#Virtuous Vows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kenziesimsblog · 6 months

Text

SIMS 3 HIGH SCHOOL STEROTYPE LEGACY

hi guys! I decided to make my very own legacy for sims 3! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

some traits are repeated because they fit!

GEN 1-EMO

you never really fit in when you lived in your small town so as soon as you became a young adult you moved to the bustling city where you began a new alternative band.

traits - over-emotional, loner, virtuous, shy, and night owl

lifetime wish-rock star

career- music

requirements

must fall in love with another emo. -must name kids after alternative band members / singers, albums or songs.

must have fun colored hair. -must have piercing (s)

dye hair at least 3 times during each life stage

must complete lifetime wish.

master guitar skill

start a band. -must be close to bandmates

perform every or most gig you get. -reach level 5 celeb status

GEN 2-POPULAR

you are the exact opposite of your parent but hey when you're the kid of a famous band member you're bound to be popular.

traits- diva, irresistible, social butterfly, party animal, and flirty

lifetime wish- super popular..

career-any

requirements must have 2 best friends. choose either being a mean popular or a nice one. throw tons of parties be in at least 3 relationships before finding the one. marry the nerdiest person. master the charisma skill. don't lose any friends. chat with friends at least once week have at least 1 boy and 1 girl

GEN 3-NERD

your parent always taught you to be yourself and to show how smart you are!

traits - genius, bookworm, socially awkward, eccentric, and loser

lifetime wish- perfect student

career- scientist requirements always have an "A" in school go to university. earn your degree with a perfect GPA. earn a scholarship. be a strict parent. if kid has lower than a yell at them meet your partner in university. make kids have daily chores. make kids have curfew of 7. master logic skill master inventor skill

GEN 4- THE CLASS CLOWN

your parent was super strict and you vowed to never be like them

traits good sense of humor, rebellious, easily impressed, inappropriate,and friendly.

lifetime wish- distinguished director.

career- director

requirements have a bad relationship with your parents. have a "D" in school. always pull pranks on school and home become a director for comedies (pretend) master street art skill have at least 1 girl steal partner from someone else

GEN 5- HORSE GIRL

horses, horses, horses that's all you talk about traits - equestrian, loves the outdoors, ambitious, athletic ,and lucky

lifetime wish- the jockey

career- none all your time is spent with horses

requirements have a horse as a child. must be female. have at least 2 horses ride them every day. marry a cowboy/cowgirl. enter racing. live in a farmhouse. master riding skill have 1 kid that you have a bad relationship with.

GEN 6-BULLY

your mom only paid attention to her horses and not you resulting in a bully

traits- evil, mean spirited , grumpy, brooding, and coward

lifetime wish- ceo of mega corporation

career - business requirements be hated by everyone. have one "friend" that is a sidekick. get pregnant or impregnate a one-night stand. have baby in your household. co parent with one night stand even though you hate it. marry one night stand at middle/end of adult life. have one more child/ or multiples before you reach elder status. at least perform two mean actions a day

GEN 7- GAMER

your parents didnt care what you did they spent to much time hating each other so what better way to distract your self then video games

traits- couch potato, computer whiz, heavy sleeper, night owl and loner

lifetime wish- blog artist

career - video game developer

requirements attend university to master nerd social group. drop out when maxed nerd group. marry college sweetheart. cheat on college sweetheart with person you met online. have one kid with college sweetheart.

have more with new partner play video games every day. run a blog about games. master logic skill

GEN 8- THEATER KID

you spent all of your childhood watching plays dreaming one day it would be you

traits- star quality, natural born performer , hopeless romantic , dramatic, and ambitious

lifetime wish- superstar actor.

career- actor

requirements name kids after real life actors woohoo 5 celebs. complete lifetime wish. get pregnant by 3 different celebs. have at least 3 kids have a bad reputation. ruin your reputation at least once. never get married. spoil your kids.

GEN 9- JOCK

you lived in a booming town with a big gym where you spent most of your time

traits- handy, athletic, vegetarian, green thumb, and daredevil

lifetime wish- become a superstar athlete.

career- athletic

requirements master lifetime wish. be a vegetarian. have a garden of healthy vegetables. workout everyday max gardening skill max handy skill max athletic skill meet partner at gym. have a big family (4 kids)

GEN 10-ARTSY

traits- artistic, avant garde, adventurous, perfectionist, virtuoso

lifetime wish-master of arts

career- self employed artist

requirements master guitar skill master painting skill travel to different countries for inspiration meet partner in another country. perform for tips. sell paintings. at least always have one animal in house house is very colorful. do photography on the side. master lifetime wish. go out with family every holiday.

be sure to tag me in posts if you decide to play!

#sims 3 blog #ts3cc #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 screenshots #simblr #sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 cc #sims 3 legacy #sims 3 lepacy challenge #sims 3 legacy challenge #ts3 challenge #sims 3 challenge #ts3 challenges #sims 3 challenges

394 notes · View notes

bruh-changbin · 1 year

Text

paper boy

pairing: school paper editor! seungmin x afab reader

genre: fluff + smut (minors dni)

warnings: piv, unprotected sex (be safe), semi-public sex, brief mention of masturbation (m and f), brief mention of oral (f receiving), lots of kissy kissy, uhhhh i think that's it?

word count: 2k

a/n: this is... kind of a random scenario but i think i fw it haha. pls appreciate this little baby seungmin fic because a) i haven't written for him or skz in forever, and b) i'm working on some larger fics that i will share in the near future. as always i would love love love to hear your thoughts 😸 also I promise I don’t think all english students are pretentious I was just playing it up for the fic ok bye

photos not mine, credit to original owners (retrieved from pinterest)

.・゜-: ✧ :-　

when you first lay eyes on seungmin he looks as if he’s the human embodiment of scholarly.

black wire-rimmed glasses hanging off of his nose, a light grey hoodie donning the name of your university across the chest, brows slightly furrowed as he scans the desktop screen in front of him. he looks cute.

you’ve never been one to read the school paper (who does?). but felix wanted to check out the ads posted in the job section so he asked you to pick up a copy for him while he was in his afternoon lecture.

you’re a good friend, so you fulfil his request.

you’ve always found people involved with english-based extracurriculars to be, well, pretentious. more often than not they’re snooty rich kids who only use messenger bags and think they’re better than everyone because they know what words like malapropism and valetudinarian mean. see, pretentious.

ergo, you’re less than excited for your venture to the school paper office. but a promise is a promise (and felix vowed to buy you starbucks if you did this for him), so you follow the directions felix gave you to get to your destination.

when you first step into the office space, you’re somewhat taken aback. it’s much more… homey than you imagined. the walls, painted a welcoming shade of fern green, are accompanied by thick armchairs lining the interior and a bamboo welcome mat you wipe your shoes on. a salt lamp casts a warm, pinky-orange glow from where it’s plugged in in the corner. but the real treasure is the cute, puppy-looking boy sitting behind the front desk.

he looks nice.

virtuous.

innocent.

the kind of boy who’s coffee-toned bambi eyes are the epitome of sinless, who’s nice white teeth only reflect purity, who’s skin is so devoid of imperfections it looks like glass.

