before him, the air seemed to crackle with an unspoken understanding of the risks involved in this encounter.

with a deep inhale, he attempted to steady his racing heart and regain control of his emotions. "i distinctly remember warning you to stay away from this place," he started in a rough, gravelly voice. his eyes narrowed as he scanned the intruder standing before him. "what are you doing here?" the air seemed to crackle with tension as his words hung heavy in the stillness of the abandoned building.

you instinctively took a step back, feeling the weight of choso's presence and the depth of their emotions. "i needed to see you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i wanted to say thank you for what you did last night."

the words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. the air was thick with tension as you waited for his response, uncertain of how he would react to your thanks. despite the distance between you, the intensity of your feelings bridged the gap and connected you in that moment.

you leaned in, your voice still barely above a whisper. "but i wanted to ask you something," you prompted. "in private." your words hung in the air, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. the soft glow of the sun peering through the window illuminated the faint outlines of your face as you waited for their response.

choso looked at you, his expression unreadable. "no, there's no time for that," he said firmly. "you need to go before something happens and you need to stay away."

with your chin held high, you stood your ground. "no," your voice was shaking but determined. "i need to talk to you. it's important."

the hunter hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. he knew he needed to protect you, but he also couldn't ignore the urgency of the situation. "fine," he said finally, his voice tight. "but make it quick."

with a firm grip, he snatched you by the hand and urgently led you into an empty room, away from the curious eyes of the parishioners flooding in. as soon as the door slammed shut, choso wasted no time in closing the distance between you. his breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in close, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

choso’s voice was filled with urgency as he spoke. it echoed off the stone walls and reverberated through the dark room. "what is it?" he questioned, his eyes searching yours for answers. "what could possibly be so important that you would risk your life to come here and tell me?" the tension in the air was palpable as you hesitated before revealing your question. every word was like a fragile thread that could unravel at any moment.

the question had been nagging at you since the moment you left the cathedral. "how come you didn't bite me when you saw me?" the words escaped your lips before you could even think about it. choso turned to look at you, his widening with surprise at your query. "why did you decide to let me go instead?"

your tone was curious, almost amused. you couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind, what made him spare your life when he could have easily ended it right then and there. the air around you felt heavy as you stood before the hunter, awaiting his response.

choso hadn't expected you to be so direct with him, so perceptive. but before he could answer, he felt his mouth go dry with thirst rising within him, more powerful than it had ever been. he took a step towards you, his violet eyes glowing with desire. he knew he shouldn't, aware that it was dangerous, but he couldn't resist.

"because..." he whispered, his voice strained. "i couldn't."

without thinking, he closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, fueled by his desire for blood and something else he couldn't quite identify.

your body stiffened in surprise, but then you found yourself melting against him, returning the kiss with equal fervor. for only a moment, choso had forgotten about everything except for the taste of your lips and the thirst welling up inside him.

choso lifted you with ease and gently placed you onto the cleared desk in the room. his lips traveled from yours to your neck, pressing soft kisses against your skin and occasionally nibbling on it, leaving a trail of marks behind. each touch sent shivers down your spine and your pulse quickened as you let out quiet moans, struggling to contain your growing desire.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the intensity of the moment. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the moment’s intensity. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

while his lips pressed against your neck, you felt a sharp pinch on your skin, followed by a faint slurping sound. choso's mouth and shirt were now stained with your blood, causing your eyes to widen in shock. before you could even process what had happened, he pulled away and kissed you again with an urgent hunger, his actions more desperate and forceful than before.

you could feel the warmth of your own blood mingling with his saliva as the taste of iron filled your mouth. the intensity of the moment sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and a strange sense of pleasure that you couldn't quite explain.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

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solo6677 · 2 months

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Brand New Life

Jack and Sarah are very happy couple until a car accident changes their lives forever.

In the quiet town of Meadowgrove, Nebraska , a seemingly ordinary couple, Jack and Sarah, were known for their strong bond and unyielding love for each other. However, one fateful day, their lives took an unexpected turn.

While they are both in a car driving to church Jack swerved to miss a deer and hit another car and then a tree. Though Sarah seemed unhurt, the ambulance took both of them to the local hospital. Jack went to the hospital because he was unconscious.

The tragic car accident left Jack in a coma, his body broken and bruised. The doctors also delivered more devastating news to Sarah: Jack had lost both his balls and penis in the crash, and mentally he might never be the same again.

As the weeks turned into months, Sarah refused to give up on her husband. She spent every waking moment by his side, praying for a miracle. And then one day, she received a call from the hospital that changed everything.

The doctors had been working with a company called Evie’s Incorporated on an experimental treatment. They would use an elixir to transform a male into a female. They offered it to Sarah as a last resort, promising that it might give Jack a brand new life but he would be a complete woman.

But what kind of life would it be? Would Jack want to become a woman? And if he did, how would it affect their relationship?

Sarah was faced with a difficult decision. Should she take the leap of faith and give Jack a chance at a brand new life, or should she hold on to the man she married and hope for a miracle?

As she stared at Jack's lifeless body in the hospital bed, she couldn't help but wonder: what would their brand new life look like? Sarah decided to go on with the procedure. The doctors then came into the room and hooked Jack up to an IV with pink liquid coming out of it and into his body. They informed Sarah it could be a few days before they really see anything happening but to have faith.

Sarah would show up to Jack's room the next day. She brought with her books to read to him things that he would enjoy as a man. She sat there for hours and read to him, not seeing him change at all. As she sat there frustrated she prayed that something good would happen. As she left for the night she kissed Jack on the head and told him that she would be back the next day.

The first sign of transformation came on the second day after the elixir was administered. Jack's rough, calloused hands, once marked with the signs of a lifetime of manual labor, began to smooth out and soften. Sarah noticed the change as she held his hand, feeling the skin become softer and more delicate beneath her fingers.

On the third day, Jack's facial and body hair began to disappear, leaving his skin smooth and hairless. His jawline became less defined, and his cheekbones more pronounced. Sarah watched in amazement as her husband's features began to change, becoming softer and more feminine.

By the fourth day, Jack's body had undergone a dramatic transformation. His broad shoulders and muscular chest had given way to a more slender frame, and his waist had narrowed. His hips had widened, and his bottom had become rounder. Sarah couldn't believe the changes she was seeing, as her husband's body became more and more feminine with each passing hour.

The final sign of transformation came on the fifth day. Jack's scar where his penis had been disappeared, and in its place, was a fully formed vagina. Sarah couldn't believe what she was seeing, as her husband's body had been completely transformed from male to female.

Throughout the transformation, Jack remained in a coma, unaware of the changes taking place. Sarah stayed by his side, holding his hand and watching in amazement as her husband became a woman. She couldn't help but wonder what Jack would think of the changes when he woke up. Would he be happy with his new body? Or would he be confused and scared?

As the transformation came to an end, Sarah couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. She was happy that Jack had been given a new chance at life, but she was also scared of the unknown. She knew that their lives would never be the same, and that they would have to navigate this new reality together.

As she looked at Jack, now Jackie, she couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. She knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, and that they would face whatever came next together, as husband/wife and wife.

The doctors were amazed by the transformation, they had never seen such a quick and complete change in a human body before. They were not sure if Jackie would have the same personality or memories as Jack, but they were sure that she would have a new life ahead of her.

As Jackie woke up from her coma, Sarah was there by her side, holding her hand and ready to start this new journey together. Jackie opened her eyes and looked at Sarah, she didn't remember anything from before the transformation, but she knew that she was loved and that was all that mattered. She was ready to start her new life as Jackie, and Sarah was ready to be by her side every step of the way.

At first, Sarah was overjoyed to see Jack alive and well. She was relieved to see that the experimental elixir had worked, and she was excited to get to know this new version of her husband. But as the days went by, Jackie's personality began to change.

