#I'm not Catholic sorry if anything is wrong

[seymour---krelborn]

What's up Ghost Tumblr I have a theory

So I know we've all been focusing on March 7th because of St Perpetua. And I do think that's too big a connection to be a coincidence. But I wanna focus on the livestream that's going on

So Pope Benedict XVI resigned on February 28th, 2013. So March 1st, the Vatican had to start the process of getting a new Pope. For those who may not be aware, the Vatican will send up white smoke to announce that a new Pope has been elected in something called the Fumata, and Catholics all over the world watch to see when it happens.

I'm thinking, what if the livestream, which started on March 1st and is referred to as a Fumata, the one we've all been staring at waiting for a reveal, will go until March 13th, the day that Pope Francis got elected?

UPDATE:

[spot-the-antisemitism]

Please understand this is agood faith question, but one I have no clue how to word in a way that doesn't sound rude somehow, but I really, genuinely, want to learn and grow

In the Bible, the original conquering of Israel's land is discussed. The jewish people are not the original settlers of the land, they conquered it. They were subsequently conquered and then forcefully expelled many times. But then arabs came in and expelled the people and settled there too. They have also been there for so many years.

But this is where I am genuinely getting confused. How do people say who has the right to land that has changed hands so many times?

How can reparations ever be made to indigenous tribes when there is so much conflicting information on who claims the land? And if multiple groups can hold a claim, how do you establish that fairly? And if one group was the aggressor, how much should be repatriated?

thank you so much

(Of course, for clarity, I am an american descended from irish refugees, so I of course have a personal stake in that I want to help and support indigenous rights here. But i am not descended from colonizers, I'm descended from refugees similar to some modern day israelis?)

Dear anon,

so the bible is biased against Jews, it's rewritten to be centered around Jesus and adds stuff in the new testament

your christian (I presume that you are Catholic like your Irish ancestors but correct my xenophobic assumption if I'm wrong) fed you the idea that the Israelites genocided the canaanites and took their land likely to claim Jews aren't the chosen people, Christians are. This obviosly doesn't excuse the warring and all the literal slavery going on in historical records and in Tanakh often of Canaanites

"But this is where I am genuinely getting confused. How do people say who has the right to land that has changed hands so many times?" Because the only reason it did was because Jerusalem is central to Abrahamic faiths and that is because of the Jews. All the crusades are clear that this was a Jewish city once but they Jews don't deserve it anymore because [insert excuse here]. It's Jewish land. Now again, there are other people living there and ALL partitions divide evenly between Jews and Muslims, at least on paper. Apparently it's not so even in practice

"And if multiple groups can hold a claim, how do you establish that fairly?" Again in theory partitions should be established but that's a VERY messy colonial solution. In theory ideas of joint control of sites, partial control of cities can look good on paper but can not be so

" And if one group was the aggressor, how much should be repatriated?" This one is so messy I don't think I'm qualified to say anything besides it depends on context.

"Of course, for clarity, I am an american descended from irish refugees, so I of course have a personal stake in that I want to help and support indigenous rights here"

I have VERY bad news. You likely have some WASP American in you so you're not UWU indigenous smol bean you think you are carry come sins of the fathers for colonialism. Sorry! Please don't use your Irish status as a shield against racism or acting like complicity in colonialism is the original sin. I have distant russian nobility in me on my mother's side (as well as a non heritible noble rank of merit that we're WAY more proud of despite not inheriting it cause great-great-great-great grandpa EARNED it), I don't agonize about my complicity in Russian colonialism. You could call yourself a descendant of both colonizers and colonized and likely your ancestors would if they could see you (hell mine might express surpise that Jews would want to marry gentiles now) but that's highly reductive

yours,

Cecil

followers wanna chime in?

[sweetbillwriting]

Way Out of Line

FIVE

Beneath my perfume and make-up I'm just a baby in disguise. And though I know that it's wrong to be alone with him that "come on look" is in my eyes.

Character: Keith Toshko from Barbarian (2022) played by Bill Skarsgård.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

Notes: Thank you to all of you who read this. It's really encouraging to see likes ticking in. Feel free to leave a comment too. 🩷

“You know they would throw you out if they knew you're sleeping with a married man. Or, is he using you? Is that it? It all sounds so uncharacteristic of you.”

Claire and I sat in a lonely corner of the campus cafe. She was a member of the same sorority as I and knew as well as I about their strict rules. For some reason, I had joined a religious sorority when I didn't get a spot in the other ones, and now I had strict rules to follow about alcohol, abstinence, and activities. The closest I came to being religious was my mom's background being Catholic, but now I was a part of a Puritan sorority and pretended to love Jesus more than my parents. I did it because it looked good on the résumé and to get friends because I had struggled with that in the beginning of college. Claire was one of my friends from the sorority. She was much more liberal than the others, even if she was a virgin and waited for a man to marry her before she would spread her legs.

“No! He doesn't force me. Keith is… Really kind. A gentleman.”

“If he was, he wouldn't encourage you to have sex.”

I didn't say anything because I felt a weird feeling when she said that. I felt both promiscuous and also irritated. She made it sound like me and Keith just had sex when we hadn't even had sex, really.

Just when the silence started to get uncomfortable, my phone rang where it lay on the table next to my takeaway mug of tea. I gave it a look and saw the phone number that ended with 78. Keith. I hadn't put his number in because I didn't want my parents to accidentally see who was calling me. During a two-week’ period, we had started something new, him picking me up in his car so we could make out in a secluded place. It was awfully exciting, and I felt wild doing it.

“Hey bunny,” he said with his most charming voice and made me giggle like a little schoolgirl.

“Hey…” I hadn't yet come up with a good pet name for him, even if I tried every night.

“Are you ready? I can be there in ten minutes.”

I gave Claire a fast look; she looked at me bored. I had left her earlier that week for him. She knew we just made out because I didn't feel comfortable doing anything more in his car, even though he tried the first time. He had taken it as a gentleman and hadn't tried again after that. Claire was just worried for me, and I knew she would have been supportive if it was another guy, but this was an older, married man. She sighed when I giggled and said he could pick me up at the regular place.

“I'm sorry, but we don't have so much time—”

“Because your parents would never accept that you two were dating?”

I groaned, irritated, and collected my things.

“No, because he will go away for work for three weeks.”

She nodded a bit regretfully and took a sip of her tea.

“What kind of work?”

“Well, he's a musician, but, like, jazz musicians like to jam with many different people to challenge their sound—”

“Jam?” She said it teasingly because it was obviously not my word.

“That's what he says! Anyway, they're like a collective, but he also does much of the administrative things, so he will try to find cheap places for them to stay so they don't need to put out so much money for hotels and so on.”

Claire nodded with big eyes. Something told me she was surprised I knew much about his work. He and I had actually talked about such things. It wasn't just sex like she believed.

Knew you were perfect after the first kiss. Took a deep breath like, "Ooh" Feels like forever, baby, I never thought that it would be you…

After had said goodbye to Claire, I rushed away to the parking lot where Keith usually would wait. His Volvo stood anonymous among all the other cars. I wished a bit that he had a cooler car; that would add to the experience of having a secret relationship. He started the engine when I approached, causing me to quicken my steps, which made him open the door and peek out.

“You don't have to run; we're not in a hurry.”

I smiled playfully at him and ran to the passenger door so I could jump in next to him. He sat down again, and both of us slammed our respective doors closed. He looked at me with a smirk, and I fixed my hair as a nervous tic.

“You don't need to run, but I should be honest and say that I like seeing that little skirt lift with every step.”

He smirked and pulled lightly on my pink, pleated skirt. I had thought it was too short to wear, but his words made me decide I would wear it more often. I blushed, my cheeks almost as pink as the skirt’s fabric, and he didn't make it better by taking my hand and kissing the back of it after he started the car.

He never kissed me among people, but in his car he could be a little more daring and take my hand or caress my thigh. Now he took one more step and kissed my hand. I looked at him with starry eyes while he was driving, so at first I didn't even hear his question.

“Hm? Did you get back the assignment?” He asked. I had an assignment a week before that he had helped me with. He asked about the assignment now like it was his work.

“Nothing yet, but I have another assignment you can help me with.”

I smirked a little when I saw him get disappointed, but then he smiled a little.

“You can always get help from me. Always.”

I giggled a little which made him grin, but I could see he didn't understand why I giggled really.

He drove us to a park where there was a parking spot hidden behind the trees. We had been there before, and there we could make out in the backseat without being seen. We did the same today and shifted between talking about school and his work. For me, it felt like we were in a relationship, and between relaxed talk and heated kisses, I gave him intimate hugs. While I sat straddled his lap and hugged him around his neck, his hands had snuck under my tights and hugged my ass cheeks.

“I have an idea…” He mumbled strained, like my hug suffocated him a bit. I let him go a bit so I could watch his face. “I'm going away Sunday night—”

I looked down in sadness, but Keith reacted at once. “Aw honey… It's not a long time…” He put my hair behind my ears and smiled comfortingly towards me. “I'll be home before you know it.”

“Promise?” I could hear I sounded like I did when my parents left me in school when I was little, but the feeling was almost the same. Keith nodded with a smirk and continued to play with my hair.

“But on Saturday… I have booked a room at a hotel, so our last night could be amazing and… I really want your first time to be special, baby.”

He gave me a pointed but soft look and pushed out his crotch a bit. I gave him a blushing smile because the thought of making love to him made me all flustered. It felt like I was a virgin, but I wasn't, but Keith called it my first time anyway. I wondered if he had forgotten that I had had sex with my high school boyfriend or if he really meant our first time. Either way, I just smiled because it didn't feel important; he wanted to make it nice for me, and that was sweet.

“Can you afford that? I know divorce lawyers are expensive and—"

“I will make myself afford it. I want that moment with you.”

His fingers dragged through my hair, then over my thin, cable-knit sweater. My nipples had already hardened just by the thought of being alone with him in a hotel room, and he couldn't stop himself from dragging his thumbs over them. I giggled a little, with excitement and nerves, but leaned forward so I could kiss him. He laughed softly when I giggled into the kiss, and out of nowhere he smacked my ass, causing me to jump in his lap.

×××

Baby, I'd give up anything to travel inside your mind. Baby, I fall in love again come every summertime. My daddy taught me to choose 'em wisely, but you don't have to try 'cause, baby, I fall in love every summertime…

I bit my lip when he came into the living room where I sat. Keith was just dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and showed off his trim physique. With a gray towel, he dried his hair with one hand. When he saw my lustful gaze, he flexed his stomach so his abs became more defined, and it made me gaze down at my laptop with a heavy blush. I could hear him laugh softly, then he sat down next to me. I was working on the assignment I had mentioned to him before but I had gotten stuck and mostly reread my words over and over. My dad had tried to help me but wasn't much help, and if I were honest, I had known at once it wasn't his help I needed but Keith's. My dad and mom were intellectual but didn't have that analytic gift Keith had. He could just turn words around that made me think in a different way or ask a simple question. He always had a new angle and a pedagogical way that made me think. It was also really sexy to listen to him, and sometimes I lost my attention because I started to drift away in filthy thoughts. Now he sat next to me, shirtless, smelling of warm vanilla, rosemary and oak and quickly corrected my text. Just shifting words in some places or fixing the grammar. I breathed in the heavenly scent and looked at his profile. I had looked at his features closely so many times but always found something new to look at; this time it was the two small scars on his cheek. He had a bigger one on his other cheek, but these were smaller and not as deep.

“Hey?” Far away, I could hear my dad's voice. It sounded like he was standing on the other side of a railway, but he really stood in the doorway, looking at us confused. I hadn't even thought about our behavior being weird; for me, it felt like this must be normal behavior for a girl and her dad's friend just because our real behavior was so much more scandalous. I looked at my dad and smiled innocently while Keith sat up better, showing off his naked chest and stomach for my dad.

“What are you doing?” My dad tried to smile and sat down awkwardly on the armrest of an armchair.

“Keith is helping me with the assignment.”

Keith smiled at my dad and put his hands behind his head. I gave him a fast look with red cheeks and hoped my dad didn't notice.

“You know how good I am at those sorts of things. I was the one helping you in college, I think?” Keith teased my dad, who still had the same awkward smile on his lips. He took some deep breaths and then looked at me. I wore just a strappy top, like I often did at home, and a pair of baby pink velour pants.

“Honey, I think you should put something more on…” He said it strictly to me, and just that tone made me swallow hard and nod. Even if my dad hadn't said anything mean and never had done, his words made me feel cheap so I put away the laptop so I could run up to my bedroom. In that moment I forgot he actually had a point, that Keith had given me the wrong sort of attention; I was just ashamed my dad had even had the possibility to see me as a sexual being. I wanted him to see me as his little girl forever.

I stayed in my room and watched an old 2000s series until I thought it must be time for dinner. I had put on a white oversized sweater and walked down doubtfully, afraid to disappoint my dad again. I could hear loud laughter from the dining room, and even if I felt awkward, I entered to see what was happening. My dad and Keith sat and played cards while drinking whiskey. Keith was also dressed now and wore a plaid flannel shirt that was looking ragged after years of use. He looked up at me with a smile, and so did my dad, who opened his mouth to say something, but Keith managed to interrupt him.

