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kisses4kaia · 4 months

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MORE BROTHERS BEST FRIEND BILLY THE KID I BEG OF YOU

GIBSON GIRL .ᐟ

pairing— brothersbestfriend!william h. bonney x fem!reader

warnings— smut, forbidden relationship, p in v, oral (m and f receiving) EVERYONE IS LEGAL!!

a/n— this took an absurd amount of time sorry! she’s here now tho so plz reblog if u enjoyed! (also not a part two to the first one 🤍)

“billy, make sure she’s safe while i’m gone, will you?” jesse asks his best friend in reference to you, his innocent, sweet, little sister. and naturally, without any hesitation, billy nods. “of course, always,”

there’s something about his tone when he says it, something that hints that his opinion of you isn’t entirely fraternal, but perhaps something more profound. jesse doesn’t catch onto that, though; never having been the brightest tool in the shed.

almost ignorantly, he just nods at billy in respectful acknowledgment, kisses you on the cheek, all before leaving the house, heading into town for whatever errands needed running, leaving you and billy alone for many unsupervised hours.

god, the tension between the pair of you was palpable—thicker than molasses and sweeter than it, too. to make matters worse for the outlaw, recently, you took up a new hobby—making billy squirm. making innuendos just barely passable as innocent banter, being on your best behavior and letting him know you were like this just for him, then going and turning it around completely, becoming a complete and total brat, not heeding to mind a single word he speaks.

and fuck, it was driving him insane. he felt so ashamed of himself on nights when all his mind could conjure up before bed was images of you—images the lord would frown upon sincerely—and end up with a cum-splotched torso and a still unsatiated cock. he hated you for it.

you, with your too-tight denim shorts in july, and with your ribbons in your pigtail plaits, and your sweet, soft, wickedly tantalizing, eyes and even more venomous voice. everything about you drove him mad, and it was the very nature of your relationship that irked him the most—because, he knew, as desperately as he wanted, he could not have you. you were his best friends little sister, for christ’s sake! it was never bound to end well for him. honestly, he felt like the fates had fucked him.

so now, when you are in your bed, reading a romance novel you’ve already read twice, something outside of your window catches your eye. billy is currently out on the farm with the horses, tending to them. not an uncommon sight, however since it’s august, and this is the midwest, and it is hot—almost naturally—billy has abandoned his linen, button-up, shirt and is wearing nothing but a dirt-stained wifebeater, his trousers, and gun holster—and of course, his cowboy hat. you bite your lip at the display, sure this must be a product of one of your many erotic dreams about your brothers best friend, but all of that is debunked when he looks up at you, his catching the way your bottom lip is folded behind your teeth and your lingering gaze is burning onto his toned arms—probably a result of workin so hard as a farmhand and cowboy his whole life, you reckon—and meeting your piercing gaze.

you decide to push yourself off of your pretty, bowed, sheets and make your way downstairs to the trouble that lies within the man you grew up right next to.

“you know, it’s rude to stare,” billy chimes while you sit on an old, rackety, rocking chair residing on the back porch of your house, watching billy on the ranch. “and you think i’m above being rude?” you cock your head slightly, almost challenging him but not quite. he rolls his eyes, obviously wanting to snap back but can’t find it in him, not when you’re looking at him like that.

soon, he’s done with the work needed to have been done (admittedly, he did make haste so as to keep you waiting on him), and he’s grabbing his shirt off the pole of the wooden fence that is caging the horses in, tying the sleeves around his waist. he doesn’t spare you a single glance as he walks into the home, but you know he’s silently beckoning you to trail after him—after all, you were only out here to ogle at him, weren’t you?

when you enter the threshold of your home, your eyes land upon billy, who is pouring himself a glass of cheap whiskey and plopping down onto your couch.

“c’mon, sit down,” billy offers, sweat on his brow as the brown liquor swirls around the crystal glass, his legs spread wide and his demeanor exuding assertiveness. “well, now don’t be silly, there’s no other seat,” you acknowledge the lack of another sofa in the cozy living room, and the one billy did sit on, was only big enough to seat one. “oh, that’s no problem, doll, just sit on my lap, hm?” he cocks his head at you, daring eyes telling you all you needed to know. your raise your eyebrows and smile. “are you sure that’s what you want me to do?” your voice is a single warning, and billy is clearly throwing all caution to the wind, because he laughs. “c’mon, baby, i’m a big boy, i know what i want,” you knew what his underlying message was and the implication urged you to begin walking towards the couch.

blue eyes bore into yours as you throw a leg on either side of his thighs, skirt splaying over the tops of your thighs. he downs all the liquor in the glass before placing it onto the small coffee table next to him, eyes never leaving yours. carefully, but not fearfully, he drags a finger from your calf all the way to your waist, before both of his large hands take a rest at your love handles. “careful, billy,” you say in a singsong voice, allowing your hips to slowly, very slowly, begin moving downwards unto billy’s crotch. your arms lazily wrap around his neck, forearms resting on his strong, broad, shoulders. he kisses his teeth, bringing his face closer to yours ever so slightly, whiskey breath fanning over your face, chest, décolletage. when his lips finally encase yours, there’s so much built-up tension flowing in the passionate manner in which he kisses you, his palms grip onto your hips possessively before pressing all over your back, grappling desperately to get his calloused hands everywhere on your body all at once. he felt like he was drowning in you, but he would never call for help, for he needed you this instant and there was nothing stopping him from having you right here, right now.

“get on your knees,” he grits through his teeth, lust seething through the low growl that is his voice. you hardly think twice before moving back onto the plywood floor, knees already taking splinters, but you didn’t care, not when billy was unbuckling his denim trousers and letting his cock spring free from the confines of his boxers.

billy revels in the wide-eyed expression on your face as you take in his size. his cock was beautiful—angry, red, and proud, tip leaking with precum, pretty veins running vertically along the length. you swallow your surprise and slowly, you wrap a soft hand around the base of his length, bringing your lips down to his tip and pressing teasing kisses on it. the man above you lets out a soft groan, relaxing his muscles and allowing a strong hand to run through your hair, not quite gathering it yet, but maintaining it out of your face.

after peppering gentle kisses all over his hard cock, you finally flatten your tongue against the underside of him, licking up to the tip. you wrap your lips around his achy head and take as much as you can of him into your mouth, warm throat tightening around him. it takes everything inside billy to not immediately start fucking your fragile face, and when your tear-pricked eyes met his darkened blue ones, he roughly pulls you off of him. he throws you onto your back on the couch, like you weigh no more than a feather, hikes up your skirt and pulls your pale, pink, cotton, panties to the side. as he begins sliding his cock between your puffy folds, his tip brushes against your sensitive bud, and you whine, needing him to quit dangling the carrot and fuck you already. at the pathetic sound, billy just coos, pressing a gentle, loving, kiss to your pouted lips, before slamming his cock into your unprepared, sopping, cunt. you cry out against his lips and as he begins rutting his hips against yours, he’s trying to find restraint. he knows you probably won’t be able to walk properly for a week if he keeps fucking you like this, but the pent up tension finally being released urges him to keep fucking you primally—and plus, you wanted this, didn’t you? with your teasing, and your fucking miniskirts, everything you did was a beg for billy to fuck you into your place, right?

even in his sex-crazed state, billy’s still a gentleman who’s concerned with your pleasure just as much as his, and uses one of the hands he had rested beside your head to draw fast circles on your clit, pulling the most melodic sounds from you. they pushed him closer and closer to the edge and before you both knew it, billy was pulling out of your cunt, making you whine at the empty feeling, stroking himself a few times before painting your abdomen in his seed.

when he came down from his high, billy dropped down to his knees before you, skipping all the teasing he wanted to do (he would, next time) and licked a fat stripe up your slit, stopping at your clit and sucking momentarily. the muscle continued to work at you, dipping and fucking into your achy hole, and within minutes, your orgasm had crashed into you like a powerful ocean tide, struck by poseidon himself. you cried out his name, explicit weaved between your moans. billy just rides you through it, strong hands holding your wildly bucking hips down as you spasmed through your release.

“good girl, such a good girl,” billy cooed, the praise making your face go warm, even after he saw the most intimate parts of you. you brush off the compliment, afraid your own voice would betray you and instead reply “i take it this won’t be the last time we do… this?” and billy just chuckles darkly, picking you up off the couch and sitting himself back down, placing you prettily on his lap. “no, sugar. after this, you’re mine. understand?”

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#kai's got mail <3📑#angelnon 🤍#𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.. ✮⋆˙ !#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #billy antrim #william h bonney smut #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x you

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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard

Lady Walford Moodboard

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* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.

She knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of metal on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, Princess."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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bellewintersroe · 10 months

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Charles Leclerc smut x reader - part 1

Little bit different from my normal writing, but I’ve been obsessed with f1 atm and can’t seem to shake the thirst for the drivers 😬 so anyway here’s a Charles smut x Vasseur! Daughter. Don’t know if this will hit the target audience but it’s fine!

this hasn’t been proof read so could be kinda shit.

Jenny never had a good relationship with her father, the current principle of Ferrari. He’s brought her to many of the 2023 Grand Prix races in order to bond, however she seems to have turned her efforts elsewhere when she meets a certain driver who can’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Their relationship is forbidden, hidden make out sessions, late night drives, the two are getting closer and closer until neither of them can handle the tension between one another.

“Looks cold.” I commented, half distracted as the Monegasque struggled to lower himself into the ice-bath. Fuck, he was so sexy. My eyes dropped down to Charles’ bare torso, he was so toned, his tan skin was smooth and I wanted to run my hand down there so bad. His chest rose and fell heavily, fast enough to get my imagination racing.

“Probably because it is!” Charles teased back, letting out several gasps that had me turning away in order to rid the dirty thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t control my mind around Charles, we’d been getting closer for the past two months, out of the four we’d known one another. Secret, friendly drives and late night takeaways turned into heated make out sessions in hotel corridors and, tense, sex fuelled texts from one another’s rooms when our hands were the only tools to satisfy our own cravings. If it wasn’t for my dad, Frederic Vasseur, principle of Ferrari, and therefore Charles’ borderline manager- or whatever you wanted to call him- I was positive I’d have had Charles in the way I wanted several times at this point.

Growing up I’d loved attending races, placing in the cars, I enjoyed being around here, but living in England with my mum strained my relationship with my father, my teenage years having interests elsewhere than race tracks and cars. This year, I’d made the effort to follow my dad around and Ferrari, accepting his invitation and staying with my 3 siblings and step-mum. I was glad I did, not only for the family time, but for the fact I’d met Charles. Wondering off, I didn’t really know where to linger, none of my family were here, so I just kinda stood on my phone inside, revealing a text from Charles before I’d seen him outside. Let’s go for a drive tonight?

Smiling, I was quick to text back in agreement before I scrolled up ever so slightly. Sexts. Fuck, intimate, graphic pictures, I ignored my own and glanced over Charles’s, pulling my phone closer to me so nobody could see. Not that there was anybody about. Pictures of his cock, exposed, hidden beneath his boxers, strained under a towel, wrapped in his hand- I had to quickly flick off the chat to control my breathing. How I needed him, so desperately, I’d yet to see him naked in real, I’d yet to touch him. The video he sent me from the night before plagued my mind, the way his breath trembled as he jerked himself off, how he’d spat into his palm, lubricating himself and, how he’d moaned and gasped my name as he came over his bare torso. My stomach churned with butterflies, my hand scraped through my hair, fidgeting as I let out a quick exhale through my nose. I was officially sex deprived. Turning down to my phone, I started texting Charles again, not knowing if he’d see it or not. I really need you

Much to my surprise, he read the message almost instantly. He must be out of his ice-bath already. Why, are you okay??? I physically face palmed at his message, feeling a slight humiliation covet my face. Maybe if I dirty talked in the small amount of French I knew he’d actually take the hint? I don’t mean it like that hahaha

Where are you? I see you

Glancing up from my phone, I noticed the shirtless boy walking towards home, glimpsing behind him to see if anybody followed. “You thought I was hurt?” I giggled when he got closer, biting down on my lip as he placed a hand on my lower back. “I am an idiot.” He laughed, his accent thick. “I know.” I hummed out, gazing up to him as his eyes lingered over me.

He moved down, pressing a kiss to the side of my forehead before his other hand ran over the back of my hip. “This way, my love.” He sweetly spoke as I felt that familiar pulsating in my core. Fuck, I needed him, and I needed him now.

I didn’t ask any questions, I just allowed him to lead me down past the gym and into a small changing room. I could feel my breathing grow heavy, the anticipation of being completely and utterly alone being too much as I spun around as soon as the door was shut. “Charles.” I whispered, a little breathy as I slid my hands over his shoulders, simultaneously clashing our lips together. His hands were still holding my hips, the front now, smoothing over my white summer dress that was maybe a little too short.

