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blkkizzat · 2 months

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'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation.

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course.

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation.

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action.

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself.

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful?

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.

If you were a test he had failed.

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions.

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib?

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer.

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs.

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison.

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance.

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak.

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man.

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds.

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold.

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you.

There was no escaping you.

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji.

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction.

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen?

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat.

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame.

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age.

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith.

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face.

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees.

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar.

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then.

Nor your husband.

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk.

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear:

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town.

Gojo owns your cunt.

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass.

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist.

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.”

You obediently replied.

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth.

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue.

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease.

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you.

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips.

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat.

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you.

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval.

He gives you a small nod.

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind.

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in.

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband.

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself.

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself.

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen.

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip.

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation.

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet.

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere.

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento.

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns.

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?”

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town.

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself..

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens.

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?”

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress.

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.”

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell.

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays.

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words.

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone?

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro.

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways.

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer.

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way.

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being.

The scent of your cunt.

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard.

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned.

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair.

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt.

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

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dinozarr · 8 months

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⠀ “f-fuckk.. just like that, pretty~.”

all i can think of rn is how GOJO would be down right terribly arrogant looking down at you while you gave him head. you’d just lost a bet with the man on who can hold out the longest without mentioning sex, and it was either he lost and would have to give you head, or vice verse. and, well, you can figure out the rest. to say he was on cloud nine with the snarkiest, most devilish smirk marred onto his face all the while he bound your hands behind your back; would be quite a large understatement. he adored the sight of you sitting along his neatly polished wood flooring, clothes torn to bits with your legs limply sprawled out on either side of your hips. your wrists were practically glued together behind your back, mouth completely full of his thick erection that was already leaking with pre-cum prior to even seeing you on the floor. the noises that exerted through the sides of your lips were nothing more of squelches and slurps whilst you maneuvered your head up and down his dick. his hand rested along the top of your head, gripping it ever so slightly as he guided you, his hips bucking every so often. the feeling of your silver-lined tongue piercing and the whimpers that’d vibrate the man’s erection had Satoru tossing his head back with each groan you gave, your mouth and his dick entirely drenched in your saliva; with a mixture of his juices. your tongue glided along the back of his base, the feeling of you trailing it to his tip and circling around it causing Satoru to absentmindedly release his entire load into your mouth. coughs and incoherent noises ricocheted down the man’s base, curses and groans of pure ecstasy emitting from Satoru’s parted lips.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“you look so~ beautiful down there, precious.”

NOTEZ : don’t ask why i wrote this, i have no sane explanation. nor a censored one. just know it’s close to that time of the month.👐👐(jazz hands)

#❙ ⋆ 𝒁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝑺 ❞#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fanfic #anime smut #female reader #x female reader

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imagine-darksiders · 4 months

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Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

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bubbleddisasters · 1 month

Text

Stupid Shit I’ve done/Gotten myself into by accident/been dragged into as Twisted Wonderland Characters:

—————-

Ace : Heard my sister screaming bloody murder downstairs and didn’t do shit because I assumed she was watching a horror movie. Turns out there was a fire in the oven.

Bonus: Sniped my friend in the eye from across the Cafeteria with a Ketchup Packet, Meant to hit his glasses, but he repositioned them at the last second.

Deuce: Answered Maine four times on a Historical Geography test and was wrong all four times.

Cater: Threw my phone out of the window in a panic after seeing one of my Idols followed me back.

Bonus : Accidentally convinced a transfer camper from Wales I was from London after I quoted something in the accent to myself in the showers and was too awkward to tell them I wasn’t when they struck up the conversation.

(I am from America, and the camp is in America.)

Trey: Accidentally created a puddle of Dark Red Icing and Stepped in it four times in a row while making a cake at 2 am.

Bonus : Befriended and helped out the owner of a French Bakery down the street when they started out, they ended up becoming really popular (rightfully so, her stuff is amazing) and now I either get free shit and/or Friends and Family Discounts.

Riddle : I have read the dictionary on multiple occasions out of sheer boredom.

Bonus: I once read the bible and marked down verses. Im not religious I just needed to win an argument.

Leona: Slept through an earthquake and 3 ambulances coming to my house bcs my sister was hurt.

Ruggie: Waited for families going inside to pass by and asked them to hold the door for me so I could sneak into a VIP rooms for free food. (Usually only at fancy hotels but luckily this strategy is flexible when your 5’2 with a baby face.)

Jack: Used to Smash open large rocks containing Crystals or Quartz at the beach as a kid, and now I have a large collection of them.

Bonus: I have extremely good hearing, to the point I hear into the negative decibels up to -15 - -20 (according to the audiologist this is rare but i literally don’t know shit about audio and decibels) so my old dormmates used to try and bribe me to tell them what I heard about certain things or themselves.

Bonus 2: Almost got shot by an illegal hunter while in the woods with my sister.

Floyd : Cracked my skull open at the pool, lost consciousness for a few seconds and woke up in the water calling for help, then got confused on why I was calling for help.

Bonus : A Sea lion once came up to me while I was scuba diving and did little circles, bumped its snout on my mask and just followed me the whole time in a very gleeful manner as a temporary homie.

Bonus 2: Apparently ate / took bites of my moms library books as a little kid (????) according to the librarian.

Jade: Taught myself to untie my hands with my hands behind my back, tie by hands behind my back with my hands behind my back, deciphered, translated and memorized a fictional hieroglyphic language, Read from Act 1 to Act 6 of Homestuck, and accidentally discovered how to disguise Chocolate Ice Cream as Pistachio; all within the span of 2 weeks. (I had covid and was A-Symptomatic)

Bonus : Lived in the Woods for 7 months (in total), had a large bag of mica and Almost Drowned in a tent when there was no moving water nor rain. (Basically, I was asleep, Woke up underwater, nearly went back to bed, then shot out of my tent screaming “My Tent Titanticed!” )

(It was like 3 am don’t judge me)

Azul: Somehow ended up with $2200 dollars in $100s in Monopoly at the end of the game. Also have been stuck between two identical twins while talking with both and boi that shits TRIPPY. (I also almost died with them later but it was fine)

Bonus: I lived on a middle of fuck knows where island during the spring and summer up until covid, yet I absolutely despise eating fish or Shellfish, and the smell often makes me nauseous.

