somehow somehow felt like after a long marriage wylder would gained a lot of confident in bed
Over the years, he just gets completely comfortable with wanting you, like the shyness he used to show at first burns away, and what is left is this hungry version of him who is always reaching for you.
He goes from hovering at a distance to treating your body like it's his favorite place to be, touching you whenever he can, sliding closer in bed, pressing himself against you like he needs that contact to breathe. As time goes on, he gets a little clingy in the sweetest, most selfish way, burying his face in your neck, holding you there, letting out these soft needy sounds when you try to move away because he doesn't want to let you go yet.
After a while, he stops pretending he's shy about it and starts getting lazy confident. He just straight up tells you what he wants, whispering dirty little comments in this casual voice like wanting you is as normal as breathing. He loves seeing how you react, and he gets a quiet smugness from it. It turns into routine too, the kind of intimacy that feels lived in, almost domestic, but still so charged with passion that it never gets boring.
Nevertheless, he's still a little desperate underneath it all, like a part of him will always be starving for you. But now that he's bold enough to show it, he'll take his time with you, to enjoy every second he has with you.
Wylder's completely unashamed about how badly he craves you and how completely he has gotten used to having you all to himself. So it would be torture to live without you giving him it.
Wylder would be that golden boy everyone loves at college, the one who somehow balances being stupidly good at sports and still shows up to every exam ready to ace it.
He is the kind of guy professors like, teammates respect, and parents trust instantly. And yeah, he is your best friend’s brother, the one you never thought too hard about because he was just…always there. You’d go over to hang out and he’d already be in the kitchen with his sleeves pushed up, casually cooking like it's no big deal, laughing with you both like he is part of the background of your life.
The scar on his arm was from a firework accident when he was a kid, something he regularly jokes about, but it sticks in your head every time you see it. Then the party happens where you slept with him by accident. Best blame it on the alcohol for turning every bit of “best friend’s older brother” energy into “you should not be doing this, but you are absolutely not stopping.”
You both laugh it off at first and pretend it was a one-time mistake, but it never stays that way. It turns into this pattern where you swear you’re going to be normal, and then you’re not. Suddenly, you are finding excuses to be at their house more, and he is finding excuses to keep you there, offering to drive you, offering to walk you home, offering to pick you up for coffee while telling himself it's platonic.
And he does take you out, too. Not in some dramatic way, but like he genuinely likes spending time with you. He’ll bring you to little places around campus, late-night diners, the quiet corner bookstore, a boba spot he insists is the best. Or a park where he can snuggle you up on the bench while people sneer at you both because they can't have you do.
He pays for everything regardless. He wins you prizes at stupid little arcade games. He buys you snacks and acts nonchalant, like he isn’t actively spoiling you just to see you smile. He is so sweet in public it almost makes you forget what he is like when you’re alone.
And then you end up back at the house, because you always do. His sister is downstairs watching TV or talking on the phone or making herself food, totally unaware, and Wylder is guiding you upstairs with the same casualness as he has done it a hundred times.
The door clicks shut, and the whole vibe changes. He gets quieter, closer, touchier. All that polite golden boy energy gets stripped off the second he's alone with you. He is careful at first, like he’s listening for footsteps, like he is trying to be good, but you can tell he likes the risk more than he pretends. He’ll keep a hand over your mouth if you laugh too loud, murmuring “shh” and the second the house creaks, he freezes with you, hiding his face in your neck while the two of you try not to make a sound.
He never rushes you out afterward, either. He fixes your clothes because he’s gentle, and then he’ll walk you back downstairs like nothing happened, sitting there at the kitchen counter eating whatever he cooked earlier, acting normal while you’re trying to keep your face straight. And the worst part is he’s good at it. He’ll look at you across the room, ever so composed, and you can practically hear him saying, later, again, like it's already decided.
Ironeye is the biker everyone sees but nobody really knows. The type who pulls into a gas station late at night with his pricey helmet under his arm, dressed in black clothes, silver jewelry catching the light, and people naturally move out of his way without quite realizing why.
You meet him there by accident, way too late to be alone, and he offers you a ride home in that casually confident voice that makes it sound like no big deal. After that, he becomes the face you can somehow always pick out in a crowd of identical leather jackets and loud engines.
Girls whisper about him all the time, and they are obsessed because of those signature blue eyes and that streak of white in his hair that makes him impossible to forget.
Little do you know, he pierces himself, has tattoos on his back that disappear beneath his shirt, and at first you assume he is just another reckless biker until you learn he actually owns a tattoo and piercing shop. Turns out he is skilled, precise, and way more put-together than he looks.
