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stvolanis · 3 months

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summer lovin’

PAIRINGS: JJ Maybank x priests daughter!OC

WARNINGS: foul language, religious imagery, unestablished relationship, JJ being JJ, mentions of marriage

NSFW WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, slight degradation, praise, pet names, biting, marking, overall cutesy sex

The heat was getting to JJ Maybank in more ways than one.

It started when his friend, who’s name he had no interest in remembering at a bonfire he attended with the rest of his friends, bet that he wouldn’t be able to fuck the priests daughter. Poor JJ didn’t even know who in the hell she was.

She was homeschooled, didn’t go to any parties and was rarely seen in town; having had all her food necessities at her little home-grown farm she lived on somewhere on figure eight. The only place people seen the jewel was every Sunday and Wednesday, bright and early, attending the local church’s 8AM service.

Now, jj by no means was a church man, but when this bet was laid upon him, best believe he was there bright and early in his best button up shirt, that just so happened to be his only button up shirt. His pants, perfectly starched to a crisp, and a cross pendant hung off of his necklace. The whole get-up, all for the priests daughter.

He was taken aback when he seen her for the first time. She was so different. Different form any of the other women he had ever met or seen on TV.

She was a small little thing. Dark brown hair braided with small pink ribbons on the end, and wispy bangs framed her porcelain-like face. Her eyes were a bright green, and if you were lucky, you’d be able to see them when they weren’t staring at her feet as if they were the most entertaining things she’d ever seen.

Her skin was pale, yet her face was scattered with disoriented freckles, almost from head to toe. Freckles covered her forehead to her nose, to her cheeks, down her neck and onto her shoulders that were revealed by her flowy sundress.

She followed her father around the busy church like a lost puppy, who had her mother hanging off of his arm like a proud trophy. Laylah, the priests daughter JJ was now so infatuated with, only spoken when she was spoken to, and hid behind her family like the plague was near and out to get her.

He noticed that she played with the flowery rings on her finger when she was nervous, or when she grew bored from her parents talking to random, faceless people for too long. He’d watch Laylah tap her feet on the wood tile beneath her, creating a sense of beat before her father lightheartedly scolded her for being too loud, to which she’d mutter a small apology.

Laylah’s mother, who’s name was Christine, just so happened to be a part of Popes moms’ book club. JJ heard Mrs.Heyward call her christy when they’d laugh over tea, showing a sign of some familiarity. JJ was sure to intervene in Mrs.Heywards book club, much to Popes annoyance as he knew what was going on, with this new found knowledge if it meant getting closer to Laylah.

Laylah, on the other hand, had heard tales of JJ Maybank. All of them filled with vile rumors, yet nothing could have prepared her for the man that stood across the room so confidently.

His skin was tanned, probably from all the surfing he did when the waves were just right. She wondered if every man from the cut was as pretty as him. She shook her head from the thought with a blush coating her cheeks.

His hair was blonde, and messily grown out—yet it suited him. A strand fell onto his forehead, and her hand itched to reach up and fix it, but she knew she couldn’t. She’d never hear the end of it from either of her parents.

“That boy is such trouble, nowadays.” Her mother, Christine, would say at the dinner table. “Yknow, I heard he was caught stealing from the fish-mart, Isn’t that absurd?” She’d gossip to her husband, who nodded his head absent mindedly as he stared at his news paper. Laylah would just roll her green eyes.

JJ wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was being eye fucked, so it was no surprise when that cocky smirk of his pulled at his lips when he caught her red handed eyeing him from head to toe.

He was aware of the female attention. Used to it, even—as cocky as it sounded. A quick fuck was all they ever were to him, and that’s all they’d ever stay. No one had ever come close to catching his interest, and JJ wanted to keep it that way, but you were making it so unbelievably hard for him.

He knew he’d have to settle down one day, but he had always dreaded the idea. Surprisingly enough, not because he’d have to be loyal, but because of the sheer commitment. He’d make a lousy, controlling, jealousy and possessive boyfriend…imagine how’d he’d be if he became someone’s fucking husband.

Laylah was different from the women who he was used to having one night stands with, and he he could tell this without even having to approach her.

She was sweet, pretty, quiet, innocent and obedient—but obedient in a way where he felt like she bit back her tongue a lot. Like she had a lot on her mind, but her voice was too weak to be heard. She was always expected to listen and do her school work at home, and do the chores her father assigned, but she longed to be a teenager.

She longed to go out and have fun, meet people and actually have friends. JJ knew she’d love the rest of the pogues, and she’d fit in just right. Laylah wanted to party, and maybe even drink. Maybe even meet a boy or a girl who peaked her interest—but she knew she never could. She laughed at the idea in her head. How silly of her to think such things?

This was her life. Being the priests quiet, obedient daughter.

JJ was like a breath of fresh air, as she was to him, too. They lived two completely different lives in two completely different worlds that finally decided to collide on the outskirts of a warn-down church.

When he watched her walk outside, he knew he’d be stupid not to follow suit.

She sat on the steps of walk way leading up to the church, and he watched like a creep as she pulled out a bubble-gun lollipop from her bag and stuff it into her mouth with a sigh. JJ smiled before making himself known by taking a seat next to her.

Her mouth fell agape for a moment, like a fish out of water. She didn’t know what she should say, or what she should do. Maybe she should run back inside, or run for the hills? No, that couldn’t be right. This wasn’t right. But it felt like it was.

“You’re a cute little thing, aren’t ya?” He chuckled out, fishing out one of his joints from his back pocket. She gawked as she watched him light it, bringing it to his mouth and taking an easy puff right outside the steps of Gods house.

“I-I’m not supposed to talk to you.” She admitted, looking down at the lollipop that embarrassing had fallen out of her mouth when she was gawking at him. He smiled, almost knowingly. “Whys that?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

“You’re a bad man, JJ. That’s what my momma said.” Laylah spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. JJ grabbed his shirt covered chest, feigning pain. “Ouch. Broke my cold heart, baby.” He said, smiling when he saw a ghost of a smile paint her pretty lips.

“You don’t seem bad.” She said after a while of silence, glancing over at him. He shook his head. “I’m the worst.” He admitted, though lightheartedly. She hummed in acknowledgement. “I think I’ll decide that for myself, mister.”

JJ smiled.

From that point on JJ Maybank was completely enraptured with the small girl.

He made sure to come to church every Sunday bright and early just to be able to see her, and when no one was looking, the two of them would sneak out and talk till the service was over and she had to leave with her parents.

She learned that the rumors of JJ being a thief were half-heartedly true. He admitted that he had stolen a few things here and there, but only when he really needed to. He trusted you enough to know about his troubles at home, and how stealing was the only way to make sure he was able to live comfortably.

Of course, it upset her. She hated that he had to go through what he did, and she knew he deserved better than what life had dealt him. She was glad he didn’t try to sugar coat it like everyone else seemed to when they spoke to her. Everyone treated Laylah like she was a child, and she just had to take it.

But JJ—he made her feel like a woman.

He listened to her when no one else cared to, and he comforted her in his own odd way with understanding. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, he listened to ever honey-covered word that slipped past her plump lips like they were law. He clung to every sentence, and every laugh.

He wanted to know how many more laughs she had. Besides her usual giggle, he wanted to count them all. He wanted to know what made her upset, and what kept her up at night. He wanted to scare every bad thing away. Chase away her worries and woes, just to see that smile he grew to adore so much.

What was once a bet was turning into so much more, and JJ didn’t know how to feel about it. He wasn’t used to the feeling of caring for someone ever since his mom. He didn’t want to hurt her, like he seemed to hurt everyone else. She was delicate and sensitive, and like Christine said, he was a bad man. No good for a girl like Laylah Moore.

Fear consumed JJ at one point when he caught himself daydreaming about a life he didn’t know he’d enjoy while in the middle of class.

The thought of coming home to Laylah after a hard day. The house smelling of his favorite food, roasting warm in the oven. She’d turn around with a sweet smile one her face, kissing all over him while letting out little “I missed yous” and “how was work?”. He could picture himself wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as they swayed together, a slow song playing in the background.

He shook himself from the thought with furrowed brows. it was unfair. All of it. He knew she would never be able to be with a man like him—and it was a thought he’d have to shake out of his head.

But till you realized that, he’d have her in every way he could.

So there the both of them were, sat snug on Laylah’s pink sheets. Her legs were spread and trembling as JJs fingers slipped past the band of her underwear, working at her sensitive bud. His fingers teased at her entrance as her hand gripped on to his upper arm; nails digging into his muscle when he entered her knuckles deep.

Her mouth hung agape as wayward moans fell from her lips that were swollen from JJs relentless attacks on them. “Shh, honey. Know it feels good, but y’gotta be quiet, mama.” He cooed as he curled his finger, making her walls clamp around his fingers.

“Don’t want your daddy to find out that his daughters a whore for pogue dick, hm?” He mocked, his free hand coming up to wrap around the base of your throat tightly. Laylah whimpered, biting down on her lips to suppress her moans.

“Can I stuff this pretty pussy, baby? Hm? Want my cock to fill you up?” He asked, his breath leveled with your ear. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her head way thrown back onto his shoulder as she felt her end near. “S’wrong, JJ! have to wait f’marriage.” She slurred.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Gonna marry you anyway, pretty baby.” He said, not realizing what he said till Laylah’s doe eyes peered up at him. “Really, JJ?” She asked with hopeful eyes.

Fuck. How could he say no now?

“Course, s’long as you let me use this cunt whenever I want.” He replied, kissing the side of her cheek sloppily. Her bottom lip sat snug between her teeth, deep in thought. JJs fingers had long slipped away from her pussy, and his fingers that were still coated in her slick tenderly rubbed at her thighs.

“S’gonna hurt. That’s what my friend told me.” She muttered, doubts creased into a frown. JJ rolled his eyes. “Just gonna hurt for a second. It’ll feel good right after, promise.” He reassured. God he wanted to beat up the stupid friend who told her that. Making his life harder than it needed to be.

“Pinky promise, JJ?” She asked, holding out her manicured pinky. His interlocked with hers, and in a flash, JJs cock was aligned with her entrance—her juices spilling over and acting as a lubricant as he slid his cock between her folds.

His chest swelled with pride as he watched the way her eyes never left his cock, almost frightened. “Too big, JJ. S’not gonna fit.” She said, shaking her head back and forth. “I’ll fuckin’ make it fit.” He huffed out.

His fat tip prodded at Laylah’s entrance, teasingly almost before he plunged his cock inside of her with one harsh thrust. Her eyes widened and tears pricked her eyes as the stinging pain in her lower region began to become too much. It felt like she was being torn in half. “Take it out, JJ! Hurts too bad!” She cried out.

He wiped the tears from her eyes, kissing her trembling lips. “I know, shh, I know. Just give it a second, yeah? It’s okay, baby. I got you.” He whispered, kissing anywhere his lips could reach to distract her from the pain. She clung onto him; her nails digging into his back. A trophy he’d later wear when he goes out surfing with his friends.

His cock sat inside of her, and she could feel the twitch of his cock, and the way he pulsed inside of her. God, it took him everything in him to not start fucking her into oblivion. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it, and he didn’t want to further hurt her.

So, he waited. And as soon as she breathed out a small whimper that sounded more of pleasure than pain, he slowly began to rock his hips into her. “See? S’not that bad, pretty baby.” He grunted out, throwing her legs over his shoulders and wrapping his arms around her thighs tightly.

Her mind felt fuzzy with bliss as his tip kissed her cervix. Her hand reached to cup the side of JJs cheek, and he froze for just a moment. Her touch was tender, and so fucking full of love. The love he craved but was to afraid to accept. But he’d accept it for her. He’d do anything for her.

