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longclawshilt · 2 months

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The thing about Jon that a lot of people forget is that he is actually a rather well known figure all around Westeros. I don’t think it’s incorrect to say that he’s Ned’s most famous kid by a large margin, and perhaps even one of the more famous teens in Westeros; especially now that he has become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and his reputation has began to stretch to a different continent. Because of his very unusual origin - being honorable Ned Stark’s bastard son by an unknown woman - his name has been passed around in noble houses across the entire continent. He’s not some random kid from the North that no one has heard of. The majority of people may not have seen him, but they have at the very least heard of him.

I bring this up because people tend to act as if Jon would be automatically scoffed away by just about everyone if his true parentage ever came to light. After all, they say, why would anyone believe that some random kid from the north is a Targaryen prince? But this is not really true. Jon is not a random kid. His father was one of the most powerful men in the entire land. And not only that, but Ned’s reputation as an honorable man with no fault ensured that the scandal of begetting a bastard was known by everyone who is someone. The thing is, readers tend to ignore a very large gaping hole in the story when it comes to public perception of Jon’s parentage. People all over Westeros have been talking about Ned and his bastard, but no one can agree on the mother - this is actually important!

Most people would not have questioned Ned to his face, but they too want to know who Jon’s mother was, even if it’s just for a little bit of gossip among nobles. Jon’s parentage is a mysterious puzzle that a lot of people have tried to solve themselves. Catelyn hears one answer in Winterfell, but Davos hears another on his way to White Harbor. Edric Dayne from Dorne says a different name to Arya, while Cersei and Robert (who both live in KL) hear different things. That there’s so much variation all around Westeros is actually proof that a lot of people are talking about this one issue. And Ned’s refusal to name a woman may actually end up having unexpected consequences when someone finally mentions the name “Lyanna Stark”.

So I would like to push back on the belief that no one in Westeros would care about the R+L=J reveal or that they would immediately write Jon off. GRRM deciding to keep Jon’s mother an in universe mystery that is the topic of constant conversation will have major payoff. While I could see some being incredulous, it’s absolutely not a foregone conclusion that most people will choose not to believe it. And it’s not a foregone conclusion that this reveal will only matter to the Stark kids and no one else. Sure GRRM is playing with fantasy tropes, and Jon squarely falls under the hidden prince/king. But something that makes Jon quite different from a lot of his genre counterparts is that he’s not an unknown figure who shows up at the last minute to claim the crown. Jon is not an unknown entity. He is well known, it’s just that very few people have dared to think too deeply about the very large elephant in the room regarding his origin. But I’d imagine that if R+L=J was to be revealed, it wouldn’t be too shocking for a lot of people. It’s not so far fetched that honorable Ned Stark actually chose to protect his sister’s son.

And in regards to GRRM playing with fantasy tropes, Young Griff always comes up in conversation as Jon’s foil. People say that he will be the one to be believed because he looks the part of a Targaryen, whereas a random kid from the North won’t be believed because of his brown hair and grey eyes. Jon doesn’t look like some random unrecognizable Northman. He very specifically looks like a Stark! And anyway, is Jon’s story - that Ned took him in after his sister died and raised him as his own under the protective banner of House Stark - any less believable than Young Griff’s - that Varys had the foresight to save him and whisk him off to Essos before the Mountain bashed his head in? Until now, people have never heard of Young Griff so they’ve never had the opportunity to ruminate over and gossip about his origin story. But they know Jon. And they know about Rhaegar and Lyanna. And Jon looking so very undeniably like a Stark (like Lyanna Stark!) could perhaps work in his favor.

#jon snow #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #r plus l equals j #my stuff #early morning rambling but oh well

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chaedomi · 8 months

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JEWEL OF OBELIA

SUMMARY . to them you were a jewel, precious and highly valuable. they, in turn, will express their strong emotions toward you, even if it means resorting to... more hostile methods.

CHARACTERS . ATHANASIA / CLAUDE DE ALGER OBELIA

WARNINGS . YANDERE, female reader, platonic, ooc, violence, death, suicide, unhealthy relationships (if i missed any, kindly alert me)

WORDCOUNT . 1.7k+ / MASTERLIST.

LETTERS . why have all the readers in my manhwa fics originally died so far... anyway, can you tell where i started losing motivation?

IN THE novel, Lovely Princess, the story went like this. True to its title, the book contained Lovely Princesses. There was The First Princess, akin to the moon, who held a gloomy and foggy disposition. Then came The Second Princess, resembling the sun, bright and cheery. And finally, The Third Princess, similar to the stars, was reserved but gentle and a source of comfort.

