#I was listening to Angel of Darkness while I drew this and I feel like it shows

[youngpettyqueen]

"i am captain mamotha of the federation starship athena. i am the slayer of chaos, and the white star of tartarus. you have 10 seconds to get your people off my ship, or i will make you regret the day you crawled out of your test tube."

[arjwrites]

crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were. 

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly. 

 It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps. 

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. 

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar. 

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” 

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you. 

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home. 

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up. 

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went. 

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be.  The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

[darksturnz]

† A SINNERS EMBRACE — matthew sturniolo x angel!reader.

SYNOPSIS: Desperate for forgiveness, she stepped into the confession booth, unaware that the very man who was the subject of her dream was on the other side, his ears listening to her confession while his hand was wrapped around his throbbing cock. CONTENTS: heavy religious imagery・semi public masturbation (male!)・perv!matthew・fem!reader・corruption・not proofread WC: 5k

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of St. Mary's Cathedral, casting colorful patterns across the polished wooden pews. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the soft murmurs of the congregation as they awaited the start of mass.

In the sacristy, Father Matthew Sturniolo stood before the mirror, adjusting his crisp black cassock. His piercing blue eyes met his reflection, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He ran a hand through his neatly styled curly brown hair, ensuring not a strand was out of place. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out into the nave.

As Father Matthew made his way to the altar, his gaze swept over the gathered faithful. His eyes lingered on a young woman seated near the front, her delicate features framed by soft curls held back with a ribbon. She seemed to radiate an innocent purity that drew his attention like a moth to a flame.

He began the service, his rich baritone voice filling the cathedral. His words were honey-sweet, weaving a spell of devotion over the congregation. Yet beneath the pious facade, dark desires stirred within him, hidden from all but himself.

As the mass concluded, Father Matthew descended from the altar, ready to greet his flock. His smile was warm and welcoming, yet his eyes held a calculating gleam as they once again found the young woman. He approached her slowly, his presence seeming to fill the space between them. "Good morning," Father Matthew said softly, his voice like velvet. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm Father Matthew, the newest member of our little community here."

He extended his hand, palm up in invitation. "And you are?"

The young woman looked up at him, her wide eyes shining with innocent curiosity. "Y-yes, Father. I'm Y/N, sir. It's nice to meet you." Her small hand rested lightly in his, her skin soft and warm against his own.

Father Matthew smiled, his thumb brushing ever so slightly across her knuckles. "The pleasure is all mine, Y/N. I look forward to getting to know you better."

With a final squeeze of her hand, he released her and turned to greet the other parishioners, leaving Y/N flushed and flustered in his wake. One Sunday afternoon, after the congregation had dispersed and the cathedral lay quiet, Father Matthew sought out Y/N in the empty nave. He found her kneeling before a pew, head bowed in prayer. Approaching softly, he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Y/N," he said gently, "but I couldn't help noticing how deeply you seem to connect with the Lord during services. Your devotion is truly inspiring and I’m sure your parents are very proud."

Y/N looked up, startled, then smiled shyly. "Oh, thank you, Father. I try my best to please them."

Father Matthew nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "Your dedication is admirable, indeed. As your spiritual leader, I feel it's my duty to nurture that spark within you. Perhaps we could arrange some...private Bible studies?"

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion. "Private studies, Father? But wouldn't that be improper?"

A hint of amusement danced in Father Matthew's eyes. "Not at all, dear. In fact, one-on-one instruction allows us to delve deeper into the scriptures together. I assure you, it's a common practice among clergy and their devout followers."

He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Think of it as an opportunity to grow closer to God under my guidance. What do you say, Y/N? Would you be willing to meet with me regularly, just the two of us, to explore the Word?"

As Father Matthew's hand settled upon Y/N's shoulder, a shiver ran down her spine. The gentle pressure sent tingles through her slender frame, making her acutely aware of his proximity. His touch was warm, reassuring, and yet...different. There was a subtle intimacy to it that left her breathless and disoriented.

Y/N's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she struggled to find her voice. "I-I mean...if it's really necessary, Father..." she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between his face and the floor. "But won't people talk if we're alone together?"

Father Matthew's fingers squeezed her shoulder lightly, a silent reassurance. "Let them talk, child. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and sometimes that means challenging societal norms for the greater good,"

"Besides," Father Matthew continued, his voice low and soothing, "our meetings will take place in a secluded area of the rectory. No one will ever need to know."

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind reeling with the implications. A private setting with Father Matthew, away from prying eyes...it felt both thrilling and terrifying. She bit her lip, torn between her desire to please him and her instinctive fear of doing something wrong.

"I...I suppose it would be a good opportunity to learn more about God's word," she ventured finally, trying to sound convincing despite her racing heart. "When did you have in mind for our first session, Father?"

Father Matthew's smile broadened, revealing a glint of approval in his eyes. "How about tomorrow evening, after dinner? I'll make sure to leave a light on for you at the door."

With a nod, Y/N agreed to the clandestine meeting, her heart pounding in her chest. She spent the remainder of the day in a daze, her thoughts consumed by the prospect of being alone with Father Matthew.

As night fell the next day, Y/N found herself standing before the rectory, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coursing through her veins. She knocked softly on the door, her knuckles trembling slightly.

After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Father Matthew stood in the shadows, his figure imposing yet inviting. "Welcome, Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Please, come in."

She entered hesitantly, her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of candles scattered throughout the room. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and leather-bound books.

Father Matthew guided Y/N to a plush armchair positioned near a large, ornate desk. "Make yourself comfortable," he instructed, gesturing to the chair. "We have much to discuss tonight."

As she sat down, Y/N noticed a Bible lying open on the desk, its pages marked with a silver bookmark. Her gaze lingered on the ancient text, feeling a sense of reverence wash over her.

Father Matthew settled into a nearby chair, leaning back with an air of relaxed confidence. "Before we begin our study, I'd like to share a personal anecdote," he said, his tone taking on a contemplative quality. "Growing up, I often felt disconnected from the divine. It wasn't until I dedicated myself fully to serving the Lord that I truly started to understand His plan for me."

He fixed Y/N with a piercing stare, his words dripping with conviction.

"I believe that same calling exists within you, Y/N. Tonight, I hope to help you recognize and embrace it."

With those enigmatic words, Father Matthew reached across the desk, his fingers brushing against Y/N's as he handed her the Bible. Their touch sent another jolt of electricity through her, leaving her breathless.

As she opened the book, the weight of the sacred text seemed to press against her palms. Y/N felt a strange connection to the pages, as if they held secrets meant only for her ears.

Father Matthew leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Let's start with a passage that resonates with me," he suggested, pointing to a verse marked in the book. "Psalm 23, verses 3-4. 'He restores my soul; He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake."

Y/N's eyes widened as she read the familiar words, a sense of peace washing over her. She recited the verses aloud, her voice soft and reverent. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me..."

As she spoke, Father Matthew's gaze never wavered from hers, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her skin prickle. When she finished, he nodded approvingly. "Beautifully said, Y/N. Those words offer solace even in the darkest of times."

He paused, studying her face intently. "Tell me, when you pray, what do you usually focus on? Is it asking for blessings, seeking forgiveness, or perhaps longing for a deeper connection with the divine?"

Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unsure how to articulate her feelings. "I guess..."

"...I mostly pray for protection and guidance. For my family's well-being and for not doing anything wrong," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Father Matthew's expression softened, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Those are noble prayers, but remember, the Lord wants a relationship built on trust and openness. Don't be afraid to express your desires and fears to Him."

His touch lingered, sending warmth spreading through Y/N's legs. She found herself leaning into his palm, craving more of that comforting contact.

"Perhaps we can work on expanding your prayer life together," Father Matthew suggested, his voice low and persuasive. "Start by sharing your deepest concerns with me. I'm here to listen and guide you, Y/N."

Y/N took a shaky breath, her heart racing as she considered Father Matthew's offer. The idea of unburdening her innermost thoughts to someone - anyone - felt daunting, yet there was a part of her that yearned for this kind of intimate connection.

"I...I worry about pleasing God," she confessed, her voice trembling. "About not living up to His expectations. Sometimes I feel so small and insignificant compared to His greatness."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she met Father Matthew's gaze. "And then there's the fear of sinning...of doing something terrible and irreparable. It keeps me up at night, wondering if I'm worthy of His love."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with vulnerability. Y/N waited with bated breath for Father Matthew's reaction, her entire being attuned to his response.

Father Matthew's expression turned solemn, his eyes filled with compassion. "Sin is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N," he acknowledged, his voice a gentle murmur. "But know this: you were born innocent, and it's never too late to seek forgiveness and redemption."

He squeezed her knee reassuringly. "The Lord loves you unconditionally, just as you are. Your worth comes from being His child, not from achieving some lofty standard of perfection."

Leaning forward, Father Matthew rested his forearms on his thighs, bringing their faces closer together. "In fact, it's precisely your humility and willingness to acknowledge your flaws that make your faith all the more genuine and beautiful."

His words washed over Y/N like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She found herself drawn to his presence, craving the comfort and understanding only he could provide. As Father Matthew's proximity intensified, Y/N's breathing grew shallow. The scent of his cologne mingled with the musty aroma of the old books, creating a heady mixture that clouded her senses.

His warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "Remember, Y/N, true strength lies in vulnerability. By sharing your fears and doubts, you're taking the first step towards a deeper, more meaningful relationship with God – and with me."

One of Father Matthew's hands slid from her knee to gently cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin in a tender caress. Y/N's eyelids fluttered closed, savoring the sensation of his touch.

In that moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to surrender completely to him – to let go of her inhibitions and simply exist in the safety of his presence. Father Matthew's lips hovered mere inches from Y/N's, the anticipation almost palpable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he inclined his head, allowing their noses to brush together in a fleeting, electric contact. The briefest of sighs escaped Y/N's lips as she savored the closeness, her eyes drifting shut. But before she could process the intensity of the moment, Father Matthew pulled back, breaking the spell.

Opening her eyes, Y/N found him smiling at her with an unreadable mix of tenderness and restraint. "Until next Sunday, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "May the Lord bless and keep you in the interim."

Rising from his seat, Father Matthew offered her his arm, guiding her towards the door with a gentle pressure. As they walked side by side, Y/N couldn't shake the lingering effects of their intimate encounter. Every step felt weighted, each breath charged with a newfound awareness of Father Matthew's presence beside her.

At the entrance, he paused, turning to face her. In the dim light filtering through the stained glass windows, his features appeared almost ethereal, as if carved from shadows and moonlight.

"Farewell for now, Y/N," Father Matthew said softly, his gaze holding hers captive. "May your dreams be peaceful and your heart remain open to the mysteries of the spirit."

With that, he cupped her cheek once more, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip before releasing her. Then, with a final, enigmatic smile, he stepped back and watched as she disappeared into the night, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the stillness.

As Y/N retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom, the events of the evening swirled through her mind like a tempestuous sea. Father Matthew's touch, his whispers, the weight of his gaze – each detail replayed itself in vivid Technicolor, refusing to be relegated to the realm of memory.

She slipped beneath the covers, her body thrumming with a restless energy. Try as she might, sleep eluded her, replaced instead by a kaleidoscope of forbidden fantasies.

In the darkness, Y/N's imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios where Father Matthew's hands roamed her body with increasing boldness. She pictured his fingers trailing along her collarbone, dipping into the neckline of her nightgown to tease the sensitive skin beneath.

As the illicit visions intensified, a telltale dampness began to gather between Y/N's thighs.

Exhaustion finally claimed Y/N, her eyelids growing heavy as the fantasy montage continued to unfold behind her closed lids. With a soft sigh, she surrendered to the embrace of slumber, her dreams already tainted by the forbidden allure of Father Matthew.

In the depths of her subconscious, the scenario shifted, becoming more explicit and sensual with each passing moment. Y/N found herself lying on the cold stone floor of the rectory, her nightgown pushed up around her waist as Father Matthew loomed over her, his dark robes pooling around his knees.

His hands, once so reverent, now explored her body with a hunger that made her shiver. Fingers danced across her breasts, teasing the hardened nipples until pleasure-pain shot straight to her core. A whimper escaped her lips, muffled by the priest's mouth as he captured them in a searing kiss.

As the dream intensified, Y/N's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction against the damp heat building between her legs. Her hands reached down to press against Father Matthew's, urging him closer, wanting more of his touch.

Moans and gasps punctuated the erotic haze, the sounds muffled by the priest's insistent kisses. He Trailered his mouth down her neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin until Y/N arched off the ground, crying out in ecstasy.

In the throes of her climax, Y/N's vision blurred, colors bleeding together as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She clung to Father Matthew, her nails digging into his arms as she rode out the intense sensations, lost to everything but the bliss consuming her.

Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as if she'd run a marathon. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her nightgown clung to her skin, dampened by the remnants of her climax. For a moment, disoriented and panting, she struggled to anchor herself in reality.

As the fog of sleep lifted, memories of the dream came rushing back, leaving a trail of shame and confusion in its wake. Y/N's cheeks flushed hot, and she buried her face in her pillow, mortified by the intensity of her own desires.

What had possessed her to imagine such things? Father Matthew, the man she trusted above all others, reduced to a participant in her most private, debased fantasies. The thought alone made her stomach churn with self-loathing.

Throughout the day, Y/N moved through her routine with mechanical precision, her mind consumed by the guilt gnawing at her soul. Every time her parents glanced her way, concern etched onto their faces, she couldn't help but wonder if they sensed the turmoil brewing inside her.

The telltale flush on her cheeks seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a constant reminder of the shameful secret she harbored. Each time she caught her reflection in a window or mirror, she flinched, as if the image staring back might hold some hidden clue to her innermost thoughts.

By mid-afternoon, the weight of her confession became unbearable. Y/N excused herself from the kitchen, where her mother was preparing dinner, claiming she needed fresh air. As soon as she stepped outside, however, she found herself drawn inexorably toward the familiar solace of the church.

The imposing stone structure loomed before her, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens like outstretched arms. Y/N hesitated briefly, her hand trembling as she grasped the ornate bronze handle of the massive wooden doors.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed the doors open, the creak of the hinges echoing through the empty nave. The interior was bathed in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors.

Y/N wandered deeper into the church, her footsteps echoing softly off the walls. Eventually, she found herself standing before the confessional, its wooden screen adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of redemption and forgiveness.

With a sense of trepidation mixed with relief, she knelt before the grated opening, her voice barely audible as she whispered, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned..."

Inside the confessional, Father Matthew listened intently as Y/N's hesitant voice filtered through the grate, her words painting a picture of guilt and contrition. His heart raced at the realization that the penitent before him was none other than the innocent, sheltered girl he had grown to care for.