He melted into her touch, and his lips crashed down onto hers as he began to pick up his pace again. Their lips molded together perfectly, and nothing could prepare JJ for the words that slipped past her lips next. “I love you.” She said, but it was barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate with his response. “I love you too.” He said, digging his face into the crook of her neck, planting a soft kiss. Laylah’s hands tangled in his hair as her legs wrapped around his waist, securing his position inside of her as she felt her stomach tighten.

“I feel weird, JJ.” She moaned, her head lulled to the side as he smothered her neck with kisses, and laid fresh hickies on her breasts. “Just let it go, baby. Squirt f’me. Know you can, baby, give it to me.” He moaned out against her, his thumb traveling down to play with her clit.

“O-Oh God!” She moaned out, the grip she had on his hair slightly tightening, almost painfully, but JJ didn’t care. He rather enjoyed it. “Not God, sweetheart. Me. Say it. Say my fuckin’ name.” He urged, biting down on her nipple painfully.

“JJ!” She moaned out again and again like it was a prayer, but was muffled by his hand clasping around her mouth to quiet her noises. She was wrapped so tightly around him, and he just barely managed to pull out when he reached his peak.

JJ’s cum painted across Laylah’s lower stomach, almost beautifully against her pale skin. Her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as she watched JJ jerk himself off a few more times, his cock releasing a few more drops from his mushroom tip.

He looked so pretty like this. Mouth hung open as he panted, and the small mound of blonde hair that sat atop his cock was drenched in her fluids. His hair matted to his forehead from sweat, and that boyish smile dancing on his face as he moved the hair out of her face.

It felt right now. Laylah was no longer ashamed of her feelings, nor was she afraid of what figure eight would say when she would bring JJ along with her as a personal plus one at an important meeting of her mothers.

Before, she was living, yet she never really felt alive. She drug herself out day by day, like an endless cycle of disparity and orders. She hated getting out of bed, as there was never anything for her to look forward to throughout the day. Nothing to keep her going. She was just there.

And as she laid on top of his chest, tracing stars over the muscle of his arm, she felt content. she felt happy. She felt free. And most of all, she felt alive.

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funnuraba · 26 days

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Rating the recurring LMM theme of "absent father who leaves you in the care of one or more insensitive aged crones, but it's not actually his fault so don't be mad at him" (I know this was common practice at the time)

5. Emily Starr's dad: Has the perfect excuse in that he died. Only here on a technicality. The only thing he did wrong was be friends with Dean Priest. No punishment

4. Stephen Irving: Picked a decent caretaker at least, but definitely wasn't planning on coming back until he found out his old flame was still single. Verdict: Severe side eye

3. Reverend Meredith: "Didn't notice" his housekeeper was neglecting his children and feeding them rat sandwiches or whatever--my brother in Christ, you lived in the same house. Unforgivable lack of action, but he's been lowered one rank because on this reread, I think he might actually have a neurological condition where he can't focus on his children unless they're actively dying in front of his eyes. Also no other responsible adult in the town did shit either. Verdict: Adderall followed by an observation period

2. Little Elizabeth's father: Forgot she existed until the age of ten. "Didn't know" anything about her living conditions because he didn't write to her or seemingly anyone else. Verdict: death

1. Ilse Burnley's dad who hated and neglected her from infancy because he ASSUMED her mother ran off with another man, then suddenly he loves her again when he finds out that didn't happen. Verdict: dude we are killing you with pitchforks

#anne of green gables #emily of new moon

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 9 months

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Saints Are Sinners Too

Summary: Y/N has some confessing to do.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut - this is just all smut. Pretty much zero plot to this porn. Blowjob, face fucking, deep throating, rough fingering, spanking (very minor).

** This fic is about Priest!dean and Nun!reader. They're undercover, and not actual members of the clergy. Nevertheless, it's probably obvious that there is a LOT of sacrilegious imagery, dialogue and situations in this one. So, be warned. **

Pairings: Priest!Dean Winchester x Nun!reader

Word Count: 1,427

A/N: This fic came about as a response to this post, and this post. It will also be used to fill my first square on my @jacklesversebingo card. The square I will be filling is "Does it turn you on that we might get caught?" The quote will be bolded in the fic. Hope you all enjoy my smutty offering.

Gotta go confess now. 😁

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89. Title card above and gif below were created by me.

“Forgive Me Father, I’m about to sin.”

“Y/N?” Dean’s surprised whisper came through the thin wall that separated the priest from the petitioner.

“Nope, I’m just a sinner here in need of forgiveness.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked.

Seconds later, Y/N opened the door to his side of the confessional and walked into the incredibly small, crowded space.

He frowned up at her as she shut the door behind her, dimming the light inside the tiny box once again. “You’re supposed to be searching the rectory for the bone of a saint. And I can’t very well get confessions of evil out of our would-be suspects if you’re in here with me.”

Y/N pulled a little bag out of a hidden pocket within her borrowed nun’s habit. Inside the bag was a small white bone. “Got it already.” She said, turning mischievous eyes on him. “What about you? Heard any sinful confessions?”

Dean shook his head. “No, just a couple old ladies confessing to cheating at bingo, and getting drunk on church wine.”

Y/N snickered and then sank to her knees between Dean’s open legs, biting her lip as she reached out and pushed aside his black jacket before popping open the button on his pants. Dean’s expression was equal parts lust and worry. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Confessing my sins, Father.”

“Y/N, we can’t do this here, they’ll - “ Dean’s words trailed off into a moan as Y/N pulled down his zipper and stuck her hand inside to grip him through his underwear..

“Shh.” Y/N admonished. “Gotta keep quiet or they’ll hear you.”

“Y/N.” Dean tried again, but she pulled his briefs down far enough to let his hardening cock spring free, and he bit into his lush bottom lip to stifle another groan.

“Don’t you wanna hear my confession?” Y/N asked, her voice and expression all innocence.

Dean nodded absently, all his attention focused on not yelling out loud as she sucked one of his balls into her mouth and rolled it around on her tongue. She gave the same attention to the other one before licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

Dean’s hard fingers were dug deep into the padded bench he was sitting on, and the veins in his neck bulged as he strained to stay quiet.

“My confession, Father, is that I’ve been lusting after you all day. Since the second I walked into the motel room this morning and saw you dressed like this, all I’ve been able to think about was this moment. All I’ve wanted is to get on my knees and show you heaven.”

With that she took him all the way down her throat, swallowing him in one go. Dean sank his hand into her hair and yanked it. “Fuck, Y/N, fuck.” He whispered, strained and desperate.

Y/N came off of him, breathing hard, cum and spit running down her chin. She used her mouth to spread it up and down his dick before taking him in her hand, squeezing tight and pumping him hard. She watched his jaw clench, as he breathed harshly through his teeth, and she felt her panties flood.

Her voice was thick as she reached under the black skirts she wore and rubbed herself over the damp cotton. “Does it turn you on that we might get caught? Hmm?” She asked as she kitten-licked the angry, purplish head of his straining cock. “Is it making you hard to know there’s only a thin door keeping us from being seen? That any minute someone could walk into the booth and see us through that partition.”

She nodded up at the open wicker grating that allowed light to seep in from the other side of the confessional. With jerky movements, Dean reached over to yank closed the tiny curtain that covered the window.

Y/N chuckled darkly. “That’s not gonna help much.” She said, gently squeezing his balls and making another harsh and entirely too loud moan leak out of Dean’s beautiful lips.

“Please Y/N, goddamn.” He mumbled nonsensically, sweat dotting his forehead as Y/N pushed down on him again, taking him completely, but gagging a bit this time. “Fuck.” Dean cried out hoarsely as he took her head between his hands. She looked up at him from where she was sunk onto his cock, and saw the desperate question for her in his eyes.

“Mmhmmm.” She answered around him, knowing what he was asking, her mouth watering in anticipation.

Gripping her head tightly, he pulled her back, so she only kept the tip of him between her lips. Then he hammered his hips forward, fucking her face hard and deep. Over and over he hit the back of her throat raising a gluck, gluck sound as she choked around him. He pulled out of her mouth completely and she pulled harsh breaths into her abused throat.

They weren’t being very quiet anymore, but she couldn’t care. She hoped the booth was far enough away, and the soft organ music playing over the church speakers would drown them out at least a little. But she was too far gone to stop, whatever the consequences.

She continued to work her clit as Dean began ravaging her face once again. When he pushed deep down her throat, she slipped two fingers inside herself and stared up at him, rapturously. His broad, powerful chest was heaving as he fought off his climax. His lips formed an O and he pushed air between them harshly, desperately trying to control himself.

Finally, he pushed on the back of her head so that she was smashed tight against him, every inch of his thick cock filled her mouth and stretched her esophagus. Then his face contorted and he was spilling down her throat, fast and hot. She swallowed around his cock, trying to gulp it all down, but she couldn’t and as he pushed her off of him so she could breathe again, she coughed hard, spit and cum spilling down her chin and onto the habit she wore. Still breathing harshly, Dean grabbed her upper arms and wrenched her up off the floor. Barely managing it in the tiny space, he swapped places with her so that she was now standing in front of the bench.

Rather than sitting her down on it, however, Dean spun her around so she faced the back wall of the confessional and pushed against her back, forcing her to bend over. Seconds later he had her black skirts rucked up around her waist and her panties down around her ankles. Y/N just barely managed to stifle a shrill scream of pleasure as he sank two fingers deep into her cunt. He fucked her hard with them, pulling out of her only once to give two loud and stinging slaps to her bare ass.

She moaned deep, long past caring about being found out as he buried his fingers, three of them this time, back into her slick and throbbing pussy. He was knuckle deep and then he pulled out and shoved them back inside again, rocketing his fingers into her body hard enough that the little box surrounding them shook slightly.

He knew she was incredibly close; all he had to do was press his fingers against the secret sweet spot he knew how to find every time. He pressed there and Y/N gulped air into her lungs for a scream, but he took his free hand and clamped it over her mouth just in time. Her slick cunt clenched powerfully around his fingers at the same time that she bit into the palm of his hand in an attempt to lessen the noise of her climax. Dean gritted his teeth as he buried his face in the side of her neck.

Her body shuddered and shook as her high ebbed away. Dean pulled his hand out of her body, dropping her skirts back down and pulling his pants back up, before shifting them both slightly so that she was sitting in his lap. They put their foreheads together and shared breath as they tried to stop their hearts from hammering.

Dean smiled at her and licked his lips. “Well, son of a bitch, sweetheart - you’re absolved.” Y/N snorted and grinned at the dubious pardoning. Dean frowned quizzically and looked around the itty bitty wooden box.

“Now, do you know a back way out of this place?”

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester smut #priest!dean

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months

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The Temptation Chapter 5

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants. So why does this fallen angel tempt him so? You cannot serve two masters. Will he choose God, or his heart? A short one! Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Bucky was not the same after that night. He went through the motions of his priesthood jobs, but his heart was no longer in it. He was still calm and friendly, but the light in his eyes had disappeared when she walked away. It had been four weeks when Father Richards pulled him aside one day for counsel.

“Father Barnes, you have not been yourself as of late,” he started, folding his hands in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Father. I’ve just been feeling a bit…off,” Bucky hung his head in shame.

“Hm,” Father Richards tapped his fingers on his other hand. “Would this have anything to do with Miss Y/L/N in your room a few weeks back?”

Bucky’s head lifted, his eyes wide as he stared at Father Richards. “I…”

Father Richards gave him a soft smile. “Yes, I know. I was coming to talk to you about the plans for the donation from Constance Y/L/N when I saw her enter your room.”