(Bonus 2: I love shiny things, but very specifically fancy looking keys. I also had a weird obsession with signing a shiny contract after watching Ariel. Another tiny thing Is I own a Flotsam and Jetsam Scarf which I chuck around when Floyd or Jade pisses me off ingame.)

Kalim : Got distracted by a cool leaf while at a fancy resort in Xatapa, Mexico, and waddled off from my parents and explored around to try and find more, somehow managed to get extremely far and ended up lost in a whole different city for 6 hours while trying to find my way back.

Bonus 1: I had an obsession with Kiwis for awhile as a kid, and our neighbors house had a Pangium tree that reached over to our yard. (It was planted before either families moved in so we didn’t know) I thought it was some kind of strange Kiwi and ate one. I didn’t like it and was like “Oh maybe its not ripe” and waited 3-5 months then tried it again, same reaction, repeat process one more time.

I went to my parents out of curiosity and asked them what it was, and so after some process I am unaware of but I think my mom brought one of the fruits somewhere, we discovered what it was.

Pangium contains Fatal amounts of Cyanide if not properly prepared. I was fine but for the love of anything please don’t try eating it like little me did.

Bonus 2: I’ve Almost died more times than I can count on both hands and feet. Im not an heir or something fancy I just have wackass luck.

Jamil: Once had to talk my sister out of jumping off a tour boat because our cousin dared her to.

Bonus : Managed to make French Toast in the middle of the woods with Dehydrated Milk, Cinnamon, Three Eggs I stole, and a loaf of bread we got once a month. Also made 3 kinds marinated chicken in the middle of the woods.

(My Cooking Style is literally “just trust me bro.” I’m like Lilia except it actually works and is edible)

Epel : Whenever we went applepicking at my Grandfathers house, I’d climb into the trees and throw or pass the apples down. Sometimes I actually wish I could sit in trees more often shits comfy.

Bonus: My Mom was a Champion Horseback Rider as a kid, and sometimes took us to this Dude Ranch I shall not name for my own privacy, but I’d run around with this group of kids and this one herding dog like a damn movie protagonist, sometimes go riding horses, or the one time we stole a tractor and near crashed it (THE REGRETS I STILL HAVE-) etc.

The WHIPLASH from that to going back to a whitewashed Northeast suburban town is insane.

Rook: My Cousins and I, and sometimes the kids at the priorly mentioned ranch, would play the most intense games of manhunt (basically really intense hide n seek at night) ,

I mean wearing camo if you had it, alliances, little dollar store walkie-talkies, code words, binoculars, climbing in trees or hiding in bushes/tall grasses/Hay to “scout”.

I hid in a large pot/vase more than once and another time on a roof, and (ONLY ONCE, DO NOT DO THIS IM STUPID) under a car.

I still remain the top in last man standing points. Mostly bcs I’m stingy with rescues but shhh

Vil - Accidentally poured a lot of liquid eyeliner into my eye, was literally crying out Eyeliner for 30 minutes. Also taught myself to run and jump in heels as a kid because I thought it looked cool in movies.

Ortho : Unknowingly was Hacking my Elementary School Databank for several years,

I genuinely thought it was normal to go on the school website, press a few buttons and be able to find a friends address if I had a playdate and needed to tell my mom where the house was, a parents phone number if needed communication with my friends parents , and mostly ignored the other general info.

I didn’t even know I did this until my dad told me a few months ago that I almost got suspended for it but by the time they found out it was the end of my last year there. ;—;

Idia: Accidentally acquired both a Nahida and Eula in Genshin and was genuinely annoyed at the time, they are now my most powerful DPS’s…

Bonus : I own a shit ton of original Japanese first edition Pokemon Cards my cousin gave me, (they are probably worth more than me which is neat), and I have a giant pile of Pokemon plushies I have infact fallen asleep on or in on multiple occasions.

Bonus 2: I was playing Breath of the Wild, and my very first thing I did after getting off the plateau was beeline for the castle. I actually got all the way up and took out 2 blights but the Wind one kicked my ass.

Bonus 3: Got confessed to and asked out by a guy I did not like nor knew very well, and I panicked, said “Maybe, Sorry no.” And ran into a wall. Also have crawled through a chute to avoid an awkward situation as a kid (do not recommend its dusty and definitely not safe)

Bonus 4: Once didn’t sleep for 5 days.

Malleus : Accidentally attended a Private Party and a Private Funeral in the same week. I was not invited nor knew anyone present. Stayed there for most of it because I was too nervous to say I wasn’t supposed to be there. Whoop.

Bonus: Got nicknamed the “Trip Curse.” By my Old Dormmates because everytime I went on a trip with them everything seemed to go to shit or get hella chaotic.

Bonus 2: Another camping one: Once woke up at night with a shit ton of fireflies just chilling in my tent. It was serene but also I genuinely thought I was hallucinating for a few minutes.

Lilia: Literally will hang upside down anywhere I can, its so fun bro.

Bonus : I know an extremely large amount of useless historical information, and once genuinely realized I know more about poison than what flour and eggs are used for in baking.

Silver : Once befriended a wild horse ( Im like 90% sure he was a Chestnut).

I called him Clover the Dog like horse because he was honestly just a golden retriever in the body of a horse.

This is great and theres alot of sweet moments, but then theres the times you have a giant horse galloping full speed at you for attention or trying to nudge you affectionately and nearly pushing you into a creek in the process.

Sebek: Got groundstruck by lightning once. Also I am often told I have a loud voice.

Che’nya : a good friend of mine and I have an inside joke at school where if we see eachother through a window (my school has alot of indoor windows for some reason?), we’ll text the other “Behind you.” Or “To your left.”

——————-

Theres more things I can think of but I have run out of characters and this is getting too long, so ye!