At first, Sarah was shocked by Jackie's transformation, but she tried her best to be supportive. Jackie was still the same person she had always loved, after all, just with a different appearance. Jackie seemed to be treating her even better than before, showering her with gifts and affection.

However, after a few days, Jackie started to become more and more demanding. She insisted that Sarah call her Jacqueline, and would fly into a rage if she slipped up. Jacqueline also started to treat Sarah like a servant, making her do all the household chores and running errands for her.

It wasn't long before Jacqueline's demands became more degrading. She made Sarah wear revealing outfits and perform humiliating tasks in public. Sarah felt like she had lost all control over her life, and she didn't know how to fight back.

But what was even worse was that Jacqueline started to bring other men into their home and bedroom. She would make Sarah sit in the corner of the bedroom and play with herself while watching Jacqueline have sex with them. At first, Sarah was horrified, but as time went on, she found herself becoming aroused by the sight of Jacqueline with other men.

Jacqueline seemed to enjoy having an audience, and she would often make Sarah perform oral sex on her while she was with someone else. Sarah felt like she had become a mere object, a sex slave to Jacqueline and her lovers.

But despite the degrading treatment, Sarah found herself craving more. She had never felt so desired, so wanted before. She didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to enjoy her servitude. She would do anything to please Jacqueline, and she felt a thrill every time Jacqueline praised her for being a good girl.

As the days turned into weeks, Sarah's life became a blur of chores, humiliation, and sexual pleasure. She had never been happier, even if she couldn't quite understand why. She had lost all sense of self, and she didn't know if she would ever be able to get it back.

Sarah, once a strong and independent woman, now finds herself completely submissive to Jacqueline's every whim. She has become a slave to her wife's desires, willingly serving her in any way she can. Sarah's life revolves around Jacqueline's pleasure, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite the degrading treatment, Sarah feels a deep sense of love and devotion towards Jacqueline. She believes that this is the life she was meant to live, and she is grateful for every moment she gets to spend with her wife.

As the months go by, Sarah becomes more and more accustomed to her new life. She learns to anticipate Jacqueline's needs, and takes pride in serving her. Sarah's love for Jacqueline only grows stronger with each passing day, and she knows that she will do anything to make her happy.

In the end, Sarah and Jacqueline's relationship has become a twisted reflection of their love for each other. While some might see Sarah's submission as a form of oppression, she sees it as an act of love and devotion. And as long as Jacqueline is happy, Sarah will continue to serve her, willingly and happily, for the rest of their lives.

#transformation story #m2f transformation #elixir

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humblebeginningsceramics · 5 months

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I made a sarcastic coffee mug 😏

I initially made this as a birthday gift for my partner but the first try failed so hard. I used a leather-coloured clay body and tried to do an inlay with blue stoneware glaze, and with a clear glaze over.

The result was pitiful because the colours ended up looking so dull (also thanks to insufficient blue glaze amount) that it looked like someone haphazardly scratched a pattern onto a mug. The clear glaze also came out bubbly and milky in some areas due to too-thick application, when I still had faith in manufacturers’ instructions for powdered glaze preparation instead of adjusting its specific gravity…

I was gloomy and left the mug on a shelf for several months before I dared to pick it up again. I had recently purchased some liquid coloured pigments that can be used universally as underglaze or overglaze, and decided to paint over the original design. I had nothing to lose if it didn’t turn out well. Prayed to the kiln gods during the 1250C refiring, and this is how it turned out!

The milkiness in the clear glaze cleared completely and the bubbles decreased drastically, although not disappearing completely due to the thickness of the glaze. The pigments “slipped” a little on the clear glaze (downwards, gravity), and had small holes (I think, where the clear glaze bubbles burst and smoothed over). The pigment colour came out much more interesting than I expected; its sheen at different angles makes it look like different shades of blue.

Another mug of white stoneware clay is coming out of the biscuit firing today and I’m confident the blue will come out cleaner on the white body. Now to adjust the SG of my clear glaze and we’ll find out if all that works!!!

Let me know what you think in the comments, would you like to see more designs like this? More sarcasm, perhaps? 😏😏

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sky-kiss · 6 months

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hello it is me ehuehuehue. if your requests are open, can I ask for a uhhh Priest!Raphael x Tav who's come to pray for repentance? Something really evil and manipulative with double meanings >:3

(Also if it's not too much trouble, maybe some Brother!Haarleep and Sister!Korilla cameos :3)

A/N: I failed the secondary objectives, babe. I failed them. And I don’t know if this is what you want but it had a vibe, ya know? Followed that vibe.

_______

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Cliche words. They sound contrite, though Tav struggles to mean them. She thinks she does. The young woman worries her hands together, kneeling before the altar. It’s been years since she last straggled into a church. Just a girl, just as unknowing; the words had even less meaning for her then.

And now, it’s desperation rather than faith. She wonders what the gods think of that.

She wonders if the gods truly call such places homes. Tav doesn’t think they do. The church is cold and empty, and its beauty speaks to fading wealth and prominence. The statues are grim-faced, dour, and forbidding. She does not know them; she doesn’t want to know them.

But Tav prays. She remains prostrate in front of the altar until her knees ache from the cold stone. The silence is oppressive, a near physical weight. No one is listening, it says. No one hears you, little girl.

And from the shadows, an answering thought worming into her skull: ah, but I hear you, pet.

“Forgive me, Father,” she says, starting again. “For I have sinned.”

“So you have said,” a deep, smooth voice interrupts her petition. The richness suggests a natural warmth, like smoke and fire. But there is something else. There is an undertone she cannot place; it is that secret note which makes all the difference. Edged, something colder, crueler. It is poison slipped into a luxurious wine, nightshade mixed with black currant. “And at length, sweet child. But how can he forgive that which he does not understand?”

Tav stiffens, gooseflesh licking across her forearms. “Am I trespassing?”

“The hour is late, yes. But I have only just arrived. I have a sense for lost lambs, you see.” Fabric rustles behind her, a robe dragging across the stone. The nearer he comes, the colder she feels. The stranger moves until he stands in front of her, hands linked at the small of his back.“Tell me your name, lamb.”

Her mouth goes dry. And something else, something worse, twists in her guts. The priest's eyes are beautiful, she thinks, the warmest shade of brown, almost honey. She wants them; coveting is a sin, too. The right corner of his lips (full and lovely) twitch up. The priest is handsome. Tav chews the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. It grounds her.

He sneers. “God affords second chances, my dear, but man is imperfect; he will not punish me for judging you harshly. Answer me now, or begone from this place.”

“Tav,” she says, committing each of his features to memory.

“Good girl. I am Raphael,” he bows; the gesture is deceptively smooth. The fabric of his dark robes falls around him like water, hiding the bulk of his figure. “Overseer of this fine flock.” He motions to the empty church, chuckling.

“I’ve never seen you before, Father.”

“Is Father what you would call me, sweetling? There are other monikers I would prefer to trip from that lovely tongue.” She shivers, glancing up at him sharply. Raphael looks unrepentant. He leans on the altar, resting his chin in his right palm. With the left, he motions for her to continue. “Your sin, child. Elucidate, entertain, enrapture me.”

“And you offer forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness is outside of my jurisdiction, pet. Let us only say I may provide a...deferment.”

It is more than she currently has, preferable to the madness in her head, the hunger, the nightmares. Tav swallows. “I’ve killed, Father. I killed…” she flinches. “Gods above, I don’t know. I couldn’t control myself.” Her vision is red; her hands are red. The taste in her mouth is red.

Raphael clucks his tongue. “Tell me how.”

Agony in her voice, “Does it matter? I have taken a life, Father, many lives.”

“Mm, and you believe a few pretty words in an empty house will wash your hands clean?” He kneels before her, finger curling beneath her chin. “Lovely as you are, dear, do you believe a few crocodile tears equal to a mortal soul?” She has no answer. Raphael strokes her cheek. Exhausted and broken, Tav leans into the touch. She feels raw. Empty. His skin is warm by comparison, smelling pleasantly of cherries and musk. And brimstone.