And then he starts taking you out like it is the easiest thing in the world. Real dates, I mean, not just late-night rides, even if the bike is still part of it. He’ll tap his helmet against yours like a kiss, tell you to hold on, then take the long way on purpose because he likes having you tucked against his back with your arms around him, his hand covering yours on his waist at stoplights.
He brings you flowers too, which is honestly the most unfair part, because you expect him to be all edge and attitude and then he shows up with a small bouquet like it is nothing, like he didn’t just short-circuit your brain. The dates are always lowkey but intimate, diners at midnight, quiet viewpoints, a parking lot with the city lights in the distance, his jacket around your shoulders while he watches you.
Most nights end with you staying over at his place because leaving him feels impossible once you’ve been around him for a few hours. His apartment is dim and warm and smells faintly like ink and clean laundry, with his gloves tossed on the counter and tools from the shop scattered like he never fully clocks out.
He’ll offer you one of his shirts. And whenever you stay, it always ends the same way. It starts with something small, his hand on your hip when he walks past, his mouth at your neck when you’re laughing at something stupid, his voice going deeper when he asks if you’re staying the night.
Then you’re pressed closer, his attention completely on you, the teasing gone, replaced by the energy that makes it obvious he’s been thinking about you all evening. He still acts like it is nothing afterward too, like it is just what happens when you’re there, pulling you in with an arm around your waist, letting you fall asleep against him, and waking up with that lazy smirk like he already knows you’re going to do it all over again.
Executor is that mysterious guy you keep seeing at the small coffee shop where you work your part-time job, always showing up at weirdly consistent times like he’s part of the building’s routine.
He always orders the same thing in the same tone, and replies with the same calm little nod. You barely get anything out of him besides polite thank-yous and the soft clink of coins or a card tap. He sits in the same spot every time too, always at the table in the corner with his back to the wall, his notebook open, his earbuds in, and he’ll spend hours there with that deadly focus that makes the whole place feel ten times slower.
Then you start noticing the details without meaning to, the ink smudges on his fingers, the neat way he folds receipts, the way his gaze lifts for half a second whenever the door chimes. Sometimes he leaves behind a napkin with a tiny sketch on it, nothing showy, just a few lines that somehow look like art, and you pretend you don’t keep them.
It turns into this thing where you’re the only one who can get him to talk for more than ten seconds, mostly because you stop trying so hard. You toss him a casual comment while you’re wiping down the counter, and he answers with these short, clean sentences that feel rare for someone like him.
You find out in pieces that he’s a successful artist and writer, the kind of person people post about online without realizing they’ve been sitting next to him in a coffee shop for months. He never brags nor explains, but sometimes you catch a book on his table with his name on it, or a gallery flyer tucked into his notebook.
He becomes a comforting presence. He’ll start waiting for you to finish a rush before he approaches the counter. He’ll tip too much without making a big deal out of it. He’ll slide a folded slip of paper toward you once, making your co-worker giggle as they're ready to tease you after, and inside is a single line that reads like poetry and also like an invitation.
And the moment it shifts is almost stupidly small. A late shift, the shop's nearly empty, you're handing him his usual. Your fingers brushing his, and his eyes staying on you a beat longer than they ever do. He doesn’t flirt like a normal person. He just looks at you like he’s decided something. When he finally asks you out, it's inevitable, like “Come with me after you close,” and it does not feel like you can say no even if you wanted to.
His dates are sweet and simple, galleries after hours, a bookstore café, a studio, and he stays close without being showy, guiding you with a hand at your lower back, listening more than he speaks.
The lewd part is that once you’re alone, his quietness turns into something hot and heavy. He doesn’t need a lot of words to make you melt. But it starts out slow, controlled, and then it keeps happening because it always ends the same way. You go out, you end up back at his place, and somehow you’re always the one leaving with his shirt on, his ink still smudged on your skin, and the knowledge that tomorrow he’ll be back at your counter ordering the exact same drink like nothing happened, except now you both know.
Hi there I just wanted to say your stories are all incredibly lovely if it's alright to share an comfort idea what if Wylder found a Reader who maybe couldn't hear or speak and who teaches him sign language.
I tried to make it as comforting as possible, but then I remembered there's no comfort in FromSoft's language 😿.
tw: angst at the end.
wc: 1.5k
Wylder thinks he’s in love. For the first time in forever, he’s in love.
There’s this enigmatic girl at the Shrouded Hold who has a chokehold on his heart, though she doesn’t even realize it. Her presence is like the Night that plagues Limveld—impossible to forget, curling into the spaces between his ribs.