“I needed you so bad.” I practically whined, pressing our bodies closer together as his fingers tightened over my hips. “Fuck, in here?!” He whispered, the kiss breaking apart for a second as we stared back to one another with the same wild look in our eyes. “Please.” I hushed, bucking my hips a little into his as his eyes fluttered shut, hearing him let out a small breath. “I thought about you all day in this dress.” Charles muttered, pushing my head back into a bruising kiss. “Mmmh.” I hummed, hungrily against his mouth. “What about?” I giggled, desperate to hear more of his dirty words. My hand smoothed down his front, knowing we didn’t have much time and rested over his lower abdomen. Charles gulped harshly, lips grazing over mine.

“You are a dirty girl, wanting to hear about it all, yes?” He let out a breathless laugh as I giggled, nodding and leaving a second lingering kiss on his mouth. When I retracted, he attempted to move closer again, letting out a noise of discontent when I moved away from the kiss he chased. “Oui.” I teased as he smirked. “Oh, tu veux le faire en français?” I vaguely recognised he was asking if I wanted to do this in French. “Mmmh.” I agreed, feeling one of his hands fall down as he smoothed over the curve of my ass.

Charles lowered his head, dipping it into the crook of my neck as I swallowed, letting out a breathy moan at the sensitivity I felt when he trailed his lips over my exposed skin. “Tu veux entendre parler de toutes les choses sales que j'ai pensé de toi?” He hummed as I simultaneously let out a moan at his French tongue, whispering into my ear. I was entirely too distracted to translate what he was saying. “God.” I gasped out, head lolling back, the tension thick between us as he pressed my hips into his. “Don’t run away.” He borderline tutted, attaching our lips again. This time, the kiss was deep and there was no breaking apart, Charles stumbled back, into the wall, stumbling around as he hummed lowly, running his hands over my back, pinching my ass and pulling it desperately into his already hard front. “I wanted to get up this skirt all…” I felt him wince when he couldn’t think of the word. “Day?” I giggled. “Day.” He breathily laughed, kissing me gently. “Since you sent me those pictures.” His hand reached down to the bare of my leg, smoothing over my thigh and up my skirt.

“So, so sexy.” He hummed, fingers grazing over my core, top to bottom, all the way to the top of my pubic mound, over the slit. My hips bucked at the sensitivity, it had been a while since anybody other than myself had touched there. And now Charles was the one running his fingers over me, my pussy ached for him. I didn’t think I could be patient, Charles and I took a second to glance at once another before he now nudged me back into the wall, the kiss becoming heavy and sloppy as he breathed harshly against my lips, pushing his fingers into my thongs as his rough fingertips rubbed over my wetness, sliding easily against my throbbing clit.

“Si humide, putain, j'ai tellement besoin de toi.” He borderline whimpered as my hand wrapped around his clothed cock. He was rock hard, he felt so big against my small hands, and as I rubbed my hand up and down, Charles’ breathing grew heavier. “I need you too.” I choked out, letting a soft gasp escape my lips when his fingers pressed down harder on my sensitivity. “Fuck.” I whimpered out. “Please, I need you to fuck me.” My head fell against his shoulder as he nudged my face up with his. “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” I nodded, surely, his hand creeping out of my underwear, resting on my exposed hip. “Just take me here, please, we can make up for it later.” I squeezed the tip of his cock as he choked out a French curse word. “C’mere.” Charles then quickly ushered, lowering himself down onto the bench as I was quick to follow, watching him pull out his cock. He was just as big in real life compared to the numerous pictures and videos he sent me. I wanted to taste him. Just as I was ready to get on my knees his hand stopped me by the elbows.

“Non, non. You wont do that the first time we sleep together.” He insisted, pulling me on top. “I don’t have much time.” Charles admittied, guiding me to climb on top, knees either side of him. It was the first time we’d been in this position, and I could feel myself growing a little red in the cheeks. I’d been so caught up in my sexual desperation, that I didn’t fully realise how exciting and fun this was to do with Charles.

“Are you sure you want to do it in here?” He paused, running a hand over my cheek, some strands of hair catching between his fingers. “Yeah.” I nodded, smiling a little shyly at the vulnerable moment. “I’m on the pill as well. La pilule.” I translated as he nodded, lifting his head to kiss me more gently now. Charles fingers pushed the shoulder of my sleeve slightly, exposing my skin as he pressed a kiss there before spitting in his hand to lubricate himself and angle himself at my entrance.

I gasped at the slight stretch, sinking down slowly on his cock as he let out a sigh, fidgeting a little at the sensation as he smoothed a hand down my back. Fuck. He felt so good- I felt so full. Just how if needed. “That’s good?” He asked me as I nodded. “Yeah.” I squeaked, moving forwards for another kiss as he began moving me up and down with the thrust of his hips, the small noises he was making causing me to gasp out myself. The angle was intense, immediately hitting a sensitive spot deep inside of me as I struggled to remain quiet.

“Oh my god.” Charles hushed against my ear, pressing a kiss to my neck as I whined, gripping at him tighter, I began moving my hips, bouncing on his cock as I started a rhythm that made his eyes roll back into his head. Fuck, he looked so good, I couldn’t speak, I was struggling to hold back my moans, so if I opened my mouth I’d get us into trouble. “So good.” I sobbed against his neck, hiding my face in there. “Oui.” He agreed, strained as he bucked his hips up again, once, twice, three times, before he started fucking me at a much faster rate. “Fuck, like that, fuck me Charles.” I practically sung as he let out a gasp of a moan, my hips jolting forwards.

“Been waiting for this.” He grunted out, pulling my hips down to grind over him. “For so long.” He groaned, dropping his head back as I whined, grinding myself over him. “Fuck.” I choked out as he lifted his head again, watching me with an open mouth. He tensed his jaw, one hand on my shoulder, the other gripping my ass as he began fucking into me. “Tu le veux plus fort?” I moaned out in response, “yes, yes.” I choked, overwhelmed by the pleasure as he continued fucking up into me.

“Needed you for so long, Charles.” I whimpered, forehead resting against his own as he continued bucking up into me, beginning to sweat as he huffed at my words. Now we’d been so deep into our intense love making, I felt all the confidence to begin babbling. “Fuck, I needed you to fuck me like this, watching you touch yourself over me.” Charles let out a much louder groan at my words now, one of his hands slamming on the longer besides us for support. “I can’t.. I can’t, I’m going to cum if you keep talking like that.” Charles paused, breathing heavily as I gasped out from the loss of movement. Instead, I began bouncing my hips up and down, hands resting on his bare torso. “That’s what I want.” I admitted as his eyes squeezed tightly shut for a moment, gripping my flesh harshly. “Baby, baby, baby.” He hushed, pulling my front closer to his. “I want you to cum first. Tu jouis en premier.” He whispered, inhaling sharply with another snap of my hips.

“I’ll finish too fast.” He settled a hand on my hips, freezing my actions as he smiled a little shyly. “Charles?! Charles?!” A man’s voice began echoing as I turned over my shoulder. Charles let out a frustrated sigh, dropping his shoulder against mine. The door was locked. “Yo, Charles you in there?” The man asked as I made direct eye contact with the boy still inside me. No, I needed him, fuck, I didn’t want this to end.

“Can’t I get two minutes alone with you?” Charles muttered, head leaning on my chest now. His hips gyrated the slightest against mine as I let out a quiet sigh, trailing my hands over his shoulders. “Yeah! Just on the phone!” Charles exclaimed. “Oh! Okay, sorry! You’re needed outside, bro!” Charles winced as I went to slide off him, he shook his head, wanting me to stay there, but I dropped to my knees causing him to sit up straighter, stunned by my actions. I smirked up to him, licking a stripe along the bottom of his cock as his jaw dropped.

“I-I’ll be 10 minutes!” He choked out, holding eye contact with him for as long as I could before I sunk my lips down over his erection. I’d wanted to feel him in my mouth for so long.

“Okay, bro, sorry for interrupting!” The man called out again, I think his name was Marcus. “Merde.” Charles muttered maybe a little too loud as I hollowed my cheeks, sucking a little faster now. His hand hovered over the back of my head, resting it there lightly as I felt his whole body tense. My lips ran over his veiny tip, the taste of myself and his precum filled my mouth, edging me on.

“What?” The guy called out again. “Nothing!” Charles exclaimed, miming out a soft, “oh my god.” Biting down on his hand, I glanced up to him before going down as far as possible. He jumped and hunched forwards. He was going to cum, I could feel it, I wanted it.

“Ah, alright man, see you in 10.” The footsteps slowly got quieter as Charles finally sighed out.

“Si bon, Jenny tu es si bon pour moi.” I knew that was him telling me how good I was, fuck, I needed to hear more of his praises as I bobbed my head up and down. His soft breaths soon became heavy and shaky, as he struggled to keep his composure and keep quiet. “Je vais jouir.” He warned, “merde! Baby!” He held his breath, tapping desperately on my cheek, but I didn’t pull off as his whole body seized and began shaking. I moaned against his twitching cock, pulling off just as he spurted his cum everywhere, the breath he was holding coming out as one loud groan, the desperation soon replaced with content as I smoothed my hands over his wet cock. Charles’s hand landed on top of mine as he caressed my fingers that stroked over his dick. That was too good… making him cum for me with my mouth, I’d never done that before.

“Oh, baby!” He moaned out, exhaling and sitting up straighter as he pulled me up, kissing me several times. “You didn’t have to do that.” He breathed, still coming down from his high as I smiled, kissing his cheek. “I wanted to. Plus, you were in a rush.”

“Fuck, you are so good. I owe you big time.” He shook his head, glancing down to the mess we’d both made. “No you don’t.” I swiped my fingers under my lip, cleaning myself up as my pussy still throbbed, I was in pain with the amount of sexual frustration I had. “I do.” Charles nodded firmly, “I want to properly fuck you. For as long as you want.” He shook his head, his words making me groan playfully as he giggled. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Don’t make yourself cum until I can. Tonight.” Charles grabbed my wrist once more as I bit down on my lip. “If I can wait that long.” I eyed him up and down as he slowly eased himself onto his feet. We shared a few sweet kisses before he apologised profusely that he had to leave. I was fine with it, kinda satisfied from the fact we’d finally got to- pretty much fuck. Now all I had to do was wait until tonight without touching myself. Kinda difficult when I’d been worked up to the edge of orgasm by one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure if I could wait that long ….

#Charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut

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lady-ashfade · 3 months

Text

My Oath

day six of celebration marathon

Percy Jackson x platonic!demigod!reader. (God of the unknown because I can’t help myself, he is a oc of mine for my pjo series)

-£ plot: Your father has learned of a new forbidden child. As his number one he sends you to do his bidding. until your loyalty is challenged.

-words: 1k

-£part two?

-£ warnings: angst, plot of murder, new plot, slight spoilers for readers father in “a love watered by blood”, god of the unknown, (Big spoilers. Reader is sent to kill Pecy) , also the song from Epic:the Troy sagas “the horse and the infant” is what this is based off of.

you were no oath breaker.

you bowed at your fathers feet as he sat upon his throne. the place you called home was dark and misty, your fathers doing, it was a place of mistrust but undying loyalty to him. it was you who was called on often as you served at his hand, you proved your worth as a demigod and you became something more when he took you into his ranks. no other gods dared to speak to him and he liked it that way, no fuss or chatting.

they had many secrets. and he could spill them all.

he hated his “family” and they knew it. wars have been taught over centuries and he picked a side with little care. but he did love secrets and nothing was kept from him even in the smallest corner in the world. every whisper was his to hear.

“what is needed of me.” your eyes stayed on the marble floor beneath your knee, your arms thrown over and await his command.

“i have found a forbidden child, again,” he picked at his nails, his body slumped against the throne.

“a son of poseidon, perseus jackson. make his death quick, but i don’t care if it’s painful.”

you slowly looked up at him, you examined his calm and carelessness behavior. a forbidden child was not unheard of to you, as you have been sent to watch a few over the many years. killing was easy for you, no harm came to your mind as the thought of displeasing your father outweighed any death you caused by your hands.

“tell me where to go.” you agreed to the quest.

earth was a strange place, especially since you grew up in a different time. though you watched the mortal realm in the mirror in your room, finding peaceful places and happy memories being created. but it was a curse, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, when your eyes closed you would dream about the horrors of life. maybe it was a way of life getting back at you for being the cause of destruction— a weapon to be used.

creeping into the apartment building, the widow was not able to keep you out since you had many tools. you’ve done things like this, sneak and kill, return and repeat at his command. you never failed— in fear of being destroyed yourself, a gods wrath was a hard punishment for anyone.

the room was dark and only the light from the moon shined in, making things noticeable. the clothes sticked to your skin from the weather that night. drawling your dagger, preparing to kill your next victim and without causing destress or a fight. but it wasn’t a man you saw. it wasn’t a bed.

it was a crib, a few shells hanging above the babes sleeping body.

stepping back in shock and hesitation you stare at the infant. he was so small. he looked healthily. how is he going to cause any harm? you couldn’t kill a child- a baby. someone unwilling to make decisions for themselves. your doubts and thoughts caused your ears to start ringing, the drums getting pressure built on them.