Brimstone in the Lord’s house?

He presses his thumb to her lower lip, voice pitching lower. “And what if I told you, my sweet sinner, that the god of this house has fled? That the halls are empty, and there is no one to hear you?” His touch ranges back into her hair, fingers curling at the base of her scalp. Nails dig into her flesh, sharper than she would have imagined. “But I am listening. I hear you.”

She sags into his touch. He’s warm; Raphael coos.

“I would never judge you. You mortals are so delightfully messy. And you, my lamb, are no different. Only a product of your environment.”

She is innocent. No guilt. Not here with Raphael. Tav blinks her eyes open, staring at him. And how could she think his eyes were honey? They are gold. And a second set of gold eyes stares at her from the shadows on her left, waiting. Another priest, perhaps. “You forgive me?”

“As I said, I cannot forgive. But I might protect you.” His voice is silk. He leans in nearer, near enough that his lips track across her cheek. She turns into it. “And I would never ask you to change. To me, you are perfect.”

Pretty words. She’s drunk on them, swaying badly. Raphael's hand clasps her bicep. The pain is far away. “Perfect. Father, what must I do?”

“The eternal question, little lamb. And such a simple answer: swear yourself to me now. And I,” his tongue flicks out, tasting her skin. “Will deliver you. No more tears.” He corrects himself, laughing. “Well. For tonight.”

The church is empty and cold. Raphael is warm and present.

And she is tired, so tired, worn thin, hollow, and he looks at her with such promise.

Tav swears herself to him with blood. Raphael laughs. It is a high sound, wild and inhumane. The smell of brimstone intensifies, and the gravity of what she’s done hits home.

The gods had fled, yes. The devil remained.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #asks #my writing #priest raphael #ya'll and your priest Raphael #anyway #im pretty sure i failed the assignment

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thyshadowwriter · 1 year

Note

I have a request for Ivar relationship headcanons regarding s/o being a non-believer (vikings)

A/n: I may or may not have spoiled my long fic lol. This is fire

---------------------------------

You could not have possibly picked a more challenging situation than this one.

Ivar can find a way for things to work in almost any situation. Heck, he could even deal with sharing under the right conditions. But faith is where he draws the line.

Even if he made a transgression by making himself a god, he is probably the most religious person there. Second only to Floki.

He learned almost everything from Floki, so he is very similar to him in that manner.

Unlike Floki, however, Ivar has no regard for faith if not his one.

If it was Ivar in Al-Ândaluz instead of Floki, he would have beheaded the praying men without a second guess.

You can be assured that whatever attracted him to his s/o is not their belief. Could be their looks, their prowess, intelligence, how they treat him, all of those and/or else.

Initially, Ivar considers his s/o faith to be a product of lies and misguidance from wherever they learned it from. He considers that by living among his people and seeing their might, his s/o will learn the true ways with the right time.

With this mindset, he’ll give them what he considers a reasonable timeframe and space for them to discover and experience his faith.

He’ll be eager to teach and guide them in his faith. It’s a way of bonding for him.

Ivar even has some curiosity for his s/o belief system, but that is because Ivar is a curious person, not because he would ever consider another belief system to be a valid one, much less convert to it.

He’ll have more tolerance if his s/o faith is anything but Christian, because he hates them with a passion. His tolerance is not forever tough.

The real problems arise when/if things get serious.

At the end of this unspoken time frame, he fully expects his s/o to have converted.

If they did, great! Smooth sailing.

If not, oh boy. Honeymoon is over.

His s/o will see a much less patient side from Ivar.

Ivar will confront them on why they still cling to their false beliefs.

If bad things happen he’ll blame that on his s/o disrespect to the gods.

Any problem in the relationship will be blamed on their faith. Related or not to it.

Ivar is not a man to give up easily, so he’ll do whatever is on his grasp to make his s/o change.

If his s/o faith involves images of any kind, those will be destroyed and forbidden.

Any rituals will be forbidden as well.

His s/o faith quite possibly involves a different language, and while Ivar would enjoy hearing sweet nothings, he will not allow them to if he believes that will be used to to follow another faith.

If even then his s/o refuses to convert, we are reaching a deal break situation here.

And if by some divine will he has a child with his s/o, the child will be raised under his faith. It’s a non-negotiable matter.

Ivar wants someone that will engage with him in his faith. That will participate in the rituals and that will strengthen his bond with the old ways.

Even if his s/o decided to just not speak about their religion, the norse practices will most likely clash at some point with their faith, so they would be faced with a hard dilemma.

Even if his s/o did not practice their faith, their refusal to accept his would be something that would slowly build up resentment for Ivar. It's something that is missing in their relationship and Ivar would not be able to find a middle ground like Ragnar was with Athelstan.

Eventually, push will come to shove and someone will have to give. It will not be him.

#ivar x reader #vikings headcanons #ivar ragnarsson #ivar headcanons

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momentsbeforemass · 3 months

Text

A heart like God’s

The Lord’s Prayer. The Our Father.

If you want to know how to pray, this is literally Jesus’ answer to that very question.

So it’s no surprise that we pray it. All. The Time.

The only problem with that? When we pray something that much, it can get smooth. Like a river stone. Worn smooth by millions of gallons of water a day, over countless years.

Until there are no rough spots. Nothing to catch on.

Until the deeper meanings, the hard parts, pass by without notice.

Which why the end of today’s Gospel is so important.

After teaching us how to pray, Jesus makes clear one of the most important principles in the Lord’s Prayer. One we often miss in our worn-smooth praying.

“If you forgive men their transgressions, your heavenly Father will forgive you.

But if you do not forgive men, neither will your Father forgive your transgressions.”

The thing is, the principle that Jesus is teaching isn’t limited just forgiveness. This is a principle for all of life. Here’s what I mean,

God wants us to be like Him, to have a heart like His. A heart that overflows in compassion for others.

It makes sense if we stop and think about it.

We can’t have hearts like God. If there’s no room in our hearts for anyone but us.

A few weeks ago, the daily Mass readings were from Genesis. They included Cain’s murder of Abel, and Cain’s question to God – “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The rest of the Bible? Especially the Gospels? It’s God’s long form answer to Cain’s question.

I’ll just give it away right now. Cain was wrong.

In our hearts, we know this. It’s why the spectacle of someone who talks loudly about their Faith but who harms others with their actions and their words is so grating, so jarring.

It’s so off the mark that even nonbelievers know it’s wrong.

Because we’re not called to be people who take care of ourselves. And no one else.

That’s not who God made us to be.

God made us to be like Him, to have a heart like His. A heart that overflows in compassion for others.

But the only way that works is if we live out who God made us to be.

Which is why we can’t expect to receive God’s blessings, if we’re not giving our blessings.

Today’s Readings

#Lord's Prayer #Our Father #Giving #Blessings #God's Best #God #Jesus #Catholic #Christian #Church #Moments Before Mass

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zoeysdamn · 1 year

Text

Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Prologue

Warnings: swearing

A/N: You had my motherly reader (‘There shall be night’ series), the torn apart but still faithful to her heart reader (‘Terrible things’ series), the hopelessly forgiving and in love reader (‘Bloodied petals’ series), now met the fed up sarcastic reader, my lovely feral baby krkrkrkr

[Masterlist]

The sweet sound of bars rattling pulled you out of sleep as usual. With an inelegant groan, you rolled on your back over the hard surface beneath you. Another bang on the steel bars ringed in your ears, soon followed by the rough voice of the keeper.

“Wake up in there! Someone’s here to see you!”

A dry chuckle escaped your lips as you tried to cover your eyes from the blinding raw light of the corridor’s neon. After two years you thought that you were finally immune to its inconvenient presence; you weren’t. On the other side of the bars, the keeper got impatient.

“You’re deaf or something? Get the fuck up, you’re expected!”

