#and repentant for her family's mistakes

[theegyal]

FADED [ ANNIE X SMOKE] SINNERS (2025)

Here is the chapter 2 of Faded. I will surely make a repertory for those who want to follow the story. First of all Thank you for the likes and reblog. It means a lot ! I used to be a wattpad author, I lost my fire long time ago but Annie and Smoke lighted it back!

WARNING : Angst, Slow-burn, Betrayal, Yearning, Rated 18.

CHAPTER 2

Night fell down on Delta like a wool blanket.

The plantations lay quiet.

Families huddled up.

Drunkards stumbled toward the juke, chasin' corn liquor to warm what little fire they had left.

In that hush, you could hear the blues songs rise., Preacher Boy was at it again, strummin' that guita , blessing the crowd with his voice.

Annie prepared to leave her shelter. The dress she borrowed from Grace was definitely not the kind of fabrics she used to wear, but it was only for the night. It all she could afford, plus, showin' a little skin never made Magdala Mary a sinner. And tonight, she ain't here to repent.

Didn't take long 'fore she ran into a familiar silhouette under the porch light.

Didn't take long 'fore she ran into a familiar silhouette under the porch light.

"Stack."

"God forgive me for lustin' after my blood's lady. You lookin' damn fine, mama."

The creole lady rolled her eyes, totally aware of her childhood friend antics.

Any other girl might've dropped her drawers off that line.

Annie planted her hands on her hips, heel tappin' out a rhythm, waiting impatiently for him to explain his presence.

Without a care for the woman annoyance, Stack slid close toward her. He tugged at one of the sleeves sittin' lazy on her shoulder.

"Care to mistake one twin for another tonight?" he purred.

"Get lost, Jacob."

"Nope. Name's Elias. And I'd be mighty pleased to teach you how to spell it."

She laughed at his uncultured response. Jacob slept with his brother wife and stole his inheritance. It's biblical. And right now, Annie could rightfully misinterpret Stack's action — she could've. But she knew the black dandy too well.

"Anyway," she said, brushing past him, "I suppose your dear brother sent you to drive me?"

"Yes ma'am!"

She didn't look back, just raised her brow and headed for the truck.

"Well, shall we?"

The humidity clung to the skin, made the air feel close, breathless. And as the stars blinked their sleepy eyes open over the cotton fields and muddy roads, the juke joint began to hum.

Inside, the walls of the newly opened joint sweated moonshine and foreign breweries. The Twins had thrown money into every corner—old wood polished till it glowed, red lamps dripping like heat, and a makeshift stage tucked in the back, embraced Slim and Sammie. The smell of varnish fought for space with the scent of frying grease, molasses, and meat.

"They already started," she hissed. "Get your dirty hands off my hips, Stack."

"Damn. God forbid a man try to be polite," the younger twin muttered before disappearing upstairs.

Annie walked into the club, heading straight for the kitchen. She was there to work, not to dance, not to play—well, maybe not even to look for him.

But as her eyes made a slow sweep of the room, taking in every corner, her chest sank with quiet disappointment.

"Lookin' for someone?"

A warm breath touched her neck.

"S-Smoke?" she said, startled, stepping to the side without thinkin'. "What you talkin' about—I was lookin' for the kitchen."

"In the middle of the dance floor?" he asked, voice low, almost amused.

"Where is the damn kitchen, Smoke?"

"Straight on through," he said, blowing smoke from the corner of his lips. "Grace back there. You'll see her."

Annie arrived indeed, he thought. Without fanfares.She didn't need them. Her hips spoke louder than trumpets, and her scent—clove, smoked honey, and whatever god had used to sculpt her curves—lingered long after she passed by him.

Smoke clenched his teeth tight, his jaw flexin' hard enough to show bone. He'd seen it—men eyein' her up and down soon as she stepped in with Stack. And Stack... hell, why the fuck did he lay a hand on her backside? Thought big brother wouldn't notice?

Fury bubbled up fast. He stormed up the stairs, heavy-footed, ready to knock the sense outta blood.

But the door was shut.

"You best not be up in there jerkin' off to thoughts of my woman, nigga."

From the other side, Stack let out a series of loud, mockin' moans, like he was gettin' blessed with an heavenly head.

"STACK!"

In the back kitchen, heat wrapped around her like a lover. Pots hissed, oil snapped, and Annie moved through it all like a chef —elbows steady, wrists loose, her back arched ever so slightly as she stirred, flipped, and seasoned.

She felt eyes on her. Didn't need to turn to know whose.

Smoke stood in the doorway, arms crossed, sweat pearling at his temples. He didn't say a word. Just watched.

She didn't look up.

"You best stop starin' at me like I'm your last supper, Elijah."

He answered in a low, graveled voice. "I ain't had nothin' like you in seven years. Let a man starve long enough, he gon' look at every feast like it's holy."

Annie turned, slow and mean. Her eyes raked him.

"What you want, Elijah?"

"You know damn well."

"You want me to cook your food and warm your bed?"

"I want you to burn my name into the walls of this place. I want your voice in the floorboards and your scent in the curtains. I want it all."

Their eyes locked. Somewhere outside, the music kicked in—horns, bass, the grind of blues thick enough to spread on toast. It poured through the walls, slow and dirty.

Annie smirked, turned back to the fire, let her hips and soft booty sway a little harder.

"Then you best hope these pork ribs don't burn. 'Cause that's all you gettin' tonight."

She bit her lip. Turned to grab the cornbread tray.

"Ain't you got a woman in Chicago ?"

" none that mattered"

"Oh. There were some then"

"Don't twist my words"

" Certainly a vanilla dipped in milk woman like your brother. You twins after all." She cursed, tasting the gumbo soup she was making "not saying, it's my business. Let's forget I even asked"

He reached for her wrist. She let him hold it. Just long enough.

"Don't make a fool outta me again, Elijah."

"Wouldn't dare."

"You already did."

Stack's voice cut in from the front.

"Ay, y'all done back there? Folks askin' for plates!"

She snatched her arm back.

"Go help your damn brother. You too good at disappearin'."

Smoke didn't move at first.

Just stood there, jaw locked, eyes fixed on her like maybe if he stared long enough, she'd forget he ever left. Forget them long nights she cried on a mattress half-cold. Forget the blood. The silence.

He stepped back, slower now. Like guilt was dragging at his heels.

"Don't worry," Annie said, voice low, sharp, "I ain't expectin' you to stay."

That landed.

He swallowed. Hard.

"I was a coward," he said, like confessin' would fix it. "I ain't know how to hold you through that."

"You didn't try." Her back was still to him, spoon stirrin' the pot like it was his grave she was diggin'. "You left me with a ghost and a bed that smelled like loss. You remember that?"

Silence thickened between them, heavy like summer heat.

"I never stopped thinkin' 'bout you," he said.

She turned just enough to look him in the eye.

"Then you should've come back before now."

From the front, Stack hollered again, joking loud to break the tension.

"Ay! If y'all done airin' dirty laundry, we got hungry mouths waitin'!"

Annie wiped her hands, straightened her back, and pushed past Smoke.

She didn't look back when she said, "Don't you have a flourishing business to run, Smoke ?"

And just like that, she was gone through the swinging kitchen doors—hips steady, head high, smellin' like ashes and memories.

"Hey! You good?" Stack asked, a toothpick hangin' lazy between his lips. "Damn. That was pretty intense."

The dandy stepped up beside his brother, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ain't no thing. I'm sure it'll all smooth out."

Smoke didn't answer right away. Just stared ahead, jaw workin'.

"Hand me the financial report," he said at last, voice low and hard.

The two men stepped out the heat-heavy room, leaving it thickened with silence.

They made their way toward the main stage—figured talkin' money sounded better with music playin'.

What they didn't expect was Mary showin' up... and not alone.

She'd brought her.

The viper, Stack nicknamed the woman. Always with a hiss behind the smile.

He spotted them first—two pale figures standin' bold in a sea of melanin.

"Well, well," Stack muttered. "Shit 'bout to get messy."

Leonhard stepped forward in pearls and posture, hands folded like she was at some garden party in Virginia.

"Hello, darling," she said, cool and practiced. "You look... tanned." she grimaced

Smoke stiffened. That voice pricked his spine. He looked up, slow.

"Leonhard," he said, heavy. "Why—what you doin' here?"

She blinked once. Smiled without warmth.

"Is that really the question, Smoke? We are married, remember? Isn't it normal for a wife to check on her husband when he disappears for weeks with no explanation?"

Stack's eyes flicked between them like he was watchin' a storm roll in.

That's when Annie stepped onto the dance floor, balancing a tray of steaming plates. Her hips moved to the slow bass line, eyes scanning for Stack—

And then she heard it.

Wife.

Married.

Her steps faltered. Her grip slipped.

The plates hit the floor with a crash—ceramic, ribs, greens, cornbread. Food everywhere.

The music didn't stop, but the crowd did. A hush fell over the room, thick and sharp.

Annie didn't look at Smoke. Not right away.

She stared at the mess on the floor.

Then, slow as thunder after lightning, her eyes climbed to his.

And for a second, the whole room held its breath.

Author note : I plan to write as much as I’m inspired lol. And also don’t worry. This lady Leonhard is only there for the plot, angst definitely not main character.