“excuse me, can i get a copy of the school paper?” you stutter out embarrassingly, feeling as if this is your first time operating your mouth, tongue and lips to form coherent sounds and syllables.

the boy behind the desk gives you a look that’s a mix of confusion and annoyance before glancing to his left. only then do you notice the painfully obvious display shelf donning stacks upon stacks of this week's issue, an obnoxiously colourful sign reading ‘school paper: grab a copy!’ plastered to the wall above really rubbing in your lack of situational awareness.

“they’re fresh off the press,” seungmin mumbles before going back to whatever it is he’s doing on the computer in front of him.

you nod even though his focus isn’t on you anymore before grabbing a copy of the paper for felix and heading back the way you came. when your sweaty palm comes into contact with the cold, metal handle of the door it shocks the sense back into you. you decide that no, you are not about to give up on this angelical boy just yet before spinning on your heel and spewing whatever thought pops into your head first.

“you smell like bergamot… what perfume do you use?”

he seems taken aback by your sudden questioning, his soft eyes widening just a smidge before he responds, “it’s uh, classic by clean reserve.”

“it smells nice.”

“yea, i like it.”

“i’m y/n.”

“seungmin.”

he sticks out a hand for you to shake. weird, not many people in your age demographic shake hands when they introduce themselves. but the way he stuck his arm out with restrained enthusiasm is endearing and you grasp his hand in yours. his fingers are long and dainty while his palm radiates warmth; he shakes your hand twice before letting go.

“what’s your major, seungmin?”

“business.”

“business?”

“yep, you?”

“environmental science.”

“nice.” he sounds genuine, “so are you gonna save the world?”

“i’ll start with saving my grades, then we’ll see about the world.”

he laughs at this. the apples of his cheeks puff up ever so slightly to resemble mochi, his baby pink lips curling upwards to reveal a set of straight teeth, perfected by the wires and brackets that are glued to them. braces suit him well.

you vow to yourself that this won’t be the last time you see him.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　

the first time you’re in seungmin’s bedroom your innocent perception of him is skewed.

he invited you over because he wanted to start watching breaking bad, a show that you, on many occasions, have raved about to no end.

his room is spotless, a level of clean that you’ve never seen a 20-something year old guy execute. which is why your eyes are immediately drawn to the small corner of paper sticking out from under seungmin’s bed. with the rest of his room being so perfect, this small discrepancy sticks out like a sore thumb.

when seungmin head’s downstairs to do god knows what, you grab the paper from underneath his bed and gasp when you find yourself face to face with a playboy magazine. pages upon pages, some with small tears or doggy-ear bookmarks, filled with women showing off their tits in promiscuous poses stare back at you as you flip through the magazine.

heat creeps its way up your neck and when you hear seungmin begin to make his way up the stairs you toss the magazine back under his bed. he gives you a skeptical look when he sees you standing in the middle of his room, fists balled up at your sides with an uneasy expression present on your face, before shrugging, hopping onto his bed and patting the spot beside him to get you to sit down.

despite the show playing in the background, your gaze continues to fall on seungmin’s side profile.

how can someone so innocent and good be into something so… raunchy? not that liking porn or hentai or whatever it is that gets you going makes you a bad person, it’s just that with seungmin it’s so out of pocket, for lack of a better term.

you try not to imagine seungmin getting himself off on the very bed you're sitting on, one hand holding his tattered playboy and the other gripping his cock. you try not to imagine the hushed whines and groans that would leave his lips in an exhale, ruffling his blonde-streaked bangs in the process. you try not to imagine how he’d bite his puffy bottom lip and throw his head back in ecstasy as he finishes all over his stomach.

you fail.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　

over time the innocence you once saw in seungmin wanes with a slew of firsts: the first time you caught him looking at your breasts through your near see-through top; the first time you found your mind drifting to thoughts of him and his fingers and his lips when you were touching yourself; the first time you made out with him in the back of felix’s corolla when he and changbin ran into the convenience store to get dorito’s.

if seungmin’s lips were a drug you’d be an addict.

you’ve lost track of how many hours you’ve spent with his tongue down your throat, your face going numb with the feeling of his mouth pressed against yours. he tastes like the spearmint gum he chews around the clock and you feel as if you could drown in his blown out pupils when he stares at you with lust and hunger and desire.

his calloused palms and paper-cut ridden fingertips know your skin as if it’s his own. he’s stronger than he lets on, which you found out the first time he fucked you from behind against his kitchen counter. you still don’t know if the purple and blue splotches that remained on your hips for days after were from his countertop or the grip he had on you.

in some ways he still has some of the virtue you thought he had when you first laid eyes on him.

he’s a people pleaser through and through, and will happily spend hours with his face shoved between your legs tongue-fucking you to orgasm so many times you swear you see god. or, he’ll watch with amusement as you struggle to get yourself off on his cock (which is perfect, by the way). the way he looks at you with something akin to pity when you’re perched on top of him - fat tears rolling down your cheeks because your legs are aching and you can’t be on top anymore but you wanna cum so badly - stirs something inside of you that nothing ever has before.

seungmin’s ability to fuck you so hard you see stars is the perfect juxtaposition to the version of himself he portrays to the outside world. kind, quiet, lenient. a picture perfect boyfriend.

you’d made a pact with yourself to get to know more about what it is he does for the school paper, seeing as that was how the two of you met in the first place.

“what exactly do you do there?” you question him over a slice of cheesecake you’re sharing in a booth at a secluded restaurant.

“i edit, do some admin stuff. you know, the works.” he uses his thumb to swipe a dollop of caramel off of your top lip before sucking on it. you swoon.

“do you want me to show you around the office?” he asks you while pulling on his corduroy jacket that makes him look like a teddy bear.

“what, right now?”