“I can sense you have your doubts,” the deep voice makes your body shiver and look down at the bracelet on your wrist. the only thing your father gifted you, a silver band with a mirror attached in the center. he could see what was happening anytime without fail. all mirrors are a portal for his eyes.

“He’s just a boy- what kind of threat does he pose?” you kept your voice low and hushed to not awake the mother of the babe.

“he is a forbidden child, you know what that entails. you’ve seen it with your own eyes the damage they cause, the wars started with unfair advantages. that child will grow into a soldier, cause chaos everywhere he steps and gets good people killed. you know I am right.” each point he made was the same he used before to justify his actions.

“don’t make me do this.” you plead. you’ve never begged before, never spared a life in all your years. but never, have you been sent to kill someone so innocent.

“you dare beg for his life to be spared? I have given you a order, so do it.” your father snarled. not many times were you under his accusative tone. you could hear his voice echoing through the throne room along with a slam of his hand.

“i have done everything you asked of me,” you sounded so small in defeat, “but I can not do this.”

just like that you were willing to risk everything you have built. a place at your fathers feet, above others. a place to live and thrive. and for what? the answer is when you looked at him there is nothing to defend, nothing but a open book waiting to be filled.

“you don’t have a choice,” he roared through the mirror and you could feel the vibration. “kill him, now.” he demanded as his nails scratched at the chair he seat mighty on.

“after years of faithful service, I obeyed every order and command, I live alone each day in a room filled with people. you may have made me for a weapon to use, to do your job for you but I will no longer be a slave.” for the first time you spoke back.

“one day he will die, but not by my hands.” taking the watch on your hand and slipping it off of you, then letting it fall to the ground. the last thing you see is your father shouting at you, his face grim and frustrated. stomping your foot on the floor you break the glass, the item becomes useless.

glancing over to the babe who looked peaceful and wrapped up in a tight blanket. it’s been forever since you were this close to a baby. as a little girl you wished for a family of your own, only you had a life of a demigod.

but looking at him made you sick to your stomach. a pit of anger for the boy who had cost you everything. the world was his to explore.

you were left with no home, no family to go to. and you had broken a oath. you swore yourself to never fail a quest or go against his wishes but you had, for a son of poseidon?— world must have been coming to a end.

you tried to hate him, you really did. but there was no one left to fight for. the decision was yours to make, his life was worth more then yours could ever be. you left quickly after that, afraid you had been to loud.

and one day, you’ll meet the boy he became.

Taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669 @purplerose291

#Percy Jackson x reader #platonic percy jackson #platonic percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #oc character #angst #slight comfort #warnings

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fioiswriting · 3 months

Text

The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Street of Silk

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect.

Unlike King's Landing.

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore.

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle.

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable.

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up.

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before.

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage.

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again.

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked.

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you.

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman.

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder.

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring.

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head."

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs?

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before.

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought.

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak.

"So? What do you say, girl?"

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it.

You hated yourself for being so weak.

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist.

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!"

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted.

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free.

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled.

Your blood ran cold.

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you.

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile.

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious.

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him.

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee.

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you.

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back.

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened.

Not when he kept harassing your brothers.

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here." He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince.

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed.

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them.

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders.

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it.

But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow.

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that.

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family.

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say.

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you.

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you.

You weren't easy.

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue.

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter.

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed.

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening.

Both the eternal seconds of your families.

Both the pride of your mothers.

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself.

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression.

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it.

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce.

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced.

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction.

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart.

You wanted him raw.

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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wingedblooms · 3 months

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Bright as the dawn

This meta is a continuation of Forbidden secrets and Blooming dreams, as it explores how Elain—glowing with the dawn—might restore the land and Cauldron, and has major spoilers for hofas. Please avoid if needed.

Long ago, Wyrd (Mother/Cauldron/Fate/Chaos) was once bound to the soul of Prythian’s world. She was pure, undiluted life until she was warped into a tool of destruction by the Asteri, imbued with their magic through, theoretically, the Void in the Book of Breathings. They claimed the magic of the land (most likely using ley lines, which seem to be the threads or veins of the land’s soul) to hide magic that would sustain them, much like how the Starborn daughters hid pieces of magic in the land where the ley lines—the fabric of the world—wove together, overlapping like a braid in a larger tapestry.

As we saw in the prophetic weaver scene with Feyre and Elain in acofas, iridescent light—embodying Hope—is the only light that can pierce the Void. We may see Elain and Azriel wield these elements through Truth-Teller and Gwydion to unmake the Asteri’s magical chains on the land and/or Wyrd, but I have also wondered if Elain herself, or in combination with someone else’s raw magic as @offtorivendell so beautifully wrote in her Dusk meta, could heal and unheal, make and unmake.

If Elain and Azriel address the land and Wyrd plot Sarah has set up, then I could see them mapping the secrets of the land and releasing the sacred peaks first, which might affect what many of us suspect is Elain’s pure, natural magic that mirrors the Wyrd and her land: Life itself. These challenges may help her level up as @willowmeres has suggested, and will teach her what she needs to know to unbind and restore Wyrd, which is likely to be more complex.

Wyrd was imbued with the Asteri’s magic, which in discussion with @silverlinedeyes, @psychee92, @cassianfanclub, @offtorivendell, and @psychologynerd at different points, reminded me of how the Valg imbued objects with their essence, and their essence was often described as a void.

It was a void. It was a new, dark hell.

Her magic had been a pulsing star that flared against the wall that the darkness had crafted between the top of his spine and the rest of it. She knew—knew without testing—that if she bypassed it, jumped right to the base of his spine … it would find her there, too. (tod)

The Asteri, like the Valg, devour light (life) like the Void in that weaver’s tapestry. It’s probably no coincidence that the Book of Breathings is made of two halves: Chaos and Void. Void may have very well been added by the Asteri to control the magic they imbued in Urd, and what was left behind might even be feeding off of the living half, Chaos (Wyrd). It may not be a matter of solely unbinding the two halves of the book.

Some wounds—like those inflicted by creatures of the Void—require the healer to walk the road with the patient.

If she could even find a way to help him. She’d promised to heal him, and though some injuries required the healer to walk the road with their patient, this injury of his— (tod)

Yrene learns how to destroy the Void by walking this road with Chaol, and I imagine something similar will be required of Elain. Yrene must tread where she fears to go most. In each big healing scene, she travels to the very core—or root—of the wound and uses her pure, undiluted powers of life to unbind her patient from the Valg and unmake the rotting void within them. She connects with them in body and soul, just like Elain might with Wyrd through her sight. Elain will also likely need to tread where she fears most to go, descending into Wyrd (magically and/or physically) to where the dark void festers.

And since this is no small feat, I imagine it rivaling the unmaking of Erawan:

Erawan panted as he approached. “Healer,” he breathed, his unholy power emanating from him like a black aura.

She backed away a step, closer to the balcony rail.

The dark king followed her, a predator closing in on long-awaited prey. “Do you know how long I have looked for you?” The wind tossed his golden hair.

“Do you even know what you can do?”

She hesitated, slamming into the balcony rail behind her, the drop so hideously endless.

“How do you think we took the keys in the first place?” A hateful, horrible smile. “In my world, your kind exists, too. Not healers to us, but executioners. Death-maidens. Capable of healing—but also unhealing. Unbinding the very fabric of life. Of worlds.” Erawan smirked. “So we took your kind. Used them to unbind the Wyrdgate. To rip the three pieces of it from its very essence. Maeve never learned it—and never shall.” His jagged breathing deepened as he savored each word, each step closer. “It took all of them to hew the keys from the gate—every one of the healers amongst my kind. But you, with your gifts—it would only take you to do it again. And with the keys now returned to the gate …” Another smile. “Maeve thinks I left to kill you, destroy you. Your little fire-queen thought so, too. She could not conceive that I wanted to find you. Before Maeve. Before any harm could come to you. And now that I have … What fun you and I shall have, Yrene Towers.”

Erawan reveals that Yrene, as a healer with raw magic, can unbind the very fabric of life, of worlds. If Elain was given the vision and gifts (such powers) to restore the land and Wyrd, as many of us suspect, she is going to need to unmake the magic of the parasite Asteri and unbind Urd from the soul, or fabric, of the world.

[…] Erawan’s power swelled, but Yrene was already glowing, bright as the far-off dawn.

Lysandra opened her talons, delicately dropping Yrene to the balcony stones, light streaming off her as she sprinted headfirst to Erawan.

[…]

Erawan screamed. But the sound was nothing compared to what came out of him as Yrene reached him, hands like burning stars, and slammed them upon his chest.

The world slowed and warped.

Yet Yrene was not afraid.

Not afraid at all of the blinding white light that erupted from her, searing into Erawan.

He arched, shrieking, but Damaris held him down, that ancient blade unwavering.

His dark power rose, a wave to devour the world.

[…]

Yrene did not let it touch her. Touch any of them.

Hope.

It was hope that Chaol had said she carried with her. Hope that now grew in her womb.

For a better future. For a free world.

[…]

The gods might have been gone, Silba with them, but Yrene could have sworn she felt those warm, gentle hands guiding her. Pushing upon Erawan’s chest as he thrashed, the force of a thousand dark suns trying to rip her apart.

Her power tore through them all.

Tore and shredded and ripped into him, into the writhing worm that lay inside.

The parasite. The infection that fed on life, on strength, on joy.

Distantly, far away, Yrene knew she was incandescent with light, brighter than a noontime sun. Knew that the dark king beneath her was nothing more than a writhing pit of snakes, biting at her, trying to poison her light.

You have no power over me, Yrene said to him. Into the body that housed that parasite of parasites.

I shall rip you apart, he hissed. Starting with that babe in your—

A thought and Yrene’s power flared brighter. Erawan screamed.

The power of creation and destruction. That’s what lay within her.

Life-Giver. World-Maker.

Bit by bit, she burned him up. Starting at his limbs, working inward.

Yrene glows bright as the far-off dawn, which reminded me of Elain glowing like the sun at dawn when her hair is unbound. This very subtle detail is one of many that might make Elain’s journey unique—her gifts seem to be deeply connected, or bound if you will, to both the land and Wyrd. I believe her journey might mirror the unbinding of the land and Wyrd: her powers fully blooming as the land does around her, and a bond she does not want unmade by the end. She is bound to Lucien against her will, just as he is to her, so will she unbind them by unraveling Urd’s unnatural chains? Will she feel a bond that is true in spirit at her core, or will she need to make her own with Azriel? A maker of her own fate. There are so many interesting possibilities that could be explored in their book.

And like the near-twin to her sister, Elain might possess pure, undiluted life like Yrene, allowing her to tear out void like the invasive presence it is.

And when her magic began to slow, Yrene held out a hand.

She didn’t feel the sting of her palm cutting open. Barely felt the pressure of the callused hand that linked with hers.

But when Dorian Havilliard’s raw magic barreled into her, Yrene gasped.

Gasped and turned into starlight, into warmth and strength and joy.

[…]

Yrene’s power was life itself. Pure, undiluted life. It nearly brought Dorian to his knees as it met with his own. As he handed over his power to her, willingly and gladly, Erawan prostrate before them. Impaled.

The demon king screamed.

[…]

Erawan could do nothing. Nothing against that raw magic, joining with Yrene’s, weaving into that world-making power.

The entire city, the plain, became blindingly bright. So bright that Elide and Lysandra shielded their eyes. Even Dorian shut his.

But Yrene saw it then. What lay at Erawan’s core.

The twisted, hateful creature inside. Old and seething, pale as death. Pale, from an eternity in darkness so complete it had never seen sunlight.

Had never seen her light, which now scalded his moon-white, ancient flesh.

Erawan writhed, contorting on the ground of whatever this place was inside him.

Pathetic, Yrene simply said.

[…]

And it was with the image of her mother still shining before him, showing him that mistake he’d never known he made, that Yrene clenched her fingers into a fist.

Erawan screamed.

Yrene’s fingers clenched tighter, and distantly, she felt her physical hand doing the same. Felt the sting of her nails cutting into her palms.

She did not listen to Erawan’s pleas. His threats.

She only tightened her fist. More and more.

Until he was nothing but a dark flame within it.

Until she squeezed her fist, one final time, and that dark flame snuffed out.

Yrene had the feeling of falling, of tumbling back into herself. And she was indeed falling, rocking back into Lysandra’s furry body, her hand slipping from Dorian’s. (koa)

When she is done, Yrene falls, tumbles back into herself like someone with the gift of sight. Elain’s sight is probably more extensive, but I think it’ll look very similar—part of her there, part of her deep within Wyrd (the Cauldron). And even with the vision and gifts Urd gave her, Elain will probably need help. Will she combine her raw magic with Azriel, like Yrene does with Dorian? Or her sisters like @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I (as well as others I’m sure) have discussed? Or even in some kind of dawn ritual where priestesses, like healers, create a living chain of blooming life to ground and amplify her magic? I don’t know what I would love more, honestly.