“Do you know how to play?” He asked with a smile. I giggled, because I always did when he smiled that playful smile towards me, and then I shook my head. Once again I had a hard time knowing what was okay behavior for us to have, so when he pulled me down to sit over one of his thick thighs, I let him. He held me close to his chest while he explained the game and showed me his cards. I looked up at him dreamily and laid my hand over his when he hugged my waist. He looked me deep in the eyes while explaining and smirked when I licked my lips. We were totally gone in our own world and didn't even notice that my dad had tried to interrupt us several times.

“Keith!” Exclaimed my dad, upset after he tried to interrupt us in a calm way without succeeding. I looked up at him, and Keith let me go slowly; both he and I knew what my dad wanted to say, and we swallowed hard. I moved away, sitting down on a chair far from them while Keith fixed his clothes and hair nervously.

“Can I talk to you?” My dad sounded like he tried to control his anger when he stood up, trying to look threatening, but it lost its impact when Keith stood up in all his 6 '4 glory, with broad shoulders and thick arms. My dad probably felt the same thing because his anger seemed to wash away, and instead he gave Keith a nervous smile. I watched them go away to the kitchen and sharpened my ears so I could hear their conversation.

“Keith… I get that you don't mean it like that, but… She's my daughter. You can't let her sit in your lap.”

“I'm sorry, man. It was stupid. She just looked so sad, and I wanted… Yeah, I think your words earlier really hurt her, you know?”

My dad was silent a bit longer than you should be in a conversation, and I understood he didn't like what Keith said. “I care for her. She's such a sweet, sweet girl, and I want her best,” continued Keith with his soft voice. I felt my own nerves itch under my skin, but he didn't sound nervous at all, laying for my dad like that.

“I'm happy you care for her. That's great, and you can probably help—”

“Can we just forget this now? And maybe you can chill a bit? I don't mean it like that. I just want her best.”

I didn't hear them say anything more after that, and I imagined that my dad had given him more of a silent agreement. The argument was embarrassing, but I had liked hearing Keith say several times that he cared for me. It was also a relief to hear how my dad believed him. He didn't need to know everything. For now, it was mine and Keith's love, just ours.

×××

The lilac bra was in a balconette style with white lace and without straps. I had a matching pair of thongs that had the same big satin bow in the back as the bra had between the cups. The set was adorable. I also had a black set. A black lace triangle bra with high-cut panties. Both of them were see-through. In a panic, I had borrowed my dad's credit card that Saturday so I could shop with Farah before my hotel stay with Keith. I couldn't come to him in my cotton panties; I needed sexy lingerie. Farah also helped me with some other clothes. She was used to men more than I was and helped me buy things that Keith would think were sexy. Even if Keith didn't seem to be bothered by my lack of experience, I wanted him to think I was sexy, not just a stupid girl. My parents thought I would sleep over at Farah's and that Keith would already go to Detroit to work. They didn't react when I jumped into his car, laying my suitcase next to his, because they believed he would just give me a ride to Farah’s. In reality, we would go to the closest city and check into a hotel so he could, for the first time, penetrate me. It was an awful lie, but still I liked it, and when we had left my neighborhood, both Keith and I laughed in euphoria.

The room wasn't a room but a suite, decorated in fluffy beige fabrics and with gold details. It was much more lavish than I was prepared for; he had really spent some money on me. He had found the white grand piano and played a tune lazily while still standing up. He wore an emerald knitted sweater and the same black jeans I was used to seeing him in. He looked like such a man, and I had seen how the receptionist smiled a bit too big while he was checking in. I stood further away with the suitcases, so I couldn't hear them, but I could see how she laughed at something he said. I played with the edge of my short brown gingham dress while looking in the room, the same nervous tics I had when looking at him and the receptionist. I felt misplaced but smiled when he looked up at me from the piano and then walked playfully towards me with his hands in his front pockets.

“Baby girl… Is it something?” He smiled softly and took a hold of my chin and steered it towards his face. He did it more forcefully and pulled me up on my toes with the grip. He looked down on my feet but smiled like he just thought it was cute how I was standing on my tippy toes like the perfect Barbie doll.

“I'm really happy to be here with you…” I just said and dragged my hands over his hips.

“Should we bring up a bottle of champagne?”

I cleared my throat awkwardly, and Keith released me with a smirk when he understood what I meant.

“Oh right, you don't drink. Ehm… A Coke?”

×××

It didn't take him long to get me to sit in his lap on the edge of the bed and share deep kisses. On the bedside table stood his champagne bottle, open, with a used champagne glass and my small bottle of Coke still half full. He had pulled up my skater dress around my waist and kneaded my nylon covered ass cheeks in his hands.

"Jacqueline, this is all your fault, you know…” he said playfully and steered me so I laid my belly over his other thigh. I lay down more comfortably without a thought, so pleased with him having power over me.

“What's my fault?” I said with a giggle. Keith pulled down my tights to my knees but continued when he realized I couldn't move with them there. Once again he corrected my position, so I lay over his lap with my ass in the air. The nerves had started to wake up again, but I trusted him, so I let his long fingers knead my flesh while he breathed deeply.

“That we’re here. You know, you seduced me… Since Christmas Day, you have strutted around, just teasing me.”

I giggled a little in my hands, quite pleased I had been able to seduce a grown man, but when I felt a hard spank on my left cheek, the giggle got caught in my throat. Keith was quiet; he maybe waited for me to say something about his action, but when I didn't say anything, he did it again. I made a pained noise, and once again he waited in silence to see if I would say something. I couldn't decide what I felt about it at first, but when he talked at the same time as he spanked me the third time, I knew that I liked it.

“My little baby girl… I just spank you because I want your best.” I moaned, and that made Keith play with the thin band of my lavender thongs. He followed the thread down between my cheeks and then laid two fingers over the lilac fabric over my pussy. Smoothly he dragged them up and down, making the blood dance around between my legs. When I made a small moan again, he smacked my right cheek hard.

“Now you have me; you got what you wanted, baby girl. Now I want some things too.” I looked back at him with some struggle. Keith must have seen it was hard for me to look at him in that angle, so he pulled me up and straddled over his legs again, but the change of position also seemed to have changed his need and with dominant hands; he opened the zipper in the back of my dress and then pulled it off. I thought he would maybe want to admire me in my lingerie set, but instead he demanded that I take it all off. I stood between his legs when I pulled off both the bra and the panties. I felt embarrassed and small when I stood, once again, fully naked in front of him while he was still dressed. Keith smiled and dragged me down in bed, this time letting me lie on my back while he sat next to me, looking down on me. Without saying anything, he pushed my knee down on the mattress so he could see me fully exposed. I let him do anything he wanted just to see his eyes glitter. He dragged his big hand on the inside of my thigh and then licked his lips.

“You're my sweet girl, right?” He looked at me with a soft smile while continuing to pat the inside of my thigh.

“Yes.” I nodded eagerly, and I spread my thighs even more.

“My baby girl, Bunny, and no one else's?”

I nodded and looked down at his hands that he had raised to be able to drag two fingers lazily over my slit. “Say it, say that you're my baby girl, only mine.” His fingertips started to do slow circles on the inside of my pussy, and when I opened my mouth to talk, his long index finger pushed into me. I said my answer with a moan: 

“I'm only your baby girl…”

Keith leaned down and kissed me while his thumb had found my clit to roll in circles. I looked at him with heavy eyes when he kept his face close to mine. 

“And I'm your daddy.” With a fast hand movement, he made it feel like both my clit and my insides vibrated, and I moaned loudly, but when he didn't get an answer, he stopped and looked at me again. I looked at him almost hurt, but I knew what he wanted to hear at that moment; there was just one right answer. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Your only daddy.” 

“My only daddy.”

Keith smirked and then gave me a kiss. 

“Do you want your first time to be with daddy?” 

He stood up on his knees, pulling off his sweater. I looked at him, still lying on my back. He was so big and beautiful. My sex was still pounding, and I was deep in that little world he had created for us. 

“I want Daddy to be my first.”

Keith stood up, looking pleased but also powerful. I could understand why, because I was just lying there, wet and needy, just waiting for his cock. Slowly he pulled off his jeans and boxers so I could see him in full naked glory. His cock was hard in anticipation of what would happen. He looked so big when he crawled down between my legs, his hands holding my thighs, pushing them back against my belly. He was just sharp edges and lean muscles. I moaned when he dragged his cock through my juices and when he spanked my clit lightly with the head of his cock. I was so far gone by my pleasure, but when I felt him push against my opening, the nerves made themselves known again, and I lifted my hips so he couldn't penetrate me.

“What is it, sweetie?” Asked Keith softly and dragged his hands over my thighs. I looked at his kind eyes for a few seconds, and he gave me a crooked smile, like he knew what I wanted to say. 

“Tell Daddy.”

“Will it hurt?” 

“Maybe a little.”

“It's so big.” 

“I know, honey… Daddy's cock is big.” 

I nodded a little, my cheeks heating because of our conversation's nature.

“Say that Daddy's cock is big…” 

He whispered and leaned down to kiss me. I kissed him at once after that and looked into his green eyes. 

“Daddy's cock is so biihii-” 

He hadn't let me say the whole sentence until he had penetrated me. I could feel it wasn't fully, and when he moved to look down, I could see he was far from completely penetrating me. Keith breathed heavily, like he had a job to do, and sat up a little so he could force himself further into me. I made a pained sound, but seeing him lost in the world we had created together, I knew I wanted everything he could give me, even if it hurt. He took a hold of my thighs and pulled me closer to him so he could just make one deep thrust until he was fully in me. I could feel tears in my eyes because it did hurt, and Keith looked at me with kind but heavy eyes. 

“It feels so good, baby; you will feel it soon too… You're so tight and small and fucking Christ...” 

He pulled out slowly so he could push in just as deeply again, and now I could finally feel pleasure, and I moaned freely. He pushed me back a bit more, and he stood up fully on his knees so I could see his deep thrusts. Both of us flushed pink, and his cock’s veins were so prominent it looked like they could burst. I couldn't understand how something so big had been able to push into me, but maybe it was because of our shared juices. I had never seen myself so wet, but I had never heard myself doing those sorts of sounds either. It hurt so good. 

“Daddy…” I whined, now fully immersed in the fantasy, and it made Keith laugh and pound me faster. Once again I called him the name, and it made him give it to me harder. When I started to feel like I was done, like I didn't have energy for more, he flipped me around. He forced me up on my knees so he could stand on his knees and penetrate me from behind. When he once again started to thrust so hard I was just mush under him, he spanked me but also dragged his thumb over my asshole. I didn't think about it then, that he maybe had a fixation, but when he pulled out to come, he pushed his cock against my second hole and smeared me in his sticky mess. 

I'm a good girl gone bad.

Get in that car, drive fast.

Get on the road.

Take off my clothes…

×

[thehollowprince]

Denying people the right to romance, sex, and families is fucking inhumane that's why. The priesthood should allow for it too. It's one thing to say it's cool not to have those things, but it's literally fucking inhumane to say "No, you can't have that." Most people need those connections.

So... basically anything that isn't fucking or romance, in terms of relationships, is invalid to you? You don't have friends? No colleagues? Casual acquaintances? No? It only counts if you declare your love and go down right there for everyone to see?

If that's the case, then I am truly sorry that you can't find fulfillment outside of a traditional romance.

In regards to the Jedi (and incidentally, the priesthood), there's a simple fix for those who don't agree with the rules of the organization.

Leave.

Becoming a Jedi isn't mandatory to all Force-sensitives, the same way that not every Catholic has to sign up to be a priest/nun, or every Buddhist has to sign up to be a monk. It is not a prerequisite for those religions, any more than it is for those in the Galaxy Far Far Away. As a matter of fact, there is a whole slew of other Force-based religions and organizations in that Galaxy for Force-sensitives to choose from, most of which are perfectly okay with romance.

At any point in time, if a Jedi (or priest, for that matter) catches feelings for someone, they are completely able to leave the organization to pursue that relationship. I mean, hell, there was a pretty significant character in the Star Wars mythos who left the Order as a Master. So it was always a possibility. Anakin could have at any point in time left the Jedi to pursue his relationship with Padme, and even keep his friendships with the Jedi themselves. Dooku did it (to disastrous results), so I'm positive that Anakin would have been allowed back in the temple to visit his friends.

The fact of the matter is, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the Jedi Orded not allowing romantic relationships for their members, as their whole philosophy was about helping others, often at their own expense. We saw that Anakin wasn't able to put anything over his feelings regarding his relationship with Padme, and the galaxy suffered for it.

Bottom line: the Jedi shouldn't have to change their entire philosophy and culture just to accommodate a few individuals who want to have their cake and eat it, too.

[sunnycitymac]

House MD hot takes

-Transmasc Chase > Transfemme Chase. Obviously everybody's headcanons are VALID AF but I feel like the only reasons people give is that "he likes to be pretty" when trans dudes can be pretty too :(. I can see both sides but transmasc chase just makes a lot more sense to me. I could write an essay.

-Wilson isn't autistic. He didn't "match House's autism UwU". Don't get me wrong there's definitely something going on up in that man's brain, but I'm thinking more on the mental health condition/personality disorder range than autism/adhd/etc.

-Foreman is sort of the least compelling member of the original team? I'm almost to the Taub/Thirteen/Kutner arc and so far I just haven't seem that much from him? I think House only hired him out of genuine respect as a doctor, which great obviously but not as interesting. He remains the same stoic, respectable doctor the whole time which is fine but not as interesting to watch as Cameron and Chase, with their "moral compass so strong it explodes" and "opportunistic traumatized yes man attitude" respectively. He's great as a guy, but just okay as a character. tbh I think the Euphoria episodes were made for the sole purpose of adding interest to the character.