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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 month

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The Beggar's Door: A Retelling of "King Thrushbeard"

Oh, yes, King Gregor had a temper, but in this case, it was more than justified. You see, the king had gone through all the expense of hosting an enormous ball so every eligible suitor on the continent could vie for the hand of Princess Dulcibella, and what do you think she did? Not smile and curtsey and thank them for the honor, that’s for sure. She rejected every man to his face! And not politely! The princess had a tongue like a whip, and she scourged those high and mighty men with every insult you can imagine before declaring she would have none of them as a husband. Some of them were on the verge of declaring war.

So none of us were surprised when King Gregor, in a towering rage, summoned Princess Dulcibella to the throne room the next morning.

Princess Dulcibella was a beautiful maid—fair and willowy—and she walked toward her father with as dainty a step and as innocent an air as any woman who ever lived, humming a traveling minstrel’s tune.

“Daughter,” the king declared. “I have brought you here to meet your husband.”

The princess stopped humming. “Tradition states that a crown princess may choose her own husband.”

“Tradition also states that if the princess refuses all her suitors, she is wed to the first man to come into the king’s presence.”

Princess Dulcibella’s lovely face paled. “You would not be so barbaric.”

“You have left me no other choice.” The king pointed to the grand doors through which the princess had entered—the only entrance that had been left unbarred. “Your husband—the man of my choosing—will enter through that door at the stroke of ten.”

Everyone knew who that would be—Baldric of Eldria, a brute and bore (and, some said, a usurper), but king of the wealthiest nation on the continent.

At his words, a door opened—but not the great door.

In a shadowed corner of the throne room, a forgotten, barely visible door swung open on rusted hinges.

The king whirled upon his chamberlain. “I said all the doors were to be barred!”

The chamberlain was deathly pale. “Tradition states that the beggar’s door can never be barred.”

An old tradition, the beggar’s door, one that said the poor must be able to approach their king for help in desperate need, or else the kingdom would fall. No one had used the door in generations—but the door had remained open.

Through that door came a ragged young man, tattered shoes on his feet and a lute on his back. With a smile, he bowed to the princess, as graceful as any courtier.

“My king and my lady,” he said. “If you can spare a coin for a starving minstrel, I would be glad to repay your kindness with a song.”

He had charm, that ragged clown, and probably a nice face somewhere under the layer of dirt.

Princess Dulcibella smiled upon him—men had crossed continents for that smile—and, in the sight of a stunned crowd in the throne room, the minstrel began to sing.

O, come away, my fine young maiden Though I’ve no place to call my own We’ll wander through the wooded valleys And make the wild world our home

You know the song, but you’ve never heard it as he sang it. He had a voice like love itself come to life—as if he’d come a-purpose for wooing. We all were spellbound. The princess was enchanted.

He sang a verse or ten, and when the song finally faded, the king was the first to remember the purpose of the day. For all the unexpected happenings, he hadn’t forgotten his rage. He’d lost his chance at an alliance, but his revenge upon an ungrateful daughter was still within reach.

“Minstrel,” he declared. “You’ve won more than a coin. According to tradition, you have my daughter as bride to wed.”

The priest emerged from behind the throne—intended for a far more royal wedding. In the sight of us all, the princess and the beggar were bound as man and wife.

“Now, be gone from my house!” the king declared. “You’re a beggar’s wife, now, and can have no place here.”

Dulcibella was stripped of her finery, but somehow she didn’t seem to mind.

The minstrel took her in his arms and carried her out the beggar’s door—gazing upon each other with as much devotion as if they were any ordinary pair of lovers.

With that, they disappeared. I’ve not seen either of them again.

But I’ve heard stories.

Dulcibella was clever, you see, and her maids tell stories of a minstrel who would sing near her window on moonlit nights.

Some say she told him of the beggar’s door.

Some even say that the minstrel was no minstrel at all, but young King Alaric, cast down from the throne of Eldria, living in exile until he can reclaim his throne.

I don’t know what to believe, but I like to believe she’s happy as a beggar’s wife, and I believe there’s no better woman to someday take a place as queen.

King Baldric had better take care.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #king thrushbeard

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elkenbulwark · 4 months

Text

hc// bearded badgering

When Birvor eventaully fucks off after the game to join Bob on some reindeer farm and grows a big beard to keep his face warm from the biting weather of northern Fae'run-....

He doesn't expect to have @wildskissed / Eve show up on his doorstep with a lil orc baby. (Their first kid, Theo.)

His beard becomes a target of baby fist yanking, and so do his tusks. His face is basically a toy for any and all orc babies that are his kids.

This is why he looks so much older than his age in the future, tbh. He ages hard from being both abandoned by his brother, and (temporarily) the mother of his kids. Then his kids beat him upon the regular. He's aging real haaard.

#hc ; // roll history check #verse ; // lost in the woods #wildskissed

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cod-dump · 6 months

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I can’t get this scenario out of my head but just imagine price, nik, and graves all go out on a date and graves got to choose where so he chose a burger place (like the American he is)

and nik and price sit there watching him eat a slightly crappy burger just like the one scene in Spider-Man into the spider verse where Peter B Parker eats the burger like it is his last meal.

Sometimes a burger from a questionable restaurant in a greasy wrapper is the best damn thing you will ever have. The cheese, the sauce dripping— That shit is divine. Stay out until like three-four in the morning riding back roads and hill hopping and throwing beer bottles at signs or just driving with the windows down. After all of that? A burger from like Waffle House will hit the spot and just bring the whole night together for the perfect end.

Graves has definitely taken Price and Nik out for all of that, showing them how he loves to live cool summer nights, the hint of autumn in the air. Telling spooky stories while the moon shines bright, a few clouds darkening the skies but not enough to stop the moon from bathing everything in a beautiful blue hue. Just driving, talking, listening to music— Just enjoying each other’s presence. Racing down roads, jumping hills, getting lost in twist back roads.

And then ending it all by finally emerging from the woods and finding a gas station, heading over to the Waffle House next door. Getting some coffee, some greasy food to warm your insides. Then when you finally get home, crash in bed and get a damn good sleep. That’s Graves’ world, a highlight of his high school years and college days. He loves it, and he loved sharing it with two of the most important men in his life.

