#To slate that hunger

[need-grows-teeth]

[askmovieslate]

I'm sorry guys, I just hate those stupid movies.

The whole concept is flawed from the ground up, only existing for an allegory about eating the rich. It's self-important, pretentious, and super boring. And what's worse, it inspired a plethora of even blander YA movies to be released after it. From "Maze Runner" to "Divergent" to "Ready Player One".

Ah hell, you could argue even the new Star Wars movies got some splash damage from this sort of movie. It's so annoying!

I'm glad they stopped, but history comes in cycles so this will eventually make a come back and it'll be even worse. How's that Hunger Games prequel doing, eh? Oh wait, it's already been forgotten.

PS: Sorry Copper, I just don't care for these ones.

[maytheoddshq]

Slate Skylar (he/him). Tribute. District Twelve. Twenty-one. Austin Abrams.

TW: drug use, abuse, neglect, torture, fire

Beryl Flint gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him Slate. Beryl had been homeless her whole life, and after she had her son, things were no different. Sometimes she told her baby boy foggy stories dredged up from a memory covered in morphling. I once had the love of a Peacekeeper, she told her infant son, I once had a millionaire in my bed.

If I could catch the eye of powerful men, you could do something with your life too, she’d tell him before dropping off to a drug-induced sleep.

Slate spent most of his time in the homes of the neighborhood women. Those who had recently had children and had a strong enough milk supply fed him. They kept him from crawling into the roads when the Peacekeeper vans drove by. He was as healthy as a child in Twelve could be; he was skinny, cried rarely, and didn’t quite know which of the women who held him was called Mom.

Beryl moved from place to place, mostly squatting in homes that had been foreclosed upon but not yet sold or occupied. Run-ins with Peacekeepers were therefore frequent, and life was hard. She couldn’t work in the mines, her body too ruined by addiction, which had only started when a Capitol doctor came through town and started handing out pills for pain. She sometimes found men willing to pay for her company but her reputation preceded her.

She had lived a tough life. When she was high, she was kind. She played with his hair, told him stories that wandered and twisted and made little sense. She cheered for him and cried when he took his first steps on splintered wood in a one-room house that was not theirs. She said he was her most perfect boy.

But when she went through withdrawal, she was cruel. These were the times Slate doesn’t remember, times his memory’s blocked out, but the body and the heart cannot forget.

The last time Slate saw Beryl he was six years old, gripping the hand of one of the elderly women in the neighborhood. Beryl often disappeared for days or even weeks at a time, but she always came back. It was a few months before he realized that this time would be different, that she was not, in fact, going to return for him. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

The neighbor woman, Misty Skylar, fed and housed him. Misty taught him to read and write. He fell in love with the stories she told and he allowed himself to trust her, to love her, to believe that life could be good like this. He took her last name, discarding his mother’s, though the name that remained on the government record was his real one: Slate Flint. Despite the mothers he would go on to have, he carried the name of the first one with him, stamped in ink.

It was only a few years before Misty Skylar died of a sudden heart attack. Slate watched her take her last breath, helpless to do anything about it.

And so he was on the streets. No one could take him in or spare the resources anymore to help, so he worked odd jobs, camped out in empty houses as his mother had done, and when everything else failed, he begged. Most nights he found a roof to sleep under. Sometimes people would give him food. He learned to hunt and steal what he needed. He traded at the Hob. Independence was his only option. He stayed put, secretly and quietly nursing the idea that someday, his mother might return, and he needed to be there when she did.

At the local school, which he attended sparsely, the kind teacher looked out for him. She brought him lunch and provided him with books. He acted out in class, despite the fact that he was not being forced to stay, but he was smart and excelled in reading. He loved the stories they learned in class and always caught up quickly despite his many absences. He read the books the teacher gave him by lamplight at night in the houses he squatted in, or outside in the rain, squinting, by the light of the moon. It was nice to imagine a life that wasn’t this; a way of being that was more. He discovered a love for writing that matched his love for reading, and wrote stories on scraps of notebook paper. The stories were always about what the world could be, were it not so cruel.

When he was 15, Slate was arrested. He was living in a shack on the edge of town and getting himself in trouble at the Hob. Peacekeeper patrols of the perimeter were getting more intense, so he had to spend more time stealing than hunting. When a Peacekeeper turned his back on a piece of fruit in the square, Slate reached out his hand, grabbed the fruit, and—

This particular Peacekeeper was kinder than most and had seen him around enough. He gave Slate two options: one, he could go to jail, which meant paperwork and processing time spent on him, a petty thief no one cared about. The other option was Hestia Ember.

Hestia gladly took Slate in. He joined her brood of orphans and misfits, and she worked to tame him. To teach him how to feel safe. For the first time since Misty’s death, he had a place to come home to every night. For the first time in his life, he had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every day, without fail, thanks to Hestia’s Victor salary.

Hestia brought him to the Tower during the Games so that he could get some work and make money at the coffee shop in the lobby. He wasn’t the best employee, but he learned some skills that Hestia deemed important. For the summer, he snagged an internship at the Capitol Voice, wanting to make connections in the writing and publishing world, even if it was at the trashiest outlet of them all.

There were a few people he liked there, who recognized him as a good writer and editor despite his rough-around-the-edges attitude. He left the internship with a few letters of recommendation and some contacts who told him they’d help him down the line.

A few months after finishing his internship and back in Twelve, Slate assumed the identity of Meta Morphic and published the first issue of TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R. He and a few friends used the money he’d made at the coffee shop and now, working at the Hob selling trinkets a friend made, to print up some ‘counter culture zines’ that featured jokes about ‘Narcissus Snow,’ poems, comics, and a serialized novella by Meta Morphic. While there were jokes, there were also serious pieces in the zine, as Slate’s increased exposure to the Hunger Games and Capitolites at the Tower had woken him to just how unequal and unjust the system was. TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R was a way to try to address that.

For the 132nd Games, Slate started at the Tower as a personal assistant to one of the escorts. She paid him an exorbitant amount of money to follow her around and hold things for her. But the point of him being there wasn’t to hold purses and pens. No, he was there to open doors for the zine and expand its readership.

Over the next year, the reach and scope of the zine grew more than he could have imagined. Shortly after 132 started, he met Cress Meadowforge, who agreed to train him – something he considered a precaution, in case the revolution ever needed him. But training soon grew into more, and he’d never have pictured himself with a Career Victor from One, but he’d also have never pictured himself living in an apartment in the Capitol, earning and spending money on tech to put the zine online and on the radio, working with a group of fellow rebels who saw the world in the same way as he did.

Soon he had photography from the Districts, thanks to Alder; Cat and Nano were on the radio keeping the districts updated; the Vox Populi were growing stronger in Eleven. At the same time, for the first time, he was falling in love. Everything had come together, and as the 134th Games approached, he was on top of the world. Perhaps finally, they would all be able to end the Hunger Games forever. He quit his job at the Tower and spent the time between the 133rd and 134th Games traveling between Eleven, Twelve, and the Capitol, seeing Cress, his family, spending some time at the Cache house, and growing his network of rebel-minded people.

And then, in May, Zip Cache was caught with an issue of TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R in District Three.

His sister, Link, had to think fast. The authorities, seeing Zip with a half-written article, thought he was Meta Morphic, but Link knew the truth.

She told it to save her brother.

Hours later, Peacekeepers had assembled and were marching towards Slate’s apartment in the Capitol. Cress got a call from Lex Sterling with a head’s up, and the two of them frantically began to set fire to everything in the apartment, trying to destroy the evidence. At the last minute, Cress insisted that they escape, and Slate ushered her out the window and down the fire escape first. After she’d stepped out, he closed and locked the window behind her, destroyed a few more things in the apartment, and accepted his arrest, hoping that he’d done enough to save his friends and fellow rebels.

He was taken to prison. At first, they tried to get information out of him, having no shame in beating him, but he was silent. They gave up and threw him in a cell, telling him each day that he was going to be killed the next, or the next, or the next. They would make a spectacle of it, he was sure, and that was the reason for the delay.