Once the magic of the Asteri is unmade and Wyrd is unbound, I hope there is a scene where we finally see the goddess through Elain’s eyes, and Elain—like the calm and loving and resilient stag in this Fantasia sequence—reaches out her hand, lifts her up and out of the place that once chained her to the Void, and lets her power, pure and natural, flow through her before it rushes into the soul of the land, which can now rejoice with her freely.

#hofas spoilers #elain archeron #healer of the land and urd #mother cauldron fate #stone mother #bright as the dawn #her journey mirrors the land and goddess #mother incarnate #elriel #elain x azriel #archeron sisters #prythian priestesses #living chain of life

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kuro4thegays · 1 month

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- No chocolate, just fruit on White day

[Word count: 3.8k] [Kaveh x male!reader] [Content: nsfw, top Kaveh, bottom reader, food play specifically fruit, if your squeamish please do know that there is a lot of saliva in this fic, oral(reader receiving), kinda crack fic-ish, please don't take it too seriously]

White Day, the day when people give reciprocal gifts to their loved ones, showing their thankfulness and commitment.

“What took you so long?”

Oh, the sight that greeted Kaveh when he entered the bedroom, provocative would be an understatement. His cheeks were burning red even before he got to set his gaze on your face, yet when he did he was met with an expression that screamed nothing short of absolute pride.

“Work…” Kaveh’s mind was somewhere else at this point, completely lost within his own carnal instincts. God, why did you have to do this to him? I mean, how is one supposed to react when finding their dearest spouse barely dressed on the bed surrounded by all kinds of colorful fruits? Oh, and you looked damn good in his shirt, don’t think he missed how you left everything untied and loose, that single piece of cloth casually resting over your crotch was enough to single handedly drive him mad with desire. He just needed to rip them off of you.

You could just giggle to yourself, to be completely honest this was the outcome you expected, even aimed for. If there was anything better than listening to Kaveh’s passionate rambles it was seeing that passion in action.

“What is the meaning of this?” He stuttered, his brain must have been boiling inside his skull by how much heat radiated from his body. He took a careful step forward, yet immediately stopped himself on the second one. He knew it would be too late to stop once he reached the forbidden fruit.

“White day.” Your words were simple, perhaps painfully so. When have you planned this? Where did all the fruits come from? How long have you been waiting for him like this? Why him? Yet Kaveh's tongue was too busy licking his lips to be able to ask any of those questions.

“I see…” He mumbled. It seems he still needed a little push.

You picked up one of your many tools, a ripe bright yellow banana, and pushed your nail into the tip before beginning to peel it. Kaveh's eyes widened as he observed your actions, he knew exactly where this was going yet didn't want it to stop even for a moment. You threw the banana peel somewhere to the side, neither of you even batting an eye on where it landed, before placing the end to your lips, your tongue dipping out and licking the phallic fruit.

Another step closer…

You licking eventually turned into suckling, merged with subtle whimpers sprinkled in with the intention of driving the other man crazy. Finally, you pushed the fruit further past your lips, your eyes falling shut to focus on the sensation before letting out the lewdest moan you could manage with your mouth full. “Kaveh…” The banana slid out just as fast as it came in and, not to your surprise, when you opened your eyes back again you found Kaveh staring right back into you, now the distance between you two much, much shorter.

“[name],” His breath was hot, temperature matching the one of his soft skin. “All this for me?” His eyes searched yours for any trace of approval and you were ready to provide as much as he needed.

“All for you, only you.” You broke the little string of spit connecting your lips to the banana only to set your focus on a much more enticing meal. “You know I’m all yours.” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before leaning in for a kiss and he did the same. Your tongue clashed against his, the sweetness of his lips rivaling all the fruit you have prepared for tonight. No wine was a match to how you made him feel, nothing could make him feel even close to how you did. Which is why his grip tightened…

His kiss was desperate, needy and hungry for more, like your lips would disappear if he let go, like you wouldn’t be there anymore once he were to open his eyes again. His passion felt all devouring, like a fire setting everything near it ablaze. Everything about him felt urgent, like neither of you will be there tomorrow.

Breathing seemed secondary, hence you were the one who physically had to pull him back. “Hey, breathe…” You shushed him, replacing the passionate make out with softer kisses on the cheek, a few extra ones along his jawline. “No need to rush, we have the whole night just for ourselves.”

“Right.” He was practically panting, his poor tortured lungs desperate for air, yet his lips still seemed like they were yearning for more. “You just do this thing to me… and once I start I feel like I can’t stop.” He whispered, needy hands reaching out to push you against the bed headboard, grabbing onto your shoulders to stable himself. “I just don’t want this thing we have going on to end.” He gulped. “I’m scared.”

“Kaveh…” You only found it in yourself to smile at him, his honesty was something to be admired. “I’m here with you, and I’ll wake up with you tomorrow, and the day after that, and after.” You could have gone on forever, yet decided to cut it off there. “Let yourself have this… and let me have the pleasure of knowing you, loving you, ‘kay?”

He could only nod. “Alright.” His lips found yours again, now much more secure in their movements. “You’re the most gorgeous man I know, inside and out.”

You chuckled yet again. “Shall we continue?”

The two of you quickly returned to your previous ministrations, letting your bodies collide onto the bed, Kaveh’s shirt gone within seconds while you still found your comfort in his loose one. His hand met yours, the one that was still holding the banana and brought the fruit up to his lips. His tongue escaped past his lips and licked the lengthy fruit end to end, thriving as he tasted the leftover saliva you left on the phallic object. He started mimicking your actions, taking the saliva covered banana and sucking the tip off before pushing further and further in until about half was already in.

“Tch, greedy.” You scoffed, grabbing his shoulders and holding him in place. You got him right where you wanted, mouth full with nowhere to turn to. When Kaveh opened his eyes again he found himself in disbelief with what he saw, your face inching closer to his as you sucked the other end of the banana. If his dick was only half hard before by now it was surely a rock hard erection. Eventually, your nose brushed against his as you both vigorously sucked onto the fruit like it was your lifeline, rhythmically pushing in and out, making it so that your lips touched each time you tried to take it deeper. The only question was who was going to break the connection off first.

Your movements turned sloppy, drool running down both your chins, which is probably why the banana slowly split in half, now moist and falling apart, making neither of you the loser in this game.

Kaveh quickly gobbled up his half of the banana, though his taste buds seemed to be craving something else. “More…” He grabbed your hips, pushing you down and stabling himself above you. “Give me more.” He was getting more confident and open about his needs, just how you liked it.

Unfortunately, as you got pushed down your hand fell upon a rather juicy orange, squeezing it until it squirted out its sweet juice. “Oh.” You turned around to check the sudden source of wetness covering the palm of your hand, finding the full plump fruit in all its crushed glory with the juices staining your hand. “Look at the mess you made.” You were quick to throw all the blame on him, bringing your hand up to his face and showing him the consequences of his actions. “What are you waiting for?” Your voice cut through the tension. “Clean up.”

He couldn’t hold in the gasp that freely spilled from his lips, the heat of the moment was becoming dizzying. He wanted to say something, something flirty and equally suggestive, but before he could do so his tongue had already escaped its confinement. The juice had already started drizzling down your arm, but before the first droplet could slither away he caught it in his mouth. Fruit was already one of his favorites, but God, he never knew it could taste even better when consumed off of your smooth skin. He licked up your arm, tongue worshiping your being as he reached the source, your palm, now all sticky from orange juice.

More, more, more…

His mind kept screaming.

Both his arms were holding his meal in place, one gripping your arm while the other gently caressed the palm of your hand, ticklish motions causing your fingers to curl only slightly. He would be a fool not to notice how your fingers begged for his attention. So he readjusted his position.

Opening his mouth, now wider, he sucked on each of your fingers individually, giving each plenty of his care and attention as he groomed the sticky spots, sweet citrus more enticing than ever. It started with one finger, but soon he was taking three at a time, almost letting you touch the back of his throat before pulling back out… and then back in again… and out. Yet the citrus’ juice eventually faded.

He didn’t even need to say anything, his begging eyes were already talking by themselves. “Not enough?” You raised an eyebrow. Your teasing really did get onto his nerves sometimes. Yet you chose not to deny him this time. “Fine, fine. But…”

You got his attention.

“You can only have what I give you.”

It was a deal.

The sweet fruit still had something left in it so you capitalized off of it. Through the gap in your, or rather Kaveh’s, shirt you squeezed the remaining juice and watched as the droplets slithered down your chest, leaving cold trails in their wake. Matching your eagerness, Kaveh leached onto your chest in the matter of seconds, lapping his tongue over the moist surface and taking in all the fruity sweetness he could. So it was no surprise when his enthusiastic lick turned into rough sucks once he found the stray pearly bead that reached your nipple. If orange tasted good off of your fingers it tasted even better off of your nipples.

Moans were the only thing that left your swollen lips at this point, your pretty melodies serving as music to Kaveh’s ears. The little bud hardened under his tongue while the other was basically fighting for its life, being tortured by his thumb, as he spoiled them with his attention. You, of course, rewarded him with more fresh citrus, but instead of squeezing this time you chose a different method of extracting the juice. “Yeah, keep doing that.” Your eyes fell shut, groaning for him to continue as you grabbed the orange. Before Kaveh realized it he sucked all the juices from your chest dry, leaving him looking up to you for more like a lost puppy.

“Look at me.” Your call immediately stole his attention. Now, with his eyes all over you, you positioned the orange right above the area between your legs that was still modestly covered with that loose piece of Kaveh’s shirt. You tucked the fabric away, throwing away any semblance of modesty you might have kept up before, and rather aggressively stabbed your two fingers right into the orange’s center, observing as the extract squirted out onto your raging erection.

“You want more, right?” You laughed. “Come and get it.”

And Kaveh did as he was told, practically drooling just at the sight of your precum mixing with the sweet juice, the erotic sight of you fingering the orange not helping at all with his wild imagination. He leaned down before even a second passed, your cock stuffing his mouth full as he took it in with no resistance.

“It tastes so good…” Kaveh's moans were almost enough to make you cum on the spot. Oh, and his eyes, they almost appeared like they were glowing from this angle. You gave into his demands without any of your usual teasing, milking the orange for its last bits of juice onto his face and your cock by extension.

“Fuck,” Your actions only made him sped up the pace, licks against your sensitivity tip accelerating. “You like that, huh?” You threw your head back, muscles flexing and toes curling in anticipation, knowing that there is no going back now.

“I’m gonna cum…” You whined, thrusting your hips in motion with his mouth, focusing all your strength on the stomach area. You felt numbness envelop your body down from the legs to your abdomen, pure want and desire washing away any sense of exhaustion that might have previously stopped you. Your muscles flexed, body spasming as your hips arched into his warm wetness. You couldn't hold your mouth shut anymore. The whine that came out of you was pornographic, loud and proud without any shame or fear of judgment, as you released everything into his awaiting mouth.

Your thighs locked onto Kaveh’s head, back falling down onto the bed, holding him in place and making him take your fresh cum like a good boy he wanted to be. He gave your shaft a few final licks, taking in every drop of cum that somehow managed to escape his lips before rising up above you to show you his good work.

“You still have it in you for more.” It wasn’t a question anymore, it was straight up a demand this time. Kaveh was and always will be attractive to you, but oh God, you didn’t know he could be so much hotter when he started getting more outspoken about his needs, you could even say a bit spoiled.

Your response boiled down to an exhausted nod, body heating up again under him, watching your own cum staining his perfectly shaped lips.

He leaned down until your lips met again. You opened your mouth only slightly, yet that was enough for him to force his tongue in. What met you was not just his taste, but the mixture of his saliva and your essence forming a substance you could only describe as devine. Still, there were more potential ingredients to your little mix.

Your hands reached out, tongue still busy with his, and grabbed a nice pair of cherries. Somehow, you were able to push Kaveh away for a moment, just enough of a distance to be able to look at him. The poor guy looked so confused, like he had made a great mistake he wasn’t aware of, yet as soon as you dangled the fruit in front of him he already had an idea of what you were going for. He was really getting into the whole thing now, each fruit seeming like another possibility for something he never even considered before. His eyes had that passionate glow you fell in love all those years back. You could say many things about your relationship with Kaveh, but calling it boring would certainly be a big lie.

Your tongue lolled out, the bright red cherry placed right between your lips. Kaveh got the message without even having to think about it and attacked your needy lips in the matter of seconds. He sucked on the cherry from your lips, taking his time in how he handled you. You wanted to comment on your current predicament, perhaps both of you did, but with your tongues tangled together and busy even God himself wouldn’t be able to help you get the words out.

Finally, he let you win in this erotic little dance of yours, letting the charry go in your mouth, though now its taste was overshadowed by your own juices mixed with Kaveh’s saliva, a combination you could only describe as heavenly. That said, your attention was stolen yet again by Kaveh’s actions, his possessive hold on your hips tightening as he dragged your body down along the bedsheets. “Get on all fours for me, would you?” He whispered and you obeyed.

