#German surrender

[newyorkthegoldenage]

When Germany surrendered, New Yorkers celebrated into the night. Times Square, May 8, 1945.

Photo: Arthur Leipzig via Phillips Auctions

[scotianostra]

On the 21st November 1918 the German High Seas Fleet gathered in The Firth of Forth to formally surrender.

I've said it before, but this must have been some sight to see from the coastline along North Edinburgh to South Queensferry.

10 days after the Armistice had been declared, the German High Seas Fleet surrendered to the Allies at the Firth of Forth. The anchorage at the Firth of Forth was merely the first stop for the fleet to ensure complete disarmament; the fleet would subsequently be interned around the Scapa Flow a few days later.

One hundred and six years ago today the crews of the British ships sent to escort the fleet would have observed the historic sight of the diminutive HMS Cardiff leading a convoy of 70 magnificent German battle cruisers and destroyers into internment around the Scottish Isles.

“The greatest naval surrender in the world's history” was how the Glasgow Herald recorded the surrender of the German fleet in the Firth of Forth.It signalled not only the end of German naval power but also the public humiliation of the country that Britain had fought bitterly for four long years.

Some seventy journalists, press photographers and marine painters flocked to Edinburgh to witness “a triumph to which history knows no parallel.” Among them was James Paterson. The artist watched the surrender from the deck of HMS Revenge. This painting is an accurate record of what happened that day. The sun rising through the haze and fog creates a beautiful glow across the water, contrasting against the aggressive forms of the camouflaged vessels, as seen in the painting among the pics, the second painting is from the 22nd and was created and released by the Imperial War Museum taken, or artworks created, by a member of the forces during their active service duties.

[slyandthefamilybook]

when did "you have to work in steps" become a radical position

[polarisbibliotheque]

To my peeps on the Shall Never Surrender project I haven't finished the requests yet and are wondering "what the hell, dude"

I just sketched Dante and Vergil for the first time again after, literally, more than 1 year.

And Vergil looks like Billy Idol 🙃

I'm trying to redraw an old drawing and maaaaaan, I couldn't get his proportions right for ANYTHING in this world hahahaha

Our rebel Vergil right there 🖤 *cries in the corner*

And Dante, as always, is so easy to get right. I love this man

I'm going for a redraw of a redraw. It'll probably be interesting if I get to finish!

(And just realised I gave an oc of mine Dante's hair while I was going for a Farah Fawcett look *cries again)

After I warm up and I'm actually able to draw them decently, I'll be picking up the requests!! Hopefully this week still!!

After Billy Idol Vergil stops haunting my dreams 🥲

[margaritavillewav]

Hey @staff what the fuck is this

[farlontjosh]

[snrland]

I find it ironic that the German stereotype is discipline and the Russian stereotype is chaos when all class materials for Russian are very neatly packed in categories in one place (Classroom or Teams) while for German I have to scavenge some WhatsApp group chat for hours and guess wtf each document is for because it's called something stupid like "A.1. 6969 Übungen mein Schwanz ist dick Sie_werden_Prüfungen_nicht_bestehen"

[diocletianscabbagefarm]

Today is the 4th of May, the Remembrance of the Dead in the Netherlands where we commemorate the dead of WW2 and wars and missions since then. I don't know why, but this year it is hitting me emotionally much harder than it has in other years.

[tacticalprincess]

haii it’s that one anon that submitted the boot ask a while back

exhausted könig getting back from deployment and his brain fizzling out as you ride him, mumbling sweet little things you can’t even tell is english or german as you take care of him,,, the most he does is rest his hands on your hips because you already know the way he likes it

you treat him so well, he could cry. your kitten nails make little crescents on his broad shoulders as you sink down onto his heavy, aching cock, relishing in the way it pulses inside your warm hole like its happy to finally be home. as tired as he is, he can’t take his eyes off you as you ride him slowly and lovingly, looking at you down the bridge of his strong nose with heavy, lidded eyes. he’s mesmerized by the way your sopping pussy clings to him like it missed him just as much, how your hips buck and tummy flexes as you swirl your body on his burly lap. if he had the strength, he would flip you over and take you apart like you deserve, show you just how much he’s been yearning to be inside you, but for now, all he can do is surrender himself to you, holding onto you by the soft crease between your hip and your thigh.

“just like that, schätzchen. sich so gut um mich kümmern.” he huffs, voice tired and raw and filled with emotion. “know just what i need, don’t you? mein engelchen.”

[newyorkthegoldenage]

On May 7, 1945, the word went around: Germany had surrendered. The war was over! New Yorkers lost no time in celebrating, although V-E Day wasn't until May 8.

Photo: Weegee via the Jewish Museum

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

The first time I saw Skip Muck’s grave at the Luxembourg American Cemetery and Memorial, I just stood there and felt numb. I was with Dick Winters and Carwood Lipton, on a trip led by Stephen Ambrose. It was 1991. No tears. In fact, there’s a photo of three of us old vets standing at his grave and we’re all looking resolute. Soldiers, you know, posing for a picture taken by a historian who admired the hell out of us. I returned there in 2004 and remembered how when Roe asked if I wanted to see Skip, I’d said no. And when Winters asked if I wanted a break, I’d said no. I realized that since those moments, I’d grieved for everybody I’d lost except for one man, the man whose death I’d tried for decades to run away from, the man whose loss had hit me harder than all the rest. How many times had I looked at that 1942 photo of all of us at Toccoa, the one I’d written all the KIAs and SWAs on for those killed and seriously wounded, and thought, Why not me? Why no initials on my chest? Why not at Brécourt Manor, when I’d stupidly gone after what I thought was a Luger on that dead soldier? Or at Hell’s Corner, when German soldiers had our patrol outnumbered eight to three but wrongly assumed we had more firepower and surrendered to us? Or at Bastogne? If Winters hadn’t split Skip and me up, that would probably have been me, not Penkala, in that foxhole with Skip on January 9, 1944. But even if I’ve played the what-if game often, I know, deep down, that you can never win at it. Better to remember that, for whatever reason—God or fate or reading a Reader’s Digest article about paratroopers on a Greyhound bus heading for Astoria—I was privileged to serve with a company of men who would make me far more than I would have been without them. And that losing one of those men had hurt so badly that I’d buried the thought of him, thinking that somehow that would help me avoid the pain. Better, I’ve since learned, to turn into those waves and dive. So on that day in 2004 when I visited the cemetery where Skip is buried, I looked at that white marble cross and that name—Sgt. Warren H. Muck—and thought of the kid who swam the Niagara. The march to Atlanta. The smile. I knelt, placed flowers at the base of that cross. Prayed. All the things I’d done before when I’d come to see his grave. Only this time I did something different, long overdue, and hard but freeing. I cried sixty years’ worth of tears.