Meanwhile Cress, who’d managed to escape, bribed some Peacekeepers in order to visit him in prison. There, she told him that she was pregnant with his child. Horrified and alone after Cress left, Slate spiraled, losing track of the time as he was told again and again that he would be killed soon, soon, soon. He had no idea what day, week, or month it was anymore. All he knew was that Cress would raise their child alone into this horrible world that he’d failed to save.

Very early on the morning of July 15th, they pulled a delirious Slate from his cell, changed his clothes into something nicer, and put him on an express train. He was blindfolded but he could tell from the distance and the route that they were headed to District Twelve. So that was where they would kill him: his home. He had no idea it was Reaping Day, didn’t even know it was July until the wet heat of Twelve pressed in on him. He was pulled out of the train and brought into the Justice Building; he could tell people were already gathered for the spectacle. They pulled the blindfold off him, opened the doors, and he heard a gasp from nearby, a choked cry — Hestia, he’d recognize her voice anywhere. His name was called into the crowd by an escort who didn’t even pretend to read it off a slip of paper. “Slate Flint,” she announced, “will be our first tribute for the 134th Hunger Games.”

Token: Hestia gives it to him – it's a bracelet made out of string that her brother made her and she keeps it safe in a box at home

3 weaknesses & strengths

+: independent, sticks up for himself, resourceful

-: quick to anger, gets lost in his emotions, rash

PENNED BY: VIRGINIA

[the-shy-artisan]

There’s been another noodle sighting 🐍🍝

[beyondtheroll]

((tag drop 2

[steveyockey]

In the absence of a clear and obvious angle to attack Bushnell’s protest, most likely due to his status as a serviceman that would make outright insulting him or suppressing the news itself scandalous, discussions on Western shores have now taken on the familiar framing of mental illness. In Time Magazine’s write-up of Bushnell’s death, the article finishes with a link to the suicide hotline, and asks readers to contact mental health providers if they are experiencing a “crisis.” Mark Joseph Stern, a writer at Slate, seemingly unasked, also wrote on Twitter/X:

“I strongly oppose valorizing any form of suicide as a noble, principled, or legitimate form of political protest. People suffering mental illness deserve empathy and respect, but it is wildly irresponsible to praise them for using a political justification to take their own life.”

Conviction does not exist to the American. To be willing to die in a selfless act for what they believe in only exists for those outside America's sphere of influence. Many will recall reporting on those who self-immolated in protest in Iran and in Russia for instance where this sort of approach, unwilling to engage with the root of its cause, would not even be entertained, let alone written and published with sincerity. The Arab Spring began with a self-immolation. The self-immolation of Buddhist monks in protest of South Vietnam’s persecution became defining images of the war and its corruption. Within America’s walls however, there is a belief, unspoken and ingrained from birth, that democracy allows for everyone’s voices to be heard and that its representatives are inherently inclined to respond to the people and their widespread wishes.

Desperation at inaction or complicity in terror and atrocity need not apply. Everyone incensed by their government to such an extent must simply have something wrong with them. To be able to go about one’s day knowing that children are screaming from the hunger that is eating their insides and that pregnant women are eating bread made from animal feed, and that the United States is supporting Israel’s creation of this famine, is apparently the real sign of well-adjustment.

Seamus Malekafzali, “The Words Burned Through His Throat: The Sacrifice of Aaron Bushnell,” February 26, 2024.

[hugintheraven]

How Bethesda fixed Vampires without realizing it

So there's a LOT of takes on vampires across media, and most of them are radically different from each other. The Elder Scrolls series has an interesting version that I haven't seen anywhere else, that incidentally fixes a bunch of lore issues with vampires, and yet Bethesda hasn't ever really leaned into any of that.

So, the issue with vampires in large RPGs like Elder Scrolls games, D&D, etc, is that a world where various elements of character building are supposed to be balanced, vampires are heavy on the upside and light on meaningful drawbacks. So in Oblivion, Bethesda completely reworked their vampires, coming at it with a blank slate:

Vampirism is a 4-stage affliction, with each stage increasing the numerous benefits of being a vampire as well as the middling drawbacks. Stage 4 brings with it all humanoid NPCs recognizing you as a ravenous monster and attacking you, basically wrecking the game. And, this is the unique part, you reduce stages by drinking blood. Being a vampire is LESSENED by doing the most vampiric thing out there, it actively makes you weaker.

And this is great. From a gameplay perspective, you vanish below ground to kill zombies/robots/whatever, and you grow stronger as the dungeon goes on. But if you don't rush through it, or if it's large, you surface having ignored your hunger for several days and have to do a whole second quest to sneak into town at night and drink blood, where the only reward is to engage with the game again. It's a drawback in the gameplay sense rather than the stats sense. And it lets game designers throw the player against weak vampires in town early on, and face dungeons full of max-bloodlust monsters later once the player knows how things work.

Meanwhile, from a lore perspective this is also great. Suddenly, it's not that vampires have to be evil, it's that they have a choice. A good person who flees their family to hide in a cave is going to starve, turning into a ravenous, uncontrolled, extremely strong monster. Someone who's comfortable sneaking around town drinking blood, meanwhile? They never lose control. They walk in the sun. They're perfectly human. Or as human as anyone can be while the blood of their neighbors flows in their veins.

And Bethesda doesn't DO ANYTHING with this. People you talk to in-game just treat it as "all vampires are evil, why would you expect anything else", when they've created a world where vampire morality is so much more interesting. The few vampires who exist in civilization that you're not supposed to kill don't really discuss their condition at all. And there's plenty of evil vampires choosing to live in caves running societies of vampires, when that makes no sense compared to basically any other way of life they could set up.

Bethesda games are a masterful disaster, in this as in everything else.

[lucidloving]

All images: VIVINOS, Alien Stage // Rixa White // Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince // S.K. Osborn, "A Hunger Like No Other" // Sing Shong, Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint // Sylvia Plath, "Dialogue Between Ghost and Priest" // Park Byungdae, STUDIO LICO, Yongsu Choi, & Manju—Cure // Renée Vivien // Tina Tran, "Until I started choking on our memories" // Mary Ruefle, "The Cart" // Jenny Slate, Little Weirds // Pablo Neruda, 20 Love Sonnets and a Song of Despair // Hozier—Francesca // Richard Siken, "Saying Your Names"

[mygnolia]

LOVE ON A FRESH SLATE ༄ TEASER

༄ SYNOPSIS -› Sim Jaeyun might not have many critically acclaimed films in his IMBD, but if there’s something to change that, it’s his upcoming film, ‘diving in love,’ a fresh summer romance that’s caught the attention of everyone on the internet. The only problem is, no one believes the chemistry will be up to rom-com standards. Maybe he’ll save his career by fake dating his cold-hearted co-star, aka you, to sell it?

༄ PAIR -› actor!sim jaeyun x fem actress!reader

༄ GENRE -› fluff, banter, angst, comfort ༄ TROPES -› enemies to lovers, heavy on the fake dating (i LOVE fake dating) ༄ WC -› estimated 15-20k idk lolz

༄ INCLUDES -› will be added!

༄ RELEASE DATE -› november!

༄ REN SAYS... me when summer also haha get it slate cuz they're actors but also it's e2l so misunderstandings heheheh am i funny (im not) | LIBRARY

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“You’re going to tell me you signed me up for the cult of Scientology, I assume,” You introduce yourself, shaking hands with the man next to Sunoo. 

Once again, there is just one empty seat before Jake Sim walks in, out of breath. “Jungwon, please don’t tell me–” He notices you after he barges in, taking in your poised manner as you wait for him to continue. But he doesn’t. The words die on his tongue when he sees you and the same manager from last week's meeting. 

“Please don’t tell me what?” Jungwon asks, raising an eyebrow as Jake sinks into the only chair left. The latter shakes his head, not wanting to elaborate any further. 

Sunoo sits up, putting his hands together after he finishes the last sip of his drink. “Open up the files, ____.” He motions to the manila folder on the table, and with much confusion, you peel back the cover to find a neat stack of black and white articles. 