Concealing his true identity, Father Matthew adopted a neutral, soothing tone, meant to provide comfort without revealing his knowledge of her personal life. "My child, please, share your sins with me, and know that you shall receive absolution."

Y/N took a shaky breath before continuing, her voice trembling slightly. "Father, I...I had a dream last night. A wicked dream. I imagined doing sinful things with someone I trust deeply, someone who should never be the subject of such thoughts." She paused, biting her lip.

"It was Father Matthew," Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "In my dream, he touched me in ways no one ever has, and I felt things I shouldn't have felt. Desire, longing...even pleasure when we did things that are wrong."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she confessed, "When I woke up, I was...I was soaked. It was as if my body betrayed me, responding to those forbidden imaginings. I'm ashamed, Father. So terribly ashamed."

Y/N waited with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited the priest's response, unsure whether he would offer condemnation or understanding.

Inside the confessional, Father Matthew's composure faltered at Y/N's explicit admission. The mere mention of her dream, coupled with the intimate details, sent a surge of arousal coursing through his veins. His cock twitched to life, straining against the confines of his black cassock.

Swallowing hard, he fought to maintain his calm, professional demeanor. "Tell me more, my child," he urged, his voice low and husky despite his best efforts. "Describe this dream in greater detail. What exactly transpired between you and Father Matthew?"

As Y/N began to recount the specifics – the sensation of his hands on her body, the taste of his kisses, the feeling of being taken against the cold stone floor – Father Matthew's erection grew even harder, throbbing with an almost painful intensity.

"Did he touch you intimately?" Father Matthew pressed, his curiosity piqued and his desire escalating with each word from Y/N's lips. "Was there any...physical contact beyond kissing and caressing?"

His fingers tightened around the edge of the confessional booth, imagining the tender flesh beneath Y/N's garments, the softness of her breasts, the warmth of her cunt. The mental images were almost too much to bear, stoking the flames of his lust to a near-blazing inferno.

"Please, continue," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "Every detail is important for your spiritual guidance, my child."

Father Matthew could no longer resist the temptation. With one hand, he unzipped his fly, freeing his throbbing cock from its fabric prison. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, giving it a firm squeeze as he continued to listen intently to Y/N's detailed account of her dream.

As she described the feeling of Father Matthew's cock sliding into her virgin depths, stretching her tight walls, he began to stroke himself in earnest. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, he pumped his fist along his length, imagining it was Y/N's slick cunt enveloping him instead.

"Mmmm," he groaned under his breath, the sound muffled behind the wooden screen. His hips rocked in tandem with his hand, thrusting upward as if seeking to bury himself deeper into an imaginary pussy.

Y/N's blush deepened as she recounted the lewd acts from her dream, her voice quivering with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "He...he kissed me everywhere, Father. My neck, my breasts, even between my thighs. And then..."

She paused, her breath catching in her throat as she relived the sensations. "Then, he entered me. It hurt at first, but soon it felt so good. Like nothing l've ever experienced before. I wanted more, even though I knew it was wrong."

Y/N's confession hung heavy in the air, the vivid descriptions painting a scandalous picture in Father Matthew's mind. His cock throbbed painfully, straining against the fabric of his clerical robes. He could hardly believe the depraved thoughts now racing through his head.

Father Matthew's composure slipped further with each salacious detail Y/N revealed. His breathing grew ragged, punctuated by stifled groans as he continued to stroke his aching cock. The once sacred space of the confessional now reeked of sin and debauchery, the air thick with the musk of his arousal.

"Go on," he urged, his voice strained and unsteady. Gone was the calm, reassuring tone of a spiritual guide; in its place was the desperate plea of a man teetering on the brink of self-control. "Tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail."

Y/N's innocence, her purity, only served to fuel the fire burning within him. He imagined defiling her, corrupting her, molding her into his perfect little slut.

Father Matthew's mind raced with perverse fantasies, each one more depraved than the last. In his twisted imagination, he saw himself bending Y/N over the altar, tearing away her flimsy dress to reveal her nubile body. He pictured her on her knees before him, those innocent eyes wide with shock as she took his cock into her mouth, gagging on his length.

The thought of claiming her virginity, of being the first and only man to plunge into her untouched depths, drove him wild with lust. He stroked faster, harder, chasing the release that seemed just out of reach.

Father Matthew's resolve crumbled like a house of cards, the soft sniffles emanating from Y/N proving to be his undoing. The sound of her guilt, her shame, only served to heighten his own dark desires, pushing him over the precipice of restraint.

With a strangled cry, he erupted, his seed spilling forth in hot, pulsing spurts. Ropes of cum painted the inside of the confessional, splattering against the wood in obscene patterns. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the waves of his climax, each twitch sending another burst of semen from his spasming cock.

As the haze of orgasm slowly dissipated, Father Matthew slumped back in his seat, his chest heaving with exertion. He quickly tucked his spent member back into his cassock, zipping up his fly with shaking hands.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Father Matthew tried to compose himself, to slip back into the role of the compassionate priest. "My child," he began, his voice still slightly rougher than usual, "you mustn't blame yourself for these dreams. They are merely manifestations of your natural, God-given desires, warped by the influence of the world outside our holy sanctuary."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "What matters most is that you recognize the sinfulness of such thoughts and actions. Repentance is key, and you've already shown great courage in confessing these impure urges."

Father Matthew's mind raced, torn between his vows and his growing obsession with Y/N. He knew he should steer her towards prayer, fasting, and increased devotion to ward off these temptations.

Father Matthew's heart raced, his pulse pounding in his ears as he grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. The urge to lead Y/N astray, to encourage her down a path of sin and debauchery, warred with his duty to guide her towards righteousness.

In the end, his own twisted desires won out. Leaning closer to the screen separating them, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen closely, my child. While these feelings may seem unnatural, even sinful, I assure you that they are perfectly normal for a young woman of your age and disposition."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "God created us with these desires, these needs. To deny them entirely would be to go against His divine plan."

Father Matthew's voice dropped to a husky murmur, his words dripping with barely restrained lust. "If you were to act upon these urges, to explore the pleasures of the flesh with a willing partner, I don't believe the Lord would hold it against you. After all, He gave us these bodies to enjoy, to revel in their sensations."

He shifted in his seat, his spent cock already beginning to stir again at the thought of guiding Y/N into the world of carnal delights. "Should you ever find yourself tempted to cross that line, know that Father Matthew is there to offer his support, his...guidance. Together, you can navigate this treacherous terrain, ensuring that your journey remains safe and fulfilling."

Father Matthew's mind raced with possibilities, visions of stolen moments and illicit encounters dancing behind his eyes.

Father Matthew's mind raced with possibilities, visions of stolen moments and illicit encounters dancing behind his eyes. He imagined taking Y/N's hand, leading her away from the confessional and into a secluded corner of the church. There, in the dim light filtering through the stained glass windows, he would show her the true meaning of pleasure.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to explore every inch of her nubile form. He pictured her gasping beneath him, her body writhing in ecstasy as he claimed her innocence, molding her into his perfect little plaything.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the brazen words, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. She squirmed uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench, her thighs pressing together as a strange warmth blossomed between her legs.

"I...I don't understand, Father," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and budding desire. "Isn't giving in to such thoughts and urges considered a grave sin? Won't God punish me for entertaining such wicked notions?"

Despite her words, Y/N couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her at the idea of exploring these forbidden desires. The taboo nature of it all sent a shiver down her spine, awakening something primal and hungry within her.

Father Matthew leaned closer, his breath ghosting across the screen separating them. "Oh, but that's where you're mistaken, my dear. God understands our human nature, our need for connection and intimacy. He doesn't expect us to live as celibate monks, denying ourselves the joys of the flesh."

His voice dropped to a seductive purr, each word dripping with sinful promise. "No, He wants us to embrace these desires, to revel in them with a loving partner. And who better to guide you on this journey than your humble priest?"

Father Matthew's mind raced with wicked thoughts, imagining all the ways he could corrupt Y/N.

With a trembling voice, Y/N thanked the mysterious priest for his guidance and understanding. "Thank you, Father, for hearing my confession and offering such wise counsel. Your words have brought me comfort and clarity."

She rose from the bench, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. As she made her way out of the confessional, Y/N's mind buzzed with a whirlwind of emotions - confusion, curiosity, and a simmering undercurrent of excitement.

On the walk home, Y/N found herself replaying the priest's words in her head, trying to reconcile them with everything she'd been taught about the evils of lust and temptation. Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the image of the handsome priest who haunted her dreams.

Father Matthew remained seated in the confessional long after Y/N had departed, his mind reeling from their encounter. The scent of her lingering perfume filled his nostrils, mingling with the musk of his own arousal.

He palmed his hardening cock through his cassock, biting back a groan as he recalled the way her voice had quivered with a mix of innocence and burgeoning desire. The thought of corrupting her, of guiding her down a path of sin and depravity, consumed his every waking thought.

Rising from his seat, Father Matthew emerged from the confessional, his gaze drawn to the spot where Y/N had stood mere moments ago. A wicked smile played across his lips as he plotted his next move, determined to make the innocent girl his own personal plaything.

DISCLAIMER: this is an original storyline written by me and only me. @/muwapsturniolo has written a series using the priest!matthew au which you can find here but my story is NOT inspired by hers nor a copy.

AUTHORS NOTE: first chapter >.<!! i rewrote this one a good four times and ultimately cut the wc from 16k to 5k... she’s a bit rushed but i’d like to get the boring details out of the way.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch

[gloriousmonsters]

ok listen. listen. hear me out. what if Angel was the one to propose the contract

like.... the intensification of heartbreak and guilt when Val tells him 'I own you, or have you forgotten that?' as Angel looks at his signature, the heart he drew next to it. the extra layer in 'what's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself'. and above all it plays well with my observation that their contract had to have been composed with some level of input from Angel, because... why on earth/in hell would Val have given him control of his life outside of the studio; and while Val invokes the contract to put Angel back in 'his place', Angel invokes it to remind Valentino that he can defy him. It's actually similar in composition to a kink contract/agreement--if I'm in this specific place, you hold all the power and call the shots; but outside of it, I don't give you that level of control. Angel can straight up tell Val to fuck off in front of a crowd and all Val can do is say he'll make Angel regret it next time he's in the studio (and isn't that an extremely dark variation of the classic kinky romance beat of 'sub misbehaves when they're in public and can get away with it, dom promises they'll pay for it later'?)

so like. all of that about the contract also works if Val proposed it, but I love headcanoning that their relationship was on the rocks around the time it was signed, and one of the factors was Vox coming onto the scene... and so now i'm just thinking about Angel in his peak era of both-sides-ing their relationship problems, knowing his 'commitment issues' (partly real, partly consisting of val's 'you know other men??' issues) are a major cause, furious and disconcerted at someone else drawing so much of Val's attention, wanting to make a stupid desperate Hail Mary pass to save their relationship but devoid of the usual options of 'have kid' or 'impulsively propose marriage' or 'move to a new house that's inevitably haunted' i watch too much horror, going for the option of '...hey do you want to make the kind of binding contract that is accessible to us?'

and surely it's not that stupid! he's only really giving Val a formal version of the power he gives him already, right? Val's his dom and his director and manager, and maybe there's... problems but it's mostly been great for Angel so far, so if having it on (magic eternally binding) paper would make Val happy and make him understand that Angel really wants him, wants them, the risk is toooootally worth it. just, best not to tell Cherri about it she'd definitely think it was insane.

(and when, much later, she learns about the contract and berates him for being an idiot and not telling her when Val brought it up, maybe don't correct her assumption. just keep it to yourself and feel even worse.)

[nofingjustaninchident]

ᯓ★ i hate you more.

summary jason and y/n finally got to the camp. but at what cost?

warnings third person writing, drew tanaka, not proofread

word count 3k

now listening to you get me so high by the neighbourhood

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

As the chariot soared through the sky, off to who-knows-where with a potentially homicidal blonde girl and an overly buff guy who looked like he could easily throw Y/n off the chariot if he was so inclined, she decided she liked flying with Jason better. 

But, as quickly as that thought came up, she pushed it away. How could she even think about liking flying with Jason? She didn’t know him. She knew she hated him, but she didn’t know him.  

Standing beside her, he gazed out at the horizon, his troubled expression mirroring her own confusion. She took a moment to study his face while he was distracted, absorbing the familiar features she couldn't recall encountering before waking up on the bus. It was a frustrating sensation, feeling so certain of knowing him yet unable to find any trace of him in her memories. 

Or rather, not having any memories to search through in the first place. 

He was handsome, but Y/n had known that from the moment she first saw him that afternoon, holding her hand as she slept on the bus. A few strands of his blond hair grazed his forehead, suggesting it had been a while since his last haircut, though she couldn't pinpoint why she thought so. His eyes resembled the clear blue sky on a sunny day, a stark contrast to the gray clouds they were currently navigating through. Her gaze caught a small scar on his upper lip, prompting her to wonder if he had ever shared the story behind it, if such knowledge remained locked away within the rest of her memories. 

Jason pulled his eyes away from the horizon, meeting her gaze. His lips tilted downward in a small, nervous frown, and she couldn't really point why that felt so...  hurtful, to say the least.  

"This is so cool!" Leo yelled. He spit a Pegasus feather out of his mouth, sputtering for a moment. "Where are we going?" 

"A safe place," Annabeth answered. She'd been quiet since they took off, and there was something sad in her eyes as they looked out at the horizon. "The only safe place for kids like us. Camp Half-Blood." 

"Half-blood?" Piper crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes hard as she scowled at Annabeth. "Is that some kind of bad joke?" 

"She means we're demigods," Jason said. "Half god, half mortal." 

Annabeth glanced back at him. "You seem to know a lot, Jason," she said, her tone suspicious. "But yes, demigods. My mom is Athena, goddess of wisdom. Butch here is the son of Iris, the rainbow goddess." 

Leo choked on a laugh he tried to suppress. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?" 

"Got a problem with that?" Butch said. 

"No, no," Leo said. "Rainbows. Very macho." 

"Butch is our best equestrian," Annabeth told them. "He gets along great with the pegasi." 

"Rainbows, ponies," Leo muttered. Y/n couldn’t hold back the laugh that threatened to escape with each of Leo’s remarks.  

"I'm going to toss you off this chariot," Butch warned.  

"Demigods," Piper said. "You mean you think you're... you think we're—" 

Lightning flashed through the sky. The chariot shuddered and Jason yelled, "Left wheel's on fire!" 

Y/n looked over and sure enough, it was burning, white flames beginning to lick up the side of the chariot. The wind roared around them with a vengeance. She glanced behind them and saw dark shapes forming in the clouds - more venti spiraling toward the chariot, though these looked more like horses than angels. 