This time it was a laugh that left your throat, as you lazily got into a sitting position on the uncomfortable steel bed.

“And pray tell,” you asked with a lopsided grin, “who exactly wants to see me?”

You got your answer a couple of minutes later. Two officers on each side of you led you by the arms, given your hands and ankles were cuffed – as procedure asked. The heavy door of the private visit room opened and you squeezed your eyes a little due to the intense light coming from the large window. When you blinked away and focused again, you couldn’t help but grin at the blonde woman sitting on the other side of the table. The perfect and classy outfit and heels she wore contrasted to your dirty green inmate ensemble. As the guardians made you sit on the opposite and secured your cuffs on the table, you didn’t lose your amused smile.

“That’ll be all, thank you,” said the tall woman to the officers, “leave us please.”

They nodded in agreement and left, the sound of the door shutting echoing in the room. If your grin didn’t stop to grow in amusement, the woman stared right back at you with very serious eyes.

“Well, well, well,” you said with a mocking whistle, “aren’t you quite healthy-looking for a dead woman, Mrs Weems?”

The principal of Nevermore academy pursed her lips in annoyance, and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles on her perfectly pressed outfit. “I see you’re doing well here,” she said simply.

Holding your wrists up to show the chains binding them you gave her another impertinent smile, “Got some new jewelry, how could I complain? Not sure if that’s the latest fashion though, I don’t exactly follow the trends outside of this lovely establishment.”

“Yet you have been aware of my…supposed passing,” she observed sharply.

You snorted in irony, “Death is a social construct. And I like to keep myself informed about the latest Nevermore’s gossip, it’s kind of my job.”

It was Weems’ turn to smirk at your words this time, “Except it isn’t your job, isn’t it? That is why you’re jailed here.”

Your face darkened at her statement and you lost your insolent grin. “It’s always my job,” you growled at her. “It’s convenient for you, after all? Explain why I’m here without getting your hands dirty.”

“I do believe it has been officially stated that neither I nor Nevermore academy has anything to do with your conviction,” she argued back calmly.

You tsked, knowing she was right. In the eyes of the law, you owed your place in juvie to your own faults. But both of you knew it was more complicated than that.

Leaning back on your chair in a laid-back attitude, you cocked your head to the side.

“So, why am I honored with your gracious presence?” you asked, a lingering mockery never far in your voice. You could almost hear Weems roll her eyes in her mind.

“I’m here on the judge’s request,” she said.

“And who’s really requesting it?” you immediately asked, only to let out a snort at her raised eyebrow, “C’mon Weems, I’ve been sentenced for 5 years in this lovely shit-hole, and everyone made sure to ‘mysteriously’ forget about asking for parole. What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

Larissa Weems seemed hesitant for a moment, then leaned her forearms on the table, hands gripped together.

“I assume you have heard about the events that occurred at Nevermore six months ago?”

“Ah!” you snorted loudly with a laugh, “yeah I did. Not everything though, my sources were kinda evasive about most of it, but I got that it was a pretty messed up situation right?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, visibly upset by the mention of those events; but you weren’t over with the teasing, and as she kept silent the pieces linked together in your head and your grin in disbelief.

“You need me,” you cooed, even more delighted when Weems looked away in uneasiness, confirming your theory. “Ooooh that’s precious, you actually do need little old me.”

“In the light of recent events it had appeared that you could be…useful to Nevermore academy,” she explained carefully, trying to ignore the evident thrill you got from this conversation.

“Mmmmh, you need a watchdog,” you completed casually. “I wonder what for?”

The principal pulled a folder from her bag and slid it in your direction.

“The young man responsible for the murders in Jericho had been judged and sentenced for some time in prison, after what he is legally required to be reinserted into society,” said Weems as you opened the file and went through some pages, with police records, psychological expertises and some pictures of a boy, around your age, with curly brown hair and freckles. Tyler Galpin, according to the files.

“Cute for a murderer,” you said casually, ignoring the judgemental look the principal gave you. “Still I don’t get what it has to do with me.”

Weems cleared her throat, “The court deemed fitting for him to be reinserted as a student at Nevermore Academy. They trust us to help him control his particular…condition.”

“Enough with beating around the bush,” you rolled your eyes at her, “what is he?”

The blonde woman took a deep breath, “He’s a Hyde.”

That definitely surprised you, “No shit?” you blurted with a raised eyebrow, and Weems didn’t even scold your crude language at this. Instead, she nodded.

“Given what happened, we didn’t have much choice but accept the court’s decision,” she said bitterly, “and he’s an outcast too, I ethically can’t refuse him joining the academy.”

“Mmmh, that’s really sweet and all, but last I remember I’ve done my time at Nevermore,” you argued wittily.

Weems gave you a knowing smirk that was up to no good, “Last I remember, you never graduated properly. You still have to pass exams to actually be a Nevermore graduate.”

You let out a scoff, “What, that’s your argument? Playing the diploma card? You do realize I don’t give two shits about it, right?”

“Yes, but what if this could be your way out of prison?” she said with a sugary voice, laced with underlying intentions. At your frown, she knew she had your entire attention, so she carried on. “The school board had suggested that you could reintegrate Nevermore academy to look after Mr Galpin during the school year, and prevent some possible…unwanted outbursts.”

It made you snort, “You want me to babysit him basically. Why would I ever agree?”

Principal Weems pulled another piece of paper from her bag and handed it to you.

“The board had managed to reach an agreement with the judge,” she explained as your eyes skimmed over the official and fancy-looking document, “If you complete your mission of keeping Mr Galpin out of trouble and graduate at the end of the school year, you won’t have to make the three remaining years in incarceration.”

You looked up with eyes wide, surprised by the fact the school board had actually succeeded at making such a deal. After all, you weren’t exactly their favorite person.

“And if I fail?”

Weems smiled sweetly at you.

“Well, should he lose control and be neutralized with or without your help, you’ll come back to this lovely place. But we all know you won’t fail, won’t you?”

Her words made you grin. The political motives behind all those decisions were evident, but given you had nothing better to do, this could be an unexpected way out. Still, there was something more you wanted to hear from Weems.

“Oh I won’t? I wonder what makes you so sure of that,” you ironized with a grin.

Weems sighed at your bratty behavior, knowing you were playing dumb, “You’re as aware of your pedigree as I am.”

“Yeah but it’ll be sooooo much more pleasant to hear it from you.”

She held your gaze for a few seconds before giving up and exhaling loudly, “You’re far the most qualified person in hunting a monster, that’s why.”

A delighted grin stretched your lips, and you held out one of your handcuffed hands to her.

“Well Principal Weems, you got yourself a deal.”

Shaking your hand firmly, she gave you a knowing smile.

“Welcome back to Nevermore Academy Miss Van Helsing.”

[Part.1]

A/N: Hope the prologue interested you! There’s gonna be more explanation about everything in the following chapters, I’m not spilling everything at once uhuh! I want to finish at least two chapters before starting posting them, I’m working on it! :DD

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist:

@igotanidea @officerrrfriendly

Usernames unfound by Tumblr:

@spiceyhotsherbet

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin fanfic #tyler galpin imagine #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #Van Helsing! Reader #no beta we die like men

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daevastanner · 5 months

Text

A Court of Blades and Beginnings Pt 2

P A R T I I

“Hm. I like your ears.”

“M–mine?”

“Mmhm.”

“Th-thank you. I like your–your spots.”

“Really? I used to cover them up, but, ya know?”

Agnes and Kristofferson in Wes Anderson’s “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” 2009

“They’re so… smooth.”

Azriel chuckled softly as Gwyn’s long finger traced the rounded edge of his right ear. She was so close, studying him with such scrutiny, that every breath he took smelled of willows and water lilies. What he had come to identify as her scent.

“I bet you can’t hear anything…” she murmured.

The edge of Azriel’s lip twitched. “What was that?”