[coralaura]

No exit

¡Yandere! ¡Platónico! ¡Batfam x Sable! Lector de DBD

Context: part 1, part 2

There are several differences with other fics in my idea, more than being an abandoned reader, it is more like an uncomfortable relationship.

Sable! Reader didn't know that Bruce Wayne was her father until her mother and father (or in this case stepfather) die, and that's where she realizes that all this time, she was never the daughter of that cheerful man who tried to turn a blind eye to the inevitable reality of death and darkness surrounding them.

As I said in another post (this one) or rather wrote, Sable! Reader always felt different from her parents, she never felt like she fit in, so it doesn't surprise her that her real father is so gloomy, in fact for her it explains a lot of things.

Unlike other fics, Y/N doesn't want to actively establish a relationship with the Batfam, in fact she still feels that this is not the place, after all they are already a formed family, she is just the one night mistake of her mother and a millionaire who didn't know how to put on protection.

For Y/N, the place she belongs is the realm of the entity, there is the only one she felt she fit in with and who could complement Mikaela, her best friend.

Surprisingly, in the realm of the entity, she not only fits in with Mikaela, she discovers more survivors, some with knowledge of the darkness from before arriving in this hell, and with them she gets along best and ends up finding a “family” that has the same purpose and tries to help each other.

However, when she is suddenly taken out of the realm of the entity and sees who she considered uncomfortable family members in front of her, she feels like something has been taken away from her.

On the other hand, the Batfam is still trying to understand how you came back, they watched and analyzed all this time the video in which Y/N Ward disappeared.

Although they have you back, much to the disappointment of the entity, they continue to investigate and find a way for Y/N not to leave again and stray from their side.

They feel guilty for not even having the cordiality to meet you or let you know that you are someone from this family despite being raised by others.

The most repentant in this is Damian, who feels bad for having harassed you, but you can't blame him, right? He believed that he was Bruce's only son and his firstborn and suddenly a girl arrives snatching his place as firstborn and showing that his security was false in all its magnitude, she just needed time to digest it and maybe some threat from him, however she regrets the latter, so you're going to forgive him, right?

Y/N Ward doesn't return the same from the realm of the entity. Do you know how many times she was consumed and killed? No one returns intact from such torture and the poor young woman is no exception, hearing the sound of a chainsaw makes her heart race as if she were running a marathon, the sounds of the old horror movies she used to watch; make the traumas of seeing his friends being killed one by one make their way into his psyche, the sound of an engine; it causes his hands to shake and he just thinks about how many he has left to fix, the blood dripping down his hands reminds him of the times he bled to death on the floor while he saw the killer's mocking expression.

All of these traumas are seen by the Batfam, especially Dick, who tries to help his little sister with her trauma only to be greeted with a dirty look and the phrase "don't bother", Jason also recognizes the clear warning signs, after all the things the Joker did to her weren't daisies and sugar, Jason has a more... distant approach but one that works better than Dick's harassment.

That's where Jason and therefore the others discover that Y/N Ward has died more than once and has come back from the dead over and over and over again, it's a bomb that Y/N literally drops after Jason tells her that she died for a while just to call him a rookie.

How many times did Y/N Ward die? I don’t know and she doesn’t keep count either, she stopped counting when it was over twenty.

Could Y/N heal and be happy? Will she probably have a family to support her? Will the world let her be happy? No, because something else came with her after being cast out of the entity realm and that something, craves her blood, again.

"They may try to hurt you. But they won’t take you down easily.”

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[strangererotica]

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION ✞​ ⛪︎

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Monsignor John Pruitt / Father Paul Hill x Reader | Blasphemy! Heresy! Anal! | Reader has a kink for pain & blood (kinda) | oral sex (f receiving) | pussy worship | a sprinkle of dacryphilia | religious guilt ofc | a smidge of angst |

“Inviting you to the rectory had been a sin, yes…but inviting you into his bed had been a bigger one. Laying you back against the mattress, the bottom of your skirt naturally drifting aside, revealed the outline of your pussy through soaking wet panties and John, all man, no longer priest, had never been so hungry…”

“Father,” the priest prays, hands clasped at his chin. “If it be Thy will…take this cup from me.”

His voice is a whisper in the dim light of the sanctuary, candles flickering around him like accusatory tongues. The weight of his sin is heavy, the scent of your body still on his breath. He struggles to wrench the image of you from his mind, to focus entirely on the things of God. But what sight could be more holy than that of your body spread before him, your soft cunt weeping gently against his tongue?

He casts his voice to Heaven like the prayer of a wounded soldier on the battlefield of sin, yearning for mercy, expecting none. “Forgive me, Father,” Monsignor John Pruitt prays. “For I fear I am losing control…Make my will like Yours, oh God…Lead me not into temptation, but guide my steps that they may lead to You…”

His stomach twists with guilt, his prayers stunted by an uncharacteristic lapse of faith. For what kind of loving God would demand abstinence of his servant, while simultaneously thrusting a woman like you, temptation incarnate, into his life?

“I fear-.” The priest pauses, searching his heart for the words God already knows. “-I fear I am lost, Lord. Lost not to the pleasures of my flesh….but of hers…”

Rain pelts the outside of the old church. A storm is blowing over Crockett Island, raging no less than the storm inside Monsignor Pruitt’s heart. He sits quietly in the Lord’s presence, patiently waiting for wisdom, for a sign. But the only divinity he can focus on is the one he tasted between your thighs…

Worst of all, Monsignor Pruitt worries that for another taste of your body, he’d be tempted to abandon his priesthood and the God whom he speaks for altogether. It’s fantasy, however. A world where St. Patrick’s pastor can fuck you free of public scorn is impossible, and he knows it. He’s been the voice of God for the island’s faithful so many years now, they’ve become family to him. He can’t abandon them now for the sake of his own carnal needs…but God, how he longs to…

It began innocently enough, as every sin does. You’d come to him seeking help, and rather than guide you through the healing of your own sexual sin, your priest had made himself a part of it. You were too soft for him to deny, too pure even as you recited to him the details of your impurity. The sorrow in your voice had spoken to his core, to his heart as a priest. He’d originally sought only to help you, but over the course of your meetings together, he’d only helped himself to fantasies of your body.

Bringing you back to the rectory was Monsignor Pruitt’s first mistake. Meeting you in the church had been perfectly suitable, perfectly safe. No one had bothered the two of you, not even the ever-present Bev Keane. When the impulse to invite you back to the rectory at the end of your last meeting had struck the priest, he should have repented right then. He should have quelled his urges with prayer, rather than guide you through the back of the church and down the path to the rectory.

All of that was past, now. There was only the cleanup of his sin left to manage, both figurative and literal. He was still wearing your cum on his face, his nose and chin bearing evidence of his sin. Monsignor Pruitt had steadfastly denied himself the pleasures of sex for so long-too long, considering how easily he’d indulged in the sin of you…

…And yet, nothing about your encounter with the priest had felt wrong, not truly. You’d come to Monsignor Pruitt for guidance on how to resist sexual temptation, and he had absolutely failed you in that respect. But the sex itself, the union of your souls in such an intimate act, had felt far from wrong. The priest had tried to convince himself (and perhaps God as well) that because he didn’t penetrate you, the weight of his sin might be less. He wanted to believe he could still minister to the people of Crockett Island while maintaining a double life, one where his duties as priest and his needs as a man could simultaneously be fulfilled.

He hadn’t meant to kiss you…not your pretty, cherry-stained lips, and certainly not the other places his mouth had wandered. As the storm rages on outside the church, Monsignor Pruitt sits silently in the confessional booth, willing impure thoughts of you from his mind. But before he was a priest, he was a man. And the man inside him finds it difficult to keep his hand from wrapping around the bulge throbbing below his belt, as memories of your time together flood his thoughts…

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The first meeting between you and Monsignor Pruitt had been innocent, as far as you could tell. There’s no way you could have known that while describing the sexual cravings that plagued you, your priest was becoming aroused. With his legs crossed and a Bible positioned on his lap just so, he was able to conceal the physical effect your words were having on him. The Bible never left his lap, and when he rose from his chair to see you out, he’d kept it held in front of his groin, making it seem so natural you hadn’t questioned it. By your third meeting, you’d confessed that some of your fantasies that caused you the most guilt involved one man in particular who lived on the island.

“I feel especially dirty for these fantasies,” you’d confessed. “Because of the man they involve.” Jealousy had taken up residence in the priest’s heart, knowing there was one man on the island in particular that you lusted for. And there was no way it could be him, certainly not. He was your priest, your mentor, a literal Father figure. Whoever this man was, the one you longed for, Monsignor Pruitt despised him.

“Who-,” he’d asked, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry. That was intrusive of me. I don’t mean to pry.” Monsignor Pruitt had cleared his throat as if clearing away words he was afraid to speak. “There’s a man on the island you want, very much. That’s all I need to know. Please. Continue.”

“I can’t tell you who he is,” you’d said. “Because I…well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass him, Father.”

Monsignor Pruitt smiled warmly, a gesture to hopefully ease your nerves and distract you from how flustered he was becoming. “This is our third meeting,” he’d said. “Please, call me John.”

It was wrong. Wrong for him to make that allowance, wrong to blur the line between priest and parishioner, between shepherd and lamb. But you accepted, a sweet smile on your face that the priest had taken to mean his ruse of ‘normalcy,’ was working.