~ Don Malarkey

[jonnywaistcoat]

my dad has decided that gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser is about world war 1

This is very funny to me - it's like saying your dad decided High Noon Over Camelot is about the wild west, or Ulysses Dies at Dawn is about film noire. Like, yeah, Gunpowder Tim is riffing on WWI - almost all the songs are based on old soldiers songs from the war, the tunnel-fighting is inspired by trench warfare, and the last time Germany had a "Kaiser" was Kaiser Wilhelm II, who abdicated after the German surrender.

Genuinely curious as to what you thought it was about, if you didn't have WW1 as a cultural touchstone?

[decentwritings]

Chapter 5

Summary: You’re unable to grasp the luck you have. You were raised to run from danger, to go the opposite direction of bad influences. So when you somehow find yourself right in the center of it, you discover that running wasn’t exactly what you were taught. It only took GhostFace and a pretty girl to remember that.

previous part <- -> next part

"Aww, man," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest childishly. "I missed a surveillance op?"

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed, while Tara finds your words amusing.

You all gather in your sister's home, in the kitchen where there's less mess. You sat on the floor, entertaining Blackie while Remy betrays you, choosing Tara over you. You offered the idea to discuss a few things in the home, wanting to give the sisters some puppy time. They say dogs help relieve stress, and these two do a good job of it for you. You figure they could help relieve a little of the stress before you go kill some psychos.

"How did you guys know it was me they were after?" You pat the German Shepherd's head, snapping your fingers and pointing down. He sits and pants in front of you. "Dude, go entertain the tall one, you're drooling on me," you point at Sam.

Blackie whines, glancing at Sam. Sam stares back at him, eyebrow arching. He saunters over to Sam and lifts his paw onto her knee. She rolls her eyes, but you and Danny don't miss the smile on her face as she kneels down to pet him.

"We waited for him to call us," Tara explains, smiling down at the pitbull, rubbing his belly. "But he knew we were expecting his call."

"He said he was visiting the suburbs," Sam continues, both hands holding the dog's face. She shakes his head in her hands gently and the puppy pants happily. "Then he tried to confuse us, telling us there was an old friend he needed to see first."

You raise a brow, looking over at Danny for help. He shrugs, just confused as you are.

"When he hung up, Kirby tracked his phone to two different locations." Tara explains, brushing her fingers on the top of Remy's head. The dog lays on Tara's lap, trying his best to fight off the sleep she's lulling him into. "Here and Gale's apartment."

"There are two!" you exclaim, almost giddily, because you were right.

"No," Sam deadpans, your smile dropping. "Gale just got a call. She's okay. Mindy, Chad and Ethan are with her now."

"Ethan?" you ask incredulously.

"His alibi checked out," Tara informs you and you huff again. "Anyway, we drove here as fast as we could. We used the sirens," she grins, amused by your reaction.

You groan, throwing your head back. "Aww, man, you guys drove a police car?" Tara nods, laughing at your reaction.

"This doesn't make sense," Danny speaks up, ending the intense eye contact you and Tara were having. "Why did he go after you? No offense, but you don't really have that much of a role in the recreation of their supposed movie."

"Offense taken," you comment before Sam intervenes.

"It could be you have some sort of connection to the originals..." Sam offers an idea, standing up, leaving Blackie to lay down with a whine.

"Uhh, no," you draw out, shaking your head. "My family's boring. The only interesting we have ever gotten into was them losing me at DisneyWorld," you point at Danny to verify.

Danny chuckles at the memory. "Oh yeah," he shakes his head. "Their mom nearly got them to shut the entire park down. Turns out, they were at the teacup ride just riding it over and over."

You smile, proud. "I broke the record for the most rides in a single day," you frown suddenly. "I also got my ass whooped when we got home."

"Maybe it's not about your past all," Sam crosses her arms, pondering the reason. She arches a brow at you. "Maybe you pissed them off, you have done nothing but annoy them."

Danny laughs. "It's second nature," he sends you a pointed glare.

"I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable!" You defend, lifting your hands up in mock surrender. Suddenly, you gasp, earning confused glares. "That's who Gale looks like of. Monica!"

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose again.

Sam ignores your words. "Or maybe it could be your friendship with Tara," she glances at her sister, who sends her a warning glare. "We don't know how long he's been watching us, Tara." She explains.

You furrow your brows. "I got here during summer semester," you say, confused by Sam's words. "I got stuck with Anika as a roommate because I didn't want to stay with my sister and Danny doesn't have a spare room."

"I offered you my spare room," Danny retorts. "But you didn't want to pay rent."

You wave him off. "I didn't really meet Tara until..." you tilt your head, unsure. You look over at the girl, sending her apologetic look. "We didn't meet until the party, so I don't think friendship is the right word."

Sam notices the way her sister's entire demeanor changes. Her sister avoids eye contact, clearly affected by your words.

Remy lifts his head up, snarling at you. You lift your hands up, glaring back at the dog. "What did I do?" You narrow your eyes at him.

Tara smiles again, petting the dog gently from head to tail. He wags his tail and nuzzles his face back down into her lap.

"We met at the bookstore," Tara finally speaks, drawing your attention away from the dog. "I overheard you talking to yourself about the prices of pencils being high."

You don't recall. Summer was...it was a blur. It was a summer full of airplane rides to Atlanta and back. Your dad's health was deteriorating and you actively searched for reasons to not be there to see it.

There's a sudden shift in the room, a tension that becomes noticeable only to Danny. He can see your expression change from confusion to sadness in seconds. It's then Remy stands to push his nose against your lap, pleading for you to give him space to let him be with you.

"Um," you clear your throat, unsure of where the knot came from. "GhostFace brought up my...habit of running. It's what I did this summer."

"He usually attacks emotionally first," Sam says, understanding.

"The thing is, no one knows but my family," you look at her, trying to piece together this whole thing. "My dad died last month," you finally say it out loud, but tears don't form in your eyes.

Danny feels Sam's eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes trained on you, ready to console you if you need it.

The day you got the call from your mom, you recall having plans with Anika to meet her friends. She wanted you to meet her girlfriend only, it was to show her girlfriend she didn't have to worry about you. But Mindy came with a package, her twin and Tara. And with her twin, Ethan.

You faintly remember being annoyed by their laughter. The group's loud way of communicating. The stare Ethan had on you when he thought you weren't looking.

"So, Y/N–" Tara tried to get you to join the conversation. But you're too out of it to notice.