You were… The First Princess’s younger half-sister. Although your mother was unknown (you were found inside a basket in the gardens crying) those jeweled eyes and your uncanny appearance close to The Emperor were solid proof that you were in fact of royal blood. It was… certainly strange to learn that the book entailed you as an 'unimportant' character. While The Second Princess was adored by the whole continent, the love the people harbored for you, The Third Princess, could put The Second Princess to shame. They treated you as though you were some supreme gift bestowed from the heavens, to be treasured and pampered. And among those who glorified you… was your father, The Cold-Hearted Emperor. You were like The Protagonist more than The Second Princess could ever be.

You were also… the best sister anyone could ask for to The First Princess. Because The First Princess was deprived of affection in her life, she mostly relied on you to fill the gaps in her heart. And you endearingly did so, trying your best to shine a light inside her darkness. It soon became that you both were inseparable, attached by the hip.

…So, obviously, you will spiral down into despair over The First Princess's death. You knew The First Princess was innocent of The Second Princess's poisoning. She was simply too sweet to commit a vile act, especially when she too took a liking to The Second Princess. But, alas, your reasoning went through one ear and out the other, and without proper evidence, your father executed The First Princess.

However, just as The Emperor's wrath was not to be underestimated, so was the extent of your grief as you promptly took away your life hours after The First Princess's execution. And that was the sad ending of your story, The Third Princess.

HOW WAS THAT ANY FAIR??? The confusion of the roles and the cheesy plotline were already bad enough on their own, but your unnecessary death pretty much destroyed the chances of her leaving a positive review. Was it done to reestablish the fact you were an unimportant character, or to remind everyone that The Second Princess is the original best girl in the story…? No amount of copious explanations can ever make ATHANASIA understand the validation for your death.

What she can come to understand however is that you, out of all people, did NOT deserve to die. You had all the rights to receive a happy ending just like The Second Princess… and that is what she aspired to make a reality as she was tossed into the fantasy world of the novel. It was obvious that it all went to hell when The First Princess was executed at the hands of The Emperor. So, in order to avoid your death, she will have to avoid hers first.

A genius plan, she dubbed it, stealing various riches from the Ruby Palace to live the rest of her life on as she escapes. She also thought of the brilliant idea of taking you along with her, after all, being inside the palace is kind of… the reason for your death, was it not!? Why not avoid the source altogether!? Or… that is what was supposed to happen before she accidentally stumbled across The Emperor four years early. Now, she will have to scrap that genius plan. Damn…

On a bright note, as time passed, using an alternative plan, Athanasia eventually evaded all chances of earning death at the hands of her father. This means that you too won’t have a pitiful ending as you originally did! Yay!

You truly didn’t deserve to die, and Athanasia will keep on saying it as much as needed. The years she spent beside you as your sister, further strengthened her motivation to keep you alive. She also understood why The First Princess had a strong attachment toward you. Innocent, Pure, Patient, Merciful, and Kind… who wouldn’t swoon over a person with such admirable traits? What struck her heart the way it did, was your affection. In her previous life, Athanasia… didn’t have people around her to provide her with love.

So, it surprised her a lot when it happened. Sure, she had love from her Nanny and the rest of the maids, but yours had her heart pumping, energy rushing through her veins. It was warm… a feeling she wanted to cling to for an eternity. Was it silly that she felt envious of a fictional character? To think that The First Princess was subjected to this kind of treatment from you… How did it feel to live her dream? Not that it matters anymore. Now, she can have you to all herself! You wouldn’t mind if she got a little… greedy, right? Of course, you won’t! After all, if you learned of her tremendous effort to keep you safe, why wouldn’t you reward her with more of your presence? What she does is in your favor. So, don’t get too upset if what she does seems a bit extreme, alright? It’s all for your benefit.

Betrayal can hurt. But, betrayal stings when it comes from the person you trusted and loved the most. You didn’t understand why it had upset her more than it upsetted you. More so, if she was so against the idea, why hadn’t she said so first? She was supportive about it too, choosing to help pick out a perfect disguise for your outing in the town. So why was it that on the day you were about to leave, lo and behold, there was your father by your doorway, inclusive of his knight… and your sister beside him, smiling triumphantly? Maybe if you had paid attention to how the shine left your sister’s eyes as you told her of your plan, you could have avoided such a dreadful punishment.

What bugged you the most was how Athanasia carried out her day normally, and acted sweetly to you, as if she didn’t partially contribute to the punishment of breaking your legs. Today was no different, as she sat on the chair beside your bed rambling on about her day. “You know, that’s the most I’ve seen Daddy upset.” She laughed, tracing her finger down your legs. “Usually, he would never dream of even hurting a strand of your hair. What you’ve done was really bad…”

She smiled at you, her jeweled eyes looking all the more terrifying under the dark lighting in your room. “I don’t understand. I should feel despaired seeing my sister in so much pain. Why does it bring me so much relief?” She sighed, holding one of your hands in hers. “...You scared me terribly with what you told me earlier. My mind couldn’t stop focusing on the many possibilities that would arise with you out there. Even worse, what if they learned of your true identity, and an enemy nearby attacks you?”