It all began on the day he arrived at this strange sanctuary, carrying more questions than answers, his mind chaotic with all the things he did not know and all the battles still ahead. He had wandered the grounds with restless steps, searching for a place that offered privacy, and found her at the bark of an old willow outside the Hold..
She sat with her back pressed against the tree’s massive trunk, one knee drawn up, the drooping branches spilling down like a curtain around her. She looked as though she belonged to the willow, partially wrapped in its sorrowful veil, with the faint light of dusk slipping through the leaves, touching her skin.
Wylder kept seeing her. Days passed, and each time his steps carried him near the willow, there she was. Sometimes she was reading, sometimes she only sat, gaze lost in the canopy above, distant and unreachable.
It gnawed at him. He was a man who had walked through battlefields without blinking, yet here he stood, undone by the simple fact that she hadn’t noticed him. Was he a ghost to her? A shadow among shadows? The thought needled at his pride.
One day, he decided to make a move. For so long, he had only watched her from afar beneath the willow’s drooping veil. She was a mystery he couldn’t cast aside, and though Wylder was no stranger to the silence, this kind of silence was different. It drew him in, rather than pushing him away.
He stepped closer, careful not to startle her, his voice quiet, almost uncertain. “You’re always here…aren’t you?”
You turned your head, and your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at the sight of him standing so near. He was tall, armored in a way that made him seem both menacing and weary, the helm obscuring his face entirely. He must be the new addition the Iron Menial had been talking about, the wanderer brought into the Shrouded Hold with nothing but fate.
His voice rumbled again, but muffled by the iron mask, though no words reached you. You blinked, trying to catch his meaning, but with his lips hidden, the sound was only noise, shapeless and unreachable.
You tilted your head, confusion written plain across your features, and that small gesture. The way your brow furrowed and your silence held struck him all at once. His breath was stuck as realization began settling in.
On the next day, he came back, the weight of guilt pressing heavily in his chest. His steps were slower this time, less guarded, and in his hands he carried a small bundle wrapped in cloth—baked goods he had managed to make using the Hold’s kitchens. Not a grand offering, but something humble.
Most importantly, he wasn’t wearing the heavy helmet anymore. The shadows of the willow caught across his bare face, revealing ocean blue eyes that looked less like a warrior’s and more like a man uncertain of his welcome.
You saw him from the corner of your eyes, and your thoughts spun. What would bring him back to you? Was it pity? Curiosity? He stood before you in silence for a moment, then crouched down at the roots where the earth was soft. With one finger, he carefully traced letters into the dirt.
Sorry.
Your heart eased. You shook your head, raising your hands to form the signs you knew best, slow and clear: It’s okay. That he hadn’t scared you, nor had he unsettled you at all. You hoped he would understand, but his brow furrowed in puzzlement, his head tilting as if trying to catch the meaning behind your gestures.
So you bent forward, mirroring him, and pressed your finger to the soil beside his word. You wrote it back in plain letter.
The confusion in his face melted then, and for the first time, he smiled.
He had learned from the Iron Menial that you weren’t a Nightfarer at all. You weren’t one of them but something else entirely. Just a poor soul who had stumbled here long before any of them, and for reasons no one could explain, you had never left.
That made you special. More of a mentor than just a ghost who haunted this place.
Wylder found himself thinking of it often. That maybe, if he could learn the language of your silence, he might understand the Hold better.
He found you more often than he expected. In the gardens where the paths wound into silence. Beneath the willow’s shadowed veil. Even in the dim corridors of the Hold, where torchlight flickered across your profile.
You were always there, crossing into his days as though the place itself conspired to place you before him.
And more surprisingly still, you began to teach him. Patiently, steadily, you drew him into your world of unspoken words, a language shaped by motion and touch. At first, Wylder fumbled with it, his scarred hands clumsy and stiff, but you only smiled and guided him again, your fingers wrapping around his to shape them into meaning.
He could remember clear as day the first time you taught him to say your name.
You stood close, so close he could see the tiny flecks of light caught in your eyes, your expression soft with encouragement. Your hands moved with practiced grace, forming the shape of your name in the air, and then you reached for him. His hands were rough, leathered from years of sword and battles, and yours were soft against them as you coaxed his fingers into place, showing him how to mimic the motion.
The warmth of your skin lingered even after you released him, but Wylder repeated the sign, slow and careful, his lips parting in concentration though no sound followed. When at last he managed it, he had never seen a smile so beautiful, as if heaven had descended.
From then on, you taught him everything you knew.