“Alright John.” Calling Monsignor Pruitt by his name had felt exciting, forbidden in a way. It filled you with a sense of hope, whether false or otherwise, that something more could develop between you and your priest. But that was a conversation you weren’t ready for, though you hoped to reach the topic of your crush on Monsignor Pruitt eventually.

“So, this man on the island,” John had said. “Is he someone you know? Or is this more of a ‘watch and yearn,’ kind of situation?”

Your cheeks flushed, a nervous warmth building inside you. “It’s…there’s definitely yearning,” you’d told him. “He’s someone I can never have, Father.”

“I see,” your priest had nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing. “So, this man is married, I take it?”

“In a way,” you’d replied. “He’s very dedicated to the people who depend on him.” You’d smiled faintly to yourself, wishing there could be true transparency between you and your priest. “It’s one of the reasons I admire him so much, Father. He is a good man, a genuinely good man. So, having these disgusting, dirty thoughts about him causes me a lot of guilt.”

John Pruitt didn’t know who the man was, but God he hated him. To be wanted, lusted after, longed for, by YOU, was a prize few men deserved. You were precious, a delicate flower begging to have its petals torn. And in spite of his calling, Monsignor Pruitt wanted to be the man who tore your petals to shreds…

“Remember,” he’d told you, wishing to remove the pain of your guilt. “Sinful thoughts remain only thoughts until we entertain them with action. Action is where sin lies, (Y/N).

“…And, by confessing my sin, I can be forgiven?” you’d asked. “That’s how this all works, right?”

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That’s how it’s supposed to work, the priest thinks, his hand working over his stiff, leaking cock. He aches, in his heart and spirit but nowhere more so than his groin. Tasting you on his breath, Monsignor Pruitt imagines all the other filthy things he wants to do to your body. Licking between your thighs would be enough for him forever; but if he had the chance, if his path in life allowed it, he imagines how it would feel to have that little cunt swallow more than just his tongue and fingers. He’d drag the head of his cock between your slippery folds so slowly, the pace would drive you both insane with waiting. He might even make you cry a little, just so he could lick away your tears after forcing himself inside you…

The old wooden seat of the confessional booth creaks softly under Monsignor Pruitt’s weight as he fucks himself harder, tightening his grip, imagining it’s you. He hasn’t even worn your throat, or your ass, or your pussy around his cock yet… YET. That’s a dangerous word, isn’t it? It’s a promise unfulfilled, a land where anything is possible. YET can get you into more trouble than it’s worth sometimes, but Monsignor Pruitt knows he’d risk any consequence, even a taste of Hell, for one more taste of YOU…

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ ✞​ ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Your fourth meeting together had picked up right where the third left off: discussing your shame over desiring the man you couldn’t have. John Pruitt had sat across from you in a simple folding chair, just like the one you’d occupied. In one hand he held his coffee, the other resting on the Bible balanced on his lap. You noticed a darker countenance about him, his eyes oddly cold. Also unusual was his voice, the way he seemed short with his responses and hardly asked any questions.

“Is something wrong, John?” you’d asked after awhile of observing him. “Are you alright?”

He blinked back at you a couple of times in silence, trying to arrange the mess of thoughts in his mind into a palatable response.

“I’m well,” he replied softly, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, warm grin that made your heart burst. “But I have some…concerns.” His jaw tensed slightly. “About transparency…honesty, (Y/N).” You felt your heart sink a little, fearing the worst: that you’d gone too far, revealed too much, said something that offended Monsignor Pruitt.

“…If I’ve said something, I apologize-.”

“-Well no,” he interrupted, his tone becoming sharper. “It’s what you haven’t said, (Y/N). Weeks now, we’ve been meeting here. And just when I think you might be reaching a point of growth, of-of honesty, you shrink back into the comfort of denial. You’re denying me, (Y/N)!”

Monsignor Pruitt’s words came to an abrupt pause, and you were grateful for it. He was leaning forward in his chair now, a few strands of hair hanging loose over his forehead. His energy was intense, almost frightening. His speech was impassioned in the way he sometimes sounded behind the pulpit, caught in religious fervor…dark eyes wide, lips parted in rapid breath that had you distracted for more reasons than fear.

“Father-,”

“John,” he corrected.

“…John,” you began tentatively, your voice breaking. “If you want to stop seeing me-if you want to stop our sessions, just tell me-.”

“-I want them to last forever,” Monsignor Pruitt confessed, the air leaving his lungs in a breath of defeat. It was a confession, as real as any other that occurred in God’s house. Now it was your turn to be silent, as once the priest found his words, he was unable to stop them: “I want you, (Y/N)…God forgive me but I…crave…you…” You watched him crumbling, this man of God baring his soul to yours. “All of the things you speak of in your fantasies, I want to make them real for you. Every orgasm you deny yourself in pursuit of righteousness, I want to give you a hundred more…And whoever this man is, that leads you to touch yourself, I hate him. I hate him because I want to be him. You want him, you crave him as I crave you-.” He chuckled humorlessly. “-And I don’t even know his name. I loathe him, and I couldn’t identify him if I saw him on the street.”

You felt fulfilled, as if something had been taken from you but replaced immediately with something better. Was this even real?

“…I suppose,” he continued after a moment of silence. “My concern is not so much with your lack of transparency, but with mine.”

Monsignor Pruitt sat back in his chair, the metal creaking under his weight. “I have sinned, (Y/N),” he said. “I’ve lied to you, lied by omission. By not revealing how your words-how you-affect me. Knowing full well that in doing so, I’m jeopardizing everything I’ve built my life around. I shouldn’t be confessing this to you at all but God help me, it’s the truth, and I want you...” The tears lining your lashes finally fell, a drop spilling down each cheek and landing where your hands were folded on your lap. “John,” you began. “The man I want…he’s you...”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ ✞​ ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Wind and rain pummel the outer shell of St. Patrick’s. The priest’s eyes are closed tightly, his head leaned back against the confessional booth and he’s so. fucking. hard.

He squeezes his erection tightly in his fist, imagining instead that it’s your pussy, your throat-any and all of your holes he longs to defile, to feel you stretch open at his entry, to watch you gape when he pulls out just to stuff you full again. Precum blooms at his slit and he wants to spread it on your lips, to place it on your tongue like a sacrament. He wants to see your eyes go red and watery as he holds your nose to his stomach, his cock buried so far down your throat that air becomes a luxury.

He wants to drown between your thighs, to never stop licking the abundant, delicious nectar that spills from inside you and melts on his tongue…to suck your pretty little clit till you’re screaming, begging him to stop, feet pounding against his shoulders in protest and pleasure, your body contorted like something possessed. He wants to flip you onto your stomach and breach the tight barrier of your ass, to fuck you till you bleed just like you confessed wanting to bleed in your fantasies…to use you, as you’ve confessed wanting to be used…to make you come so hard you forget your name and his…

Heavy wind rattles the bones of St. Patrick’s around Monsignor Pruitt, God’s power raging in full display outside but inside, he is overcome with unholy need. His tongue dips out to taste you, tasting a memory and nothing more. He grinds himself up into his fist, as if you’re straddling his lap and taking every inch of him like the good, good girl you are. His forehead is sheened with sweat, the heat of the confessional booth no match for the heat of his sin. Lightening cracks outside, as if God Himself is issuing a warning. But the priest cannot stop his hand, or the lust that guides it up and down his shaft…

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ ✞​ ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Inviting you to the rectory had been a sin, yes…but inviting you into his bed had been a bigger one. Laying you back against the mattress, the bottom of your skirt naturally drifting aside, revealed the outline of your pussy through soaking wet panties and John, all man, no longer priest, had never been so hungry…“Oh my God,” he’d murmured dreamily, gazing at your pussy as if in a state of worship. “You’re absolutely perfect.” His warm breath ghosted over your lips and your hips keened instinctively towards his mouth. He watched your pussy tremble beneath him, your perfect little clit peeking out above two plump lips. With a delicate stroke of his fingers, John teased your labia apart. There was a devotion in his touch, a reverence in the way he awed at the sight of your lips parting around his fingers, as if he were parting the gates of Heaven instead. Keeping your labia spread, he sank his mouth over your mound, suckling your clit between his lips in deep, languid tugs. You wriggled against the bed, hips twisting under the priest’s ministrations. He’d denied himself the taste of a woman too long, and your taste…John Pruitt didn’t think he’d ever tasted a woman that could compare. You were like caramel and cream, the sweet musk of brandy lingering at the bottom of a glass. You were heaven in his mouth, warm and comforting…a taste of the divine, melting on John’s tongue like milk and honey…

His cock stood erect against his stomach, restrained by his clothing. Denying himself the relief of touching himself felt like an appropriate admonishment, considering the grave sin he was committing. Although deep in an act of blasphemy, the position of his body could be mistaken for a man in prayer. Knelt by the beside, your legs draped over his shoulders, John looked up from between your thighs framing his face. Your eyes were as hungry as his, an intensity burning behind them that stirred something primal and repressed in John. He wanted to claim you, to make you his…to feel you come so hard around him that no other man could ever replicate what he’d given you. He could have plunged his cock inside you right then. The look in your eyes, staring him down like willing prey, told him you wouldn’t object. But there were some things John couldn’t do…that he mustn’t do…and putting his sin inside you, making it yours, was a path he wouldn’t allow himself to cross.