Jungwon, who you can only assume is Jake’s manager, gets Jake to lean in and read what’s on the pages. “This,” he starts, spreading out the rest of the articles, “is every article in the past week with a negative outlook on whether or not the film will be up to par with the standards of the 2000’s.”

You scoff, eyes trailing over an article with your face as the cover. “Really? People hate me that much?” Your dry humor really only resonates with Sunoo, who sends you a look before trying to organize the flurry of papers.

“I doubt they’ll keep going,” Jake tries, fidgeting with his ring. Maybe his second rich person problem was figuring out how to get the media to like him again if the movie turns into a failure and he has to scour for another source of income. 

“Unless I solve world hunger, I doubt the media will turn away from the wine scandal any time soon.” Jake considers dropping out and cutting his losses early with the way you comment on your impending future. 

Jake’s manager shakes his head, closing the manila folder and essentially blocking it out before coming up with the worst possible plan in existence. 

“You two can fake date. Then, no one will question your chemistry, because they’ll think you’re in love.” 

There were only so many things you refused to do in your lifetime, but fake dating your co-star made it to the top of your list in record time. 

You shook your head. “Absolutely not.” At least Jake could agree with one thing you said. 

The silence almost turns awkward before Sunoo speaks up in agreement, ignoring you. “I like it, it’ll give them a chance to pretend to bond more. Plus, they’re both young and attractive, and Jake is a change of pace from all of her shitty ex-boyfriends.” If Jake still wanted to jump off a building after hearing their proposition, you’d unknowingly want to join him. 

You cough in your arm, hiding the embarrassment of his last comment before nodding to look at the actor. “You think just because I’m dating someone, it’ll make the movie more watchable?” 

Sunoo rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather watch a rom-com if it was confirmed that the actors found love on set. It’s a good story.” 

Jungwon interjects. “Good publicity.” 

The actor beside you finally speaks up. “And you want to start this arrangement…when?” 

“As soon as possible,” your manager answers, and his response might be some of the worst news you’ve heard in a while. “Hear me out, ‘____ ____ and Jake Sim falling in love the moment they’re casted. It’s fate. They’ve been in love since the beginning. I have to see it, their chemistry will be so good.’ ”

Before you nor Jake are able to come up with a rebuttal, Jungwon adds, “I know both of you can act, and even despite this fake relationship, the movie will be good. But if you can get away from the negative thoughts surrounding the film’s pre-release, it’ll generate so much more hype around it.” 

“Better for your conscience, ____. You don’t need angry Sunghoon fans sending you anymore death threats.” If Sunoo kept airing out your problems like that, you’d drag him out by the ear without any fake boyfriend in tow.

You really think about it, questioning if one PR stunt could get you out of the nepo baby ditch you’ve been trying to fight for years; it wasn’t even that you were bad at your job, your mother just never had anything nice to say to anyone. If anything, she was Hollywood’s actual mean girl.

“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly. 

Jake on the other hand has no idea what he’s getting out of this. How does fake-dating a girl he’s never liked help his reputation at all?

Maybe it’s because he couldn’t find an answer to it, or maybe Jake was comfortable enough asking something so brash in public. “What the hell do I get out of it?” 

You lean back in surprise, not used to hearing him so flustered by something. It was all your fault, Jake thinks as he once again pulls at his hair. 

The room is silent as everyone’s gears turn. Jake puts his hands on both sides of the armchair, about to get up and pretend this failure of a ruse ever existed. “If there’s nothing, I’m-”

“Wait,” you cut him off, eyes still fixed on something as you think. It’s good for you, and mainly you. Jake has a good reputation, people love natural chemistry and love a cute couple even more, and your name would be in summer-y titles for the next two months if your scheme worked out. But him? 

What could Jake Sim possibly want? 

“You want money? Connections? An interview with Justin Beiber?” You try, spewing what every boy would want when they were 13. 

Somehow, his head perks up when he hears his favorite celebrity’s name from your lips. 

“You could do that?” He asks, bewildered. 

“I thought you hated me for having a famous mom.” He stays silent. 

“Look, you’re up and coming. If this movie does well, I’ll send a letter to the top producers in the industry and tell them about how stunning of a performance you gave.” 

It’s a deal that’s extremely hard to pass on–hell, he’s literally getting paid to act in the movie anyways, so it’s not like he loses much if he says yes. But you’re snarky, and although you’re not outright rude, you never seem to be excited for anything, and Jake has no idea why the mood is so sour when he’s with you.

Whatever, it’s not like it’s real, anyways.  

Jake shrugs and pinches his nose bridge momentarily before sighing. “Where do I sign?” 

You thought that Jake had been oblivious to the whole thing as much as you were, but it seems like he knew about a hidden contract. Jungwon fishes out a crisp white sheet of paper from his bag. “You know me so well, and I didn’t even tell you anything,” and his response has you thinking that maybe the actor just knows his manager well. 

Suddenly, the next year of your love life is signed and tucked away into two identical copies for Jungwon and Sunoo, before the two shake hands and smile. “I’m excited for how things will go,” your manager comments before you two leave. 

The moment the door shuts behind you, you let out a long exhale, suddenly finding interest in your manicure. 

“You’re annoying, Sunoo. But I don’t doubt you.” 

The boy smiles and links arms with you, walking to the entrance of the studio building before you both catch wind of the paparazzi. 

A swarm of reporters and cameras catch your casual outfit and sunglasses when you emerge with your manager behind you. Questions bombard you, and you hear amongst the commotion a few reporters who are desperate for their next article to feature you. ‘Is it true that you’ve hated Sunghoon for years?’ ‘What do you have to say about your new film?’ ‘Do you have anything to say about Jake Sim?’ 

You pause momentarily on the way to your car, reconsidering if you should answer any question. “Me and Sunghoon have never had a disagreement, and I know he appreciated the Prada we sent him a few weeks ago.” Smiling at the memory, you choose to answer a few more questions before you have to go. “As for the new film? I’m fairly excited. Me and my boyfriend are more than ready to be filmed together." 

The gasps from the crowd leave you content as you slip into your car with Sunoo. “But don’t tell anyone I’m dating!” You yell out for good measure, knowing that by morning, everything will have changed.

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[starrydragoness]

Saw some fanart on Twitter that got my wheels turning. Tacet marks that glow during intercourse. With Jiyan. That's it. Just imagining a completely dark room with the only source of light being your two tacet marks. I'd probably have giggled a bit, if it was real…

A/n: listen.. it is hot.. it is what it is- goofy but hot. Hope you enjoy this little drabble <3

Contents: NSFW, MDNI, Jiyan x AFAB! Reader

Calloused hands grasp onto every inch of skin they can reach, the fine sheen of sweat making their grasp not as sure. Jiyan’s pants, golden eyes became an olive green in the dark night from when he mounted you. The tacet mark in the middle of your torso, right below your collarbone, has become his focus throughout the exchange of dirty words and even filthier touches. He noticed the way it slowly began to glow, a dim light at first but the more he touched you, the stronger the glow became. It didn't surpass the soft glow, and wouldn't get any stronger, but the sight alone came as proof that this was pleasing you as well.

You laid so beautifully under him with your arms at your sides, whining and producing such sweet sounds that were a song to his ears. Groaning, he leaned down, immediately feeling your arms come to rest around his shoulders. His lips ghosted your tacet mark, nipping at it before climbing further up where they found your kiss-bruised lips, drowning your moans while his cock plunged into your heat again. His pace had slowed down, clearly frustrating you and making you all the needier, your hips bucking up against him, silently begging for him to properly fuck you. 

“Jiyan-” you gasp between the presses of his lips, half lidded eyes full of lust staring back at you, watching you swallow the lump in your throat and writhe under him. 

“What is it, my love?” Raspy voice graces your ears and sends a shiver down your spine. His nose is brushing against yours, and before you can force a plea from your throat, you see him lean in again to press his forehead against yours, the movement followed by another thrust of his hips.

Every thrust seems to erase the thoughts from your mind, leaving you a blank slate. 