The days turned into lessons. You showed him the hidden corners of the place where the rains worked differently. You told him, in the fluid motion of your hands, about the creatures that crawled out beneath moonless skies, things born of hunger and despair. You painted for him the shape of the true terror that ruled them all: Heolstor, the Nightlord himself, master of the dark legions.
Wylder tried his best to hold on to every scrap of knowledge you gave him. He knew how vital it was, how each gesture you taught him could be the difference between life and death in this strange existence. But as much as he wanted to be a devoted student, his heart said otherwise.
Because how could he focus when your warmth was so near, wrapping around him like a shield against the chill that haunted these halls? How could he think of monsters and war when your eyes brightened with every story, when your brow furrowed so seriously at the darker truths?
He caught himself memorizing not just the lessons but the curve of your smile, the little tilt of your head when you waited for him to follow along. All the adorable kinds of expressions you could make, he was happy to see them all.
He loves you. Gods, he loves you. More than anything, more than the night skies that had once carried him without fear, more than his own fragile place in this fractured world.
He wants you to be happy. He wants you safe beneath the willow’s drooping branches, safe in the soft warmth of the garden light. He wants you here forever, rooted to the Hold as surely as the tombs themselves. The thought of you disappearing, of you slipping away into some unknown dawn, is a blade he cannot bear pressing against his heart. He would rather shatter himself against the dark than see you gone.
So why does his chest ache so unbearably now, when he faces you? Why does the sight of your eyes, once so open to him, pierce deeper than any wound?
Was it because he's bearing the form you hated so much?
“Wylder?”
The field was vast under the pale moon. The winds howled cold and merciless. Yet through that endless roar, through the storming night itself, he heard it.
Your voice.
For the first time in forever, sound carried from your lips to his ears. Fragile, broken, trembling.
So sad. So full of disbelief. As if even the act of naming him hurt, as if you couldn’t reconcile the man you had loved beneath the willow with the shadowed figure standing before you now.
The Nightlord’s mantle clung heavily to his frame, every breath weighed down by the power he had claimed. He should have felt invincible, untouchable. But in that moment, he felt like nothing at all.
*twirls hair* so… everdark libra summoning condemned… imagine Wylder making a deal with Libra to have you but the catch is he has to share with a condemned version of himself… Wylder x you x Wylder sandwich 🥴
OMG, I hate fighting that stupid goat, but the fact that he can summon my teammates' clones is insane. And can't say I haven't been thinking the same with you, anon. Hehe.
What could be worse than a man lusting for you, but instead of saying it to your face, he struck a deal with the devil to cast a horny spell on you?
I'm not normal about how well Wylder fits into that trope of a man. Imagine before the big fight on night two, you're super anxious because you have never fought this creature before. Your teammates said he's insane and will make you insane if you're not careful. So you gather everything you have to mentally prepare yourself, ready to face him while entrusting Wylder to watch your back.
Only to have another Wylder stare back at you, not doing anything at all, just standing there menacingly. Then suddenly, another pair of hands came from behind you, groping your breasts. You try to fight it, but you don't know why you can't. It's like all your strength has long been vacuumed from your body, leaving you helpless and aroused.
The condemned lifts your shirt up while the real Wylder comes to bask himself in them bouncy bouncy. Groping, touching, pinching. All worshipping and stuff, y'know. He's a little shy and ashamed in the way he so carelessly moves, yet at the same time isn't. He just wants you and you alone, and he doesn't care about the condemned. Because after all, it's a copy of himself (he won't make the deal if it's someone else lol).
Plus, it's a win. He gets to have you at a tiny cost that doesn't harm anyone at all. He just hates how the demon watches like a voyeuristic bastard, he is.
You can't tell which one is the real Wylder, or if he's truly here at all, and Libra's playing mind games with you. You cling to whoever catches you first. Then the next thing you know, you have both cocks in your mouth, licking, sucking, and kissing, anything to make the ache in your tummy stop.
Wylder only stops at stroking and brushing your hair out of your face; meanwhile, the condemned straight up yanks at it, making you yelp out of hurt. Though they may share the same features and all, there are a few things quite different about them. And each time, Wylder has to telepathically tell his twin to be more gentle.
They both finish in your mouth. When you think they're done, they aren't. One of them holds you from behind so the other can eat you out. Much to your despair, his mouth works like magic, making you shake and cry and kick at him so he stops overstimulating you.
The fun part is when the condemned hoists you up from behind so Wylder can get to the front (look up Standing DP). You swear you nearly die when he pushes the flushed head of his cock in, you feel like he's splitting you in half 'cause it's too big, and it's not even all the way in.