The priest’s tongue and fingers explored what he forbade his cock explore, licking and stroking you to your peak time and time again. You gripped handfuls of his hair, his sheets, the fabric of this sweater, anything you could get your hands on to brace yourself as your body ascended on John’s tongue. He lapped and sucked at the glory within you, worshiping your cunt like the idol it was to him. Slippery fluid gushed out around John’s face and ran down your thighs, soaking the disheveled sheets under your ass. He knew he was sinning but sin had never felt this good before, this fulfilling. In consuming you, he fed himself…and he had no intention of ever going hungry again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ ✞​ ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

He watches in a trance as semen jets from his tip and lands on the inside of the confessional booth, spattering the panel facing him. The storm outside roils as the storm inside John Pruitt calms. He feels a sense of ease, a peace that surpasses all understanding, settle over his shoulders. The weight of his sin feels oddly absent, nothing like he’d anticipated. Hope springs anew in him, as if perhaps this absence of remorse is the sign he was waiting for? If God doesn’t judge him, Monsignor Pruitt wonders, then who can?

He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans his semen from the confessional booth. Upon exiting, Monsignor Pruitt enters into the soft light of the church. And in spite of the storm’s chaos outside, there is peace here, serenity…stillness…

…Until suddenly, you’re there, standing in the church’s doorway, your head framed like a halo in a burst of lightning from the storm. John Pruitt takes in the sight of you, your hair and sundress saturated with rain and clinging to your body, your pupils blown, cheeks and chest flushed with arousal…You’re breathless in the exertion of walking through the storm, pert nipples straining against the thin fabric concealing them. Your priest gazes at you from across the sanctuary, candlelight flickering against his dark hair, in the pools of his dark eyes, like starlight. You both rush to each other at the same time, his steps longer and quicker than yours, catching up to you first and caging you up in a fervent embrace. His lips crash over yours, lips and tongue and teeth all challenging yours for dominance. Your hands climb his back and cling to the sleeves of his shirt, your own wet clothing seeping rainwater into his, like a baptism you share together.

John presses his knee between your thighs, letting you grind against him. Desperate moans spill from your lips into his, soft sobs of need as you release all guilt and shame inside his kiss. Your priest is holding you so tightly, you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. He only breaks away long enough to tug you toward the altar, and lay you flat against it. The curves of your ass are visible in the wet transparency of your dress and he takes full advantage of their bounty, gripping the rounded mounds of your hips and tugging you against his erection. You grunt at the impact, of feeling the size of him pressed to your body for the first time, your back arching, ass extended into your priest for more. He gathers up the loose fabric of your dress around your waist, revealing the perfect mounds of your ass to him. Your panties are absent, he observes, still on the floor of the rectory where he helped you out of them. Rain from the storm beats at the window beside you, thunder rolling in the distance as John rolls his hips against your ass.

His cock is poised between your cheeks, pointed upward at your back as he slowly humps into you. His hands are wrapped around you from behind, your breasts clutched firmly in his strong yet delicate grip. His eyes are closed, forehead resting against your shoulder as he strokes, himself and you, edging his desire and yours till you both feel as if you’ll combust. He pulls back just enough to grab his cock at the base and guide it between your legs, massaging your lips with his tip. You whimper and tremble beneath him, his stomach pressed to your back, and all John Pruitt can think about right now is how badly he wants to sodomize you on this altar, in God’s house.

He drags himself between your lips, allowing your slick to cover him before guiding his tip up between your asscheeks, restraining himself at the tight barrier of your hole. He wants to ask if you’re alright with this, if you’re ready for this-but he doesn’t have to. You arch your back and your asshole puckers around his tip, inviting the priest in. He curses over your back because Christ how was he blessed enough to deserve this, to deserve you? This dirty fucking goddess beneath him, as filthy as she is pure, heart and body willing to let him have his way with her as he desires?

You lay your cheek against the pulpit, hair spilling over it like an altar cloth, or an angel, John thinks. He braces your hips, easing his own forward. Your body stiffens at the sting of being stretched as he enters you. His stomach is pressed to your back, the warm weight of his body cradling yours like a cocoon. The priest senses your struggle, can feel it in the way you’ve gone rigid against him. “Shh, shh,” he consoles you, his voice a low, seductive growl. “You’re doing so well for me, angel. Doing so well for me…”

Part of your confession to the Monsignor had involved your desire for pain, to be hurt during sex. He’d remembered and used this information later, stroking his cock to some of the most depraved thoughts he’d ever had about a woman, starring you. Now, he had the opportunity to hurt you, to make you cry just like he’d wanted. His hand glides down your back and across your cheek, his eyes gazing over your hair as it drapes the altar. You’re so divine, an angel against his body and he can’t find the will in himself to hurt you. Easing back his hips till he’s no longer inside you, John spats a wad of saliva onto your hole. He watches your rim gape at his exit, then pucker as his spit lands against it. He positions his tip against your asshole, rubbing in a small circle to help ease you open. The stiff, spongy head of his cock massaging your hole sends a jolt straight to your clit. “Keep doing that, Father,” you breathe, and something about hearing you refer to him that way when he’s inside you bent over the altar, awakens something feral inside of him.

He’s using every bit of restraint he has to keep from impaling you right now (although he knows a dirty little thing like you probably wouldn’t protest if he did). But John does restrain himself, massaging his tip just inside your asshole, gradually sinking deeper. Soft sucking noises emit from the space he rubs you, joined with your breathy grunts and the rain pelting down outside. With his free hand, John grips your hip in a vice, small crescents dug into the skin by his fingernails. When you push back on his cock, he takes this as his cue to go deeper. Still using as much restraint as he can manage, John sinks his cock carefully, slowly, stopping when he feels you flinch and buck.

“Good girl-good girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “That’s my good girl. Taking me so deep, aren’t you?” He drags his hips back slowly and you feel every inch, every vein and ridge of his cock as he eases back in, and out, and in again, building pace till his hips are crashing against yours, pummeling your ass across the altar. The burn is exquisite; you feel him in your stomach. Drool dangles from your wide-open mouth and puddles on the altar, your cheek rutted against it with every thrust of John’s hips. The wet sound of his skin smacking yours echoes off the sanctuary walls, his rapid pace matching the candle flames flickering around you. His head falls forward and rests against your shoulder, halted exhales washing your skin in heat, in the moisture of his breath. The front of John’s clothes are soaked with rain from being ground up against you, his body joined so completely with yours they’re inseparable. He feels a deep, familiar ache in his core, but it’s never been this strong, never as powerful as he feels it now. He knows he’s going to come soon, and it’s likely going to be the hardest he’s ever come in his life. He reaches around in front of you and presses his fingertips to your clit, rubbing you aggressively. Cum splashes to the ground around John’s hand as he brings you to orgasm, your juices spraying his feet and the altar equally.

Your cries of ecstasy are the holiest psalm he’s ever heard, the purest prayer he’s ever born witness to. With a shout he comes, a desperate cry of relief and absolution as he empties his guilt into the warm cove of your body. You shudder against him, and it may as well be the flutter of an angel’s wings on his skin. He cradles you across the altar, his stomach to your back, holding the answer to his prayers in his arms. When his cock has softened inside you, John draws back slowly and carefully slides out of you. He glances around for something to clean you both up with and his eyes land on the purificator beside the communion chalice. Disregarding the sacrilege of it all, he takes the cloth and kneels behind you, gently wiping between your legs and between the cheeks of your ass. He cleans himself lastly, removing the combination of fluids your sex created.

He notices a streak of red on the cloth, and brings your attention to it. A contended smile spreads over your face as you realize, and the words leave your lips in a breathy sigh: “You made me bleed.” He leans forward and gently takes your chin in his hand, drawing you closer. His dark eyes are filled with the words he doesn’t need to say, of promises for more moments like this to come. His voice is barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to yours, and says: “Forgive me.”

[makerofmadness]

ok so: Beast-Ancients Swap AU but actually the Beasts messed up the timeline and made it one

(I will explain I swear-) The following sprite edits and designs were a collaborative effort of me and @driftwoodmfb

(Lily's design and edit is not finished yet, and Ssalt isn't getting one until that character is released-)

general shoutouts to Driftwood for collaborating with me on this in a lot of aspects btw she's the mvp of this whole project

I am Very bad at concise descriptions but basically: "5v5 climactic final showdown occurs but the bad guys win and then the group consensus on what to all do together to compromise thanks to slightly different priorities is 'Hey we all really hate the ancients now so let's just like. Screw them over' so they basically used their combined virtues' powers or something (look all of this I came up with just to justify the AU's actual concept) to like reset and alter the timeline to swap their places with the ancients basically. and then they kinda accidentally get redemption arc'd in the process. Meanwhile the og ancients... are not happy"

I'm def gonna post more about these guys in the future (and also I like. Encourage people to send asks because I need enrichment dndndnmd! I have a ton of stuff sitting around about them and I love talking about them- so. Here's my attempt at an overview (I. Suck at being concise this took all day to not make way too long dndndndm):

Shadow Milk Cookie - Calls himself the Dark Moon Magician. He's quite braggadocious and more than a little mischievous, quite the show-off too, but he has a good heart down there (nowadays). Though he has often had to be badgered by the Light of Truth into actually telling the truth on things...