Maybe they didn’t like it, or they were unsure about it. But after a bit, just endlessly driving and enjoying the air and the sense of freedom that the whole night gave, they loved it. They loved it because they love Graves and him sharing this with them just warmed their hearts. Though the food was questionable, that’s okay. They’ll risk food poisoning for him. He’s worth it.

#call of duty #modern warfare #phillip graves #john price #cod nikolai #drabble #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #pricegravesnik #nikpricegraves

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noforkingclue · 9 months

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The Attic (dark!Thomas Shelby x reader)

Summary: you were told to avoid the attic because it was dangerous. But what happens when you finally stop resisting the pull towards it and ignore the warnings of your husband?

Author's Note: This was written for @zablife 2K celebration! I chose to write something for the attic! I made references to some of my other reader inserts but don't worry, you don't have to have read them to understand this fic.

(alternative title- Thomas Shelby and the Multi-Verse of Fucking Up You Life)

Hope you like the fic :)

Warnings: dark fic, reference forced married, murder

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshitisfenharel, @lenaskyler02, @elenavampire21, @swordofawriter, @zablife, @cillmequick, @polishcrazyone

Thomas Shelby tag list: @alreadybroken-ts, @darlingdevil, @lyrxbz, @watercolorskyy, @notyour-valentine

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You loved the colour of Tommy’s eyes. So blue they reminded you of the sky on a warm summer’s day. You frequently found yourself getting lost in them as the two of you spent a blissful time in Paris.

Ah, Paris.

It was such a wonderful honeymoon but, as all good things, it came to an end far too quickly. Soon you found yourself back in Arrow House. Grand, beautiful, hauntingly lonely Arrow House. You knew that there were servants. Your bed was always made in the morning, food always hot and waiting for you, yet you never saw them. You heard the sounds of people moving around and yet whenever you entered a room you never saw them. Tommy said that his family lived with him, he had such a large house that it made sense. However, you had yet to meet any of them. Hushed whispers, the sound of rustling clothes, hurriedly retreating footsteps was the most you ever got to see of them.

You were allowed free rein of the house. After all, it was your home now as well. However, the only room you weren’t allowed in was the attic. When you questioned why Tommy wrapped an arm around your waist, pulled you against him and said,

“Floor boards aren’t stable, love. In the process of getting them fixed but I don’t want you to fall through. So just stay away from there alright?”

“Alright Tommy.”

“Good girl.”

And with a soft kiss pressed against your forehead the deal was done.

At least for now.

Despite your faith in your husband, part of you suspected he was lying. There were nights were you laid awake looking up at the ceiling. Sometimes you heard a creek, the sound of a footstep and you’d sit bolt upright in bed. It was strange, whenever this happen Tommy always seemed to be awake. A comforting arm was wrapped around you ready to pull you back down to his comforting embrace. Tommy would mutter something about a nightmare and for you to get back to sleep and somehow you always found yourself drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

Then there was the sleep paralysis. You had never experienced it before you had moved into Arrow House. Now it had become a semi regular occurrence. The shadowy figure that seemed to melt out of the wall and slowly approach you and your husband. However, it never seemed that interested in you. The focus of the creature was purely on Tommy and you could feel the hatred seep from it. It was enough to peel the wallpaper from the wall, crack the wood in the headboard and rot the floorboards. When you woke up everything was back to normal and Tommy hadn’t seen a thing.

And yet you found yourself drawn to the attic. If you closed your eyes and concentrated hard enough you could hear the hushed whispers high above your head. You long to be a part of them. To be accepted into the Shelby family.

Which was how you found yourself at the foot of the staircase.

You knew where it lead even though it was your first time seeing it and it terrified you. The staircase was shrouded in darkness but your goal was lit up. White light shone through the crack under the attic door, lighting your way into the knowledge you so desperately craved. You knew that you shouldn’t climb it. It wasn’t safe, you could fall and injure yourself. And yet you were pulled towards it like a magnet. You were helpless as you were dragged into the inky darkness which sealed you fate.

At first you couldn’t understand why Tommy was so adamant that you avoided the attic. Sure it was bit dusty and could do with a lick of paint but the floor looked sturdy enough. You ventured in, your anxiety disappearing with each step until you were in the middle of the room. You breathed in a deeply and immediately regretted it as a cloud of dust was drawn into your nose and triggered your allergies. You coughed and spluttered and then you heard it.

A soft voice.

Soft familiar and yet so strange.

A voice you thought you had heard a thousand times before and yet not at all.

‘Leave.’

Then another.

‘Run.’

And another.

‘Escape.’

And then they all came at once. Like a flock of angry, blood thirsty birds. Like a wave determined to drag you under and drown you.

‘Leave this place.’

‘Don’t come back.’

‘He’ll kill you.’

‘He’ll destroy you.’

‘Murderer.’ / ‘Murderer.’ / ‘Murderer.’ / ‘Murderer.’

That word. Repeated over and over and over again until it didn’t sound like a word at all. You crouched to the ground, hands covering your face, as hot tears pour down your face. You should’ve listened to Tommy. You never should’ve come here.

‘You never should’ve come to Arrow House. Leave. Run. While you still can.’

It was the longest one of these voices had ever spoken to you. You peaked through your fingers and wished that you hadn’t. A figure stood in front of you. Swirling dark mist coiled around it and other things moved in the background. The voices were now just a hushed whisper but they seemed to dominate your senses.

“W… what are you?” you asked shakily

‘A warning of what will be if you don’t run.’

“Run? From who? The Shelby’s?”

‘Tommy.’

“He’s my husband. I love him.”

This caused the mist to swirl angrily and the figure melted away. Another appeared in view. Its face was a dark swirl but its body was still recognisable. It wore a white blouse, well, a blouse that was once white. Red seeped into the fabric and it leant closer.

‘He said he loved me,’ it said, ‘until he tore my throat out.’

‘He said he loved me until he took away my son from his safe life.’

‘He said he loved me until he forced me to marry him.’