“I agreed with your plan, solely to avoid trouble. If I said no, you would have avoided me, right? I… don’t ever want to see you in danger, or place you in it, knowing I could have done something to prevent it. Not like anything like that will happen anytime soon!” She gently poked your injured legs. “I will help ensure that too.” You didn’t realize that the tears building in your eyes began to fall, your sister’s fingers quickly working to wipe them away.

In the novel, CLAUDE naturally favored you more than The First Princess. Upon your first encounter during the festival on The First Princess’s ninth birthday, with an outstretched hand, he escorted you back to the party, leaving your older sister in the dust. You lived a rather lavish life after that, him spoiling you with exquisite goods. So, it’s not like you had to form some extreme plan like Athanasia to protect yourself from the dangers that lurked inside the palace. Everyone here adored you…

Yet, not only did Athanasia’s interference with the plotline create many changes for her, but it also resulted in triggering unsettling events for you. Now that The Cold-Hearted Emperor has learned to display affection for the firstborn he originally detested, where would that place you, the daughter he always loved?

…His methods were very much frightening, even traumatizing, you may add. The numerous times you witnessed something gruesome to the eye, for the littlest offenses toward you. He would imprison, he would murder, he would execute, all in your name. His presence too, was very much suffocating, more than Athanasia, and that spoke volumes.

You hated how they both attached themselves to you, but, if you had to choose, you would pick Athanasia in a heartbeat. For the cold jeweled eyes that scrutinized every movement you made were too much for your poor heart to endure. It was as though he was waiting, waiting for your slip-up, to gain a perfect reason to permanently confine you behind the walls of your bedroom. And you fear… that the day you kissed your freedom goodbye was approaching quicker than you initially anticipated.

“What will it take for you to treat me as normally as the rest?” the (h.c) haired girl wept, clutching on tightly her father’s robes. “Shall I become like my sister, Athanasia? If I do… will I become like a free bird, and be granted more privileges?” grief-stricken jeweled eyes peered up at her father. “Will you finally release me from the shackles you trapped me in?”

“Do what you want,” her father smirked. but, as quickly as her hope came so was it shattered. the piercing concept. his voice in her ears was the cruelest of them all. “Such a thing won’t happen till the day I perish.” what a terrible vow. she knew he would do anything in his power to maintain his promise. and so, the deepest of despair like never before flooded her eyes. what have you done to receive this…?

you were very precious. nothing, not even the rarest pieces in the world could be compared to you; you were the highest value among them all. for all, it was a high requirement to treat you with the utmost importance and respect. yes, to them, to everyone, you were, the jewel of obelia.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

#🥛━ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐄 #who made me a princess #wmmap #wmmap x reader #manhwa x reader #manhwa x you #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #child reader #female reader

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alphynix · 2 months

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For a long time there were no hadrosaurid fossils known from Africa.

This seemed to mainly be due to the limits of the geography of their time. Hadrosaurs evolved and flourished during the late Cretaceous, when Africa was isolated from all the other continents, and they didn't seem to have ever found their way across the oceanic barriers.

…Until in 2021 a small hadrosaur was discovered in Morocco, a close relative of several European species, showing that some of these dinosaurs did reach northwest Africa just before the end of the Cretaceous - and with no land bridges or nearby island chains to hop along, they must have arrived from Europe via swimming, floating, or rafting directly across several hundred kilometers of deep water.

And now another hadrosaur has just been described from the same time and place.

Minqaria bata lived in Morocco at the very end of the Cretaceous, about 67 million years ago. Only known from a partial skull, its full appearance and body size is unknown, but it probably measured around 3.5m long (~11'6") – slightly larger than its previously discovered relative, but still very small for a hadrosaur. It might represent a case of insular dwarfism, since at the time Morocco may have been an island isolated from the rest of northwest Africa.

Along with its close relative Ajnabia, and at least one other currently-unnamed larger hadrosaur species, Minqaria seems to be part of a rapid diversification of hadrosaurs following their arrival in Morocco, adapting into new ecological niches in their new habitat where the only other herbivorous dinosaur competition was titanosaurian sauropods, and the only large predators were abelisaurs.

If the K-Pg mass extinction hadn't happened just a million years later, who knows what sort of weird African hadrosaurs we could have ended up with?

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NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

#science illustration #paleontology #paleoart #palaeoblr #minqaria #hadrosaur #hadrosauridae #ornithopod #ornithischia #dinosaur #art #insular dwarfism #african hadrosaurs!