Bucky’s lips tightened as his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Father. I have no excuse for my actions. If it’s any consolation, nothing too…scandalous happened.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, at least not to me,” Richards said. Bucky gave him a wary look. “I’m going to tell you something in confidence because I feel like I can trust you. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors of some priests living more worldly lives outside of their priesthood?” Bucky nodded. “I happen to be one of them. You know how I take a few specific days off during the month and certain weekends off altogether?” Bucky blinked. “Those are the days I go home to my wife and children.”

“Your wife? Children? Plural??” Bucky scoffed. “How? You’ve…”

“Made promises? Covenants? Yes yes,” Richards waved away his concerns. “I also met a woman 27 years ago that I couldn’t live without. She’s not my wife in any legal terms, unfortunately, so I could keep this job as senior priest. But she’s my wife in every other sense of the word. And she and my boys are the lights of my life,” he smiled adoringly. “Johnny just finished college, and Ben just got married to his husband a few weeks ago. They’re working on adopting.” Bucky’s mouth was hanging open comically as he stared at Father Richards. “I understand what it means to love someone and love them so deeply that you feel like you would reject all this,” he gestured to the church around him, “for them. I almost did. And to be honest, I should have. Because it makes me a subpar and dishonest priest to my congregation, and a near absent husband and father to my family. You can’t have both. Now if you choose to stay, then I applaud you for your devotion to God and His church. If you choose to leave and live a life outside of the church, I won’t judge you and will commend your bravery. But I would caution you to be prepared for the inner death you will feel no matter what you choose. It’s up to you to decide which death you will be willing or able to overcome.”

Bucky nodded. He sat there as Father Richards waited for him. Bucky thought through his life. He’d basically been raised to be a good Catholic, being an altar boy and singing in the choirs, going to Catholic school then Seminary. He had had a choice to live a normal life or go to Seminary, and he’d chosen the church because it seemed safe and easy. His parents had been proud of him. He’d been a good student and had risen through the ranks of stewardship and learning quickly to become a priest. He hadn’t realized that the other option could have brought him joy. The church had been his life, so how could he know any different?

Then a fallen angel had stumbled into that life and disrupted everything he knew to be true. She made him question himself, the church, his knowledge of scripture and God, and showed him the joy and light found outside of it. And the one night, the few moments he’d had with her, had made him realize he’d gladly drop it all if it meant being with her.

Bucky gave Father Richards a sad smile as his epiphany shown brightly on his face. “I choose her.”

Father Richards nodded solemnly.

The next chapter is the last one!!

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #smut #priest!bucky barnes x reader #priest!bucky barnes #chapter 5 #curvy reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader

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thatsmybook · 1 month

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The Fleabag/Young Royals reference of the emotionally unavailable father in Young Royals and Fleabag. Fleabag and Young Royals spoilers ahead.

After hearing Linnéa talk about how Ludvik the Duke is a man of his generation who doesn't talk about feelings, made me think about Fleabag and Clare’s father in Fleabag. Also a man of his generation. Stunted in his emotional engagement with his kids, even though he loves them. There were some painful scenes where Fleabag really tried to reach her father, and he was just cruelly absent or dismissive of her strong emotions and 'dark side'.

Linnéa talks about how Wille and Ludvik talk past each other in their phone conversation about Erik. How the Duke thinks he's having a good conversation with Wille, but Wille is crying on the other side, sarcastically talking about a perfect Erik.

Other Fleabag references: main one is the fourth wall breaks that have such heavy meaning, especially in Fleabag season 2. She is constantly performing for us the audience. Wille is constantly being watched by the public.

The end scene where she looks at the camera and non-verbally tells us not to follow her - she'll be okay now. WIille does the same with his final look to camera.

The time that she deliberately pushes the camera away as she's finally having an intimate moment with the priest that she doesn't want us to witness. When Wille closes the curtains in Season 2, and we don't get to see anymore of his and Simon's intimate scene.

The second one is Sara telling August, "It'll pass" when he says that he loves her and can't accept that she won't take him back. Just as the priest says to Fleabag.

And third, not a reference but a casting: August's step dad and lawyer is the same actor in Season 2 of Fleabag who was Claire's (Fleabag's sister's), love interest and was also called Clare!

#Young Royals writers loved Fleabag #Fleabag had me crying nearly as much as YR #The grief in Fleabag is so big #young royals spoilers #fleabag spoilers #young royals

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

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🚨 Sex that sent me to the ER

A little fun ends in need of medical assistance.

Requested by williewildkat on AO3

I'm slowly recovering from my writer's block and it may be apparent that I haven't had much practice lately. This is basically some steamy action followed by accidentally hurt reader and very guilty Paul.

Written for the NSFT emoji challenge

NSFT /18+ GET LOST CHILDREN

tw: accidental injury, likely inacurate descriptions of a dislocated shoulder

“How exactly did this happen?” asked Sarah Gunning, her gaze rather scrutinising.

“Um,” you said awkwardly, absent-mindendly rubbing at your sore shoulder. Just a few minutes ago this same shoulder had been dislocated, and the good doctor slowly and carefully helped you pop it back into its socket. “I was taking a jog by the Uppards, a cat tripped me and I fell. The fuzzball had the audacity to even hiss at me.”

It was an absolute lie.

However, there was no way you could ever tell Sarah just what happened that made you turn up on her doorstep this day.

---

It went like it usually did. Father Paul and you were spending time in the rectory, with you exploring new writing ideas and him reading, sitting behind his desk. You were content to simply be in each other’s company, the peaceful and comfortable silence only disturbed by an occasional seagull's cry, or a quick gust of wind against the aged little house.

At one point it became slightly difficult to concentrate, however, as you felt eyes boring into you. You raised your head from your laptop to look at the tall priest, your gaze immediately caught by his smouldering dark eyes. They twinkled at you and Paul gave you a little smile before dropping his gaze back down to his book. You chuckled quietly and shook your head, returning to your work.

This happened a few more times, and before long, you began subtly giving the pastor a little show. Fingers of one hand played with your hair, twirling strands of it around your index. Then you’d scratch your knee a little, hand soon slowly moving up your thigh and pushing your skirt up a ever so slightly. Lastly, you’d arch a little, turning your head up and stretching your neck and shoulders, all the while closing your eyes and releasing quiet little relieved sounds.

Your face remained neutral, aloof even, as if all of your movements were just normal, absent-minded fidgeting. You felt Father Paul’s eyes on you the whole time, and they seemed to be leaving scorching hot marks in their wake. Teasing him like you did always brought this kind of intensity in him, and you loved seeing and feeling it.

Finally, you raised your head once more to look at your lover. His book sat open in front of him on the table, long forgotten, his chin resting on one of his hands, while the other one lay on the table, balled into a fist. The deep brown eyes were darkened with lust and red tinged Paul’s smooth cheeks.

You got up, an innocent smile on your face and very slowly made your way over to him, hips swaying subtly. “What’s wrong,” you purred, “not enjoying your book?” He didn’t reply, seemingly hypnotised by your every move. Finally you reached him and wasted no time climbing into his lap, your skirt riding higher on your thighs.. You wiggled your hips in order to get more comfortable, and delighted in the small shudder that ran through Father Paul.

Right away, you felt a quickly stiffening member underneath, and wiggled once more in order to further press it against your clothed dampening core. The priest sighed and two large hands landed on your hips, soon making them move in slow circular patterns. You rested your forehead against his and breathed against his parted lips: “Kiss me.”

And Father Paul did just that. He turned his head slightly, until he was able to capture your mouth in a soft kiss. It started chaste almost, a big contrast to the sinful movements of your hips and quiet pleasured sounds being let into the other’s mouth. Very soon though, Father Paul grew bolder, his tongue finding its way past your lips and into your mouth, tasting you like a man starved. Meanwhile, your fingers buried themselves into his dark hair, as they always did, pulling at the strands and massaging his scalp. The pastor gasped every time you tugged a little harder.

He was fully hard underneath you now, and you felt the shaft bumping into your rapidly swelling clitoris with every move, your wetness growing further and drenching your underwear. The circular movements turned into small thrusts, the soft sighs into grunts. Paul separated your mouths and put a gentle hand on your cheek, making you look into his eyes. “God… god, you’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice breathy and gruff. His thumb caressed your cheekbone. There was so much love and honesty in his eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

Once more, you leaned over to press a kiss against his lips, one, two, three. “Take me, Paul. Right here,” you pleaded, your heavy petting session making your heat quiver excitedly. Father Paul nodded, eyes slightly out of focus: “G-get up.”

You obeyed immediately, quitting your movements and bracing your hands on your lover’s shoulders, so that you could get back on your unsteady feet. He stood up as well and moved behind you, pressing your back against his chest, hips grinding against your own, erection dragging over the curves of your bum.

One of his hands travelled to your neck, moving your hair to the side so he could begin mouthing at the soft tender skin there. The other hand creeped over your hip and towards your front until it reached your thigh. Slowly the hand moved upwards and under your skirt, curious fingers sliding smoothly against your inner leg, closer and closer to where you wanted them the most. You released a shaky exhale, when two digits rubbed along your clothed nether lips, the fabric of your underwear drenched with your arousal now.

Father Paul grabbed your chin gently and turned your face to the side, right as his other hand slipped into your knickers, and he pressed a single finger against your swollen nub. Your mouth opened in a gasp and the priest immediately seized the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. He started rubbing your sex in the earnest, rewarded by quiet little grunts and moans vibrating against his lips.

A finger pushed within you and Paul groaned at the wet heat fluttering against it, hungry for way more. His other hand found the hem of your blouse and began pawing at it, prompting you to raise your arms so he could pull the garment of your body. You sighed happily once the blouse was off and cool air hit your heated body. Your hands free, you placed one of them against his own, the one that was contently fingering you. The other hand travelled behind you and slipped between the tight fit of your bodies, immediately finding the hard clothed cock and rubbing it teasingly.

Father Paul, who was currently fondling your left nipple with his free hand, released a little moan and his mouth separated from your own. To your slight disappointment, the hand on your breasts disappeared, but you soon found out why. The hand blindly started pushing things on the desk out of the way, some books and papers even falling to the floor. Neither of you paid any mind to them.

The priest extracted himself from you and you instantly missed the warmth of his body and the feeling of his fingers on and in your core. A gentle hand pushed against the space between your shoulder blades and guided you to bend your body over the desk. You lowered your torso and shivered at the feeling of cold wood against your heated skin. A few minor adjustments later and your bum was pushed up, skirt bunching around your waist, legs parted, knickers ripped off and somewhere on the floor. Your hands gripped the edges of the desk in a vice grip.

Pressing your warm cheek against the wood, you watched Father Paul out of the corner of your eye. Two large lean hands touched your shoulders and slowly moved down, caressing your skin lovingly and moving down until they reached your arse cheeks. He got down onto his knees and spread you further, face inches from your dripping sex. His breath fluttered against your folds and you exhaled shakily.

The priest’s thumb came to pull one of your nether lips to the side and the next second his tongue was thrusting into your hungry opening, making you arch your back on the rectory desk. “P-Paul,” you whined, “Please, just… I need-” You felt him grin against you. “Okay,” he murmured, so quietly you nearly didn’t hear him over your wildly beating heart.

You heard some shuffling - a faint ‘ding’ of a belt buckle, a sound of a zipper being pulled down. You turned your head even more and saw your lover’s stiff cock in its full glory, deep red and glistening. Paul gripped its base and came forward. Your eyes closed on their own accord and a relieved moan fought its way out of your throat when you felt the first inch or two enter you. But then he stayed still.