She started praying, or at least what she thought was a prayer, to any god that would care to hear her. She really didn’t want to die that way.  

Piper started to say, "Why are they-?" 

"Anemoi come in different shapes," Annabeth explained. "Sometimes human, sometimes stallions, depending on how chaotic they are. Hold on. This is going to get rough." 

Going to get?!, Y/n thought. It already is!  

Butch flicked the reins. The pegasi sped forward and the chariot blurred. Y/n held Jason's hand in a vise grip, her vision going black for a moment. When it went back to normal, they were somewhere entirely new. 

An ocean stretched out to their left. Snow-covered fields, roads, and forests spread out on the right. 

Directly below them was a green valley, like a lonely island of spring surrounded by snowy hills on three sides and water to the north. She saw a cluster of buildings that didn't look like they belonged in the twenty-first century, ball courts, a lake, and a climbing wall that looked like it was on fire. 

Then the chariot's wheels came off, and they dropped out of the sky. 

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Y/n let out the curses, still holding tightly to Jason’s hand. She felt like he was the only person close enough that she wouldn’t have to walk to reach out.  

Annabeth and Butch tried to maintain control, but the pegasi seemed exhausted, and bearing the weight of the chariot and six people was clearly too much for them. 

"The lake!" Annabeth yelled. "Aim for the lake!" 

They plummeted like a torpedo into the water. 

The lake was freezing. She'd already been shivering on the chariot, what with the wind and the high altitude and her damp clothes from the rain at the Grand Canyon, but now she was submerged in freezing cold water to boot. 

After falling into the Grand Canyon and fighting off evil wind spirits, she was going to die of hypothermia. Or drowned. Probably drowned.  

How nice. 

But suddenly, the whole freezing part was over. She couldn’t feel the freezing water, just... nothing. She looked at her front and saw a figure. She could swear she heard the thing telling her to breathe, but she was probably just hallucinating. Luckily.  

She broke into the surface soon, trying to float. She discovered that there was something in her eyes, and she couldn’t open them to discover where the shore was. Suddenly, she felt hands under her arms, and someone pulled her. She didn’t know who it was, but considering the muscles on the person’s arms, she figured it’d be Butch.  

Y/n and the person got to the shore, and she let out a long, contented sigh. Piper and Leo ran over to her with a towel, which she used to take the thing off her eyes, and Y/n realized Jason was the one who'd pulled her back to the surface. It was the second time he'd saved her life that day.  

Jesus, he's like a blond Superman. 

Life's a bitch.  

Once she was pretty sure she'd taken the thing off her eye, she forced herself to straighten. 

"Are you okay?" Piper asked, her voice high-pitched and terrified. But before Y/n could answer, Annabeth spoke up, her face dark and curious at the same time. 

“You’re dry.” 

Y/n grimaced. “I’m- wait, what?” she asked, and looked down at her body. Outside her damp clothes, her hair and skin were completely dry. “Oh, my fucking god, what the hell?” She asked, her own voice high-pitched and desperate. 

“How’s that even possible? You’re not that warm.” Leo muttered. 

“That... that just happened before with, uh... one person.” Annabeth said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. The girl was wringing her wet hair out, studying y/n with a furrowed brow. "If you and Percy have this in common, then... no, it can’t be." She said, her tone uncertain, but there was a lingering suspicion in it. 

"Great," y/n grumbled. "I love being the exception." 

A detail of campers ran up with big, bronze-colored leaf blowers and blasted the soaking wet demigods with hot air. In a few seconds, y/n was dry and far warmer than she had been just a few moments ago. 

Thank fuck. 

A blond-haired guy (what is it with y/n and blond dudes?) with a bow and quiver strapped to his back pushed through the crowd of orange-shirted people, pulling a small bottle of some kind of amber liquid out of a fanny pack. He handed it to y/n, who just stared at it questioningly until he explained, 

"Nectar. It'll make sure your lungs are clear and prevent dry drowning. Drink." 

y/n didn't know how she felt taking orders from someone who looked younger than her, but when Annabeth nodded along to his explanation, she decided to trust the blonde girl. As scary as she was, she had helped Jason save her from drowning. 

y/n downed the mini-bottle, but she didn’t feel any different than she already was. 

The young blond guy turned to Annabeth. "And you! I said you could borrow the chariot, not destroy it!" 

"Will, I'm sorry," Annabeth sighed. "I'll get it fixed, I promise." 

Will scowled at the remains of his broken chariot. 

Then he sized up y/n, Jason, Piper, and Leo. 

"These are the ones? Way older than thirteen. Why haven't they been claimed already?" 

"Claimed?" Leo questioned. 

Before Annabeth could explain, Will asked, "Any sign of Percy?" 

"No," Annabeth admitted. 

The campers around them muttered. Whoever Percy was, his disappearance seemed to be a big deal. 

Another girl stepped forward. She glanced at the four newcomers, her eyes moving over Leo and y/n with a bored expression before she fixed her eyes on Jason like he might be worthy of her attention. The girl then glanced at Piper, her lip curling in a vague look of disgust. "Well," she said, "I hope they were worth the trouble." 

y/n scowled at her, taking offense. She had a gut feeling that this girl would be nothing more than a pain in the ass.  

Leo snorted. "Gee, thanks. What are we, your new pets?" 

"No kidding," Jason said. "How about some answers before you start judging us - like, what is this place, why are we here, how long do we have to stay?" 

“Why did your lake people just talked to me?” y/n tacked on silently. 

"Jason," Annabeth said, her tone placating, "I promise we'll answer your questions. And Drew," - she frowned at the rude girl -"all demigods are worth saving. But I'll admit, the trip didn't accomplish what I hoped." 

"Hey," Piper said, "we didn't ask to be brought here." 

Drew sniffed. "And nobody wants you, hon. Does your hair always look like a dead badger?" 

y/n and Piper moved at the same time. Jason reached for y/n’s hand again, a pleading look in his eyes as if he was saying please don't. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand from his, but didn’t really move. Annabeth stopped Piper, who y/n was pretty sure only backed down because of how intimidating Annabeth looked at the moment. 

Or at any moment, really. 

"We need to make our new arrivals feel welcome," Annabeth said, shooting Drew another pointed look. "We'll assign them each a guide, give them a tour of camp. Hopefully by the campfire tonight, they'll be claimed." 

"Would somebody tell me what claimed means?" Piper asked. 

There was a collective gasp. The campers backed away, a faint orange glow encompassing the crowd. y/n frowned, following everyone's gazes to Leo. Floating above his head was a blazing holographic image - a hammer engulfed in flames. 

"That," Annabeth said, "is claiming." 

“Holy shit...” y/n and Jason muttered at the same time, quickly exchanging an annoyed look. 

Leo reacted as if his hair was on fire, swatting at the air in panic. 

"This can't be good," Butch muttered. "The curse-" 

"Butch, shut up," Annabeth said. "Leo, you've just been claimed-" 

"By a god," Jason interrupted. "That's the symbol of Vulcan, isn't it?" 

Everyone's eyes turned to him. 

"Jason," Annabeth said carefully, "how did you know that?" 

"I'm not sure," Jason admitted. 

"Vulcan?" Leo demanded. "I don't even like Star Trek! What are you talking about?" 

"Vulcan is the Roman name for Hephaestus," Annabeth said, "the god of blacksmiths and fire." 

The image above Leo's head faded, but he kept swatting the air as if it might still be following him. 

"The god of what? Who?" 

Annabeth turned to Will. "Would you take Leo, give him a tour? Introduce him to his bunk-mates in Cabin Nine." 

He nodded. "Sure, Annabeth." 

Will led Leo away and Annabeth turned her attention back to Jason and y/n. She studied the two of them like there were two variables in a complicated math problem. Finally, she said, "Jason, hold out your arm." 

y/n frowned; she wasn’t quite sure what Annabeth was looking at. She followed the blonde's gaze to his forearm. He'd taken his windbreaker off, leaving his arms exposed, and on the inside of his right forearm was a tattoo. The letters SPQR were etched into his skin, with a dark silhouette of an eagle above it and a dozen straight lines below it. 

"Do you have one, too?" Annabeth asked, looking at y/n. 

y/n rolled up the sleeve of her - Jason's – sweatshirt (she still had to take it off, but she was way too comfy to do so), exposing her right arm. Just like Jason, she had a tattoo on the inside of her forearm, though hers looked a bit different. 

Unlike Jason, she didn't have an eagle above the SPQR on her skin - instead, she had two symbols, one beside the other. It had a trident, in a style that she was sure she didn’t do the tattoo willingly. Kinda entangled with it, there was a lyre. Under the SPQR, there were ten lines, just a few less than Jason.  

y/n brushed her fingertips over the tattoo. She couldn't remember getting it, but she had the faint feeling it had hurt, and she had a suspicion it wasn't made with ink. 

"I've never seen marks like these," Annabeth said. "Where did you two get them?" 

Jason shook his head. "I'm getting really tired of saying this, but I don't know." 

When Annabeth looked at y/n, she shrugged. "Nah, no clue." 

"They look burned into your skin," Annabeth noticed. 

"They were," y/n said, wincing as she tried to recall a specific memory. It made her head hurt even more than it already did. "I... I think they were, anyway. I can't remember." 

Everyone looked to Annabeth. It was clear she was something of a leader in the camp, and they were all waiting to hear her verdict. "You two need to go straight to Chiron," Annabeth decided. "Drew, would you—" 

"Absolutely." Drew sauntered forward, lacing her arm through Jason's. y/n scowled at the sight, her scowl deepening when Drew pulled him away, resulting in his warmth being pulled away from hers. 

Not that she minded. y/n was hoping for Drew to get him far, far away from her. 

"This way, sweetie. I'll-" 

"y/n needs to see him, too, Drew," Annabeth reminded her, giving y/n a look that she suspected was a silent apology for Drew's behavior. 

Drew rolled her eyes, but didn't object as y/n joined her and Jason. She kept talking as if y/n wasn't even there. "I'll introduce you to our director. He's... an interesting guy." 

They walked toward the big blue mansion y/n had seen just before their chariot plummeted into the lake. 

A heavy sense of dread filled y/n’s stomach as they made it to the house. If the way Jason tensed at the sight of the house was any indication, he shared her anxiety. 

She was suddenly struck by how grateful she was that she wasn't the only person who seemed to have lost her mind along with her memories. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest thing in the world to only remember the person who she seemed to hate the most, but it was still better than having absolutely no one. She wondered if that was the only thing linking the two of them together. 

His name was the only concrete memory she'd woken with. That had to mean something, right? 

"Here we are!" Drew said cheerfully. "The Big House, camp headquarters." 

The Big House didn't look threatening, not at first glance, but that didn't stop y/n from feeling like she was on the border of enemy territory. She touched the small lump in her pocket, feeling the key. 

At least she wasn't defenseless. 

"We are not supposed to be here," Jason said, voicing y/n’s exact feelings. The girl looked at him with a questioning look. Perhaps, besides being extremely handsome and skilled with a sword, he was also a mind reader.  

Is always an option, right? 

Drew circled her arm through his. "Oh, please. You're perfect here, sweetie. Believe me, I've seen a lot of heroes." She glanced at y/n like she was a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "You, I'm not so sure about." 

y/n touched the key in her pocket and almost flipped her off. "Wanna test that theory?" she said. "I have a sword with your name on it, princess." 

"So testy," Drew said, rolling her eyes. "What, are you two together or something?" 

Jason and y/n’s eyes met, neither of them quite sure how to answer. Before either of them could say anything, though, the sound of footsteps sounded from the front porch. 

No, not footsteps - it sounded like hooves. 

"Chiron!" Drew called. "This is Jason. He's totally awesome." She side-eyed y/n. "And y/n." 

y/n made a face at Drew and rolled her eyes.  

Jason backed up so fast he almost tripped, his arm reaching out to pull y/n back with him as if to pull her away from danger. She looked down at Jason’s muscular arm around her torso and pulled away from him, the nagging feeling that they hated each other poking the depths of her mind. The girl watched as a man on horseback rounded the corner of the porch.  

No, he wasn't on horseback - his lower half was a horse. 

It's official, I've lost what was left of my sanity.  

Chiron started to smile at y/n and Jason, but the color drained from his face as he looked at Jason. 

"You..." The centaur's eyes flared like a cornered animal's. "You should be dead." 

TAGLIST @maybxlle @sunshine-of-ur-life @liviessun @bellamysnatblida @mp-littlebit @cinemaconrad

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

The knife in the dark

Azriel's week: Day 3

Hosted by: @azrielappreciationweek

Word count: 700+

You woke up chained to the wall in some dark room that smelled like mold, urine, blood and fear. When your eyes got used to the dim light you could finally take a look around. Your stomach churned. You were in the dark dungeon. Panicking you pulled on shackles with all your strength, but not only they didn't move, the commotion drew attention of your kidnappers.

"Look who's up," one grinned. Together with his companion they stepped closer, malicious sneers on their faces. It was immediately clear to you that you wouldn't like what was to come. You wanted to move away from them, but shackles held you in place.

The other male grabbed your neck and squeezed. "Do you know why you are in this shit?" You shook your head while you were fighting for air. "You can thank your damn spymaster. If he hadn't interfered with our plans, none of this would happen to you," he barked. Now when they stood so close, you could recognise the uniforms of Autumn Court's guards. Whatever Azriel did, it really pissed them off.

"Our lord was angry, so angry," the first one said. "And when he gets angry, somebody dies."

"Now it's your turn," other one growled and they started to kick you and beat you with their big fists. You cried in pain, praying to Mother to stop it. When they finished with you, you hanged there on the edge of unconsciousness, bleeding from nose, mouth and numerous cuts, unable to breathe properly.

"How about we have fun with her before we finish her," one of them said.

"That's good idea," the other grunted. Their hands began to tear your clothes. If you could you would scream, plead, fight them, but you could only cry silently.

You were almost naked when you noticed a flash of a blade behind their backs. Soon after Azriel's face emerged from the darkness. He looked so furious and deadly that he could easily be mistaken for a god of vengeance, a fearsome angel of death. He was ready to kill and he did.

Armed only with his Truth-Teller and silent as night he launched on the males and finished them before they realised what's happening.

Two growing pools of blood wetted your feet. Relieved the horror was over, you swung on shackles, your consciousness slowly started to slip away.

"Hey," Azriel said softly. He cleaned his knife and put it away. Then he quickly untied you and lifted you up, clenching you to his broad chest. "Y/N, hey. Stay with me. Do you hear me?"

" 'hurts," you groaned.

"I know, sweetheart, I know and I'm so sorry," he sounded really hurt and worried. If the most calm and balanced person you knew, became so worried, your injuries had to be more severe than you thought. "Just hold on a little longer for me. Will you?"