-House was probably exactly the same before his injury, just not high all the time. I feel like that actually been emphasized in the show, but I always hear people talking about how he was probably much sweeter and a more lighthearted asshole beforehand and I think he just wasn't? People are allowed to have congenital jerkassery. I think he would still be a jerk even if he had a perfectly normal childhood.

-In a similar manner, I don't think House is as manipulative and cunning as people who view him as an edgy sigma tumblr sexyman like to think. I mean, obviously he is, but I think some of the stuff he says isn't with manipulative intent. I think he just genuinely lacks a social filter. He isn't Light Yagami for gods sakes.

-I doubt House and Wilson have ever fucked. SORRY. I'm a huge Hilson shipper but I just don't think it happened. pre series ending (yes I do know how it ends), even when they were living together, there was more important things for both of them, both in and out of their relationship. Also, at this point I'm guessing they both considered themselves heterosexual. It could have happened after the series ended I suppose because at that point I'm pretty sure they realized they were in love with each other, but Wilson was probably too busy dying of cancer.

-Start with Chase, end with Chase. I don't think Chase was very religious after he left the Catholic church. I mean he still sees himself that way which is valid and on the wiki and stuff, but I think most of his actions that point to that, like delivering last rites to a dead baby, are a byproduct of trauma if anything (trust me because religious trauma)

[kiyomitakada]

Mello for the character ask?

oh silly mello where would we be without your silliness

favorite thing about them: god i don't reread the mello parts of arc 2 enough to pick. uhhhh. i like that he's legitimately brilliant and that he figured out kira can kill without heart attacks on his own just by studying the death rates in the months before higuchi was caught. he's a wildcard but he's also a strategic genius. i also like that he is insufferably extra WHY does he have a christian cross on his GUN

least favorite thing about them: called misa stupid. fuck off

favorite line: "i don't underestimate revenge as a motive." that OR "then i guess i'm going to have to do it"

brOTP: the actual answer is halle and mello but i've talked about them so i am going to say him and matt <3 i am constantly undecided on whether this is platonic or romantic to me but i love that mello is like "okay im going to japan now. follow me" and matt is like "what the hell, sure." what is wrong with them. matt do you not have anything better to do. also matt trying to get mello to take over his job monitoring misa is so funny to me it's such a weird injection of frat bro culture into death note of all media

OTP: meronia forever. love story of all time in, again, death note of all media. truly fucking insane how it's basically confirmed that mello didn't plan the kidnapping to beat near but to save him. mello is the only character! in the entire series! to actually experience positive development! puts aside his inferiority complex because there is no race without near, because near needs him, because he needs near, because they are two halves of one whole and mello has always known something is missing in him and only figures out who it is five years later. what the fuck man. extremely sad that this realization is exactly what gets him killed

nOTP: i have not yet figured out the appeal of mello/light although i am sure i could be convinced. mello deserves the older yagami

random headcanon: i talked about this a little while pondering fem!mello but i like the idea that he got a lot of passive aggression for his haircut in wammy's which made him absolutely determined to keep said haircut forever even when he starts not liking it anymore. and after the explosion he's like [lying face down on concrete, waves of pain racking his twink frame] i……… have an excuse to change my hair now……………

also the blue lipstick is because he heard from somewhere that blue was L's favorite color

unpopular opinion: i don't think of him as catholic :pensive: it's possible that he used to be and is lapsed? or left the faith? but i usually see his extremely aggressive use of catholic stuff as decoration as more of a fuck you to the idea of god than anything. the one thing that contradicts this is the rosary (mihael whyyy do you wear the rosary around your neck in plain view whyyyyy) but i wonder if it's more of a, like… comfort object than anything? if that makes sense?? i don't knowww i don't really see mello as someone riddled with the catholic guilt that most catholic-mello interpretations give him. however i am not a mello understander so perhaps i should read more meta to figure out his Deal first

on a higher thematic level i like this interpretation of the christian imagery for both misa and mello as symbolism of them worshipping a false god (light and L respectively)

and OH WAIT I REMEMBERED MY ACTUAL UNPOPULAR OPINION: i pronounce his real name mee-hyle kale. the way soichiro (english dub) does it. sorry.

song i associate with them: i found this song just last week (i'm late i know) but oh my god

I'm gonna get myself in fighting trim Scope out every angle of unfair advantage I'm gonna bribe the officals, I'm gonna kill all the judges It's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage Our mother has been absent Ever since we founded Rome But there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home, oh

god it's just so. it just sounds like him. it's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage!

favorite picture of them:

im obsessed with the shading on this. it doesn't make any goddamn sense. how did livor mortis set in that fast???? he's drawn with pale skin everywhere else in the manga! he should be turning paler in the first few minutes after death! i know they probably did this to be dramatic but what is going on here!

(also i have feelings about mello dying with eyes open and L dying with eyes closed. nothing coherent but. gestures)

[radawaycunt]

The Wine of Your Blood

Also on AO3

A/N: As usual, thank you to G <3

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Father Paul's transformation, he is tormented by a hunger only you can quell.

WC: 5.1k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!, vampirism, blood drinking, religious imagery and symbolism (I'm not a religious expert tho I grew up catholic, sorry if I used wrong terms), canon divergence, hierophilia, corruption, graphic depictions of sex and some violence, unprotected sex (do not try at home), cunnilingus, ummm let me know if I missed anything pls!!

------------

The silhouette was there again, shrouded in a thick fog that rolled in from the tempestuous sea. It was tall and statuesque, like the guard of some mythical place – monstrous and terrible. Golden light blazed behind it, flickering like an ardent flame. Or like a beacon, slicing through the night’s darkness and calling you home.

You could not see its eyes, and yet you could feel the prickle of an assessing gaze. The siren-like lure was undeniable, and for a moment you could understand why sailors jumped into the sea with total abandon. 

But you were not afraid. You’d seen this apparition for various nights now, like an omen, even if you didn’t really believe in that sort of thing.

The real questions were: What was it presaging?

And why, especially, did it feel so inevitable?

————-

You awoke, as you often did in the late fall, to a gentle rain. As the day progressed, you knew it would grow in intensity, but for now, there was peace and quiet.

You stared at the drops trailing down your window like glistening tears of melancholy. The milky white early morning sky was the same as it ever was, casting a thin, watery light on everything.

When you finally pulled yourself out of bed, you peeked into your grandmother’s room to find her still out, snoring softly. Her breaths no longer sounded like wet, raspy gurgles, which made you sag with abundant relief. 

Sarah had diagnosed her with a mild case of pneumonia the previous week, but even so you knew things could turn for the worse on a whim. Your grandmother was nearing ninety, and while she had always been a sturdy woman, her body could only take so much now.

For a minute, you were seriously starting to consider getting in touch with the new priest, Father Paul, once again to talk last rites. For your grandmother’s sake, you wished Monsignor Pruitt could have performed them, but he was still recovering in the mainland.

But that all would be a problem for another day, given that she was doing much better. 

Still, she had adamantly refused to miss mass, and while she wasn’t strong enough to leave the house, Father Paul had been gracious enough to swing by for a house visit on Sunday.

He seemed like a fine man, soft-spoken, amiable, and welcoming. Not to mention, he had quite a charming way about him, especially when he laughed. Perhaps you shouldn’t be taking notice of that, but you couldn’t help it, despite how conflicted you felt in his presence.

There was something vaguely familiar in his dark eyes you couldn’t place — something that seemed far older, perhaps wiser, but definitely weathered. At times, prolonged eye contact with him seemed daunting, but you attributed it to your general wariness of strangers.

He hadn’t been at Crockett for very long, but you appreciated the effort he seemed to be making with everyone on the island, but especially with your grandmother. There had to be some way you could repay his kindness… perhaps in the form of a homemade treat.

You padded over to the kitchen to make some coffee, rummaging through the cupboards to see if you had all the ingredients to make some banana bread. 

You spent the rest of the morning cooking, your grandmother’s small house warm and permeated with the sweet, enticing smell of baking bread. You got ready after that, making sure your grandmother ate some breakfast and took her medicine before you headed out. 

Gravel crunched under your rain boots as you trudged over to the Monsignor’s house, where Father Paul was currently residing. You nodded in greeting at passerby, stopping only to spare a few words with Leeza Scarborough, who was on her front porch reading.

When you arrived at the house, the curtains were drawn and there seemed to be no lights on inside. You frowned in slight confusion, given that it was past noon. Perhaps he was out and about, but with so few residents on the island, you surely would have seen him.

You stepped up onto his porch, hesitating for a moment before knocking on the door.

“Father Paul?” You called tentatively. 

No answer. You tried knocking again, waiting for another few minutes.

When you were about to give up, you kneeled to set down the tupperware, and the door suddenly opened to reveal Beverly. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing you there and you quickly straightened.

“Oh, Beverly,” you said as a form of greeting. “Sorry, just wanted to drop something off for Father Paul. As a thank you.”

She cleared her throat, hands clasping in front of her. “I’m afraid Father Paul has fallen ill and is currently indisposed for visitors…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said sympathetically, further confused by the slight worry you felt at the news. “I can just give this to you, then. I’ll talk to him when he’s better.”

“How nice of you to do this,”  Beverly smiled tightly, eyebrows raising just a little. “I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it, though I’m not sure if his stomach will be able to take it right now… Oh, I just hope it doesn’t go bad.”

You gave her a wry, uncomfortable smile in return. “It’s the thought that counts, right? Erm… I’m just glad he’s got someone to take care of him.”

“He’s in good hands, I assure you,” she nodded. “Mine, and the Lord’s, of course.”

You nodded in return, starting to back away slowly. “Right. Well, can you tell him my grandmother sends her regards?”

“Of course, I will let him know. Good day now.”

And with that, she shut the front door. You shook your head and let out a sigh, glancing only once back at the house as you walked away.

—————

For once, the night was clear. The stars and the waxing moon were visible, keeping you company as you stepped off your porch. The air was fresh and crisp, smelling faintly of petrichor. 

You stretched a little as you looked up at the sky, thanking whoever was up there for letting the rain cease for the time being. It seemed like forever since you’d last been able to go out for a nighttime jog, no one around to talk to or look presentable for. It was the perfect time to clear your mind, now that a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. 

You started down the gravel road, the wind whistling in your ears. Your legs kept a steady rhythm, the old houses of all your neighbors whizzing past your field of vision. You passed by the school and the convenience store, winding away from the main town area towards the harbor. 

The moon’s reflection made the black waves glitter, endless, ominous, and hauntingly beautiful. You stopped for a moment near the pier, looking beyond the water at all the distant lights of the mainland. So close, and yet so far. 

Sure, you yearned for all the mainland had to offer – an entire world that wasn’t just bite-sized, predictable, safe. But you could not yield to those selfish fantasies, not while someone who gave you so much throughout your life now required your help. You closed your eyes and breathed in the salty breeze.

Perhaps someday…

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The familiar voice made you almost jump out of your skin. You whirled around to find Father Paul a few feet behind you, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Maybe you’d been so distracted that you hadn’t heard him approach, but it still felt eerie.

“Oh, I’ve startled you, I’m so sorry,” he said with a nervous chuckle. 

You placed a hand on your chest as if to placate your racing heart. “It’s okay, Father. I just wasn’t really expecting to see anyone, is all.”

“Especially not the priest, right?” he raised an eyebrow, which made you huff in amusement.

“Guess I just thought you didn’t come out at night.”

He smiled lopsidedly, looking down and clearing his throat slightly. “You know, I think I’m becoming more partial to nighttime. I guess you could say I’m an insomniac.”

“All that weight on your conscience?” You said as he approached, standing next to you. 

“Something like that,” he sighed, now looking off into the distance. “Thank you for the bread. It was delicious.”

You shrugged it off modestly. “Grandma’s recipe. I’m just glad she’s right as rain again. Maybe… Your prayers helped. It’s what she insists on, anyway.”

He shook his head, a loose dark curl brushing his forehead. “That’s much too kind of her.”

You assessed his profile for a moment. “How are you feeling, Father? You were out for a few days, too.”

“I definitely needed some fresh air. Now, I’m much better,” he said with a smile, meeting your gaze. “I could not stay cooped in that house any longer. I’m really looking forward to our next mass.”

You said nothing, unsure of how to respond. Despite the fact that you’d grown up religious, you weren’t really practicing anymore. Sometimes you’d accompany your grandmother to sermons, but you often tried to find excuses to skip them.

So far, you had only been to one of Father Paul’s, and you had to admit there was something rapturous about his speeches. They were not only engaging, but the passion behind them was sort of infectious. You even caught yourself leaning forward in your seat, which you quickly corrected. 

It only added to the confusion of how you felt about this man, but such a mystery was undeniably alluring.

“Will you be joining us?” He asked. “No pressure if not, but it’d be nice to see you there.”

“Ah, is that what this is? You’re trying to convert me or something?”

“You’re very clever,” he observed, his grin broadening. “But no, that's not all it is. Part of it, sure, but I don’t want you to miss out on something really special.”

You couldn’t help the slight blush that spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat suddenly spiking once again. His easy, confident smile faltered for a moment, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The bestial hunger that had been tormenting him for days, rendering him weak and sickly, flared inside of him. 