“Paul!” you protested, barely noticing how desperate your voice sounded, “please, don’t tease me!” Father Paul bent over and you were immediately washed over with the comfort you felt every time you felt his body pressing into your own. He craned his head to connect your lips in a sweet kiss. Your eyes were closed and you wiggled, attempting to get his member further into you, but as you were trapped underneath Paul’s body weight, it was no use.

So concentrated on the kiss and the need to get finally filled, you didn’t notice the priest’s hands were moving your own behind your back, until suddenly the kiss stopped and Paul’s hips gave a hard thrust, burying his cock within you completely. The suddenes and intensity of it pushed the air out of your lungs and your entire body shuddered. Paul gripped your wrists firmly, there was no way you’d get out of his hold. Not that you minded.

Paul’s hips began snapping into yours, his movements hard and deep. Having had almost no time to adjust to Paul’s girth, the stretch burned sweetly, the slight pain mixing with pleasure soon turned you into an incoherent mess. You barely registered the scrape of teeth upon your shoulder and neck as Paul leaned over you once more, the hold on your wrists tightening ever so slightly. The coil in your stomach was already burning bright and tightening with every deep, toe-curling thrust. Your hips unconsciously moved to meet the priest’s own and your back arched every time he hit that hidden spot within you, nearly making your vision falter momentarily.

“I’m- I’m c-close,” sounded a shaky voice beside your ear, followed by a series of soft moans. You decided not to grace him with an answer. Not that you’d be even able to really answer that at the moment anyway. Your lover shifted and that hidden bundle of nerves inside you was now mercilessly pounded with each harsh snap of his hips. Your eyes rolled back and your moans turned into breathless little grunts. Two fingers then attacked your swollen throbbing clit and you were thrown over the edge, plummeting head first into the abyss of ground-shaking orgasm, your thighs trembling and bound hands trashing uselessly against Paul’s hold.

Your cheek dragged over the smooth wood of Paul’s desk and as his movements quickened and his moans grew in volume. As his rubbing of your poor lovebud hadn’t ceased, you felt your overstimulation grow and were soon thrown into yet another release, and this one was searing, scorching hot, very nearly painful. Your body screamed from the pleasure and pain, and hot tears rolled over your lashes as you writhed underneath the priest’s body. You were so overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds, the smells, you didn’t even notice the pain in your shoulder as Paul had to pull on your wrists a little to keep your arms from trashing.

Finally, a broken ‘Oh, good God’ cut through the sounds of skin on skin and deep moans, and you felt hotness spread within you. Paul groaned into your skin and slowed his thrusting, and you were able to feel each spurt of his thick cum painting your walls white, some of it soon starting to drip out of your still clenching opening.

Soon you could only hear two sets of laboured breathing and wildly beating hearts. Your wrists were released and it only now occurred to you that he managed to hold you down entirely with just a single hand ever since the other one went to rub at your clit earlier. Still high from your endorphin explosions earlier, you almost didn't register that the pain in your shoulder began lightly throbbing and your right arm felt really weird when you tried to move it.

Still buried inside you, Paul rested his entire weight against you, making you almost purr in contentment. Tiredly you put your left hand up to run your fingers through his hair and pull him to you. The angle was a little off, but you desperately needed to kiss him. Father Paul had similar ideas and soon you drank off the other’s lips, exchanging soft words and tender smiles. Paul’s hands meanwhile moved over every inch of skin he could reach from his position, caressing your sides, your hips, your shoulders-

You hissed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Paul immediately, “Did I hurt you?” His voice was full of concern. He lifted himself up slightly and began observing you for any damage he might have caused. “No, no,” you murmured, hating to hear him worried, “I probably just pulled a muscle, or something.” Deafening silence was your only answer. “Paul? Ouch!” you swore quietly when the priest touched your right shoulder. “I don’t think this is a pulled muscle, Angel…” he sounded so incredibly apologetic and ashamed, but before you could ask what happened, you cringed as he pulled his soft shaft out of you, your combined releases following it and running down your thigh.

He helped you stand and you looked at your shoulder. There was a weird bump there, and you were quick to identify this bump as the edge of your collarbone. “We need to call Sarah,” he said quickly, already scrambling for his phone which was lying among the heap of things he moved to the side earlier. “Hey, hey, stop,” you grabbed the device before he could as much as unlock it. “Calm down love,” your hand touched his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes. His own warm dark orbs looked panicked and sad, even glistening wetly.

“I hurt you,” he said hoarsely, his knuckles going white around the phone. “It was an accident,” was your quiet placating reply. You took the mobile from his hand before he'd crush it in his hold, and put it back on the desk. You captured his mouth with yours softly, before moving your lips to his eyelids, kissing the unshed tears away, your healthy hand caressing his hot cheek. “It’s just a dislocated shoulder, Paul. It can happen.” He sighed unhappily and placed his forehead on your good shoulder.

“We need to ask Sarah to come look at it, though,” he murmured against your skin, making you chuckle slightly. “That’d be hard to explain love,” you said, fingers drawing soothing patterns into the crown of his hair, “we’re both a mess and reek of sex. The entire room is. I’ll clean myself up quickly and pay her a visit, okay?”

He assisted you in his little shower, helping you wash places you couldn’t reach now that your right hand was temporarily out of business. Paul also helped you dress in one of the sets of spare clothes you kept in the rectory. Once you deemed you looked presentable enough, you made to go to the island’s doctor’s house. Paul sat on the little sofa looking somewhere off in the distance, his eyes still sad. Releasing a ‘tsk’ sound you walked until you were right in front of him. “Paul,” you said, gently.

The priest looked at you and swallowed, instantly starting to fidget with the hem of his sleeve. You placed your left hand under his chin and made him raise his head. Your lips connected. Soon his mouth relaxed against yours and he released a soft sigh. “Promise me you won’t beat yourself up over this?” you spoke quietly. Your lover chuckled humorlessly: “I can’t promise you that.” You gave a pout. “Well, at least promise me you won’t beat yourself up too much? Really, it was an accident, it could happen to anyone. I’ve known a person who dislocated their shoulder by bumping into a door frame.” He looked down for a bit before his eyes met your own once more. Paul sighed again: “I-... I’ll try…”

—

All in all, it wasn’t all that terrible. Sarah fixed you up, gave you a neat sling and some prescription painkillers. You were standing in front of the rectory not even an hour after you originally left. You pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the amazing smell of onions and garlic sauteing on the stove. You were nearly salivating by the time you spotted Father Paul. He was opening a can of diced tomatoes. “I, um, I’m making spaghetti,” you could see his eyes travelling to your sling right away.

You chuckled and came closer. “The arm’s alright,” you started, “I’ll only have the sling for a week.” He nodded his head, but looked sad still. “Paul Hill," you spoke strictly, "if you don't stop beating yourself up, I'll beat you up myself, once my arm’s fully functional again, I swear it!" Finally, finally, he quietly giggled. You gave him a gentle headbutt, then connected your mouths in a long kiss. A loud hiss brought you back to reality.

"You're burning the garlic, love."

Thank you for reading. I hope it wasn't too bad. It's been two months since I published anything at all and there are two other wips sitting in my drive giving me the stink eye. As always, you can check this work and all of my other works over on AO3. If you decide to leave a review, I'll be very happy <3

#nsft emoji #father paul smut #father paul hill #midnight mass #fanfiction #midnight mass fanfiction #reader insert #father paul x reader #father paul x you #poor paul #someone cuddle him

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istumpysk · 9 months

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OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Daario Naharis = Euron Greyjoy

[Daario Naharis and Euron Greyjoy are the same person.]

TIER:

A Joke: These theories are an absolute joke; anyone who believes them is a fool.

[Tier list overview.]

EVIDENCE:

Fine, I suppose we'll do this.

Both Daario and Euron are similarly attractive with blue eyes, beards, and smooth, fair skin.

The Tyroshi was fair where Ser Jorah was swarthy; lithe where the knight was brawny; graced with flowing locks where the other was balding, yet smooth-skinned where Mormont was hairy. [...] His beard was cut into three prongs and dyed blue, the same color as his eyes and the curly hair that fell to his collar. His pointed mustachios were painted gold. - Daenerys IV, ASOS

Euron was the most comely of Lord Quellon's sons, and three years of exile had not changed that. His hair was still black as a midnight sea, with never a whitecap to be seen, and his face was still smooth and pale beneath his neat dark beard. A black leather patch covered Euron's left eye, but his right was blue as a summer sky. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Both Daario and Euron exhibit grandiosity, mockery, and a violent, bloodthirsty, brutal, and dangerous nature.

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. "Do you take me for the Butcher King?" "Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?" - Daenerys IV, ADWD

"Just so," said Euron, "and for that sin I kill them all. I spill their blood upon the sea and sow their screaming women with my seed. Their little gods cannot stop me, so plainly they are false gods. I am more devout than even you, Aeron. Perhaps it should be you who kneels to me for blessing." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Daario commands the Stormcrows, while Euron, known as Crow's Eye, is often likened to a storm.

"Khaleesi," he cried, "I bring gifts and glad tidings. The Stormcrows are yours." A golden tooth gleamed in his mouth when he smiled. "And so is Daario Naharis!" - Daenerys IV, ASOS

I have seen the storm, and its name is Euron Crow's Eye. - The Prophet, AFFC

Daario is frequently absent in Meereen, while Euron's location was unknown during Daenerys' initial conquests in Slaver's Bay.

The most crucial task of all she had entrusted to Daario Naharis, glib-tongued Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, smiling his wicked smile through purple whiskers. Beyond the eastern hills was a range of rounded sandstone mountains, the Khyzai Pass, and Lhazar. If Daario could convince the Lhazarene to reopen the overland trade routes, grains could be brought down the river or over the hills at need … - Daenerys I, ADWD

"I want them gone. Let them scout the Yunkish hinterlands and give protection to any caravans coming over the Khyzai Pass. Henceforth Daario shall make his reports to you. Give him every honor that is due him and see that his men are well paid, but on no account admit him to my presence." - Daenerys IV, ADWD

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai'i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. - Daenerys X, ADWD

Asha slid her dirk out of its sheath and began to clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. "Three years away, and the Crow's Eye returns the very day my father dies." - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

Daario gained considerable loot from the sack of Yunkai, while Euron had significant spoils for the Kingsmoot.

Daario had plundered himself a whole new wardrobe in Meereen, and to match it he had redyed his trident beard and curly hair a deep rich purple. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron's chests and spilled out his gifts before the captains and the kings. Then it was Hotho Harlaw the priest heard, as he filled his hands with gold. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Daenerys is infatuated with Daario, while Euron is certain he will wed her.

Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly. - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

"[...] No, to make an heir that's worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware." - The Reaver, AFFC

Daario hails from Tyrosh, while Euron disguised Ironborn as Tyroshi.

"It grieves me that honest men must suffer such discourtesy, but sooner that than ironmen in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody bastards captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They killed her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color their whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port ablaze and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire. Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and not one of them had the words to hail him back." - Samwell V, AFFC

Euron is thought to use warlock magic to control the winds for faster sailing, which, according to many, might allow him to travel at the speed of light.

"Do I command the winds?" the Crow's Eye asked his pets. "No, Your Grace," said Orkwood of Orkmont. "No man commands the winds," said Germund Botley. "Would that you did," the Red Oarsman said. "You would sail wherever you liked and never be becalmed." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

The wind was at their backs, as it had been all the way down from Old Wyk. It was whispered about the fleet that Euron's wizards had much and more to do with that, that the Crow's Eye appeased the Storm God with blood sacrifice. How else would he have dared sail so far to the west, instead of following the shoreline as was the custom? - The Reaver, AFFC

Compelling stuff.

Other things to consider:

Both Daario and Euron are primarily attracted to Daenerys for her power and dragons.