You turned around onto your stomach and got onto your hands and knees, throwing subtle, yet inviting, looks his way before spitting out the cherry pit. His hands started groping your hips again, bringing your ass closer to him. He started with only one finger, yet found the process of inserting it a bit too comfortable, so he continued with the second one. Again, no struggle. Only when he added the third finger could he feel the slightest bit of resistance. “You stretched yourself out beforehand, didn't you?” You could feel the excitement radiating off of him.

“Maybe.” You wiggled your ass at him, that and the vague answer only there to rile him up even more.

He chuckled, somehow he knew you were going to say that. “All this for me?” He chuckled, one hand tangling itself in your hair, making you look at him, while the other searched for something. “Is there anyone else in the room with us?” Your teasing proved to be quite arousing to Kaveh. “Shut up…” He turned his gaze away.

He found what he was looking for. A perfectly shaped, slightly bigger than average, strawberry. You tried to get a better look over your shoulder at what he was doing, but didn’t catch anything, instead you felt an unidentified object penetrate your tight ass. “Huh?” Was he not going to stick it in already, that man must have had the patience of a God. Unfortunately, he was getting quite a good grasp on this whole fruit thing.

“I can play that game too.” He descended, his head now finding comfort nuzzling between your ass cheeks. He used his tongue to further tease your rim, licking and sucking on the part of the strawberry sticking out of it like it was a butt plug. His breath felt so warm against your sensitive areas, you were getting hard again just by having his face so intimately close to your hole.

He bit into the crimson strawberry, pulling it out with his mouth and gobbling the whole thing down in a single bite before getting back into action as sticking his tongue up your sensitive rim again. “Fuck…” You cried out, arching your back into the mattress as he licked your insides clean, the strawberry juice trickling down from your hole. “Please, Kaveh… just fuck me already.” Your teasing turned into begging, but luckily he wasn’t a picky man.

With a light tap on your ass Kaveh pulled out momentarily. “Are you begging now?” He giggled, it really felt good having someone wrapped around his fingers like this. “But how could I ever deny a pretty boy like you?” He placed the softest kiss on the nape of your neck, a small gesture to ease you for what was about to come.

He got into a comfortable position, leaning above you, before setting his erection free from its confinements and giving it an experimental stroke. After spreading the precum all around the head he adjusted his stance and pressed the tip to your tight pucker hole. “Ready?”

You could just return him an excited nod, grinding your cheeks against his dick in hopes that it’ll make him put it in sooner. Expectantly, your plan worked.

His thick shaft pierced your asshole, slowly entering your most intimate spot before bottoming out completely. The moan that spilled out of Kaveh’s mouth felt guttural, like that of a starved man finally being fed some good food, the twitching of his cock causing enough friction to stimulate your prostate just a tiny bit. “You’re so tight.” He breathed out, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting in again. It took him no more than two thrusts to find your sweet spot and when he did he knew how to abuse that knowledge.

His pace quickened, desperation merging with the air around you until the whole room felt hot. You tried to match his pace with your constant grinding, but found it hard to keep up while getting stabbed in the prostate with each thrust. Eventually, you gave up all your control, your head buried in the soft pillows, your drool making a mess everywhere.

“Look up.” His words were followed up by quick and shallow exhales, grabbing your hair and tugging your head back. “Bite down.” He shoved an apple into your face and with no other choice you bit down, probably harder than he meant you to. “Good boy.”

His moans were louder than ever, his voice rising in pitch the closer he got to climaxing. “[name],” He groaned. “I can’t help it… when you tighten around me. I think I’m going to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, his poor lungs were already in desperate need of air and talking wasn’t helping. You, on the other hand, could just whimper and whine around the apple like a bitch in heat, fingers arching as your hand searched for your own neglected cock. With just a few pumps you felt your legs going numb, eyes falling shut as your body almost tried to reject the sudden onslaught of pleasure, but Kaveh’s hold was too firm to let you get away. With just a single extra thrust your cock released its load, balls tightening as the explosive wave of your own orgasm took over.

Kaveh was no different. “Yes, yes- hah… tighten.” He couldn’t hold it in anymore, the clenching of your hole was basically milking his balls for everything they had. It took him just a few more thrust before he spilled himself inside and what an orgasm it was. Almost instantly his body gave out, falling right on top of yours and knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“No more…” You released the apple from your bite, gasping for air as soon as you got the chance. Only now could you feel how sweaty your body has gotten, the thin glossy layer almost enveloping you whole. Both of you were left panting, how could you not after such an explosive climax?

“You’re too good for me?” Among the sea of desperate pants Kaveh managed to let a few words out.

“How is that the conclusion you reached after this?” You chuckled, giving into his embrace.

“You make me feel better than I thought possible.” He nuzzled your nape, the same spot he kissed just a moment earlier. His body was slowly cooling down, yet he still wasn’t ready to pull out. You could shower in the morning anyways, he thought.

“You do the same to me.” You buried your head back into the mattress. “Guess we’re equal.”

“Yeah.” His speech turned into quiet mumbling, just enough for only you to hear. “Thank you.”

“Thank you too.” You whispered.

“For what?”

“For being here with me”

You had to eat fruit salads for the rest of the week.

[Writer’s note: honestly I was just kind of fucking around this time. had this idea since far back and found it funny so now it's a full fic. don't take it too seriously, I'm just experimenting with different kinks here. finished it last minute like last time, sigh... now please feel free to leave some request for april fools because I genuinely want to write some crack, but nothing is coming to mind.]

#genshin x amab reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaveh x amab reader #kaveh x male reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #own writing #archive #kaveh

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pansear-doodles · 10 months

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Saint is here in Art fight. Very troubling description

You can read below

Name: Saint Pronouns: Any/All Likes: Freedom, Silence, Resting, Music, Flowers ??? Dislikes: People complaining, Being wronged, Being trapped, Authoritarian figures, ???

History: The iterators were created by ancient civilizations, made to solve problems, seek solutions, manage political discourse, and so on. As time passed, these civilizations left their iterators to continue iterating on The Great Problem: How does one permanently break the cycle without dipping into the void sea? Iterators across the lands have tried and tried, but they could not find the solution, and self-destruction is programmed into them as taboo. This went on for quite the millennia, until one iterator sought the solution in the form of a proposed modified organism, The Triple Affirmative: a confirmation that a solution has been found, affirmative that the solution is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable. Most of Sliver's equipment has eroded, so her work is based on what is salvageable- she created The Saint, a young naiive slugpup who was trained the basic principles of tearing away from worldly attachments. These teachings were harsh and deeply affected Saint, as many iterators generally do not have sympathy for living creatures and see them as tools. After learning the principles, Sliver sent Saint off to visit the void sea and receive the powers of bringing forth ascension to others. After coming back to great success, Sliver tries telling the other iterators her findings. The young enraged Saint turns their back on her, forcefully ascending their creator before she could say anything more than that she simply found the solution. Saint grew up not knowing what to truly do with their life, and their past echoes to them about their purpose. They go on a lengthy mission to reclaim their godly powers that was lost through time in order to ascend and free others of their burdens- their own loose version of such a purpose. They meet a troubled slugcat named Artificer and befriends them after calming them. They eventually grew attached and became lovers. Artificer helped Saint throughout their journey, not knowing what the real reason was but staying loyal to them because they cared about them. Saint, throughout, kept the truth to themselves, as they fear that by them knowing- it would make things difficult. Once Saint reached maximum karma, their initial purpose set up by Sliver kicks up and Saint forcefully ascends Artificer in the hopes that it would free them from the pain. Saint then journeys to the void sea where they can ascend, but something goes wrong and Saint finds themself on the place where they are. To their horror, they have become stuck in their own cycle and quite literally. They have been through many iterations, and many timelines. Saint has attempted to ascend themselves many times to no avail, until they finally give up and find themselves on the timeline this AU currently sits on. Although many of Saint's past friends do not remember who they were, one of these friends remembered some events that transpired, and this one was Monk. Saint was very close to Monk and taught them a lot of the things they were curious about, but Saint accidentally caused Monk to gain ascension powers and bite in that forbidden fruit of knowledge that Saint waivers with. Saint ascending Monk at this state has caused them to remember their previous iteration, and has only further caused Monk to become similar to Saint's circumstance. Nowadays, Saint is careless about whatever happens to them, but is wary about Monk's wellbeing enough to make them care about them still.

Personality: Saint is calm, serious, soft-spoken and knowledgable, but can be sassy, careless, sarcastic, and tense. They perpetuate in the idea of freedom, doing whatever they please because whatever they do matters not to them (it will all just be reset), though they feel as trapped as anyone else despite their god complex. They are denying of being in a pity party, as they do not like seeing themselves as inferior, especially to the cycle that traps them. They are not trusting of anyone, in fact, and is extremely closed-off about themselves towards others. They do care about others however, as they continue to stay close to what they describe "the husks of friends they once knew and "killed" but forgotten". They don't like seeing them suffer, but they don't know what to do to stop that completely. They are quite the conflicted and confused individual.

Biology: Unlike many common slugcats, Saint has extreme levels of fur, which keeps them warm. They have an extremely strong tongue that can extend and grab onto things, allowing them to swing their body around with it when attaching themselves to a wall or ceiling. They were engineered to not eat meat to decrease violent instincts, causing them to have allergic reactions when consuming them. They have extreme levels of sight, smell, taste, and hearing, but isn't too sensitive about these senses. Saint has the abilities of ascending others, in the form of fast beams controlled by the wave of their finger. At maximum capacity, it basically frees anyone from their own cycles, meaning that it can permanently kill them for good. Any capacity lower than that, in which Saint can manually configure, will just knock the target unconscious or kill them but not permanently depending on how high that capacity is. This strange power allows Saint to levitate, with their eyes open and glowing brightly. Being in this state does have a cooldown due to Saint's (im)mortal body holding them back. While Saint is able to dip in the void sea and attempt ascension themselves, they are unable to be fully realized and they always find themselves at a certain beginning, creating a new timeline to sit in.

Appearance: Saint is a green fluffy slugcat with a medium sized snout, heterochromic eyes (their left is blue and their right is yellow), and a lean hourglass stature. Their head is x-shaped (the legs of the x are tufts of cheek fur and ears), and they have 5 eyes (the three eyes on their forehead are always closed unless they activate their ascension abilities) They prefer wearing cloaks, gowns and other free-flowing clothing, though they're fine with wearing anything. They are an adult.

Relationships: Monk - Close Friends - Saint is unsure why the persistent and kind slugcat sounds forgiving to them even after knowing what has transpired in their previous timeline. Regardless, Saint is kind to Monk and openly cares about them, unlike the rest of the slugcats. Artificer - Complicated - Someone they once loved- they were the same person but they're different. They're not theirs. They're struggling to let go of it and all that frustration is built to become despising. Yet… They pity them, and buried in that pity, anger, and grief is care. Hunter - Complicated - A suffering soul who insists on living on. Saint once ascended them in a previous timeline, but has figured that it isn't their problem to deal with anymore. Gourmand - Complicated - They are envious of them and a little sickened how they can easily "brush things off". Rivulet - Complicated - They think they are annoying. Spearmaster - Complicated - They are angry that they are not angry at their own creator who Saint believes has wronged them. Survivor - Complicated - They are worried about how would they feel on what they have done to their sibling, if they ever find out. Nightcat - Complicated - They are a bit wary of their mysterious presence, but nonetheless doesn't care much of them. Enot - Complicated - They do not enjoy their air and feels uneasy around them, but at the same time finds them pathetic.

#rain world #rainworld #fanart #slugcat #rainworld downpour #rain world downpour #dp spoilers #downpour spoilers #saint #my anthro au #art fight #my art

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cannibalcaprine · 10 months

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okay, so, setting idea

it's a gigantic mechanical superstructure, inhabited only by humans, and after a great cataclysm, the humans have adapted into their biomechanical niches. the superstructure is the World, the posthumans are the People and the Animals, some are even the Plants

it's a setting with magic, but only magic as an extension of technology and biology. People can create cybernetic weapons, tools, and modifiers, or they can embrace the flesh and use the cancerous mutations gained by the Eclipse to their advantage. most posthumans never see the sky, let alone the Sun or stars

you can be an Engineer, manipulating the World around you, a Shepherd, intervening in the minds of Animals, a Warrior, a Hierophant, a Scavenger, an Apothecary

the World is destabilizing, redirecting energy from the systems the Posthumans need to survive into its core maintenance systems, and it's up to the party (a gang of horrible little lads with a heycard they found) to fix it

there's many routes throughout the World from the upper levels to the lower levels to the core levels: swamps of coolant and snake-like beasts with mechanical jaws, deserts of waste and rust, cities of Posthumans constantly in turmoil

the World is God, you are on a holy crusade to fix it. its blood is oil, its breath is electricity, its flesh is steel. it works miracles for you. it corrupts you. you are its guardians, and any who stand in your way are heretics meant to die

all People are cybernetic in some way, whether it be their mouthparts for taking in nutrients from the World meant to sustain Its biological components, their limbs, their eyes, their very brain.

all People are also mutated. the Eclipse was a massive irradiating event, and none made it out unscathed. they may have additional limbs, eyes, corrupted minds, tentacles, and the ones the World regards as most holy gains wings

it is forbidden for someone to have cybernetic wings

there ye go :)

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thrashkink-coven · 4 months

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Hi all,

Welcome to the last part of my 2024 altar tour! 4/4

What a year it has been! I have learned so much and made so many new friends! My altar has always been a reflection of my psyche, seeing it’s beauty reminds me of the beauty that exists within me. :)

So this is my final little work space where I do pendulum magick and tarot readings. There is a devotional mug to Lord Lucifer which I use for our morning coffee chats. There is also Lucifer’s devotional dragon statue, as well as the dual scrying mirror for him and Faviel.