“I said that you can’t—oh…” she snickered, withdrawing her hand. “I see what you did there. That was funny.”

Azriel dipped his head, in a sketch of a bow.

They sat cross legged, facing one another in the training ring, no one for company but themselves and the setting sun. Casual chats after private training had become routine. Any time Azriel went on an assignment that involved prolonged departure from the House of Wind, he had found that the absence of their conversations weighed heavily upon him. He would hunger for the priestess’s charming irreverence. For her quick wit and willing ear.

His shadows nuzzled his neck, bringing him back to the present. Drawing his attention to the way Gwyn stared at him, a brow quirked curiously.

“Something on your mind, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel waved an errant hand. He wouldn’t add weight to this carefree arrangement. He didn’t dare tell her how he’d come to treasure their private lessons.

Instead he said, “I’m just thinking about your freckles.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. He contemplated her freckles often.

Gwyn’s brows shot up. “Oh?”

Azriel nodded. “I’ve never seen someone with so many.”

A speckled hand lifted, touching her blushing cheek. “I used to hate them,” she said with a wry smile.“But, you know? There’s nothing to be done.”

“Nothing needs to be done,” Azriel said stiffly. “I like them.”

Gwyn smirked at him. “Ah. So because you like my freckles they can continue to exist.”

Azriel leaned forward, elbows on the knees of his criss-crossed legs. “And because you like my ears they can continue to be round?”

“I never said that.”

“Neither did I.”

Her teal eyes narrowed, the teasing smile remained on her clever lips. “Well, then I suppose I can acquire a complexion clearing tonic in Velaris and wipe them clean off my face—“

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled playfully.

Gwyn dissolved into a fit of laughter, nose scrunching. She reclined to lie down on her side, propping up her elbow and resting her head in her palm. “You military males are all so bossy.”

“Well,” grunted the shadowsinger, tucking in his wings so he could mirror her posture. “You priestesses are all know-it-alls.”

“Ever consider that’s because I know everything?”she grinned.

He chuckled, eyes briefly scanning the way her new position displayed the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, hugged tightly by her training leathers. He consciously averted his gaze, turning his attention to a deep nick in the training mat from one of their more intense sparring sessions.

He knew that with each session Gwyn got closer and closer to her goal. Her goal of feeling as though she could defend herself, of being whole enough to meet with her mate. He prayed that whoever in the Velaris Defense it was would allow them to continue to meet privately. While he had more faith in the Velaris Defense than he did in the Windhaven War-camp to be civilized, Azriel knew that the mating bond made even the most level-headed males complete barbarians. Rhysand himself had beaten Cassian bloody over a lewd comment during the heat of the frenzy. How would Gwyn’s mate react to Azriel’s close proximity to her during training? To their banter?

But those were worries for another time. For now, he would continue to bask in the meager but brilliant glow of their companionship. “Three months of training, Berdara,” he said, hedging towards the subject. “You’ve completed a sacred Valkyrie Rite. You’ve won the Blood Rite Qualifier. You’ve become formidable with a dagger. How do you feel?”

Gwyn smiled. “Like I may be able to venture into the world, albeit with a fair degree of nausea.”

“Truly?”

“Mmhm,” Gwyn replied. “Given the appropriate motivation.”

Azriel gave her a wolfish grin. “Say a courtship with your mate in Velaris?”

Gwyn’s smile grew subdued. “A mating bond does not always equal attraction. I don’t know that he’ll regard me in such a way.”

“Then he is a fool,” Azriel grumbled.

She laughed, but he could tell by her expression she was not convinced.

Read the rest on AO3

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn and azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #ao3

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punch-love · 1 month

Note

Sorry if any of these are asked already but 2, 19, 21, 26, 39

2. Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

I feel wholly incapable of writing straight fluff or romantic-comedy. I always lose interest once things start getting cordial or comfortable. I like the violence too much. Ideally, it would be nice to write something I could comfort read, and I appreciate people who can write those things well.

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

“Is that a no on the volcanos?” Mobius sounds like he’s smiling again. “TVA isn’t really big on clubs, but I think there’s a scrabble group that meets every hundred years or so in the cafeteria.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Loki says, voice muffled by the smooth grain of the table. He’s not exactly sure what scrabble is, but if it's TVA sectioned, then it couldn’t possibly be worth the hundred-year wait.

“Never.” Mobius says, in that earnest way that almost makes Loki believe him. Then - “I think you should find yourself a hobby.”

“A hobby.” Loki says flatly. “I don’t think the TVA is properly equipped for my proclivities.”

“Probably not.” Mobius smiles, and Loki remembers again, that he’s watched enough of his life to know. “It’s always good to branch out, though, try new things.”

“What do you suggest?” Loki asks, suddenly curious if Mobius had anything in mind outside the aforementioned scrabble and being caught up in the inane, mindless work ethic that kept the TVA an unstoppable force of bureaucratic efficiency.

“I mean, we don’t have cable, and the internet is pretty heavily filtered, but -“ Mobius pauses, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “We’ve got a pretty extensive selection of magazines. Maybe you should get into collaging?”

“I asked you in good faith.” Loki sets his jaw, annoyed. “A god doesn’t collage.”

“Just…pay attention to what makes you curious, then.” Mobius says simply, before Loki loses his attention to the Index of Global Calamities again. He feels, irritably, that he’s been dismissed.

“Mobius.” He says again, just to see those eyes flicker from the page back toward him and the thrill he gets at being able to cause endless distraction. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to find curious in this gods-forsaken hellhole?”

“You tell me.” Mobius says, with that mystic’s smile that makes Loki feel equally enraptured and enraged.

There’s only one thing worth his rapidly degrading attention in this abysmal place, and he’s sitting across from him, licking his fingers before turning the page, one leg jiggling across the other as he leans back in his chair.

21. Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

Yes, and it's because I'm a psychic who can see the future.

26. What would you describe as OOC?

Answered!

39. Wildest AU scenario you have written?

Honestly, it has to be spirit box for a lot of reasons but mostly because Mobius is probably going to fuck that house.

#mailbox #ask game #thanks for all these! I couldn't figure out if you reblogged the ask game from checking your blog #but if you did lmn and I'll throw some your way tooo

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piratekane · 1 year

Text

The church is flickering candles, glittering stained glass windows, and dark mahogany pews. Beatrice enters quietly, staying to the shadowed corners. There’s a familiar peace here that takes a moment to adjust to. Her life is full of noise now - the good, glorious noise of Ava’s laugh and Ava’s singing and the rush of the people in the bar as they spin around Ava, always their center.

These days, Ava is Beatrice’s center.

But the church is quiet, the ghost of the organ lingering slightly. She can imagine its notes as it plays the day’s hymn. The midday sun is high in the air and Father Paul has probably retired to his quarters. That’s okay. She wants an audience directly with God.

She genuflects at the end of the pew and slides across its smooth wood, worn down by the people who attend daily mass. Beatrice can see them streaming from the church’s grand doors where she sits at the bar and there are moments where she wishes to be with them. But her faith is quieter now, more for just herself. She prays each night, Ava silent as Beatrice makes her way through her prayers. And there are mornings when she slips into a pew for a few minutes, head bowed as she goes through her invocations.

She slips onto her knees, the kneeler soft and cushioned. Her elbows rest on the pew, her hands pressed together and her forehead touching her fingers, her thumbs just under her lips. She exhales in a slow stream of air and lets her mind settle, pulling it away from the kaleidoscope of Ava turning over in her head. She focuses on a dim white light glowing brighter and brighter as it fades into a honeyed golden hue that feels like it warms her cheeks.

She tries to blink it away but the image - a halo - stays there. A reminder that Ava is slowly weaving her way into Beatrice’s faith like a line stitched into her skin. She doesn’t fight it for long and lets it wash over her instead. She breathes it in and lets it settle in her chest and wonders if this is what Ava feels when it comes to life inside of her.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” she starts, voice quiet and just for her. She blinks await the rest of the words, confession on her lips. “Our Father.”