You groaned again. Feeling your mind again slipping away, you tried to focus on the closest thing - his face, especially those beautiful hazel eyes with gold flecks that watched you worriedly.

Azriel gently placed a kiss to your hair and covering both of you in the shadows, he set out on his way out. Only then did you see the trigger. There were rivers of blood and death bodies everywhere along your way.

But you couldn't care less. He came to save you. He came for you. These words became your mantra, it helped you to stay clam. In his arms you felt safe.

You squinted against the bright daylight. He got you out of the dungeons without anybody noticing and raising alarm. The entire time his scarred hands held you firmly against his muscular chest heaving with effort.

You were listening to his strong and regular heartbeats, the sound like lullaby to your ears. The smell of cedar and mist was filling your nose. (Did he always smell so nice?) It was so soothing, it felt so right. You were still in great pain, but right now it all felt too distant to even think about it. And your heavy eyelids began to drop.

"Y/N, stay with me," he reminded you alarmed. And you did, locking eyes on his bouncing Adam's apple and tightened jaw, his high cheeks, full lips and lovely nose. (Was he always so handsome?) In that moment you would do anything for him.

As soon as it was possible, Azriel winnowed you to the medical hall in Velaris.

[theatrelove3000]

You’re On Your Own, Kid

This is the first Obi-Wan fic I have posted, let alone let someone other than two close friends read. It took me three months of no time, energy, or inspiration to finish this, but it’s finally done, and I am actually really proud of it. I am thinking about expanding this, depending on the time I have and the inspiration as it comes. Let me know if you like this and want to see more!

Sith! Obi-Wan x former padawan reader

Warnings: I suck at warnings. Uhhh, dark side, mentions of death, maybe manipulation, kissing but only a little, canon violence (dude gets an arm cut off), lightsabers, Sith! Obi. I think that is it. The reader was his padawan but they didn’t start training together until she was already an adult. The reader wears a dress but I don’t think I used pronouns?  Lmk if I missed anything else.

Summary: When your master suddenly falls into the darkness, you are left alone to be subject to the watchful, judging, mistrusting eyes of the Jedi Council. It’s one thing to lose a master, you’ve lost one before Obi. It’s something else to lose the man you love. Especially when you can still hear his whispers. 

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s You’re On Your Own, Kid! Recommend listening while reading this

Three months, two weeks, and six days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw Obi Wan. He'd go on missions that could be that long, or longer, but this time stretch was harder because you know he isn't coming back. Obi Wan is gone. He left the order. He abandoned you. 

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

You try to stay upset and hurt about it but it's becoming more difficult by the day. Watching your master walk away from the only home and family he ever knew was a major shock to everyone. He always preached about how the Jedi Order was good, right, and peaceful, yet suddenly, he was gone after causing quite the stir in a council meeting.

He had come back to your shared apartment and marched right over to you, grabbed you by your elbow and drew you into his chest. He was always more physically affectionate with you but this was something different. Something unsettling. He had wrapped you in a tight hug, breathing in the scent of you before dropping his head and whispering one thing in your ear. 

"My chains are broken. The force has freed me."

And then he was gone.

It was explained to you later that your master had fallen and you were to be reassigned to complete your training. You had been set to take your trials for your knighthood in a few weeks but due to Obi Wan's sudden switch to the dark side, they feared you harbored the same beliefs he revealed he had to the council. 

Your new master is… for lack of a better word, an ass. She is your third master. Your first one, who had selected you at a young age, died a few years back. Obi Wan decided to complete your training, since you were just three or four years from knighthood, already an adult. This new master is short and cold and uncaring. You had just been through a rapid and difficult transition and she held no compassion in her eyes, only wariness and dislike. She didn't trust you. 

No one did now. All the friends you had no longer speak to you because they fear you are unstable and dangerous. You never showed signs of leaning into the dark side but because Obi Wan fell, you also must be dark. His apprentice. Only Anakin still speaks to you. Occasionally, Master Yoda invites you to meditate with him as well, though you suspect he is doing so to check on your signature. Master Yoda is a kind and gentle soul but he must be wary. You understand. Sort of. 

It isn't until the heat of summer fades and cool winter winds start to blow that you start to hear him.

My darling.

Little dove.

Sweet one.

Angel.

The terms of endearment your master used to call you whisper through your mind, as though he were right behind you. You feel his presence when you're alone and see him in your dreams. You'd thought if you dreamed of him, they'd be nightmares but they aren't. They're sweet dreams. Almost memories but with slight changes.

Mornings after nightmares when you'd wake in his bed wrapped in his embrace, though he lets his hands wander more. Presses kisses to your neck and shoulders. Messing up on purpose during training so he'd have to wrap his arms around you to fix your form but he stands far closer, holding you tightly to his body. 

You knew you loved him before he left but he never showed signs of returning the feeling. It wasn't until he was gone that the signs appeared. For a while, you thought it was just your mind grieving the loss of him. That is, until he comes to you. 

~~~~~

Anakin manages to convince the council that you need to get out of the temple, take on a mission again. He's always been persuasive, though at first the council wasn't inclined to grant his request. Through many meetings and solid evidence that you're not like Obi Wan, they allow it on the condition that he keeps you in his line of sight at all times. He agrees readily and tells you to pack a bag. 

After explaining the mission, he takes you to Padme so she can help you find a dress. You're attending a gala the senate is holding in order to ease tensions, though with the way the galaxy is now it will only raise them. 

That's how you find yourself standing in a big ballroom wearing a long sleeve, floor length dress. Despite the dress still being modest compared to the other women around you, you still feel exposed. Your Jedi robes leave everything up to imagination but this dress does not. It's more form fitting and accentuates certain parts of your body in a very flattering way, while still being conservative.

"My, my. What have we here? Did you lose your way, Little dove?"

The voice makes you freeze. You spin around, looking for the owner but see no one. You shake your head, hoping to rid yourself of the panic and hope that had appeared with the voice.

"Did you stray too far from home? Do you need help finding the path?"

You know his voice better than you know your own. He's here somewhere. You can feel his eyes on you even if you can't see him.

You turn slightly, searching the crowd for Anakin. He's talking with some of the senators, Padme by his side. He's occupied.

You start walking.

Letting yourself out of the ballroom, you wander through the halls of the massive building the gala is being held in. You had seen a terrace when you first arrived and been escorted in. There it is. You open the doors and step out into the cool night air. 

You don't hear him as he follows you or as he shuts the doors to the terrace. You don't hear him take the last few strides necessary to stand behind you, closing the distance between you. The only sign that you were correct is the feeling of his hands on your hips. They're warm and strong and certain, just as they always were.

"My Little Dove." His greeting is whispered into your hair just above your ear.

"Master-"

"I am not your master any more, my darling." He interrupts you, his voice sending goosebumps down your arms. "I am simply a being you meet in your travels as a pawn in a game your side can't win. I am only a man who has missed you very dearly."

You take a deep breath, praying your voice won't shake as you respond, "you wouldn't have had to miss me if you hadn't gone."

The hum he gives in response is deep, seemingly coming from low in his chest. "It was time for me to go. I hope you can understand. Places to be and people to see, you know."

"You left me. You abandoned me like everyone else." 

He tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into them. "I did not abandon you. I never left you, Little Dove. I was always there, always watching. It may have been from a distance but you were never alone."

You try to control your emotions, keep your cool, "Your leaving the Order has shown me I have always been on my own. I didn't choose this life, Obi Wan. It was thrust upon me before I was at an age that I could understand it. I don't remember the sound of my mother's voice. I don't know my father's name."

"I didn't choose it either, darling. Very few of us did. To be entirely honest with you, I dreamed of leaving and yet I stayed. Do you know why, my Little Dove?" His fingers are tracing up your sides delicately, never straying into areas he has not gained permission to touch. 

Your voice cracks a bit as you respond, "Why, Obi?"

"I stayed because I needed to be around you. Your presence is my vise, your signature is, simply put, addictive to me. It was inappropriate for me to have the feelings I do for you while you trained under me so I kept them at bay as best I could." His nose grazes your temple as he speaks, the edge of his beard lightly scratching your cheekbone as he speaks, "I didn't do as good a job as I thought. Those around us began questioning our relationship. They said horrible things that I will never allow to reach your innocent ears. I could have killed anyone who ever said anything nasty about you. I still can. All you have to do is ask."

Your breathing falters, though you can't tell if it's from fear or shock or something else. If he catches it, he doesn't say a word. "I don't want that. Murder is still wrong, no matter where you stand politically."

"Ah, but don't you see, my Little Dove? I don't wish to kill for political reasons. I kill for you. Anyone who ever hurt you deserves to go."

"You're frightening me, Master," you whisper shakily. He responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.

"I do not wish for you to fear me, my love. I only want to protect you, to keep you safe. I can continue to do that from afar as I have been these three months. Or… you could come with me." He keeps his voice low, fingers stroking your sides delicately.

"Where? Where would you take me?"

"Home, Little Dove. I will take you home."

You close your eyes, feeling your resolve beginning to crumble. Suddenly the warmth of your former master against your back is gone. You turn and he's nowhere to be seen. The only sign that you did not imagine it is the phantom feeling of his hands on you. 

"All you have to do is call for me, my Little Dove. I'll come to save you from your golden cage." 

Suddenly you hear your name being called. It takes you a moment to register that it's Anakin's voice. He sounds a little worried. You turn all the way around for the first time since stepping onto the balcony. You use the force to open the doors.

"I'm here, Ani"

His head snaps to face you at your voice and he quickly makes his way over to you, "I've been looking everywhere for you! What the hell are you doing out here?"

"It was a little stuffy in there. I just needed some air. I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't think I'd be gone long." You let him lead you back inside. Instead of taking you back to the ballroom, he escorts you outside where Padme is waiting.

"It's fine. I'm just glad I didn't lose you. That… would not have looked good on me." He laughs a little, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly, "it's time for us to head out. We're going to be escorting the senator to her suite in the hotel and then going to our room."

"Yes, Master Skywalker," you bow slightly dramatically, tone dripping in sarcasm.

He laughs, rolls his eyes at your playfulness and shoves your shoulder as you start walking, both of you flanking Padme. 

~~~~~

And that's how it began.

You start answering him when he whispers into your mind. You didn't even see him that night but you know it was real. Even if it wasn't, you hope that you continue to hear him. You start feeling him as well. You even catch hints of his scent from time to time. Always when you need him the most.

Those moments became more and more common. The weight of arms around you in those few blissful moments between sleep and wakefulness make you think of him. He whispers encouragement as you train with your new master, even the occasional reminder to help you correct your form or a suggestion to make a motion easier for you. He's still helping to train you. Apparently your four years with him didn't make him sick of teaching you.

It's your next off-world mission that starts to cause your foundation to crumble.

Anakin had convinced Master Windu that he could take you off-world with himself and Ahsoka instead of being with your own master. It was a simple mission. Get into the separatist base, steal the information, get out. 

When is anything ever that simple?

Your cover was blown quickly and it doesn't take long to realize this was a trap. You are separated from Anakin and Ahsoka somewhere in the crossfire between your troops and the battle druids. You find yourself in an empty hallway alone, not even a clone behind you.

Looking around, you move back towards the way you came, only to realize you are more than a little lost in this base. You reach out your signature to find Anakin but are met with a different signature. Another, more familiar one.

Obi Wan.

Before you can take a moment to think it through, you're running towards it. You chase the warm, blue signature you've grown oh so attached to deeper into the base. When you reach a door that you can feel him behind, you pause. Pressing your palm flat against the cool metal, you reach out again. Reaching for him. He responds by tangling his signature with yours, but doesn't open the door. You hear a click and realize it's the lock. He unlocked the door. The door still doesn't open. He's giving you the choice. It almost makes you cry.

He is giving you the option to reach him. He isn't forcing you into anything, simply waiting to see how you decide. The Order never does that. All they do is command and demand and give expectations to meet. It's exhausting. You're tired. You miss him. 

"Obi?" You whisper to the door. As a response, you hear a small thud on the door as he presses his hand to it where yours is. You can feel the pressure of his power through the door. He whispers your name back to you.

"I'm frightened," you feel your eyes start to water, voice breaking softly, "I just want you."

"I know, my darling. It's alright if you are not ready yet. I'll wait for you. I'll wait an eternity for you." His voice is louder than yours, but not by much. You want to open the door but can't bring yourself to do it. He can feel it. You know he can. His signature brushes over yours gently again, soothing you. He was always good at that.

"I have to go, Master. I'm sorry. I need to find Anakin." 

"It's alright, Little Dove. I'll be with you. Always."

You nod and take another moment of weakness before pulling away and running the way you came. It takes you twenty minutes to find Anakin and Ahsoka again. As you reappear, Ahsoka crashes into you, hugging you tight.

"Are you okay!? Your comms weren't working. We've been calling you and sent troops to find you but we couldn't! What happened? Where did you go?"

You push Ahsoka back to look her into her eyes, holding her shoulders. "It's okay. I'm fine. I got lost in the hallways. The droids were coming from that way so I handled it. I just got confused on my way back to you. All the halls look so similar."

You try cracking a joke as you notice Anakin watching you cautiously. He knows something. Looking over, you cast what you hope is a charming smile in his direction. He nods and gives a small smile in return but still looks concerned, though you can't tell if it's for you or because of you. 

When you return to the Temple, the council convenes to be briefed on the mission. Anakin credits you with destroying a majority of the Droid squadron within the base. The council seems to be a mixture of impressed and put off by this news. You're not surprised.

You feel nothing for them anymore. They don't do anything but cause more problems for you and those around you. Most Jedi would say the most dangerous feeling to have is hatred. Some say anger. Others will tell you that hope is the worst thing to feel, especially in this war.

No. The most dangerous thing a Jedi can feel is indifference. Indifference causes one to not have loyalty to those they have been sworn to. With anger or hatred or even hope, it shows one still feels attached to something. With indifference, it is not so.