Eternal Sugar Cookie - You'll meet them someday. Just not now.

Mystic Flour Cookie - Her face and voice do not do much to express how much she despises the Cookie she used to be, and the Cookie she still sees whenever she looks in the mirror. She is the most eager to come clean to her Cookies, but something is holding her back... she decides to save it for when she has finally repented enough by her standards, to earn her position as queen. It's never enough.

Burning Spice Cookie - For the kingdom he rules, you may (or may not) be surprised seeing how little he cares for material riches. To him, lived experiences are the most precious things- hence why he's always looking for a good fight. Or to just have fun with those close to him- which is not many as he has had a history of issues- after all, transient things fall to time, but the impressions they leave can last up to forever...

Silent Salt Cookie - The fallen hero. It wasn't supposed to happen again. They all knew it could happen, they agreed to prevent it. Why did they make the same mistake...?

Pure Vanilla Cookie - The embodiment of the most common lie. He can string Cookies up to make them move and speak against their wills. He does this to himself often, when he grows tired. He is very ashamed of what he has become, but no matter, he will be fine once he regains the light of Truth, and exposes the truth of this world to all Cookiekind...

Hollyberry Cookie - Berry juice is a comfort to her, such is why she had wished so badly to drown her mind and all her pain in it. She is... frankly, harmless the way she is now. She doesn't have the power, pride or energy to fight. Her heart is just as full of love as it's always been, even if her mind's gone fluffy as frosting. So much that even being in a permanent stupor won't stop her from missing her family, still...

Dark Cacao Cookie - As he describes himself fully, an empty vessel without a will of his own, whose only goal is to carry out the will of fate. He will play his part in this story, for he knows there is no other way. After all, they'd tried to resist already, and it was all in vain. He is cold, empty, such was his resolve: to be unburdened by feeling, so that he would feel no pain...

Golden Cheese Cookie - Calls herself the Demonic Goddess. When she gets upset, she tends to fly into fits of destruction- which she has become very, very good at causing. She laughs it off, she laughs a lot in general, but she really does not like what she's become. However, she is still the same greedy Cookie as she always was, and still wants nothing more than to annihilate the ones who had displaced her and her friends and take back what is rightfully hers...

White Lily Cookie - Founder of the Lily Kingdom. She is a stern, serious figure who tries to keep everything under her control. She quickly silences those who tell her what she does not wish to hear untrue, unkind, or unnecessary things. She does not get very openly emotional often, and tends to address everyone with the same attitude even if it's her friends. (They can generally tell when she means well). She plans to silence all lies from Cookies' mouths, especially regarding who the "Heroes" and "Beasts" are...

(i. Never mentioned the name of the AU itself the whole time in this post did I? Ok uh that's Immemorial Interchange btw if I ever say that or II then I'm talking about this thing for future reference XD)

Edit: I have a tag on my blog for the au and I just kinda post whatever I feel like. Hope y'all can enjoy this I'm probably gonna be dumping a lot of stuff I've held on to. And I would love it if people send asks X3

[wileys-russo]

Please could you write something with reader trying to teach alexia english😩

PSA: I don’t speak Spanish so I sincerely apologise for any mistakes

second languages II a.putellas

"hola! ale?" you called out as you let yourself into your girlfriends apartment, bending down to scoop up nala who came hurtling at you from the sofa. "hola!" you heard the blonde call out from her bedroom as you cooed at the small ball of fluff in your arms and kicked off your shoes, sliding them to sit neatly beside your girlfriends.

you couldn't help but chuckle as you entered the bedroom to see alexia's eyes trained on the large tv on her wall, watching barcelonas last match with real madrid. a notebook and pen sat nestled in her lap, the girl clearly taking notes before their upcoming rival game this weekend.

"nadie puede decir que no estás dedicada bonita." (no one can ever say you are not dedicated) you laughed, placing nala down and shaking your head. "para ser el mejor tienes que saber todo sobre tu oponente. hola hermosa." (to be the best you have to know everything about your opponent. hi beautiful) your girlfriend shrugged, moving her notebook away and opening her arms expectantly.

"y por eso eres la mejor?" (and that is why you are the best?) you laughed, placing your keys and phone down on her desk. "si es por eso que soy la mejor." (yes, that is why i am the best) the catalan grinned as you collapsed on top of her, your arms wrapping around one another in a tight hug.

"No es que me queje al verte. pero pensé que tenías trabajo esta tarde?" (not that i am complaining to see you. but i thought you had jobs this afternoon?) alexia questioned curiously as you moved a few loose strands of hair out of her face.

"a few clients cancelled so it freed up my afternoon." you explained with a happy smile, honestly not all that bothered if it meant you got to spend more time with her.

"veo. bueno, al juego todavía le queda la mitad." (i see. well the game still has one half to go) your girlfriend smiled as you sighed, knowing her well enough that there would be very little you could say to pry her away from her match studies.

"i'm gonna go make some food then." you chuckled, pecking her lips and moving to stand but her arms stayed locked around you. "o podrías quedarte y mirar conmigo mi vida." (or you could stay and watch with me) alexia grinned, wiggling her eyebrows making you laugh.

"haré algo de comida y luego volveré y miraré. okay?" (i will make some food then come back and watch) you bargained, the blonde humming and letting you up. "si, okay."

"and don't forget, we're practicing your english later." you reminded causing the older girl to groan loudly in contempt. "ale! you promised." you warned at her response, the blonde flopping backwards and sighing.

"de repente me siento muy mal bebe. podría perder mi voz." (suddenly i am feeling very sick baby. i might lose my voice) the taller girl faked a cough causing you to narrow your eyes at her in a glare.

"alexia you are the one who asked me to help you be more confident in your english. so that you can speak easier with my family!" you warned her sternly, the midfielder whining like a child throwing a tantrum as she kicked her feet and dragged her hands down her face.

bit by the travel bug you decided to spend a summer interning in barcelona around a year and a half ago, you already knew spanish from studying it in school and so when the opportunity came up from one of your old teachers for a photography internship abroad, you'd have been stupid to say no.

that was how you'd met alexia, a few months in you'd been sent to assist on a shoot for the new fc barcelona kit drop.

you'd caught the older girls eyes right away the moment you'd first spoke, alexia finding endless amusement in the way your thick northern accent came through in your spanish.

so with some light teasing throughout the shoot you were surprised when she'd asked if you wanted to grab dinner afterward, claiming that you'd not had a proper barcelona experience until you'd eaten at some of the best places it had to offer which alexia was glad to show you.

and the rest was a story you'd probably tell your grandkids one day.

"o podrías ayudar a tu familia a mejorar su español?" (or you could help your family work on their spanish) your girlfriend suggested with an innocent smile, which promptly dropped as you only continued to wordlessly glare at her.

"fine!" alexia huffed, throwing her hands up in defeat before crossing them over her chest, pouting up at you. "that's not going to work ale. go back to your game!" you nodded to the tv, turning around and heading toward the kitchen.

~

"cual es tu horario para mañana bonita?" (whats your schedule for tomorrow) your girlfriend asked with a stretch, joining you in the kitchen from her bedroom. "hermosa?" she called out again when you didn't answer.

"in english." you turned to her with a smile, leaning against the counter as you took a bite from your sandwich. "qué?" alexia frowned as you pulled yourself to sit on the counter. "english lessons ale. i will only respond when you speak in english!" you explained with a shrug, continuing to eat your sandwich.

"mierda. uh, what are your....jobs tomorrow?" the older girl managed to get out as you nodded encouragingly. "i have a shoot at two and another at five." you answered, your girlfriends understanding of english was fine as was yours of spanish, but it was her diction that she was often insecure about.

"what time is training tomorrow?" you asked, leaning over to place your empty plate in the sink. "training is at ten." alexia answered with a little more ease and you smiled.

"okay so now lets practice like you're talking with my family." you started, jumping down from the counter and moving to the living room, both you and alexia taking a seat on the sofa.

"how have you been?" "good." "okay, they're going to want to know more than that baby. what about football? speak about that." "okay. we have been training for the..." you watched as the blonde struggled to find the right words, huffing in frustration.

"champions league?" "si. sorry, yes. champions league. barcelona lost last time, we do not want that to happen again so we train hard, we try to win all our games." "good! see, you can do it ale." you nudged the older girl with your foot, sending her a soft smile of encouragement. "you will have to help me with your father." alexia chuckled as you agreed, your dads accent easily the thickest of your families with how fast he spoke alexia often struggled to understand what he was saying.

"your accent when you speak english is very cute baby." you grinned, watching on victoriously as a small blush coated the girls cheeks, a welcome change from her often sharp demeanor.

"ojalá pudiera decir lo mismo de tu nena española." (wish i could say the same about your spanish) the taller girl sent you a smile, hands tugging at your top to pull you closer to her. "hey!" you frowned in offence at the comment as you now sat practically in her lap, her long legs reclined down the sofa.

"should i say in english too?" alexia teased as you smacked her chest with a small pout.

"there are some things you like better when i say in spanish baby girl, no?" alexias tone shifted as her eyes roamed your features with a slightly darker gaze. your face heated up at what you knew she was insinuating, her hands gently sliding up and down your bare thighs.