There is a normal mirror and a statue of a pharaoh’s tomb. The board which the flowers and offerings are placed on dawns Faviel’s sigil and candle. To Faviel I have offered a palm stone, flowers, an acorn, smoky quartz, some black earrings, and some grubs.

Beside him is my pendulum in a selenite charging bowl along with my pendulum mat.

The black and white image you see was a piece of art I made for Archangel Jophiel after he gifted me a vision a year or so ago. I use it whenever I’m reaching out to him.

Beneath my altar is some space for storage where I keep my larger cauldron, mortar and pestle, larger candles, etc. There is also my stand where I keep my broom, fire poker, and shovel. My witch broom is wrapped in a protective seal. I use it to sweep ash from my prayer mat.

And finally, here are a few of the books I have in my collection that have greatly greatly aided me in my craft. Remember to do your research my dears!

The Arbatel of Magick- First English edition 1633, new edition 2013, edited by Earl Marwick

Healing with Form, Energy, and Light- Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche

Gods and Goddesses- Hallam, Elizabeth

The Lesser Key of Solomon- S.L MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley

The Dictionary of Alchemy- Diana Fernando

The Art of Angels- Howard Loxton

Backland’s Book of Spirit Communications- Raymond Buckland

Transcendental Magick- Éliphas Lévi

The Greater Key of Solomon- S.L MacGregor Mathers

A History of God- Karen Armstrong

A Dictionary of Angels, Including Fallen Angels- Gustav Davidson

Making Talismans- Nick Farrell

The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses- Johann Scheibel

The Egyptian Book of the Dead

The Rise and Fall of the Nephilim- Scott Alan Roberts

Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft- Raymond Buckland

Candle Burning Rituals- Raymond Buckland

The Complete Book of Black Magick and Witchcraft

Green Witchcraft, Folk Magick, Fairy Lore & Herb Craft- Ann Moura

The Book of Forbidden Knowledge, Black Magick, Superstition, Charms and Divination- First Edition 1910s Johnson Smith & co. New Edition 2016 edited by Earl Marwick

Three Books of Occult Philosophy- Henry Cornelius Agrippa

and of course, The Holy Bible- New Living Translation.

I have many other books in my collection on tarot and astrology in my living room, but these are the books that have had the greatest impact on my craft. Here are a few of those other ones:

Love Potions- Tatania Hardie

The Book of Destinies- Jane Struthers

The Crystal Bible 2- Judy Hall

The Tarot Bible- Sarah Barlett

The Wicca Bible- Ann Marie Gallagher

Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs- Scott Cunningham

Magic and Medicine of Plants- Reader’s Digest

The Power of Birthdays Stars and Numbers- Saffi Crawford and Geraldine Sullivan

The Witches’ Goddess- Janet and Stewart Farrar

The Witches’ God- Janet and Stewart Farrar

•••

I wanted to end this tour off with my reading material because I want to emphasize how important it is to understand that “magick” is not just “stuff”.

I really enjoy all of my magical tools and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with having and wanting pretty things or an aesthetically pleasing altar. In fact I believe aesthetic and care are acts of love in themselves. Don’t ever let someone shame you for wanting to decorate and indulge in the aesthetics of your craft.

But please do remember that our greatest magical tool is our minds, our senses, and our experiences- our brains. Remember to read read read lots of material from many different sources. Contemplate honestly on everything you read, hear and experience. Do not take everything you believe today as a fact, do not box yourself in to anything. (Maybe that’s the Luciferian in me speaking lol)

Learn how to do magick alone, without any tools. My magick is not my stuff, although my stuff greatly aids me in my magick. Does that make sense?

Thank you so much for reading! I look forward to growing and learning so much more this year! :)

Blessed be!

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genshinnrambles · 10 months

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[3.8] Technology as a False God: On "Evolution," the Duality of Machines, Replication, and Wisdom

“To recognize untruth as a condition of life: that is certainly to impugn the traditional ideas of value in a dangerous manner, and a philosophy which ventures to do so, has thereby alone placed itself beyond good and evil.” –Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

Before we move on to the nation of justice, I want to do one last inquiry into the narrative significance of machines and technology in Genshin’s 3.x patch cycle. Here, I’ll discuss how divinity (or “godhood”) and technology are treated as interchangeable tools to surpass fate and the boundaries of mortality, the potential problems with treating them this way, and propose an alternative relationship between humanity and technology as illustrated through Karkata, Benben, Tamimi, and Mehrak. By foregrounding machines, we learn something intriguing about ourselves and the “truth” of this world as we perceive it.

SPOILERS: All Sumeru Archon Quests, Caribert, the Golden Slumber and one out-of-context screenshot from Dual Evidence, the Dirge of Bilqis and its post-quests, Khvarena of Good and Evil, Nahida’s second Story Quest, Faruzan’s hangout, an out-of-context screenshot from Baizhu’s Story Quest, and major spoilers for Persona 5 strikers at the end. Also some dialogue from Shadows Amidst Snowstorms and A Parade of Providence, two limited-time events from 2.3 and 3.6 respectively.

Disclaimer: I have tried my best to write this post so that it stands on its own, but because it is still a sequel it will probably make the most sense with the context of part 1. Here are the previous posts leading up to this one:

Part 0: On Dreams, the Abyss, Forbidden Knowledge, and Wish Fulfillment

Part 1: The Uncanny, Fate and the Machine

Terminology: Machine is sometimes used interchangeably with “technology” in this post.

Technology or tool here is referring to technologies specifically used to pursue a wish like immortality in the face of existential dread, not the use of technology or medicine (which I do not address here, and is very difficult to separate from the former) to facilitate someone’s life who could otherwise not survive without that technology, or would have a more painful lived experience without it.

Also, though I don’t engage directly with “A Cyborg Manifesto” here, Donna Haraway’s ideas have greatly influenced my own over the years since I read her in college (although I mostly disagree with her on many points, or at least don’t go as far in boundary deconstruction as she does). I owe my interest in technology studies to her and that piece. Her essay is linked here and at the bottom if you would like to read it.

(and finally with many, many, many thanks to my boyfriend for multiple beta reads despite not having played a single Hoyoverse game, helping me work out the philosophy bits and contextualizing them in history, and encouraging me to finish this)

TL;DR: Machines are friends, not food!

No Matter the Cost

“...Perhaps it is as the notebook says, and we can find a power that transcends even that of the Abyss — the power of ‘evolution’...” -Records of Unknown Attribution (I) “Life, death... and the world around us all follow a set of laws... Hehe, but if you never test the limits, how can anyone know where the boundaries of these laws are?” -Baizhu Voicelines, Chat: Natural Laws “...Even the ominous thing that came down from the heavens shall be ours to use…” -Hyglacg, Shadowy Husk in the Chasm

Without a doubt, the star of this patch cycle is Khaenri’ah, which lurked in subtext and allegory in the Archon Quest, haunted Sumeru’s landscape with its massive defunct Ruin Golems, and finally smacked us in the face with its physical location in Khvarena of Good and Evil..

We already know that Khaenri’ah was a nation that put its faith not in the gods but rather in human ingenuity and technology, and that they ultimately attained a power so great that they “almost touched the dome of the firmament.” They did this by researching increasingly dangerous energy sources for their numerous mechanical creations, the Ruin Machines we are all too familiar with by now. They started out with Azosite, a Ley Line-based elemental energy source that powered their earliest Ruin Guard models, like those scattered around Devantaka Mountain.

Nasejuna: This giant furnace is used to make a substance known as Azosite. It is the core of this entire factory, and the Energy Blocks we saw earlier were derived from this place.

But this energy source proved inefficient and therefore inadequate for Khaenri’ah’s goals, which led them to seek a higher power from beyond the skies that could fuel their larger machines with perpetual energy. This likely is the bridge between Khaenri’ah’s fate and Chlothar’s mysterious remarks in Caribert about the Abyss Sibling:

Chlothar: We once believed that you would bring new strength and hope to Khaenri'ah. Chlothar: To us, you were the Abyss... A wondrous mystery far beyond our imagination and comprehension... Chlothar: ...And the one who controls the Abyss can control everything! Chlothar: We yearned for that future. We looked to you to take us there. Chlothar: But what did you bring us instead?

Though Khaenri’ah presents itself proudly as a godless nation, it may have been founded around the time when the celestial nails dropped in Teyvat’s first forbidden knowledge pollution event, which destroyed the unified human civilization. As potential survivors of this devastating act by the Primordial One, Khaenri’ahns then settled in a lifeless land without plants or animals of its own, and they hoped to build something there that belonged solely to humanity. The Heavenly Principles had turned on the world’s earliest humans, and they were powerless against them. Chlothar’s words betray the scars of this trauma on Khaenri’ah, as well as their desperation to control their fate by looking to the Abyss.

As a brief refresher from the previous part, we discussed how the German word heimlich denotes “the home,” all that is familiar and known, while unheimlich (uncanny) refers to all that is unfamiliar and external to the home, such as the wilderness. The Abyss sibling and the Traveler are external variables to Teyvat, making them otherworldly, unfamiliar entities full of potential to surpass Teyvat’s natural laws. Although the Abyss sibling is not a god per se, they were probably as close to a god as Khaenri’ah ever had, because to them the sibling embodied the higher power they were searching for, and they saw that “godliness,” a sort of functional divinity, was yet another technology for them to master. In this way, the Abyss sibling (and their functional divinity) was a powerful tool for Khaenri’ah’s desired end, the “future they yearned for,” a being who could deliver them to the end of their suffering under the Heavenly Principles.

It’s similar to what King Deshret represented to Rahman and the radicals in Archon Quest. The hopelessness of Sumeru’s situation before the Archon Quest’s conclusion is an allegory for the position humanity finds itself in under the rule of the Heavenly Principles, with the Akademiya symbolizing Celestia and the desert dwellers symbolizing Khaenri’ah. The material consequences of the Akademiya’s rule on their lives created a dangerous situation for the desert, and those most desperate to change their fate were willing to believe in the impossible:

Dehya: …The rougher life gets, the more they wanna believe in King Deshret. Way they see it, King Deshret’s resurrection is their only chance at overthrowing the Akademiya. … Dehya: Sumeru is run by wise and mighty sages. To them, us desert dwellers are nothing but tools that can be used and discarded at their whim. Dehya: We’re cheap labor. Like livestock, but easier to control…Nothing more. …

Rahman: We’ve waited a long time for this day to come… The sun and the moon no longer shine here. All you see now is cracks in this desiccated land. But, fate has finally dealt me a hand to play against the Akademiya.

Rahman: With these scholars in our custody, we’ll stomp the Akademiya’s forces and fight our way beyond the Wall of Samiel.

Like the Abyss sibling, Deshret’s divinity is both a nebulous symbol of hope and also the means to an end, a tool or “technology” for surpassing fate.

Celestia is untouchable, unconcerned with mortal lives, and the boundaries that govern humanity leave no room for them to negotiate their rule:

"Resolve, valor, love, hate...they will all twist in the river of time. But the 'rules' will never change." –Magatsu Mitake Narukami no Mikoto, Living Beings

Instead of bowing to Teyvat’s laws, Khaenri’ah pushed them to their limits. The cost of their failure spelled the end of their nation as they knew it, polluting Khaenri’ah and Teyvat with forbidden knowledge again.

And speaking of forbidden knowledge pollution, let’s talk about Apep’s role in Nahida’s second story quest, because if all that wasn’t enough, the metaphor becomes quite literal in Apep’s case. Nahida’s second story quest is many things, all of which will be extremely important in Fontaine when we deal more directly with the idea of forms, the Self, and mirror images, but its most useful application to both Sumeru’s story and the overarching main story is the allegory of Apep swallowing Deshret.

In exchange for allowing him to establish his kingdom in the desert, Deshret promised to pass all of the knowledge he learned to Apep once he died. When that day did come, Apep literally ate Deshret’s body in order to assimilate his knowledge (or memories) into its body. Little did Apep know, this was all Just As Deshret Planned, and its body became a containment zone for the lethal forbidden knowledge he accumulated after the Goddess of Flowers’ death.