“T-think on it, but like I said, no pressure on my part,” he added quickly, gasping a little as if he lacked air.

You nodded, failing to notice how he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. His muscles were taut with self-restraint, rooting him to the spot. Luckily, you moved first, taking a step back. 

“Alright, thank you for the invite. Um…I should probably finish my jog and head back home,” you said, gesturing behind you. “Don’t get in too late, Father. You don’t want to catch another cold.”

————

Despite the fact that he was a passionate speaker, you had never seen Father Paul so worked up. 

He started by speaking about eternity and how hard it was to visualize it. The fire inside him was stoked as he spoke of God’s gifts, his miracles and his mysteries. How they were something tangible, something within reach of every grasping hand… even if one couldn’t understand them.

Then the fire turned into a feverish glint in his eyes, his skin paling considerably. He stumbled over his words, pausing to keep nausea at bay. Sweat broke out across his forehead, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little dizzy spell, but I’m fine now.”

Still, he braced his hand on the pulpit. You noticed Beverly was also leaning forward in her seat, ready to spring to action if need be. That was all the confirmation you needed that something was wrong.

But for a moment, as he continued talking, things seemed to settle. You relaxed in your seat, folding your hands on your lap.

“No abstracts. No colorful exaggerations. No. ‘Rebirth’, ‘Second chances’, ‘E-eternal li…’”

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as his words faded into a shuddery exhale. He collapsed onto the floor, thudding heavily down the steps as the panicked voices of the congregation rose in volume.

Beverly reached him first, of course, but you knelt at his side only moments after. You hadn’t even registered you were running until you got there, cradling his head in your hands.

And even if he was unconscious, you could’ve sworn he leaned closer to your touch.

—---------

It was an audacious plan, you knew that well enough. Still, that clarity didn’t stop you from attempting to go through with it. 

As soon as Sarah Gunning arrived to attend to Father Paul, Beverly had kicked everyone out, holding firm even as you insisted you wanted to stay. Her stubborn will was infuriating, but perhaps also commendable, in a way. You had to bite back a few bitter words as you left, but that didn’t mean you intended to stay away.

You waited for her to leave Father Paul’s house, which didn’t happen until after the sun had set. Even when you couldn’t hear her receding footsteps any longer, you waited a few more minutes before approaching the front door. 

You raised your fist to knock, but the door suddenly opened to reveal a haggard-looking Father Paul. There were dark crescents hanging from his eyes and his skin was so pale it was almost translucent. 

For his sake, you held back from gasping, but he could still see worry written across your features.

“It’s like you knew I was coming,” you said with a small smile. 

“Keen senses,” he said softly. “Would you like to come in?”

You hesitated, despite the fact that a ‘yes’ was on the tip of your tongue. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Gave us a real scare earlier.”

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment as if staving off an ache deep within him. In the dim light, you noticed the corners of his lips were a dark red. For a moment you wondered if he’d been drinking the sacramental wine.

“It may not seem like it but… better,” he said, mustering a small smile. “I fear I-I may owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, Father Paul, you don’t…”

“Please, I insist. I can make us some tea, if you’d like,” his voice dropped into the faintest whisper. “Just, stay. Please.”

The desperation in his voice gave you pause. You searched his face for the answer to a question you didn’t dare ask, and perhaps you deluded yourself into believing you found it. 

You nodded, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes. You heard him shuffle about in the kitchen, and you wrung your hands nervously as you glanced around the small, austere rectory. 

This was wholly improper, you knew, but you felt a magnetic sort of pull towards him that was getting harder to resist. It was easy to deny it at first, brushing it off as curiosity and excitement over having a newcomer on the island. 

Most were wary, but you… you wondered if he could be your link to the rest of the world. Your appetite for that dream was only whetted, closer to your fingertips than ever.

“Water’s boiling,” he said as he came into the living room. “Sit, please, make yourself comfortable.”

Obediently, you did as told. There was a palpable tension in the atmosphere that made your skin prickle. He sat across from you, gripping the armrests of the chair as he adjusted himself, unable to find a comfortable position.

“I have to insist that you owe me no explanation, Father. I just worry about your… condition,” you said.

“It’s no ordinary ailment. I think you’ve sensed that already, haven’t you?”

You nodded, unsure of where he was going with this, but willing to listen. 

He continued. “You have witnessed miracles here on the island. Things that you can’t explain and yet are so clear to your eyes. Were you listening to my homily earlier?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, even if you’d only been half-listening. 

But he was speaking the truth, if Leeza Scarborough was any indication. She had risen from her wheelchair just a few days prior, no longer in need of it. Since then, you’d seen other changes around Crockett, some of them more subtle than others. 

You clasped your hands on your lap to keep from moving them. “You mean to say you’ve brought about these miracles?”

He smiled patiently, indulgently. In this light, his eyes seemed darker than you’d ever seen, like two chasms you could get lost in.

“No, not me. God. I am merely a vessel for His glory, and all of the gifts He wishes to impart on us,” he said, leaning forward slightly and resting his forearms on his knees. “On you in particular.” 

“Me?” You blinked, genuinely surprised. “What sort of gift?”

“The gift of life anew. Rebirth. A holy transfiguration, if you will.”

His gaze was fixed on the way your throat worked as you swallowed hard, on edge despite your curiosity being piqued.

“You see, I was visited by an angel. Larger than life, with a greater wingspan than even an albatross. It was utterly magnificent… as well as horrifying. I was afraid at first, of course, for we all fear things that are unknown to us. I was on the brink of death regardless, but see me now, restored, in my prime!”

You frowned, a myriad of questions on the tip of your tongue, but then Father Paul doubled over, clutching his stomach. His dark brows were furrowed from the influx of pain and you instinctively rose to help, but he lifted a hand to stop you.

“But to be reborn, the old self must be destroyed, and thus… and thus it is not an easy road to walk,” he rasped.

You knelt beside him, concerned and abundantly confused all at once. “What do you need? How can I help you ease this pain?”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, pleading, desperate. Like a wounded animal, almost. You wondered if he, too, might bare his teeth in warning.

“There is this hunger inside of me that I cannot seem to dispel. I-I fear it threatens to consume me,” he swallowed hard, straightening into a sitting position once more. “God asks terrible things of us sometimes, but I cannot help but think this is a test of my strength. My will.”

“I want to help,” you said softly, so softly, daintily placing a hand on his knee. 

But his ears were keen, as he’d said, and he heard you perfectly fine. Still, his eyes – glazed over in pain and hunger and desire – searched yours for any sign of doubt. Instead, he found resolve, as well as a very clear distress at seeing him suffer so much. 

Oh, pious, gentle little lamb. What a good heart you had. The idea that your blood might taste just as sweet made his head spin, his beastly hunger lashing out inside of him.

His hands cradled your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone ever so slightly. You found yourself leaning into his touch, too entranced by him to think objectively about the morality of the whole thing. The charge in the atmosphere changed into something more taut, all too close to snapping.

“You do not know what you are offering,” he said, holding fast to his self-restraint even as his mouth watered. 

“Maybe you could show me, then.”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips at your eagerness, one of his hands leaving your face to pat his thigh. “Come, would you like to sit here? Perhaps I shall whisper it in your ear.”

You started to lift yourself, but then hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I’ll ever be of anything, my dear,” he assured, his smile momentarily taking on a certain edge, like that of a wolf’s.

You situated yourself on his legs gingerly, closer to his knees, but he brazenly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer. You gasped, a tingle forming between your shoulder blades and slowly crawling down your spine.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling, his arms circling your waist to keep you from squirming. “I hope you didn’t catch a fever from me.”

“I-I didn’t realize this was the sort of hunger you were referring to, Father,” you said tremulously, more heat sparking in your lower abdomen.

He traced his nose against the bare skin of your arm. “Not quite, but it’s making your heart race, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the blush that crept to your cheeks, silently willing your heart to slow as it hammered insistently against your ribcage. Tenderly, he brushed your hair off your shoulder, exposing your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head back, showing more of it. 

He hummed in approval, licking his lips. “Here, just a little taste first.”

He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his face. He kissed the tip of your index finger before taking some of it into his mouth. His inky black eyes held your gaze as you suddenly felt a painful prick on your digit that made you gasp once more. 

He groaned softly, holding your wrist as he lapped at the thin rivulet of blood. The mere sight paralyzed you for a moment, but it’d be a lie to say it didn’t make your cunt throb. 

And to make matters worse, the small rush of shame that followed this realization only seemed to turn you on more. Without thinking, you raked your free hand in his hair, tugging his head towards you. 

“Do it,” you rasped, your tone dangerously close to begging. “Please.”

“God bless you,” he said deliriously, clasping you tighter against his chest. “Oh, God bless you. I-I want to make it good for you, too.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and letting out another weak sound at your dizzying warmth. You shuddered and he scented a small note of fear as you tightened your grip on his hair. He shushed softly, soothingly, his lips ghosting over a quivering vein.

When his teeth first pierced the sensitive flesh, you let out a pained mewl as all of your muscles seized. Then — as fast as it had come — the pain vanished and you went slack against him. Stars danced in your vision as you felt the vibration of his groan against your throat.

Every single one of your nerve endings was alight with pleasure, which only seemed to grow in intensity.

Without you really noticing, your hips rocked back and forth, clothed cunt dragging against his leg in short, desperate movements that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He gripped one of your hips tightly, guiding your movements with urgency.

In the kitchen, the kettle started whistling loudly just as an orgasm hit you like a freight train, rattling your very bones. You felt yourself melting in a way you never had before, toeing the line between life and death. You’d have gladly gone to heaven in that moment – or hell, for that matter – if fate so decided. He held you steady throughout, running a soothing hand up and down your spine.

Just when exhaustion began to creep in from the blood loss, he painstakingly pulled away, his mouth stained crimson. He looked drunken and dazed, like he was caught in between dreams. But he also seemed less frail, and definitely more alert, pupils fully dilated. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, gazing at you adoringly. Reverently, even. 

Diligently, he lapped at the weeping puncture wounds. His lips left a smear behind as he kissed your collarbone, hands ripping at your blouse to expose more flesh. Panting, you tried to undo the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers, but he stopped you.

“Lovely, eager thing. We’ll get there. Let me take care of you first,” he murmured against your sternum. 

He tore any garment that stood in his way fervently, until you were practically naked in his lap. Your back arched, taut as a bow, as he continued leaving sanguine kisses in his wake. He hauled you into his arms with preternatural strength as he stood up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you into his bedroom, laying you down on the bed gently. 

There, standing over you, he seemed every bit the statuesque figure that plagued your dreams.  His eyes glinted in the half-dark,  reflecting the moonlight spilling in through the window. He sank to his knees as if preparing for prayer, his grin hungry as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“Come here, little lamb. My most precious sacrifice. My hunger for you has not nearly been sated,” he said, licking his lips. “I am yet to make a feast of you.”

A kiss on your navel that had you shaking all over again. If you had come so hard without so much as a caress, you couldn’t imagine the delirium of his mouth where you ached for it most. Perhaps then, you would truly cross the line for good. 

He discarded the last garment covering you, revealing your glistening, slippery cunt for his appraisal.  He made an agonized sound, ducking his head immediately to kiss your inner thigh. The tip of his tongue traced your skin just a little bit, getting a taste of your divine essence. 

He knew then and there that he was utterly lost; That he would no longer know a  greater devotion than this. What a perfect altar for him to worship you, the cradle of your thighs.  It took all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into your femoral artery and drain you further, until all of your blood mingled with his. 

Another day, perhaps, when you’d recovered some.

Instead, he finally licked a long, languid stripe through your soaked folds. With a low moan, his mouth latched onto your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, making your entire body jerk. He gripped your thighs harder as you squirmed, your fingers burying in his dark curls and holding on for dear life.

You hadn’t expected him to be so good at it, but then again, it was a night of surprises. Not that you could ever complain, anyway. Your wanton moans only encouraged him further, his lips and tongue and even the slightest graze of his teeth making you buck and arch on the mattress. 

Once more, you felt a tidal wave begin to form, making your breath come out in sharp little exhales. But you didn’t want to let go again quite yet, at least not like this, with so much distance between your bodies.

You resorted to pleading, attempting to pull his head back. “F-Father wait, please, I want—”

“Don’t hold back from me,” he urged hoarsely, between licks. “Come on, give me one more. I’ll reward you doubly, I promise.”

You began to protest once more, but with an expert swirl of his tongue, the wave finally crested. Violently crashing against the rocks of your sanity. Your eyes searched for heaven again at the back of your head, mouth falling slack in rapture. He made sure you rode it all the way through, softly murmuring praises.

You lay there spent, chest heaving with great, deep breaths. He chuckled, both amused and inexplicably fond at the sight of you so undone. He pulled back to make quick work of his clothes, smears of dry blood further darkening his black shirt.

“I fear you might be turning me into a glutton,” he said, removing his collar and setting it down on the nightstand. 

Your eyes trailed his fingers as he unbuttoned his shirt, and you gave him a weak, teasing smile. “You are not the only insatiable creature here, Father.”

“I see that now,” he grinned, his canines all too sharp. “What a great gift He has bestowed upon me, bringing you here.”