“why not? i’ve got the keys.” he pulls a jumpring holding a multitude of silver and gold keys out of his pocket as if to emphasise his point.

so you say yes.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you’ve never been on campus after hours.

something about strolling through the dark hallways that are normally teeming with students and faculty really gets you on edge. but in a good way, like you’re feeding into the rebellious phase you had as a teen that you thought died out but still exists in some small part of your brain. your thoughts are cut short when seungmin stops to unlock to door to the student paper office and drags you into the place your first met him all that time ago.

seungmin explains how much of newspaper production has gone digital now and shows you the web offset press that’s responsible for printing the many copies of your school’s paper every week. he lets you sit at his desk and shows you how he edits upcoming articles while overseeing practically every aspect of the process. it’s then you realize how much seungmin downplays his contribution to the paper, for if he wasn’t involved as much as much as he is everything would be askew.

when you feel his hands creep their way up your back before stopping at your shoulders you relax into his touch. you’ve known seungmin was in a mood since earlier this evening; it was only a matter of time before he made a move.

he leaves feathery kisses on your neck and jaw while his hands slip under your top to palm your breasts. even the smallest of touches from him can reduce you to a needy, flustered mess.

the two of you fooling around in seungmin’s workspace was bound to happen, which is why you follow his lead when he moves you so you’re sitting on his desk, when he slips his hand into your panties, when he kisses you so hard you can’t breathe.

garments are discarded at a leisurely pace and soon enough seungmin has his cock stuffed in your tight pussy and is fucking you on top of his desk. the steady electrical hum from the backup generator isn’t enough to drown out his groans and your sighs of pleasure and the wet sound of your cunt sucking him in with every thrust.

seungmin’s tongue drags across your collar bones as you tangle your fingers in his chocolate brown hair with the toffee streaks in his bangs that you love oh so much. the hair at the nape of his neck becomes slick with sweat as his hips bump and grind against yours in a way that has the ceiling above you transforming into a blanket of stars.

you cry when you cum and pray for this moment to never end, revelling in the warmth of your sweet sweet paper boy’s body pressed against yours.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　

#stray kids smut #kim seungmin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids blurbs #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader

937 notes · View notes

qmabailor · 4 months

Text

This is so niche but I'm bored:

Rook, in his feathered hat wearing a Guy Faux mask: I can assure you I mean you no harm.

MC on the ground clutching pepper spray: Who are you?!

Rook: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask.

MC: Well I can see that.

Rook: Of course you can. I am not questioning your powers of observation. I am merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man, Who. He is.

MC: Oh.... right.

Rook: But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace subriquet to suggest the character of this dramatic persona.

*Rook bows and places his cape across his face. Then with a swift swish he "emerges" from behind.*

Rook: Voila! In view a humble vaudevillian veteran cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This Visage no mere veneer of vanity is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished.

*Rook's words quicken a sense of urgency present in every syllable.*

Rook: HOWEVER, This valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified. And has vowed vanquish these venal and virulent, vanguarding vice and vouchafing the violent and viscious in violation of volition.

*A brief pause. Rook begins again but this time his voice is lower with a slight rasp to it.*

Rook: The only verdict is vengeance, a vendetta. Held as a votive not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.

Rook: *Chuckles breathlessly* Verily this viscious visage of verbiage veers most verbose. So let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V. *Rook bows to MC*

MC: ..... Are you like a crazy person?

Rook: I am quite sure they will say so.

#not to toot my own horn but i wrote this whole thing from memory #pretty sure that makes me mentally ill #twisted wonderland #twst incorrect quotes #rook hunt #rook x reader #rook x yuu #v for vendetta

56 notes · View notes

obitohno · 2 years

Text

[ k i n k t o b e r ]

confession

nanami kento x reader

synopsis ⤸

to atone your sins, nanami must first commit one of his own.

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, priest! nanami, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, dubcon (ish), public orgasms, handjobs, fingering, squirting, mutual pining, corruption, breaking of religious vows

word count ⤸

1.5k (unedited)

a/n ⤸

i finally got around to not only updating my kinktober synopsises, but also writing out my first piece! a few people expressed interest in priest! nanami, so of course, it had to be the first one that i wrote. i hope that you enjoy the read, n if you do, pls reblog to boost ♡

reblogs are appreciated ~

in all the years that he’s graced this earth, nanami likes to believe that his life has been a purely virtuous one. that is, until you waltz into the sanctuary of his pint-sized chapel.

it is the middle of autumn, and he’s just about to lock up for the evening, when you come skipping down the old cobbled path, almost tripping over your own feet when the heel of your boot skims over the smooth surface of a particularly large stone. you catch your balance on the door, the wood biting into the crook of which your thumb parts from the rest of your hand, a giddy, coy smile stretching at your lips.

and nanami, despite the vow of abstinence that he’s obeyed meticulously for the past five years, is weakened by the sight.

you’re shivering, a dusting of wet shimmering over the bridge of your nose accentuated by the gentle glow that is emitted from the candles that he’d lit for earlier’s mass.

he recognises you—you’ve visited a couple of times over the years since he’s been placed here, although, he feels a smidge of guilt upon realising that your name is lost to him. he offers a polite smile, one that is a little forced due to the fact that your presence is delaying his evening routine. still, you must’ve sought shelter in here of all places, for a reason, and so he takes a step back, silently allowing you to take refuge out of the rain that drizzles behind you.

‘hi!’ your enthused greeting echoes through the hall, and he finds that the sheepish grin that makes its way onto your face is endearing. ‘um, sorry,’ you immediately lower your tone, ‘i’ve come for confession—i was meant to stop by on sunday, but i—’ you pause, eyes glancing over his shoulder to realise that the chapel is very much empty, save for the two of you. ‘oh, uh, am i too late?’

yes, he should say, because, really, you are.

but he doesn’t want to. remorse has his stomach churning, for his gaze lingers on the curve of your cupid’s bow, eyes grazing over the plush of your bottom lip for far longer than it should. the feeling only doubles when the palm of his hand grazes the small of your back when he invites you further inside, his pulse thumping a little harder than normal.

‘not at all.’

you introduce yourself with a soft titter, allowing him to lead you toward the corner of the small hall, to where the confession booth stands, unable to see the way that his mouth silently forms the shape of your name. for a reason unknown to you, he loiters by the door, leaning over your shoulder to open it for you, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you beam up at him gratefully.

‘thanks, father.’

there’s something about the way that your voice lilts, and he fears he may go to hell for the way that the confides of his robes suddenly feel a tad constricted. he prays that his cheeks don’t look as warm as they feel, averting his gaze from the suspiciously innocent doe-eyed look that you aim his way. clearing his throat, he tilts his head, watching from the corner of his eye as you duck inside the booth, the door clicking shut behind you.

retreating to his side of the booth, nanami hesitates, fingers curled around the handle as he forces a slow exhale from the centre of his chest.

inside, you patiently await for the gentle creak of the wooden seat adjusting to his weight before you beat him to the chance to speak.

‘father, have you ever lusted after someone that you shouldn’t’ve?’

over the last five years, nanami has listened to all varieties of confessions. admittedly, some are more boring than others, and some are so completely far-fetched that he hopes that they’re nothing more than fabrication. thus, he likes to think that he’s heard it all. however, your question startles him, and through the lattice that separates the two of you, you’re just able to make out the shadow of his side profile, stunned into silence.

‘i have,’ you confess, your words exhaled around a wanton sigh. ‘and the lord knows that i’ve tried to stop,’ you admit, sounding all too woeful, ‘but… i want him so desperately that i just can’t help myself.’

there’s a heavy pause.

and then, his reply comes in the form of a croaked whisper, ‘i have, too.’

exhilaration bubbles inside you, as does the heat that warms the space between your thighs.