‘He said he love me until he killed my Oliver.’

‘He’s a murderer.’/‘Murderer.’/‘Murderer.’

“No,” you closed your eyes tightly, “No. I know him. We’re married.”

‘So were we.’

A thousands voices all at once. They sounded like leaves rustling in a storm. Like millions of pages being rapidly turned all at once. You gripped your hair in your hands and shook your head.

“This isn’t real,” you said, “You’re not real. It’s just a hallucination brought on by too little sleep.”

‘We are real.’

‘Because you are real.’

“That doesn’t make any sense. What are you?”

‘Incorrect question.’

‘Stupid question.’

‘They always ask that question.’

‘Always.’ / ’Always.’ / ’Always.’

‘Doesn’t make it stupid.’

‘An insult to them-‘

‘-is an insult to us.’

“What does that mean?”

The creatures seemed amused at your question. They swirled closer around you, a suffocating mass of something you weren’t sure was real or not. They dominated your senses and curled around your neck as they whispered,

‘You know.’

‘Because we know.’

‘You are we-‘

‘-and we are you.’

“Wh…what?”

‘Shouldn’t stutter.’

‘She’s confused.’

‘We all were when we were her.’

‘We are her.’

‘You know what I mean.’

You shook your head and tangled your fingers in your hair. You pulled your legs up to your chest and pressed your forehead against your knees.

“This isn’t real.”

‘It is.’

‘Run.’/’Stay.’/’Run.’/’Stay.’

“This is all in my head. All in my head. All in my head.”

‘Stay we’ll die again.’

‘Run we’ll die again.’

“Maybe it’ll be different this time. He loves me.”

‘He loved all of us.’

‘And he killed all of us.’

‘And those we cared about.’

‘My parents.’

‘My sibling.’

‘My Oliver.’

“Why should I believe you?”

‘Because we’re you-‘

‘-and you’re us.’

‘We’re the same.’

‘You should kill him’

‘Kill him.’/’Kill him.’/’Kill him.’

‘I tried to kill him.’

This caused the mist to swirl around violently.

‘But you failed.’

‘We failed.’

‘You failed.’

‘He manipulated you.’

‘Us.’

You shook your head before standing up on shaking legs. You swallowed thickly and turned around and tried to walk towards the door. However, the mist blocked your escape. You didn’t know if you could walk through it or what would happen if you did.

‘Kill him.’

‘Kill him and be free.’

‘Kill him before he kills us.’

“He won’t kill us,” you shook your head and gritted your teeth, “me. He’s my husband. He loves me.”

‘And me.’/’And me.’/’And me.’

‘He loved all of us.’

‘And he killed all of us.’

‘All of us.’

‘You know we’re telling the truth.’

‘Because you are us-‘

‘-and we’

You closed your eyes and shook your head violently. The attic creaked around you and your eyes flew open at the unnatural sound. Darkness surrounded you. Suffocating inky darkness that made it impossible to breath. You took half a step forward and the voices all spoke at once again,

‘You know what you need to do. Kill him and be free of him. Be free of this family. Free us. End the cycle. Kill Thomas-‘

“Love? Are you alright?”

You let out a cry of relief as Tommy almost seemed to glide through the darkness. You flung yourself into his arms and sobbed into his chest. Tommy rubbed comforting circles against your back as you continued to cry. You could hear the whispers of the voices in the background and it took you a moment to realise that Tommy had spoken.

“I… I…”

“Shh it’s ok,” Tommy pressed a kiss on top of your head, “it’s ok. It’s just your sleepwalking.”

“I’ve never sleepwalked before.”

“Yes you have,” Tommy pressed his cheek against yours, “yes you have. I was afraid this was going to happen. The doctor did say that your memory was going to be effected.”

“Doctor?” you pulled away, “we’ve never been to a doctor.”

‘We told you.’

‘He’s manipulating you.’

‘Run.’

‘Kill.’

“Shut up!” you hissed

“I haven’t said anything.” Said Tommy

“Not you. I wasn’t talking to you.” You hissed

“You’re hearing voices.”

“Yes. No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Love,” Tommy’s hand appeared on your shoulder, “You need help.”

‘You need to get away.’

‘Kill.’/’Kill.’/’Kill.’

“Get away from me!” you shrieked

You took several steps back, eyes wide as you looked at your husband. The man you loved so deeply that it hurt but now… now you didn’t recognise him. His eyes that once reminded you of summer had changed. Winter had taken over. Ice filled your veins and you felt like you were sinking into an icy lake, your escaped blocked off by the frozen top.

“Who are you?” you asked

“You know who I am.” Thomas took a step towards you, “I’m your husband.”

“No.”

“Love, you’re not well. The lack of sleep. The voices.”

“I know my own mind.”

“Love-“

“Stop calling me that!”

You took another stepped back and let out a cry of shock. Your foot didn’t land on the floor. Instead it swung back into open air and you felt your body drop back. Was this really how it was going to end? An argument and falling through the rotten floorboards you were warned about.

But as suddenly as you were falling, you were saved. Tommy had grabbed your hand and was holding you. You looked down and swallowed thickly at the drop below. When you looked back at Tommy you were horrified to see that winter hadn’t thawed.

“Tommy,” you said, “Please.”

“Shame,” he said, “so much work yet again wasted.”

As he let you go.

#fanfiction #peaky blinders #reader insert #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #dark

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atrueneutral · 1 month

Note

Any thoughts on warlock!Tav? I don't know which would be more fun, having Raphael as a patron or Raphael being jealous of Tav's patron 🤭

They were four moves in, and Tav had yet to learn why Raphael had called her to the Devil’s Den.

She doubted it was as simple as a ‘friendly match of lanceboard’; there was always something just shy of his ambitious reach, and she was waiting for when he would be forthright about what that something was.

Thus far for their appointment, the fiend (in his mortal disguise) offered only polite pleasantries; an inquiry about how she was faring after being rid of the tadpole, a recommendation that she try a glass of ‘perfectly aged wine he’d been saving for her’, and, of course, a ‘friendly’ game of lanceboard (to ‘personally witness her strategic skills in action’).