Poor boy's just too happy and excited to fuck the girl of his dreams' pussy. So he spits on it for better lubrication and stuffs the rest in, expecting you to take it like how you should. The friction only makes you hug his neck tighter out of anxiety. When he's completely inside, the nightmare only begins when you feel something poking at your asshole. The condemned's there like "hello, don't forget about me" as he bullies his veiny dick in your puckered, tight little hole.
They take turns each time and fuck your body as if their life depended on it. Because if they don't, they'll soon go mad due to the deal made with Libra. You will too, if you try fighting the horniness. So may as well give yourself up when they fuel you with nothing but cum and cum. Until your head's filled with nothing but their mouths that are licking at your body, and their dicks that are pounding into you.
And not to mention the goaty bastard just stood there with his stupid staff, watching the poor girl get both her holes completely destroyed in amusement 🥴.
A funny talisman from a goddess reader for the Tarnished/Chosen Undead is when they hit 0 health, the talisman activates, conjuring an Avatar of you that revives them and stun/damages enemies, before softly lounging on a small etherial cloud, giving constant ticks of healing and and stat boosts, all the while watching them continue to fight for a bit. Then vanishing into specks of light.
That thing would have a cooldown but assuming it's a late game quest item, I'd say it's fair.
Cue the Tarnished/Undead/Nighfareres constanly getting themselves killed just to summon your Avatar.
Also you CANNOT convince me that Gwyn would be an old pervert to the goddess of kindness, that man is RANCID.
But since I'm already yapping again, hear me out.....Even enemies fall for the goddess. Come on, some of Dark soul's dragon would surely be drawn to an entity so kind and gentle in a cruel world they have been thrusted in after Gwyn butchered them into this age. Interesting because gods and dragon usually don't get along but they can't hold a grudge against you.
Or Omens! They flee to areas that are dominated by you followers, because unlike Marika and her order, you will not shun and harm them, something your followers mirror. Cruel golden light is snuffed out by your hands.
Also for sex....I can see the kind goddess being ok with helping her followers when they too horny to function. Poor Artorias, full of shame and cursing himself but can't bring himself to say no when you so kindly help him. He shouldn't let you do this, you're too kind for your own good, to innocent. But all that is thrown out when your breasts squeeze and milk him for all his worth. Make it a threesome with Ornstein somehow meeting you and being too busy worshipping your ass and cunt while you keep Artorias busy. The knight getting drunk on your ambrosia.
You gotta be honest, some of the Nighfareres would 100% Jack off to one of your Statues.
Anyway I've been yapping too much now :}
A very useful talisman to have early game and even late game but how you get it is another question!
It’s one of those Youtube tutorials on how to obtain it but the video’s absurdly long because you have to have enough level to go through a whole questline and make bad decisions to get. Some hardcore gamers say it’s not worth it but for the sake of getting the all legendary talismans obtained achievement, they have to do it anyway xD
For a talisman like that, I imagine it as a one use per bonfire/site of grace because it would be so broken if it has a real-time cooldown. It’s perfect for clutching or accidentally dying because of random bullshi, so instead of “You died”, the player gets picked back up by the goddess and have all their stats boosted for a certain period of time.
I love the idea that the Tarnished/Undead/Nightfarers downed themselves to summon her. Honestly, if I were them, I would die on purpose just to goon to her avatar too.
And don’t even get me started on Gwyn! He’s lowky such a tyrant who would do anything to maintain his rule. And that man’s hella creepy for wanting to confine and possess the kind goddess like an item. I bet the reason why she’s not dead right away was because she’s useful to his regime in some ways. Keeping the shunned beings at bay to not cause a ruckus to his Age of Fire while protecting the balance the world’s having, plus she’s obedient and couldn’t harm a fly so he’s not as threatened.
Yessss! The dragons were definitely drawn to her covenant. They found shelter where they’re not living in fear from being hunted by the gods, hiding under her protection and blessings. I would say Sheath the Scaleless was once a devotee for being shunned by his kind, but he was too blinded by his hatred so he turned away and did what he did.
Omens and Hornsents were such a nice idea in Elden Ring, too! Especially knowing how rotten of a regime the Golden Order had become. It would be interesting to see the goddess and Marika as two opposite sides. And like oil and water, they could never blend. The Greater Will only wanted the Lands Between for itself so there would be conflicts after conflicts until Marika split herself and send her male version to impregnate the goddess and then boom, peace for now xD!