‘you have?’ you lean toward the lattice partition, straining to listen to the quiet breath that is expelled from out of his nostrils. ‘when?’

you almost think that he isn’t going to answer, for you lose track of how long the silence stretches on for, but when he does, delight chews at the inside of your stomach, your bottom lip tugged between the blunt edges of your teeth.

‘right now.’

‘you are?’ you aren’t able to hide your eagerness, excitement warping your tone. your fingers are already tracing under the hem of your dress, splayed over the expanse of your thigh as they slowly tickle their way toward the seam of your underwear. ‘you—ah—who do you lust for, father?’

your fingers are making quick work of shoving the thin material of your underwear to the side, gasping a short breath when your thumb catches on the hardened nub of your clit. his response is whispered, lost to the sound of his robes rustling, seat creaking as he adjusts his weight. in here, it is dark, so much so that you can’t see much other than the outline of him, even when you try your best to squint.

if you are to be truthful, this isn’t at all what you’d had in mind when you’d originally planned to make the short journey across the village in order to make a sweet and honest confession. in actuality, it wasn’t until you’d felt the warm expanse of his palm at your back that you’d decided to push your luck tonight. but your rushed confession hadn’t been a lie. your visits to the local chapel are scarce, but the lord does know that this poor, innocent, people-serving priest has been the subject of your fantasies for many a dream.

and by the will of the gods, somehow, luck is on your side.

‘our lord, our saviour—’ he starts to murmur the beginnings of a prayer, the low baritone of his voice now strained around a barely constrained moan.

he isn’t able to see the way that your lips part, but he does witness the sound of your soft mewl, accompanied by the wet squish of your fingers breaching past the barrier of your hole. a low groan of approval drifts from his side of the partition, before it is choked upon, a strangled gasp quickly following after.

‘f-forgive me.’

the words are stuttered, heaved from his chest as he desperately fists at his swollen length, fingers tightening around the bulbous shape of his tip each time that they crest. his free hand grasps a fistful of his robes, the material soft under the palm of his hand, but the velvet-like glide of his foreskin as he roughly tugs it back with each downstroke is softer yet. shamefully, he’s all too familiar with the way that his balls tighten, filled with the promise of the impending orgasm that is yet to come.

the curling of his fingers is aided by the translucent slick that leaks from his slit in rivets, dribbling along the curved underside where he smears it over the ridge of nerves that have his hips jerking, the crown of his head gently thunking against the back of his seat. it is his turn to voice his approval, a strained grunt escaping him, thumb circling over that one, special spot that has him seeing stars.

not even a foot away, you listen, greedily licking at your lips as you dare to imagine just what he’d taste like, your pelvis gyrating as you fuck yourself on your fingers, the wooden seat having long absorbed the constantly slow of your honeyed juices that stain the surface.

‘father—!’

you cream with a sweet wail that has him accompanying you, ribbons of pearl spurting from the very tip of him and splattering a tantalising puddle all over the crumpled fabrics of his robes. the strength of his climax renders him breathless, and he can do nothing but listen as your cunt sprays a pretty mess that he is ashamed to admit that he wishes he could taste.

‘you,’ he eventually wheezes an answer amidst the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the base of his cock twitching a pathetically weak display of approval. ‘it is you whom i lust for.’

and he can only pray that the heavens will forgive him.

#♡ jordy is writing ♡#jjk x reader #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut

490 notes · View notes

kirain · 3 months

Note

What's your personal headcanon for Wyll's ending? 👀

Wyll cuts through his foes like a whirlwind of vengeance. Devils, demons, imps; none of them see him coming until it's too late. Both hands cling to rapiers, one celestial—a gift from Dame Aylin—one demonic, dropped by a general who couldn't match his swiftness. Even without his Warlock powers, Wyll is a force to be reckoned with, and his enemies know it. Alongside Karlach, he carves out a name that becomes feared all through the hells: The Blade of Avernus, Defender of the Innocent.

For two years he and Karlach fight, thinning the numbers, preventing any force from crawling to the surface. There are many close calls, but they have each other's backs, until they finally make it to Zariel's forge. With Karlach free and his promise kept, Wyll returns to Baldur's Gate, where he quickly forms a legion of unique demon hunters sworn to a code most virtuous. A code that favours courage, justice, strategy, and insight. Under his tutelage, students learn to hunt and kill demons, as well as anything that might threaten their city.

And during this time, a woman catches his eye. A lady of High Court, who is all too happy to see the man behind the horns. Together, they expand his creed to other cities, until it becomes recognised far and wide as the Slayer's Ring. For three years he commands this troop, until the death of his father, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. A painful loss not only for him, but Baldureans entire. It is then that Wyll realises his true calling. He wasn't ready before; the life of a politician seeming droll and corrupting, but he's ready now. With a heavy heart, he takes up the mantle of his father and leads Baldur's Gate into a bright, enlightened future, leaving the Slayer's Ring in the hands of his most trusted associates.

For a time, he mourns his father. The job of a Grand Duke certainly isn't an easy one, especially in the midst of grief, but sorrow doesn't last forever, as it's often remedied by joy. Not long after his father's passing, Wyll receives news from his Lady. She's pregnant. Together they have a son. Then another. Then another. Adam, Alder, and Cenric. Three spry, healthy boys, zipping through the halls of Wyrm's Rock Fortress. They take after their father in all the best ways, and despite his duties, Wyll showers them with all the love and attention they deserve—just like his father did for him. Raising his own children only makes him revere his late father more. Doing it alone, without a partner, he can only imagine how difficult it must have been, but his father never showed it, and for that he'll always be grateful.

"I vow to give everything to my sons and to my city."

And he does. After a lifetime of travel and adventure, bloodshed and war, misery and companionship, Wyll is happy to settle in the place he once called home. The place he never truly wanted to leave, but circumstance compelled. Though some take quiet issue with his form, those that matter, and the vast majority over, devote themselves to his leadership. He doesn't demand respect, but he earns it in abundance. Though once afraid such power might corrupt him, it never does.

As for his dearest friends—the ones with whom he faced near certain death, the ones who pulled him up at his lowest moments, the ones who fought beside him with grit and loyalty to spare—he sees them often, and he keeps a steady correspondence when fate takes them further. Even in his golden years, when his sons are grown and his reflexes slow with age, they remain in touch, visiting as often as they can to bring a smile to his wrinkled face. It's a busy life, but it's a good life. A fulfilling life. One he can be proud of.

And when his time comes, those same friends are there, by his bedside, giving him the send off he deserves. He leaves as a friend, a father, a husband, a grandfather, and the beloved hero of Baldur's Gate.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #duke ravengard #the blade of frontiers

23 notes · View notes

mediterraneanmenace · 6 months

Text

[I send you a pestilence such as the world has never seen. Your rivers will turn into blood and plague will seep into your sleep, into your dreams...] [... And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair, that's when you'll come knocking on our door]

It's done, finally. The "cover art" for my BG3 prequel. (Also fun fact: Raksha is 7'1". I just like drawing Cambion!Raphael big)

A Holy Inquisitor and a Devil. Sacred and Profane. AKA how these two will start as a loving couple only to end up in a spiral of mutual destruction.