"...maybe some things sound better in spanish."

[rizzanon]

I love how everyone is faulty in the series, it's entirely refreshing to see not only the family but the MC to be full of imperfections, like MC is brash and rebellious (?), just wanting to prove herself and not mind everyone around her(?). Hopefully yes hopefully they talk it out, all of them, like adults and forgive each other for their mistakes.

Even if this doesn't happen in the main series, hopefully in the 'What ifs' you're going to do after this. I'm looking forward to them making up. :D

the batfam will definitely talk things out, but that would be after mc becomes very petty and avoids and ignore the batfam every chance she gets (until something huge happens…😬) but i promise you they’ll eventually talk things out with mc when the time comes for it. (since mc is very clearly a 20 year old in her 16 year old body, she’s not going to be that immature, trust) (but the batfam needs to grovel and repent for their neglect)

[sevikas-biceps]

Vi and Caitlyn's reunion isn't just to rekindle the relationship they once had. It's still fractured. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. Vi easily caves in to the needs and/or wants of those she loves dearly, but she's learnt her lesson. At least, this once, she's not going to make the same mistake again.

Telling Caitlyn that she was back in the slums to 'save her dad' was an olive branch.

It's an expression of trust.

It's also a question.

Are you still in there? Does the girl I once knew still exist?

It's a staggering contrast to Caitlyn's insensitive comment in Season 1; What, you don't have parents? Now, Caitlyn knows what it's like to actually lose one. Doubtlessly, she'd've attended funerals for others and expressed her sympathies for grieving families. She knew the effects of loss. Now, she understands it.

Her teaming up with Vi was also a show of personal growth. Yes, she'd acted in her anger. Yes, she'd betrayed her lover. Yes, she'd committed several unforgivable acts along the way. But she's willing to compromise. She's willing to admit her mistakes. She's willing to repent. She's willing to start over, somehow, in some way, even if things won't be the same as they used to be.

It's a very tiny opening, but it's a large step for the both of them.

[nerdragenewvegas]

there's a certain tragedy to joshua graham that's really unique to mormonism in that mormon heaven is very different as a concept to how most other types of christianity conceptualise heaven, and joshua probably knows that despite his hard works in service of god (and even after his redemption if you get him to spare the white legs,) he's probably never going to the 'best' heaven which means residing beside God.

let me explain for those unfamiliar with LDS beliefs: Heaven to Mormons isn't one place. In LDS beliefs, there's different 'kingdoms.' (People also tend to describe them as 'planets' or 'stars' or even 'levels' of heaven, and those are all pretty apt tbh.) Depending on what you do during your life and in the afterlife (we'll get to that) God and Jesus, after having a one-on-one with you during the judgement where they review your entire life and the contents of your heart. I'mma paraphrase it, but they are: (Behind a cut because I yap here)

The Telestial Kingdom - 'Economy class.' It's still heaven, it's still nice, but God and Jesus don't ever visit and life doesn't continue here (so you can't have kids with your spouse when you reunite, etc like you can in the Celestial Kingdom.) This is where you go if you've done your time in Outer Darkness (Mormon hell -- we'll get to that) and have atoned for your sins and repented. Some people who have lived bad lives overall and acted out against the church or have actively and knowingly hurt others when there's other solutions (as an example) of their own volition can end up here without spending time in outer darkness if there was no evil in their heart (as an example.) It's also where you'll probably end up if you lived a good life and you choose to still reject the gospel or jesus even after literally meeting them during your judgement. (Again, more on this later.)

The Terrestrial Kingdom - Business Class heaven. It's nicer than the Telestial Kingdom and has infinitely better wifi, and Jesus hangs out here all the time, but not God. Still no creation of life, but you can drop in on the Telestial Kingdom and visit your friends and family there if you choose to. This is where most people will end up, people who made mistakes but overall meant well, of good people who for whatever never found the church or were 'deceived' into rejecting Jesus or the Gospel. It's also where Mormons who weren't 100% locked in are supposed to go -- people who accepted the Gospel and Jesus but chose to not follow ordinances, receive the priesthood, chose to not marry in the temple etc. This is (hopefully) where I'll end up. 3. Celestial Kingdom - First class, baby. God and Jesus live here, and if you're here, you become as God. Getting in here assumes that (in most cases) you were married in the temple -- so men will become 'Gods' with their own 'Kingdoms' (this is where the 'getting your own planet when you die' stuff comes from) and they get to repeat the process of pre-life and life and the afterlife just like our God did. If you're a woman, you get to create the spirits that will inhabit the bodies on your husband's planet and live there. (But your husband gets all the worship from them. God's wife is 'so sacred' that she has no name and is left out because God told us to in order to protect her from people slandering her. Ugh, yeah, ok.) This is the best place possible, and you can visit the other kingdoms at will and say hi to everyone important to you. Only devout, active Mormons who follow temple ordinances, attend temple, tithe, uphold the priesthood and follow the word of wisdom get to go here. What about hell? Well, that's Outer Darkness. Mormon hell isn't like most other hells, either. Instead of fire and brimstone and suffering and torture forever, it's literally... nothingness. It's described as being like the cold, dark nothingness of space. You float around in nothing. You are judged, told why you're going to hell, and then you float around in an ethereal timeout by yourself for however many thousand years it takes for you to reflect and atone and find redemption through self-reflection and meditation about your behavior. You might even arrive to accept the Gospel and Jesus in your heart while your there, or, after your time's up, an angel or Jesus might invite you to do so and it's up to you to choose. IF, and only IF you actually, genuinely reflect and atone and repent, you then get sent to the Telestial Kingdom but there's a caveat -- if you were truly evil, like, sincerely evil, like Hitler evil, operating knowingly and willingly on hatred evil -- you're there forever. What's the line? We don't know, and we never will, because that's up to God and part of faith is surrendering that judgement to God for God to make. It's also worth noting that death isn't the finale in Mormon beliefs. There's a post-mortal period our spirits go to between us dying on Earth and the rapture and final judgement (so like a spiritual waiting room where we wait for the end of the world.) In this waiting room, we have opportunities to learn about the Gospel and accept Jesus if we choose to -- this is what those Baptisms for the Dead are about -- they're not actually baptising the dead without their consent but it's a symbolic baptism we do on Earth for them in case they have chosen to accept the Gospel in the afterlife. More like an 'invitation' or a 'just in case' than 'grandma's gonna be a Mormon now and she can't do jack shit about it.' So even after you die, people still have opportunity to repent and atone and find redemption if they choose, and this is because God knows thats some people can't make an informed choice one way or the other in our Corporeal life because of our circumstances or culture or because we've found ourselves restricted by our physical bodies (ie. struggling with addiction, mental illness, etc.)

So, with all this explained, where's Joshua going? Not the Celestial Kingdom, I can tell you that fucking much for sure. It goes without saying that spurning the Church to become a warlord for a fascist LARP group like Caesar's Legion is going to get your temple card revoked and your priesthood stripped as well. Are Mormons anti war? Absolutely not, but the systemic rape without any shred of marriage whatsoever on the cards? Ironically, Mormons can accept colonization and some violence, but they draw the line at encouraging any kind of sexual congress outside of marriage. Joshua was letting that shit happen, he's out, even if he didn't directly do it himself. You can lose your Temple card for looking at porn or living with a boyfriend outside of marriage even if you sleep in separate rooms and don't have any sexual contact. And also, like, there's a big difference between fighting for your freedoms or fighting in self defense or even fighting in a war that you've been coerced or deceived or conscripted into fighting, and being a professional legate and warmonger in charge of making up the war crimes.

Now, did he go back to the church? Yes. Did he go head first back into Mormonism? Yes, and despite his misuse of his faith as an outlet and justification for his anger and desire for revenge, he really does seem to genuinely have accepted Jesus and the Gospel into his heart -- like, I think he's a true believer. Lots of people are hypocritical in their faith but still absolutely true believers. Not mutually exclusive, it's just the human condition.

Man's not getting into the Celestial Kingdom. And he knows this, imo. You can hear it in how he addresses the act of murder and warfare, in how he talks about his sin and redemption. He knows he's never getting into the Celestial Kingdom and he probably believes he's also gonna do a thousand years in outer darkness.

Is he actually going to outer darkness? I mean, I'm not God, I don't fucking know. But the best he can hope for is probably the Terrestrial Kingdom. Now, that's not bad, but for Joshua that's tragedy. To love his faith and God so much, to believe he survived his own sin because of forgiveness from God, to dedicate the rest of his life to God and surrender to God (at least in the ending where he spares the white legs) and to continue atoning and changing for the better and finding redemption because of his love for God all while knowing he will never reside beside him.