And here they were; barely talking as she concentrated with a pinched brow on what move to make next, all while Raphael stared at her with a glint in his eye and the faintest of smirks on his lips.

She was a piece down (lanceboard was not a strong suit of hers), meaning he was in the lead.

Which was probably the main reason as to why he looked so arrogant and relaxed.

Tav bit her lip in question of whether to move her priest or send out another pawn.

“Am I correct in the knowledge that you’ve been in a pact with your patron for a few years?” he asked.

More pleasantries - so that the scales of their appointment didn’t tip towards awkwardness.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Tav answered softly. The reply was automatic; all attention was centered on the game before her.

She wanted to win - especially when her opponent was none other than Raphael.

The white priest slid to a free space, and, in response, Raphael swiftly mirrored a similar move with his black priest.

“Tell me about this patron of yours, my dear.”

Her previously focused gaze flicked up from the board to meet that oh-so-devilish glint, and, in response, Tav’s eyes mirrored his in forming a glint of their own; it was a mischievous twinkle that her fey patron would appreciate and applaud - hence why the pact was offered to her to begin with.

After all, it wasn’t every day that a mortal outtricked a trickster in the middle of a dangerous wood.

“They’re from the feywild,” Tav said, her brow pinching again in pretend consideration of her the next (literal) move. Yes, lanceboard was assuredly not her strong suit, but games involving ‘Reactions from Raphael’ were a favored pastime she excelled in. “I’d ask if you knew him, or of him, but he never gave me his name…”

She glanced up, and at the mention of ‘him’, a muscle twitched in Raphael’s cheek.

“Perhaps you could describe this patron, and I would know their name? I’m versed enough in the archfey and the dealings of their ilk,” he said with the offhanded shrug of a shoulder.

What a wonderful idea!

“That’s a wonderful idea!” At that, Tav mentally bid the game of lanceboard farewell. She lifted a foot to sit on the cushion with her and rested her elbow upon her knee. Her cheek leaned into the palm of her hand, and a wistful expression was painted upon her face. “With as often as I think of him, he should be easy enough to recall…”

Raphael’s glint was becoming lost to an approaching fire on the horizon.

“He’s tall, dark, handsome - the classic, romantic type from the stories. His hair color reminds me of yours, actually, but it’s a fair bit longer - goes past his shoulders, and not a strand is out of place. Now that I think about it, he’s about your height, too. Slightly less broad-shouldered, more wiry I’d say, but still quite muscular. Not sure what he was doing in the middle of the woods without a shirt, but, hey, that’s the fey for you…”

None of it was true; Puck was a small and sprightly creature with rosy cheeks and other impish features. His hair was not long and tidy, having been an unkempt mess adorned with twigs and leaves at the time of their meeting, and also unlike her false rendering, the fey’s childlike frame had been dressed in greenery and animal skins.

“He’s very strong! Lifted me easily - ah, forgive me. That probably doesn’t help you much…”

Raphael was battling a sneer, and his relaxed pose was becoming less relaxed the more she went on.

So Tav did the next best thing.

She continued.

“There was a…” She tried to find the correct word while miming in the air with her free hand. “Certain regalness about him. I thought he might be a part of some high court of some kind. He appeared in fog and left in fog, but not before offering me a pact - which I accepted, naturally.” Tav sighed. “The whirlwind encounter, however brief it was, left me breathless. I’m so grateful to have lost my way in the woods that day.”

Raphael looked livid, and she could imagine Puck clapping.

She pushed a pawn forward. “Do you know of any fey by that description?”

“It is unfortunate that I do not,” he deadpanned.

The glint had long been lost to the fire of his burning stare.

“I believe it’s your move, Raphael.”

The cambion worked his jaw, and his tongue ran across his top teeth, emitting a slight sucking sound.

He was determining his move, but it was not a move involving lanceboard.

Tav dropped her innocence along with her tone.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

His tone dropped to match hers. “And if I was, Little Mouse?”

Humored, she huffed a breath and smiled.

“Why did you have me come?”

Raphael glanced at the board and aggressively (recklessly) took her pawn with his priest. “I wished to become your patron.”

Oh…

An exciting prospect that she’d thought about but never considered as being a possibility...

His interest in her… did it mirror her interest in him?

“I’ll tell you what,” Tav snatched his priest with her rook. “If you win this match, I’ll see what I can do about breaking my pact with Puck, and I’ll happily sign a new pact with you.”

Disdain drained the color from his face.

“Puck,” he sneered, and it was then that he knew he’d been played. “Like attracts like! I should not be surprised that one chaotic wretch of a creature was drawn to another!”

“On the contrary, surely you also believe that opposites attract?” Tav smiled with a tilt of her head. “Or have you changed your mind about wanting me, a ‘chaotic wretch’, to be your warlock?”

Raphael’s silence was confirmation that he had not changed his mind (though it disagreed with his contemptuous stare and scrunched nose).

A moment passed.

“And if you win, my dear?”

“I want a written and signed letter from you stating that you lost our lanceboard game and that you were jealous of Puck.”

The huff that left him was not the humored kind.

“I agree to the terms of this match, and you are to forfeit should I get the slightest whiff of any tricks.”

“Good thing my sleight of hand work doesn’t smell,” Tav said before dramatically cracking her knuckles.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “No cheating of any kind, you fey-touched miscreant.”

Tav’s bright laugh filled the room, seemingly disarming her fiend of an opponent.

Her poor skills in strategy were likely to lose the match for her, but Tav was not bothered by the potential loss.

She’d won the more important game.

#I had a lot of fun with this!#thanks for the prompt!#my writing #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #Warlock!Tav #raphael the cambion #Raphael bg3 #Answered

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mishwanders · 8 months

Note

Omg hi i see your request are open 😶‍🌫️ I have been lurking in your blog for awhile and I will say 10/10 writing 💥💥

Anyway, I love fierce deity with all my heart. I want to kiss his face and everything 🤩

Anyway here is the request: reader is a traveling merchant and came a across cool looking mask( fierce deity) and reader is like :000 and took the mask with them and was planning to sell it. But realized there was a deity sealed in it after hearing his voice in their head and they were like "OH SHIT" and decided not to sell the mask.