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xensilverquill · 1 year

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The woodland amphithere (Amphitheris silva), also known as the fairy dragon or the beech wyrm, is a small draconoid endemic to the temperate broadleaf forests of the Sunken Continent. Vestigial wings aid in thermoregulation and can be freely contracted and expanded. The shapes of these wings have evolved to resemble the leaves of beech, hornbeam, and other marcescent trees that are the favored hunting territories of woodland amphitheres. Fur-like moss growth on its head and tail enable it to supplement its primarily insectivorous diet with photosynthetic energy.

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(Extended species description under readmore.)

The woodland amphithere (Amphitheris silva), also known as the fairy dragon or the beech wyrm, is a small draconoid endemic to the broadleaf forests of the Sunken Continent.

Vestigial wings aid in both gliding and thermoregulation. Each wing can move independently of one another, and their membranes can be freely contracted and expanded (see last image/GIF in gallery). The shapes of these wings have evolved to resemble the leaves of beech, hornbeam, and other marcescent trees that are the favored hunting territories of woodland amphitheres. Whole covens have been observed sunning themselves on tree branches in autumn and winter.

Fur-like moss growth on its head and tail enable it to supplement its primarily insectivorous diet with photosynthetic energy. This adaptation along with their unique wing structure allows them to forego hibernation altogether in more temperate regions.

Two pairs of eyes make these creatures adept hunters. The rostral pair are used to observe shape and color while the caudal pair specialize in tracking the movement of their prey.

Like many extant members of the amphitherid and other draconoid families, the woodland amphithere possesses relays, growths on the head which house complex electroreceptors. Relays in this species have evolved as rigid, antler-like structures. The exact purpose of these relays is unknown, but it is hypothesized that they may be involved in communication between members of a given coven.

Woodland amphitheres are semisocial and congregate in single-generation groups known as a coven or a flight. Covens are typically made up of six to ten individuals, although covens as large as two dozen have been observed. While they do not exhibit the same coordinated hunting prowess of other amphithere species, they are still remarkably sociable and have been observed to groom and to sing to one another.

Eggs are laid in communal nests in small ponds in early spring, and the brood is left to fend for itself by the parent coven shortly after hatching. The fry begin life as tadpole-like creatures with their wings and relays becoming fully developed by midsummer. The brood may linger for up to a year near its birth pond before leaving in search of new hunting territory.

Birds of prey, including eagles, owls, and lesser rocs, are typical predators of woodland amphitheres. Its primary defense is its own coven, which will swarm upon and harass the predator to drive it away. Larger covens have even been known to kill and subsequently feed on their would-be attackers, especially during the nesting season.

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First entry in what will be a small series of original dragon amigurumi patterns following a general amphithere body plan (basically all wing and no leggies lol).

My personal challenge for each of these is that I cannot directly reference patterns from other creators. This is to (1) force me to figure out how to work up complex shapes and (2) so that I can avoid copyright infringement if I ever decide to sell these patterns a later date. Which was why a good portion of the time for this entry was working out the shapes of the leaves for the wings, haha.

#dragon #amigurumi #fantasy #crochetblr #speculative biology #beasts of the sunken continent #xen makes frens #her name is beech and she compels you to boop the snoot

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incorrectoctopathtravelerquotes · 4 months

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Norton: you played me like a fiddle!

Stead: No, fiddles are actually difficult to play.

Stead: I played you like the cheap kazoo you are.

#submission #incorrect octopath traveler quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect Octopath Traveler #octopath traveler: champions of the continent #octopath traveler norton #octopath traveler stead #source: unknown

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prismatic-bell · 9 months

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It’s 4am and I’m having emotions about calling Mesopotamia “the cradle of civilization” so y’all are just going to have to bear with me.

Like okay, there are technically six so-called cradles of civilization: Mesopotamia, ancient Egypt, ancient China, ancient India, and two civilizations in south and Central America called the Olmec (Mexico) and Caral-Supe (Peru). But the one we all learn about in school is Mesopotamia, bleeding into Egypt.

But.

The oldest of those is the Fertile Crescent (Egypt, the Levant, Mesopotamia), clocking in around 12,000 BCE. That’s the 121st century BCE, if you’re wondering. “Behavioral modernity,” I.e. the thing that separates Homo sapiens from Homo erectus and Homo heidelbergensis, began 160,000 to 60,000 years ago. Homo sapiens was found in most of Africa before ever beginning the migration to other continents—by over 80,000 years, in some cases.

And we all know how Africa got treated in the post-Roman era.