“Mmh- please.. harder..We’ve waited long enough” you breathe out, warm breath fanning against his skin, lips only a breath away. Hunger raged within the depths of your belly, screaming for more even as you bucked your hips against his, making him groan. With brows knit together in an expression that only translated want and need and failed concentration, he looked beyond divine. In all his disheveled state you could only marvel at the way he looked, feeling giddy yet filthy all the same. 

Jiyan bit the inside of his lips, his eyes falling shut as he dipped his head into your neck where you felt him kiss away at your skin as his hips finally sped up, matching both of your needs, lighting your skin ablaze.

Grasping and clutching for purchase, your chin found the bend of his shoulder, your arms circled around him in a tight, passionate embrace. Jiyan knew just the best ways to carve out your insides without seemingly even trying.

Cracking one eye open, you caught sight of the dim light coming from his back. A wanton moan escaped your lips as his cock brushed against your soft insides, walls fluttering around his thick length. Your fingers danced up across his sweaty skin, coming in contact with the glowing tacet mark and you felt him shiver under your touch. Choked breaths confined themselves in your throat, the tension building in your belly as his hips slammed into you, wet squelches echoing in the room and the light night breeze from the window only added to the erotic atmosphere as it licked up your sides.

“Mm! Jiyan!” you mewled as he held you close, one arm bent underneath you to bind you to him, while the other rested him on the elbow. He grunted into your ear and then let out a shaky moan, and you could swear you heard no sound more heavenly than his sounds of pleasure. 

“That’s it-” Muttered Jiyan, his lips ghosting your earlobe before he caught it gently between his teeth, and in response you dug your fingernails into his back, his tacet mark not being shown any mercy. His hips stutter but he doesn’t stop, the mellow pain sends him to crave more, makes him chase the pleasure with fervor and desperation put in every thrust until he has you shaking underneath him and crying out from the pleasure, his weight comfortably holding you down as he keeps drilling his cock into you. 

Ⓒ starrydragoness. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[conceptionsofconciousness]

The Nakshatra Colors

In Astrology, every Nakshatra has a color which it is associated with. The color of the Nakshatra works in two primary ways. Internally and externally. This article piece focused on the Internal.

On an internal level, the color of the Nakshatra has a psychological effect. According to color theory every hue, shade, and tone affects the spirit and consciousness. Every Nakshatra color internally takes on the psychological traits of color, integrating into the consciousness and personality.

The colors of Nakshatras internally are best applied to the Nakshatra placement of the Sun, Moon, Rahu, and Ketu. This is because all 4 of these planets relate directly to the internal consciousness.

The Traits of a Nakshatra Color brings the following traits into the inner self or personality:

Ashwini - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Bharani - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Krittika - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Rohini - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Mrigashira - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Ardra - Green

Going Motion Equilibrium Balance Harmony Health Wellness Nutrition Vitamins Fitness Growth Fertility Prosperity Progress Wealth Freshness Renewal Stress Relief Relaxation, Nature Inexperienced Envy Greed Jealously

Punarvasu - Lead Grey

Intelligence Wisdom Dignity Experience Neutrality Balance Impartiality Clear Thoughts Compromising Faith Truthful Formal Modern Future Advancing Technology Protective Private Reserved Blending in Loner Isolated Background Existence

Pushya - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Ashlesha - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror

Survival

Magha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Purva Phalguni - Light Brown/Tan

Natural Organic Warmth Comforting Cozy Calm Relaxed Logical Analytical Creative Artistic Security Luxury Elegance Conservative Dull

Uttara Phalguni - Bright Blue

Optimism Enthusiasm Bright Alert Peace Clam Tranquility Relaxed Meditative Zen Recharging Intelligence Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Honesty Attractive Connection Helper Assister Rational Capable Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Loyalty Social Cold Sad Down

Hasta - Dark Green

Bold Controlled Steadfast Conservative Edgy Fertility Drive Desire Money Materialism Hunger Indulgence Moody Oversaturated Overwhelming Flooded Overloaded Gluttony Excess Resentment Spite

Chitra - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Swati - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Vishakha - Gold

Optimism Positivity Charisma Passion Wisdom Understanding Enlightenment Success Knowledge Wisdom Great Understanding Triumph Achievement Reputation Wealth Quality Giving Compassionate Loving Selfishness Over-complexity

Anuradha - Reddish Brown/Maroon

Warmth Beauty Primal Emotional Passion Power Strength Determination Confidence Courage Spirited Depth Ambition Force Risk Creative Wise Spiritual Impulsive Anger

Jyestha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Mula - Bright Yellow

Happiness Positivity Cheerfulness Inspiring Illuminating Optimism Hope Promising Striking Insightful Wise Humerus Vibrant Stimulated Engaged Overpowering Intense Excessive Warning Caution Deceit Restless

Purva Ashadha - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Uttara Ashadha - Copper

Down to Earth Warm Homely Wealth Comforting Impassioned Lively Energetic Strong Determined Supportive Genuine Classy Successful Accomplished Egotistical Cheeky Envy Hypocrisy Cynicism

Shravana - Light Blue

Feminine Welcoming Soft Comfortable Safe Calm Gentle Ethereal Peaceful Tranquil Soothing Refined Cultivated Stylish Approachable Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Superficial Delicate Frail Cold Sad Down

Dhanishta - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Shatabhisha - Cyan/Aqua

Rational Liveliness Nature Healing Therapy Restoring Correcting Mending Remediation Stability Tranquility Clarity of Mind Emotional Balance Serenity Creativity Spirituality Dreams Fantasy Trances

Purva Bhadrapada - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Uttara Bhadrapada - Purple

Power Wisdom Inspiration Creativity Imagination Fantasy Spiritual Devout Philosophical Future Minded Resourceful Selfless Humility Wealthy Luxury Nobility Extravagance Impractical Immature Arrogance Cynicism Melancholy

Revati - Brown

Sensual Sensitive Warm Comfortable Stability Reliable Secure Steadfast Natural Wholesome Dependable Structured Homely Sincere Reassuring Genuine Practical Supportive Dull Mundane Boring Predictable Inexpensive

[fanaticsnail]

Ravenous

Masterlist Here

(Image Source)

Synopsis: Luffy is hungry, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He doesn’t care where it happens, how it happens, or what exactly happens - all he cares about is the who and when. The who is you, and the when is right now and until his hunger is fully satisfied.

Warnings: Luffy x afab!reader, established relationship, no gendered terms used, NSFW, smut, overstim, Luffy is hungry, Luffy is eating, Luffy is persuasive, Luffy is dominant - do not read if you are not fond of Luffy in this way, afab!reader, without plot, no penetration, oral afab!reader receiving, MDNI it's not meant for you.

Notes: This is a gift for my moot-wife, @sordidmusings. In light of the post directly below this one, this is without much plot at all.

Tag List: @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail @since-im-already-here sssssssorry...

Fingers absentmindedly sought out the scalp of your captain, his head reclining in your lap, his straw-hat lying beside you both while enjoying the mild heat of the afternoon. You hummed a small melody, joining your other hand in his dark curls and tugging lightly on a few key locks. You soothed his skin, fingers circling down and massaging the scruff of his neck and behind his ears. 

As you both sat on the top deck of The Sunny, enjoying the cries of gulls and crashing waves against the wooden hull, you felt the creak of wooden slates dipping slowly as Luffy turned in your lap. Placing his hands on the floor, his knees rising beneath him to hoist his body up: he slowly stalked towards you. Before you even turned your head to acknowledge this change in demeanor, you knew the sight that was awaiting you. When he prowled that slowly toward you, he was a beast consumed with a lust that was truly insatiable. 

He was ravenous.

There was nothing you could do about him when he got in this mood but take what you were given, with a smile on your face and a hot flush swelling in your cheeks. You elected not to look at him, angling your face away as he prowled on all fours towards you across the wooden planks lining the floor beneath you.

“Luffy,” you shot him in a warning tone, “We’re on the deck.” You heard a soft humming melody from the kitchen, along with a small stream of cigarette smoke wafting from the kitchen bay window. A clack of bolts and powders shifted from a metal cylinder into a glass orb, Usopp’s latest craft being siphoned into a bolt.