Forgive me, for I have sinned. I don’t know how much more I can confess.

Beatrice lets her eyes close, sinking forward further into her steepled hands. I know my mission. I know what is expected of me. But I didn’t expect her. An image of Ava comes into her mind, that halo emanating behind her. I didn’t expect-

“Beatrice,” a warm voice says. She blinks her eyes open as the light fades away and looks up at Father Paul. He has a kind smile. “What brings you here?”

She wets her lips. His eyes make her feel like she can speak free of judgement. “Confession, Father.”

He steps back and gestures at the confessional. “I’d be more than happy to hear your confession.”

Beatrice follows him to the booth, sliding into its shadows as she hears him do the same. She kneels again, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. He clears his throat softly before he speaks.

“What can I do for you, child?”

She inhales slowly. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been ten days since my last confession.” She worries her fingernail against her thumb, picking at her skin before she speaks again. “I fear I am going against God.”

He’s quiet, letting the words settle over them. “And why do you feel this way?”

Why? she asks herself. “I have been tasked with something. Something important, bigger than me.” The next words sit on the tip of her tongue. She hasn’t spoken them out loud before. But it's been weighing heavy on her conscious these last few days. “But each day that passes, I find myself wanting to ignore this duty I’ve been given.”

“Duty is a word that means many things.” He shifts behind the partition, his voice closer. “What is really troubling you, child?”

Her heart skips in her chest. “I fear my obligations have shifted. That they belong to someone else now.”

He hums thoughtfully, almost as if he expected her answer. “And your obligations were to God?”

“Yes.”

Yes, because she took her vows. Yes, because she swore to Mother Superion. But… yes. Ava is the Halo-bearer. She was gifted God’s strongest weapon.

“God is made up of many things, Beatrice. His people are one of them. Is this person your allegiance now lies with one of His people?”

She hesitates. “Her faith is… wavering.” Because Ava has faith in people, not God’s spirit. Because Ava’s faith in people makes her feel holy.

He hums again. “I have always believed that love is at the core of faith. It is our love for God that makes us faithful to Him. It is our love for people that inspires our faith in them. Without this faith, this belief in their goodness, we would be adrift in the darkness of this world. Faith is light, guiding us along our path. Is your path clear?”

No. No, because the way has never been less clear.

Yes. Yes, because Ava is a match burning in the darkness, leading her to the light.

“You were unprepared for this shift in faith,” he guesses, taking in her hesitant silence. “You didn’t count on God’s ability to grant others his Light.”

“I didn’t count on being happy,” she admits.

“And you are happy.”

Yes, because she wakes up each day with a warmth that settles deeply in her chest. Yes, because Ava smiles at her over a soda and lime and Beatrice finds that her belief only deepens. Yes, because Ava always reaches for her hand at night, lacing their fingers together in the dark, and Beatrice has never felt closer to God.

But she doesn’t tell him that. She keeps that in her mind. She hasn’t told Ava yet. God knows, for He knows all that lies in her heart, but Ava deserves to hear how happy she is before Father Paul or Hans or Fergus and Leesa and Enza. Her silence is enough for Father Paul to know the answer, though. And he hums again. She hears Amazing Grace in the tune.

When he does speak, his voice is as quiet as the thoughts in her head are loud. “Your penance is to be happy, Beatrice.”

She opens her eyes. “But Father-”

“You seem to be punishing yourself enough for this,” he interrupts. “And God does not like to see his people suffer. He is an understanding God. His love for His Son and His people have always fueled his faith. Why should your love, your allegiance, your happiness, contribute any less to his faith than another?” He shifts behind the screen, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Beatrice, be happy.”

She wants to be. She wants it more than she’s wanted anything in her life. More than her parents’ love. More than acceptance. More than understanding. She wants happiness.

She wants it with Ava.

By the time she leaves the confessional, the church is empty again, Father Paul disappearing as quietly as he arrived. She adjusts to the light streaming in through the stained glass windows after a moment and then takes a deep breath as she lingers at the end of a pew.

Her penance is to be happy; to go back into the world and stop punishing herself for feeling like she is. It’s an unusual penance - far from the Our Fathers and the Hail Marys Father Vincent was so fond of. But it feels like the hardest atonement she’s ever been given.

She drifts through the church as the thought churns in her mind: be happy, be happy, be happy. The midday sunlight is blinding when she steps out onto the street. She blinks, feeling disoriented for a moment before someone calls her name.

Ava, standing on the sidewalk with their grocery bag on her shoulder and a smile on her face, the one she has when Beatrice does something unexpected. She smiles, the golden light of the sun against her bare shoulders, and waves happily. Ava is always so free with her happiness, charmed by strangers and the small flowers she buys from the florist on her way home. Ava strives to be happy; strives to make Beatrice happy as well.

Be happy, she thinks. Ava calls her name again and stands on her side of the street, bouncing on her toes as she waits for Beatrice to come closer. She takes the first step off the steps leading to the church’s heavy doors and Ava’s smile grows impossibly wider on her face, warming Beatrice as if the Halo was buried in her own skin.

Be happy, she thinks.

She crosses the street towards Ava.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #i just couldn't shake this line from batman: mask of the phantasm from my brain #it nestled in there like a freaking worm and started doing a worm thing #so i hope you enjoy it because it sucked a lot out of me to write it #set in the switzerland era #don't we love fics set in this little slice of their life?

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bowiebond · 2 years

Text

Humanity’s Lover | Harringrove | Angel Billy

Feathers litter the ground, gritty with dirt and mud and Billy still grasped at them with fever, holding them close like he could mend them together in his hands. Once upon a time, maybe he could have.

The wail that left his lips sent shivers through Steve, a lump growing in his throat as he watched the angel hold his own feathers, hunching into himself as he knelt in their mass. They had been grand, wide, white and terrifying the night they met.

“You prayed for a stronger heart. I am your warrior, Steven. I will be the strength you seek.”

In moments, they had simply fallen from his back, the holy divinity that held them up in place of flesh and bone vanishing.

“Billy…” Steve reached for him and Billy flinched away, bowing his head.

“Father…” He prayed, begging through shuddering sobs as he clasped his hands around stained feathers. “Sir, please, do not abandon me. Please.”

Steve never heard a grand voice. He hadn’t been a believer until Billy descended into his life. His prayer had been a fluke, a desperate attempt at putting faith in something as he sunk into the ocean’s current, his own rash decision in the aftermaths of his divorce he came to regret and fear in the last moments before he couldn’t hold his breath any longer.

Billy had saved him then. Steve didn’t know how he could save him now though.

Billy was quiet, his cries subdued as he knelt there. Waiting. Steve gently placed a hand on his shoulder and Billy whined, quiet and pained as he bowed his head to the ground.

“Why can’t I hear you, sir? Father, please. Hear me, speak to me, God.” He dug his hands into the dirt, the black tar of mud digging beneath his nails as he shook. Steve slowly knelt besides him, heart breaking for the weeping angel. He curled over him, holding him with tender care, and the angel sobbed - harsh and sudden - before he shoved him off.

Steve hit the ground with wide eyes, Billy raising to his full height. Even without his wings, he was a fearsome sight. With his holy ire, he was a warrior of heaven, through and through.

“This is your fault.” He scorned with clipped words, blue eyes rimmed red and wet. His entire body was trembling as he curled his hands into fists. “You did this.”

“Billy—“ The angel took a step forward and Steve scrambled back, almost standing before his heel slipped in the wet grass, hitting the ground hard and back pressing against the house’s exterior. He narrowly avoided cracking his head against the brick.

Billy was illuminated by the porch light, half his face shadowed as he glared down at Steve.

“Billy…” Steve stared up at him in wondrous fear, tightly knit brows slowly smoothing out with a look of pity. “I’m sorry.”