How do we know there was no cradle of civilization in Africa? Like. It’s generally taken that “cradle of civilization” means cities, agriculture, and usually-but-not-always a writing system. We also know that if all humans on earth disappeared right now, in 15,000 years the only sign we were ever here would be a millimeters-thin line of plastic in the geologic record. And that’s in a world where we have stainless steel, concrete, the ability to carve in stone…

What I’m saying is, the oldest piece of string in the world is 50,000 years old and it was found in a cave. Huge swathes of Africa used to be green and lush. If some group ten thousand years ago decided to build a settlement out of mud bricks and tied-up pieces of wood in the African jungle, we’d never know today. The entire thing would have washed out and rotted away centuries ago. “Okay but agriculture—” one, not all agriculture is white people agriculture, and some of it is so different we wouldn’t recognize it at all (consider the terraforming east coast Native tribes did in North America that was so different from European farming methods it was taken as divine intervention in primeval forest). And two, I forget how many years it’s estimated to take before our fancy modern crops return to their wild roots once we’re gone, but I’m pretty sure it’s less than a hundred. We literally would have no way to tell anything was ever there.

And let’s say something did, by some miracle of preservation, survive to the “modern cradles of civilization.” Would it have survived subsequent wars and colonization? How about the changing climate as continents broke apart and ice ages came and went? Would we even have found it, given how gigantic it is and how little regard it’s received through the years?

Like. I could be totally wrong. But I also don’t see why it’s impossible for a civilization to have popped up in Africa like thirty thousand years ago for a century or two and then everyone went “ah, fuck this” and went back to being nomads. It happened at Cahokia. The city was abandoned and we don’t know why, but we do know there’s no evidence the mound-builders ever tried to rebuild somewhere else. And right here in my proverbial backyard, in Arizona, we had the Sinagua tribe, and in like the 1500s or so they just…dipped. There was a whole city built into the side of a cliff (two of them, actually, a few miles apart) and for unknown reasons they were abandoned. Archaeological evidence suggests the Sinagua moved northeast to join the Yavapai and Hopi tribes, but we have no idea why they left the Verde Valley. Water was still plentiful and even if Beaver Creek had started to dry up in summer—which is what it does today—only five miles away was a second city built around a sinkhole that’s still full of water today year-round (although it’s not potable by modern standards due to arsenic content in the water). Both were abandoned sometime in the 1400s for unknown reasons, and before you say “white people,” I will remind you white people didn’t come to America until 1492 and the site wasn’t discovered until over 100 years after it was abandoned.

So yeah. Maybe ancient civilizations in Africa so long ago, or so thoroughly erased by racist Europeans, that we’ll never know.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

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annasmafroo · 6 months

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I am so normal about Digital Circus that I came up with an idea for an AU where the Circus is a literal traveling circus in 1920s America and they're not doing very well at the time when they meet Pomni.

Every character is some kind of an outcast who joined the circus out of desperation.

Caine is the owner of the circus (Moon is the owner of the owner slash wife) and has a dog named Bubble.

Kinger is a war veteran who never got accepted back to society, his wife passed away from tuberculosis, he has ptsd. Performs classic magic tricks and illusions.

Ragatha is a suffragette who was disowned by her conservative family. A dancer.

Jax is an orphan who used to work on the farm for people he's not related to but lost his job when they sold their land to a big manufacturing company. Animal handler.

Zooble worked at the factory since early teenage years but lost their job due to industrialization. Heavy smoker and also a heavy lifter of the circus.

Gangle used to write comedies for the local theaters back in her hometown but her family wanted to had her married to cure her "female hysteria" and she had to leave her home because of this unwanted perspective. Performer and writer of the circus.

Pomni is an immigrant who wanted to get a better life in America but failed miserably all her her plans and ended up alone on an unknown continent with no money and relatives to back her up. Becomes a jester of the circus to sort of replace Kaufmo who passed of spanish flu not too long ago before she joined.

#the amazing digital circus #Tadc #Tadc au #tadc headcanon #The Amazing Digital circus headcanon #tadc caine #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc moon #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc ragatha #Tadc 1920s

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cillivnz · 7 months

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𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻

[𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪]

PAIRING — PRIEST!NANAMI KENTO x NUN!READER

SYNOPSIS — you shift across continents hoping to leave all behind that drifted you apart from the Lord, only to catch the sole reason of your departure waiting for you patiently, with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

WORD COUNT — 2878

WARNINGS — NSFW. MODERN AU. OOC!KENTO (kinda). RELIGIOUS IMAGERY, THEMES & RELIGION IN GENERAL. BLASPHEMY, sacrilege, impure thoughts, cursing, sins & sinning, sex in a church, indecent use of the confessional, DUBCON. oral (m! receiving), fingering, clit-play, biting, nipple/breast-play, unprotected and penetrative sex (p! in v!), overstimulation, against a wall (?), voyeurism, degrading. NANAMI HAS A GOD COMPLEX. there is repetitive mentions of religious themes throughout the smut, from praying to other things.