Does he deserve this? Yeah. Does it say even more about the strength of his faith to believe and serve God anyway, even knowing this? in my opinion, yes. But there's also a weird tragedy to it, that his redemption is simultaneously an act of his atonement, that his love for God is tied to the suffering of knowing he will never be with him in the afterlife. You gotta understand: Mormons believe that God is also our father, that our souls are literally his children just as our Earthly forms are the children of our parents. It's bad enough knowing you won't get to spend eternity with your Heavenly Father, let alone the one who's love saved you from burning to death and and also from yourself, but continuing to serve regardless? Oof.

idk man i think about this a lot

[em1e]

baby fever | seeing shin w a little baby

⿻ mini series ft. you dating shinichiro and whatever chaos that comes from that !! ✕ cute fluff !! to make up for the heartbreak from the last one ♡ series m.list

shinichiro wants to be impressed, honestly, with how quickly his day can go downhill. 

first, he woke up to mikey and emma arguing about who’d get to take the spiderman lunch box and who would get to take the batman one to the dojo with their grandpa (shinichiro was the deciding factor, and it turns out neither of them would get either – which could’ve been a mistake on his part, since the choice just made them whine and complain more at having to take brown bags).

then the clothes he threw in the dryer for his day with you weren’t completely dry, so he had to make the decision to wear slightly damp (and sour? was that smell coming from the clothes?) or be the disgusting human he knows he is deep down and wear the clothes he’s been wearing for the past week . . .��

he goes for the latter, because surely he can just douse himself in cologne and that’ll get rid of any underlying smells the clothes have accumulated . . . right . . ?

there’s no time to dwell on it, because now he’s late picking you up! 

you were going to kill him. he prays it’s a sweet, painless death as he knocks on your door. 

and of course the universe is against him. he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this bad luck, but god. he might have to start repenting. 

you pull the door open, and there’s a baby bouncing on your hip. you look tired, hair a mess and still in your pjs despite it being a little past the start of lunch, and the baby doesn’t look any better, crying despite your constant movement and shh’s that it’s okay. 

“uh . . hi?” he offers, brows furrowing, “something you wanna tell me?” 

“saw this one on the street, and thought ‘wow i’ve always wanted one of those’.” you joke humorlessly, opening the door wider so he can walk through, “my sister dropped her off because her stupid boyfriend got in trouble with the cops and her sitter canceled.” 

“so no date?” he concludes, and the way you whirl around to glare at him has him holding his hands defensively, clicking his tongue, “i’ll take that as a no . . want me to take her for a sec? how long have you had her?” 

you don’t hesitate to offer the baby to him, “since six this morning. she’s been fussy because her mom left.” you run a hand through your hair,  clearly exhausted, but the second she’s in shinichiro’s arms, she quiets down. your eyes narrow, “how’d you do that?” 

he moves to sit on the couch, and you scramble to sit beside him, passing the baby blanket he points to from her diaper bag and laying it gently over her. 

“do what?” he asks, voice a thousand times softer with her in his arms, “mikey was a fusser when he was a baby, wouldn’t stop crying unless you held ‘im like this.” 

it’s . . really fucking cute, admittedly, the way he gazes down at your niece and slowly rocks her to sleep. you would be upset at how easily she relaxes in his arms if it didn’t make your heart clench. 

and you’re honestly too worn out to hold a grudge over something so silly. 

your head finds itself on shinichiro’s shoulder, toying with a loose thread on the blanket. 

“you wore that shirt yesterday.” you comment off-handedly, when your niece has been rocked to sleep and you’re ready to follow her down that same path if your eyes fighting to stay open is anything to go by. 

“how do you know?” he asks, the hint of a smile teasing its way to his lips. 

“grease stain from your bike,” you pause with a yawn, then continue while snuggling into his side, “saw ��em when you drove me home from work.” 

“and you didn’t tell me?” he sounds offended, but really, how does he expect you to take him seriously with the lilt in his voice like he’s still talking nonsense to your niece? 

it’s soft; a side of him you’ve never seen, and it makes you ache at the prospect of having him all to yourself. your own family, your own house with a picket fence. so domestic. 

“can’t wait for us to have our own.” you mumble in favor of answering his question, sleep edging its way into your voice. 

“yeah?” you can still hear the way he’s smiling as he speaks, relaxing further into the couch for the impromptu nap. you only hum in response, and he knows then you’re too far gone to provide a real reply. 

looking down at you, holding this baby in his arms . . . he thinks he can’t wait either. 

[cursedkeyboard]

Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader (PT.5)

What does Jason do after he tries his best and fails spectacularly to keep his nosy family away from his kid? Make sure he is still your favorite when everyone starts spoiling you rotten, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

Pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader / Batfamily & Child GN!Reader

When everything was said and done, Jason explaining why he didn't want to expose you to more dangers by introducing you but also the reason why he felt compelled to be honest with you about their identities, the bats soon started to try and bond with you

Dick was the first one, as always, and introduced himself as "little wing's one and only older brother"

You giggled when Jason groaned at that, embarrassed, and Dick took that as a win

Dick's older bro charms 1 - Bruce's gloomy dad stare 0

After getting called out by you so directly and plainly, Bruce had been awfully quiet as everyone interacted with you

It wasn't every day he got called out for the worst mistakes he comitted

But he also was still reeling at the fact that he was a damn grandfather

Steph cooed at how small you were, pointing out how even Damian was taller

Which, in Jason's opinion, was totally unfair since you were only eleven while Damian was thirteen, going on fourteen, and had been trained for along time

Also, excuse him, only he could tease you

Dick would be asking Jason one and a million questions about how he'd been taking care of you, your education, health, etc

"Of course I– You think I wouldn't send my kid to school, Grayson?"

His kid, they thought, part giddy part dumbfounded

"Woah, woah, I'm just asking! Technically you're legally dead and the little angel over here doesn't exactly look like you."

Wow, for some reason that really pissed Jason off

He tucked you under his chin, squeezing you gently as you rested your head on his collarbone

"I signed the papers. I'm not fucking dumb, Dick, I've been the legal guardian for about a year now."

At that, Steph stopped trying to take pictures of you with her eyes alone and quirked one of her eyebrows

"Legally?"

"... For the most part."

No one said anything at that, it's not like any of them really followed the law, especially not the old man behind them

You huffed in amusement at that, making Dick and Steph's hearts warm up

Damn, not even an hour into meeting you and they were already feeling those fuzzy, soft feelings in their chests

Needless to say, it wasn't a casual evening but it wasn't what Jason had been dreading, not at all

There was no screaming about him being reckless, no one tried to take you away from him, Bruce didn't even say much

Damian was still a brat and tried to pick on you, judgy little shit, only to get the nastiest clapback that made Dick choke on his spit

They all knew he was just feeling jealous, like every kid feels when a younger, cuter child shows up in the family

Boohoo, Jason thought as he watched fondly as you and Damian bickered, the demon brat was never as cute as my kid

Bruce, despite his melancholic gaze and awkward nature, managed to talk a bit to the both of you

He'd tell Jason that if you ever needed anything, to just use his credit card, no questions asked

Bruce would always be a call away and with Cass slowly taking over the mantle, he had a bit more time in his hands when the League didn't need him

He'd support the both of you to hell and back, his own way of repenting, and all he asked in return was...

For Jason to visit more

Because he was still upset about not having all of his kids home for Christmas

And bring you with him

it was high time you met everyone and became an official member of the family, he already knew exactly where your portrait would go

And despite his hesitance, you wanted to be a part of Jason's entire life, not just a hidden piece

Jason could never say no when you did a terrible impression of puppy dog eyes

So this is how it started; the start of the bats spoiling the hell out of you

After a couple of dinners together, lunch, and a tour around the manor and the batcave, seeing all of their old and new suits, ("Tell me you didnt actually wear this." "Shut it, I was a child." "I'm a child and I'd rather die than ever touch this."), with you glued to Jason's side always, packages started showing up at the doorstep

At first it'd be cute and silly things like a plush of the newest Pokémon and matching scarves for the incoming winter

Maybe even their own merch, because they're all losers deep inside

Then it was Bruce taking over any kind of expenses you and Jason had because, in his words, he wanted Jason to focus on raising you instead of worrying about rent

–Not like he wasn't already using Bruce's money to pay for everything

But he still felt begrudgingly soft at having his dad care for him and his kiddo like that, though he'd never admit it–

And then Babs and Tim upgrading the cyber security all around your block in the chance of a villain attack or any creeps following you home

From Duke and Cass asking Jason to spend time with you for some bonding time to your entire wardrobe turning into designer and your school materials updated by Wayne tech

Fuck, you even had terribly expensive yet thoughtful action figurines from your and Damian's favorite animated shows

The brat tried to hate you for ripping everyone's attention away from him, for making Bruce and Dick all... gooey, but it was hard when you had Todd's knowing eyes and a developing charm that always cracked a smile out of him

Infuriating, like father like kid

But... he liked you, quite a lot

And, throughout it all, Jason was panicking bad

Look, Jason Todd was always a jealous person by nature

He never liked his things touched, never liked sharing his interests in case someone also got interested in it, and he was particularly possessive with the few romantic partners he had

So when your attention was suddenly split among all of his family, Jason felt a little upset

It's like when a cat that usually only likes you allows other people pet it

Jason didn't quite feel betrayed but... that childish fear of not being your favorite person was very real in his head

So he upped his game

Whenever any member of his family gave you a gift, he'd get something better the next day

If they took you to a cool place, say an arcade or the mall to hang out and get to know you better

Jason was already booking tickets to go to Universal and taking you out for nightly motorcycle rides

Damian was insisting on watching the new season of your favorite show?

Next weekend he'd have prepared the living room to look like a cinema, with snacks and popcorn, for a movie marathon

Babs and Steph got you interested in makeup?