The blonds throat bobbed, chin quivering before he clenched his teeth so hard they creaked.

“This is your fault.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve ruined me.”

“I’m sorry, Billy.”

“Say something other than sorry! It means nothing! Repenting means nothing!” Billy barked, throwing the fistful of feathers aside and grabbing the brunet by the collar. He shook him as his knees hit dirt, teeth bared. “You’ve ruined me!”

“And I’m sorry!” Steve snapped back, his eyes stinging. “You think I’m not? I’m sorry I’ve ruined you!”

Billy bowed his head and knocked it against Steve’s, biting his lip hard enough to break skin. It stung in a way it never had before, making him gasp through his fresh tears.

“We were instructed to love humanity.” His hands slipped from his collar to lay against his chest, Steve’s heaving chest pushing against them, his heart thrumming beneath his palm. “But never more than our Father. Never one human.”

Billy sniffed and Steve covered his hands with his own, curling his fingers around each despite the grime.

“You’ve ruined me.” Billy fell into him, burying his face in his shoulder with a soft sob, the absence of his divinity like the ache of heartbreak.

“I’m sorry.” Steve wrapped his arms around the angel, crushing him to his frame. “But if your Father won’t have you, I will. I will love you even in ruin. Even like this. I won’t abandon you, Billy.”

The angel grasped onto him like a lifeline.

“Please don’t. I couldn’t bare it.”

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #angel au #moodboard

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interestsinarmor · 2 years

Text

WILLARD RUSSEL//WARM HONEY

{SMUT}

Warm and sticky summers were the staple of the South. Light breezes were an occasional treat as the humidity absorbed the land. A hot day like this left everyone to their own devices, struggling to stay cool.

Seeking refuge wasn't easy, but faith was where I was drawn. Going to the church on a blistering day like this almost insured I'd be left to pray in peace.

The gritty gravel and rocks croaked behind me as I thumped across the dirt road. Soft brush and trees passed as I extended my hand for a feel. I unconsciously picked off stray branches and leaves with each traveling footstep.

I wasn't far from the church, just secluded among a hidden path. A journey rarely taken. The distinguished tatters of the ivory church stood strong as the brush cleared to reveal a sprawling plain.

Weathering and decades of use had been apparent. With the worn paint and broken shutters, the church had clearly been shown some love. Rough love.

As I got closer, my steps became lighter and I transitioned onto the soft pads of grass surrounding the church. Flies buzzes and clamored as the essence of nature leaked from the torn building.

Rough wooden doors hung steady on the frail structure. Creaks greeted each of my steps, nearing the doorframe. Almost as if to communicate, the church creaked behind the doors in response to my presence.

Pushing past the labored door, a rush of sunlight and dust kissed my skin, descending from above. Stillness consumed me. Tattered pews and worn bibles adorned the quaint church.

A tall figure sat in the front pew, closest to the wall, farthest from the door. I walked further, bringing awareness to my steps. He didn't seem to break away from his spiritital state.

Tall, calloused, regretfully handsome, deeply entrenched in prayer with his fingers tightly laced together. Mumbling escaped his lips as he repeated phrases and muscles strained as he tightened his hands together as if to amplify the prayer.

I created swift steps nearing the pew. A soft creak draws the man away from himself, averting his eyes to me. I draw back at his recognition.

"Sorry, I- din' been to disturb you," I fumble through my brain looking for an excuse.

"That's alrigh', guess we're both looking for a place to release," A shy smile spreads across his face as he almost sinks into the monotony of small talk. He looks weathered, like the building he resides in. A man of hard work and little gain. Looking for a place to escape.

I place myself against the side of the pew, careful not to evade his bubble of peace while still basking in his beautiful presence. He began to lower his gaze and smile. A smile not formed out of routine, but out of intrigue.

His fingers release from prayer, beginning to run across his coarse cotton pants.

I examine his self soothing techniques with a naive curiosity. He begins to chuckle at recognition of my allure.

"I ain't seen you come to service before," My words break the stillness in the air, releasing more dust from the pockets and grooves of the pews.

"I ain't have a reason to go, til now," His smile faded as his hands smoothed his loose locks of hair.

"Feelin' down?"

His breath hitched, as if to make a grave confession, "My wife passed an' I don't know how to grieve,"

Thick tension pasted into the air. Not only had I invaded his space, I tore this man to a confession.

"I shouldn'ta came. You mourn," In a mere whisper I spat my words out.

"Don' let me stop you from usin' this church how you like," His smile reemerged as he looked up from his deepened gaze.

"How'd you use it?"

"See, I still feel this love, n' it has no where to go," Through a dry throat he laments, unable to reconcile with his feelings, "So I pray, to use the adoration that I still got,"

"Any children to help?"

"A few, n' they do their job," He chuckled, "But I mean a different typa' love darlin',"

While straddling the pews armrest, I begin to shift my weight into a proper seat. Clearing the way to sit, I moved a bible from the pew, perching it between myself and this captivating man.

"You said yous' here to release," I sit on my hands and elevate my posture, "Release what 'xactly?"

"The guilt of my desire, love," The husk of his voice reached my ears with sheer pleasure.

"An' how should we release this guilt," I perked up at the thought of a resolution.

"In the most primal way," His eyes were drawn to my lips, examining each twitch.

My gentle blue dress became my biggest obstacle. Starting with the shoulders, I began to remove the cloth from my body. The sun pricked and glowed against my newly revealed skin.

He was slightly quartered towards me, careful not to breech my personal bubble. There was an inner battle he needed to fight before fully giving in. This is just a step in his healing process.

I wholly exposed my chest as my dress clung to my hips. I lifted myself up from the seat to gently drop the garment on the floor. The feeling of the dress at my feet and air against my bare skin. My only barrier was the thin cotton of my panties against the church pew.

"Are ya' gonna touch me?" Anticipation rose with the crack in my voice.

His knees shifted towards me, gaze remaining low as his eyes refused to lock with mine. The feverish unbuttoning of his off-white button up grew quick as he quickly broke free from his shirt.

I lean back onto the wooden pew, allowing my hands to wander my body as the unclasping of a belt stirred my desire.

"You think God likes watching?"

"If he is, we better do it on his terms," He moved closer on the pew, hooking his hand on the back of my thigh. He guided my legs to sit on the pew, spread for him. The bible was perched in the arch of my back.

"I need you closer," He moaned, guiding my butt forward and he placed the bible below my pelvis for elevation.

"Now we're really fucking on God's terms,"

Stripped to our undergarments, I laid on the bench with his body between my legs. His soft fingers began a strong pulse against my clothed core.

He diligently slid my panties to the side as he began working my inner-most nerves.

His firm thumb created circles, sending rushes and peaks of pleasure as he hit the crest of my clit. Soft and beguiling moans were muffled behind his smooth lips. Rough callouses pressed against my warm thighs as he continued to work me.

"What else are you willin' to release?" I rise from my strewn position, meeting his eye line, "The rest of your clothes, maybe?"

His eyes brightened at my response. Feverishly, his worn shirt was removed from his labored frame. Each curve and divot of muscle on his body showed the years of hard work he endured. I was eager to relieve any stress his body still held.

The darkening of his eyes indicated the deeply buried lust coming to the surface. He wanted to please as much as he needed to be touched himself. Years of unmet desires becoming untamable.

His thin briefs gathered below his ankles, disrupting the dust from the floorboards. We were trapped in our own bubble of breathless whimpers and lust.

The back of my knees held steady against the seat of the pew as he stood in front of me. Every inch of this man unwinded in front of me, his hands softly grazed my cheek before intertwining with my slicked strands of hair.

My wet tongue met his exposed cock, exploring and tasting before fully divulging. My hunger grew as the sweet mix of his scent and precum hit each bud in my mouth.