A/N — GOOD GOD. i’m asking you all for forgiveness, but i needed to do this. i intended it for leon kennedy but something in me snapped and i changed it to a nanami kento fiction, WHICH IS WHY THERE IS MENTION OF A CHRIS REDFIELD, i was too lazy to change it and also i didn’t want to incorporate too much from the JJKverse, so we’ll just leave Redfield at that.

i am NOT anti-religion, this is a common fantasy and i just wished to try my hand at this sinister trope. please refer to the warnings and DO NOT PROCEED if anything mentioned makes you uncomfortable. apologies in advance for any inaccurate detail written. not proofread.

art credits — unknown [pinterest]

LISTENING TO: ‘THE SACRAMENT’ — HIM

[therefore the title].

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘, but you knew the Lord only wanted what was best for you, and so a new chapter in your life had begun.

A woman above materialism, you leave with only your bible and habit, but of course, you carried the last memory of your past life— a photograph your Sisters took of you and Father Redfield from your hometown, the church you had sworn celibacy to, near the Arklay Mountains.

You loved Chris— Father Redfield, the way you’d love the angels of the almighty, but at times this love prevented you from preaching, causing you to often ponder on your style of living, and the fact that doubt settled in your god-driven mind became the primary reason why you decided to move away, all the way to Tokyo.

Your feelings for Father Redfield made you question your vows to chastity, and you knew at once you needed to get away. So, you left the mountainous foliage at once and settled for the noisy city.

Upon arriving, you were welcomed by a ‘Sister Nobara”, with a soft face and piercing gaze, but none that lingered.

She walked you through the large and lonely halls of the massive church. The infrastructure of your hometown’s place of worship couldn’t compare to Tokyo’s, perhaps the difference in population was the reason why.

Throughout the walk to the nave, you felt an ominous sense of being watched— no, preyed upon, but you and your naïveté blamed it on your nerves. It worsened while you said your prayers, seeking forgiveness for the note on which you left: that doubt and urgency to succumb to hellish pleasures with the priest that couldn’t even reciprocate a smile back to you.

“Ah, there comes Father Kento,” Sister Nobara interrupted the last of your calls to the Lord, the one where you beseeched to attain enough strength to never succumb to lust. You quickly muttered a, “Amen”, and turned to Nobara. You looked at her for a brief moment, before your gaze followed hers and landed on the most devilishly handsome man you had ever seen.

Hell, you had to leave your home over a man who, now, you realise, isn’t even half as attractive as the man towering over you.

You backed away when the sudden proximity hit you, your subconscious mind immediately associating that eerie feeling in your gut with the presence of this man.

“Hello,” his deep voice broke the silence. “Greetings, Father,” you quickly averted your lingering stare onto the wooden floor. There was a stroke of amusement tainted in his tone, “Sister Nobara tells me you come from the Arklay Mountains.”

“She’s right,” you confirmed, still not eyeing him.

He nodded along, eyes still etched on your face.

“Father, if you could excuse me.” Sister Nobara suddenly spoke, causing you to look up at the departing woman. A “But—” was all you could mutter, before Kento put two-and-two-together and figured you sought out your quarters. “I don’t mind showing you around.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Father.” You laughed, nervously, obvious to the subtle but definite bite of the Priest’s lower lip at the sound.

“No problem, follow me.”

The walk wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be; it was worse.

You couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the seemingly older, definitely taller and the most handsome man you had ever dreamt of, and the fact that he hadn’t turned to look at you, nonetheless utter a single word, aggravated you.

He gracefully halted, and you knew you’d reached your quarters.

“There we are,” he announced, opening the door to let you in before him.

“It’s not much but—”

“It’s perfect.” You interrupted him with a warm smile, genuinely pleased with where you were to be stationed. Father Kento seemed pleased with your response, the small smile that broke out gave it away.

You instantly got to settling in, not that you had many things to place. Just your clothes, holy books and—

“Who is that?” Asked Father Kento the minute your hand reached for the framed memory.

“Father Redfield from the Arklay Church.” You spoke in monotone.

“Is he why you left?”

You didn’t have to answer.

The way you clutched the photograph tighter gave Nanami Kento all the answers he needed.

“Confessional is always open.”

“𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍.” The words rang in your ears, floating in the whirlpool of your disturbed mind throughout supper, and the fact that Father Kento was nowhere in sight was no solace. You decided to say, “Fuck it,” in a god-abiding way, and made your way over to the said confessional.

You step inside the wooden booth, steadying your breath you heard movement on the other side.

“Good evening, Sister.”

“I’m glad you obeyed me.” He said, seemingly in nonchalance, but you could picture a cocky smirk on his handsome face.

“Yes, father,” was all you could muster up.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” He said so casually, yet compelling enough to get you to open up.

“You were right, Father Kento,” you sighed.

“It’s Chris—Father Redfield.”

“He’s, uh, the reason why I left.”

“Why would a man of the Lord drive you to that limit, Sister?” You heard that raspy voice of Father Kento’s inquire.