Buckle up, we go into a lengthy character analysis below.

The reason he got attracted to her in the first place is pure, unfiltered narcissism: he saw himself in her ego, her ambition and personality. Said attraction turned into affection and eventually love when she told him about her past - mirrors of each other. Raphael also becomes very protective with Raksha - to a fault.

(This will be explained further in the story itself) Raksha herself was happy to find someone who wouldn't look at her with fear (reverential or not) and that would enjoy watching the operas/theatre plays she loves.

They're similar but opposites: one being the literal son of one of Hell's Archdevils and the other a messianic archetype who unknowingly has Archdevil blood (Baalzebul's) herself - close enough to be relevant but NOT enough for her to be a Cambion.

Raksha was adopted and raised by a strict archdeacon in a cathedral as proof that he could "turn a devil into a saint", so you can already guess her views on things like sexuality (she and her companions have a literal vow of chastity going on).

She demonizes sexuality and doesn't live her attraction to Raphael well (let alone when she finds out he's a Cambion. Girl was ready to break her vow for him). But he does help her to get a more healthy view on intimate stuff. :)

Raksha "sends the plagues" (spells like Contagion and Insect Plague) to villages that - according to her or the religious institutions that call for her help - need the divine help of Ilmater to purify themselves from their sins. Her idea is that, if you survive, you have successfully repented. Of course, some people would rather make a deal with someone like Raphael to live than trust the divine forces that put them through such torment.

In the piece you can see how it's Raphael sneaking a hand under her shirt and holding her tail with his - she's *trying* to appear as the virtuous one resisting temptation but is actually smiling complicit. The uncensored piece is a bit more... Explicit about it. [ You can find it on my 18+ Twitter @/paprikadust :) ]

Raksha is young (she's 23, 24 when they marry) and never had a relationship before, so she mistakes his possessiveness for love until she finally snaps (a big factor for this is finding out about Hope), escapes and goes into hiding after 6 years together. Raphael being himself of course becomes absolutely obsessed to find his wife. (I mean, before actually even talking to her, he stalked Raksha for 4 years. From 19 to 23)

Also I'm not a fan of people forgetting about what he did to Hope. I think he's actually quite dominant with Raksha in bed and does have servants checking on her whenever he can't be close enough to control what she does.

The prequel ends as the events of Baldur's Gate 3 take place.

Also closeup. :D

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #Raksha #my art #tiefling #dnd #the hand gesture she's making is a christian blessing btw #girl really blessing people while sending deadly plagues

39 notes · View notes

zeciex · 6 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 36

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 36: Boris Baratheon

AO3 - Masterlist

From the parapet, Daenera observed the training session of Ser Criston Cole and Aemond. Ser Criston wielded second favored weapon, the morning star, with deadly precision. Aemond, on the other hand, brandished his sword while relying on a round shield that by the looks of it, wouldn’t be able to withstand any more hits.

With a menacing growl, Ser Criston swung the morning star. The spiked weapon crashed into Aemond’s wooden shield, the impact so powerful that it tore the leather straps meant to secure the shield to Aemond’s arm. The shield, now freed, soared through the air before landing precariously on the edge of the training ground. It then continued its chaotic roll until it collided with a wheel of a nearby cart laden with hay and bags of grain.

Remarkably, neither Aemond nor ser Criston paid the runaway shield any attention. They remained engrossed in their intense combat, locked in a fierce exchange of blows and parries.

“Enjoying the view of your lover’s practice?” Aegon’s taunting voice reached Daenera’s ears, prompting an exasperated sigh from her. She maintained her position at the parapet, unwilling to engage with him further. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught the sight of his mischievous grin, a sight that did little to amuse her.

Daenera pressed her lips tightly together, determined not to give in to Aegon’s provocations.

“Now, now, don’t be so cold,” Aegon protested. “It’s no fun if you don’t play along.”

“I believe it’s best not to indulge in your fantasies, Uncle,” Daenera replied coolly.

“Fantasies…” Aegon inched closer, encroaching on her personal space and cursing her to instinctively lean back. Lowering his voice, he continued, “I know you’re fucking him.”

Daenera shot him a fierce glare. “And who do you think they would believe? The virtuous princess, dedicated to charity and the airs, or the drunken whoremonger who’s an embarrassment to the royal family?”

Aegon grimaced and nonchalantly shrugged. “They might claim to believe you, my dear niece, but nothing beats the thrill of witnessing the self-righteous tumble from their pedestals.”

“I am betrothed,” Daenera retorted firmly.

“Indeed, to a Baratheon,” Aegon replied, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Yet here you stand, watching my brother train.”

Daenera took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through her nose as she tried to quell the rising irritation and anger that nibbled at her composure, steadily chipping away at it. Her gaze remained fixed on Aemond, who skillfully leaned back to evade a strike from the morning star, then swiftly ducked under the following swing before launching a counterattack. He knew she was observing, yet paid her no attention. She feigned indifference, although it stung a bit.

“Should I pivot and fixate on the sky’s magnificence instead?” Daenera retorted, glaring back at Aegon.

“You’re unusually prickly today,” Aegon teased with a smirk. “Has my brother left you unsatisfied, or is it the prospect of meeting your betrothed that has you in such a state?”

Daenera turned to face him as he hoisted himself up to perch on the parapet’s wall, his back turned to his brother and the training yard below. His legs childishly swung from side to side, as his head tilted in amusement.

“You know, Aegon,” Daenera began, her tone sharpening, “if you hadn’t attempted to assault me and weren't such an insufferable prick, I might actually find some enjoyment in banter with you. But alas, you did try and assault me, and you remain an insufferable prick. What a pity.”

“Your words wound me, dear niece,” Aegon responded, placing a hand over his heart in a melodramatic gesture, assuming, of course, that he possessed one. If he did, it seemed to her that it would be shriveled and blackened. “But allow me to correct you. I did not attempt to assault you. I was simply jesting. Admittingly, I took it too far, and for that I apologize.”

“You were also willing to leave me for dead,” Daenera countered.

“I brought you to safety, didn’t I?” Aegon replied, giving her a half-hearted shrug and an incredulously amused grin.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “ After I exposed you.”

“I saved you,” Aegon insisted, acting as if she hadn’t coerced him into doing so. “I brought you to the White Worm.”

Daenera couldn’t deny that he had indeed taken her to a brothel, to Mysaria, a woman she still wasn’t entirely sure of. Although she had repaid her debt by arranging for food and medicine to be delivered to the area of Flea Bottom walled in for containment, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Mysaria had other plans in mind. Was she a worm or a spider, spinning a web of her own?

“That must absolve me, at least a little,” Aegon argued.