You stood up. "I gotta go," you ran then too. You went MIA for a week before the funeral, and you only showed up to give your mom the cash you got when you sold your car.

Tara's expression softens as she listens, her fingers continuing to stroke Remy's fur, the dog returning to nestle in her lap. There's a heavy silence, one that feels loaded with the weight of what you've just revealed. Even though you've held the tears at bay, the grief is there—raw, and unspoken. You've tried running from these feelings and clearly its caught up to you.

"I'm sorry," Tara says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You give a small shrug, your eyes fixed on the floor. "It's... whatever," you mutter, but the strain in your voice betrays your attempt at indifference. "I wasn't even there when it happened," you add, and that's when the guilt hits, almost visible in the way you hunch your shoulders slightly.

Sam steps forward, her arms uncrossing. "GhostFace knows things," she says, her tone serious. "Things he shouldn't."

Blackie pushes your arms and plops down on your lap, the strongest one between the two puppies. You got this guy when he was just six weeks old; his previous owners pieces of shits so you rescued him from them. You gifted him to your sister and her husband when you moved in with them; and that was only so they could allow him to move in with you.

He favored you more than Remy did. He knew you inside out, probably better than you knew yourself. But never more than your dad.

Your dad did train him for the first six months of his life though. Maybe he picked up on a few things.

You stare at the German Shepherd, and he feels you staring so his eyes glance up at you. A soft smile crosses your lips, patting his head gently.

Your brows furrow then, and you finally meet her eyes. "But how? No one but family knew. And it's not like I broadcasted my family stuff."

"That's what's bothering me," Sam says, her gaze narrowing in thought. "It's almost like someone close to you told him."

"Impossible, I don't have friends," you comment, half-joking, but the weight of it lingers.

"Or they've been watching for a lot longer than we thought," Sam offers another idea.

"Nope," you dismiss that idea as well. "I'm paranoid. I am always on guard and question everyone's intentions."

Danny's voice breaks the tension. "You had a full conversation with a homeless man last week," he deadpans.

You chuckle at the memory. "Yeah. He was nice." You defend Lionel, the homeless man. He was nice.

But Tara isn't laughing. She sits up a little straighter, her eyes flicking between you and Sam as she pieces something together. "What if they weren't just after you because of me or the others? What if it's because they want to break you down—push you to run again?"

A knot twists in your stomach, and you feel the gravity of Tara's words sink in. "Why would they care about me running?"

"Because it's what you do, right?" Danny interjects, his voice steady but sympathetic. "You run when things get tough, but maybe this time, they want to control when and where you go. They're using your fear against you."

It hits you like a punch in the gut. "I'm ruining his plan," you finally realize, your voice quiet but firm. Danny's eyes lock with yours, and you can see the recognition in his expression. "He wants me to run because I'm ruining his plan. The plot. The whole thesis or whatever film jargon Mindy would use. I'm not the hero—I'm the fucking cock block... in theory." You finish, unsure of the term but knowing you're onto something.

The room falls silent, your revelation weighing heavily in the air. Sam's eyes flick between you and Tara, while Danny's gaze remains fixed on you, understanding dawning in his expression. It's as if the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.

"You...may be right," Danny says slowly, his voice measured. "You're not following their script, the role you took on by happening upon it. They want you to run, because you happened on this whole ordeal. You weren't suppose to go to the party, you weren't suppose to be at Sam's place when he went to attack."

"Nope. I was forced to go both times," you explain, laughing gently. "Dumbass. Everyone knows you need a backup plan."

Sam's brow furrows, arms crossed as she paces a bit. "So, he doesn't want you to be the hero... and he wants to get rid of you." She stops in her tracks, thinking aloud. "And if they couldn't get you to leave, he was going to rid of you his own way."

Tara shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting between you and her sister.

"And they failed." You say triumphantly.

"Who knows what else you ruined in their plan?" Tara shrugs.

Sam narrows her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe Quinn wasn't the only planned killing for that night."

You shift uneasily, the gravity of the situation settling in. "So, what? I just stick around and hope I don't mess things up even more? Hoping it doesn't get me killed in the process."

Danny lets out a humorless chuckle. "Or you stay and mess things up in his plan instead."

You look at him, confused, and a little insulted.

"You told me what Mindy said," Danny continues. "You're the wild card. You're not playing by the rules, and that's exactly why he's targeting you. If you run, you make it easier for him. But if you stay—"

"I ruin his movie," you finish for him, your voice more confident now.

Sam gives a small nod, her expression hardening. "And if we know anything about GhostFace, it's that he hates when things don't go his way."

Tara smiles faintly, a glimmer of hope returning to her eyes. "We've got an advantage now. We know what he wants you to do—and we're going to make sure you don't do it.

With a head shake and smile, you say instead, "Or maybe I do..do it," you couldn't help but giggle at your words. Danny shakes his head in disbelief, but chuckles as well. When you see Tara frown, you shake your head and stand carefully, making sure not to bother any of the sleeping dogs. "We make the idiot think I did run..." you look at Sam, hoping she gets where you're going.

Sam's eyes narrow, her arms still crossed as she processes your words. Slowly, a grin tugs at the corner of her lips. "You want to bait him," she says, her voice low with understanding. "Make GhostFace think you're running—play into his narrative."

"Exactly," you say, pointing at her, feeling the adrenaline start to course through your veins. "We make him think I'm doing what he expects, what he wants."

Danny raises an eyebrow, catching on. "We make him think you run, but really, you're leading him right into a trap."

Tara's frown fades, replaced with curiosity. "That could work," she murmurs, glancing at Sam. "If he thinks he's controlling the situation, he'll get overconfident, make mistakes."

Sam nods, her mind already racing through the logistics. "We'll need to set it up carefully. Make it believable."

"But tell no one," you say, looking between them all. "We can't risk anyone listening and it getting back to him somehow. Mindy, Chad, Kirby, Quinn's dad and definitely not Ethan." You emphasize.

Tara laughs quietly, shaking her head.

"Fine," Sam steps forward, and everyone follows. "We know the plan..."

"Oh, Captain America speech," you bounce on your feet excitedly. You purse your lips when you receive deadpan glares.

"We know our roles," Sam continues, glancing at each of you. "We make him regret ever trying to write any of us into his twisted movie."

You rest your hands on your hips, a proud smile forming on your lips. It radiates, drawing their attention to you. You shrug. "I just..." you smile, feeling more determined than ever. "I've spent my whole life running away from things. I think it's about time I run toward something—toward ending this for you guys."

Danny pats your shoulder gently, his grip reassuring. He's proud of you and your smile only widens at that.