All you could muster up was a sigh. Talking about your feelings was something you’ve always struggled with, never there being a crucial need to do so, to redeem, like tonight.

“Because I would find myself thinking about him.”

“In what way?” Father Kento asked almost immediately, not wasting a breath.

“In impurity, lust, and love.”

The sigh on the other wooden end of the booth was almost unheard by you. “Describe them.” Father Kento broke the silence after a moment of halting. “W-what?”

“Describe your thoughts. What did you want to do with him?” You heard fiddling, but chose to ignore it.

“I would— would think about him and I, romantically. If and how things would’ve been different had we not chosen this life. Then, it was natural for excitement to settle in when he’d gently brush past me,” you oddly found yourself at ease, tranquil and nostalgic as you reminisce over the past.

“What about lust?” He interrupted in a tight voice.

“Uh,”

“I thought of his large, aged and veiny hands: grabbin—grabbing me, groping my… breasts…”

The ruffling on the other side silenced you, and when Father Kento noticed, he spoke in a stern tone, “Sister,”

“I need you to let it all out.”

So, you took a deep breath, and did exactly that.

You tell the priest how badly you’d grown accustomed to that ache between your thighs, how damp you would feel while merely observing the older man casually interact with the churchgoers; the tinge of bitterness that coursed through your veins, replacing the electricity that he’d often ignite, but now that you see him caressing the arm of another woman, much like the way he’d do to you, you’d find yourself unravelled in the sin of envy.

“I would find myself wanting to start a family with Father Redfield— by any means necessary. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me, carry his load inside me each night, sleeping in the warmth of his arms while his cum leaks out of me, still puffy and sore but in the need of more—”

You heard him groan.

He fucking groaned.

Your sinful ramblings would’ve persisted had the feeling in your gut not begged for you to shut the fuck up that very instance.

“Tell me, Sister,”

“Was it Father Redfield you felt such vulgarity for, or perhaps, just the thought of a superior— One with the Lord— indulging in you?”

You were speechless. Surely there was no insinuation in his sultry tone, right?

“I— I don’t know, Father.” You cleared your throat, thighs involuntarily rubbing together. You raised your palm to bite the back of it, softly, but enough to distract you. A habit you thought you had rid yourself of, but it still lingers.

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before you could deny the blatant accusation, your eyes land on Father Kento through the open wooden network.

You had now realised that this was the first time throughout your confession that you looked up— at him, and the sight awaiting you had caused you to clutch your rosary and gasp the first profanities you’ve dared to say in decades.

Father Kento sat on a ruby, velvet sofa, while his robe lifted up to his stomach. The first thing your eyes trail to is the smug, sinister look on his face, his slicked-back, disheveled hair, his glimmering eyes and pink lips. Then, his broad neck lacking the amice that is supposed to adorn it. Between his thick thighs, stood tall and angry the most vicious thing you’ve seen.

What made it worse was that he had a hand wrapped around the leaking tip, and in that very hand, was his rosary.

“Like what you see, Sister?” He called you out, and you immediately averted your gaze.

You looked to the ceiling, folding your hands and dropping to your knees.

“No, none of that.” Father Kento ‘tsk’ed at the sound of your prayers, making his way over to your side of the confessional.

“As pretty as you look while begging for mercy,”

“ 𝑰 ’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑾. ”

He grabbed ahold of your joined hands, opening them just enough to wrap them around the girth of his cock.

“Pray,” he said, squeezing your cheeks together. When your mouth forcefully opened, he shoved his tip past your plump lips, and you instinctively allowed more inside.

“Good girl.” He groaned, motioning your hands back in forth on his cum-slick cock.

Blasphemy coursed through your blood and all thoughts and prayers left your mind, and you twirled your tongue around his cruel tip.

He growled, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” pushing back your veil and bandeau to let your hair out and grip it.

“Oh, you have no idea what a punishment the past few hours had been,”

“I’d been doing so good. ‘So good,” his voice was weak yet hoarse; he damn near lost his mind when he hit the back of your throat, biting back a whimper.

“I was on the path to salvation, but you,”

“You just had to show up and send me spiralling to hell.”

He plunged into your tight throat one last time, savouring the sight of your hollowed cheeks and plump lips wrapped around his shaft. You bat your long, thick lashes at him and his heart skips a beat when he looks into those doe eyes of yours.

“Get up,” he yanks you up by the arm.

“Strip.”

You were hesitant while bidding farewell to your attire, but there was unknown fervency in your movements.

Once bare, you couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“This is so wrong—”

“—But do you want it?” He asked, his was was stern and soft, his recollected breath made his velvety voice return.

“More than anything I’ve ever known.” You answered in all honesty; only truth came out of you in the home of the Lord.