“Don’t care,” he growled in a feral growl, his hot breath tickling at your shoulder as his grabby hands pulled at the hemline of your shirt, “‘M hungry.” A clatter of a porcelain teacup meeting its dish had your attention splitting over to the tangerine grove aboard the ship, a wisp of Robin’s ebony hair blowing in the gentle breeze and reflecting the risen sun. 

“Luffy,” you again uttered, shifting your body away from his and scuttling over to the mast, “Someone will see.” A small coughed grunt littered the air, a rumbly snore following as Zoro rolled onto his side: blissfully and soundly slumbering while basking in the sun. 

“Hungry,” he repeated, his arms surrounding your shoulders and caging you against the base of the crowsnest. You squeaked as his lips connected to the exposed point of your neck. A trail of desperate nips, licks, and bites littered your collar, pulse and jaw. 

“Luffy,” a breathy call of his name pricked his ears and encouraged him to continue peppering your body with insatiable kisses. “Luffy, somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please, Lu.”

“No, ‘please, Lu’,” he taunted, his lips curling into a taunting smile as he continued to consume your flesh, “Please, you. Need you. Please, please.” His mocking chant growled at you, “‘M so hungry.” The way his lips hummed against your throat, the way his eyelashes fluttered into your skin, every aspect of his insatiable touch shot sparks into your flesh and raised your follicles to stand alert in anticipation. 

When Luffy said he was “hungry,” like this, you knew it was never a hunger for food. Although his appetite for meat was vast, when he said “hungry,” in this tone, what he truly meant was: “hungry for you.” 

“Lower decks?” you breathily sighed at him, his lips curling in contact further against your skin, “Bedroom, bathroom, the map room, Lu,” you listed, inching away from him in a last ditch effort to halt his advance, “Anywhere, but here.” 

Luffy hissed out a dark chuckle into your neck, nuzzling the flesh with his nose and grinning into your throat. He pressed a chaste kiss against the center of your throat before rising to his feet, hoisting you into the air, and throwing you over his shoulder. 

“Knew ya’d see it my way,” Luffy chuckled, his palm meeting swiftly against your ass cheek in a crisp clap before pawing at the flesh below, “I’m gonna eat ‘ya until you’re all dopey in the head,” his chuckle grew darker, his voice lowering in that feral rumble you knew meant trouble. 

“You’re gonna sit back and take it until I say you’re done,” his tone turned serious the longer he walked below decks, kicking the door to crew quarters open with his heel, “Gonna’ have ‘ya regrettin’ stopping me and makin’ me wait.” 

As soon as the door clicked behind you, your clothes were flung from your body and piled in careless heaps on the floor. Your body was flung onto the mattress, Luffy’s arms hooking over your thighs and raking you down to the bed where his famished lips awaited you. 

He was ravenous.

Your left hand clapped over your lips, your eyes widening almost beyond their natural capacity, and pupils going black as your world came crashing down around you. Your toes curled, thighs shaking and caging Luffy’s head deep against your gushing pussy, writhing and squirming against his face as his tongue greedily lapped your glistening core. 

Luffy was a messy eater, a common feat he wore as a badge of honor each time he ate like this. If his face was not covered by your slickened arousal from the sheer number of times he had you whimpering and sobbing for him, he would not stop until it was. 

Lips, nose, tongue, chin and teeth were bobbing, weaving and slobbering over your throbbing cunt. Your stiff clit was prodded, sucked, nosed at, rubbed, and licked: Luffy’s saliva mixing with your slick juices and coating his face and your thighs with its sheen. As he paid attention to your quivering entrance, pistoning his moist muscle in and out with the precision you had seen showcased with his heavy punches in battle, he growled into your core. 

“L-Luffy p-please. No more, please,” you begged him, writhing and grinding against his head in an attempt to pull away. His arms caged you in, feeling the way your walls gripped and beckoned him in with its throbbing and squeezing. 

“Nuh-Uh,” his muffled voice taunted you, his lips open and mouth wide as he slurped and bobbed his head. Luffy’s eyes rolled back as another wave of your arousal snapped, an orgasm coaxed and ripped from your body with a particularly sloppy circle of his tongue over your aching bud. He continued rolling his tongue, repeating that movement as you screamed his name. 

He was ravenous.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping onto the curled locks and holding his face against your throbbing core as your hole clenched in an attempt to draw in further contact. It was hypnotizing Luffy with its rhythmic summoning, calling his name in a beckoning chant of fluttering walls as waves of release washed over your body. 

After fully riding through your high, your body fell limp in his arms. Each part of you felt empty of substance: your lungs, your mind, your pussy - everything numb and dumb of all thoughts as the hazy fog swelled throughout your afterglow. 

“One more, ‘kay? One more and I’m done,” Luffy panted, his eyes dark with his pupils black to cover his caramel orbs, “Just one more,” he kissed at your thigh, “I need one more from you. Just one more, and I’ll be all full.” You had no energy to move your lips, no air in your lungs to form words as you felt him maneuver your body up onto the bed further. He flipped you over, ass up and shoulders firm against the mattress as he dove in behind you. 

He slunk you down into the bed, hooking his arms around your ass beneath your thighs, as he rocked you against his face from behind. Laying his torso down onto the bed, his clothed cock made twitching contact against the mattress as he felt your walls flutter around him. He moaned into your pussy, thrusting his tongue into your entrance while using his chin to stimulate your clit. 

You couldn’t take much more, exhaustion hanging over you as no words strung into cohesive sentences. Babbling his name, mewling and keening for him, as he ate you from his position behind your body, had tears prick at the corners of your eyes and threaten to spill through another release. Your body responded almost against your will, your aching cunt rocking against his chin as his tongue fucked into you. 

Luffy’s ravenous appetite was insatiable, him eating at the sweetest nectar he had ever sampled while subconsciously rutting into the mattress at each drag of his tongue against your walls. You cried for him, shoulders shaking as you felt the tight swell within your stomach threaten to teeter over the edge again. Your brain fog had each moment seeming as if it were to be your last as Luffy spat and slobbered against you. 

His deep growls vibrated through your walls, his soft hum hitching as his knob ground beneath him. His precum beaded at the slit of his cock, his veins throbbing and velvetty shaft desperately thrashing and grinding against the mattress as he felt you near your release. You whimpered for him, hands gripping the fabric of the mattress and squeezing the material hard enough for it to fray. 

“L-Luffy I-I-... ngmm-a-ahhh-... I-I’m g-g-,” you couldn’t make it through your sentence, lightning striking within your stomach as you ground against his face. Your toes curled and legs shook with every radiant shock sourced from your clit to your spine, stomach, eyelashes and down your legs. You gushed in his face, mixing your arousal with his saliva connecting to his tongue in hot strings. 

Moaning into your fluttering walls, Luffy’s cock wept through his shorts as hot ropes of sticky cum shot through his throbbing slit. His eyes rolled back at the taste of your cunt, propelling a long and encumbering orgasm to shudder through his own body. He ground his understimulated cock against the bed, shifting and stuttering through his orgasm as he held onto the flesh of your ass more. 

As you both rode through your bliss, Luffy licked another stripe along your overstimulated walls, a flutter from your entrance enticed him to kitten-lick another small kiss against your bud. Flipping you onto your back, he was mesmerized by your flushed cheeks and puffed lips, bruised by the amount of times you stifled your more violent cries within your mouth. 

“O-One more?” Luffy asked, kissing your thighs and nodding against your groin, “One more, okay? Just one. One more and I’m done.” His dark eyes glowed up at you, his face coated with the glistening sheen of your arousal smearing over his lips, nose, cheeks and chin. His greedy smile rose against his damp cheeks as your hands reached for his, lacing your fingers in between each of his digits. 

He couldn’t get enough. He loved you like this. His appetite sprung up once more, leaning down and beginning the slow and sensual roll of his tongue against your body: consuming more of your essence until he drank his fill and stifled his hunger.  He was ravenous.