Then they began to talk to each other when reader is traveling and their friendship blooms and soon romance but reader doesn't know how to get him out until they were attacked by monsters and got fierce to come out of his mask and meet reader in person(BOOM they kiss and got married 😎😎)

Fierce deity fierce deity FIERCE DEITY-

So what you’re saying is, Fierce Deity is going to mess with the reader and be the equivalent of a haunted doll? Yes, I love this idea!

A/N+Warnings: N/A, safe for everyone. Written by Mishwanders - pls do not repost.

When you first came across the strange mask in the middle of the road, you thought nothing of it. There was nothing suspicious - it was just a plain, old, wooden mask with blue and red markings, complete with wooden white hair (totally normal - nothing to worry about), and it didn’t look so bad in its current state! You felt like you hit the lottery, the jackpot, you could see rupees whirling through your eyes like a slot machine. A little paint and it would look good as new! A perfect item to add to the bag!

However, you weren’t expecting to be so, uh, how do I put this… Haunted?

Yeah, haunted was the best word you could conjure to describe the damned thing. From the moment it was in your grasp, something felt off. Your pack felt hundreds of times heavier than it was, there were random creaks and bumps in the nights, small whispers, and of course the fact that the mask had a tendency to move on it’s own - like the one night you woke up and found that it SOMEHOW MADE ITS WAY ON YOUR PILLOW WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING!

To say you freaked out would be an understatement considering how fast you chucked it up against the wall with a shout, springing from your bed with your bedside ax (because that’s a totally normal thing to have) and mini statue of the goddess Hylia, ready to open a can of holy whoopass on the mere slab of wood.

At least, that’s what you were planning to do until you heard the deep, pained groan of a man and a burst of hot, white light emanating from the portion of the mask that split in half.

“Little one, why must you hurt me so?”

You held the mini statue of Hylia in front of you, visibly shaking like a chihuahua at the sound of the voice. The goddess would protect you from this foul beast.

Right?

“What in Hylia’s name are you?!” You screeched.

Its lips didn’t move but you heard it scoff, seemingly noticing your state of being.“Trying to get my sister to fight me?”

Huh? Sister?

Well that was a first.

“I - uh - well, you know - you’re - well...”

“A mask.” He stated, rather nonchalantly.

You huffed, processing to pick up the mask, still holding Hylia in front of you for fear of the mouth actually moving and biting your fingers off (or something much worse). You interrogated the mask for what felt like hours, when truly it was only ten minutes or so,before you got the answers you were looking for. The beast trapped inside was not a beast at all, but rather a deity lost to time itself, one that craved to be free of his prison.

A part of you considered calling a poexorcist but truly you didn’t even know if they even had the qualifications for poexorcizing a deity and you also didn’t know how he would take to that - so, eh, better not go that route.

Instead, you decided to take a chance to travel to see a man who was well versed in masks and the types that were out there. He wasn’t a salesman, more of a collector. The deity seemed fine enough with that idea, so you made a plan to visit your friend soon with your new, ever watchful item.

You quickly became close friends with the deity inside, finding him to be rather good company in the quiet of your home and the loneliness of the road. There was a part of you that wondered if he enjoyed your companionship too, having been forever locked away inside of this old piece of wood for goddesses knows how long.

However, this constant companionship made you realize what you had been missing in your life, and you found yourself sitting on the edge of indecision. On one hand, you wanted him free, so he could live out his life the way he saw fit, but on the other hand, you enjoyed having him with you, his mask always at arms reach, tucked safely at your side in bed or on your back pack on the road. You realized that if he did get his freedom, and he decided to leave, you would be left completely and utterly alone again, crumbling under the weight of the silence that would surround you again.

You had considered discussing the possibility of going with him, being his companion who could conjure up some money by selling your wares, but that conclusion came at the utmost worst of times.

As if they had fallen from the sky, you’d found yourself surrounded by moblins on all sides who were quickly encroaching upon you and your bag of valuables. One of them nabbed the mask away from your backpack, which led to you fighting for it back. It was the most improper game of tug-o-war ever, and especially not one without consequences. You yanked the mask free from the moblins grimy hands and you did so with such force that the mask went flying into the air, cracking in half on impact against the stone in the road. That’s when you were all blinded by the intense white light that filled each of your vision, feeling a massive wave of energy and rage pulsating through it. When it all died down, you found yourself no longer surrounded by the greedy little moblins and instead, face to face with the being behind the mask.

The Fierce Deity himself.

To his surprise, you did not cower in fear at the mere sight of him, rather looking up at him in awe filled curious wonder. He knelt down to you, cupping your face in his large hands as he looked you over and asked, “Are you hurt, little one?”

You shook your head in reply, still looking at him in awe. His face looked similar to the mask he was trapped in, but the lines on his face connected somewhere on his body and trailed under his tunic. You gently raised your hand up to touch him, feeling the warmth and softness of his features no longer hidden behind the wooden surface. “I’m alright, Fierce. Thank you.”

His gaze softened at your voice, relaxing now that he knew you were unharmed under his watch. You looked around at the quiet road. “Well, now that you’re out of the mask, I don’t suppose we need to go see my old friend any more. Is there anywhere specific you would like to go?”

The Fierce Deity gave you a soft smile. “Anywhere. So long as you’re there.”

Your heart swelled as he spoke, your hand gently gripping onto his. “You mean that? You still want me along even though you’re free?”

“What’s freedom if I have no one to share it with?” He asked, gently taking your hand in his.

You smiled up at him, practically beaming as you kissed his cheek.

“I suppose you’re right. Let’s go. Together!”

#fierce deity x reader #fierce deity #fierce deity link #lu fierce deity #lu fierce deity x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #loz x reader #sfe #writing: fierce deity

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vase-of-lilies · 8 months

Note

… for the tiny tiger au. How about Wanda and Nat freaking out thinking that R got out. Which we did, we’re alone outside. But instead of running like they think we did, we found a baby fox and start poking it and what not to see if it’s alive (cause it’s sleeping) and thinking it’s cute we bring it back to mommy and mama who are in hysterics trying to find out where we went, only to turn when tapped to find us covered in mud/dirt presenting the new friend we have to them, wide eyed kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?