Tara steps closer, her gaze soft but resolute. "Thanks for doing this," she looks over at her sister, her eyes full of gratitude before locking back on you. "For staying."

Danny and Sam share a look, feeling the clear attraction between you and Tara.

"So," Danny clears his throat, breaking the moment with a knowing smile. "The plan?"

You blink a few times, getting out of stupor. "Right..." you glance at your cousin, Sam then Tara. You feel caught so you hurry to move on. "We trap him, but we're gonna need all the help we can get.."

\\\\\

You know a plan is good when you start to believe it's bad.

"You know, the more we talk about it," you begin, pacing back and forth in front of them. "The more appealing it sounds." You chew your nail, a nervous habit you know you'd get reprimanded for if your siblings or parents were around.

The group sits in Gale's apartment building's lobby, being called over by the twins. They explained the need of wanting to end this. Chad told Sam of Mindy's worries of this ending worse than before. So Sam suggested they join them, hoping to console Mindy with their presence. She knows the twin worries when they are too far apart during situations like this.

Danny arches a brow. "What does?"

You clear your throat, coming to a stop by the door. "My mom called me," you say, avoiding their stares and keeping your eyes on Danny. "She wants me to come home. Even my brother said I should leave, and he's the one who convinced me and my sister to go to New York in the first place. So maybe I should...go back home." Your words come out reluctantly, because you're starting to mean them.

Danny glances at the others, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "Wait... you're serious."

You nod, playing into the part. "Yeah. Maybe it's time I listen to them." You shift your weight, making your hesitation believable.

Mindy stands abruptly, her voice rising. "Woah, hold up," she steps closer, shaking her head. "You can't just leave. You're part of this now—our hero!" Her tone is pleading, eyes wide with disbelief.

You shrug off her words, refusing to meet her gaze. "I'm no hero, Mindy. I'm just some idiot who stuck around too long. Like a bug stuck to a car's grill." You glare, directing the frustration outward, glancing at Chad and Ethan sitting nearby. Ethan looks back at you with that same innocent expression that's always unsettling.

With a huff, you shake your head and turn toward the door.

"GhostFace or not," you say sharply, turning back to face the room. "Maybe staying in New York was the wrong choice from the start. There isn't anything for me here, anyway."

The room falls silent for a moment, your words hanging in the air like a weight. Tara shifts uncomfortably, glancing between you and Sam. Danny looks torn, as if he wants to say something but is holding back.

"You can't just leave," Chad finally speaks up, breaking the silence. His voice is quiet, uncertain. "I mean, come on, you're part of this now. We need you."

"Need me?" you scoff, incredulous and bewildered at his words. "So he can kill me while you all survive again? No thanks."

Danny clenches his jaw, your words surprising him. "Y/N, relax. No one is dying-"

"He's tried to kill me twice," your voice raises, frustrated and exhausted. You feel Tara's sad eyes on you and it takes every ounce of will power you have not to look at her. "That's twice too many. And they say third's time the charm? Yeah, no, I'm not giving him the chance."

Ethan watches you, his gaze intense, but he says nothing. His expression is hard to read, but you don't let it throw you off. Not now.

"My family's suffered one loss already," you say, stunning Danny into silence. "I'm not going to put through another." Your words hit hard, firm and serious.

You mean it, Danny can tell. You're not acting on the role you told them you'd take on.

Mindy steps forward, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. "This isn't just about you! If you run, you give GhostFace exactly what he wants. He'll pick us off one by one if you're not here."

You look at her, then your gaze travels to your roommate sitting right behind her. You managed to grow a friendship with Anika, she has been nothing but nice to you. But this isn't about you, it was never suppose to be about you. This is their story, with an ending they can deal with.

"It was nice meeting you all," you say as you take tentative steps back towards the door. You don't miss the disappointed looks on their faces. "Really. I'm sure if the circumstances were different, we would be great friends. But, god, I hope I never see you guys again."

You say, final, turning on your heels, making your exit.

Danny looks down, ashamed.

Chad looks at the door, hoping you changed your mind. Minutes tick by, nothing but silence surrounds them. That and a few lingering policemen, making sure GhostFace didn't linger behind, hiding somewhere.

With no sight of you returning, Chad turns to the group. "What do we do?"

Sam looks at her friends, their fright obvious and palpable.

"Maybe he wins this time," she says softly.

Ethan leans forward where he's sat, an exasperated look on his face. "I'm sorry, what?"

Sam stands, looking at them all. "This was never suppose to involve any of you," she sighs, the sad look on her sister's face hurting her the most. "I roped you guys into this. He wants to punish me... Me. Maybe I let him."

"You want to give up?" Mindy asks, some disgust lingers in her tone.

"Everyone thinks I'm this terrible person. Maybe they're right." Sam says, then looks at Tara again. "You said it. It's not like I have a plan for my life anyway. If this is what I need to do to keep you all safe... then it's worth it."

Tara's expressions changes at her sister's words. "No." She snarls, getting on her feet. "Fuck that. You came back to Woodsboro to protect me. And you've been protecting me ever since. We're all still alive because of you."

"And Y/N," Ethan adds, earning glares from everyone.

"They aren't here anymore, you don't have to kiss their ass," Anika glares at him. He cowers down where he's sat.

With a deep breath, Tara takes her sister's hands. "Maybe it's time you let us protect you. We're a team, remember?"

Sam's eyes soften as she looks at her sister, Tara's words slowly cutting through the guilt and exhaustion she's been carrying. For a moment, the tension between them breaks, and the weight on Sam's shoulders seems to lighten, just a little.

Tara tightens her grip on Sam's hands, her voice stronger now. "You're not in this alone anymore, Sam. None of us are. We can't just give up and let him win."

Mindy steps up. "We're a family."

Chad brightens. "Hell yeah! Core four!"

Danny tilts his head in confusion, but doesn't comment on it.

Sam crosses her arms. "He's going to keep coming for us."

Ethan shakes his head. "I think Y/N had the right idea," he speaks up, capturing their attention. "Can't we just hole up somewhere safe?"

Anika looks at him in disgust. "Ugh, god, I hope you are GhostFace so you die at the end," she grumbles under her breath. Ethan stares back at her with wide eyes.

Mindy laughs but gets a shove from Chad. "Oh," she mumbles, clearing her throat. "Anika." she tries her best to sound authoritative.

Tara gives Ethan a pointed look. "And hiding won't solve anything. He'll just find us, like he always does..." she trails off, coming to a realization as soon as the words come out of her mouth. "I have an idea. Chad, give me your phone," she orders without an explanation.