His jeans were next to go, merely kicked to one side, and his body slid over yours in a warm embrace. Then finally, mercifully, his lips found yours in a slow, searing kiss. It was the last piece missing from the puzzle that connected you; The last nail on the coffin of your fate.

You tasted yourself on his tongue,  moaning into his mouth as you cupped the back of his head. Ankles crossed behind his back, pressing down, silently urging him closer. He guided himself into you, moving slowly so you could get used to the stretch. There was a growl low in his throat as he bottomed out, and his kiss became fiercer. Possessive, even.

The only sound in the dimly lit room was that of flesh slapping together lewdly as he quickened his pace, your sharp breaths and wistful sighs. The way he whispered your name like a prayer as he nearly dissolved with passion. It was then that you broke the kiss, tilting your head to the side as his lips chased yours in a dreamlike, desperate state. You shifted, baring your throat for him to ravage once more.

“Just like this,” you murmured, eyelashes fluttering over your cheekbones as you readied yourself. “I’m yours.”

“Only a little more,” he promised, kissing the base of your neck before tracing his way up with his nose. 

A gasp, and then you were submerged in that languid, morphine state. Ecstasy hit him like lightning, and he was no longer able to hold back. He trembled against you as he came, crushing you tighter to him, buried to the hilt. You felt heat flooding you as he sealed the puncture wounds again, lips finding yours right after.

He rolled off of you only to tuck you both in, drawing you close and kissing the top of your head. His onyx eyes scanned your beatific features, wonder and amazement written all over his own. 

“The night suits you, my dear,” he said, wiping strands of your hair away from your sweat-dotted face. “Perhaps it would be less lonesome with you around...” 

He seemed truly vulnerable in that moment, smaller, entirely human. Eyebrows pinched together in consternation, lips pursed with some guilt at his actions. You snuggled even closer, leeching off his body heat. If anything, seeing this side of him, complex and familiar in a way you instinctively understood, reassured you.

“Will you take my hand and guide me through it?” You asked, voice low and wistful.

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours. “Through the valley of the shadow of death and beyond. There is still so much for you to see,  and the gift of time is at our disposal. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Yes, yes it was. Comforting enough to finally drift into dreams of the stars beyond the horizon.

[your-favourite-yapper]

M..what do u mean by Mary x Walburga....

I'm so glad u asked !!!!! 0:)

So it's basically in the same universe as the prev mary posts and um in her "rise to power (?)" After pandora leaves but before she goes to uni. she gets asked out by one v confused Sirius bc james got to shaboink lily and now he has no bro to no homo w so he goes to mary at like the begining of the yezr and mary HATES sirius black like acc wants to beat him up w baseball bats and rip his hair out bc he's litr everything she wants to be but wo even trying BUT u kno the saying...keep ur friends close nd ur enemies closer so she dates him and ngl its kinda fun ?? Like it's all v performative (u kno those hs couples that are so lovey dovey on sm and in school but barely u know..talk?? Thats them)

and it's fun bc mary gets some of her like social points redeemed after the pamdora incident bc now she's dating the coolest boy in school!! Ev as all good (?) Things do the rlnship ends mainly bc sirius realized that he isn't rlly doing anything 4 mary as in he isn't acc fooling her into thinking he cares which is no fun and in fact he realizes SHES using him as much as HES using her so it ends and mary has So. Much. Fun shittalking sirijs and like posting slightly ominous sm posts and imm like dates the football cap or smth to show EVERYONE she doesn't care (this is however a catholic school so some ppl, even tho mary doesnt rlly do pda/sleep w the bfs, view her as umm a slut? Whcih makes her sad b7t she forces herself to Not Care)

And umm ev the more she starts thinking abt it the more she gets mad bc .. maybe instead of fixing her rep this ruined it even more? And so she's seething bc sirius unknowingly or not has taken something away from her again ... time to take smth from him!!!

But !! Remember how they started dating at the beginning of the yr? Guess who became seat buddies !! (Ik im overusing this conspet but shh) and they have a group project and it's alr halfway thru when they breakup so they still have to do it tght and sirius refuses to enetr marys "poor ass home" and Mary's like "suits me !! :) (>:] )" and then they enter the manor and mary starts plan bagging walburga she starts going to his home early while he's still out and looks up oldmoney hairstyles and traditions and once sidihs invited her over for dinner after they fin working (lowk did it to embarass her) but she did her homework so she knew all the ettiquete and she wears one specific strawberry lotion and perfume and starts spraying it a bit around the excuse to remind walburga of her and she starts on purpose making her eyes wide and voice breathy but when she realizes walburga doesn't like that she makes herself strong and arrogant (?) And is just customizing her personality like it's the sims and stuff and in general pulling out all the stops (she kinda accidently seduces orion but hes like "ew." So she doesnt engage)

It takes a loooong time btw but ev walburga starts enjoying (?) Mary's company don't get me wrong she doesn't do anything IMM abt it but she starts giving small chitchat which turns into lingering glances which turns into small touches which leads to LINGERING touches which leads to THEM SHABOINKING ON WALBURGAS BED AND GOING AT IT FOR LIKE 6 ROUNDS

Kidding !!! They both lowk hate meaningless sex

There's a more pressing matter tho and that's walburgas boy momness (?) Mary and srs started out as like dtating wc walburga did not like so she demonized mary in her head for taking away her sweet precious boy(even tho she found out abt their rlnship like a wk after they broke up) but Sirius keeps acting out and causing scenes and well she childishly wants to get back at him (?idk man im sorry?) Bc even tho marys like poor she still has etiquette and is knowledgeable and is wide-eyed and cunning and she acc reminds walburga of her in her youth and well.....how could she NOT be interested in her

But that's all it is..interest. after the project ends walburga tactfully approaches Sirius abt mary when she's coming or if she would like to join for dinner and sirius argues w walburga abt it bc they're LITR exes (u kno those tiktoks where its like they broke up but the fam loves the ex so they still come over for finners and stuff) but he goes to mary anyways and she's like !!yay!! Plan worked BUT she wants walburga to b just a lil teensy eensy winsy binsy desperate so she pretends she has hw or class or anything rlky (she goes to like some of the invitations but not all) and somehow mafymacdonald has managed to get walburga black interested (w the italics this time)

Ev mary goes to undergrad (dk how uni works srry) wc is still in the area and it's a good school so sorta closer to the black family home than b4 and walburga is antsy bc sirius is gone regulus is gone orion is cheating or drunk and most of the family has demonized her bc of the loss of the heir (theyre just jealous tho) and she starts wondering abt the nice polite girl w the strawberry perfume so she pulls some strings and finds her address and sends her a letter to dinner

Now mary is v much busy w undergrad school (she hasnt yet Healed) so she pretty much forgets abt her ploys to seduce walburga bc ykno what's the point? There's not much status to gain from it so y would she bother?

But she still goes anyways and remembers to wear the strawberry lotion and retreads the invitation and refractive her ettiquete and goes to the home and finds....walburga alone? Theres no orion no regulus no Sirius and she wasn't expecting them but then it's like...it's walburga !! ALONE ??!!!! she invited her to dinner herself !???!!!! OMG

So the catchup and mary is so pleased fo see walburga and they talk (dk whzt abt tho cus im not cool enuff srry)

And once again bear w me cus idk what happens next BUT they grow closer and closer till they're having dinner everyday and mary finds it so fun bc 1) walburga litr just talks abt how she was when she was younger or some stupid things 2) walburga is now looking at her 3) walburga offers to let her stay at her house

And the rlnship itself while not Good isn't Bad like walburga lowk looks down on mary for having 2 work for her grades or marys accent or smth and mary realizes this and changes it and walburgas like wait no it was endearing. And walburga loves mary bc she sympathizes w her And understands her and doesn't demonize her (or smth)

Walburga takes mary on these expensive ass trips she would have taken w orion but she just takes mary instead and leaves orion and she loves treating mary like a porcelain doll and mary loves someone like reverring her like she's a goddess or smth and I don't think they have sex sex but walburgas fave pastime is adiring mary and letting mary admire her (im srs bro they strip down and stare at each other for like 3hrs like its a cult) and it's so weird bc they also have that tr x protégé thing going on and walburga does Not Like it when mary spends her time doing things w other ppl (bc thats how she lost sirius) so mary grows further from her friends and walburga doesn't like some parts of mary (her loudness primarily) and doesn't say it directly but mary cuts out the pieces wwlburga doesn't like till there's nothing left

And mary thinks she's the one in control bc she shittalks orion and boom he's out the fam she shit talks regulus and waburga suddenly Hates him (always did but now its alot more) shittalks Sirius and...walburgz cries

ALSO mary has not met her mom so her mother (not mommy) kink is being fulfilled (should probably expand on this more hut im tired)

Umm anyways ev mary passes undergrad and one big problem is that she got accepted to her dream grad school (Healing arc coming soon) and the prblm is that it's so far away and walburga does NOT lik this so when the letter comes she tries hiding it from mary but mary alr got the email and when she realizes walburga hid the letter on one hand she's angry bc duh but on the other hand she's like "you hid my letter? 🥺🥺Bc u didnt want me to leave? 🥺🥺You love me?🥹🥹"

But she goes anyways and Heals and doesn't rrly keep in touch w walburga bc walbutga HATES technology but mary writes some letters to her and ev she dates the girl.... heals ...yada yada ...gets run over by pandoras truck yada yada

and walburga has been stalking like marys uni so when she sees this news she doesn't kill herself BUT she does fall v ill and dies and when ppl found her willshe gave EVERYTHING? to mary and even added a piece where she said she wanted her heart carved out of her to be given to mary and the ppl were like ?? Marys litr dead?? What?? And also why did she wanna give this much money to mary?? But the mosey just goes to sirijs cus he's heir or whatevs

And sirius is like ??? Bc him and mary acc made up in grad school bc they were in the same STEM dep ?? Why is mary getting his inheritance...then he realizes and he's like "wtf"

But he goes and fucks his bf (james) and yeah :|

[impala124]

Am I being delusional, or is this scene in Ep 2, where Juyeong admits to liking Dohoe, set up as a church confessional?

Juyeong : Are you asleep? I'm sorry. I like you. I really care about you too.

And then they get interrupted by Dohoe's drunk father. When it becomes clear that his father might hurt Dohoe, Juyeong pushes the father onto the couch, takes Dohoe's hand, and runs out of the house.

The Catholic Church teaches that sacramental confession requires three "acts" on the part of the penitent: contrition (sorrow of the soul for the sins committed), disclosure of the sins (the 'confession'), and satisfaction (the 'penance', i.e. doing something to make amends for the sins).

I'm sorry (contrition) , I like you. I really care about you too (discolsure of the sins). Protecting Dohoe from his father (penance).

I'm not a practicing Catholic, so please feel free to chime in if I got anything wrong here.

[8-rae-rae-8]

Trick or Treat with Phillip Graves and Russell the Opossum, aka, the shadow company mascot

(U can remove Russell if u want to)

I'm so sorry anon but I haven't watched or played anything with Russel yet 😔 if you can tell me what order to watch the games in, then I'll write something new for you 🫡

(edit: I learned he's an OC and y'all aren't insane)

BUT ANYWAY

I wrote this as 4:20am so if it's shit... Y'know oh well (just under 300 words)

Trick 🎃

(cw for heavy religious themes, lots of blood and wounds (not self inflicted/metaphorical wounds (this warning is important, trust me)))

Phillip Graves always thought of himself as a religious man, for better or for worse. Figured himself smart for fearing an all-mighty being above, judging his every move.

There's no good or bad in this line of work. Friends just as common as foes. He kept that close to his chest. Any wrong move, and his friends could suddenly be what hunted him for weeks on end.

The blood on his praying hands never seemed to wash away under the hottest of waters. Phillip Graves likes to tell himself he's a good man, the blood is a testament to his determination, his loyalty to the God above and the men that depend on him for their next meals.

Wounds cut deep on his stained palms. Crimson red painted them before, but he can no longer tell if it's his own sacrificial blood, or the enemies he dared to cross. He'd bleed for his God, and weep for his men. As any true leader should—feel the loss and aches deep in his chest as he leads his lambs to slaughter. Another dead is another slash along his tiring frame, another failure to protect and serve.

Phillip Graves can no longer count the high number of unclaimed tags sitting on his wall. Does he stare in remembrance or jealousy? Too few men would ever end up going back to their families, caught dead in the crossfire somewhere that Graves couldn't call out for. Bodies sit in morgues where no one comes to claim. Will his tags sit up there someday soon?

His crimson slicked hands fold together as his knees sit on the painful tile floors. Quiet prayers mumbled to the dark room around him. His voice cracks as he mutters; "please, tell me you're listening now."

—————

Can you tell I grew up Catholic and Christian yet

[maryawrites]

Sfumato - Chapter 6 1/2

I hate this. I'm not proud of this. I PROMISE it's going to get romantic (?) within the next few chapters. I didn't think this would get posted tonight, but a streak of painful, trauma filled inspiration hit me. I'M SORRY THIS ALL KIND OF SUCKS

Worst!Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Cis! Female Reader, Post DPAW

CW: serious religious themes and religious trauma, feelings of abandonment, ugly burning yearning this chapter and way more next chapter accompanied by insane catholic guilt, references to substance abuse, hangovers, implied drug use, super unhealthy friendship, emotional instability, the early signs of Major Depressive Disorder, Wade Wilson is the world's worst wingman, the story is partially autobiographical, the (Name) in this is a little horrible but that's what character development is for

Divider by @/saradika

 I’m too tired to care about appearances as I crawl up the stairs to my apartment, my heart weighing down each of my steps. 