Daario has no family, friends, or known history.

Daario's gold tooth could be artificial, while Euron's blue lips might be temporary.

Daenerys experiences multiple visions and warnings about Euron, including those in the House of the Undying and from Quaithe. She and others also see Daario as a detrimental influence.

If Euron is so set on acquiring dragons, why would he be preoccupied with the Shield Islands and the Arbor instead of focusing on Daenerys and Slaver's Bay? Shouldn't he be in Meereen?

Some speculate that Euron has warging abilities, eliminating the need for him to physically sail back and forth between Slaver's Bay and Westeros.

Apparently George R. R. Martin once hinted that Daario is more complex than he initially seems.

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

It defies the laws of physics?

Are parts of this fandom seriously not familiar with the concept of parallel characters?

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

Kudos to those who've noticed the intentional similarities between these two characters, even if no one is asking what that implies about Daenerys.

That said, if you genuinely believe this theory, you're officially ...

a bozo.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective — I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.

NEXT THEORY:

The miller's boys were Theon's sons.

#operation iceberg #asoiaf theory tier list #theory 3 #daario = euron

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boltlightning · 10 months

Text

ok. saw sweeney todd revival on broadway. i went from not knowing any songs to seeing two productions in one summer so. thoughts:

because im me my immediate takeaway was: it's been a hot second since i saw a show with the orchestra in a pit down in front of the stage AND it was a 26-person orchestra with refreshed orchestrations! it was so crispy and tight and the energy of being able to see the conductor is difficult to put into words. i'm beyond glad they didn't hide the musicians backstage

there were a lot of people there just for josh groban — i was with family whom i persuaded to see this show because of josh groban, and i heard many people in line being like "hey so is josh groban the bad guy? how much does he kill" and there were some changes i feel reflected that. there was so much physical humor, and sometimes lines were added to further give context to someone's actions. i think it works overall, but you could feel the crowd paying less attention when mrs. lovett or sweeney weren't on stage lol

and it's so unsettling! the chorus has some incredible and strange choreography; the light coming through the steps up to the second story is so ominous; the harmonies SOAR through the theater. it's good stuff.

potentially spoily stuff about the production itself below:

and yes OF COURSE the leads were incredible. i feel like len cariou's sweeney is so angry and yet refined, and michael ball's goes hard on the madness and revenge, but groban's is so...sad. he's such a dad, he sings like an angel, it is so uncomfortable when he does something violent. groban's epiphany is HAUNTING and ELECTRIC and the way he interacts with the razors is incredible! and the way he plays a little priest is hilarious but makes it very clear that it is an extension of his mental break. genuinely and eye-opening experience thank you mr. groban

and ashford takes the more emotional cues from the 2007 movie, but makes you actually care about her lmao. like compared to lansbury's frenetic and absent-minded lovett, ashford is laid back and casual and almost lazy about all the weird shit happening around her. she feels bad about locking toby up, sure, but she's still gonna use it as an excuse to get sweeney to pay attention to her! she's funny she's heartfelt she's insane she wants to fuck sweeney todd so fucking bad. it's an incredible combo

and. yeah the rumors are true. she climbs josh groban like a jungle gym the entire time, and on the rare occasion sweeney snaps out of his brooding to reciprocate the flirting, it is HOT. their camaraderie on and off stage is potent. and it works in the other direction too — when he starts to flinch away from her in the second act it's painful.

i do think that the ending sequence in particular is kind of messy up until the last scene in the bake house; there's not a moment to breathe and not in a way that seems intentional? and some of the scenes with the judge/johanna/anthony subplot could have used some love. but. minor qualms. i am biased because kiss me through pretty women is probably my favorite section of the show 😵‍💫

my last takes are: johanna and the beadle in this production are unbelievably good. johanna leaned so into the bird motifs, as well as the idea that she is done waiting around and ready to do violence, much like her father. and the beadle is delightfully amoral and hates his job and delights in the power it affords him. i am so glad they didn't cut parlor songs and let him really eat it up

and. the last shot of sweeney and mrs. lovett is so so so good and i hope they do a professional filmed production of this so people can experience that alone. josh groban's in this it'll sell like hot cakes PLEASE just do it

my first experience with sweeney todd was a local production i saw this june, in a deeply intimate 300-seat theater. i was sitting so close i could've set my drink on the stage. the sweeney was elegant and suave and tortured; mrs lovett was so casually and affably mean. i will think about them forever! and it's very interesting to compare it to the big fuck-off money production considering they both got roasted for having a more emotional sweeney!! here's the theater's 40 second promo for it!!!

youtube

nothing will ever replace the original soundtrack in my heart. but i'm gonna be unwell about this revival for a bit

anyway that's all i got!! thanks for reading if you read this. attend the tale and all that (obligatory tag for @r-osehips thank you for the interest ❤️)

#ITS THE SUMMER OF SWEENEY SND IM SO FUCKED UP #send help :)#bolt watches things #sweeney todd

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trowelaway-blog · 1 year

Text

Something that never occurred to me when I was reading Stone Ocean, but that really popped out at me in the anime, was a certain thought about how the relationship between Jotaro and Jolyne parallels the relationship between Jolyne and Emporio.

Spoilers below the cut.

In her final speech to Emporio, Jolyne talks about all the sacrifices that people made to keep him safe, namedropping Anasui, Ermes, and Jotaro, but also including Weather and FF.

“Those who wished for your escape were Anasui, Ermes, and my father, Jotaro Kujo.”

But just before this, she explains why she’s sending him to safety, but she can’t follow:

“The priest can sense the Joestar in me. No matter where I go, I sense him, and he senses me to track me down.”

Is this not the very reason Jotaro was an absent father? In-universe, it’s because DIO’s followers and other Stand users kept giving him trouble (Stand users attract Stand users, as Jotaro says in DiU). But from a Doylist perspective, it’s because these main characters, most relevantly Jotaro and Jolyne, are doomed by the narrative: the narrative “can sense the Joestar” (the “protagonism”) within them. Anyone within their narrative is at risk - anyone who’s familiar with Jojo knows this well. So the hero must, tragically, leave their loved ones behind to keep them safe, to make sure that they are the only ones who are at risk - from their enemies in-universe, and from the narrative out.

“If I’m with you, you can’t get away.”

Jolyne entrusts Emporio with Weather’s disc, and therefore with saving the world. This is the contrast between her and her father: she passes on the burden to the next generation, whereas Jotaro made the mistake of trying to keep the burden to himself (note also that if Jotaro had succeeded in killing Pucci, he would also have kept the narrative to himself in the Doylist sense, in that a popular previous protagonist saves the day again). Notwithstanding the wisdom of delegating to an eleven-year-old in this situation - not that there was any other choice - Jolyne performs the ritual that her father never did for her.

“You have to survive. You are our hope.”

“I told you, I don’t understand!”

“No, you can’t...”

What are our children but our hope for the future? And what can we do for them but pass them our burdens as kindly and gently as we can, knowing that one day they will understand why we have cursed them with these responsibilities, as they pass it to their children?

Pucci is right that his Heaven would eradicate these burdens. But it would also eradicate any possibility of “growing up”, either for future children or for humanity as a whole (compare here the Rock Humans of part 8); it would eradicate any possibility of humanity changing fate through righteous and selfless action (compare parts 4, 5, and 8; Araki loves that idea). And, again from a Doylist perspective, it would ruin the concept of fiction to know exactly how a story goes as soon as you pick up a book or turn on a movie.

God, I have so many thoughts about Jojo, but especially parts 6 and 8, both of which are criminally underrated. Later I’ll post my rant about why SO is not appreciated as the postmodernist masterpiece it is. Eventually I’ll get around to finishing my rant about why it’s a postmodernist masterpiece specifically.

#stone ocean #stone ocean spoilers #part 6 spoilers #stocean spoilers #emporio alnino #jolyne cujoh #kujo jolyne #kujo jotaro #jotaro kujo #doomed by the narrative #once again!

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anglbrkr · 2 years

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more father james please i beg 🙏

yes i love that nasty bitch CW: amab and thigh fucking, other than that, nothin' important 1.2k words

[N]'s fingers trail along the floral patterns of the wallpaper, admiring the curling patterns of the olive green vines, ending in blooming buds. Father James has a lovely home, near the edges of town, bordering the woods, all of the decorations are in the taste of his late mother, a woman whose pictures hang on many walls and lie on an abundance of shelves. It's something he's noticed since he arrived the night before, when James put the frame face down before crawling on top of him, giving more reason to cause [N]'s limp.

He woke up warm and with an aching ass, weakly throwing slurred curses at a groggy James, who seemed far too pleased about it. Now he manages to walk around the old walls of the home, drinking tea while listening to the distant sounds of pouring water and wind chimes clinking together. He shivers, the cold air assaulting his bare legs. He really should've opted to wear one of James' pants to go with the knit sweater that hangs loosely at his shoulders.

"You know, when she made me that sweater it didn't fit me that well either," the priest's voice came from behind, as well as his arms, wrapping themselves around [N]'s middle. "She was never that good at predetermining the size of what she would knit."

"Are you speaking ill of your mother's knitting?" [N] bites his lip, stopping a laugh from leaving him. James snorts, pulling him in closer.

"Don't give her a reason to haunt me."

[N] places his mug on the table against the wall, next to a small flower vase, a silent confirmation that James had all his attention. The priest kisses the skin the sweater fails to cover, lips against [N]'s shoulder blades and dipping down to suckle hungrily at his collarbone. [N] trembles slightly beneath James', biting his lip to hold back the moan that threatens to escape his parted mouth. He turns his head, searching James' eyes. A smirk touches the corners of his lips.

"So, how long am I allowed to stay here?" He asks, turning his head and brushing his nose against James'. He inhales deeply, feeling his hot breath against his skin.

"Ideally, you'd never leave," He replies huskily into [N]'s ear, continuing to nibble and lick at his neck. His tongue flicks teasingly over the exposed skin below his chin, sucking just hard enough for [N] to feel the heat of it, eliciting a whimper. His body is turned and pushed against the wall, roughly, but he doesn’t seem to care, losing himself in James’ warm hands caressing his bare flesh, trailing under the borrowed sweater. His eyes fluttered close, feeling the priest’s fingers gently circling his nipples, pulling and tweaking the tips. His mind is only able to register the sensation.

"Well, that's certainly an answer." [N] answers absently, letting his hand slide down between them, cupping at the bulge in James' sweatpants, he wasn't hard, but he wasn't entirely flaccid, either. His other hand caressed the older man's naked chest, squeezing and kneading the muscles underneath, watching the cross necklace dangling between his pecs. He looked up at James through hooded eyes, unapologetically. He doesn't get to register James' reaction before his front is pushed against the wall, causing him to groan. "Make up your mind, will you," he sighs, but isn't displeased, feeling the older man's clothed erection against his bare behind.

"It's for my own good," James whispers, tugging his sweats down, stroking his shaft before pressing them between [N]'s thighs. "Your eyes do things to me."

[N]'s eyes threaten to roll back, feeling the older man's shaft press and rub against the underside of his balls, jutting upward until they meet with his groin. When James moves them upwards again, [N] gasps, unable to repress a shudder.

His eyes widen in surprise at the sudden movement, but he quickly shuts them reflexively once his arousal hits full force. "What're-"

"Squeeze."

[N]'s almost embarrassed by how quickly he did as told, squeezing his thighs together, pressing Father James' cock between them. He hears him shudder, hands at his hips as he thrusts between the younger man's thighs, rocking his pelvis as [N] whimpers, a quiet sound that makes James grin.