There was a soft smirk on Father Kento’s face that widened into a genuine smile upon hearing your words. “Come here, then.” He motioned for you close the eternal gap between the two of you, and you nearly leaped into his arms, the distance growing unbearable.

Kissing you, tasting himself on you, Father Kento spoke in between kisses, “I don’t want a fucking word out of you, okay? You’re going to take cock quietly.”

“We want this to stay between us and God, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him corner you against the wooden box.

His eyes darted up to yours and then trailed down to your body. His frustration aggravated at the sight of you, and the fact that you’re the Lord— his master’s forbidden fruit heightens his senses with carnal instincts, making the Goddess in front of him even more insatiable.

“You know I’d have taken my time with you, right?” He nods, enchanting your dumb and dazed state to follow him.

“But you understand how badly I need to be inside you?” You nod, you need it, too.

“And you’ve sworn in celibacy?” He quirks an eyebrow, but the minute you felt the slightest touch of his fingertips along your velvety folds, you forgot all your vows at once.

“Answer me.” His voice carried a trace of humour, but stoic nonetheless, finding your clit and pressing his thumb onto it.

“Y-yes. Yes.” You bit down on your lip and the priest nearly lost it then and there. His free hand meets your face and tucks the pillowy lip out of your teeth’s grasp, stroking it back and forth.

His hand left your cunt, earning pathetic whimpers from you. It went back to his cock, jerking it a few times, leaving you mesmerised, before he gathered the slick that leaked out of the tip and smeared it onto your pussy.

“Prepping you.” He simply grunted, easing one finger into your tight hole. Your walls show hospitality and gladly accept the digit curling inside them.

You were a virgin, but masturbation wasn’t foreign to you.

“More,” you ached, and he obliged.

By the end of your aching heat, you had (barely) accustomed two of his long, slender yet thick fingers. The fervent circles of his thumb on your clit were torturous.

On the brink of your orgasm, spiralling into ecstasy, Father Kento pulled you out. Like a sinister saviour, he pulled you out of enlightenment.

“No! Please— Why?” You blabbered bullshit, too fucked out to care about anything but release.

“I told you I need to be inside you.” His voice was hoarse, the lust evident in his tone.

Watching you right on the edge of unravelling had him throbbing and twitching.

“I need to feel that tight cunt.” He was damn near hyperventilating. “Baby, I’ll go crazy.” He chokes out a sob when you grab his cock by the angry tip and align it with your hole.

He smiled at you, causing you to clench.

How was this blonde bastard so handsome?

Lifting you up with sheer ease, he let your legs wrap around his waist, your arms crossing over his neck, and his dick plunging into you, inch by inch.

You thanked God the tiny booth was tall, so you had enough space to let your head fall back without it touching the ceiling, courtesy of the man balls deep inside you, standing at 6’0.

The snug fit knocked the air out of both of you. Tears ran down your flushed cheeks like a hot spring, the passion with which he embraced you, devouring your warmth against the cold wood set every cell in your body ablaze.

“You’re so fucking— tight. ‘Hot, tight pussy squeezing so nicely around my cock.” Father Kento began pounding into you. Your legs had began to tremble already, but your vicelike grip on his waist and broad shoulders didn’t falter.

His fat cock fucked into you with desperation, the carnality of being wanted so much, so sinisterly by a man who had sworn chastity makes your soul quiver.

You’ll need to make one hell of an apology to the Lord.

As if reading your mind, the blonde priest spoke in a hoarse voice, “Pray.”

“For your sake and mine, you better fucking pray.”

So, you join your hands and close your eyes, bring Father Kento’s face closer to your chest. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of your soft breasts embracing his face like the pillowy clouds of heaven he’d never see.

With every thrust, your would slide up the wall, cunt gushing along his length. You said your prayers silently but couldn’t help letting out wanton cries when the tip of his cock would hit a certain spot inside you, and hit it repeatedly.

You were too far gone to hear him say, “Put it in my mouth,” not knowing what he referred to, until he hit the flesh right above your breast. You struggled to let go of his neck, but grabbed the supple flesh and lead it to his ravenous mouth, like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His hot mouth on your nipple; tugging, licking, circling, and nibbling. His cock inside you, fucking you at godspeed. Two of his fingers on your clit, rubbing maniacally; all had you coming undone in seconds.

“Oh, Kento!” You moaned pornographically, driving him to the point of release and insanity when the rhythmic contractions of your cunt pulsated around his twitching cock, and in mere seconds, Father Kento buried his seed deep inside you.

“Good god.” He groaned, parting with your nipple with a ‘pop’ and overstimulating you with slow, deep thrusts; his fingers never once leaving your clit.

“That—”

“—Needs another confession altogether.”

And so every night you’d find yourself cornered up in the confessional, apologising for same mistake you’ve been making every night, with the man whose forgiveness you beg for, on your knees, and repentance he delivers with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

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