An assembly of horses thundered into the tiltyard, bearing the banners of House Baratheon–a black stag on a field of gold– a flurry of activity filled the air. Restive horses stamped the ground, sending mud and gravel flying. The clamor of their arrival, the banners snapping sharply in the wind, and the resounding clinks of metal and leather against armor seemed to clash discordantly with the smooth, red walls of the Red Keep.

Daenera’s breath caught as her eyes landed on her betrothed. Apprehension coiled within her chest like a snake ready to strike. She didn’t spare Aegon a glance as she responded firmly. “It does not.”

With that, she promptly shoved him.

Aegon let out a choked sound as gravity took hold of him, his legs flying into the air as the world turned upside down. He tumbled backward off the wall. His heart seemed to leap into his throat, and the clammy hand of dread gripped his lungs with icy fingers. Was this how he was destined to meet his end? His body collided with the stack of hay on the wagon below, and he sprawled out unceremoniously, his wide eyes fixed on the vast expanse of blue sky above. His heart remained stubbornly caught in the back of his throat until, finally, a shaky exhale escaped his quivering lips. His trembling hand traveled down to check whether he had, in his fear, relieved himself involuntarily.

Aemond, standing near the wagon that had softened his brother’s fall, stepped closer and inquired, “Are you well, brother?”

Aegon, still trying to regain his composure, responded with a dismissive wave of his hand, needing a moment to gather himself.

He supposed he deserved that.

Daenera ascended the grand stairs, her movements graceful despite the rising tension in her spine. She was acutely aware of Aemond’s burning gaze fixated on her, but she chose to actively ignore it. Instead, her attention was quickly stolen by the arrival of a large, burly man riding into the tiltyard.

This formidable figure had an unruly mane of black hair cascading down to his broad shoulders, complemented by a thick, full beard that framed his rugged features. Boris Baratheon was no diminutive man, and his stature was undeniable. While some might argue he lacked the conventional handsomeness found in courtly gentlemen, his chiseled cheekbones, prominent straight nose, and heavy, evenly arched brows lent a distinctive charm to his countenance. His eyes, a striking shade of bluish-gray, held a weight of authority in their gaze.

With a deft swing of his leg, Boris dismounted his steed, the heavy thud of his boots seeming to resonate through the courtyard. He took a moment to adjust his sword belt before striding confidently towards the princess. Daenera stood regally on the final step of the staircase, her hands neatly folded before her, every inch the poised royal.

“Princess Daenera,” Boris Baratheon greeted, his voice carrying a deep resonance.

In response, Daenera offered a polite smile, executing a graceful curtsy. “Boris Baratheon. I trust the journey was not overly taxing?”

Boris’s lips curved into a playful smile, resting his hand over his heart. “With the anticipation of finally gazing upon your face, every mile felt like a relentless excursion. Yet, now that I stand before you, the weariness in my muscles ebbs away, and my spirit finds solace.”

A faint blush tinged Daenera’s cheeks, an involuntary reaction to his words. However, the flushing stemmed more from embarrassment his words inspired, rather than the compliment in them. She understood the delicate dance of these formalities, a measured out exchange that meant to project an image rather than express true sentiment.

Many women might have been entranced by such eloquent compliments, but Daenera saw through the veneer, recognizing the constraints of the formalities.

Maintaining her poised facade, Daenera smiled. “Your compliments are most kind, Ser.”

As Boris extended his hand to grasp hers in a show of gallantry. She couldn’t suppress the hint of discomfort at the scrape of his rough beard against her delicate skin as he placed a soft, almost tender kiss upon her knuckles. It was a sensation she did not particularly relish.

“You must be quite weary from your journey,” Daenera suggested, her tone laced with the hope of hastening the formalities.

Boris, however, was undeterred. “How can fatigue weigh upon me when I stand in your company?”

Daenera felt her embarrassment deepen, her ears tingling with the awareness that Aegon and Aemond were undoubtedly witnessing the spectacle and deriving considerable amusement from it. Their subtle reactions caused her cheeks to flush an even deeper shade of red. She quickly withdrew her hand.

Boris regarded Daenera with a hint of concern, his brows knitting together as he observed her closely, and as he spoke, his voice was deep with an undercurrent. “Are you well, Princess? In good health, I mean.”

Daenera replied with a tight-lipped smile, her posture unwavering. “I am perfectly well.”

His large hand reached out, gently tilting her chin upward to reveal her face, his intense blue eyes exploring her features as if searching for something.

“I heard of the attempt on your life,” he said. “When I received the news, I feared the worst. If only I had been there to shield you…”

Daenera subtly shifted her head away from his touch, her eyes locked onto his with unwavering determination. “I assure you, I am perfectly fine. The Masters have examined me thoroughly, and I had no more than a few scratches and bruises.”

“Good,” Boris murmured, seemingly content with her assurances.

Boris pivoted towards his entourage, snapping his fingers to garner their immediate attention. His retinue was already engaged in the initial steps of dismounting and unloading heavy trunks from carts, which would shortly be transported to their respective lord’s chambers. Among them, a small boy wound his way through the crowd, bearing a bundle of lifeless rabbits in his arms. The rabbits’ fur was a lustrous cream hue, and there were no less than four in the collection.

Turning back to Daenera, Boris proudly displayed the rabbits before her, his expression expectant. “The forests along the road were bountiful and generous.”

“I can see that,” Daenera replied, her gaze falling upon the soft furs.

Boris continued with a gentle smile, “I thought you might appreciate some furs. You’ll have need of them, especially once we visit Storm’s End.”

Daenera forced a polite smile, attempting to convey gratitude, though her enthusiasm was anything but genuine. The ‘gift’ she was offered failed to elicit much interest either. She clasped her hands together tightly, shifting her gaze towards Jelissa, encouraging the young girl to accept the offering on her behalf. Daenera was determined not to stain her new dress, a vibrant combination of yellow and orange, designed to exude warmth in honor of her betrothed’s arrival.

“Thank you, Ser Brois, for this… considerate gesture,” Daenera responded with practiced courtesy, her voice laced with a delicate hint of indifference.

Boris, seemingly unaware of the tightness of her smile, responded with an extended invitation. “Would you care to join me for a stroll?”

Daenera hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “But… You’ve just arrived. Shouldn’t you take some time to rest?”

“The hunt was invigorating,” Boris replied, a radiant smile on his lips, accompanied by an audacious spark in his eye, that made the back of her neck prickle in discomfort. “But what I truly desire is to share a moment with you before the grand wedding.”

Daenera contemplated a swift refusal, yet she supposed the impulse with a dry swallow. Instead, she mustered a polite response, her voice tinged with a hint of reservation. “We will have ample time to get to know one another… However, I wouldn’t object to a stroll through the gardens– with company , of course.”

Boris extended his arm, a gallant gesture, and Daenera accepted, her fingers lightly touching the fabric that covered his strong forearm. She couldn’t help but notice the power in his muscles, subtly shifting beneath the cloth. The hight disparity between them was glaringly evident as they strolled together. Boris stood like a colossal figure, a mountain of flesh and sinew, while Daenera did not even reach his broad shoulders.