  I feel terrible. I look terrible, undoubtedly, but we’ve already established that. 

  The light streams in from behind me, the late morning sun scratching across my back. It can go ahead and melt my shirt to my back. I’ve given up on getting changed. Going to bed sounds way, way too good right now. I’ll just wash my bedding tonight, on top of everything else. 

  And here I thought I got a couple of hours of sleep with Lily. Who could’ve possibly known that sleeping in an alley wouldn’t be the most fulfilling?

  Me. Well, me when I have a lick of sense about myself. But I haven’t seen any sign of that in a while, now.

  These stairs aren’t so bad. Why, they’re downright lovely. I could absolutely see myself lying down and going to sleep right here.

  But, no, I have to keep dragging myself up to my apartment, because that’s what my life is now. Dragging myself home after getting drunk in an alleyway with my deeply unstable coworker. Ex-coworker, probably. 

  Is the sun always this bright, or is it just my hangover? Hm. Definitely the hangover.

  I imagine that reaching my floor must give me the same feeling that some mythical, future prince will get when he yanks King Arthur’s sword free from its stone. I have defeated a mighty beast- the beast in question being a staircase that I very literally climb every day. 

  I promised God that I would be better today, that I would never stumble again, and I certainly don’t have any plans to, but if Althea appeared in front of me like some kind of visually-impaired angel, I would absolutely do a line right out of her palm. And then fall asleep on the floor. Why the hell am I so preoccupied with the floor, right now? 

  My preoccupation with falling asleep the first chance I’m given only proves to sour my mood, making the eleven feet from the stairs to my door feel like a marathon. I had no clue anyone could feel this tired without running a marathon after staying up for three days. 

  I find it somewhere within myself to glance down the hall briefly, finding Wade’s door in surprisingly good shape. I guess all of his chatter about a ‘mixer’ really did prove to only be about a mere get-together. 

  Maybe… I really did miss something worthwhile. 

  It’s like someone stuffed a cage around my head and slowly started adding rocks to it while keeping me trapped in a pond. Graphic, yes, but accurate. I am desperate to just get home and stop feeling this way. Because feeling this way is not good, just like everything else at the moment. But I can't tell if that's just because of my feelings or if things are actually horrible.

  Well, I did nearly lose my job. And now I have a debt to fulfill with God- never do anything wrong again. 

  It’s almost nostalgic, I think grimly. I made these same sorts of promises all throughout my childhood, but now I have no excuse for not keeping it this time. And I have way too much to lose. 

  I can vaguely hear a door down the hallway clicking unlocked and open, while I’m fumbling with my key, trying to steady my hands for just two seconds so I can unlock my door. 

  “Fucking fuck-ass door; well, fuck me in the ass, if you don’t open-” 

  “I don’t recommend that, buddy. But if you want a less familiar knob inside of you, then I actually do have a great recommendation.” Wade’s… beloved voice comes from right beside me, entering through one ear and rattling around the inside of my skull torturously. Oh, he’s lucky I’m trying to get my life together, or I’d descend upon him like a fucking Maenad-

  “...I don’t want to have sex with you.” I say slowly, staring at my door knob blankly. If looks could kill, then my inanimate doorknob would be melted down and dripping onto the hardwood flooring. I grit my teeth together and spiritually tape myself together for the unforgiving light I’ll have to raise my eyes to meet, before looking up to meet his unimpressed expression.

  What does he have to look unimpressed over? All I did was reject him. That is what he was talking about, right? 

  We stare back at each other for a long moment before he smiles humorlessly, shaking his head vaguely. Is he… pitying me?

  “Oh, sweet baby angel… you are so lucky this is all entertaining. If it wasn’t, I would’ve had you two going at it like a scene from National Geographic on my couch a while ago. Well, hopefully the couch. I can’t imagine what condition an actual mattress would end up in….”

  “Okay, thanks, Wade, I think I’ve had enough sexual harassment for today. Seriously, go- go call your girlfriend or something. Please.” I interrupt desperately, my lip curling upwards as I turn back to my door in disgust, finally getting it open. 

  “No, no, wait. Wait, please. (Name), wait.” Wade interjects, stepping closer to grab my door. I swear to God, he is so lucky I’m turning over a new leaf… as soon as I get over this hangover. 

  All I can do is huff, throwing my hands up as I look at him in a weary surprise, my palms damp from all the trouble of getting from work, to the bus, to the stairs, to my doorway. I got so close, so very close. I really thought I’d be free of bullshit, didn’t I? Just for the rest of today. Well, lucky me. Lucky, lucky me. “What? God, Wade, what? I’m exhausted.”

  “Perhaps, but you should probably-”

  “‘Perhaps’? No, I’m fucking tired, do you know the-”

  “Will you let me finish? Marvel H. Christ.” Wade huffs, briefly looking back down the hall to his door, still slightly ajar, before looking back at me. He inhales deeply before continuing. “Look, I don’t know what happened last night, other than that you clearly got fucked up, but it was the worst mistake you ever made, missy. I mean, I woke up at seven this morning to find some doeish little chick sneaking out of my apartment.”

  “...You woke up at seven?” I ask in horror, not at all catching the last part of his confession. Of course, I know- I should’ve been paying attention to his full statement. But seven a.m.? If Monroe hadn’t found Lily and I, I would’ve stayed in that alley until at least midafternoon. 

  “Yes, seven. (Name), did you hear what I said? (Name)?” Wade urges, tilting his head to get his scalded face into my line of sight better. He’s so insistent, what’s his problem? Of course I heard him, why else would I have questioned him? What the actual fuck is his-....

  Silence befalls me. 

  Silence befalls us both. 

  It befalls the hallway, cleansing it, aside from the rotten, living sound of our breathing. 

  “...What did you just say? At the end.” I ask slowly, methodically. I ask it with surgical precision, not letting my voice soften or harden too much, not letting my tone waver. I force my body to go deathly still. 

  He’s a liar. He’s a goddamn liar. 

  Wade huffs with something akin to satisfaction, as if I exhausted him. My fingers curl into my palms, my heart tightening and telling me to hit him, hit him, hit him. Hit someone. 

  “I said that I was greeted with the tantalizing view of some little filly sneaking out of my apartment way too early this morning. And I know I didn’t invite her, because I don’t waste alcohol on strangers. Especially strangers who look like the only man who’s ever had his fingers inside of them was a gynecologist.”

  “A girl.”

  “Yes. Well, no, not in the way you’re thinking about it. Holy shit, this story isn’t that dark. She was obviously old enough to be in college, at least. Just… young. Cutesy-ish. You know, like… well, she looked like she defines herself online as some kind of prey animal. You know? You know.”

  His words are going in one ear and out the other. He hasn’t said what I want to hear, but I know, I fucking know there’s something else. Something he thinks I can just assume. 

  “What are you trying to say, Wade? Spit it out.” I say in a harder tone, my eyes still goring into his. He wanted my attention? He has it, now. I need him to stop playing these stupid games and just say whatever it is he’s trying to admit. I am so sick of people leaving in a middleman where a middleman isn’t needed today. 

  He stares at me for a long moment like I’ve grown a third eye, like I’m acting weird. Which, I might be, given my hangover, but it can’t be that hard for him to just say what he wants to fucking say-

  “Marvel fucking Christ, (Name), I’m saying that Logan went out to a bar and brought home some woman because you weren’t-”

  “Shut up.” I say out of the blue, partially surprising myself. It seems to surprise him, too. Maybe it’s just the assurity with which I spoke. 

  Silence befalls us again. The only noise that taints it is the squeaking sound of my door slowly being pulled shut, before I slide my key out of the lock and tuck back into my bag, deep within.

  Something is… wrong. Complicated. I’m angry, but it’s not right. Nothing is right about me. Something is wrong, horrible. 

 I make this awful, choked sound in the back of my throat as I try to spill everything out, only to find I have no words. No. No. 

  I actually see something like concern and confusion flash across Wade’s face at my sudden struggling, which is disrupted by my sudden turn and exit. 

  I can’t. I can’t do this. 

  What did I expect? What did I think? I mean, was I so stupid that I believed that he was untouchable for everyone else? Did I really, honestly think that just because I could not approach him, no one else could? How could I act like this? How could I let myself grow so sick with something I can never cure? 

  Oh, God. Oh, God, hear my pleas. 

  I entertained this for far too long. Oh, my Lord, after all the times I promised myself I kept it at a distance, that I would only observe when it was safe. I was being a fool. I was being such a fool, not realizing how I was slowly inching closer, letting myself fantasize, letting my heart reach for him. 

  Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

  And now I’m acting like this. Like a wife who came home to her husband tangled in their sheets with another woman. I’m acting stupid. Oh, God forgive me, I am stupid. I’m a fool, I’m a fucking fool. I’m acting jealous and possessive when I have no reason to. I have no reason, no justification, no defense for why I have any right to act this way. Like I had any claim over him. 

  A groan rattles in my ribs as I step out onto the street, my movements a blur within my own mind. The sunlight hits my dry eyes and it’s like every nerve in my body ignites in pain. Oh, God. My God, have mercy. Have mercy on me. 

  I lose time. Everything is just a nasty, nasty contemplative blur, and I’m not proud of it. Why do I have to be like this? Every time something like this happens, anytime anything stressful happens, it’s like my brain shuts off and lets me go blank, like some damn zombie. Why? Why do I have to be like this? Please, God, just kill me. Just kill me. Stop waiting, stop trying to let me redeem myself. I can’t. There’s nothing that can be done, just let me die. Let me go. Please, God, just let me die. It’s the only way.

  When Lily opens the door, her face is a mix of surprise and fury, as if she can’t believe that I could possibly show my face here. She’s right. How dare I show my face here, after I froze up when I was supposed to be defending her, just barely two hours ago?

  She barely gets enough time to open her mouth to respond before I’m snapping forward, spilling my empty stomach across the threshold of her apartment. I make another, pathetic noise as I stare down at my mess, my cheeks wet. For the nth time in the last three days, sweat clings to the fabric atop my shoulder blades, and beads at my hairline. I wrap my arms chokingly tight around my torso as I throw up a second, shorter time, pained whining accompanying every disgusting second of it. Lily only stands there, watching in shock. When she grips me by my shoulder and pulls me into her apartment, I think I might be momentarily forgiven, before I feel the sharp bap of her curled fist against my temple. I don’t think she hit me particularly hard, but it still sends me onto the grainy floor while she snaps and curses, retreating into her apartment. I lie on the floor, wiping my dirtied mouth off with the bare palm of my hand.

  I take half of a moment to glance around, finding myself lying half in her entryway, half in her living room. Her apartment isn’t much smaller than mine, but the architecture and closed windows make it feel more… confined. Cooler. The air is cool. It doesn’t make me feel calmer, necessarily. It just makes me feel… more at home. The echoing throbbing on the left side of my head is familiar. I nearly melt into the ground as my breathing settles in a fast, shivering pace. I make another strained sound as I glance towards her returning footsteps, watching carefully as she returns to her doorway with a bleach-stained towel. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry gets stuck in my raw throat as I watch her mop up my mess the best she can. 

  When she turns around, I see the regret and fear permeating her expression, her wide eyes watching my messy form, listening to my chattering teeth. 

  “(Name),” She says just once, in a broken voice. As if just to taste my presence on her tongue. She stands there for a long while, watching me. I reach out a hand, grasping for her ankle through splitting and warping vision. “It’s okay,” I say as best I can. “It’s alright. I forgive you. I’m sorry. Lily, I-... I’m sorry.”

  She stands there for about half a minute longer as I hold her bare ankle, before yanking it away to grab me by my shirt and drag me upwards. She holds me against her shoulder and shuffles through the apartment to her bedroom, panting, now having developed a tremble of her own. “(Name),” She tries again, in a raw, tender voice, splitting under her shock. “What’s wrong? (Name), what happened? (Name). (Name).”

  Her own cheeks are wet when we make it to her bathroom, matching my own. She leaves me by her toilet, staring at me nervously as I lean heavily on her bathtub’s wall. 

  “(Name), what did you take?” She asks weakly, reaching for her sink, leaning over it to wash her face and keep my own from view as I spill my guts into her toilet bowl.

  “N- Nothing,” I manage before going to retch again, this time dry. 

  The air is electric. The air is taut. Everything is wrong, so wrong. It’s just like I thought last night- there’s so much broken between us, so much torn apart. I will never be clean. She can never want to be clean. God doesn’t have the decency to kill either of us. 

  And, just like I thought, Logan cannot be mine. He will never be mine, he will always be out of reach. Anyone else, everyone else can slip past the line and lay hands on him, but I cannot. The only way God holds me is on a short leash. 

  The worst part is that I never even had a chance, no probability. How did Wade describe the girl who left? He-... Did he describe her? I can’t remember. There was a girl, I think. What happened? Dear God, my head hurts. 

  “Help,” I ask, pitifully. If I wasn’t so tired and sick, I would beg properly. I don’t know what I’m asking her for, but I know I want something. I want help. I need someone to look at me and help me. I need someone to see me like this and not condemn me, nor downplay this. I need someone to see this and not flinch.

  Lily doesn’t flinch. She hesitates, and glances around, and picks at her cuticles. “Have you gotten it all out?” She questions gently.