My head instinctively bobbed to follow the curve, his soft head hitting the back of my throat til the base of his cock stroked my lips. I felt completely full, unable to get a life bringing breath into my lungs. The only thing I felt was him. The complete feeling of the suction in my mouth and hollowed out cheeks perfectly stretched around his large cock.

I could tell he was holding back moans. As I slid across his lubricated shaft, the head of his cock released from my mouth with a soft pop sound. He ran the sensitive tip across my pursed lips, feeling my warmth engulf him. As my lips followed the natural curve, his head rolled back as waves of pleasure built from his abdomen to the tip.

Spit gathered between my teeth and tongue as I desperately tried to gather the wetness onto him. Primal gasps and pleads came from my diaphragm as he pressed his hard cock to the very back of my throat. My nose hit his lower V line while my legs forcefully pressed against the pew, conforming to the movement he created with his thrusts.

Friction grew between my legs as his body pressure against mine allowed my clit to brush against the rough wooden pew.

I dipped my head away from his cock, releasing a string of saliva connecting us together.

"I want to see how much of you I can take," My uncertainty grew while my hands stroked his length. I began to see how large he was, with bulging veins as a thick tip. I wasn't sure all of him could fit in me, let alone ribbons of his sweet cum.

He gently ran his hands through my hair while I still sat below him. A few strokes of his cock seemed to satisfy as we adjusted to a new position.

I shifted by putting my dangling legs up on the pew, bible perched below my waist for elevation. The weight of his strong body made the pews shake as he fully kneeled by me. I hung my legs in the air so he could chose where to place me.

A sharp sting grew across my back as he grabbed hold of my thighs to drag and bring my wetness to him. He examines me closely, letting a string of saliva drip from his mouth to my clit. A weathered thumb roughly rubs the saliva into my skin. I can feel each ridge of his fingerprint against my core as the movements bring shocks to my body.

He continues to rub my clit til an unfamiliar tingle grows, my demure moans and strained gasps harden his cock.

"Whine for me, whine like you need it," The growl in his voice intensified the burst of flames I felt.

"I need you inside me,"

He took a second to place his large thumb from the top of my clit, sliding down to my opening. He pushes past my resistance as my walls clench and grow to accommodate his finger.

I feel a blissful pressure inside my pussy while I struggle to take part of him. I cry at the mercy of his fingers.

"You're about to get 'lot more than this, love" The harsh brush of the head of his cock against my clit was in no comparison to it ripping through my walls.

While on the pew, I laid on my side as he held my one leg in the air. The bible was below me, giving me elevation and a better angle to deepen his shaft.

He gently took each thrust in by an inch, growing and growing.

I struggled to take the pain while he pushed further inside me. My ache was unbearable, so he took his thumb again against my clit to relieve the pressure.

My silence left dead air for him to fill with his gentle whimpers of absolute desperation.

My warmth was giving him everything he needed. The pain was worth the absolute bliss across this mans face as the harsh thrusts strained my pussy, and bound his cock.

He had a hard time thrusting in and out as my tightness kept him inside me til his thumb milked my clit to release.

Just when I thought he couldn't push further, I look down to see half of himself buried in me. The abuse taken fused with the euphoria. He couldn't push himself any farther in me despite his attempt. Deep and relentless thrusts were unsuccessful as he had a hard time removing or fucking me further.

"Spread more so I can get it all in," He spoke less as if it was a suggestion, more a command.

My back went from laying on my side, to flat against the pew. Both my legs were as spread apart as possible. When I opened wider, we watched in amazement as more of his cock disappeared down inside.

Every inch filled me to the brim. I felt the hardness of his chiseled pelvis hit my clit while his entire cock began pulsating deep.

This moment of accomplishment was well deserved. Each minor thrust painfully stretched me at the expense of this mans pleasure.

He didn't dare slip a single inch of himself out of me in fear it wouldn't fit as perfect as it does now. Minor thrusts take place, burying a thick layer of cum within my walls.

A deep, guttural moan whimpered through this mans perfect lips. His hands gripped my thighs like he was afraid of losing me.

Pumps of his warm cum were too much for my pussy to handle as it dripped down his shaft and onto the bible below me.

He chuckles while looking at our mess, realizing we desecrated a holy space.

"Tainted by the devil, but dripping from the heavens,"

#the devil all the time #smut fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot #female reader #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard x reader #devil all the time #fanfic #fanfics #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #smut #x reader #imagine #bill skarsgard imagine #hemlock grove #clark olofsson #bill skarsgard fanfiction

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steampoweredstrawberry · 1 year

Text

In Fodlan, Sothis is recognized as the goddess with her children as Saints for the religion that grew around her. Her realm, though all encompassing, primarily is that of fertility, and she is largely considered a benevolent deity whose watch over Fodlan is largely a silent one. She does not smile upon her subjects, does not offer her hand or shine her light upon them when they pray to her, bent in reverence at her altars.

There is a darker aspect of her, however, a fragment born from pieces ripped from her bled and broken corpse when her practitioners no longer considered themselves faithful. Byleth, they call her, though she is also known by Ashen Demon, Fell Star, the Holy Demon. She serves as Sothis' shadow, her will corrupted into something perverse and obscene. In the primary Seirosi sects, she is regarded as a demon, a foil to the divine goddess who breathed life into Fodlan. And yet there are others, who worship in the shadows just as she rules in the shadows, who call her goddess.

The cult of the Holy Demon.

Largely forgotten due to passage of time and the Church of Seiros interfering in their worship, it no longer had a foothold in Fodlan, but it was not completely erased. Places of worship still remain, if buried under centuries of rubble and dust. Some even contained images of Byleth, looking both beautiful and frightening in all of her dark power. Finding any of these sites, however, would be nigh impossible, however. The Holy Demon is one of the Church's tightly kept secrets, sending their historians to find such sites so they could secure the land and destroy any altars or images that would suggest worship.

And that was what Dimitri was supposed to do.

He had served the Church dutifully, proved his allegiance enough that he was entrusted with such a secretive task. And yet, behind closed doors, he harbored doubt for the goddess within his heart. A goddess who sat on her throne in the heavens, merely content to watch and observe her subjects without shining her divine light onto them was not the goddess Dimitri had naively pledged himself to.

Still, he found himself there, among the rubble of what was once a temple. It looked nothing like Sothis' temples of old, all pure and white with sun-bleached stone. Those of the Holy Demon were built in the dark, hidden in caverns and other places where no one who wasn't seeking her would tread.

He hadn't known what to expect. A pile of stones that were once an altar, perhaps, with carvings that would indicate worship. Or, perhaps crude paintings upon the wall, rendered in blood and taking on a rust coloring with time.

An intact statue of the Holy Demon was not what he expected.

Seirosi scripture taught that she was the darker aspect or Sothis, and thus Dimitri expected her to be horrifying in the wake of Sothis' beauty. She was not a sorry sight, though. No, she was beautiful beyond description, so beautiful that Dimitri nearly fell to his knees and wept when he took in the sight of the stark marble, carved with such a careful hand that she looked like she might step off her pedestal. Never had he seen a woman as mesmerizing, as enchanting. Despite his better judgment, he reached out to her, felt the smooth marble of her thigh under his fingertips and shivered at how warm and pliant it was.

Like flesh.

And like she was made of flesh, she turned her gaze to him and smiled. It was like light poured from her, bathing Dimitri in her grace. His suffering was forgotten, her holy light cleansing him where Sothis could not. Sothis did not heed his prayers, did not care of his suffering. And yet, here stood before him a demon whose expression told him that she heard all, that her heart bled for him and she would grant him his heart's every desire if only he pledged himself to her.

He did kneel then, eyes turned up to her strange and terrible beauty as she sat before her in subjugation. When she regarded him, it was not with the cold indifference he expected from Sothis' dark aspect, but that of a love so pure that Dimitri felt as though his heart may burst.

Then, she extended her hand to him.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimileth #byleth eisner #fanfic #drabble #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #Have some evil goddess Byleth silliness

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