[N] moans quietly, squeezing tight around the shaft. It felt so much better than his fingers. "God.." He breathes out, his thoughts swimming in lust. Just the stimulation of the older man's cock rubbing underneath his sack had his head reeling. He wanted more, everything.

James leans down, kissing [N]'s neck, biting lightly at the spot right beside his ear. "That's it," He praises, feeling [N] move with the rhythm he's set, gripping tighter around his member. "Just a bit more," He tells him, holding him firmly by the hips as he rocks against the younger man.

James kisses [N]'s neck softly, hearing him gasp. He watches the way [N] holds his breath as his pace picks up, moving faster and roughening against the young man's thighs. [N] grips the hem of the oversized sweater, pulling it up slightly to watch the way James' girth parts his thighs, both of their tips leaking precum onto the hardwood floor beneath them.

A growl escapes James' throat when [N] squeezes harder, he kisses [N] on the cheek, keeping up his steady rhythm, slowly increasing his speed. There's not even a single moment of respite before [N] responds to every motion, moaning loudly each time James pressed against his inner thigh. He peers over the younger man's shoulder, catching the same sight that's hypnotizing him. James' brain short circuits, tugging the old thing up from the younger man's body, not really caring where it lands. He presses his chest against [N]'s nude back, pressing deeper into him as he slides a hand along [N]'s hip to cup his rear, groping for handfuls of firm muscle.

"Oh God," [N] mutters lowly, panting heavily now, pushing back towards James, wanting more contact with his body. "James," He says, trying to pull back and push back at the same time, though it proves difficult with his thighs squeezed so tightly. He wonders if he could lose circulation through this. If the older man replies, then it's muffled against his neck. There's a burning cold against his back, where the cool metal of the cross around the priest's neck meets his hot skin. His hand sinks to his crotch, jerkily rubbing himself, eyes rolling back as his thumb presses over his slit, rubbing over the weeping head.

Though James can’t see the face [N] is making at the moment, his imagination conjures images from the night before, hell, even from a few hours ago, of the younger man’s face twisted in pleasure, jaw slack as his glassy eyes cross. He could hump his cock between his thighs for all eternity if he had the chance, chasing his pleasure like a desperate mutt in heat; his fingers dig into [N]'s hips, gripping tight as he grinds himself against the young man.

But [N] needs more. He pushes against the priest's stomach, desperate. "Father..." His voice breaks off on another sharp intake of breath.

Such a sweet plea. It'd be a crime for James not to oblige.

#q.writes #somebody ask me to write one where reader is cockwarming him in the confessional while someone is on the other side please please please pl #male reader insert #male reader #male! reader #x male reader #req.#anon.txt

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antaxzantax · 18 days

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Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 44

Summary: James Marcus discusses with Oswell E. Spencer his stay at Umbrella. Alexander Ashford meets with the Jacob's Circle about their plan at the Antarctic base. Alexander presents Alfred and Alexia with two music boxes.

Dear Jamie:

I am glad to hear that your passion for the Progenitor virus has not let up since its genesis in the 1960s. However, I would not want you to be completely blinded by it. Umbrella is a company that needs to be managed. I know you hate politics, but it is part of corporate practice. If research into the Progenitor virus is to continue, the money must flow. Without funding, the prodigious affair that began in Africa is over. I gave you the Training Centre out of goodwill, as a friend, in exchange for nothing more than the availability of your scientific talent. I only ask you to reconsider your position. This is a crucial moment, and we cannot afford any mistakes. If you still feel that your career in this corporation is over, I will be the first to organise an honourable farewell. In any case, contact me for whatever you need. It would be dishonourable for me to let a trifle cloud our long and fruitful friendship.

Your friend,

Oswell E. Spencer

Oswell:

I appreciate your words and goodwill. For the time being, I have reconsidered my position and will still stay at Umbrella on the same terms. However, I will need an increase in funding. I am not unaware of your priority with the Arklay laboratory, but I underline that research of the highest level is still being carried out at the Training Centre. In this connection, I will ask you for one last favor: my former PhD student, Brandon Bailey, I am requesting his transfer from Africa to the Training Centre. His valuable experience will help me in the development of my projects.

James Marcus

III

I have spoken to Oz. Your transfer will be next month. Bring all the material for the exit plan.

J.M.

Alexander Ashford and Anthony Campbell presided at the table of the Jacob's Circle. Alexander as the rightful heir of the former Grand Master, Edward, and Anthony on behalf of Grand Master Mary-Anne, who was absent due to ill health. Behind him on the left, the portrait of Veronica Ashford. On the right, that of Rupert Campbell.

The Inner Circle, consisting of fifteen members, had been convened to decide on several issues raised by Ashford, the most important of which concerned Umbrella. The fifteen members, including the under-chiefs of the Campbell and Douglas clans and an Irish Catholic bishop, listened attentively to the Grand Master's proposal.

“Spencer still doesn't want any Jacobins working for Umbrella?” asked an elderly man in Scottish, dressed in Douglas clan tartan.

“No, no one. He made a deal with my father,” Ashford replied in the same language.

The fifteen members murmured among themselves. Campbell nudged Ashford closer.

“Won't it be possible in Antarctica?” he whispered.

“No,” he replied quietly. “Martin will come with me, but no one else. I don't want to risk it. The Institute is still vetting personnel at the base.”

“What do you think of the plan, ladies, and gentlemen?” Campbell raised his voice.

The murmuring stopped. A woman in the Campbell clan tartan raised her hand.

“I have a question about the virus. When Princess Alexia completes her development, where will the virus be hidden? At the Antarctic base?”

“First in my father's old private laboratory in Newcastle.”

“And then?” added the Irish priest.

“At St Andrews. One of our members who is a professor there will have the means to ensure its temporary concealment until the contract is signed and it is released. Any other questions?”

The fifteen members looked at each other in silence. There were no further questions. Ashford rose. Campbell and all fifteen members rose at the same time.

“Brothers and sisters of the Circle,” he continued in Scottish, “the convocation ends with the approval of the plan for the next five years. I pray that God will favour us in our undertaking.”

“Amen,” they all shouted in unison.

There was a friendly but naive king

who wed a very nasty queen.

The king was loved but

the queen was feared.

Till one day strolling in his court,

an arrow pierced the kind king's heart.

He lost his life and

his lady love.

The lyrics, engraved on a gold plate on the inside of the lid, flowed to the rhythm of the simple and beautiful melody. It was a feerical composition that enraptured the two children sitting on the tiled floor.

Their father had given them two identical, bulky music boxes for Alexia's graduation. Their only visible difference was the ant-shaped jewel that Alexander had included in the lid's opening mechanism in memory of Alexia's recent discovery: a blue ant for Alfred and a red ant for her. The piece corresponding to the insect's abdomen could be removed to operate the box's latch or unlatch it by inserting it. Both the jewel and the box were two masterpieces of craftsmanship worth their weight in gold. However, both children's fascination was not with the technical quality of the set, but with the song. The unnamed song that their father had ordered to be composed for them and which the twins had christened Berceuse.

Berceuse because it inspired a strange nostalgia for their early childhood, when both twins always lived together and without worries, when they imagined themselves as the protagonists of an endless fairy tale.

Alexia and Alfred held hands for the first time in three years.

They would never be separated again.

Nevermore.

#resident evil #resident evil code veronica #alexia ashford #alfred ashford #alexander ashford #oswell e spencer #james marcus

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bogusavathepit · 2 years

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House of the Dragon: Predictions about Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Nettles

!!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!!

So, I’ve taken to reading Fire and Blood (the fictional historical text written by a maester called Gyldayn), which chronicles the Targaryen dynasty from before Aegon I’s conquest to Aegon III’s ascension. Thinking about Rhaenyra and Daemon and Nettles, I wondered how the show would portray what happened between them all.

But did you know about Grand Maester Munkun’s own writings that detailed all the events after Alicent and Otto gathered the “green council“ when Viserys dies?

As some know, Fire and Blood is supposed to be a text that draws from several sources, mainly two: a septon/priest called Septon Eustace and the dwarf fool Mushroom.

The first was the confessor/confidant for Viserys, Alicent, and Aemma while working in the Red Keep’s sept, while Mushroom entertained Viserys and Rhaenyra and stayed by Rhaenyra’s side for most of the events of the Dance of Dragons, even entertaining Aegon II and Aegon III later on.

The Possibilities as to Where I Think the Show Will Go with This

Daemon and Nettles actually do have an affair, despite him being canonically 49 and her 17 at this moment. I imagine they grow closer by Daemon being impressed by Nettles’ self reliance and ability to claim her dragon, Sheepstealer even with her neglible lineage. He’s grown distant from Rhaenyra and her getting more cold due to the recent betrayals, the deaths of her sons, her stillborn daughter, and other current trouble at King’s Landing. He takes to showing Nettles the finer things of his own living and the two hit it off. Perhaps he is also impressed with her position as being the least-looking Dragonseed (Valyrian bastard) making her the outcast amongst outcasts. He’s the black sheep of his family. And she’s pleased someone so prestigious, handsome, daring, etc has an interest in her. With how physically unattractive and nonvirginal she’s painted, she might not have experienced someone openly showing attraction for her. (Daemon likes pretty women both in the show and the book; he likes pretty women and is reputed to like virgins best in the book, at least in his youth.) The attention’s alluring, despite it’s ill-advised condition (or perhaps a little because of it?).

They don’t have an affair and it takes a while for Daemon and Nettles to grow as close as they do. They happen to grow very close due to their long hours alone flying around to find Aemond and Vhagar. Daemon’s still being impressed by Nettles and Nettles by him in return. However, in this scenario he sees his physically-emotionally absent daughters Baela and Rhaena in Nettles and wishes to act out what he couldn’t with his own daughters on Nettles. (It could still be sexual or erotic, but there’s a chance it never goes past the weird baths.) Nettles may see a father figure in Daemon, something she’s never had and takes the chance to experience now. Plus, she’d still likely be surprised pleased someone so like Daemon has any sort of interest in her.

They don’t have an affair and it goes like scenario 2, except he and Nettles have been developing a relationship while both are in King’s Landing and while Daemon’s sleeping with Mysaria. That darker-skinned girl who brought the Cargyll twins/Otto to Mysaria before Otto burned Mysaria’s home is very likely Nettles and Fire and Blood has them all in King’s Landing together. While Nettles is supposed to be near Dragonstone to claim Sheepstealer before going to King’s Landing, the show might have Nettles travel to Dragonstone somehow, claim Sheepstealer, and come back. Mysaria may see Nettles getting along with Daemon, or have sent Nettles to him/Dragonstone. Mysaria may or may not get pissed at the perceived betrayal of Nettles, and it may not even be totally because she suspects them together so much as Nettles is not going to be willing enough to do her bidding, or Mysaria may see her as compromised and aligning herself with the same nobles who ruin the smallfolk’s (including her own) lives on the daily. So she goes to Rhaenyra (or contently twists the truth to her when summoned). Or Mysaria sows the seeds by bringing up the other dragonriders’ betrayal. It wouldn’t be the first time showrunner and TV writers changed plot details to suit their vision.

They do have the affair and and it goes like scenario 1, with scenario 3′s Mysaria/back-and-forth events described. More of a chance Mysaria is actually put out by the sexual relationship, but still motivated more by how much she can and can’t use Nettles in light of Nettles getting closer with Daemon. Mysaria might be a bit more happy twisting the truth, etc.

What Happened...As Recorded in Fire and Blood

[Paraphrase] When Rhaenyra finally took King’s Landing, two of her fighters/dragonriders betrayed her and she began to suspect another two after others in her council expressed their doubts. She called for one’s arrest and the other’s head.