  “I think so.”

  She leaves the bathroom for a few minutes, and I listen to her far-away footsteps pitter-patter around through my haze, through the pounding in my head. Poor (Name). Poor, poor (Name). I find myself deliriously smiling at the pain, at her concern. That’s so kind of her. She hasn’t shouted at me once, which is odd for mornings. But we aren’t at work, are we? 

  When she returns, she frowns at my smile and approaches warily, before settling down beside me on the floor. She holds a glass of water to my lips and I drink greedily, sipping it down before she pulls it away, sighing in irritation. I guess her sympathy could only last so long. 

  She tells me to open my mouth and I do, sticking my tongue out. She settles a small weight on it that’s invisible for me at this angle, pulling her hand back with a thoughtful expression. She commands for me to swallow, and I do, fighting my remaining gag reflex. It’s not as bad as I thought it might be. I haven’t taken many pills in my life- it’s not cheap to be sick, and my grandmother never had a good thing to say about ‘modern medicine’. 

  After a moment of silence and settling air, my voice returns to me, sounding distant and raspy. 

  “Aspirin?” I question quietly, my hands uncurling beside my thighs. 

  Lily smiles sadly, as if she really is sorry for me.

  “Just something sweet for our favorite girl.” She promises.

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

The Call

Ex!Catholic John MacTavish x Ex!Catholic Reader

A/N: This is kind of a Part 1.5 to my I Promise You, Bonnie, It’s Okay fic. I’m working on Part 2, but this happened in the meantime!

Original Imagine/Summary Thingy: The Reader follows through with their promise; Johnny makes an offer.

Warnings: 18+, No Minors, Mature Themes and Discussions*✨if you’re younger than 18 or have no age in your bio, I will not hesitate to block you.✨ Discussing Sex (not explicitly), Guilt Associated with Sex, Johnny having a massive crush on the Reader.

*While this part doesn't contain explicit sex, there are still mature themes and discussion about sex. I'm also labelling this as 18+ since Part 2 will be sexually explicit

Word Count: ~500 /Divider: @cafekitsune

Italics = Reader’s Dialogue over the Phone

Masterlist / Next Part >

“Johnny?”

He’s barely awake. It’s 3:30am. His grunt is groggy at best.

“I’m sorry Johnny. I didn’t mean to wake you, I mean, I guess I did, but I just got home and I— I feel guilty. So I’m calling. Like I promised.”

He sits right up, his nervous system lighting up at the sound of your voice - at what you said. He does his best to shake the sleep from his voice.

“Ye don’t need to apologize hen. I made you promise to call.”

“I know, I just feel bad. It’s so late.”

“I said I’d answer. No matter the time.” He says gently, hoping to reassure you.

He hears you hum over the line. You sound unsure. Johnny fiddles with the edge of his blue comforter.

“Where are ye hen?”

“Just made it home. Couldn’t stay the night.”

“Hookup?”

“Yeah.”

The line is silent for a moment and Johnny wonders what’s on your mind.

“Didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t wake Johnny up. He’s one word away from bolting out of bed, throwing on the nearest clothes he can find, and heading to your place.

“What do ye need bonnie?”

Your breathing hitches over the phone, and when you speak your words are pushed out through a sob.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay hen. What are ye feelin?”

“Like…like I’m stupid. Stupid for thinking this time would be different. I thought…I thought getting it all off my chest would help. I thought telling someone who understands would make things better, but I was wrong.”

Your sob crackles through the phone and listening to you try to catch your breath to speak, and not being there with you hurts something deep inside of Johnny.

“I mean, talking with you helped. But not as much as I was hoping. Tonight…I didn’t even…I mean, they didn’t either. I had to stop in the middle of everything and I just…left. It hurt too much Johnny. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I told you.”

Johnny’s heart is in his throat. He can feel the lump and he can’t swallow it down. It’s like it’s pushing something up his throat - like something is trying to break free.

He’s not even thinking when he starts to speak.

“Y’know bonnie, if you wanted…I could help you.”

He can almost picture your confused face when he hears the tone of your voice.

“How?”

“You could come over sometime. Or I could come to you. Whatever makes you more comfortable. And we could…y’know—I’d be there for ye. Walk you through things; make sure you don’t feel guilty about any of it.”

Fuck, why is he so flustered? Why is it so hard to make a simple suggestion? And why aren't you saying anything?

“We don’t have to a’course! I just wanted to throw it out as an option. There’s no pressure at all and—“

“Johnny?”

He takes a breath.

“Yeah hen?”

“Come by my place tomorrow? Eight pm?”

Johnny’s heart skips and his whole body warms.

“Yeah bonnie. I’ll be there.”

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

Oh man sorry for rambling in your askbox but there's this guy on Youtube shorts that keeps complaining about that!

Okay I get it, armor is something that should be protective so having a boob window and heels is stupid. "No one thinks sexy armor is sexy", um I do! And I also think practical armor is sexy! Don't put two Queens against each other!

He also says that he finds these art on Pinterest by searching "female armor" and that's it. I also searched "female armor", I had to scroll to one sexy female armor. It only showed a shoulder and a bit of thigh tho.

Also "most nuns are sweet old lady why sexualise them?" Removing the fact that most sexy nuns are not old but at least in their 20s, nuns (at least catholic ones, since the it's that nun outfit that's mostly used) don't have access to the Internet. Seriously they don't have anything, and if they do they mostly use old fliphones, only the Pope uses stuff like Twitter but that's because he's also the head of a state (Vatican City)

Also this guy doesn't credit artist.....

I don't know man the rating of the armor is a good concept! But I feel he's taking it too far, but I might be wrong...

//I'm using he but I'm not sure if they use other pronouns, listen i wanna complain but misgendering on purpose is wrong

NO BC it genuinely feels like slut shaming-lite.

okay sure the armor isn’t protective, but it’s not real, pretend it does protect her! let them be hot and protected!

i know we throw around the term “purity culture” a lot, but that literally is what that is. telling women to cover up, to stop sexualizing themselves, because you are personally grossed out by it IS purity culture, and genuinely misogynistic.

(as an aside it’s so funny to me to imagine the pope using twitter to look at sexy nuns of all things)

[velvet-waltz]

Character Study: Sylvia Leventhal-Landa (in Velvet Waltz)

This one is about my OC, my main gal, my number one baddest bitch in at least 3 major cities, Sylvia Leventhal-Landa. This is part one, in which I only talk about her in Velvet Waltz; after Stranger in Paradise finishes, I'll write a part two about her arc in that fic.

So who exactly is this ballsy dame who joined the French resistance as an undercover agent, survived an explosion, and got captured by the SS, only to turn their star Standartenführer's entire life and being inside out and change the course of the war??

(spoilers for Velvet Waltz throughout, obviously)

[Just a note that I don't do face claims or anything like that; the pics I chose are just vintage photos that remind me of her. I personally feel however you imagine her is valid!]

OCs are always so two-dimensional and boring.

I'm truly sorry you feel that way!

Does this one have a personality at least???

I think so! Sylvia has a lot of flaws: she's a bit too tough for her own good, a little neurotic, can be emotionally volatile (especially if she's let it build up for awhile), stubborn, and tends to catastrophize. It drives her crazy to *not know.* But she's also thoughtful, extremely loyal, driven by her ideals, and always, always tries to do the right thing, no matter the consequences. Her superpower as an agent is her strong emotional intelligence; she's very good at getting someone on her side, with a controlled opennness. She lets you in but only so far.

She loves the ocean, NY bagels (high standards), crossword puzzles, strong coffee, and sleeping in. She hates hot weather, overripe bananas, wearing heels, and every form of injustice.

Again, however you imagine her is valid! But physically, she's average height, on the heavier/curvy side (what midwesterners call "sturdy"), has greenish-hazel eyes, and dark blonde hair (although she dyes it repeatedly for her cover identities) which she wears in low-maintenance styles. She usually goes for a natural look in both hair and makeup. For clothes, she likes cardigans, collared shirts, simple dresses with pockets, or jeans, with oxfords or loafers.

So who is she, anyway?

Sylvia Leventhal was born in Chicago but mainly grew up on a small farm west of the city, which her father bought when she was small. Her family was lower middle class; the farm, unfortunately, never turned a reliable profit. Her sister Nora is 6 years older, enough of an age difference that she generally had no one to play with, and spent long hours alone in the cornfield. She came to love books, puzzles, and quiet pondering alone in nature.

The most significant thing about her upbringing, though? Her father is Jewish. Her mother is Catholic. In an attempt to blend in with their small Illinois town, her parents raised Sylvia and Nora "vaguely Protestant." She grows up with a sense that whatever they are is wrong and should be hidden.

That sounds...complicated, especially during WWII.

It is. Having grown up so detached from her Jewish heritage, and not particularly believing in anything, the question of identity becomes more and more difficult for her as she grows up. After finishing her linguistics degree at Northwestern, and a very painful breakup, Sylvia heads east to NY, where she lives on the Lower East Side. She befriends practicing Jews there who encourage her to connect with that part of herself. By the time the US enters the war, she's choosing to identify herself as Jewish, while also unsure if she'll ever be "Jewish enough." (a common conundrum, lol)

(Identity is a theme among the agents in her SOE unit; like Alain, the young gay man who uses his cover identity to play with other, less masked versions of himself. Having "pretended" to blend in for so much of her life, it's not a stretch for Sylvia to take on new identities.)

What's her relationship like with her sister and parents?

Nora's the "good sister," always the better student, had the cleaner bedroom, and as an adult, fully embraced her Jewishness by joining a Reform temple and marrying an observant man. As a housewife with children, she looks down on Sylvia, even more when she comes home from Europe with Hans. Sylvia tries over the years to mend their relationship, but with each visit, it feels more and more that Nora only comes to New York to condescend to her.

Ironically, Sylvia's father warms to Hans more than her mother, who finds the whole thing distasteful. They attend the wedding but leave the reception early and become more distant after. As a result, Sylvia rarely visits. She has a lot of guilt about it - as does Hans - but her mother seems unwilling to budge.

How does she end up in Occupied Paris?

I touch on this in VW but officially: She initially signs up to be a WAC (Women's Army Corps, doing non-combat work for the military), through WAC training meets someone connected to recruitment for overseas intelligence work. Captain Peter Blackwell of the British Special Operations Executive sees that she's studied languages and screens her. He's impressed by her emotional intelligence, and willingness to engage in risky missions and combat, and recruits her for a special team: young people gathering intelligence from Nazis, in the guise of service workers, in occupied Paris.

Her first cover identity is "Greta Van Horn," a Swiss art student who works shifts at the Soldatenkaffee (a coffee shop exclusively for German soldiers.)

Sylvia and Hans are an ideal match for each other.

There's intense physical chemistry between them right away, which Sylvia tries to ignore for as long as she possibly can. But as their individual walls come down and they begin to trust one another, all bets are off. In his willingness to sacrifice his own safety for her, she sees a softer, more human side of Hans, and despite her own reservations, falls hard.

For Hans, it's initially a fun diversion: can I get this ferocious resistance fighter to willingly come to my bed? By the time he realizes how hard he's fallen for her, it's much too late to turn back.

The seeming disharmony between the people they are, and what they stand for, is a huge obstacle, of course. But as they work together on sabotage - especially alongside the Basterds - she understands Hans is capable of change, and suddenly a future together seems possible.

Where Sylvia tends towards anxious brooding, Hans is calm and extremely rational. Where Hans is cold and detached, Sylvia feels deeply and reads the feelings of others easily.

Hans deeply respects her intelligence and intensity. He knows she's a true equal and for the first time in his life, he doesn't prefer to be alone. Whereas Sylvia, after her previous engagement fell apart, was prepared to spend the rest of her life alone. Hans coming along absolutely blindsides her, but she realizes this is the husband she never knew she wanted: stimulating, adventurous, and utterly adores her. She never thought anyone could see her so clearly and love her that much.

But what about all the killing...

Yeah, about that. In Velvet Waltz, she wrestles constantly with whether can she spend the rest of her life with a man who's done so much evil, even as it's plain to her how much he's changed. Hans tries to shield her from the specifics of his past, and for about a decade, he's successful.

But crimes like his will never go away. And as much as Sylvia tries to move past it, the question never leaves the back of her mind.

In Stranger in Paradise, the extent of Hans' violence comes bubbling to the surface in a big way, and Sylvia has to rethink her commitment to the love of her life.

The fact is, no matter how much he seems to have changed or how many lives he may have saved in those last 6 months or so of the war, he's still the same man who killed hundreds of innocents, some with his own hands. It will always be a struggle for someone as justice-minded as Sylvia to deal with that.

Sylvia's the best thing that ever happened to him...and also the worst.

Sylvia cracks Hans open. As I said in Hans' character analysis, the 'Landa machine' falls apart as soon as he wants something he can only have by putting himself second. And to have Sylvia, he must behave in ways that jeopardize his position, his reputation, and his own safety.

In cracking him open, she awakens his guilt, which sentences him to a lifetime of misery and self-loathing. Without her? He would've likely gotten away with everything and never felt an ounce of remorse. Now? He has a life with her, and the horrors of his own doing plague him day and night. This is the price he pays for loving Sylvia.

How does Sylvia get along with each of the Basterds?