[blingblong55]

Sacred Sin- Simon Riley and John Price NSFW

---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, priest!au, priest!Ghost, priest!Price, sinner!reader, hierophilia, threesome, oral!sex, unprotected!sex, P-in-V ----

A/N: a preview of how hot kinktober could be ;)

The heavy oak door of the confessional creaks as you push it open, stepping into the dimly lit, narrow booth. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the weight of your sins dragging every footstep like chains tethered to your ankles. A thick veil of incense hangs in the air, mixing with the faint scent of polished wood and stone, wrapping you in an oppressive warmth. 

You sit, your hands trembling in your lap, staring at the thin lattice screen that separates you from Father Price on the other side. His voice––deep, gravelly, commanding––pierces through the silence, stirring something primal within you. "What brings you here, child?" His words echo, each syllable dripping with both judgment and expectation. 

You hesitate. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them pure, none of them righteous. You've been here before, seeking redemption, hoping that maybe one more confession will wipe your slate clean. But it never does. You keep coming back, drawn to the church and them–– Father Price and Father Riley–– like a moth to a flame. The desire to repent was always overshadowed by a deeper, darker hunger you couldn't quite put into words. 

The screen casts a shadow over his face, leaving just a glimpse of his stern eyes,k watching. Waiting. You know Simon is somewhere nearby, always looming, always watching. His presence lingers in the back of your mind–– silent, unyielding, like the cross he bears across his broad back.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The words spill from your lips, as familiar as a prayer. Your throat tightens, heat rising to your cheeks as your thoughts betray you, lingering on their hands––rough, capable, strong, fuck this is so wrong. You've never seen Simon's face fully, but you imagined it—many times. 

John shifts in his seat, the rustling of fabric against wood unnerving you. You wonder if he can hear the unspoken guilt in your voice, the way your body betrays you just by being near them. His gaze feels like a weight, pressing down on your chest, making breathing harder. 

"How long has it been since your last confession?" Father Price's tone is sharp, almost scolding, but underneath it, there's something else––a tension, a strain you can't ignore. You wonder if it's you that brings it out of him. You hope it is. 

You feel Simon's eyes on you now, too. Even though you can't see him, his presence wraps around you, invisible yet undeniable, like the judgment of the heavens themselves. You've always been weaker when they're together, their combined power enough to make you feel vulnerable, exposed..and horny. And you hate it. You love it. 

The silence stretches, thick like the incense clouding the air, and you feel their eyes on you––two pairs of eyes hidden by cloth and shadow, yet searing into your skin. Your fingers fidget in your lap, brushing against the rosary hanging from your wrist, its cold beads a stark contrast to the warmth pooling in your core.

Father Price speaks again, his voice laced with something darker, heavier than before. "Do you understand the weight of your sins, Y/N? Each one is like a stain upon your soul. To truly repent..." He pauses, letting the silence gnaw at you. You hear a shift behind the screen, the rustle of his cassock, and then, almost like a whisper, "It'll take more than words." 

You swallow hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze even without seeing it. You've never felt guilt and desire mix like this before––never felt your body betray you so completely in the face of righteousness. There's a tightness in your chest, a pull as if every fibre of your being yearns for something forbidden. 

"Are you willing to be cleansed?" His voice is deeper now, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod before you can stop yourself, your breath hitching, because you know what he means. This was never just about confession. 

Father Riley steps forward, his presence is undeniable as he emerges from the shadows. You didn't even realise he'd entered the room, but now his towering figure looms over you, silent and foreboding. His black cassock brushes against your legs as he stands there, hands clasped in front of him, his fingers curled around the rosary beads. His face remains unreadable, but there's an unspoken understanding between them––an unholy partnership bound by something far more sinful than you've ever imagined. 

"On your knees," Father Price orders, his voice a command that cuts through the stillness like a blade. The rosary clinks against wood as you lower yourself, your heart pounding in your throat. You feel the weight of your sin pressing down on you, but there's another weight too––your desire, twisting inside you, feeding on the tension. 

You kneel before them, hands clasped as if in prayer, though it feels anything but holy. Sweet sinner. Father Riley steps closer, his hand reaching out, tracing the line of your jaw with a single, calloused finger. There's something cruel in his touch, yet it ignites a fire within you, one that burns hotter with every second. 

From the corner of your eye, you see the glint of holy water in Father Price's hand. The bottle is small and delicate, but in his grip, it looks dangerous––like a weapon. He steps forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and tips the bottle just slightly, letting a few droplets fall onto your forehead. The water is cold against your skin, but the heat inside you only grows stronger. 

"Holy water to cleanse the impure," Father Price murmurs, his fingers brushing over the wet trail left behind, trailing it down, down until they hover just above the swell of your chest. You hold your breath, your body strung tight like a bow. "But your penance..." He pauses, looking to Simon, who remains unmoving, his dark eyes fixed on you, "...will take more." Father Riley's hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back ever so slightly, exposing the curve of your neck to them both. The rosary in his other hand swings lightly, the black beads clicking together in rhythm with your heartbeat. His breath is warm against your ear when he speaks, low and commanding. "Sins can only absolved through punishment." 

There's a moment––a fleeting second where you can feel the tension shift, a balance tipping into something far more dangerous, far more sinful. The two men of the cloth stand over you, their eyes dark with a desire they refuse to name but it's there. You can feel it. You know they're holding back, barely. 

Father Price circles you slowly, his hand brushing along the curve of your shoulder, down the length of your arm, until his fingers catch the edge of your sleeve. "This flesh is weak," he murmurs, and there's a darkness to his words that sends a thrill down your spine. His hand lifts, holding the rosary before you, the crucifix dangling just inches from your lips. "Kiss it."

You hesitate, not out of reluctance, but from the sheer weight of the moment. The tension between the three of you is palpable, a forbidden current of electricity humming through the air. You part your lips, leaning forward, brushing a reverent kiss against the cold metal. The act feels twisted and wrong, but there's no denying the rush that comes with it–the way it sets your blood aflame, the way it makes you want them both even more. 

Father Price steps back, his eyes locked on yours, a silent promise of what's to come. Father Riley's grip tightens in your hair, pulling your head back further until you're staring up at him, exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. "Your punishment begins now." Father Riley's voice is a low growl, and you know there's no going back. The air is thick with unspoken desire, with the weight of sin and salvation. You are at their mercy, and though your body trembles with fear, it's laced with a dark thrill you can't deny. 

Father Price with a knife, soaked in holy water, cuts your shirt, revealing your sweet breasts. The holy men look at each other and smirk. Father Riley helps you up and guides you over to the altar. "Prayers are better when said to God on the altar," Father Riley says as his voice becomes deeper, his rosary touching your skin. Your head is pulled back, andFather Price holds the consecrated Host between his fingers, his eyes locking onto yours as he leans closer. "This is His body," he murmurs, voice low and commanding. Slowly, deliberately, he presses the Host against your trembling lips. "Take it and be cleansed." You open your mouth, and the wafer rests on your tongue, the taste of it bitter with the weight of your sins. 

"You'll repent here," Father Price murmurs, the promise of what's to come heavy in his words, "with both of us watching." 

Both men get you on your knees and hands. Behind you, Simon's hands skim over your body, slow, deliberate, as though he's marking you again. His fingers trace down your spine, over your hips, a slow burn that leaves you breathless. Every touch is filled with unspoken intent–one that promises anything but mercy. Price moves in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, hot breath fanning your skin. "This altar is sacred," he growls, "but tonight, it will witness something far more sinful."

"You'll find your absolution here," Price murmurs, his voice thick with authority. His hand trails down your cheek, his touch almost gentle despite the darkness behind his gaze. It's an unholy communion. 

Father Riley lifts your skirt, pushing your panties aside. Holy water coats his fingers, "God forgive me, I'm only helping the sinner," he murmurs and his fingers slowly tease your folds. It feels satanic the way he touches you, the way he breaks celibacy for you. Father Price kisses his fingers and lets his cock peak past his holy clothes. Father Price's grip tightens around the back of your neck, firm and unyielding as he pulls you closer. His eyes are dark with something unholy, his thumb brushing slowly over your lips, teasing, testing your submission. "Open," he growls, his voice rough, filled with the weight of control. You hesitate for only a second before parting your lips, your breath catching as you feel the heat of his skin so close to yours. 