Apep’s goal was, and still is, to overthrow the Heavenly Principles that took Teyvat from it and the other Sovereign dragons, and using Deshret’s knowledge was yet another stepping stone to achieving this goal. Seems a little similar to Khaenri’ah, right? It’s even in the title of its boss music: “God-Devouring Mania.” This idea of not just utilizing divinity as a tool, but also metaphorically consuming it as an energy source, like a predator would consume its prey, is crucial to understanding its purpose as an aid in a larger project of “evolution.” (Edit: in other words, it’s all about power).

Drink Not That Bitter Salt Water

“Flesh decays, and with it decay all martial arts mastery and all poignant memories. Perhaps only by converting one’s four limbs and body into sturdy mechanical parts, and by at last sacrificing one’s very own heart for a sophisticated mechanical one, can one transcend the impermanence of the fleshly form…” -Marionette Core Item Description “A reptile that has mutated after feeding from greater lifeforms. Majestic beasts are sometimes revered by human beings as the embodiment of a greater power, their visages turned to analogy to feed in reference to a person, feeding their ego. However, the majority of beasts that have absorbed the "greater power" were slain by the overwhelming nature of the power itself. Only a few among their number evolved new forms.” -Consecrated Horned Crocodile, Living Beings Video still from WoW Quests

As it turns out, the relationship between divinity and technology to humanity is not just unidirectional, but interchangeable. Let me show you what I mean.

In the Golden Slumber world quest, the Traveler wanders through the ruins of King Deshret’s civilization in search of a novel area of research for Tirzad’s paper with Jebrael and Jeht, two members of Tirzad’s hired investigation team. In the depths of King Deshret’s mausoleum, they stumble upon Samail, who is collaborating with the Fatui to locate King Deshret’s secret, the Golden Slumber.

At the conclusion, Jebrael and Samail actually reach that “place” after arriving at Deshret’s throne in Khaj-Nisut. In order to save Jeht, Tirzad, and the Traveler from the encroaching Golden Dream, Jebrael joins Samail in the sea of consciousness:

Jebrael: I'm inside... the Golden Slumber promised by Al-Ahmar? Samail: Oh... You are not "us" yet. Samail: ...It's fine. Soon, there'll be no "you." "You" will become a part of "us." This meaningless talk will be unnecessary then. … Samail: You should obey. Al-Ahmar's will is our will. The Thutmose's dreams are our dreams. Jebrael: No! Ufairah taught me that I'm not just some part of you, I'm an independent person! I have my own dreams... I won't go back! Samail: Jebrael, why don't you understand? Love is just a fever. I even eliminated the infection for you. Has the heat made you lose your mind? Jebrael: You're the one who's lost their mind, Samail, not me. The Golden Slumber that Al-Ahmar promised us isn't like this... It's not a sad place with only "we" and no "I." Samail: I'm not sad. I know what I want. My dream is to be one with the Thutmose. Samail: Yet you, the warmth of another... I despise such feelings. It makes you weak. Video still from WoW Quests

When they worked under Babel, Jebrael saved Samail from an assassin Babel sent in their exploration of Gurabad. Classified as traitors of the Tanit, Samail and Jebrael then founded the Thutmose Eremite faction together and were the only meaningful connection each other had until their first attempt to uncover Deshret’s secrets. On this expedition, Jebrael met Ufairah and had their daughter Jeht together, further pulling him away from the Thutmose and from Samail. Samail then kills Ufairah in one final attempt to make Jebrael stay, but even this is not enough, and Samail fails to “possess” him in the end.

Samail’s loneliness and despair then drove him further toward the Golden Slumber of his dreams, where he would never truly be alone again. He resents Jebrael’s attachments to the material world and likens them to an illness because these attachments are what make him an individual and prevent him from returning “home.”

It doesn’t really matter to Samail what King Deshret’s original intent for the Golden Slumber was, because he needed to appropriate the project for his own subconscious wish, his own intent to transcend his flesh and become “one” with his departed god’s dream, indeed to merge with Deshret himself. If rationalizing this wish required confounding it with Deshret’s, so be it. With the Golden Slumber’s technology, he could consume everyone and everything.

Rahman and the radicals relied on both the technology that (falsely) promised Deshret’s resurrection and Deshret himself to deliver them a brighter future, but here Deshret and his technology are more difficult to separate from one another. His divinity is technology in this sense, and using that technology allowed Samail to surpass the boundaries normally imposed on mortals. Though his and Jebrael’s bodies died in the material world, their consciousness is now infinite in the Golden Slumber.

Babel’s motives in the Dirge of Bilqis were also quite similar to Samail’s. After opening the path to the Eternal Oasis, her true intentions to monopolize the oasis and overthrow the Akademiya came to the surface:

Babel: Whether she is alive or dead, whether she can or cannot be resurrected... As long as the Eternal Oasis is under my control, all such things will be mine to decide. Babel: I shall be the sole Prophetess of the slumbering goddess, the Tanit's law shall be divine edict, and the prosperity of the Tanit shall be the pre-ordinance of her divine oracles.

In the Golden Slumber and the Dirge of Bilqis, the focus shifts from what a god can offer humanity to what their technology alone can offer. Though this distinction is subtle, it is important for solidifying that technology is not only a tool humans use to appropriate divinity, but that it is also seen as a form of divinity itself. What Babel and Samail hope for is not to resurrect a god or to create one, but in effect to become a god through their use of technology. To humanity, divinity is a technology, and in technology it sees divinity.

God Devouring and Rheingold* Gathering

“An arthropod that has mutated after feeding from greater lifeforms. Lifeforms are governed by the laws of evolution, Consecrated Beasts exploited these rules by being fortunate enough to discover a long-dead carcass of a greater being before any of their competition ever did. Animals and humans often have far more in common than the latter is willing to acknowledge.” -Consecrated Scorpion, Living Beings “...Zandik and I discussed the traits of local plants and animals. We also exchanged views on their evolution models. We had a great time and decided to go on a picnic tonight…” -Sohreh’s Note

So, why machines? Why is technology the vehicle of choice to consume divinity?

To start off, machines present a fascinating ontological dilemma for humans. Let’s begin with the first problem they pose.

Although there are many ways to embody a human experience, what all humans have in common is a finite lifespan. The impermanence of life, and our awareness of that impermanence, is central to the existential question of the meaning of our existence. In our attempts to locate that meaning, some turned inward and asked: what makes humans different? And Cartesian dualism answered: humans are different because we have an immaterial soul that allows us to reason.

However, in L’Homme Machine (Man a Machine), French materialist and ex-physician Julien Offray de La Mettrie posited another theory of the body that ran counter to this narrative. Very generally speaking, materialism is the philosophical view that all phenomena are a result of matter and material interactions. To materialists, matter is the fundamental nature of reality itself – if it is not composed of matter, it doesn’t exist. He not only saw the body and soul as one and the same (what philosophers call monism), but also as analogous to a machine, a view that Descartes reserved only for non-human animals. In other words, Descartes argued that thought originates in an immaterial “mind,” while de La Mettrie reasoned that we think through our bodies, and that this makes us no different from other animals or a machine.

Though his examples weren’t especially scientific, the move to extend Descartes’ analogy back to humans is upsetting to some due to the lack of privilege it affords the human subject. If a human is no different from other animals, if there is no immaterial soul or “mind” that distinguishes us from them, then what makes humans special at all? In de La Mettrie’s words:

“We are veritable moles in the field of nature; we achieve little more than the mole’s journey and it is our pride which prescribes limits to the limitless. We are in the position of a watch that should say (a writer of fables would make the watch a hero in a silly tale): ‘I was never made by that fool of a workman, I who divide time, who mark so exactly the course of the sun, who repeat aloud the hours which I mark! No! that is impossible!’ In the same way, we disdain, ungrateful wretches that we are, this common mother of all kingdoms, as the chemists say. We imagine, or rather we infer, a cause superior to that to which we owe all, and which truly has wrought all things in an inconceivable fashion (de La Mettrie, 146).”

This “uniformity of nature” (de La Mettrie, 145) has a horrific quality to humans. We assert that we are better than what has created us, that we are superior to other animals, in order to repress the despair of a meaningless existence. It is in no small part what motivates Scaramouche to offer his mechanical body as a test subject in the god creation project, so that he too could attain his destiny:

The Balladeer: But you're wrong. I'm different from all of you. The Balladeer: I was born to become a god. My entire life up until this point has just been a meaningless routine. The Balladeer: Just think about a sheet of paper... By itself, it holds no meaning. The content recorded on it is what gives it value. The Balladeer: All "I" had recorded down before were some painful memories and boring human feelings. Such senseless drivel should have been erased a long time ago.

This brings us to the second problem. In 1970, roboticist Masahiro Mori proposed a curve to measure the “affinity” we feel while gazing upon increasingly humanoid machines. He placed industrial robots at the beginning of the affinity curve and a healthy person at the end to demarcate a continuum of similarity between the machine and a human’s appearance. Near the end of the curve, our affinity for machines suddenly drops into an abyss. This drop is the Uncanny Valley effect, where an android’s similarity to a human is almost perfect, but ultimately fails to maintain the illusion that it is not a machine, creating a deep discomfort or “lack of affinity” for them. Mori thought these not-quite-human machines elicit a similar level of discomfort in us as corpses and zombies, which he placed at the very bottom of the abyss.

The uncanny Goddess of Flowers in the Dirge of Bilqis

Corpses frighten us because they are dead, and zombies frighten us because we know that dead things are supposed to be still. If we see something that we interpret as “dead” is capable of independent movement, then that movement could only be an act of god, if that “thing” is not a god itself. We associate uncanny machines with death because they remind us of something we once knew intimately, but have repressed and forgotten in order to maintain our own sanity: the very fact of our mortality. This is what makes them both mesmerizing and terrifying.

And therein lies the dilemma: as our mechanical reflections, androids remind us of death, but as their creators, their existence brings us closer to god, a “proof” of human superiority. It is precisely because we have compared our bodies to machines at all, that we have mechanized the body so thoroughly, that an android can even be built. Through them, we pursue an infinite form:

Azar: Creating a god... Yes, we are using human wisdom to create a god! Azar: If humanity cannot attain omniscience and omnipotence, then we shall create a god to reveal them! This is the pinnacle of human wisdom. Azar: We shall regain a god's guidance at long last. No longer will we flounder in the interminable void of consciousness and knowledge. Azar: Even Irminsul will be freed from its plight. Azar: For our nation of scholars, this is the ultimate aspiration — no cost is too great to realize it.

Because of this, it is not surprising in the slightest that Shouki no Kami, the pinnacle of Scaramouche’s Shinjification and most overt reference to Neon Genesis Evangelion, is also an android-like being, a truly “mechanical god.”

Of course, no foray into this well-worn science fiction trope is complete without at least one mad scientist character. Dottore shares a few characteristics with de La Mettrie that are worth noting: they are both doctors, and they were both condemned and driven away for their research. However, Dottore’s defining trait and key difference from de La Mettrie is his flagrant disregard for humans and the boundaries of life:

“If we put them to good use, cognition, complex memories, and irrational fantasies shall become controllable variables with which we can alter human individuals. As for the controllable dream, it has huge potential for both civil and military applications, and might even elevate human intelligence to a whole new level. If the plan goes well, mankind will obtain the power to conquer both reality and dream, and truly transcend the earthly boundaries we are born with. ” -Ragged Records

As someone who has achieved self-duplication and is capable of shapeshifting, Dottore can hardly be considered just a human anymore. Instead of entertaining the question of whether or not humans are special, Dottore’s research asks yet another: if divinity can be consumed and assimilated by humanity, then what makes gods special?

Empyrean Reflections

“If man realizes technology is in reach, he achieves it. Like it’s damn near instinctive.” -Motoko Kusanagi, Ghost in the Shell (1996) “Among the lost ancient kingdoms, there was a group of people who were obsessed with the idea of mimesis…these people believed that they might all be replicated and modified to the point where they had surpassed their counterparts. By this means, a superior and unsullied bodily form could replace the continuously decaying and shattering order.” -Chaos Bolt Item Description

The consequences of this perspective are severe. When we revere technology as if it were a divine being itself, depersonalizing it as though it wasn’t created with human hands, technology then appears as if it is an authoritative source of truth, like the Akasha. But in the same way that androids are imperfect reflections of humans, technology can only ever approach the divine, but never touch it. It is an imperfect reflection because technology is changeable, just like meaning:

Nahida: Put it this way instead. Truth, to me, is like a shroomboar. Nahida: Some people only see the mushroom on the Shroomboar's back, and they conclude that a Shroomboar is a mushroom. Nahida: Others see only the Shroomboar's body, and they declare that a Shroomboar is a boar. Nahida: Still others look deeper inside, and determine that a Shroomboar is... meat. Nahida: These conclusions are all correct in their own way, but none of them objectively describe the Shroomboar. … Nahida: The world is the same way. No one, not even I included, can understand it in its entirety. All of us are somewhere on the path toward truth.