The last one was Nettles, a 17 year old dragonriding girl who was apparently not pretty, brown haired & skinned--didn’t have any of the classic Valyrian features. Nettles and Daemon were off trying to find Aemond to stop him from burning up a section of the realm, and Mysaria (Daemon’s lover and current spy mistress) affirmed that Daemon and Nettles were getting it on while looking for Aemond (491).

(Septon Eustace is the one Gyldayn relies on here.)

In response, Rhaenyra (though reportedly fine with Daemon sleeping with Mysaria while he was at King’s Landing) announced that Nettles enchanted Daemon and had to be killed. The Rationale: Daemon wasn’t at fault but was untrustworthy, being under Nettles’ spell. She sent the lord hosting them a message to kill Nettle and not to harm Daemon.

That lord’s maester, Maester Norren, wrote:

...‘the prince and his bastard girl‘ supped together every night, broke their fast together every morning, slept in adjoining bedchambers, that the prince ‘doted upon the brown girl as a man might dote upon his daughter,‘ instructing her in ‘common courtesies’ and how to dress and sit and brush her hair, that he made gifts to her...The prince taught the girl to wash...and the maidservants...said that he oft shared a tub with her, ‘soaping her back or washing the dragon stink from her hair, both of them naked as their namedays’ (487).

And when Norren told Daemon about the secret order, Daemon’s reaction:

...as he read, I saw the joy go from his eyes, and a sadness descended upon him, like a weight too heavy to be borne. When the girl asked what was in the letter, he said, ‘A queen’s words, a whore’s work.’ (498)

And the next day Daemon and Nettles separated, Nettles never seen by any noble ever again.

Context

Gyldayn says this of how much and the quality of the information of the Dance of Dragons the maesters have at the moment of him writing:

...for much of what happened in the years that followed happened behind closed doors, in the privacy of stairwells, council rooms, and the bedchambers, and the full truth of it will likely never be known. We have of course, the chronicles laid down by Grand Maester Runciter...and many a court document as well, all the royal decrees and proclamations, but these tell only a small part of the story. For the rest, we must look to accounts written decades later by the children and grandchildren of those caught up in the events of these times...; third-hand recollections of aged serving men relating scandals of their youth. While these are undoubtedly of use, so much time has passed between the event and the recording that many confusions and contradictions have inevitably crept in (355-356).

There was still one other cited source, Grand Maester Munkun, who writes drawing from Grand Maester Orwyle’s confessions after Rheanyra imprisons him.

The Sources

[Septon Eustace]

...set down the most detailed history of this period (356).

Nor was he reticent about recording even the most shocking and salacious rumors and accusations, though the bulk of...[his text]...remains a sober and somewhat ponderous history (356).

[Mushroom]

...was thought feeble-minded, so kings and lords and princes did not scruple to hide their secrets from him (356).

Whereas Septon Eustace records the secrets of bedchamber and brothel in hushed, condemnatory tones, Mushroom delights in the same, and his Testimony consists of little but ribald tales and gossip, piling stabbings, poisonings betrayals, seductions, and debaucheries one atop the other (356).

Gyldayn says of these two and their value:

Septon Eustace and Mushroom do not always agree upon particulars and at times their accounts are considerably at variance with one another, and with court records and the chronicles of Grand Maester Runciter and his successors (357).

[Grand Maester Munkun/Grand Maester Orwyle]

Though Munkun’s exhaustive history was not written until a generation later, and drew on many different sorts of materials...his account of the inner workings of the court relies upon the confessions of Grand Maester Orwyle, as set down before his execution...[Orwyle] was present at the [greens’] meeting and took part in the council’s deliberations and decisions......though it must be known that at the time he wrote, Orwyle was most anxious to show himself in a favorable light and absolve himself of any blame for what was to follow (393).

Separate Note: While Fire and Blood is narrated by a person who is recording the Dance of Dragons events second/third hand and from sources that sometimes contradict each other, this doesn't mean that sources used have credibility. The devil's in the details and some more time thinking.

What do you Think?

#dance of dragons #house of dragon #house of dragons #a song of ice and fire #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #nettles #hotd #hod #fire and blood #hod episode 9 #hotd episode 9 #house of the dragon episode 9 #house of dragon episode 9 #hod epi 9 #hotd epi 9 #asoiaf #not twilight #bap HotD

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haymarketvtubestuff · 8 months

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<transphobia, homophobia, implied abuse, divorce mention>

A priest, a minister, and a high school English teacher and part-time witch walk into the home of a regular of St. Mark's Catholic.

One wouldn't be faulted to think that was the worst setup for a joke, but, at the same time, one wished it was a joke. Once Ariel stepped in, behind Rev. Burkhardt and Msgr. Canterbury, she felt the humor leave her entire being. That's how unhappy the house felt. Crosses, nativity sets, photos of two parents and a child living happily that were not up-to-date with reality.

"Mother filed for divorce but wasn't able to retain custody," Msgr. Canterbury remarked, his voice clinging tightly to what jolliness it usually carried. "Normally, the Church wouldn't condone divorce, but ..." He cut himself off before adding to the gloom and pain of the situation. Canterbury could only look to his Methodist colleague, who sensed the anger that dusted the house. All three agreed to silence before speaking with the father. Ariel gestured a request to scope the house while the men asked the parent further questions.

It started as a call to Msgr. Canterbury. The parishioner's child exhibited erratic behavior. Tics that were out of the ordinary. The occasional swear that was never heard from the child's mouth prior. Then came the angry remarks about the absent mother. The father complained how it was "out of the ordinary and unladylike behavior" at points, but assumed that it was "her being a teenager".

Then came the smashing of furniture. The overturned trash cans. The graffiti in an unknown script that, for the English teacher, had a tinge of familiarity. Her familiar, Fruma, had thought the same but couldn't place it themselves. She was brought out of her contemplative fugue by the parishioner, who was describing their child's actions and previous behavior while seeming to use the word "daughter" as a punctuation mark.

The emphasis was already suspect to Ariel, but, when both Burkhardt and Canterbury silently looked to her, the conclusion was already reached by the three. Something else had happened here.

Ariel was glad that she wasn't wearing her "armor", as she called her customized fatigue shirt, and instead still had on her work khakis and a blouse-like polo. The father's rhetoric screamed "queer basher" to the point where even the archbishop would balk at what was implied.

Searching through the house for more damage, more assistance to find the extra influence (or influences) on the situation gave Ariel the chance to clear her head. She kept going back to the scribbles - pictographs, more likely, but were these an untrained hand of an adult or a child? The media was clearly not blood, which ruled out supernatural changes. No, this looked like ...

"Red permanent marker," Ariel said to no one in particular. An easy fix with dry-erase marker and a wet cloth. This was the hand of one of the people in the house.

The time needed to find the child's room was minimal, as the door was completely gone from its hinges.

Not broken off with evidence of the door having once been there in one piece - removed. The pin was removed, leaving only the leaves that were screwed into the door frame.

The aura that came from the room had a texture to it. Ariel sensed frustration, violence, terror, but only the vaguest hint of malice.

There was also a sense of ... loneliness. Longing. A want for something.

Whatever was going on here, the witch knew she had to be ready. She removed her loafers and stepped into the child's bedroom, expecting a mess of rage and destruction and shocked to see it nearly barren.

A bed. A desk with a chair. A vanity, and a chest of drawers for non-hanging clothes.

Nothing else. Nothing here screamed the experience of a teenage girl. No ... something was removed from here other than the door. Many somethings. Stripped from the room, even.

"This child's privacy was revoked as well as this?" She muttered under her breath, hoping that whatever else was here would not pick up her knowledge.

"What did you say?" A non-human voice. Ariel spun her head in the direction of its origin - the child. The scraping timbre of the voice seemed both natural and in the first stages of practice - an amplification of two combined voices.

It was time for the witch to do her part. In her mind, Ariel uttered a line -

"Fruma, you're up."

She waited for a response. A deep, leonine growl and a feminine, feral voice answered -

"Ready whenever you are, baalat-ov."

Ariel snapped the fingers of her left hand. Immediately, a flash of void enveloped the whole of the small bedroom. A dustless swirl of clouds settled as her other form made its debut before the teenager.

Ariel was still in her khakis and polo, but an outsider would spot five things different about her -

Her blonde, normally pixie-cut-length hair was fuller, wilder, and shoulder length.

She no longer had ears where they should have been. Instead, her ears were a little higher up on her head, more pronounced, more rounded. It was more like a lioness's ears - brown-blonde fur matching her own natural "fur".

She had grown a full lion's tail. Ariel was thankful she wore pants that rode her hips so to allow for the change.

Her hands were altered so to incorporate claws and paw pads while still retaining humanoid form.

While she had more leonine features elsewhere, Ariel still had the same issue as any other sheyd or sheydah taking human form - chicken feet.

What the child saw from the front was the sixth change - Ariel's left eye, normally matching its neighbor in bluish silver tone, was now amber in hue. The child, however, did not waver in its stoic expression that still, as Ariel's students might put it, "gave resting bitch face". Ariel decided to set the tone.

"My name is Ariel Haymarket, son of Avram Haymarket, son of a rabbi, and Elisheva Chapman, daughter of a line of sorcerers who could commune with spirits. I here to advocate for the child of David Cavendish and their safety."

A pause. The child's expression had changed on the last expression to shock, though Ariel couldn't determine if the reaction was from the child, the spirit, or both. Ariel continued.

"I am also Fruma, the Righteous, known also as HaP'rai, the Savage One. I am both a human advocate and witch and a Sheydah. If you wish to discuss terms or the circumstances, I need to know with whom I am working."

Another pause. The child's expression returned to its prior state, then drooped - along with the child themself. A cold wind and hellish screaming filled the room (sensations Ariel was not unfamiliar with), the latter echoing through the house and joining other voices. Ariel and Fruma came to the same realization -

There's more of them???

Before Ariel, a new scene developed. A gray mist formed into a solid being. A feminine figure with long, wild hair that went down to its hips. Armored, stained with blood, armed with ancient weaponry. More screaming.

Once the presence made itself known to Ariel, she recalled a description by Maurus Servius Honoratus -

Eumenides was their name in hell.

Dirae in heaven.

Furiae on earth.

No wonder the pictographs looked familiar. There was no point in trying to read the message because even a scholar wouldn't be able to. It was enough for Ariel to recognize that the language was Linear B.

The message itself was no longer important.

There were furies in the house.

And one of them is possessing this man's son.

(to be continued)

#haymarkettorah #haymarket torah #cw transphobia #cw homophobia #cw divorce #cw abuse #cw religion #cw nonconsensual possession

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luminouslumity · 1 year

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Some more retellings I read recently! I've actually alluded to having read DoS before, but wanted to wait for TSoP to come out before making an actual post first. And unlike last time, I wasn't a big fan of these books. Though in hindsight, I probably should've known that when I saw the cover for DoS; no, but seriously, Greek is a beautiful language, but seeing it used as font will never not hurt the little linguist in me. Also, Nestra... No. Just no. And as for the books themselves? Well, what I like to do when reading or watching an adaptation of a work is to look at it two ways: first, does it work as an adaptation, and second, does it work on its own? And in the case of Heywood... not really for both.

I do want to give credit where credit is due though, I actually did enjoy Heywood's writing as well as how she incorporated some pretty minor details from certain sources that I haven't seen any other retelling use (ex: Menelaus having a son by a slave woman, something that's actually mentioned in the Odyssey), but that's as far as my praise goes, at least as far as her first book is concerned.