Amazing chest ahead. The kind goddess’ physique is no joke! You’re irresistable even to gods like Artorias. Despite your opposition during the day, you guys are strangely compatible in bed. I think the size difference only makes it hotter because Artorias had never felt dominated size wise in his life lol. Like calling him a good knight while he suck on your tits and begging for more. Make it a threesome with Ornstein because he’s lowkey chill and thinks you’re cool like that 🤤.
Extreme worshipping where you find yourself degenerating slowly because you recently realize that the goddess you follow’s hot as hell. So you get off to this mini idol you have of her in your room, undressing her with your imagination while feeling blasphemous, knowing she would forgive you anyway. At least that’s how I imagine some of the Nightfarers to be hhehe.
Goshhh I love these yappings so much, it brings back so much memories when I was thriving in my ER phase but didn’t have anyone to share them with at all 😭🙏
Your wylder fic about marriage was delicious. Are you planning to write a wylder fic in the domestic style again?
Yes yes yes, yessss. Have you listened to his voice during the Duchess’s remembrance, where he was sitting next to the flatbread? Now imagine hearing that raspy voice next to your ears every single night 🤤.
I don’t know about you guys, but everything about that man screams green flag and you can’t change my mind. Bro’s a good husband, who protects and provides and keeps you well and happy. But a warrior at the same time, chasing away danger, too.
I can already tell bro was popular among the ladies of his tribe. Like they either wanted a night with him or wanted to wed him. It's easy to get it because he's handsome, he’s the chief’s son, a skilled swordman, and a good boy who can cook and clean. Even when he’s married to you now, women still fall for the charming vibe he gives off.
Of course, you get jealous when they bat their lashes at him. Still, it’s nothing compared to the jealousy he felt when men from other tribes tried to woo you.
But your married life was filled with nothing but happiness. Mornings waking up with him next to you, already smiling from how much he loves you, then evenings falling to bed with him holding you close, still looking at you with the same loving eyes.
He never goes anywhere without telling you so, and when he comes back, it's always him holding wild flowers to give you. He cooks most of the time and makes the best meals there are. He also gives the best hugs and kisses.
Though a man like him can be flawed, too. And the flaw is that he loves you too much he can never say no to you. Literally just request anything from him, he will say yes regardless. Even when you ask him to keep his hands to himself every single time he's behind you.
Sometimes you’ll find him waking up in the middle of the night, breathing heavily and sweating a bucket that he has to hug you tighter. It’s only because he has nightmares of the past, of what happened to his people and the Night event. They probably gave him PTSD.
There’s so much more for me to say but basically yeah, I’ll write more happy stuffs after I’m done dropping the deranged ones 🤤.
Fromsoft gods are usually in two categories. Fallible gods that remain in the realm of mortals and interact with them. Or abstract deities that are beyond sanity and cant interact with the world all that much
Now hear me out, a reader that's a combo of both. A god that once interacted with mortals in the world but one day decided to stay in their own realm, focusing more on maintaining existance and their aspect. Only rarely comuning with worshipers.
Now here I am, thinking thoughts about whatever souls game and whatever characters encountering one of your devotees. The world has gone cold and dangerous, made so by folly of foolish lesser gods. But even now, your aspect of divinity shines, you have not abandoned your dear mortals and smite any sinner that dare to harm them.
Maybe if it's the tarnished or chosen undead, they get invited to a Festival held in your name. Statues and murals show your otherworldy beauty, the face that no longer graces this world but still watches over it. The land near your temples are still radiant and flush with life, not overcome with rot and evil like so much of the lands. People are still safe in your embrace.
With how bad this realm has gotten, you decide that in the middle of the festival, it is high time you directly intervine in this broken realm again and fix the mess the other gods have made. It when the Tarnished/undead finally sees you in the flesh...do you even flesh? Or is your body just made of solid light? Pure divinity given form? Your followers rejoice as their deity returns to the world.
Anyway I'm blabbering, so imma go to the point. Chosen Undead/Tarnished being so in awe of you that they decide to follow and carry out your will. They fight your battles for you, even tho you don't need it, you could just strike down any who would stand in your way but please, let them do this for you.
Or if it is Artorias, maybe Ornstein, once so devoted to Gwynn and his children, they faith shatters when they encounter you. In the Lords they see only the failing might of brittle kings, but in you, they see salvation. A god not consumed by fear and jealousy, but one of conviction, you will fix the world, and they shall stand beside you.