Your indifference is what Obi Wan was waiting for. 

~~~~~

The next mission you are sent on is the one that sends you over the edge. 

It's another gala you are to attend, this time undercover as a senator's aid. The moment you arrive, you reach out for Obi Wan. You search the room with your eyes and your signature, praying to the Maker that he is there.

As the evening progresses, you stop looking for him. You become distracted by doing your job, working the crowd and getting more information you've been sent to collect. Though the council has seemed to develop more trust in you over the last couple of months, they don't trust you entirely. You have another Jedi with you to keep an eye on you. You don't remember his name, and it doesn't particularly matter to you anyway. He's just a security measure to protect the Order. 

"Pardon me for interrupting, Senator Gunray. I was hoping I might ask this lovely young lady for this dance." His voice drips across your ears like bacta over a burn. Your posture relaxes as the senator you were speaking with bows out gracefully, promising to speak with you again later.

You turn and finally see the man you've dreamt of for five whole months, though if you're honest, it's been longer than that. He looks dashing in his white suit and cape. As your eyes trail up from his chest, you catch the hairs of his auburn beard lift as he smiles at you. You see that smile next, the shining and slightly arrogant one you grew used to throughout your few years of training with him.

He reserves this smile for you. The one that shows his pride but also a glimmer of praise for you. He softens whenever he sees you, even if it's isn't noticeable to anyone else. It always was to you. He was a good and kind master, but a better friend. In this smile, you see your friend. 

You raise your eyes to meet his and your breath catches. The cerulean ocean you are used to seeing is gone, replaced by molten gold, framed by dark lashes, which seem darker than they used to. Maybe it's just your imagination.

"Remember to breathe, Little Dove. I fear you will pass out if you don't."

You let out a small huff of a laugh as you smile and glance down to your feet. You see him lift his hand to under your chin, raising your eyes back to his. You can see him searching your face for something. He must find it or you are imagining it because he draws away again, offering you his arm to take.

"I believe I offered you a dance, my love. May I have one?"

"Yes, my lord." He leads you out onto the floor. A waltz starts not long after he pulls you into position. As you dance, he keeps you closer to his body than the other partners on the floor. You don't mind, letting yourself melt into his arms for the first time in several months.

Obi Wan was the one who taught you to dance. He had been trying to help you learn to make your movements smoother, more choreographed as you dueled. You kept making jagged, uncoordinated movements that caused you to lose your footing or leave an open spot for someone to strike. Obi had taken your Saber, tossed it and his own to the side, then pulled you in gently. He kept a respectable amount of space between you as he placed your hand on his shoulder and his own on your waist, holding your opposite hand. And he taught you to dance. Slowly, you got the hang of it and he moved back into the forms you were learning. You never lost to him in a duel again.

The dance sessions became almost a regular occurrence. He'd hug you when you were upset and slowly rock you, letting it turn into a silly little dance to make you smile and giggle. He'd kiss your head and twirl you just to make you squeal or blush. Those are his fondest memories of being in the order.

"I have a question for you, Darling."

"I will answer anything you ask of me, Darth Nighte," you respond without hesitation.

He grins widely and lets out a laugh. "You always have, haven't you? My good girl."

You blush slightly and look away from him to hide it. He doesn't like that. He lifts your chin again and raises an eyebrow, warning you not to look away again. 

"Did you pick this gown to get someone's attention?" He says it in a teasing tone but you know what he is asking. Is the dress for him?

The dress you selected for the gala was bought with what little you had saved over the years. You had gone out into the city on one of your rare days off to buy it. It was in the shop window and you'd asked to try it on. It was a long sleeved, dark blue dress with tiny gems to make it appear as though you were a part of the evening sky. It's a bit lower cut in the bust than you thought you'd be comfortable with but seeing the way he admires it, you know it was the right decision.

"I must confess, my lord. I fear I am no longer a good Jedi. You see, I find myself disagreeing with the rules and growing agitated trying to suppress my emotions. It feels like I'm being pulled down a different, new path. I can't stand the rule against attachments. I have found that attachments only make you stronger. Maybe that is what they are afraid of…" you trail off as you realize how much you spoke but he holds your eye contact and nods for you to continue. "I have found myself deeply attached to a lord at this very party and I had hoped he'd find the dress pleasing."

"I'm sure he does, my darling. Do I know this lord, do you think?" He knows. He always does.

You smile and glance around as though making sure no one was listening, "I think you know him very well, my lord." 

"Then I suppose I'll leave you to him." He starts to release you but you grip onto him tighter. He laughs again, a sound you truly and sorely missed.

Together, you and Obi Wan danced for several more songs. You talk occasionally but mostly bask in the comfort you bring each other. As the night dwindles on and draws to a close, you know you have a decision to make. A path to choose.

Obi Wan senses your panic and turmoil. He searches your eyes again before leading you off the dance floor to a little alcove on the side of the ballroom. He presses you back against the wall and lets his body tower over yours. 

"My angel, you do not have to do anything you don't wish to. I don't intend to steal you away and hide you from the galaxy. It is your decision. This is your life. Lead it how you wish to. No matter what you decide, I will always love and support you. Even if I must do so from afar." He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. You can feel the love in his signature. True love. Pure love. How can a feeling so pure be so bad? 

Lifting your chin slightly, you let your nose brush his and hear his quick intake of breath. He leans further into you slowly, giving you time to pull away from him. To say no.

You never will.

He lets his lips brush yours. It's gentle, simple, peaceful. He lets you decide how to proceed. Slowly, your hands move from where you had pressed them to his chest up into his hair to pull him closer. He hums in pleasure and pushes you further into the alcove. He kisses you the way you imagined he would. Gentle but dominant. Kind but leading. Persuasive. The Great Negotiator, indeed.

You pull away first, needing to breathe. He lets you go but keeps his forehead against yours. 

"Obi?" You whisper to him.

"Sweet One?" He responds.

"Am I ready now?"

"That, my dearest little dove, is not a question I can answer for you."

You nod, feeling the tears form. His hand is holding your cheek and jaw on one side. He can feel when they start to fall. He coos gently and pulls you into his chest, whispering reassurances and words of love.

"I don't want you to go again. It hurts when you go, my Obi." You mutter through the tears. Obi Wan pulls away enough to hold your face with both hands.

"I don't have to. You can come with me, Darling. I have a place for us. It's safe and quiet and peaceful. It's perfect. I made sure it's perfect for you. All you have to do is say yes. Little Dove, you can stay with me. Come with me."

His voice isn't commanding or ordering you. It's… begging. He's begging you to stay with him.

Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you look up at his eyes. They're no longer gold the way they were before. They're darker now. Green. Your breathing picks up as you kiss him again. It's a soft, quick kiss. He reciprocates, waiting for your decision.

"Home?" You ask him. He smiles against your lips and nods.

"Home." 

"Obi Wan. Take me home."

The burst of joy in his signature is more than enough to convince you that this was the right decision. He kisses you fiercely before retreating and standing up straight. A lord once again. Offering you his arm, he leads you back into the public eye.

As he escorts you through the front doors of the building and towards the hanger, you are stopped by a voice yelling your name. Your Jedi babysitter. You forgot about him. Obi Wan stiffens as he hears it as well, turning his head just enough to see the man behind you. You try to keep going but Obi Wan has stopped. Your panic is beginning to rise again. You'll never be free.

"You are to return to the Temple with me immediately, Young Padawan. This is not a debate."

"I-" 

"My apologies, Jedi, but I believe she has made her decision." Obi Wan's voice is calm but there is a hint of a threat in it. He's daring the man to oppose him.

"I'm sorry, Senator, but that will not be happening. She has been asked to return to the Temple."

"Senator? Do you hear that, my darling? Senator. The level of disrespect tossed about by the Order is truly insulting. He doesn't even know my name."

You keep your eyes on Obi, pleading with him through your signature to just take you and go. In your bones, you knew it wouldn't be this easy. If only.

Obi Wan turns and the Jedi recognizes him. His eyes, now returned to gold, are a dead giveaway. The Jedi draws his weapon and beckons you over, holding his hand out as he calls your name again. 

"This man is not who you think he is, Padawan. Come with me." He reaches for you again but you take a step back, closer to Obi Wan. 

"Maybe I'm not who you thought I was, Master. Or… I think perhaps I am." Glancing up at Obi, you see him watching you with curiosity and… hope. You haven't seen hope in so long you almost don't recognize it. 

Your Obi nods at you, just once, and takes a step back. The Jedi is gazing at the both of you with confusion and horror as you look at Obi Wan.

"I told you already, Little Dove. This is your decision. No one can make it for you." His voice calms you. There's no malice in it when he directs it at you.

"He's trying to trick you, Padawan. It's time to go now." The Jedi got close enough to grab your wrist and begin to pull you away. The moment he touches you, your lightsaber is in your hand and the Jedi is screaming. You open your eyes and see the man's arm on the ground between you. His lightsaber falls from his other hand and Obi Wan comes to pick it up. You feel your hands shaking as you watch him replace the Jedi's Saber on his belt before reaching a hand out to you. 

"Are you ready now, darling?"

You look between Obi's hand and the man's arm and then at the blood on your gown. You take Obi Wan's hand and leave the Jedi kneeling on the ground of the hanger as you're taken onto your love's ship. He sits you down and pulls off his cape, draping it over you. It's heavier than it looked. He helps to strap you into the co-pilot seat before getting into the pilot seat.

As the ship lifts off, you catch a reflection in the glass of the cockpit window. Your eyes are surrounded by a ring of gold.

You feel Obi Wan take your hand as you reach hyperspace and let him smooth his thumb over your knuckles. You glance up at his beautiful eyes and see they are the blue you missed. You realize something that nearly brings you to tears again. You've been on your own for most of your life, especially when it got hard.

You don't have to be alone anymore. You have your Obi Wan.

~~~~~

@meshlasolus @vi-does-stuff @star-whores-a-new-hoe @turtlelover59 @lowkeyorloki 

[heracrosshero]

Making a return

Massacre Girl stood still in the middle of the room, listening to Aurelia's gentle breaths. Gentle isn't something Massacre Girl would ever associate with the Boros archangel, nor was vulnerable. It was abundantly clear to her that there would never be a better opportunity to assassinate a guildmaster, especially of the Boros. Just one quick drag of a dagger, and all of Ravnica would be in an uproar by morning.

It would be. so. easy. Massacre Girl fantasized about all the angelic blood pouring out of Aurelia's neck. Of how it would stain the white linen sheets she rested upon. Oh to see those sheets ripped to shreds from her blades. To see the briefest moment when the pain would shock Aurelia awake, only for the bloodloss to instantly pull that consciousness away... Forever.

Massacre girl imagined what an angel's wings drenched in blood and guts would look like. What shade of red would they turn? What noises would escape Aurelia's throat as it was cut? How would her strong arms feel around Massacre Girl's waist?

...What was that last one?

The Rakdos woman mentally stuttered to redirect her thoughts away from that anomaly. However, each attempt only lead to new paths of strange curiosity quite unrelated to bloodshed. Aurelia's deep, booming voice, reduced to a sweet whisper in her ear. Those soft, downy wings acting as a thick blanket over her back.

What was happening here?!

Try as she might, Massacre Girl couldn't separate her usual bloodlust from this new lust. These feelings twisted together into a lightning storm in her brain and body. As an assassin, Massacre Girl was always professional; the definition cold blooded killer. However, as a Rakdos cultist, her nature was to follow her emotions, not to hide from them.

And while this turmoil wracked Massacre Girl, Aurelia continued to slumber without a care in the world.

How insufferable

Massacre Girl finally decided on a new path to take. She needed time to process, but she'd be damned if she walked away here without a victory over Aurelia. Massacre Girl drew out a thing dagger from its sheath without a sound. She slid her feet across the cold floor until her head loomed over the angel's prone body. With the tip of her weapon, she shifted Aurelia's dusk-red hair away from her neck.

With a swipe like the blink of an eye, Massacre Girl cut a lock of that hair. Holding this trophy in her hands, she grinned and leered at Aurelia.

Now to leave a calling card. Otherwise she might not notice I gave her a tiny trim.

Massacre Girl reached down to her belt and tucked away the hair. Then, she unhooked a black collar and leash that she had carried with her, just on a whim. Massacre Girl gingerly placed the collar and leash on the bedside table next to Aurelia. Then she briefly went back into the entry room of Aurelia's quarters and found pen and paper to write a note. With her surprise complete, Massacre Girl felt satisfied enough with herself to leave before she pushed her luck too far. She had been humiliated by herself enough tonight, she wasn't going to wait for Aurelia to wake up and do worse.

With one last glance at that beautiful, insufferable soldier, Massacre Girl slipped out of the room and back into the dark, stark halls.

When Aurelia awoke the next morning, she rubbed her eyes and stretched before noticing the object left on her table. Fire blazed in her pupils and her heart rate shot up as she lunged to grab the collar she had once put on Massacre Girl to keep her in check. Attached to it was a short note in scratchy handwriting:

"Returning this to you. Had a fun time wearing it.

P.S you should really redecorate in here, it's boring. XOXO, M.G."

[restwellsoon]

Hi there hey hello, I’m here for your event. Ya girl has been fighting a cold since Friday night and feels like crap so please bear with me – i have no fucks to give with punctuation rn. It’s a miracle you’re getting periods at the end of the sentences and any capital letters are because these were drafted in word and it was done automatically. Please stand by for three no pressure take as long as you need requests for your cute and fun event.

May I please have a sweet catnap with Jason Todd and Aphrodite? Thank you and please drink water and stay safe and take care of yourself and take breaks as needed ily

Not me forgetting to post this from my drafts 🙃Thanks for your patience, Onyx, and for all the lovely things you sent in for this event!

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Prompt: Aphrodite | I've been searching all my life for something that I won’t regret. Could it be that you're the one I'm looking for?

while you were sleeping

Gotham’s city glow hit all the right places that Jason’s shadow couldn’t hide, casting the curves of your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips in neon. The occasional siren and zooming cars faded as he listened to each of your breaths, every exhale slowing as you fell into a deeper sleep. He used to stay up for hours past the sun and past the moon in anxious torment over the angel in his bed. 

No.

Angel wasn’t the right word. A deity or simply some kind of divine? No, that wasn’t it either.

You rolled over, your leg hitching over his slightly. The sheets rolled and crumpled with you. When you settled, your breath of content was his. 

Jason knew the word. 

His heart.

It was true. Your breath was his as was your rhythm, and the pace you set was steadfast and quiet. It was something true that he could keep in tune.

He used to pace anxiously as you slept in bed, counting down the hours and minutes when you would wake. Years of constant vigilance made it difficult to still of his own accord. If he laid in bed, he could hear the raucous tempo of his thoughts. They blended in with the city noise–the siren, the cars, and on bad nights, the crying, the screams, the gun shots.

His heart used to fall into a discordant rhythm as if something was trying to crawl out of his chest.

It was horrifying, really, and he’d seen some shit.

But like that, you’d strike a chord with your sleep-laced song. It was a hymn, a hum, a request. 

“Come back to bed.”

On the reverb, he’d follow your command. The heart wants what it wants, after all.

It took him a while–weeks, days, months. Some nights would be good, and Jason would stay in bed all night. Other nights were bad. Those were the nights when patrol was better than sitting with worries of a future that might not ever come. 

But still, he came whenever you asked.

Your bedtime routine was practically a military march, and eventually he fell into your cadence. You had one half of the bed but also his half too. Jason didn’t mind the closeness. His heart could keep up and match your chords until one day your song became his.