Nat and Wanda don’t know what to do side eyeing one another because they don’t want their baby to cry, but also. It’s a fox.

Muddy Buddies

Paring: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Reader x Momma!Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: this is a dark AU, wandering off into the woods, finding a friend, fluff, heavy MD/LG, needles, rabies shots

A/N: This immediately reminds me of this video I saw where this kid found a raccoon and is crying because she can’t take him home 😭 Another small drabble for Into The Tiny Verse:) Also, I'm so sorry. I am so tired so if it sounds like a 10-year-old wrote this (my vocab sucks when I'm tired) then just- Idk bear with me here 😭

Your little self was none the wiser when an opportunity to go outside came up. You didn't have any intention of escaping from your new caregivers, all you wanted to do was go on an adventure with your lion! And when this opportunity came up, you took it.

Natasha had just returned from her trip to town, grocery bags in her arms. Usually, she was much better at keeping an eye on you when Wanda was busy, and when she didn't see you come running to the door to say hi to her, she figured you were asleep or with your mommy.

At this point, you were now a couple feet into the forest surrounding the cabin. Not wanting to scare your mommies, you never lost sight of the house. That is until a little hint of orange just a little further inside the trees caught your eye.

Your curiosity moved your feet closer to the unknown blob of color, and once you saw it you let out a soft gasp. Your hand covered your mouth and you moved just a little closer.

It was a baby fox!

Looking around, you grab a stick with some leaves still on it and you kneel down next to the still fox. Is it dead? Your head pushes. Why isn't the mother here? Another question you ask yourself. With the stick in your hand, you gently poke the soft bum of the fox. The animal twitches, and you jump in surprise. Dropping the stick, you crawl to it, not caring about the mud on your pants or hands.

The small fox squeaks, and opens her little eyes, looking up at you. However, it did not run away. Instead, she yawned and got up from her position on the muddy forest floor. She stretches and even approaches you. Carefully, you hold your hand out and you smile as the fox's wet nose sniffs your fingers.

"Aren't chu jus' the chutest ting?" You whisper, scratching the fox's chin. "Yous name is Butto! (Butter)"

Butter lets out a small whine and a raspy bark, and you pick her up. She looks around as you stand up with her, and she slightly starts to struggle. You hold her comfortably tight, and you walk quickly back to the cabin.

Upon entering the cabin once again, you hear your mommies' worried voices. They shouldn't be worried... I'm right here! They don't hear you come in through the front door, too focused on reviewing the camera footage from outside of the warm abode. The two women don't even hear you enter their office!

Holding Butter and Leo (your lion) in one arm, you gently tap Wanda's shoulder to get her attention with the other hand. Her head snaps to the side, her eyes widening when she sees you. "Tiny! Oh my- Oh, and tiny's friend..." She says with a hesitant laugh, pulling her hands away from your muddy self and your muddy friend.

You tilt your head at her reaction to you but shake it off to ask the more important question at hand. You look up at the woman with doe eyes, "kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?" Wanda and Nat look at each other, surprised to say the least, but not wanting to hear you cry if they take your friend away.

"Who- uh- who is this, little one?" Natasha says, looking down at the fox in your arms.

"Her name Butto'" You say nonchalantly, as if it was just a new stuffed animal.

"Butter?" Wanda confirms and looks at her wife, eyes wide and asking for some type of support. Natasha can’t help but chuckle, and she kneels down in front of you.

“Tiny, I know this little one looks like a friend, but these little guys are tedious. They aren’t very friendly,” Nat frowns, starting to take the fox from your arms.

“Nnnnooooo! No she fren, mama, she nice,” you protest, pulling yourself away from the woman. “She tan stay wif me in m’room, and she can snuggle wif us!”

Wanda and Natasha devise a plan to get the little fox away from you and back to its mother, and they do that by putting you outside with Butter. In the backyard of course.

Butter in fact wasn’t nice. She scratched you, bit you, and made you cry, but your intentions on keeping her never wavered. Your little brain was just seeing another friend, and that’s all you thought this little fox was.

Wanda offered you a deal. “How about we make a trade?” She asks with a smile. “How about I take Butter, and you take Pancakes?” Your mommy pulls a plush fox from behind her back, and you tilt your head. “Just like you need mommy to take care of you, so does little Butter, and we need to get her back to her mommy.” Wanda says, and you start to understand.

“Butter has mommy too?” You ask, tears forming in your eyes at the thought of being taken away from your caretakers. Wanda nods softly and takes Butter from your hands.

“Yeah, so let’s get her back to her home and we can play with Pancakes all night. How does that sound?” Wanda asks you, finally pulling the baby fox from your scratched up hands.

Natasha had contacted Bruce Banner. He may be a human doctor, but he knows where this little fox can go to get real care. He even said that you and your mommies could visit her too! While Wanda held you in her arms, Natasha was distracting you while Bruce gave you a few rabies shots, and a few other vaccines to help you stay healthy after touching a wild animal.

You were not a fan of needles, and the two women knew that.

As you waved goodbye to Bruce and Butter, you sighed softly. “Butto’ sc’atched me,” you sniffle, looking down at your hands that now stung.

“Oh honey, it’s ok, let’s go get you cleaned up for dinner, ok?” Wanda says, picking you up bridal-style and taking you to the bathroom to wash up.

Once your bath was finished, Wanda bandaged your hands and arms and got you all warmed up in your pjs. After dinner, your mommies kept their promise and you played with your new (fluff-filled) friend until you fell asleep!

“We need to watch her carefully…” Natasha chuckles, stroking her knuckle over your sleeping face.

Wanda nods, “Agreed!”

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #into the tiny verse #wandanat x female reader #mommy wanda maximoff x reader #mommy!natasha romanoff x little!reader #mommy wanda x little reader #mommy!wandanat x reader #mommy!wanda x little!reader

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