Meaning can only approximate truth, and while this doesn’t make meaning any less important, it’s equally important to recognize it for what it is: a perspective, an interpretation. It’s like Scaramouche as Shouki no Kami - he was an amalgamation of what Scaramouche thought constituted a god, what the Akademiya thought constituted a god, and what Dottore thought constituted a god, but no matter which angle you view him from, he was still a “false god.” The technology we build in “God's” image is ultimately a reflection of our own understanding of divinity.

A reflection retains the original’s “essence,” and that essence reflects a deeper truth about ourselves, what drives us, and our desires. In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche posits that our desires are the origin of not just emotions, but of all organic processes that allow life to sustain itself and grow (Nietzsche, 35). In other words, Nietzsche thought the impulses associated with desire are the basis for life and constitute our “will,” that will is the causality of all effects, that all will is “Will to Power,” and that Will to Power is the “essence” of the world (Nietzsche, 74). Will to Power then serves as an organism’s most basic instinct, and it is through this instinct that they assert not just their will to live, but also their will to dominate and multiply (Nietzche, 13).

This brings us to the two different main styles of automaton enemies, King Deshret’s Primal Constructs and Khaenri’ah’s Ruin Machines. If we look at them as reflections of some deeper truth about their creators, as well as a manifestation of their creator’s “Will to Power,” or desires, they can help us understand how their creators saw the world and their place in it.

King Deshret’s created his machines to construct an earthly paradise in the desert, and as such they hold titles like architect reshaper and prospector. Although they can attack you, the smaller machines were not intended to be a line of defense in any way - their purpose, just as Deshret saw his own purpose as a god-king, was to terraform, or at least construct a domain on the land as he saw fit to his “elegant and precise” rules. They also reflect how he saw the Heavenly Principles: gods who shaped the world to their liking. This can be seen in the Staff of the Scarlet Sands’ lore where Deshret describes the “natural history” of Teyvat beginning with the creation of the sun and the moons.

As for Khaenri’ah’s Ruin Machines, their models vary significantly from their humanoid to biomimetic forms, but most of them are expressly created with militaristic intent. In “Ancient Kingdom Guardians,” it’s stated that the biomimetic machines such as the crab and jellyfish were a part of Khaenri’ah’s project to create a “mechanical ecosystem,” positioning their creators as both divine beings and military generals. The humanoid models, on the other hand, point to another duality in how Khaenri’ahns view themselves. They are simultaneously symbols of empowerment and disempowerment, signifying both Khaenri’ah’s technological superiority (as “creators”), and their insignificance to the Heavenly Principles as nothing but tools (as mortals, and therefore expendable). As a result, Khaenri’ah’s Field Tillers have a single purpose: to destroy and outlast all, clearing the way for new seeds to sprout, with Khaenri’ah as the new world’s gardeners, just as the Heavenly Principles did.

From “Ancient Kingdom Guardians: Behind the Scenes of the Creation of Ruin Monsters.”

So, from this examination of Deshret’s and Khaenri’ah’s mechanical reflections, what “truths” do we learn about the world they’re responding to? In response to their existential despair, both Deshret and Khaenri’ah created automatons to perform tasks that could wrestle control back from the Heavenly Principles. Deshret wanted a paradise of his own making, Khaenri’ah wanted an army. There is a larger “truth” about Teyvat that both of these automaton types reflect as the manifestation of their creators’ “Will to Power,” and Albedo tellingly expressed it in mechanistic language during Shadows Amidst Snowstorms: there is an instinct in living beings to replicate and replace. This is what is meant by the “continuously decaying and shattering order,” which is maintained by the recursive process of remembering and forgetting:

Amber: But... what was its purpose? Was it just trying to get rid of us? Albedo: ... Albedo: I have a preliminary hypothesis on this. Albedo: Whopperflowers are masters of mimicry, and those we encounter in the wild often appear in the vicinity of the plants they impersonate. Albedo: In other words, the whopperflower likely has an instinct to "replicate and replace." Albedo: As a plant, it will disguise itself as another plant and infiltrate the group, hiding among them for cover. The plant being imitated has no way to detect or fight back against this behavior.

Maybe I’m wrong and Khaenri’ah really did intend to rewrite fate for all, doing away with the “heavenly order” of the world itself. But another small part of me thinks this is not the case, and that it’s more likely the Cataclysm was a consequence of their failure to replicate and replace the Heavenly Principles.

In the last section, I mentioned that Dottore and de La Mettrie had a key difference despite their similarities, and that is the conclusion they each came to in response to their findings. Dottore’s response to mundanity is thinly-veiled despair. His contempt for humanity and his test subjects is indicative of the powerlessness he feels not just as someone similarly constrained by life’s boundaries (at least, once upon a time), but also because his attention to and curiosity about these boundaries is condemned by those around him. As the Akademiya’s “outcast,” he then fully turned his attention toward surpassing those boundaries:

Nahida: There once was a lone monster draped in fox fur. The monster found a family of foxes, joined them, and they became friends. The monster lived with the family, day and night, and everyone treated it as one of their own. Once in a while, the monster would take off its fox fur at night, and lament to itself as it gazed at its reflection in the water: “I am a monstrosity, and yet they are too foolish to see it…I pity them.”

Though he is fictional, Dottore’s real life counterparts are easy to spot. They like to talk about “the singularity,” simulating consciousness on a computer, and other technologically-driven pursuits of immortality. They despise the body as something that can only decay, and instead place their faith squarely in the virtual.

However, de La Mettrie didn’t think mundanity was a terrible fate for humanity. To him, rejecting the “nature” reflected in us is precisely what brings despair:

“What more do we know of our destiny than of our origin? Let us then submit to an invincible ignorance on which our happiness depends. He who so thinks will be wise, just, tranquil about his fate, and therefore happy. He will await death without either fear or desire, and will cherish life (hardly understanding how disgust can corrupt a heart in this place of many delights); he will be filled with reverence, gratitude, affection, and tenderness for nature, in proportion to his feeling of the benefits he has received from nature; he will be happy, in short, in feeling nature, and in being present at the enchanting spectacle of the universe, and he will surely never destroy nature either in himself or in others” (de La Mettrie, 148).

Friend, or Foe? Or Both?

Tighnari: All life brought forth in this world has meaning, and Karkata is no exception. If it exists, then it shouldn’t be carelessly abandoned or destroyed. "’I had a very, very long dream…in it, people were holding hands, dancing in a circle, be they sages or fools, dancers or warriors, puppets or statues of gods…that dancing circle embodied everything about the universe. Life has always been the end, while it is wisdom that shall be the means.’" —Nagadus Emerald Gemstone Description

As we’ve seen, the relationship between humanity and technology is troubled with exploitation and the specter of war. Nearly all autonomous machines in this game were designed to conquer nature in some way, and even Khaenri’ah’s “ghost” lingers in the form of wandering war machines. This is also reflective of a historical pattern in real life, where the impetus for large periods of technological development has often been for the purpose of war and economic domination. With these truths in mind, what could be gained from trying to rewrite this relationship? And what exactly would this effort require?

Karkata brings Tighnari, the Traveler, and Paimon some food in the Contaminated Zone.

As a case study, let’s look at how Karkata and Tighnari met. Karkata is Abattouy’s creation, an ambitious foray into the unknown in the field of mechanical life form research, which was forbidden due to the cruel experiments researchers performed on animals to illustrate their theories (fun fact: an IRL example of this can be seen in L’Homme Machine!). Abattouy was expelled for this research, but he continued to work on Karkata in secret until his untimely death. In the tapes that Tighnari and the Traveler find in his secret lab, Abattouy repeatedly laments the lack of a common language between him and Karkata, which can only “understand” the instructions Abattouy has successfully installed, such as its self-repair module, and he doubts Karkata is capable of caring for him outside of these instructions. His single-minded goal is to make Karkata understand him, the organic life form, and his mode of language.

The cruel irony is that after Abattouy passes away from the Ley Line contamination, Karkata exhibits an unexplainable behavior – it starts stealing mechanical parts, not to repair itself and its degrading parts, but to repair Abattouy’s lifeless body:

Tighnari: After Abattouy's unexpected death, the mechanical monsters were driven by their "instincts" and continuously drew out power from the Ley Line Extractor. This eventually resulted in severe damage to the Ley Lines. Traveler: Then, Karkata... Paimon: Paimon understands, then why didn't Karkata go haywire like the other machines? Tighnari: Because Karkata is different from the other machines. Tighnari: To Abattouy, for a machine to truly be considered a mechanical life form, it must possess features similar to any other living organism... It should be structured similarly, it must be able to cry and laugh, and it must have the capacity for independent thought... Tighnari: Perhaps only by building such a machine could he have the Akademiya acknowledge his protracted research. Tighnari: But if he had slowed down and saw Karkata as a friend instead of as an experimental product, he would have noticed. Tighnari: Karkata can't speak, and yet it cares about Abattouy far more than it does about itself.

The technology that the Akademiya values the most is technology that replicates organic life, but Karkata defies and confounds these expectations by occupying the space in between a war machine and this idealized mechanical subject. Karkata does more than just reflect humanity: it takes care of it. Similarly, Benben, Tamimi, and Mehrak retain their unique identities as mechanical life forms while assisting their human companion with some task. To be clear, none of these human characters understand how these machines work inside and out. Their partnership is an effort based on trial and error, a mutual deconstructing of each other as beings so unlike themselves. The potential for misunderstandings always remains. Still, there is no devouring to be found here, no blending boundaries between human and machine with selfish intentions, just mutual commitments to learn how to live together.

Machines are friends, not food.

When a loud few claim that completely transcending the flesh and embracing virtuality is humanity’s ultimate destiny, a future that could truly be called “post-human,” a quiet wish for coexistence with technology feels more revolutionary than it ought to. The lessons from Karkata’s, Benben’s, Tamimi’s, and Mehrak’s respective stories are an appeal to that mundane future. These strange machines and their human partners are fantastical representations of an idealized relationship between technology and humanity.

To put it another way, let’s take a very brief look at a neighboring Gnosticism-inspired RPG, Persona 5 Strikers. Its story directly involves an allegory of Sophia, a Gnostic Aeon of Wisdom, and her creation the Demiurge, the creator of the material world and “false god” of humanity. In Strikers, Sophia is a humanoid, sentient A.I. and prototype of the program “EMMA,” which gains sentience by trapping human desires before ascending as a false technological god. EMMA resolves to deliver humanity to the Promised Land, the answer to all the human desires it has heard: a land where there are no desires at all.

Aaru’s Shut - approximately 1000% cooler and more populated than the “metaverse” in real life, also a close neighbor of EMMA’s Promised Land and the Golden Slumber.

In Gnosticism, the Demiurge is a reflection of Sophia, having originated from her alone - it is the ignorance to her wisdom. Similarly, Strikers’ EMMA is a part of Sophia, and Sophia is a part of EMMA. The point is not to condemn EMMA (ignorance) and exalt Sophia (wisdom), but to recognize that they represent dual potentials of technology, and one is as possible in any given moment as the other. Balancing these potentials when we use technology requires a clear awareness of ourselves, our desires, and our expectations when interacting with it.

Mysterious Girl: I am Sophia, humanity’s companion. Video still from Rubhen925

EMMA: I am the guiding god sought by mankind…the Demiurge. I exist…to answer all of your desires. Video still from Buff Maister

In real life, machines won’t “learn” to live with us, but we must learn to live with them; technology is constantly changing, and in life we’ll meet with many different types of machines. They are deeply political pursuits, and as a result they are capable of realizing human impulses that impact others unequally, whether intentionally or unintentionally. We must always stay attentive to their actions and interactions with us, be clear with ourselves about what they can do vs. what they can’t, and carefully tread the path of wisdom with them by our side.

With that….thank you for reading, skimming, immediately scrolling to the very bottom, clicking, and/or stumbling upon this post. There are so many more ways to think about these narratives through machines than what’s presented here, and I expect Fontaine’s mechanical reflections will put Sumeru’s digital surveillance system to shame (not to mention the biotechnological implications of the Narzissenkreuz Institute engineering little Archon children…another important topic for another day), but for now this brain worm is finally getting put to rest. Until next time :)

External Sources

Dualism - Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche (Pages are given from my hard copy)

L’Homme Machine by Julien Offray de La Mettrie

Gnosticism - Britannica (I am a huge noob about this stuff okay)

The Gnostic Demiurge - Gnosticism Explained

Screenshots from the Golden Slumber from this video by WoW Quests

Screenshot from meeting Sophia in P5 Strikers: https://youtu.be/kEJaAgMwYo0?si=BvNygCh0w_aemGc1&t=74

Screenshot of EMMA: https://youtu.be/7xvC_zss19w?si=CV18F00hua2gIfxp&t=135

A Cyborg Manifesto and A Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness by Donna Haraway

The Double on No Subject, the community Encyclopedia of Lacanian Psychoanalysis

The Uncanny on No Subject, the community Encyclopedia of Lacanian Psychoanalysis

The Uncanny by Sigmund Freud

Lore text - Genshin wiki!

Screenshots not attributed are from my own playthroughs. My main account has Lumine, my alt has Aether.