Jason didn’t pace as much, if even at all. He laid in bed on your angel cloud, his heart your heart, your song his song, and his love was yours to take.

Like most nights now, his eyes weighed down until they shut, and in the darkness, he drew you closer. His heart stirred from around his chest until finally you both were asleep.

A Token of Sleep | event / Jason Todd's Masterlist / Rest's Main M.list

[snorky]

Ride Into The Sunset, Would I Lie To You? Well I Got Somethin' To Say

Hey y’all! Sorry for not posting a story in a while, I have some works in progress and lots of ideas! I’ve been extra busy in my personal life so I apologize. I thank you all for your patience and support! This story is about cowboyish Arber Xhekaj (I saw a pic of him in a cowboy hat and I couldn’t help myself) and the title is based on “Hang ‘Em High” by My Chemical Romance. I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!

Pairing: Arber Xhekaj x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Slight angst, Mentions of ex-friends with benefits?, (Let me know if I should add anything)

—

—

Loud, upbeat country music filled the dark-lit bar, jam-packed to the brim with bodies all pressed up against one another. It was a particularly busy Friday evening, where the entire city seemed to pour into the bar more with every hour after sundown. Voices all talking over one another, the stench of beer and whiskey hanging in the air, and a feeling of trouble lingering.

Montréal wasn’t sketchy by any means, it was loud and lively, just like any other city. But it was the people. Even if it was just one person though, it still seemed like he lived through others. Little fragments of him scattered all around the city. 

She wiped down the counter, allowing the next patron to be seated and served. “Next! I’m taking whoever is next!” she shouted.

A man dressed in all black sat down, his cologne so faintly recognizable, and it stung her like a sharp memory. She felt his smirk. She knew every detail of his stupid smirk, even with her back turned to him. 

“Hey, angel.” He placed his hands on the countertop. “Didn’t know you were workin’ here tonight,” he sighed. “If I did, I’d dress up a little nicer for you.”

She turned to look at him, setting the rag down on the counter. Looking into his eyes, it didn’t seem like he was going to want to lose tonight. He was here with a plan, an idea that he constructed himself.

“Don’t call me ‘angel’ Arber. You know how it is now between us.” She gave him a stare before turning around, grabbing a glass to serve him a drink. “Now, how may I help you today?”

Arber looked her up and down, the memories of their past flowing back into his mind. All the heated touches, all the longing stares, every single one of their memories. Some were under the scorching summer sun, the ocean crashing against the shore. Some were under the moon-lit night, the city quiet beneath his apartment.

“Just a neat whiskey, darling.” He drew the last part out, looking up at her. Their eyes locked, a fire burning inside of him. “Take your time,”

She took a breath in, her gaze fixated on him. He looked older now. Darker. More handsome, but she didn’t want to admit that. Although they had only grown apart a few months ago, he seemed more tempting now than ever.

“Alright, neat whiskey coming up for the gentleman.”

As much as she wanted to hate him, or even, as much as she did hate him, she needed to earn an extra tip or two that night. A little sugar-coated lie wouldn’t hurt. Because he wasn’t a gentleman, no. The way he played dirty didn’t help. The way he wouldn’t listen to her didn’t help.

Her hands drifted to the glass and a towel to wipe it down, before setting it down on the counter before Arber, his eyes watching her every move like a hawk. She poured some water into the glass, then poured the whiskey into it, the amber liquid swirling with the water.

He motioned for her to come closer to him with his two fingers, and to his surprise, she leaned closer to him. His hands slowly went up to her cowboy hat, and adjusted it on her head ever so gently.

“There you go, lookin’ like a proper cowgirl now, sweetheart,” he murmured into her ear.

She felt a chill run down her spine, her face heating up at his words. It was stupid from how easily he could melt her in his hands like this, but he enjoyed every bit of it. He let out a light chuckle as she walked away to serve the next customer, his gaze fixated on her.

Oh how he hated when her attention was on another patron though, her smile more genuine, her eyes more bright, and what he hated the most, was that she talked to him more sweetly, sugar water dripping from her tongue.

He just missed her so much. He longed for her voice, her sweet gestures that she would give him, even though he didn’t ask for it. She was the most caring person in the room no matter what, even if they were just friends.

Taking a long sip of whiskey, he turned around and looked for his friends who came with him. Without a familiar face in sight besides hers, he got up off of the stool, and made his way to the dance floor, his boots stomping on the ground with each step.

The music continued to flow through the air as if the tension in the bar was nonexistent, humming tunes of acoustic guitars, harmonicas, and gravelly voices. He danced smoothly, his steps solid and precise, the heel of his boot tapping against the ground to the beat of the song.

She’d be lying if she said that he wasn't tempting her. The way his large hands grabbed the front of his belt. The way he looked so concentrated with his tongue poking out between his lips. The way his strong arms flexed underneath his shirt when he danced. She kept her gaze on his figure, those slight shadows that seemed to flow through the dark, and she observed his every move.

Arber looked up, his eyes locking with hers from across the bar, seeing her attention focused intently on him. He smirked, that wickedly enchanting smirk, knowing that he had her focus in his grasp, and she was under his spell. His gaze was focused on her reaction, and he loved how she seemed to tense up with each of his movements, each and every step of his.

He shot her a wink that sent butterflies fluttering in her body, her face flushing with warmth against her will. Thank goodness for the dim lighting in the bar. She didn’t want to be seen like this, her strong exterior faltering just because of him. 

But she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Arber was just, too tempting. He was like a mirage of cool water on a hot day. A false paradise to a thirsty creature.

She turned her attention back to the patron in front of her, apologizing briefly. “I’m sorry about that ma’am, what can I get for you?”

“No need to apologize.” The woman smiled sweetly. “Just some water is alright for me.”

She nodded her head and turned around, filling the glass with water, and set the drink down in front of the patron.

As the music came to an end, Arber glanced up, hoping to catch her in his sight. To his disappointment, all he saw was an empty bar, filled with patrons, but no sight of her. He sighed, wiping his palms on his jeans and adjusting his hat.

“Looking for someone, sheriff?” a voice spoke behind him. It was a voice he could recognize so easily, a voice his heart knew by memory, no matter how it could’ve ended.

“Didn’t expect you to see you on the dance floor, sugar.” He turned around slowly, his strong figure bold and overwhelming.

The memories came rushing back again, his eyes glimmered with the same sparkle from when they first met at a party. That one late summer party in September in someone’s backyard where there was laughter, banter, and lively music buzzing in the air. That one late summer party in September they met each other.

“You don’t seem to expect much, Arber.” She looked at him, gazing at his facial features.

He looked at her confusedly, wondering what her words meant. “What’da’ya mean, sweetheart? Callin’ me stupid?”

“Didn’t mean that.” She placed her hand gently against his chest. “Meant that you don’t notice the little things that add up, the deep details,”

Arber leaned in towards her touch, his attention fully on her.

“Just meant that,” she paused, “you always never asked for anything.” Looking up at him with warmth, she noticed something in him.

And just like that, they were back at the party when they first met. He remembered her eyes that seemed to sparkle under the fairy lights, her soft and sweet smile that made his lips smile in return, and her contagious laughter that made him blush. He remembered how he walked over to her as she was grabbing a drink from the cooler, her lovely sundress amplifying her beauty, and introduced himself to her with a simple handshake.

It was a fuzzy memory, his words blurred in his mind, not knowing what he said or even talked to her about, but he knew for sure that he almost fell for her right there. Almost.

Arber didn’t want to hurt her. He never did. He wanted to treat her right. She was too precious to him. Although they had never met before this, he knew about her from mutual friends. He heard stories that sounded like fairy tales about her, how she always carried a gentle smile, a kind heart and soul, and warmth wherever she went. He didn’t believe it at first, assuming that his friends just really liked her. But then he understood.

“I never asked for anything because I wanted to treat you right,” he spoke softly, his hand gently cupping her face. “I never wanted to have it end up like this.”

She leaned into his hand, savoring the warmth of it, memories drifting back to her. She missed him and she knew it damn well. She missed how he held her on the stormy, restless nights, how he laughed at her jokes, how he cared for her tenderly when she was sick that one week. “It’s okay, Arber.” She whispered.

“It really isn’t though, I hurt you and it’s so painfully obvious,” he sighed, his voice cracking.

The bar was now emptied out, chairs up on the tables, silence ringing in the air, and the majority of the lights turned off. It was just the both of them there, close to one another, just like that one September evening.

“Listen to me.”

He looked at her, taking off his cowboy hat and holding it to his side.

“It wasn’t your fault, we both got busy and changed a lot. Life happens.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence stood between them again, and yet they still stood close to each other, afraid that if they let go, they would be apart forever.

“How about I take you somewhere tomorrow?” he asked. “Somewhere that I could treat you right and we can catch up with your favorite meal?”

“Oh, so you already know me, Arber,” she laughed as they both walked out of the bar, the cool breeze rushing past them.

“Just wanna know you a bit more. And proper this time.” He smiled. She was going to see that smile more often.

[my-own-walker]

OMG I love your work so much!!🤩😘

Could u maybe do JPM but where the reader is like stoned as fuck one day and he comes into their room and she's facetiming her cousin and their just laughing so much that they can't breath and just like crying because of it

If you feel comfortable enough to do it🤪😊😊

Oh! Sweet Nothin’

note: oh absolutely fuck yes anon!! thank u. i love this crazy mf. i’m not very good at happy stories but let’s give this a try ...

warnings: drug use, mentions of death and being dead

+++

I wasn't dead. At least not yet.

My stay at the Hotel Cortez had begun a year prior. I took a solo trip to the City of Angels to take some time away from my life in San Fransisco. Dead end job. Hated my family. The usual shit.

I had heard really fucked up things about the hotel so of course I decided to stay there. I had an affinity for all things murder and ghouls. The rumors of the place being haunted drew me there like a cartoon character being drawn to the scent of a pie cooling on a windowsill.

Little did I know how true the rumors would be.

It wasn't long before I was being pestered by every Tom, Dick, and Harry that forever resided in the place. I wasn't scared, though. Not in the slightest.

I pestered them back, making jokes about their eternal damnation and subsequent imprisonment behind the building's four walls. My fucked up sense of humor got me far in the Hotel Cortez.

My gall enticed one very unfriendly spirit. One whose name was only spoken in whispers around the place. James Patrick March. Yes, the guy who built the place.

He and I clicked instantly. I don't know what it was about me that made him choose to spare me. But we were instant lovers. In fact, the night we met he was already saying he loved me. Boy, was he weird in the best way.

The guy had a knack for violence. Well actually, a fetish for murder. But again, he didn't scare me.

Maybe that's why he chose to protect me. He moved me into his suite and everything. I became a permanent fixture in his space. In return, he kept me alive so I could continue to roam the living world.

I loved him. More than anything in the world. He was dark. He was terrifying. But he was mine. And he was so loving back.

He really tried his best to understand me. Being a twenty-something-year-old in the 21st century, I knew much about the world that he didn't. James died in the early 1930s. He retained his old-timey accent and style of dress. He was a true gentleman, well, besides the whole killing thing.

I, on the other hand, was a burnout loser from the Bay Area. I dressed in ripped jeans, flowy skirts, and Doc Martens. I had tattoos and a shag haircut. I smoked a shit ton of weed and was addicted to social media. I was far from a lady, let alone one like James' past lovers.

But maybe that's what made us work. I balanced him out. He taught me about the finer things in life, and I gave him a window to the outside world in return.

Only I would fall in love with a dead 120-year-old.

+

It was a rainy afternoon in LA, so I returned to the Hotel Cortez. I had been out shopping for rolling papers downtown.

Behind its walls was where I felt most comfortable. James was off doing...whatever a 1930s ghost does when I arrived back at the suite. Needless to say, I immediately dug into my new purchase upon my arrival.

James hated the pen I used to get high. He thought it looked silly.

'If you insist upon smoking, dearest, you should do it like a true sportsman,' he would say..whatever the fuck that meant.

I figured it was cleaner, but then he showed me the box with all of his supplies to roll his own cigarettes, so I obliged. He even gifted me with my own mahogany box for my 'smoking materials,' as he called them.

It had been a while since I rolled anything but I managed to get it done, albeit sloppily, and laid on our shared bed, smoking away lazily as I listened to the rain hit the windows.

My phone buzzed next to me on the pillow.

Incoming FaceTime call from Sasha.

Sasha. They were the only family member I kept in contact with. Sasha was my cousin and the only one that knew the truth about my whereabouts. They would call every so often to check in on me.

Sasha and I were really close as children. So close, in fact, that people would ask me if they were my sibling. They basically were, honestly.

I picked up the phone and hit the answer button.

'Sup bitch,' I answered, blowing smoke out of my nose after I spoke.

'Y/N you are always fucking smoking,' Sasha laughed. 'Do you ever give it a rest?'

'Weed, Sasha, is my best friend,' I replied, taking another drag.

'And not me!?' they scoffed, feigning hurt. "Oh, and we're rolling joints now? I didn't know we were so high class. It must be James' impact.'

'High class? Shut the fuck up,' I chuckled. The lock on the front door to the suite clinked and the door swung open.

'Hello, darling!' James shouted through the space as he closed the door.

'Sasha, he's back. I should go,' I started.

James was very old-fashioned. I tried really hard to not boggle his mind with too many new things at once. He had never met Sasha, let alone seen a FaceTime call. I couldn't imagine turning my phone to him, revealing a person talking in real-time on the screen. Television was trivial enough to him.

'No! It would be so funny. You gotta introduce us,' they pleaded.

'Y/N?' James called, footsteps getting closer to the bedroom.

'Please! Keep me on the phone,' Sasha chuckled. 'I wanna see his brain explode.' I couldn't help but let out a laugh. They were right. James' reaction to new things was always funny.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and James stuck his head in, eyes closed.

'My love, are you decent?' he asked. Sasha let out a giggle on the phone. 'Whatever was that sound?'

'James, it's fine, come in,' I laughed. I stood up and met him by the door, leaving my phone on the bed. He wrapped his arms around my waist, picking me up and spinning me around. He kissed me warmly and set me back down.

'Oh, how I missed you so, dearest,' he sighed.

'I missed you too, James,' I replied, glancing back at my phone.

'And I see you've made use of my gift!' he exclaimed. He inspected my handiwork and tutted his tongue. 'My, we have some work to do. Might I teach you how to roll properly?'

'Of course,' I assured, flopping back onto the bed, picking up my phone, and giving Sasha a look. They covered their mouth with their hand, stifling a laugh. Seconds later I got a text.

Sasha: Bro, he talks so funny I'm crying

I also covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. I was too high for this.