Perhaps even one of the Nighfareres Like Wylder, or Guardian(I'm a monsterfucker, spare me) A deity has finally decided to step down and assists them in slaying the nightlord, for perhaps his actions disturb the realm and even your domain, something you will not let go unpunished. When they fight, they feel your arms around them, guiding the blades, when they bleed they hear you healing voice and when they fall, you embrace them.
But plot twist! You leave once the world is repaired.
You are not like Marika and Gwynn, sure you mingle from time to time with mortals but you know you have duties to fufill, you are not a monarch, conquering Land and making laws. No you are a God, something more. You don't let ego get the better of you and make kingdoms of youe design, you leave that to mortals. You couldnt care less, you arent human, you don't feel and think like them. You care for them yes, but it's more akin to gardener tending to flowers and giving bugs a safe home. You like them, but you don't get too close. So it's time to go to the realm beyond once more.
And it SHATTERS the characters. How they reach can always depend. Maybe the Tarnished noticed how you only act directly when the world is in danger. Maybe the Take up the frenzied flame, because maybe, just maybe if they burned the world away, they could be with you. You do probably descend into the world, but you don't kiss them or speak with them. You tear out the yellow flame that they hold and seal them away. Punishment for a mortal who thinks they are a god. You are not a all forgiving god, but it's okay, because they smile as they think about how your hands touched them as you strangled the three fingers chaos out of them. They'll do anything to see and feel you again, no matter the sins.
Ornstain maybe begging and pleading for you to stay, he already lost one god, he can't lose another. Trying his hardest to convince you to remain because what if something terrible happens again?! You must stay and oversee the world, just a little bit longer. Please.
Any Nighfarer's heart bleeds with fear and sorrow as they see you depart once more after the night has been ended. They can't do anything to keep you. They'd hug and kiss any of your statues, can you hear them? Do their prayers reach you? Please, don't be silent, they crave to hear you once more. Let them be near you.
Saying all this, you probably knew of their affections, but did you return them? To them you are everything, but to you? A pleasant mortal to be around, you too alien to love them like they love you. But please, let them try, let them kiss you. Let them worship you.
HOLY YAPPERS.
Anyway gonna zip my mouth shut now, teehee :]
Wahh I always get so giddy and happy whenever people send me asks ><!! You guys are so amazing and creative, and sometimes I wonder if we're two peas in a pod because our thoughts align so well.
I just wanna say I love the god/deity concept. And whenever I put the reader in this concept, I always make them a benevolent one who was too good to be true lol.
Partly because I feel like Fromsoft knows exactly what people need in a shitty setting such as Dark Souls and Elden Ring. And I myself have always had an interest in these kinds of motifs. Simply just slap in a divine waifu with bare feet, make her soft-spoken and graceful, who can offer comfort and level up your game then boom, either you wife the girl or her go insane/ded.
Refer to my other post for the Chosen Undead and his goddess. Think of a young god born from love and everything nice, who’s baby-stepping into a new world full of wonders as she learns from anew. She doesn’t really belong to the Dark Souls world like Gwyn and the other Lords, and only descended out of curiosity. Quite similar to the definition of Outer God.
The other gods aren’t really pleased with her appearance because of how alien she was with no background. It’s like letting a stranger live in your home and be okay with it. But I guess since they can’t do anything about it, they welcome her in. Plus she seems harmless so maybe just lock her up and let her do her stuffs, as long as she doesn’t poke her nose in their business.
It’s no surprise she’s outcasted and no one wants to hang with her. She’s so ordinary and soft-natured. While others wished for dominion and have ambitions, like how Gwyn didn’t want the Age of Fire to end, she’s simply happy with just people taking joy in her strength and become better. You can also say it’s her own way of fixing the world.
She can heal and fix things caused by despair, so the damned turn to her for comfort, some of them slowly creating a religion. But since she doesn’t have a concept of spreading her beliefs, not a lot know about her. Though there are a few statues here and there and places built by very few followers you can pray at, they’re not really notable.
The main love interest was originally Artorias, but I made it angsty because Artorias got his ass handed to him by the Abyss and never made it back. Basically, he believes in her and somehow wants her to succeed, even though he serves someone else already. Saying he turned his back on her wasn't true because it was understood from her perspective. He actually loves her but at the same time, doesn’t want other gods to harm her, knowing she can’t hurt a fly.
The covenant was meant to expand the good and cease the bad, which was her idea originally. But I guess since it's growing, she's started to be seen as a threat because her ideology is giving humans rebellious thoughts for wanting a new age other than Gwyn's. Thus, heretics from other parties blend in to corrupt followers with fallacies, wanting to end her. Goddess strong -> you eat her -> you get her power.