Chad does as he's told, handing his phone over to the short girl. She does a quick dial of the number and soon, the man picks up. Tara explains the plan to the detective, who doesn't seem at all convinced or sure of it. She doesn't bother on insisting him to liking the plan, just wants to know if he wants to be apart of it.

"Are you gonna help us?" Tara asks once she's done with her explanation.

"Yes," Bailey relents with a sigh, glancing around his surroundings. "I'm stuck here, but Gale gave us the keycards to the theater; it has heavy security and surveillance cameras, we can use that against him. I'll get Kirby to meet you there and join you as soon as I can."

Tara glances at Danny, who wandered off to make a phone call. She can see him actually frustrated, and she can't even guess what about.

"Travel in public," Bailey pulls her out of stupor. "Remember, the more people around you, the less of a chance he can take a shot at you before you get here."

The walk to the subway is unnervingly quiet, tension settling like a fog over the group. Sam walks beside her sister, hyper-aware of their surroundings. She's ready for anything, but the weight of the plan lingers heavily on her mind. Trusting Bailey and Kirby felt like a gamble, but it was the only option they had. She steals glances at the others as they walk in an uneasy silence—each of them lost in their own thoughts, wary of every shadow, every passerby.

Danny lingers behind, phone pressed to his ear again. Faintly, Tara hears, "Yo, this is Y/N, I don't check voicemails so send me a message..." then a beep.

Danny grits his teeth and slips his phone into his pocket, catching up to the group quietly.

Tara turns to the others, her voice tight. "You guys don't have to come with us," she tells Ethan, Anika, and Danny. Sam nods beside her, silently agreeing.

"Right," Ethan scoffs. "We peel off and the killer takes us out one-by-one? No thank you."

Anika squints her eyes at him, mimicking her girlfriend's glare. "I'm going to keep an eye on him," she says, pointing at Ethan, who lifts his hands in mock surrender, incredulous.

"Safety in numbers, right?" Danny speaks up. "I'm not my cousin. I don't run," he looks at Sam, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

"Let's get to the theater," Sam nods just as the train arrives.

They all stand together, but the flow of passengers getting off the train separates them. Ethan, Anika and Mindy are pushed back by people. Mindy grabs Anika's hand, steadying herself.

"Hey!" Mindy shouts after them, standing on her toes to get a glimpse of them. She spots her brother on the train. "Chad!"

Chad waits by the doors, hoping his strength is enough to keep them open. He watches his sister and her girlfriend struggle through the crowd, pushing their way forward. The thought to get off and help them crosses his mind, but then he feels someone yank him back. The doors snap shut, his eyes widening as he hears his sister call out his name again.

Mindy and Anika run, but can't make it onto the train in time. A hand grabs Mindy's shoulder, and she jumps back, pulling Anika with her. Ethan stands there, eyes wide with innocence.

"Get your Ghostface ass away from me, Ghostface." Mindy distances her and Anika away from him, ignoring the hurt expression on his face.

"Where's Mindy and Anika?" Sam asks when Chad and Danny finally join her and Tara.

"They missed the train," Chad admits, his voice tight. "I would've waited with them, but Cute Boy pulled me inside," he adds, glaring at Danny.

Tara's suspicion flares. She trusted Danny because of you, but now—with you gone, really gone—she isn't sure who to trust anymore. The plan was for you to text Danny once you had finished your part, but Danny hasn't mentioned anything to the group.

"I was trying to keep us all together," Danny defends.

"By splitting us up?" Tara asks, her voice sharp as her glare.

Chad pulls out his phone, revealing a text from Mindy: We'll get the next one. Don't wait for us. We'll meet you at the theater.

Chad locks his phone after the sisters read the message, then looks up. His eyes widen, his stomach twisting into a knot. "Shit," he mutters.

The others follow his gaze, their nerves skyrocketing. The subway car is packed to the max with Halloween revelers dressed as every horror movie character to ever exist—Freddy, Jason, Pinhead, Michael Myers, Leatherface.

But it isn't those characters that send a chill down their spines. It's the dozens of people dressed as Ghostface, their masks seemingly trained on the group, unmoving.

Tara swallows thickly. "How many stops?"

"Ten," Sam answers, her voice barely a whisper as she checks the map.

Danny grips the pole, his knuckles white from tension. "Great."

[sagesolsticewrites]

Homecoming

John Egan finally makes it home to you

Requested by anon, based on the prompt carrying the other one in their arms

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

“They’ll be here,” Marge said from her place beside you, fussing with the hem of her dress.

She sounded as if she was trying to assure herself as much as you, but you appreciated the sentiment, bumping her shoulder and giving her an encouraging smile and nod in thanks.

Marge had introduced you to John Egan— better known as Bucky— about a week before he shipped out to England, and you had fallen head over heels for him.

Both Marge and Gale had warned you before he left that “John Egan isn’t the penpal type,” but to all of your surprise, Bucky had dutifully written you the moment he arrived on base, and the stream of letters had remained steady for nearly the entire time he’d been away.

Until one day Marge stopped receiving letters from Gale, and Bucky’s letters had stopped shortly after.

The two of you were beside yourselves with worry, until you received word that both of them had ended up as POWs in a German camp; you were both still terrified, but at least you knew they were alive.

Then came May 1945– Germany had officially surrendered, and your boys were coming home.

The flow of letters had resumed shortly after you had received word of Bucky’s capture, but it was slow and irregular despite the Red Cross’s best efforts. You hadn’t seen Bucky for nearly two years, and joy and terror were fighting for dominance in your mind at the thought of standing in front of him again.

The Army had set up you and Marge, as well as the other loved ones waiting for their soldiers to return, in a hotel near the train station where the boys would be arriving. So now here you were in the lobby, waiting anxiously for Buck and Bucky to walk through the doors.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you were only alerted to their entrance by a gasp from Marge, who promptly raced into Gale’s open and waiting arms. You, on the other hand, were frozen, scrambling to process the appearance of one John Egan as his eyes locked on you.

Frankly, it was a blur. One moment you were frozen in place, the next you were racing towards him, Bucky moving to meet you halfway, his arms curling tight around you as you collapsed against him.

“You’re here, you’re here,” was all you could say as you held him tight, a spike of worry running through you when you felt how thin he had become, but he was still warm and real and solid and here, and his voice was thick in your ear as he whispered back. “‘M here, sweetheart, ‘m home.”

He pulled away slightly— it took all of your strength not to clutch him to you again, loath to let him go after so long— and brought up a hand to caress your cheek, blue eyes simply taking you in for a moment.

His gaze kept drifting down to your bright red lips, and at your eager nod once you’d realized what he was waiting for, he swooped down to capture your lips in a long, long overdue kiss.