As they walked, Daenera felt the weight of Boris’s gaze, his piercing eyes upon her. It was an intense scrutiny that sent a shiver down her spine, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

Maintaining a few paces ahead of their entourage, the pair enjoyed the illusion of privacy. The gravel pathway beneath their feet emitted a soft, rhythmic crackle that filled the air, complemented by the gentle caress of the breeze which stirred the nearby rose bushes. This breeze carried a sweet scent that masked the city’s less pleasant odors but it did little to conceal the musky aroma emanating from the man beside her.

Breaking the silence that had lingered between them, Boris broached a topic that caught Daenera somewhat off guard. It wasn’t quite the superficial small talk she had anticipated, filled with flattery and empty words.

“I gather your intention is to remain in King’s Landing after our wedding,” Boris remarked, his voice alluding to his curiosity.

Daenera nodded, her gaze shifting thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the plan. I intend to stay here until my mother ascends the throne. It will afford me the time to pursue my studies.”

Boris raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Such as?”

With a hint of pride in her voice, Daenera replied, “I’ve developed a keen interest in botany and its practical applications, particularly in the realm of healing.”

Boris, however, seemed to harbor doubts of her interest. “But is that considered appropriate for a princess?”

“I imagine some might not think so.” A subtle smile graced Daenera’s lips as she shrugged.

He offered a suggestion, veiled in kindness but laced with an underlying critique. “Our Maester’s at Storm’s End could certainly continue your education, should we return to the Stormlands. Although, I can’t help but wonder how much use it will be once you have your hands full with children.”

The words carried a subtle sting, implying an expectation that her scholarly pursuits would inevitably take a back seat once she assumed the role of a mother.

Daenera didn’t mince words, her inquiry direct and unapologetic. “What are your expectations for this marriage?”

Boris chuckled, seemingly amused. “Once we are wed, I expect you to embrace your role as my wife. Your duty will be to bear our children and be a devoted wife. That, my dear, is what I expect of you.”

Wife and mother, a succinct definition of her future role, neither more nor less. The weight of those expectations settled heavily on Daenera’s shoulders, and she swallowed hard. This was the path that had always been laid out for her – marriage, wifehood, reproduction. Yet, somewhere deep within, she had held a glimmer of hope that there might have been more to her future– her life – than that.

It seemed she would need to carve out that space for herself.

“And I, in return,” Boris continued, smiling down at her, “will fulfill my responsibilities as your husband. I shall gift you with children, stand steadfastly by your side, and ensure you never suffer hunger or cold. I’ll hunt for you and adorn you in the most luxurious furs.”

Under the weight of Boris’s promises and the unsettling picture he painted, Daenera struggled to find her breath. She shifted the conversation, perhaps seeking some common ground or diversion.

“Do you enjoy hunting?” Daenera asked, her voice quivering enough for her to clear her throat.

A gleam of fervor lit up Boris’s eyes as he delved into his passion. “There’s nothing quite like it, being out in the wilderness, inhaling the pure, crisp air, crossbow at the ready, navigating through dense underbrush and mud to track down prey.”

The back of her neck prickled and she felt an icy hand run down the length of her spine. The word ‘kill’ hung in the air, and Daenera’s imagination painted an unsettling picture of dried blood on her hands, lurking beneath her nails, and the haunting echo of a dying man’s gurgling on his own blood. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, lips parting to let out a breath, as the ghost of Aemond’s touch caressed her skin and coiled inside of her. She supposed that on some level, she and Boris weren’t so different.

“Hunting, fighting, fucking and drinking! That is the life!” He declared with a boisterous laugh.

Ordinarily, such indecent words might have prompted Daenera to feign shock or offense, but her unease was too palpable for pretense. She simply nodded, choosing to steer the conversation towards safer waters. “I imagine the Kingswood offers ample opportunities for pursuits.”

Despite her attempts to engage him, Boris’s towering presence remained a looming shadow over her. When he turned his gaze towards her, he might as well have been a giant. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he grinned, though his brows furrowed with genuine interest. “Do you partake in hunting, Princess?”

“No,” she replied. “When I find myself in the forest, my attention is mostly consumed by the search for plants, not in tracking animals, I’m afraid.”

Boris responded with a humorless hum, a sound reminiscent of steel grating against stone. “Hunting is not a pursuit suited for faint heart of women.”

Daenera pursued her lips, a glint of defiance in her eyes. “And what, pray, are suitable activities for women, then?”

His response was laced with a certain but not uncommon condescension. “A woman’s domain lies in tending to her husband and children, ensuring the smooth running of the household. I imagine these duties will keep you occupied. Should you ever find yourself yearning for more, I wouldn’t object to your company on one of my hunts.”

“I thought women weren’t suited for hunting,” Daenera drawled, forcing a playfulness in her tone.

Boris chuckled. “I would make an exception for you, my dear.”

How gracious, she thought, drawing her eyes from her soon-to-be-husband to the gravel path in front of her.

Daenera acknowledged, deep within, that she wasn’t being entirely fair to him. After all, he had merely articulated the societal expectations of her gender. Nevertheless, an irksome sensation of irritation continued to gnaw at her. As a princess, she had been granted more freedom than most women of her time, and now, within the confines of an impending marriage, she felt the metaphorical manacles of marriage pinching and chafing her skin.

The question loomed within her, an unspoken wonder. Was this the sensation her mother had experienced when marrying Laenor? Or did she find solace in knowing that they had both been thrust into the union against their wills? They had made the marriage a partnership.

“Would you like that? To join me on a hunting trip.”

Daenera smiled stiffly. “Yes.”

No , she thought, the bitterness of her internal response simmering beneath her skin.

Neither of them could realistically expect to fully comprehend each other through a single conversation. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Boris than she initially thought. This was the path she had always been destined to tread. It wasn’t a choice, but an unshakable duty. Daenera resigned herself to become a dutiful wife, as was expected of her, but she was also determined to define some of the terms for herself.

Yet, as she mulled over these thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel the metaphorical cage door of marriage slowly closing behind her.

#aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #A Vow of Blood

21 notes · View notes

splendeurcaisse · 2 months

Text

#covereveal #virtuous vows #t.l. smith #kia carrington-russell

0 notes

tastywordgasms · 3 months

Text

👑🖤𝓒𝓞𝓥𝓔𝓡 𝓡𝓔𝓥𝓔𝓐𝓛🖤👑 Virtuous Vows by @authortlsmith and @kiacarringtonrussellauthor 𝖎𝖘 𝓡𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 March 1st! 𝓟𝖗𝖊𝓞𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝔀 𝖆𝓿𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊!! @tlsmith1313 @kiacarringtonrussell/

Title: Virtuous Vows Author: T.L. Smith & Kia Carrington-Russell Genre: Dark Romance Tropes: Opposites Attract, Male Escort, Wounded Hero Release Date: March 1, 2024 Cover Design: Discreet Paperback – Hang Le eBook – RBA Design Honey I was destined to marry another man when I first met Dawson. He was charming, deadly, and everything my father hated. And I lived by my father’s rule,…

View On WordPress

#Kia Carrington-Russell #T.L. Smith #Virtuous Vows

0 notes

arianeoftheglade · 7 months

Text

Alphinaud: Ahh... few things compare to the simple pleasure of sitting beside a crackling campfire of one's own making. Estinien: Hah! So speaks the "great explorerer." Until recently, you wouldn't have recognized firewood if it came with kindling and a flint. Alphinaud: 'Tis well you instructed me so patiently, then! But yes, left to my own devices, I would have been compelled to signal to Ysayle with a pile of damp leaves. I was born the pampered son of a Sharlayan dignitary, and, alongside my twin, became the youngest student ever to be accepted into the Studium. How proud I was to match wits with scholars and philosophers... How ignorant of mine own shortcomings... That hubris invited manipulation and betrayal... and led to the downfall of the Scions.

Ysayle: We all of us are guilty of similar ignorance. How many men lay down their lives, never knowing what it is they fight for? Never questioning that which they have been taught to believe? 'Twas only upon meeting Hraesvelgr that I learned the truth hidden within our history. Were it not for that chance encounter, I would never have vowed to tear down the Holy See, and expunge the falsehoods with which it fans the flames of conflict. I would have lived and died in ignorance. That the truth has driven me to do terrible things, I cannot deny, but I would rather sin in the pursuit of peace than imagine myself virtuous for perpetuating a needless war. Alphinaud: If this journey has taught me anything, it is the importance--and difficulty--of holding to one's convictions in the face of failure… of striving always to replace one's ignorance with knowledge. Estinien: You are well on your way, Master Alphinaud. At your age, I was but a fool swinging a spear, with scarcely a thought in my head. Even now, I struggle to acknowledge the misconceptions under which I have labored.

Waiting for the Wind to Change

#waiting for the wind to change #heavensward #ffxiv #alphinaud leveilleur #ysayle dangoulain #estinien varlineau

25 notes · View notes

hanasnx · 1 year

Note

That ask about Vader got me thinking... n my mind started wandering abt where we (y/n) would stand once Anakin becomes Vaded. Like this man lost Padme he'd be a wreck!! But imagine he finds some princess on a planet to take all for himself n we have no choice but to comply bec Vader himself came n the relationship seems like ur average friends with benefits bec Vader Anakin seems so emotionally gone that all he uses us is for a stress relief and keeps us satisfied by showering us in the most expensive of gifts bec you can tell me this man doesn't have it! But over time it's not enough bec I'm sure everyone and their grandmother's heard about what happened to Padme n everyone knew about Anakin and hers relationship so I feel like it's a subject Vader Anakin would avoid until suddenly his mistress is confronting him about it.. like we want to know Ani, not Anakin Skywalker or Vader.. but Anakin himself. Vader probably wouldn't even know what to say bec he left Anakin behind on mustafar a long time ago.. I can only imagine that conversation😩

I am so sorry for rambling about this but I had to share bec this man is infecting my mind🥺

☥ the way i imagine him staying at the palace- invited by your parents to nurture good connections with the empire after they’d been investigated for fraternizing with the rebel alliance. something happens that prevents him from returning to his ship and he must stay at this estate. he takes the opportunity to investigate further into the dealings of this ruler

☥ you, good natured and kindhearted, would be encouraged to show your respect for the enforcer of the galaxy. you take quite the shining to him, suddenly youre finding excuses to be near him. its like his silence presents a challenge to you, and you want to be on his good side with the occasional joke. you feel pride when he grants you a side glance through his mask.

you rejoice when he experiments with a dry joke back.

☥ inexplicably, he feels compelled to stay. turns down a replacement ship being sent to pick him up in order to return to the mother vessel. he says its because he needs to investigate further. somethings not right here.

in truth, it’s because he looks forward to your visits. you ask him to come walk with you in the gardens. you bring him trinkets and little gifts that made you think of him. occasionally you flirt (as innocently as possible). at one point he flirts back without thinking, and you playfully hit his arm “lord vader!” you scold with a curl to your lips

☥ he’d threaten your parents with charging treason unless they agreed to give you up. “i’d look the other way to the obvious signs of your treachery should you agree to my terms.”

you would not be happy about being taken from your home.

☥ he’d shower you with gifts that you would pretend not to care for. however your heart sings when one gift resembles something you’d described to him on one of your morning walks in the garden.

☥ you’d shake your head at the note he left with a gorgeous dress that read “i expect to see you in this tonight.”

☥ the way he would be able to sense your desire because he’d purposefully tap into it. like the pervert he is he longs to know how your body reacts to his presence, and he’s pleased with what he discovers.

“it’s a shame i’ve vowed to loathe you for all eternity.”

“a great shame it is, my dear. however your scent suggests otherwise.”

“and what is that, my lord?” you ask tauntingly

his next word is spoken barely above a whisper, “desperation.”

☥ because not only are you neglected as is (if not completely virtuous) you have such an undeniable crush on the dark lord. he stirs something deep within you, and you ache to hear him speak to you in that soothing voice. a tone that conveys need for you. you dream about his weight in your bed, his warmth, his length…

☥ you wonder what he looks like underneath his suit. if he’s a cyborg. or completely robotic. it was said there was a general once that was completely droid with flesh parts stuffed inside. perhaps this vader was the same

☥ the fwb thing would just happen naturally. it’d be so hot if you asked him for help in relief once he’d pointed out how your body was calling out to him. “take care of it for me, please, my lord,”

fucigkdf IMAGINE— he’d honestly welcome the invitation. to see you part your legs for him, and have him work out your every desire all night. there’d be no sleep your first time. he forgot how much he missed sex. he’d refused to have any after what happened on mustafar

☥ now its like youre called to his side constantly. always getting you alone. using you like a little personal concubine. youd get fucked into the shape of his cock (pleasantly surprised to see he had one at all)

☥ tbh i dont see how people would know vader is anakin or that anakin and padme were involved the way they were. because it seemed like everyone that knew them died or went into hiding. if this is just part of your prompt thats fine but like imagine asking vader about his past

he would put it off and put it off, after flat out refusing you the first time. you gave up asking because he’d become so cold after you mention it, but one day he musters up the courage, and relays the story

☥ you can understand what he means when he tells you that “anakin skywalker” is not who stands before you today. it’d give you a lot to think about but, would you even care? if you met him as vader, knew him as vader, got close to him as vader and knew of the things he’s capable of… would anakin skywalker hold any meaning to you?? i wonder..

☥ i love talking about darth vader smut im loving this vader attention <3

#kentovana #thanks for the msg!!#indy shoots the shit #darth vader x reader #darth vader smut #x y/n #x f!reader #princess!reader #dv

153 notes · View notes