Father Riley holds onto your waist. His fingers flick over your sensitive bud. Father Price has his fingers lubricated with your saliva slipped from your sweet lips to his cock. You take him into your mouth and for a second, all you could think about was how holy this tastes. 

"How many fingers can this pretty hole take?" Father Riley says as he pushes another finger into you. One hand worked on his throbbing cock while the other teased your soaked hole. "Such a good little sinner," he praises as he pushes his cock deep into you. He adds another finger into your hole. 

Your moans are muffled and that makes them smirk. Father Riles pulls onto your hair, the force of the tug makes you gag, which makes Father Price pleased. "How does that feel?" he asked, his voice smooth and full of lust. He started pumping in and out, stretching you in a way that made you whimper around his cock. 

"Such a little slut," Father Riley mutters and his hips started to move in sync with Simons. His cock pushed deeper into your throat, making you gag more, but also making your pussy clench around Simon's cock. What a fucking sin this is. "You love this don't you?" Simon grinned, his eyes glinting with the promise of more pain and pleasure, "Beg for it" he commanded, his fingers curling inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. 

The combination of both sensations was too much to bear, your body trembling, your eyes tearing up, and your voice hoarse from the cock in your mouth you managed to mumble, "Pleaaase... more..." 

"we'll give you more, little sinner," Price growled, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his cock swelling in your mouth. Simon's fingers curled deeper, his thumb rubbing against your clit. The sensations became too much to bear. Your body rocked between them, your throat constructing around Price's cock, your pussy clenching around Simon's cock. You couldn't hold back any longer, your body trembled each time they pounded themselves deeper into you. "What a dirty sinner, begging for our holy cocks to cleanse your filthy body." Father Price grunts the closer he gets. 

"Open up for your priest, my child." Father Riley says as he runs his rosary through your back. Your hole stretched around him with a pop, as he started to push inside of you. Father Price pulls back from your throat, leaving you gasping for air. He then rammed his cock back in, throat fucking you with renewed vigour. The contrast between the two cocks, one in your mouth and one in your pussy, was overwhelming. 

Simon started to thrust in earnest his hips slapping against your ass, while Price's cock filled your sweet throat, and you were caught between the two priests, being fucked in a way that would make even the most devout sinner lose their faith. Your body was on fire, the sensations building to a crescendo. You could feel your orgasm approaching, close enough to touch. You begged for more. 

They continued to pound into you, their cocks filling you. Stretching you, taking you to places never thought you'd go. The room echoed with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, the smell of sex, sweat and musk filling the air. And just like that, the dam broke, and you came hard, your body convulsing around the cocks that had claimed you. The pleasure was so intense, that you couldn't even scream, your voice lost in ecstasy. Their cum covered your body, sealing the deal with the devil. 

The room is quiet now, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. Your body trembles in the aftermath, the weight of what's just transpired pressing heavily upon your mind. The sacred space, one solemn and austere, feels tainted–like every inch of it has been made by the sin you've just committed. You should feel shame, and yet, all you can think about is the way their hands felt on you. 

Father stand over you, his chest rising and falling slowly. His gaze is sharp as if he’s weighing you down with it. He doesn’t speak, not at first, just watches, allowing the silence to smother you. When he does finally speak, his voice is quiet, but it carries the same command that made uni in the first place. “you’ve defiled the sacred space, Y/N.” His words sliced through the air, and though his tone is harsh, there’s no denying the warmth pulling into your belly. The power he holds over you is intoxicating. “There’s only one way to cleanse yourself now.”

Father Riley approaches, the beads of his rosary still swinging slightly, a haunting reminder of what just transpired. You can feel the strength in his touch, not gentle, but not harsh either– just enough to keep you in line, to remind you of your place.

John steps forward, his fingers lifting your chin so your eyes meet his. “You’ll pray for forgiveness, right here,” he orders, his thumb brushing over your lips, a small gesture that feels far too intimate for the weight of the sin hanging between you. He moves closer, his breath hot against your ear, “and we’ll make sure you’re clean.”

Simon pours the holy water slowly, methodically, letting it drip down your skin like a baptism, but this is no ordinary ritual. Each drop feels charged, sanctified and profane all at once. You close your eyes as the cool water trails down your body, washing over the marks they’ve left on you– reminders of everything you’ve done, of everything they’ve made you feel. 

“Say the words,” Father Price demands, his voice a low growl, sending shivers down your spine. “Repent. Beg for His mercy.”

Your lips tremble as you begin, your voice soft at first, each word of the prayer spilling from you, but the weight of it all makes your words falter. The rosary beads are pressed into your hands, the rough texture digging into your palms as you clutch them, seeking some kind of absolution. 

Simon’s fingers trail down your spine, slow, deliberate, as if he’s mapping every inch of your body, marking you again. The sensation is sinful, but you can’t resist. His touch, the cool water, the heat from John's gaze–it’s overwhelming. “You’re still soiled,” Simon murmurs, his voice a low rumble, barely audible, but you hear it like a command. “ will make you pure again.”

Their hands cleanse you, not with tenderness, but with precision, as though each touch is part of a ritual– something darker than what the church intended, but no less powerful. Simon’s finger slipped through your hair, pulling it back as the water poured over you again, slow and steady, like a benediction.

“bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” you whisper, the prayer breaking into nothing more than a breathless plea as they both stand over you. John's eyes burn into yours, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips again as if testing you.

“You’re forgiven,” he murmurs, the weight of his words wrapping around you like the chains of your sins. But you know, deep down, that the absolution they offer isn’t holy. It’s twisted, dark, and yet… you crave it. And as you kneel before them, soaked in holy water, bound by their unspoken promises, you realise–repentance was never really the goal. 

A/N: so...are we liking this new thing i'm trying?

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @saoirse06 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[if-i-look-straight-look-again]

The thing about Snow in TBOSAS is that he presents himself as a blank slate. Now, we, as the readers, know what he’s thinking, because we’re inside his head—up to a point, of course—, and a lot of us forget that everyone else isn’t.

We know what his first reactions are, we know what his true feelings and thoughts are, and we know the real logic behind his actions. But the people in universe don’t, because he never voices them.

He’s very careful in choosing his wording and the things he says, and he rarely ever speaks his mind, which is why it’s so easy for people to project onto him. While Tigris and Lucy Gray do it as well, up to a point, Sejanus and Dr. Gaul are the clearest examples of this.

Dr. Gaul sees what she wants to see in Snow—a successor, someone who understands and shares her vision, someone to take up the mantle and continue developing the Hunger Games she had in mind. Meanwhile, he thinks she’s crazy half the time, and then ends up doing his own thing with the Games; although they remain a clear ode to violence and the capacity for it.

And Sejanus—dearest, darling, dead—saw what he was missing most; kinship. Someone he could feel close with, someone who shared his hatred and repulsion of the Hunger Games—and while Snow doesn’t rejoice in it, he doesn’t oppose violence—. Personally, I interpret Sejanus as having romantic feelings for Snow, but my point stands whether you interpret him as viewing them as brothers. Snow never once agreed with him, not really, but Sejanus sees what he wants to see, and his need to trust and confide in someone—his father won’t hear him on it anymore—blinds him to the truth.

Very few people see Snow as he is—Casca Highbottom, and Lucy Gray at the very end—until it’s too late, because he intentionally presents himself as ambivalently as possible, and that leads people to project what they want him to be onto him.

[ninibeingdelulu]

How he kiss you ft. levi ackerman

When he’s happy/content :

For the normally severe and closed-off Levi, expressions of pure, unbridled tenderness are few and far between.

So when those rare, unguarded moments arise where genuine warmth ghosts across his features, you can expect his kisses to match that soft vulnerability.