'You and that tiny light box,' James began. 'Whatever can I do to tear your attention away from it?' He removed his suspenders and placed them on the dresser, beginning also to unbutton his shirt.

'Actually, James, I want to show you something,' I giggled.

'It's funny?' he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

'Well, kind of. I want you to meet someone,' I continued. His head whipped around the room, looking for the 'someone' I had just mentioned.

'Where is this person, then?' he asked, panic creeping into his voice. He always got like this. Like I was some sort of magician or something.

'No, no, James, they're on my phone,' I explained. 'Here, I'll just show you.' I turned my screen to face James. Sasha smiled and waved.

'Hi, James!' they called out. He immediately retreated back toward the door like a cornered animal, eyes bewildered.

I couldn’t help but cackle. Sasha let out the laughs they’d been holding in as well.

‘What is this? What is the meaning of this? How are you doing this?’ he asked, rapid-fire. He inched closer to the phone as my cousin and I continued to crack up. In stitches over his cluelessness. He picked up my phone and stared into it. 'Who are you?'

Between laughs Sasha managed to croak out, 'I'm Y/N's cousin. I live in San Fransisco.' James handed the phone back to me and looked at me with confusion on his face.

'James, my cousin Sasha is doing something called FaceTime. It's a new way to call people,' I explained. 'You can talk to people from far away and you can see their faces. Isn't that wonderful?' He nodded, unsure of the whole thing.

'So, that person is actually talking to us right now? From far away?' he asked, trying to clarify things.

'Yeah James, it's just like a phone call!' Sasha continued from the other side of the phone.

I let out a stifled chuckle. He was really trying his best to understand. It was so cool to introduce him to new things, but the way he acted --like the technology was going to hurt him -- was, unfortunately, very humorous to me.

'Oh, James, it's okay, I promise!' I assured him, beckoning him closer with my hand.

He climbed onto the bed and settled in next to me, looking over at the FaceTime call.

'Girl, you are too high for this, I'm sorry,' Sasha cackled.

'No no, it's fine,' I laughed, turning my face to James. 'You gotta learn somehow, right, love?' He nodded.

+

Within minutes James had gotten the hang of talking face-to-face with someone through the 'light box.' So much so, in fact, he began to give a cigarette rolling tutorial, performing as if he were on a stage.

I had the camera turned to him in front of me so Sasha could watch him.

'Then, ladies and gents, we take the paper,' he declared in a sing-songy voice, holding up the rolling paper demonstratively.

Sasha and I continued to laugh uproariously as James taught us how to roll 'the gentleman's way.'

By the end of the lesson, Sasha had to go.

'Goodbye! Goodbye, Sasha! I hope to see you again soon!' James called out as he waved to the camera.

'Bye, bitch,' I added before hanging up.

'Wh-what? Do you not like your cousin?' he scoffed, confused.

'Oh, no no,' I giggled, 'that's just how we say goodbye...from where...I'm from...' A lie, but a necessary one. I didn't feel like explaining how saying 'bitch' can also be good.

'Well, I will be sure to say that next time, then! I wouldn't want to be rude,' James decided.

'Oh, my sweet, sweet love,' I sighed, placing a hand on his cheek. 'You are too good.'

'Now, what do you say we try some of this giggle smoke?' he suggested, handing me the joint he rolled. He produced a lighter from his pants pocket and flicked it, holding it out to me.

+++

Okay, I'm not sure if I love this or if I hate it but I hope I did your request justice! Thank you for sending it in. As always, my inbox is open! Thank you for reading.

[foxes-that-run]

Meet me in the Hallway

His debut's opening track - first taste the world had of solo Harry Styles. MMIH drew a line under 1D, telling the listener to not expect a teen popstar. It's slow and is still one of his more vulnerable songs.

Inspiration

You can hear the influence of Pink Floyd's Breathe in MMIH. Harry has long listed Pink Floyd as an influence, and he has a tattoo for the Dark side of the Moon Album cover, of which Breathe is the opening track. On 29 September 2016, while finalising his first album, Harry gave a 10 song mix tape to Another Man, Breathe was the first song.

It likens love to addiction, and includes not communicating with his partner, similar to Fine Line and Clean. It also has similarities to Only Angel. It was later referenced by both Harry and Taylor's songs about each other.

When was it written

MMIH, Kiwi and Sweet Creature were the first songs written for the album, in LA between February and May 2016. MMIH and Kiwi are in this photo of the album taking shape from before Harry cut his hair for Dunkirk.

Live performances and emotional range

Harry hasn't played it live since July 2018, it has emotional range:

Taylor was in London, in Hampstead Health start of 2018. Harry writes Fine Line (Jan 2018) & Taylor - Cruel Summer (mid-2018).

9 March - Joe and Taylor look miserable in the US Joe hikes in dark jeans and nikes, and again in London April 8.

11 March - Harry's tour starts again and MMIH was particularly hard to perform. In Copenhagen 19 March 2018, he turned away and left:

23-30 June - Taylor 1 week break in the US, now both in the US.

1 July - He smirks in the same song and sings "Running with you" rather than thieves:

The next week, Taylor and Joe were uncharacteristically papped in Turks and Caicos. That night, Harry talked to a fan who fell in love to MMIH. He then broke up with Camille shortly after and wrote Cherry and Falling.

Lyrics

Meet me in the hallway Meet me in the hallway I just left the bedroom Give me some morphine Is there any more to do?

In Only Angel Harry sings about breaking a knuckle on her bedroom door, driven by hunger, here he is overwhelmed with sadness mixed with desire.

Hallways are mentioned in many Haylor songs

Harry and Taylor have stayed in the same hotel many times, when they dated they did in NY and have both attended many international awards, like the 2013 NRG awards in Cannes.

Harry likens his attraction to his muse as a heroin addition. Taylor later sang in Death by a thousand cuts Taylor refers to this "Gave up on me like I was a bad drug".

Taylor had previously likened getting over Harry to recovering from a drug addiction in the closing track of 1989, Clean. "Ten months sober, I must admit / Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it / Ten months older, I won't give in / Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it"

Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better And maybe we'll work it out

"Maybe we'll work it out" is almost a precursor to the chorus and end of Fine Line's uncertain "We'll be alright"

He's aware the person does not feel the same about him but is hoping that will change. Also similar to Fine Line, here is willing to be on the floor for her, whereas in the later Fine Line with great vulnerability he sings "I don't want to fight you / And I don't want to sleep in the dirt"

I walked the streets all day Running with the thieves Cause you left me in the hallway (Give me some more) Just take the pain away

Harry is lost and searching for a way to take his mind off his muse or find answers.

Taylor refers to this line in "Ready for it..?" "Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me / Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry"

In Saint Paul he changed this line to running with you and did the pointing up motion he has in medicine.

We don't talk about it It's something we don't do Cause once you go without it Nothing else will do

He sang this verse at the start of the tour 2017 - but not in 2018.

After pleading his love to take the pain away and be with him.

A theme in many of their songs reflect on the lack of communication:

In Fine Line Harry sings "Spreading you open / Is the only way of knowing you" to reflect that are drawn to each other but don't communicate:

In Message in a bottle, Two Ghosts and Sunflower Vol 6 Harry and Taylor are Tongue Tied

In Wish you would he 'Still doesn't know what [Taylor] never said'

They have spoken in interviews about song being the most amazing unspoken dialogue, that they can say things in song they can't to each other.

[starwritesyanderes]

Can i request yandere phoenix wright x reader headcannons? :D

WAHHHH MY FIRST ASK HI ANON!! ofc ofc, love this man tbh...

pairing: yandere! phoenix wright x gn reader

cw/tw: yandere topics, obsessive behavior, babying, stalking, manipulation, no pronouns for reader (only use of you/your)

all i can think of </3 (also might be incredibly ooc... he just strikes me as a pathetic bbg...)

☆ PHOENIX WRIGHT

✧ as a yandere, i full heartedly believe this man is delusional, like most of the time he is daydreaming on the day you finally listen to his insane ramblings and decide that you don’t need anyone else but him!! he’s a lawyer!! he can somehow provide for you darling!!!

✧ i also don’t feel like he’s the kind of guy to kidnap his love interest, he’ll just try his best to make them stay with him.

✧ now i feel like the two ways to stick out to this man, well at least exceptionally anyways, is to be a lawyer, specifically one that has gone against him in court, or, to be a client of his. 

✧ going down the lawyer route, you were nothing but a simple lawyer, defending a clearly not-so innocent man, something about a robbery? you knew he wasn’t innocent, though the paycheck you got was ginormous!

✧ but the passion you had for the job was, in his eyes, adorable. it wasn’t hard to find your whole personality adorable. even if you saw him as a competitor, someone in the way of your paycheck.

✧ it drew him in, you were like a lovely drug, one he couldn’t seem to get off of. 

✧ now at first it started off as a puppy crush, with him thinking he wouldn’t be able to see you again. but… you started showing up a lot more than he bargained.

✧ though you were always there, it felt like he couldn’t get to you. like he wasn’t worthy enough to even talk to you.

✧ after a while, you started talking to him, your first mistake. because now he is going to start to become even more clingy, even to the point of stalking you.

✧ at first it was an innocent trailing behind you when he wasn’t hanging out with you. and when you would start getting suspicious he would have to stop for a bit then meet up with you.

✧ but then he started getting farther and farther from the innocent trailing. what was innocent now turned into following you home in the night, using the darkness to hide him.

✧ he was also getting very clingy towards you now, if you had a meeting with a client, he would whine and cling onto you and beg to come along.

✧ he was also threatening those around you when you weren’t looking. and if it was another prosecutor or a familiar defense attorney, he would sing your praises to them if they were clear that they did not like you romantically.

✧ if they did like you romantically? maybe they would be able to escape.

✧ though whenever he was away from you, he couldn’t ever keep his mind off of you. you, his beloved darling, an angel sent from heaven, only for him though!!!

✧ though this does get in the way of his job, and if he were to go against you in court again? he’d be staring at you dreamily, you’d catch on, but he would still do it.

✧ now, he’s starting to creep you out, the sweet Phoenix Wright, looked to be infatuated with you. he was literally staring at you with hearts in his eyes??

✧ though this would be cute, it starts getting creepy when he won’t stop staring at you.

✧ though you’ve also noticed him everywhere, he was always where you were, even if you didn’t message him, or even if you were out of town.

✧ you’ve decided to start distancing yourself from him, feeling as though you just need a little break. when you told him this, he looked distraught, you almost felt bad. he, although disgruntled, agreed.

✧ but that’s when your stalker problem started. you would go to sleep at night then wake up with either things missing or out of place, or the house would be cleaner and a snack would be on the counter. you never touched those.

✧ then came the gifts, either pictures of you or flowers. the pictures would be in low quality, leaving you wondering who even was the muse of the photograph?

✧ and the flowers, most of the time it was baby’s breath, though rarely you would get gifted some tuberoses, rarely.

✧ then the gifts starting getting more concerning. the photos started getting closer, started getting clearer, you could finally see who the muse was.

✧ when you finally called him he was overjoyed! had you finally given in? have his gifts finally drawn you back to him?!

✧ when he picked up you were sobbing, words hardly sounding coherent, when he finally calmed you down, you sputtered out that someone was stalking you and how oh so scared you were.

✧ his heart broke, his poor darling was scared because of his gifts?! now that he has fuel for the everlasting fire that is his love, you’ve now sealed your fate, because he’s not leaving!!

✧ now that he knows how vulnerable you can be, he won’t let anyone see you like this, you trust him!!!! he’s yours now!!! just as much as you are his!!!! 

✧ anything you do to try and leave him he’ll bring up how your stalker might act up if you’re alone, effectively scaring you into staying with him.

✧ he’ll treat you well darling, don’t worry :)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

✧ but if we’re going down client route, let’s just say, when he first met you, it was love at first sight!

✧ he knew you were innocent, i mean, with a face as cute as yours? (it’s very true tho, y’all are cute <3333 /p) so he became your little white knight from day one!!!

✧ as your case went on, he learnt more about you. what your favorite color is, your favorite candy, hell, even what your relationship with your family is!

✧ you didn’t really question him, seeing how easy you found to talk to him.

✧ in the end, your case was over, but that doesn’t mean your relationship with the attorney is over

✧ he stuck with you even after the case and safe to say, your budding romance grew! now that you weren’t his client, he was finally able to ask you on a date

✧ while it wasn’t the best date, you found it sweet, how caring he was for you! it just goes to show he’s the best one for you darling!!!

✧ as your relationship continues, he starts babying you more.

✧ first by letting him pay for dates, little things at first!! but as soon as he was allowed in your house?

✧ dates were always at your place!!! but you couldn’t cook for them, he would either cook for you, or he would bring take-out with him!!

✧ because his darling didn’t deserve to have to cook, or do anything really!! he can provide for you! he can care for you!! just please don’t use a knife.

✧ once he sees you using a knife to cut vegetables while he was cooking.

✧ he clutches his chest and yells ‘good lord!’ before taking the knife away from you, kissing you sweetly and telling you to sit down on the couch and to let him prepare dinner.

✧ he stays over after most of your dates, even if he has to leave in the morning and even if your place is far from where he works. 

✧ in the morning you have to persuade him to let you go and to go to work before he’s late. he refuses and all you have to do is give him some little kisses before he’s wide eyed and bushy tailed and out the door

✧ he likes the domestic setting with you at home, wouldn’t be surprised if he laced the house with cameras just so he can see what you’re doing when you’re not busy.

✧ though god forbid you tell him about someone flirting/harassing you. you’ve never seen him look more angry, some… evil scum is flirting with his angel?!

✧ don’t be surprised when you hear that the perpetrator was later in court and then sentenced for a crime he committed, and it was your darling boyfriend who put him away.

✧ now he won’t allow you to leave the house alone, because what if that criminal did something else to you?!

✧ he won’t allow anyone to hurt his angel, if you want to go out you have to bring your darling boyfriend with you, no more going out alone, and no more talking to your friends either.

✧ they can hurt you too darling!! you have to trust him he only wants the best for you!!!!

✧ though the best for you is him…. he won’t allow you to leave him:)

[am-i-interrupting]

!!! I haven’t done a matchup in forever !!! Hope I did it right !!!

My pronouns are she/they and I am demiromantic? I cut feelings/attachment when I get really upset at people. I don’t mind any characters really! It’s hard to describe my personality but I am bubbly, blunt, sensitive but also real, I have ADHD (the kind I have used to be called ADD) if that helps with personality as well.

Besides ADHD I have epilepsy and my vision is not the best in the slightest :,) I also have a bit of hearing issues. My fashion is all over the place but: bright colors (mainly pink) I wear bootcut/bell bottoms a lot, I love t-shirts (specifically old-school characters) and stripes. I crochet!! Like a lot!! Mainly small blankets or plushies but I’ve made 2 failed sweaters! I also do cozy gaming and drawing!