Aldo - Sylvia's first impression of Aldo is that he's a hell of a character. Almost a cartoon. She's also alarmed by his quickness to resort to violence (like when he 'interrogates' Hans by tying him to a tree and beating the shit out of him.) He's stubborn, and butts heads constantly with Hans, which is a headache for her as well. But she quickly respects his down-home directness and commitment to his mission. For Aldo, he naturally has his suspicions about an American agent in a romantic situation with an SS officer, and wonders if she isn't just naive. But over time, and especially after the 84 Foch raid, he comes to truly respect her, and develops a real fondness. He isolates himself after the war and rarely writes back, which pains Sylvia a great deal. She never stops reaching out.

Donny: Much like Aldo, Donny initially sees Sylvia as a Nazi's whore, full stop, and he's horrified that a Jewish woman would stoop to that. When Aldo sends Donny back to Paris to keep an eye on the two of them, he's prepared to dispatch her as violently as he would any Nazi, should she betray them. But of course, she doesn't, and as they spend more time together in the house, he comes to really genuinely like her, even finding her attractive. His little speech about a "nice Jewish boy" is less about trying to steal her away from Hans, and more just an expression of admiration, and not fully understanding how she and Hans came to be. He's saying, 'I really deeply admire you, and under any other circumstances, I would try to marry you.' For Sylvia, she finds Donny very unnverving, for a long time. Partly his intensity and partly a physical attraction she's afraid to acknowledge. By the time Donny admits he's attracted to her, she's warmed to him quite a bit, and that scene gives her a nice fork in the road moment. She knows Hans is her person, she's already chosen her path; but she pauses to consider what her life would be if she chose Donny instead. It would be easier for sure. But Hans is the one. Donny may not fully understand why she's chosen Hans, but he starts to see what they have, and respects it. Of all the comrades lost in Operation Kino, Donny and Bunny are the two she grieves the most. She and Hans become acquainted with the Donowitzes, and make a point of visiting them in Boston when they go to their house on Nantucket, as well as visiting Donny's marker in the Jewish cemetery.

Wicki, as an Austrian Jew, has a particular distaste for Hans and never fully warms to him. But he likes Sylvia almost immediately. He's impressed by an American who can speak multiple languages and by her straightforwardness. Of all the Basterds, he's the quickest to trust her intentions.

Stiglitz, honestly, barely notices she exists. lol. She's a little freaked out by him but of course, he's useful, especially at 84 Foch. He has exactly one thing on his mind at all times - killing Nazis - so her presence is neither here nor there. But like Wicki, he also quickly decides she's trustworthy.

Omar and Sylvia don't interact much. Omar is pretty weirded out by the entire concept of a Jewish american spy hooking up with a Nazi officer but comes around once he sees her intentions are true.

Hirschberg, however, openly dislikes her and expects her to sell them out. Even during the 84 Foch raid, when she and Hans are a bit late, he assumes they've been set up. It's Donny who snaps at him to shut up.

And what about her bestie Alain??

Of course. "Alain Fournier" (legal name Robert Dixon) trained alongside Sylvia for their mission and they quickly became close friends. Alain is quippy and sees a joke in everything, but he's also very intelligent, and loves discussing ideas as well as gossip. They have their own secret code to reassure the other that they're safe: leaving a toffee wrapper (Sylvia) or a gum wrapper (Alain) at a drop point. When Hans begins investigating Sylvia, Alain is the first agent in her circuit he approaches, and immediately ropes him in. Their mutual adoration of Sylvia bonds them, although Alain never fully gets over his fear of him, lol.

Without spoilering Stranger, let's just say a Basterd's work is never done...and when Hans and Sylvia are asked to hunt down a missing Nazi scientist in Los Angeles, they end up reuniting with some old friends...

So if you enjoyed this analysis, and Velvet Waltz, I do hope you'll continue on to Stranger in Paradise where I am having TOO much fun, probably!!!!

[waywardangel-wilds]

prompt by @triassictriserratops

Modern AU. Katniss and Peeta are best friends. She keeps sabotaging his relationships and he's finally fed up and confronts her about it.

[I'm sorry, I made it hilarious]

"Prim! Ew!" I pushed her away, falling backward on my bed as she shoved her phone in my face.

"Look!" Prim yanked on my hands, which I used to guard my eyeballs from her phone. "Oh my God. You are such a baby!"

"I don't want to see a cadaver! I don't care if it's for science! It's gross!" I shoved her away and rushed for the other side of the bed, throwing myself off it.

"Oh, I'm Katniss, and I love to be a scared little baby." She mocked in a breathy voice. "Look at me!"

"You're literally such a nerd you can't even bully me correctly."

"I-"

"What the fuck Katniss?!" We both jumped, hearing the front door slam open. Peeta's irritated face appeared at my doorway. "What in the-- oh hey, Prim."

Prim stared at him with her mouth open. Hanging upside down from my bed like that she looked twelve years old again. She glanced towards me with an alarmed expression.

"What right do you think you have to come in here like that?" Prim flipped herself right side up, pushing up against the mattress to sit up and glare at him.

"Uh-" Peeta looked sheepish. "Yeah, my bad."

"Your bad?!" Prim jumped off the bed. "'Your bad'? Fuck off!" She shoved him out of my doorway. "Apologize!"

"I-" Peeta's mouth opened and closed for a moment. He turned to glare at me, "No! Ask your sister what she did!"

"Um," I tried to speak up, but Prim waved me off.

"She did nothing; you're the one who came in here like a Neanderthal. Apologize!" She insisted.

"What? No!" Peeta tried to shoulder past her, but she pushed him back. He leaned against the hallway with a groan.

"Prim, you don't even live here. Go away." He said to the ceiling.

"How-"

"It's fine. Can I just talk to him? Alone?" I interrupted.

Prim looked into my eyes, picking up that I would be fine. She turned back to Peeta. "I'm going to be in the kitchen." She walked off.

"Bye!" Peeta said sarcastically. Under his breath, he added, "Little twerp."

"I heard that!" Prim shouted back. Peeta ducked out of the way of a flying object. "Ass!"

He stuck out his tongue at her. Turning my way, his face shifted from annoyed-at-Prim to actual anger.

"So..." I picked up a book from my nightstand. "You heard."

"I heard? Oh, man, did I!" He crossed his arms, looking incredulous. "Katniss, this got back to my mother. My dad called to ask me to go with them to church. Are you fucking kidding me?!"

I cringed, holding the book close to my chest. Peeta crossed the doorway into my room and shut the door behind him.

"I can't believe you would do this to me!" He was just getting started. I could tell he was highly wound up. An all-out rant was on the way. "Did I do something to you? Was I too nice to you? Did I feed you too much? Was it wrong of me to help you pass your driving test?"

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Ouch.

"'Cause I've been wracking my brain for, like, I don't know, the past three hours trying to figure out why my best friend would throw me under the fucking bus!" The arms were above his head, oh man. "I'm in a sex cult?! Really? A doomsday sex cult. Do you have any idea how my parents are taking this? My mom was sobbing, sobbing. I don't think she's cried since 2008. My dad was saying that if I wanted to be gay, it was fine! But I didn't have to be in a cult to do it?! You told them I was in a gay doomsday sex cult?!"

"Yeah..."

"And, come to find out, it's not just my catholic parents who know this. My brothers," he started to list people off on his fingers. "My teammates, my coach, my girlfriend, Haymitch fucking Abernathy, for Christ's sake. I should thank my lucky stars that my Gammy doesn't know, she'd drop dead!"

If it was possible to cringe harder, I would do it right then.

"Are you going to say anything?" his voice got quiet. He stared at me with wide, unbelieving blue eyes. As if he were seeing me for the first time, and whatever he saw, it was freaking him out. "You just torpedoed my whole fucking life. Do you get that?!"

The book fell from my hands, and to make matters worse, I started to cry.

"I didn't mean for it to get this far!" I sobbed, my hands fluttering about my face. "I didn't even mean to say it! And then Glimmer told everyone. I just wanted her to go away!"

"What." He blinked at me. He looked crazed. "What. The. Fuck. WHAT THE FUCK! What are you saying?!"

"I was just trying to make it stop," I hiccuped, choking on some deeply intense sobs. "I never wanted to start a rumor. I swear it on my life, Peeta. I would never do that to you!"

Peeta stepped up to me the way someone would a live mine. He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. He still looked insane. "I." he cleared his throat. "I could kill you, I fucking swear it, Katniss. What in the world possessed you to tell people I was in a gay doomsday cult?!"

I wailed guiltily as Peeta lightly shook me. "I don't know!"

"Tell me!"

"I don't know!" I insisted, covering my face. "All I did was tell Christie you were in a cult so she wouldn't go out with you! Johanna added the gay part! I guess someone else said it was a suicide one. I swear! I'll swear it on Prim's life. Oh! Let's do a blood pact!" Peeta stared at me as if I lost my mind while I grabbed him by the shoulders to shake him back. "Yes! It'll be like being kids again! I have a knife!"

"I'm not doing a blood pact with you!" He stepped away from me as if repelled by some deep, intense force. "You're fucking tainted! Traitor! Judas!"

"I'm not Judas!" I sobbed.

"Judas!" he pointed at me.

"Peeta, come on, please!" I wiped a hand against my eyes. "It was an accident, I swear."

"Why did you say I was in a cult at all??"

"It doesn't even matter!" I bellowed miserably, turning to collapse face down on my bed. "Christie went out with you anyway."

"What does Christie have to do with anything???"

"You're supposed to be my best friend," I accused, pointing a shaking finger blindly. "Not Christie's."

"What?" I felt the bed dip. "Katniss, why are you doing this?"

"I don't want you to have a girlfriend," I moaned. I was so pathetic. "You're going to fall in love and leave me forever."

"Why would me getting a girlfriend stop us from being friends?"

"Don't you get it?" I sat up to stare at him. "I don't want you to have a girlfriend."

"Why?" He said insistently.

"BECAUSE I WANT TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!" I screamed. I put both my hands on his chest and shoved him. "Why are you so dense?"

Peeta stared at me, shocked. He was half on the floor and half on my bed. "You want to be my girlfriend?"

"Yes!" I pulled on my hair. "Isn't it obvious? I moved with you to butt fuck nowhere so we could go to college together."

"I thought you just wanted to save on rent!"

"WHY?!" I tossed a pillow at him. "I could have just stayed with my dad back home."

"Oh."

"Yeah," I looked away, smoothing a hand over my messed-up hair.

"Well, you could have just said that instead of ruining my entire life." Peeta climbed back onto the bed. "I thought you knew I liked you."

"WHAT"

"What do you mean what?!"

"Exactly what I mean!"

"Oh my god," Prim rolled her eyes from the kitchen and took a long drink from her glass. "They're idiots."

[coeluvr]

So I just read the demo for the first time and… are you okay? Like do you need to talk to someone? Cuz holy shit, that was depressing. Don’t get me wrong, it was great, but I am just mentally, emotionally, and physically drained now (don’t ask me about that last part). All in all, I really enjoyed it, but I do have some thoughts.

Firstly, I don’t understand how anyone from Rosea (except for Hunter, Fadiya and her mom, and maybe Helios) has any fans. Like did they just forget that everyone else (including Lancelot) contributed to the total destruction of our family? Everyone’s over here shipping Lancelot and Luceris, and to be fair, if this was a different story I would too, but like… they’re the enemy? Speaking of Luceris…

Dude is on some shit. Like I get it’s the point, but everything about our relationship with him just feels weird and wrong, and I’m counting the days til we can kill him. Until then, I guess I’ll have to make do with disrespecting the memory of his dead wife at every opportunity. Also side note, but as a Straight Male tm it does feel a little weird having to fake a romance with another guy, especially a guy that’s like fifty years older than me lol (Luceris really isn’t beating the Catholic Priest allegations)

The rest of the cast are a lot of fun, and I’m glad they all at least have sympathy towards MC. I think Hunter is the coolest character ever and I want to be them, and Fadiya can do no wrong in my eyes. Vincent sucks, but I haven’t really spent much time with him so maybe that’ll change. Helios I feel sorry for. He’s a nice guy and I do like him a lot, but he’s unfortunately collateral damage in my crusade against Father Luceris. I hate that we have to hurt him to get revenge, but it feels very realistic and gives your decisions a lot more weight.

On the flip side, Soarine is perfect and has never done anything wrong in her life ever. If Soarine has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has only one fan then that is me. If Soarine has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Soarine, then I am against the world.

All in all, I love what you’re doing with this game, even if I do have to take a twenty minute break after each playthrough just to decompress lol. I can’t wait to see where this goes and am gonna stare at a wall until the next update drops. Thanks for making such an interesting story and give Soarine my love 💚

Lol hi, anon!

First of all, I'm fine 😭 I'm like that one happy guy that writes horror whose name I keep forgetting but I bet someone knows who I mean.

Regarding the characters from Rosea that are not all that great having fans, I don't know why that's unexpected to you if I am being honest lmao. In every fandom I've ever been in, there have always been people that like the antagonists. I enjoy Lancelot and Luceris' dynamic but I feel like that's to be expected since I literally created them. 💀 The day I write in all of the side couples you'll combust. /j

But also you don't have to fake a "romance" with Luceris? 😥💀 I can only think of the husband comments MC can make and those are entirely optional so...

I'm glad you like the other characters! Soarine is indeed everything. 🙇‍♀️

Thank you for your kind words! 💗