You couldn’t help but giggle against his lips as you heard Marge cheering at the sight of you two, and the feeling of his returning smile against your own had your heart soaring.

After several long minutes of simply holding each other, making up for lost time, you eventually joined back up with Buck and Marge, giving Gale a joyful welcome-home hug as Marge did the same with Bucky.

The hotel had arranged for a special dinner, and the plan was to head straight there once the reunions had wound down… though you had no idea how anyone could even think of dinner at a time like this.

Bucky’s thoughts seemed to be straying as well, as instead of allowing you to simply curl up next to him on the couch set where you settled with Buck and Marge, he tugged you down into his lap and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist.

Your friends headed over to the dining room before too long, Bucky assuring them that the two of you would catch up.

Those plans soon went out the window entirely, though.

Bucky’s scarred, nimble fingers began tracing patterns over your dress, making your breath hitch.

Your letters to each other had been… well, you wouldn’t want your mother reading certain sections of them, that’s for certain. But the feeling of him pressed against you, holding you tight was an experience no amount of letters could have prepared you for.

His lips brushed your ear, unspeakable implications hidden in such innocent words: “You have your own room here, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Unable to form words as his low rumble sparked heat just below your belly, you nodded, and to this day you have no idea how you didn’t simply melt into a puddle when you felt him grin against you.

His question of “Care to show me?” was met with a similar, more enthusiastic nod, and before you knew it Bucky had swept you up in his arms.

“I— Bucky!” You yelped in surprise as he carried you towards the elevators with surprising ease, “Should you be doing—?”

“What I should be doing—” your concerns for his health were brushed aside with a searing look “— is showing my girl exactly how much I’ve missed her.”

It was a good thing he was carrying you, because every bone in your body turned to jelly at that statement.

Even in the elevator he didn’t put you down, silencing every one of your protests with a kiss until your lipstick was irreparably smudged and the coarse hairs decorating his top lip were tinted a slight red.

You arrived at your floor, and he waited patiently as you unlocked the door from your place in his arms— a task that took much longer than it should have thanks to the major scattering kisses along your neck, as if he had to have his lips on you constantly now that you were more than just words on a page.

You were carried over the threshold bridal-style, and Bucky nudged the door closed with his foot so no one could see how he gently lowered you to the bed, murmuring promises of making up for lost time against your lips.

[eyelambspider]

𝟎𝟐. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚 || 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

Day Two of Kink/Creeptober! Here is a list of my prompts & event terms!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : könig x gn!reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The two of you were sent in the dead of night to check up on a supposedly vacated enemy facility. Strange reports and sightings of men had worried KorTac, they couldn't afford to have someone occupy the space. Turns out, the scary Colonel hates 'supernatural' stuff. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.4 k 𝐚/𝐧 : shane & ryan duo ifykyk 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff? funny/comedy?, horror, mentions of guns, swearing, reader is sarcastic, cryptid (mothman appearance :)

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

You groaned softly. An exaggerated sound that made the Colonel hit your shoulder with the butt of his gun.

"Keep quiet, there may be enemies," he scolded you quietly, having to glance down at you with those disapproving eyes of his. The two of you had just barely touched the door and you were already complaining.

"This fucking sucks and you know it," you whispered back harshly. The two of you chose a respective side of the metal door to stand against. Lowering your guns only for a moment to finally lower the night vision goggles onto your faces.

König only grumbled again, muttering curses and German under his breath like he liked to do when you pissed him off. A sound that made you huff in response to him.

He acted like you were the irrational one. But the fact was: Every thermal scan of the facility reported nothing. And the old building was monitored day and night since local reports came in of 'shadows in the window'. No one on watch duty reported seeing anyone or anything come in or out of the doors. Any of them.

This was bullshit. It just sounded like a squatter to you, but the Austrian Colonel—who you had been paired with to double check the situation personally—was all protocol.

"Don't," he warned, turning his head towards you and pointing a gloved finger His night vision goggles already peering back at you through the darkness. You didn't even need to say it for him to know what you were thinking.

So you didn't, waving your hands up in sarcastic surrendering gesture, strapping your own goggles to your head with a huff. Waiting for him to take the lead then.

So he did, opening the metal door quietly. An actual wonder for how rusted the hinges were. You had to give it to him at least- König was a good fucking soldier. Just... this whole mission felt like a damned excessive ghost chase. Yes, there could be enemy presence back in the facility... but there was a better chance of seeing a rat scurrying around.

König led the way through the darkness, your eyes on the green light casted from his back. The night vision working perfectly. Watching his back and peering around for any sign of life.

The facility was some sort of old textile factory, or you supposed, was one back in the industrial era.

The roof was beginning to cave in, water dripping over concrete and metal railings, rusting everything in its path. Long ivy's crawling up the walls. Only remnants of dust and the occasional scrap of fabric had been left since KorTac had cleared it out over a year ago. It was a wonder you didn't see some sort of zombie wandering around making little clicking noises.

An amused sound slipped from your lips and König stopped dead in his tracks in front of you. Standing up straight, merely glancing over his shoulder in warning. The green glint of his goggles giving you a look that said 'Keep quiet.'

Yeah, yeah. You waved his concern off. There was a job to do despite protests.

The two of you continued on quietly, stalking through the darkness, sweeping the first floor with little to no problems. Guns held close, strapped to your vests and held tightly. The green ghoulish glow of your visor reflecting everything back to you in an eerie way. But nothing seemed out of place. No activity, not even a sound besides the crystal clear clink of water dripping from somewhere overhead.

König reached a hand up to his right ear, speaking quietly into his ear piece. "First floor clear." His voice, echoed softly into your own comm link.

"Continue to secure the building," a tired voice spoke back from the base. Operators watching the small sweep from the cameras on the left side of both of your helmets. Seeing what you both saw, hearing nothing except the staticky feedback through their screens.

Protocol.

With the first floor cleared, the second one seemed like it would go without a hitch too. There was no sound except the soft huffs of your breathing and the rustling of military uniforms as you both continued down the decrepit hallways. Up the rickety metal stairs, the two of you cringing as it groaned and tapped under the weight. Boots on metal, guns clutched a bit closer now that the two of you were making noise. Just a little bit more alert than a few seconds prior.

It was like the air had suddenly changed. No shift that the operators back at base could see, but König could feel it on his skin. Goosebumps prickling up his pale neck as he finally reached the crest of the staircase.

When he stopped, you waited patiently for the Colonel to move. Through the visor, all you could see was him standing there, clutching his gun and looking acute around as if something was wrong. Nothing you could tell though, no matter how much you tried to follow his eyes.