He'll initiate them slow and sweet, cradling the back of your head with featherlight reverence as slate strands of inky fringe brush your flushed cheeks.

Levi's firm mouth melts into a lingering caress, each plush sweep cataclysmically gentle like trying to imprint your very essence into his soul.

His free hand maps up the dip of your spine in a scorching brand, fingertips searing through thin fabric as he coaxes your bodies flush.

Levi's kiss deepens into a drugging exploration, savoring every breath and hushed mewl spilling from your conjoined forms.

Each openmouthed sip of your lips oozes with visceral reverence - he cherishes and covets you with the same impassioned ferocity he gives everything worthwhile in this cruel world.

By the time Levi finally breaks away, his gunmetal irises glimmer like molten silver, pupils hazed and swallowing you whole in their infinite depths.

When he’s angry/frustrated :

When Levi's ire reaches its infamous boiling point, you can expect his mouth to convey the same scorching intensity smoldering behind that piercing glare.

He yanks you forward with punishing force, bunching fists in the front of your shirt until your chests collide in a stinging impact.

The initial crash of Levi's lips carries a searing bite, teeth clashing as he snarls hot and unchecked into your trembling mouth.

There's no tenderness or romance to this ravaging embrace, only venting catharsis as he pillages your willing form.

Every caress of his questing tongue tastes of woody cedar smoke and black tea - his unique flavors mingling in a headier, more primal musk swirling between your interlocked frames.

Each time you attempt to match his furious pace, Levi growls in dominance and silently demands your full submission.

Only once his smoldering temper has been spent through a blistering whirlwind of plunging licks and nips does his grip finally loosen, tapering into several shuddering inhales through flared nostrils.

Gunmetal irises cool from raging hellfire into glassy, sated pools as his searing rage finally ebbs to a low simmer once more.

When he’s desperate/anguished:

Under the most dire of circumstances, when humanity's peril appears bleakest, a frantic mania sweeps over Levi's typically dispassionate steel - manifesting in a volatile desperation to connect with the solace only you can provide.

It's in these most distressed spasms of isolation that he seizes your mouth with absolutely zero preamble, instantly delving past plush barricades with voracious hunger.

Levi's quaking digits cup your cheeks in a vice grip, crushing his lips against yours with bruising pressure like trying to meld you into one eternal existence.

Plaintive keens rumble in his chest, reverberating into your intertwined forms as Levi tamps down every frenzied shred of restraint - violently plunging and devouring like parched for even a drop of your essences.

There's profound lashing need in each greedy swipe and inhale scattering your gasps across the static-charged air between trysts.

His battle-roughened hands scour your body, roaming up ribs and spanfall in aching desperation like charting every curve and hollow to swathe himself in you.

Only once Levi grows utterly lightheaded and staggering does his manic ardor lose any fever, wilting into several stunned snaps for air as his fringe hangs in inky disarray.

When he need comfort :

During those most vulnerable stretches when the horrific cost of their impossible fight wears Levi to haunted breaking, he craves the purifying balm of your affection to recenter his fractured spirit.

On these evenings, the Captain seeks you out silently - slate irises dimmed to liquid mercury as you immediately gather his compact form against yours in a shielding embrace.

Levi burrows into your protective circle with a hushed, rattling exhalation that seems to bleed out lingering shades of his inner anguish.

As you card soothing sweeps through his undercut, he tilts up towards you with unhurried grace - silvery lashes hooding to veil those usually piercing irises for once.

A skated whisper of his firm lips fleeting across your own serves as the tremulous catalyst before Levi leans in with profound intent.

His mouth melds to yours in a plush, indolent persuasion - feverish and potent yet profoundly fragile.

More a molten vow of surrender and pouring himself into your steady channel of light to be buoyed from drowning shadows.

Levi winds his arms around your torso in an anchor, plastering as much of his weary form to yours as humanly possible.

You can taste the notes of Earl Grey and bergamot saturating his every shuddering inhalation - each sweep of his velvety tongue reverent as monastery prayer against the holy seal of your enjoined frames.

The very air hangs suspended in beatific tranquility encapsulating you both, Levi silently drinking down every measure of your serene affirmations like a man perishing.

By the time he finally diffuses into a loose, simmered husk cradled against your chest, that gunmetal gaze has regained some starlit embers of its formidable gleam - bolstered from your ministering grace once more.

[bet-on-me-13]

Dp X Injustice AU's

So, we have seen the frankly insane about of Dp x Dc AU's that have been spawned over the years. But I never really see any Injustice AU's

And then I thought, which Dp x Dc AU would you actually use for an Injustice AU?

Let me give some examples:

Justice League Member Danny: Danny is a part of the Justice League by the time Superman goes insane. He decides to step in when Shazam is nearly killed by Superman, but gets hurt himself in the process and is thrown in jail. This causes some of Superman's supporters to doubt him, since Danny is just a 16 yr old kid and Clark nearly killed him.

Danny is sill a Solo Hero: Danny is still just a Solo Hero from Amity Park in this. When Superman takes over the world, he goes to Amity to try and recruit Phantom. Danny refuses, and they butt heads. Danny eventually promises that he will continue to just act as a small time Vigilante in return for not joining Batman's side. This changes years later, when Superman is responsible for the death of Jazz Fenton.

Danny is a "Villain": Danny is seen as a Villain because he is a Ghost. At least, that's what the outside world thinks, but the situation in Amity is different. Danny has been seen as a Hero for years now, it's just the rest of the world that doesn't want to accept that fact. So when Superman takes over the world, and tries to execute every Villain, he goes after Phantom. Only for the Entire Town to try and stop him.

@little-pondhead Everlasting Trio Villain AU: So, take Little Pondhead's Villain AU and put it in the Injustice Universe. Danny can be the insane megalomaniac Villain he always wanted to be and not feel guilty because this is a Dictatorship. (Although it does remind him of Dan before his parole). He just has fun, messing with Superman, building insane crazy inventions, messing with Superman, enacting fun Villain plots, messing with Superman, and of course messing with Superman. Meanwhile Superman is just having a horrible time because there is just this random Villain, doesn't even seem to have powers, and he Just. Can't. Catch Him! Batman is looking for Fenton to recruit, meanwhile Fenton is literally here to Not be a Hero. It gets even worse when he brings in his Friends and Ellie.

Danny is the Ghost King: Danny is the Ghost King by now, and Batman's side try to Summon Him to deal with Superman during the whole "Super Pills" event. He shows up just in time to save Green Arrow, but isn't trong enough to kill Superman. He himself gets extremely injured in the process and gets forcibly summoned back to the Ghost Zone to be healed. Now the entire Dimension is gearing up to attack the Living World as revenge for their King being so hurt.

Old Man Danny AU: My own AU. Danny is still an Old Man just living in Gotham when Superman takes over. At one of his rally's to try and garner support and stop the rebellions, Danny stands up in the middle of the crowd and calls him out on all his Bullshit. This causes the whole crowd to start yelling at Superman, which in turn causes Superman to have a Homelander Moment. He kills Danny, who just laughs as he falls to the floor, and causes a riot. What Superman doesn't know, is that Danny was slated to ascend to Godhood at the moment of his Death, so now he has a God of Death chasing him to fulfill his "need to be avenged" urges (its like hunger pangs for ghosts)

Danny as a Medium: Danny is a Traveling Ghost Speaker, like the guy you pay $5 to pretend to speak to your dead loved ones, but he can actually speak to them. Superman is patrolling the world, just making the rounds now that he had conquered the Earth, and comes across Danny's Tent. He stops by in curiosity and asks to speak to his dead Wife. Danny asks if he really wants to put himself through that, but Superman insists. So Danny, instead of just speaking for the Ghost like normal, actually Summons Lois Lanes Ghost to talk to Superman. They have a heartfelt conversation about how it wasn't his fault, and how he shouldn't blame himself, but eventually they get to the topic of Clark talking over the world. She isn't proud, but understands if this is what it takes for him to be happy. She leaves, and Superman is left finally second-guessing himself for the first time in years. Because it doesn't make him happy. (*ahem* Danny still wants to be payed, soooo......)