How I show love is gift giving, words of affirmation, and quality time! I love to talk and talk and talk so that’s what I count as quality time just having someone listen or hear me. Music is just about as random as clothes! If a song is good then I like it! But mainly pop, RnB (80s - now), musicals, and classical music! I wouldn’t say I have a dark sense of humor but I am able to find a joke in everything since that’s my coping mechanism though jokes are always a hit or miss depending on the mood.

I finally landed on a butterfly! Because they’re pretty, love daytime activities, and bad vision. Butterflies are beautiful and fragile and I’ve been described as that since I am very short and been called pretty a lot 😅

Your Match Up Is. . .

Vaggie!

You and Vaggie met soon after she met Charlie. With a personality like yours, you were already helping the princess start renovations on the Hotel.

Meeting her when she was in such a fragile state was a huge help for her.

You and Charlie helped her to feel safe and welcome in this place she’d never been.

It would be years before you found out that she was an angel and not a sinner like yourself but we’ll get to that in due time.

Vaggie was absolutely enthralled by your personality from the beginning.

She adored how you could go from optimistic to serious when the moment called for it. It was that bluntness mixed with the positivity that drew her in.

Of course, your beauty even in your demonic form helped with that.

Your wings would definitely draw her in.

From the beginning, she is very accommodating to you.

She has no problems repeating things if you didn’t hear it.

You bet that she is researching triggers of epilepsy and going through the Pride Ring to specifically find locations that have strobing/flashing lights and writing them down so you can avoid them.

She will also absolutely take note of parts of your life your ADHD effects.

If you have a favorite spoon, it is your spoon now. No one else uses that spoon. She is prepared to fight someone over that spoon.

It took a while for the two of you to finally get together. Mainly because Vaggie would go to confess and then freeze up.

Charlie standing in the background giving her a big smile and thumbs up did not help as much as the princess thought it did. She just didn’t have the heart to tell her that.

It wasn’t until you took initiative and confessed that anything happened between the two of you.

Vaggie absolutely froze and just stared at you for a moment, mouth open in shock.

Just when you began to think you’d read the signals wrong that she said she’d love to go out with you.

If you’ve watched The Owl House, there was definitely a moment afterwards that resembled when Luz asked out Amity and they awkwardly held hands after.

She will spend all day listening to you ramble and actively logs informations away about your hyperfixations.

She sees yarn she things you’ll like? She’s buying it.

You’re almost out of stuffing? Not anymore.

She has an entire bookshelf dedicated to showcasing all the plushes you’ve made her.

If you’re ever away for an extended period of time, prepare to come back to her asleep surrounded by them.

Vaggie is a fan of morning cuddles, you cannot convince me otherwise!

Before you wake up, she will trace the patterns in your wings.

If your wings give you any problems, somehow she just magically knows how to fix it. . . Must have researched it. Obviously there’s no other reason she’d know that, right?

You don’t even have to worry about clothing having holes for your wings because if you don’t alter it, she will.

Also, queen of compliments. She will compliment you all the time.

Be prepared for a lot of: “You look so pretty today, babe.” “Ooh, what’s this song? I like the rhythm.” “Your new plush is looking good so far.” “I love that color combo.” Normally accompanied by hands on the shoulder and a kiss to the temple.

She loves watching you crochet, draw, or game. She finds it calming.

Occasionally, she will try to join you.

She might not be good at it but she tries and it’s adorable to watch her succeed and fail. She makes an earnest effort both ways.

Because Vaggie is such a calm, attentive person, you probably don’t have many fights that blow up.

Even if you do, she knows to just give you space to work things out.

She’s not going to go away but she will let you breathe. She’s not a smotherer.

That’s why she doesn’t try to hover when you start avoiding her after it gets out she’s an angel.

After a couple days, she doesn’t corner you exactly but she does catch you alone.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t force a conversation. She just lets you stew with your feelings until you either leave (in which case, she will finally intervene and stop you) or blow up at her.

Once you both calm down, you have a long conversation about trust and secrets.

She’s able to relax when she finally sees another plush be added to her collection.

[starryybrained]

Only the Beginning

Masterlist

CWs: Angel whumpee, fem whumpee (though never addressed in fic, whumpee is female/female adjacent), capture, captivity, restraints, cult setting, religion, nonbinary whumper, forced to hurt/kill, semi-cannibalism (consuming a sapient humanoid’s flesh), major character death, gore

Death marks the beginning of our protagonists’ story, recounted by the very one who met her untimely end.

My name is an Infinite Expanse of Starry Skies… and this is the story of how I died.

It’s not an easy tale to tell, nor can I put into words the experience of dying, but I will recount it as well as I can.

I was an angel, a paragon – in my mind I am still, despite no longer living.

I tended to the religious spaces of my Realm. I sat behind a confessional screen, always listening, offering peace to troubled souls. They came to me: young and old, religious and not – and laid themselves bare. Their sins, their regrets, they were mine to hold, and I took them as if they were my own. In return, I gave them words they needed to hear, ones that the Realm never gave them.

I'm not the wild creature I was made to be in my last moments.

When they found me, I was wandering their Earth, searching for someone dear. Someone I would call my love … though the two of us never made that label official despite our affections. We were as different as could be – I, a devout worshipper, and she, a clever being with a tongue gilded in silver. Her sharp edges carried me to places I can’t name, and I was there to hold her steady, balance her out.

Her intensity drew me in, and I’m not sure what part of me appealed to her — but she made sure I always knew how she felt. She’d never been vocal about her opinions except to a close few, and I knew them all. Coupled with her actions, I gained a true understanding of her. Her passions, what she valued, every quiet thought of dissent she had, how she ached to feel real again.

I supported her. I covered her with my wings and offered shelter from the world and its worries, but she pushed me away.

“This isn’t something I can ignore.”

I had no reply.

Eventually, it became too much, and she fled to these lands seeking something I couldn’t offer her.

There I followed, finding myself caught in her motion again. Like a leaf in the wind, swirling and floating on its currents, subject to its whims.

Scouring the ground, the surface soft with the beginnings of spring, I looked for her, heart aching. The new growth padded with every step I took and the sun shone in my eyes, a far cry from the light of the Angelic Realm.

No luck yet.

And there would be no more to come.

They ambushed me when I considered what to do after hours of searching — pausing my ambling and standing tall, unmoving, breathing in the air. The stillness felt tangible in the barely warm sunlight I’d found myself in … and it tore apart so easily.

Ensnared like a beast, with my limbs twisted together and my cheek digging into the dirt, they took me down. They snapped the bones of my wings with swift kicks, tied me up and carved sigils into my flesh. I wailed. My blood welled up to kiss their blades, so eager to spill, something they licked off, tasting, savoring.

They were only humans. Mortal creatures.

I was brought back to their settlement and caged.

My powers had been rendered useless, and it was no use to struggle. Yet I did, hopelessly fighting against my imprisonment, desperate to find a way out. I hated to admit it, but deep in my chest there was a sliver of fear that hurt more than it should... impaling my heart while it still beat.

Help would not come for me. Yet I fantasized anyway, watching the humans come and go.

Over time, one caught my eye.

They were fully clothed in white, with white skin and white hair, save for dark gray streaks in it. They looked to be no more than a few years into maturity. Months? I’m unsure of the rate humans age. Whatever it was, it would be the age where an angel stopped aging so quickly, where time found itself stagnating, as if it were dipped in honey.

They kept their head bowed, seeming to be an important figure in the settlement despite their age. The others would give them flowers or sweets, whisper blessings and praises to them. They accepted them with grace, tipping their head in acknowledgment and responding with hushed words.

They never talked to me. They only stared, eyes lingering on the gilded cage at the center of the settlement that held me. And I stared back.

I had no desire to speak to them, and they must have felt the same. I found no solace in their lingering gazes.

Perhaps I should have.

I was convinced we were too different. We were not the same age, truly, nor the same species. We came from two separate words, each with their own unique history and culture, one in the sky and the other dwelling on the ground. Enough to keep us apart.

They were the one to speak to me first.

“I- I’m sorry..”

I didn't respond, for fear of ruining the moment.

“I have no choice. They want me to kill you. I can’t run.

“I’ve tried so many times.

“Please understand.”

I remembered that. What they said word-for-word, the date — a few days into my captivity — everything. It had been barely a blink’s worth of time, a moment’s eternity.

That was the day I ceased to be trapped.

It was sunset.

The humans had circled around me, opened my cage and dragged me out into the open. I fought them, thrashing and spitting, snapping into a frenzy, something so unlike myself, so violent — but so right.

It’s what she would have wanted me to do.

The hazel-eyed one walked before me, knife in hand. “I’m sorry.” They said again, tears forming in their eyes. They sparkled like rare gemstones or beads of dew, glowing in the dying light.

I realized what they had told me before was a confession, and I stopped struggling, my breath catching in my lungs.

…

Oh.

We weren’t so different, were we?

They slammed their knife in my chest and I screamed, the moment shattering.

My silver blood painted the ground, wet and warm and I thrashed, bucking against the ropes holding me down.

“Please! Please stop!” I begged, shrieking. My voice was sharp. The sound of it was the same as a violin played harsh and high, the notes incorrect, the sonata it played turning into sounds of horror and prayer.

They didn’t stop. They carved open my chest, digging the blade deep into my flesh, dragging it through the meat. It hit bone, scraping against my ribs, and that was when I began to fade. My limbs were untied as my life left my body, splayed out as my heart was torn from the cavity of my chest.

I was then eaten from. Consumed inside out, bled for drinks. The tender flesh of my heart was severed by teeth, chewed and swallowed, found its home in the human’s stomach.

I had died knowing no peace.

And now I find myself here, at The Divine’s judgment.

Once again, I become unraveled, and It consumes me too.

[latenightsleeper]

Hands held together

Before Tank was Tank, before Dalhia, before the Pack, before their..abilities, before everything. They were just a kid with a Mom and Dad, they went to school with human kids, talked about math problems, and went to bed before eleven. They ate too surgery cereal and ran to the bus stop every morning, they went home and had corn soup on rainy days. Listened to old music their grandma played and tried to block out the faint yelling as they lulled themselves to sleep.

Most of all, every Sunday their grandma pulled them along to church, the same old white building with stained glass windows that depicted illustrations from the old smelly bible that snuggly fit in its place in front of them when they sat on the dark, smooth polished bench. As a kid, Tank hated going to church. Who wouldn't? It was the last day of the weekend before school opened its doors again on Monday, the last thing most kids wanted to do was wake up early and sit in a stuffy building and hear an old man talk.

Every single time Tank went they almost fell asleep, head bopping as their grandma sat next to them, a white lace veil on her head and a simple black beaded rosary clasped in her hands. Whispering prayer and singing song as the choir sang.

When it was time to pray and they all knelt on the collapsible cushion, they didn't really think god was listening. They never said it out loud of course, especially in the church and very much less in front of their grandma. Tank prayed anyway, thought of lost family pets, and asking to pass math tests. Normal things and they didn't really think anyone was listening let alone someone as busy as God. Not when dozens of his other of his followers were doing the same thing and praying for much more important things.

The concept of God was always a concept that left Tank a bit unsure, even as a child raised in a religious household thanks to their grandma. Their own parents were lax in their beliefs, it wasn't like they screamed that God wasn't real but they also didn't care for the rigorous faith their grandma had and tried to instill in them. Telling them tales of guardian angels who watched over them, how they were never alone, and how they must pray before every meal lest their angel starve.

Of how God was always watching, Tank now would laugh at those words. Many things had changed since those times, of stuffy chalk-white buildings on hot Sundays and Chinese buffets afterward as a reward for their good behavior. How their eyes started to flash blood red and the way everything was suddenly loud loud loud. How they knew they were different, not like before not when that feeling was growing and it wouldn't stop growing. Like how the sting of a broken glass bottle was a feeling they'd never forget for as long as they drew breath. Tank was never a religious person, not really but they grew up with it. Always drew some sort of comfort from it despite the...issues that clashed with it as they grew. So, you'd probably ask how they'd gotten here. Trying to call out to a God they now knew wasn't even real. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All it took was less of a twitch of my fingers and a silent breath when I really put my mind to it, just a simple movement from me and it was all over. That was all it took for a light to be snuffed out in the dark of the night. I stood there after it was done, breathing heavily, tasting a familiar metallic tang in the air as I panted. It wasn't like it was hard for me to physically do, it was easy-maybe even too easy. Maybe that's why I was breathing so hard because it was so easy when it was said and done I just stood there for a while, listening to the quiet rumbles of passing cares as I watched as the red red red blood seeped into every crevice and crack, how the fabric darkened and drank up their blood. How every second I stood there, the more I was aware of the deal I'd made. Of what I've done for said deal, for information, safe passage, and more. The cost was the thud of a body and the quiet aftermath as I watched. The feeling of cooling blood seeping into the wrinkles and curves of my hands and the knowledge that no matter how much I'd wash my hands after this, the smell would always linger on me. Oh god-oh god it just won't go away, hands clumsily switching between hot cold hot cold hot hot hot water and soap then something else Time didn't feel real to me for a while, it was somehow both not real and so slow. When I managed to pull myself back together enough, I realized I was in a familiar pose. Eyes stuck on the ceiling as I pressed my clasped hands to my lips staining them red as I wordlessly mouth a string of words I was made to memorize when I was a kid and before we had to go. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. On the next bead, pray a Glory Be. Hollow laughter left my lips softly, praying...I was praying. Praying in an empty shit house with a cooling corpse less than ten feet away from me. How funny, me praying after all these years-after everything. Praying like I really believed, praying like someone was even listening-like God was even real, to begin with the river, they called death the river and everyone walked into its water-no pearly gates and there's no fire and brimstone, just water-didn't they say the world would end in water? Praying for what? For a fucking sign that I'd be okay? A way out of this mess? Forgiveness? That I'd get out of this in one goddamn piece? No.. My hands fall and I get up slowly, a bone-deep tiredness pulling at me as stood on my feet. Eyes drawn right back to the deep red that I was responsible for, that I was the cause for. A numbness settles on my shoulders and I look still before I turn and just...walk out. It's cold, cold enough to make the numbness and exhaustion snap away for all of a second before it coats my being again. Nothing I'm not used to, always been cold to me. Because even if there was a God-even if there was someone listening and looking. Why would he ever set his eyes on a stain of a person like me? Why the fuck would he even want to see my fucking face after what I'd done, what I'd probably keep on doing. I was goddamn pathetic and I knew it, so it was probably for the best that my prayers were forgotten in the wind and left unanswered.