Left to right, there was only the pitch black hallways filled with faded paperwork and offices. It was so quiet in fact, you could probably hear a pin drop from down the hall.

"Colonel," you whispered almost imperceptibly, waiting for his move.

He seemed to tense as soon as the sound left your mouth, but he stayed firm. Only able to see his back and the hand he lifted up, finally signaling you to keep following him with a curt wave.

You got out of the stairwell, the pair of you moving more cautiously. The air swarming with uncertainty as König stopped at the corner, peaking around just to tense up at what he saw. The sound of his gun clinking in his hands as he squeezed it.

It made you tense too, readying your gun and holding the sight close to your eye.

König didn't say anything, just stood frozen with his back against the wall. His chest rising and falling a bit more obviously than it had been a moment ago.

"Colonel! What is it?" you whispered, almost frustrated. Never in all your years of working with him, had he ever frozen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you whispered again, a bit more loudly before he grabbed your bicep to stop you. Squeezing so hard it made you grit your teeth.

If he wasn't going to move, then you were.

You shuffled quickly around him, your side brushing his front as he stood there. And despite him still trying to stop you, you peaked around the corner, gun at the ready.

"What the-?"

There were little flecks of fine... dust? floating around the end of the hallway. Glittering and reflecting back into your visor, green and a bit... odd.

You stepped out from around the corner and began walking curiously towards it. Only a step out before König tried to stop you again. "Halt um Gottes Willen!" he whispered, trying to grasp at you before he stopped, as if the corner had an invisible barrier he would not cross.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You whispered back, turning to glance over your shoulder at him.

When he had nothing to say, you sighed and continued on without him.

He tried to call out your name to stop you, watching as your form began to go deeper and deeper towards the swirling flecks.

You lowered your gun curiously as the little cloud of dust enveloped you, swirling around from the disturbance. There, on the wall was a dark smear, as if someone had wiped the finest ash over it. You reached a gloved hand out, only to stop when König scolded you again from down the hall.

"Bist du verdammt dumm? Don't you dare touch that!" he ordered, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

"Come over here and stop me," you called back, finding yourself smirking at that. "We have a fucking mission," you reminded him. The two of you quietly shouting in the hall now. "Its protocol to sweep the area. Now get your ass over here!" you waved, trying to coax him out.

He couldn't argue and you both knew it. The building had to be checked, and despite his gut telling him otherwise, he rounded the corner and made his way towards you slowly. So tense he seemed to be moving mechanically.

You took your glove off finally and tucked it into your vest, running your fingers through the inky smear. You gasped quietly, rubbing the fine dust between your fingers. It was the softest thing you'd ever felt. And the strange material flaked off your skin, becoming a part of the little cloud that surrounded you.

What the hell was it? Just dust?

König finally came up next to you, watching over your shoulder with the same bad feeling in his stomach.

That's when the soft sound of scuttling startled the both of you.

Your gun shot up and König nearly jumped out of his skin. The two of your looking up in comical sync just in time to watch a shadowy figure crawl along the ceiling and disappear down the corridor in an instant.

"Was zum Teufel!" König yelped, a cold shudder running through his body like lightning.

You kept your aim forward, gun trained now towards the ceiling. The sight only enticing you to take a step further and investigate whatever the fuck that was.

"Stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" König was now visibly shaking, not even clutching his rifle anymore, instead reaching out to stop you. There was no doubt he could just throw you over his shoulder and get the two of you out in less than a minute.

"I'm going to clear the area," you said in confidence, like it was the most obvious answer you'd ever given.

The more you moved towards the darkness, the more König tried to stop you, his hands clamping down on your shoulder to swing you around the other way.

"Stop! I said stop! Halt! You damned lunatic!"

"Colonel!" You hissed, stepping towards him before he even had a chance to grab you. "This is a fucking mission, pull yourself together," you reminded him. Yet, he still looked like a damned deer in the headlights, trembling, and too afraid to move in the darkness. Glancing at you with a nervous uncertainty.

Then, he watched as a smirk slowly began to spread over your lips. The green-glow of the night vision making you look more like the imp he envisioned you to be in the moment.

"Colonel? Are you... scared?"

He didn't like your tone, and his grip tightened into a white knuckle grip on his rifle.

He was fucking terrified.

"Come on," you huffed, relaxing as you led the way down the hall, following after the shadowy form. And fuck if König was going to be left alone with that thing roaming around the building.

With you leading the way, the two of you stalked through the next hall. König's breathing was coming out in short puffs, and although it felt like his legs struggled to bend, he followed anxiously. The small flecks in the air getting denser, more frequent the further you went into the building.

The roof was still leaking, but the tip of your gun traced a particular drop. More viscous and stringy than water, dripping down from the ceiling in a long gossamer strand, forming a bubbly puddle on the floor. It-It looked like spit.

Another deep fluttering sound emanated deep from the last room in the hallway. Something clattering to the ground with a resounding boom. Your gun instinctively pointed towards the noise.

"Gott im Himmel erbarme dich..."

The muttered sounds of German had you quickly glancing over your shoulder. König was dead frozen, his gun rattling in his hands, unable to move further, only shaking his head back and forth as if he couldn't believe it.

"Are you... Are you praying?!" You asked quietly, mind torn between disbelief that the man who dominated in warfare was fucking cowering behind you and the animal that was in the room.

You turned to König, putting a hand on his shoulder, your eyes still pointed cautiously towards the door.

"König, you're almost seven foot tall and have the biggest gun I've ever seen in your hands," you began quietly, trying to smack some soft words to reassurance into his head. "You'll be fine."

Even though he nodded, his legs still had that tremor in them.

This was reality, you told yourself, nothing but a fucking raccoon or stupid flock of pigeons fumbling around in the dark. The boogeyman didn't exist.

You lifted a hand to your ear, pressing the piece to speak quietly, relaying back to base. "Going in, hold."

"Copy Bravo."

König couldn't even protest, the words, nothing but German-English gibberish tumbling out of his mouth. Watching in sheer horror as you continued on, his feet moving on their own accord to stand behind you. To afraid to be left behind, too afraid to leave you behind.

Once you made it to the withering doorframe, König held his breath, feeling like icy had shot through his veins as you rounded the corner sharply.

In an instant of horror, your eyes landed on it, shuffling in the corner of the dark office. Fuzzy like a blot of ink, writing against the breeze that hushed through the broken window and picked up the tattered curtains.

Soft kissy sounds came from it, and the thing wrung its neck to glance at you. Green orbs, as big as your head peered back through the night vision goggles locked onto your eyes. Its massive wings, like sails, fluttered like a military drone. Goosebumps lurched down both of your bodies as it dropped from the ceiling and stood up so tall that it hunched to fit the room.