Another thing to keep in mind is that her books are one of those retellings that strip away the mythological aspects entirely for the sake of telling a historical narrative and I honestly have yet to find one that actually does this well, because without the presence of gods or monsters, you run into some really stupid contrivances at best and quite a few gaping plot holes at worst. Then we get scenes like Helen literally kicking and spitting on Eileithyia's rock because she doesn't want to get pregnant again and Iphigenia getting sacrificed because the priest Calchas wanted revenge after he blames Agamemnon for his sister's death, and a part of me honestly can't help but feel uncomfortable reading scenes like this, almost like it's mocking an ancient religion that many still acknowledge and practice to this day. Oh, and just so no one misunderstands me, I'm taking issue with Helen basically insulting a goddess specifically, even if that goddess is physically absent.

TSoP does seem to tone this down, or at the very least, it's not to the extent that we saw in DoS from what I noticed, though it's also completely possible there was something I had missed. One moment that does stand out to me though is when Danae internally compares the light coming from a torch fire to a golden shower and then we immediately get the reveal of Perseus' actual father, which I actually thought was pretty funny. It helps that Myron himself was really sweet from the little we knew him, which also makes me sad because there really didn't seem to be any reason for Danae to lie to Perseus about who his father was. It's not like Danae was ashamed of Myron or anything, either; it's one thing for her to want to keep her past a secret from her son for now, it's an entirely other thing to lie to him and say his father was a god!

And speaking of the characters, I actually really liked Claire's version of Helen, I just hate that it comes at the expense of turning her into a neglectful parent even before she runs away with Paris (thankfully, her actions aren't exactly glorified, either; actually, I feel like I would've enjoyed this plotline alot more had it been executed better), as well as turning Menelaus into a distant husband and Leda into an awful mother. Meanwhile, Agamemnon is horrible even long before he sacrifices Iphigenia, and Klytemnestra once again never kills Kassandra in cold blood, even though the entire point of the myth is to show the senselessness of violence and vengeance and how her grief had corrupted her in the years her husband had been away at war.

I am once again asking, what's wrong with being direct?

And as for TSoP, the characters here are certainly a lot more enjoyable personality-wise... but that's also an issue, because it all comes at the expense of turning Perseus—whose entire quest revolved around saving his mother—into an entitled brat. First because he thinks he's a demigod, then because he finds out he's the grandson of a king and has a prophecy to fulfill. In fact, he doesn't even go on a quest at all, just sent away because his mother actually wants to marry Polydectes and he won't stop throwing a tantrum about it. Then we just skip to him meeting Medusa and then killing her after she rejects his feelings for her, "saving" Andromeda from what was basically a symbolic sacrifice, mistaking the hospitality feast he's given for a wedding banquet in honor of himself and his supposed new bride due to the language barrier, killing her actual betrothed before she finally decides to go with him, killing Polydectes when he refuses to stand down, and then nearly killing an old Acrisius before finally listening to what his mother and wife want and letting his grandfather live.

That's it. That's the book.

And I liked the use of the Prophecy Twist at the end and also how Danae refused to forgive her father for what he had done, but really, whatever positives I have to say about either book aren't really enough to outweigh the negatives.

And I mean, compare everything I just said about TSoP to the original myth; an evil king wishes to marry a beautiful princess who'd been rescued from the sea (or he already has married her in some versions), but she has no interest in him, so he sends her demigod child, who was protective of his mother, on a quest to slay an unslayable monster in hopes of getting him out of the way for good. With help from the gods, he manages to succeed and even rescues a princess on the way back after she's nearly sacrificed to a sea monster as punishment for her mother's vanity. Afterwards, he saves his own mother by presenting the head of the monster to the other monster and turning him to stone, before later killing his grandfather by accident! And it wasn't even Medusa's head that took him out, either, but a discus!

See how sweet and simple the original is? But no, instead we get Perseus who keeps throwing these violent tantrums because he isn't getting what he wants, made worse by the fact that his character has about as much depth as a rock. In fact, why have this be a retelling at all? This solution can pretty much apply to just about any other one too, but for TSoP specifically, it could've very easily been about someone who grew up being inspired by the tales of Perseus, maybe even facing a similar situation to him and becoming desperate to escape it, and then later becomes their own downfall by the end of it. That would've been much more interesting, methinks!

And before anyone brings up the Medusa thing, the version everyone talks about actually comes from much later sources, specifically Ovid, who was Roman, and a pretty spiteful one at that; in fairness, the Greek poet Hesiod does describe her as having been a mortal who had sexual relations with Poseidon, but even then, he makes no mention as to whether the encounter was consensual or not, just that they did it in a meadow—yeah, not a temple, a meadow. Other Greek and even some Roman sources also have her always be a monster, even being descended from the mother of monsters herself, Echidna.

As for Athena changing her into a Gorgon for her own protection, I can't find an ancient source anywhere that states this, never mind that it's not like women wouldn't have been immune to her curse, either. And as awesome of a concept as a monstrous figure being seen as a patron for women is... that's not exactly true either. Ancient Greece didn't have women's shelters, for one thing, and though it's true that engravings of her head can be found on buildings, they can be found everywhere else as well, including on tombstones. That's because it was actually used to ward off not any specific human, but evil spirits instead. Because nothing was seen as scarier than a Gorgon. Also, there were several deities whom women prayed to (and still do!) for protection, including Athena herself, so praying to Medusa—who they would've considered a monster—wouldn't have really made much sense. Again, cool concept, but it kinda falls apart once you think about it for more than five seconds.

But yeah, these certainly aren't the worst retellings I've read, but still there's nothing particularly outstanding about them, either. Not in a good way, at least.

#greek mythology #claire heywood #helen of sparta #helen of troy #clytemnestra #menelaus #agamemnon #perseus #danae #medusa #andromeda

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laeorinel · 9 months

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FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 21 - Grave

Well...I can't sleep so figured I would get todays prompt done early. Hurray for being in the EU I guess. Downside is that since I'm sleepy this has likely not been edited the best.

A few minor spoilers for Shadowbringers and Endwalker but nothing super explicit I think.

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The weather matched the sombre mood in Old Sharlayans Lichyard. Samara stood out among the sea of white-robed people; even at a funeral, the Sharlayans did not shirk their pristine white attire. She could not remember whose funeral they were in attendance of. All her memories prior to arriving here were blurry.

She saw a few Scions standing among the crowd, each looking heartbroken. They were the few wearing all black. Someone they knew then. She could hear someone talking, a priest of some kind, but she could not clearly make out the words. Looking down at the freshly dug grave, she still could not remember who they were there for. Were Thancred here, she could ask him without earning a glare or two from other attendees, but he was absent. Glancing towards the tombstone, she finally got her answer, and her stomach dropped to her feet.

Thancred Waters.

No. No, this wasn't…this couldn't be right. He was with her today. He was fine. They had…what did they do again?

"Such a pity. He did not deserve such a fate." Said Alphinaud as he stood to her left.

"No. He never even got to see Ryne again." Said Alisaie as she stood to her right.

"And all because you failed him." They said together as each turned to look at her. To hear such venom from the twins shocked her, but for them to give her such cold looks? What had she done? None of this made sense. He was fine. Wasn't he?

"But I didn't he…" The twins faded from her sight. She looked around for them, but they were swallowed up by the crowd of white robes.

White filled her vision until it was almost blinding, and then she was simply left in the empty lichyard. Not a soul to be seen until she heard two voices behind her. Urianger and G'raha Tia had their backs to her instead of staring at the freshly dug grave.

"Why didst thou not save him?"

"How could you let this happen? He trusted you. Believed in you. Loved you. And when he needed you most, where were you?"

"'Urianger, Raha…I…I didn't. He…he's fine. I swear it!"

"As if your failings were not enough, now you fill our minds with lies." the icy cold tone of Y'shtola's voice cut her to the bone as she turned to look at her. Sightless eyes stared through her, and soon, Y'shtola was joined by the rest of the Scions, all standing and glaring at her before calling out in a unified voice.

"Look! Look at what happened because of you!"

The lichyard shifted, the verdant hills of Sharlayan turning to sand and stone. Amh Araeng? But how were they here? This made no sense.

It mattered little as she looked over the area. The same place Thancred and Ran'jit had crossed blades. The smell of blood and gunpowder filled her nose, and she saw Thancred at the centre of a stone circle, his pure white coat stained bright red, his gunblade shattered in a half dozen pieces, and his body bloodied and broken. Vacant dead eyes stared at her, his hand reaching out towards her as if begging for help, even in death.

"No…no…this isn't real…it can't be real…" she doubled over, eyes wide as she stared at her dead partner. She felt a hand land on her shoulder as she looked up, seeing the face of another dead man.

"Zenos. How…"

"Come now. I cannot truly die. You know this, old friend."

For some reason, Zenos held onto her shoulder and shook her. Perhaps to confirm this was real? It did not cause him to pause in his taunting, regardless. " Now, I have already claimed your man. What of the rest of your precious Scions? Which should fall next? Perhaps his daughter?"

Ryne appeared next to Thancred's body, tears streaming down her face as she looked at her fallen father. Samara felt Zeno's grip on her shoulder lessen before making his way over to Ryne.

"Don't you dare touch her!" she lashed out. With no weapons to use, she relied on her claws, trying to get purchase on any part of him, but she did not feel leather or metal beneath her hand when her claws connected with him. It felt almost like flesh…why did everything feel so strange and wrong?

"Yes. There it is. That rage and hate. Unleash it all. You know what needs to be done. Kill me before I kill again."

The heady feeling of bloodlust tore through her; whatever reasoning she had was gone. All that mattered in that moment was Zenos dying. She had to keep Ryne safe. Launching herself at Zenos, she knocked the scythe from his grip. The madman wanted a fight, but she would not give him one. She would strangle the life from him before he could reclaim his weapon before he could do more harm. She could vaguely hear someone calling her name, but it was so far off. It almost sounded like Thancred, but he was dead…he was…

"Samara!"

The nightmare collapsed almost instantly, the shroud of sleep falling away as her eyes focused on the person beneath her, the person whose neck she held firmly in her hands. Thancred, alive and somewhat well, aside from the minor case of his lover trying to strangle him. He was practically using all of this strength to hold Samara back.

"Are..are you back with me?"

"Th…ancred?" she whispered brokenly, tears streaming down her face as she let go of him and practically threw herself from the bed, hurrying away from him as quickly as she could. She heard him mutter a few curses between coughs as he called after her. Her wobbly legs did not carry her far as she fell into the wardrobe door and crumpled to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in between.

Oh gods. She had hurt him. She had tried to kill him. She could have if he did not wake her. Between choked sobs, she kept saying "No" repeatedly. She did not even notice Thancred making his way over to her and kneeling down in front of her.

"Samara, look at me."

She made faint attempts at recoiling from him, but he took hold of one of her hands with a vice-like grip and held it to his chest, just above his heart. It did not take much for him to piece together what had happened in her dream. "See? I'm fine. I'm here. It was just a nightmare.

"I'm fine. Look, nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. I am fairly sure you have given me worse during…other activities in bed…" Samara tentatively reached out to touch the side of his face, the side that now had a claw mark running down it. She hated it when he flinched, as much as he tried to hide it. With tears still streaming down her face, she threw herself at him, burying her face in his chest and holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

"You're okay. We're okay." Sobs wracked Samara's body as the pair sat there, Thancred lightly rocking her back and forth. They sat like that for hours until her body finally stilled, exhaustion claiming her. Thancred carefully picked her up and returned her to the bed before lying down beside her, cradling her to his chest once more.

He knew they would need to talk about this at some point, but that could wait until the bruises had faded and the cuts had healed. Both of them had been through so much that nightmares were always going to be an issue. Some memories or fears simply refused to stay buried.

#ffxiv fanfiction #thancred x wol #wolcred #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv write 2023 #thancred waters

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