I love the Chosen Undead and his signature Elite Knight set, mostly because I had a soft infatuation with Oscar and Anri, so I made him take the Age of Dark path to live on and come back for his lover. I also thought about making a sequel of them living their lives after the deed's been done.
It's such a good build-up for Elden Ring, too, considering how chaotic the Lands Between had become. With the Outer Gods trying to influence the land and its inhabitants in the worst way possible, surely you need to take action to halt these deities because they're destroying your garden.
Making it a questline. The Tarnished is first introduced to your religion through an NPC he met at some point in the game, about an absolute deity who had once embraced the Lands Between and its people with warmth and protection. There are no exact records of you ever appearing again after the first time before the Shattering, only communing with your loyal followers through signs and visions.
It was only a fleeting interest at first, how you watch from above, your little mortals just living their lives and worshipping you. Their prayers don't make you any stronger but they sure make you happy, the feeling of tending to a garden and finally witnessing its fruitfulness.
You grant them defensive/healing incantations that they can use to protect themselves, and powerful swords/seals to strike down foes who dare harm them. Followers come to learn your way and be cured of whatever despairs they're cursed with. Priests and priestesses tend to your temple, sending prayers in the desperate hope of being answered by their deity.
All that, only to be met with eternal silence, making them question themselves if their god had left them.
“I beg of you, dear divine goddess, embrace your children once more...”
Meanwhile, you're just chilling in your realm, not wanting to give the mortals what they want just because they beg lol. It's for their own sake, though. If you keep helping them out they'll never learn to be independent.
But when the Shattering happens and puts the world into chaos, it affects your people because they're caught in the war as pawns for other Outer Gods. Some choose to follow the Formless Mother, some turn to The Greater Will, some worship the God of Rot, and even worse, they take upon themselves The Frienzied Flame, which is the greatest sin that goes against your teachings.
With The Lands Between having been turned into a ruinous playground, you can't be ignorant any longer, seeing your garden being destroyed by pests. So, wanting to fix the world, you come to your people during a small festive night held in your name, one that fewer people are showing up for due to the war.
It's unbelievable and feels like a dream when your image is conjured before finally taking the form of a goddess. They get on their knees when they realize you look just like how you do with the ancient statues. You wish to cleanse the land and return it to the way it was before, then from the crowd, walked out a lowly Tarnished, volunteering to carry out your will.
Seeing their determination and strength, you come to acknowledge them. As the questline progresses, they have to eliminate potential threats and extinguish other Outer Gods, making them a trusty follower, worthy enough to earn your favour. As a reward for their loyalty, you grant them a ring/a sword/a talisman,...to prove your approval. It almost felt like a dowry lol.
But when you're done, you just leave, wishing them the best on their journey, which devastates them because they have already formed some kind of obsession towards you. Knowing they can't do anything about it, they take in Shabriri's heretical words and become the Lord of Frenzied Flame, hoping it will bring you back.
Yet, a mortal can't be a god, let alone a frenzied one. When faced with you, they already know that they finally got your attention, even if it's not in a good way. But it's okay because they feel loved when you embrace them in your arms as you rip the frenzy flame out of them.
Mortals will never fail to amuse you. They love, they mourn, they cry, and they hate. But you guess it's what makes them unique and fallible. You never know they can go this far just to have a goddess look their way, yet you find it endearing.
Same concept for Nightreign, you return to your realm once the Night ends and no longer cause harm to The Lands Between. That means the Nightfarers disappear along with the Night, too, since it's a parallel realm. But I guess you can bend reality and send them back to where they were with a vague memory of the horrendous event, and a god who once blessed them through the Night. Thus, leading to them seeking out your religion in the real world and following in your footsteps.
Ornstein's another case, though. My man left his home to look for his traitorous Lord, who's also his mentor and best friend. I can not imagine the horror of the day he heard Gwynsen sided with the dragon, which then later on resulted in his name being erased forever from history.
Bro probably gets on his knees to beg you to not abandon him and this world, for it needs some kind of comfort from a deity to exist. He needs you, he feels so hollow with you. Like he needs the order, he misses being told what to do, and having a purpose to fight for. For what is a knight with no god to serve?
With that being said, I'll probably come up with more degenerate stuff for this concept lol, I love it.
I cry myself to sleep everynight knowing us souls girlies are content starved and i’m so sick of not seeing a single thirst post for our favourite knights. Like everyday fake scenario-ing in my head alone isn’t enough, the need to release and share these debaucherous thoughts are so strong and irritating I had to make a blog for it.
But yes, thank you anon and all other anons for reading my junks and liking them <333