Before you could see anymore, you turned on your heel and ran, grabbing König's arm to get his ass moving. "FUCK THAT!"

Only screams filled the quiet room back at base, the operators watching in collective confusion as the pair of you ran for your lives in a blur of sheer hysteria.

[cera-writes]

could I request some spicy priest!Kurt x reader?🙏🙏🛐

A/N: ooooh, yes anon. Yes. Song inspo: Worship - Ari Abdul Pairing: Priest!Kurt Wagner x AFAB!reader Tags: sacreligious sexuality, pining, smut, confessions, sinning, dry humping

Penitent Pining

The church bells tolled solemnly, echoing through the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. Inside the dimly lit confessional, you sat, heart pounding with a mix of guilt and anticipation. The wooden partition slid open with a soft creak, and a velvety German laced voice whispered, "What sins weigh upon your soul today?"

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. "Father Wagner, I... I have impure thoughts."

There was a pause, then Kurt's voice, gentle yet tinged with a hint of curiosity, replied, "Tell me, Mein Kind, what are these thoughts that trouble you so?"

"I think about... us," you confessed, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "About being close to you, in ways that should be forbidden."

Silence enveloped the small space for a moment before Kurt spoke again, his voice lower, almost a murmur. "It is natural to have such feelings, but we must resist them. Tell me, how do these thoughts manifest?"

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out. "Sometimes, I imagine you here, with me. Touching me, kissing me. It's wrong, I know, but I can't help it. And even as I'm sitting in the congregation, all I can think of is you pressed against me..."

Kurt's breathing seemed to hitch slightly, and when he spoke, there was a huskiness to his tone. "These thoughts are indeed sinful, but they stem from human desire. We must pray for strength to overcome them."

As he spoke, you could hear the rustle of his cassock, the faint scent of incense wafting through the partition. Your mind raced with images of him, his blue fur, his agile form moving closer to you. Unable to resist, you reached out, fingertips brushing against the wood, imagining it was his skin.

"Father, I... I need guidance," you pleaded, your voice trembling with suppressed longing.

"Perhaps," Kurt began, his voice a whisper now, "perhaps it would be best if I were to show you the path to redemption. To guide you away from these desires."

Your heart leapt at his words, a thrill of illicit excitement coursing through you. "Yes, Father. Please, guide me."

The confessional door clicked softly as Kurt emerged from his side. He knelt before you, his eyes a deep, soulful yellow, filled with a mixture of duty and something deeper, something yearning.

"Let us begin," he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. As his fingers intertwined with yours, a jolt of electricity passed between you, igniting a fire that neither of you could ignore.

Kurt's other hand gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "We must be careful," he murmured, even as his lips descended towards yours. The kiss was soft, chaste at first, but quickly deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding, more sinful.

You leaned into him, your hands gripping his cassock, pulling him closer. His tail wrapped around your waist, drawing you against him, where you could feel the evidence of his own desire pressing against you.

Breaking the kiss, Kurt looked into your eyes, a question lingering there. "Are you sure about this? Once we start, there is no turning back. I vowed to never marry... but, my vows don't pertain to taking, well, lusts of the flesh." His voice was husky, mixed with something akin to shame but also... need? Like a hungry wolf desperate to devour its prey.

With a nod, you confirmed your willingness, your body aching for his touch. "I trust you, Father. Lead me."

His resolve seemed to crumble at your words, and with a groan, he pulled you onto his lap, his mouth finding yours again in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, learning, as you did the same to him, each touch setting off sparks of pleasure.

In the sanctity of the confessional, under the guise of spiritual guidance, you and Kurt surrendered to the desires you had both harbored for so long, each movement, each gasp, a step further into the depths of sacrilegious passion.

The confessional walls seemed to close in around you, the air thick with the scent of incense and the musk of your shared desire. Kurt's hands were everywhere, exploring the contours of your body with a reverence that was both thrilling and forbidden. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers down your back as he pulled you closer.

"Du bist so schön," Kurt murmured against your neck, his breath hot and inviting, lips tracing down your skin. His mouth followed the path of his words, leaving a trail of kisses that made your head spin. You arched into him, craving more of his touch, more of his attention.

"Father, please," you gasped, not sure what you were begging for, only that you needed it desperately.

Kurt's response was immediate and intense. He lifted you slightly, positioning you so that you straddled his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric of his cassock brushed against your skin, a constant reminder of his role and the taboo nature of your actions.

"Just Kurt," he said, his voice husky with desire, tail flicking upwards to trace a soft pattern down your cheek, making you shudder pleasantly as you leaned into his touch.

With that, he began to move beneath you, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel the hardness of him through the layers of clothing, a physical manifestation of his desire for you.

Encouraged by his boldness, you let your hands roam over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the strength hidden beneath his priestly garb. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was hungry and demanding, tasting the sweetness of his surrender.

Kurt's hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements, teaching you how to move with him, how to bring him pleasure. Each thrust, each grind brought you closer to the edge, the thrill of the forbidden heightening every sensation.

"Look at me," Kurt commanded softly, his yellow eyes locking onto yours.

You obeyed, drowning in the intensity of his gaze, lost in the connection that went beyond the physical. With each movement, you felt a part of yourself melding with his, their boundaries blurring in the heat of the moment.

The confessional seemed to fade away, the world outside forgotten as all that existed was the space between you and Kurt, the space filled with whispered confessions and silent prayers for forgiveness. But in that moment, neither of you wanted absolution; all you wanted was each other, completely and sinfully.

As the intensity built, you clung to Kurt, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He held you tightly, a pillar of strength amidst the storm of your passion, his own breaths ragged and uneven. "Mm, Kurt!" you hissed, feeling your pleasure build.

"Zusammen," he whispered, just as the wave of pleasure crested, sweeping you both away in its relentless tide. You cried out, a sound muffled against his shoulder, as the world shattered into a million pieces, each one reflecting the depth of your connection, the weight of your transgression.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the echo of your hearts beating in unison. Then, slowly, reality began to seep back in, the chill of the confessional walls reminding you of where you were, what you had done.

But even as guilt began to gnaw at the edges of your consciousness, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Not when the memory of Kurt's touch still lingered on your skin, not when the taste of his kiss still tinged your lips.

Kurt seemed to sense your turmoil, his arms and tail tightening around you protectively. "We will face this together," he promised, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within you.

And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the same mix of desire and fear reflected there, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn't be facing it alone.

"Is this a bad time to say forgive me Father, for I have sinned?" you smiled sheepishly.

Kurt only hummed in amusement.