Regardless of gender identity, you know Jason would watchevery YouTube tutorial known to man about makeup so you won't have to ask the girls about it

Bruce would grow all fond of you once you got past, but did not forgive nor forget, the things he's done to Jason and started interacting more with him

So once he's talking about how he learned multiple different languages growing up, during one of the monthly family dinners, Jason would already be Googling how to learn another language fast

And god forbid Dick messed with your hair

He was not above picking a fight with Nightwing for ruining the hairstyle he spent hours doing for you

Look, Jason wouldn't be as petty as to keep you away from his family

No, in the contrary, he really, really loved watching you be coddled and loved by some of the most powerful people on earth

Getting the childhood he had so desperately wanted

It allowed that restless part of his soul to settle knowing you had them looking out for you, always

But Jason also would always want to be your number one

Your favorite person

Your hero

You dad

Yeah, he could admit it now without fear, he's definitely your old man

How could he not be when he's cutting apples for your school snack and making sure you go to bed before nine?

Never mind his age, Jason even bought a grill so you two could barbecue on the rooftop, there's no other more dad move than that

So, after a few months of this real life sitcom, when you were both on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice (Jason's choice tonight), all cuddled up and cozy

You'd rest your head on his shoulder and sigh happily

"You don't need to do all this, you know?"

"Hm? Do what, kiddo?"

"Trying to one up everyone. It's funny and I'm not exactly opposed to being spoiled as hell–"

"You're such a brat."

"Shut up– but you'll always be my favorite, you know that, dad."

Oh.

Oh.

Ok. Wow. He was tearing up.

"Oh, fuck off, don't do this to me."

His voice would be a little wobbly as he hid his face in your hair, squeezing you gently in his arms

And you'd giggle and hug him tighter too, your face warming up nervously but no longer afraid of muttering that one little word that had been stuck in your throat for so long

You two were so, so similar in that regard, afraid of overstepping despite the bubbling emotions inside you, the overflowing love threatening to spill out

So much faith and trust, devotion, care, and adoration

And all it took was one sentence to make it all better

"I still wanna go to the convention next week, though."

And Jason would laugh, teary and almost breathless, and press a kiss to your forehead, feeling happier than he's ever felt

"Yeah, okay, you nerd."

Wonder who you got it from

That night solidified it for him, calming his anxieties and petty jealousy

Jason would always be your favorite person

And you wouldalways be his favorite little one

Nothing would ever change that

To be continued... for one last time.

[chutkiandchotte]

So @jalebi-weds-bluetooth is back with her thoughtful & interesting IPKKND analysis and immediately sparking thoughts and conversations and in this case, long ass speculation posts. This is inspired by this post where she analyzes how Arnav's belief in Khushi's innocence shifted not all at once but in phases, with the dramatic First Shyam Expose marking the completion of the process. It inspired me to re-watch some scenes from Buaji's house terrace scene till Shyam's reveal at Shantivan and I wanted to make a post to try and untangle Arnav's thoughts in this confusing (and painful) period!

There's two parts of the Misunderstanding -

1) the what happened and

2) the what was Khushi thinking/feeling about it.

The former is actually easily proved via investigation and deductive reasoning. Its an outrageous story tbh but thats another conversation. I think when Arnav heard her sequence of events - that Shyam cheated her, lied to her family, that she ended it when she found out the truth, that she hates him - he knew there's a good chance its true because it's too big of a lie to risk telling him. The essential fact of Shyam's fraud is easily provable or disprovable so why would she lie about that.

But.......so what?

Khushi isn't exactly blameless even in the true sequence of events. She chose to hide the truth, a mistake Arnav cannot understand or sympathize with at all. When he asks her if Shyam is the villain and she the victim, then why did she lie, she takes a looong moment to answer because she isn't quite being honest even with herself about her motives for that lie.

The long silence (I think she's honestly thinking about the answer, for the first time) followed by her (not entirely truthful) answer that it was all for his Di...further sets off Arnav's suspicions about her motives through it all.

His essential (and pretty accurate) belief that Khushi isn't averse to lying, frequently lies to herself even, and can delude herself into doing wrong things for the "right" reasons stands against her in this moment. And moreover...it had become kind of irrelevant to Arnav what happened in terms of Shyam's sins. None of it would convince him of what had become much MUCH more critical - and what Khushi cannot manage to convince him of - did Khushi really love Shyam or Arnav? Who was in her heart back then and who was in her heart now? Could he forgive her for betraying him in the past? (Sidebar for the last part: I think there's a huge part of him that fantasized that after he told her the reason for marrying her she would confess, repent and express her desire to be with him and not Shyam and then they could be together somehow although in the unlikely event this happened, they would have been super toxic bc he'd never truly trust her fully even if he wanted her around desperately).

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

So now we come to part 2) of the Misunderstanding - the "Fault in My Intentions" aka what was Khushi thinking/feeling part - and thats really not...provable with facts in any way.

That has to be taken on faith because the fact of Khushi hiding Shyam's truth for so long is too damning in his eyes. She says she hates Shyam, she STRONGLY hints she loves Arnav. He's desperate to believe her but he cannot precisely because he is that desperate and his Di's life is at risk here. He is doubling down on the following his head not heart path because he's so terrified of being cheated again, that he'll believe her unlikely story simply because of his strong feelings and the consequences of making an emotional decision that would destroy his and his Di's life. And unfortunately, from his point of view, there is no evidence to prove her love or innocence. Even if she WAS engaged to and then dumped a lying scheming Shyam...it doesn't automatically disprove Shyam's claim (backed by the unshakable memory of the terrace moment) that Khushi loves/loved him.

In this version of events, Khushi DID have feelings for her fiance Shyam, POSSIBLY even knew he was married when they were engaged, broke up with him due to either her belief in marriage + not wanting to be a mistress OR her family finding out and making her break up with him; but crucially, continued to harbour feelings for Shyam, led Arnav on while secretly longing for a married man, and planned/hoped to marry him after he was divorced, as late as Payash's wedding, now was regretting her choices and instead of taking accountability...was trying to cover them up.

All of that is consistent and possible with this new reveal of Shyam being her ex-fiance. All of that is consistent and possible with his knowledge of Khushi's character (check end of post for what I mean by this). The only thing that changes is that Shyam is an even bigger scoundrel than he previously thought but he truly does not care about that. Because it doesn't discount the possibility of Khushi being in love with Shyam all along and even now, lying to cover up. Her culpability could be either manipulative scheming home-wrecker as he initially believed or entrapped young girl fighting her feelings for an immoral married man (and refusing to admit to them due to shame). He isn't clear on that. Either way, Arnav's heart is still broken. Do you see? Its not about the 1) what happened. Its about the 2) what was she thinking/feeling? does Khushi love me like I love her? can i trust her not to hurt me or my family?

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

So how can she prove what she was feeling? How can she prove she didn't love Shyam all along? Arnav has no real answers for this and neither does Khushi (expecting Shyam to defend her to Arnav was...dumb as fuck). She is desperate to prove, he is desperate to be convinced with proof, and increasingly angered by her bad attempts at it. It's a losing battle because the matter does not admit of proof.

So in this phase, the seeds of which are laid through the contract marriage, Arnav's Heart of course is 100% tortured by his love and longing for Khushi, by his pain witnessing her pain etc. But his Head is Confused AF, haunted by memories of contradicting moments of truth & lies regarding Khushi. He doesn't really believe she is a gold digger - he only says it to hurt her - if he really believed that, he wouldn't, for example, sign any damn thing she gave him to sign. Worst case scenario - she still loves Shyam, she's still playing games and acting for reasons beyond his comprehension. Best case scenario - she repents now her follies of youth etc; she has some attraction to him (he remembers Holi for the first time EVER at Buaji's house), and that combined with her strong sense of duty towards her married life & husband, and her natural tendency to want to be the Good Girl in her own head (he's pointed that out before about her) - results in her desperation to prove herself innocent in his eyes and explain away Shyam. It is not enough. Per his ASR ego and specific childhood trauma, even in the best case scenario, what she did is unforgivable and the dutiful loyalty and weak explanations she is offering are too pathetic to accept, especially considering his own intensity of feelings. It's his mother's death anniversary , further reinforcing the potency of the terrace memory in his head. This is in contention with the part of him which longs to forgive and move on, accepting whatever she has to offer to him now, lies and all, and live as real husband and wife. His heart is locked in conflict and he needs distance from it all to cope.

But then he turns around at the airport.

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

His turning at the airport to come back to Khushi was the shift to his next attitude. He's much more firmly in this phase - "I'm still unclear about what happened in the past, but I don't care. What matters is that Khushi said she finds Shyam disgusting now. What matters is she said farq padta hai cuz its you."

Then being kidnapped and alone with his thoughts and feelings with no scope of running away, forces further honest self reflection, and he accepts that whatever he feels for Khushi is beyond logic and he will never be happy away from her. He admits he actually does not care what happened in the past. The only thing that matters is what they feel for each other now. Basically the pay off for Holi, for his Heer Ranjha speech which he remembers just before turning around. He's ready to love her and (if he miraculously survives being kidnapped) be with her despite still kiiiiiind of believing she WAS his didi ki saut at one point. His love is so powerful the rest doesn't matter to him. Which is twistedly romantic I guess.

Even after this I Love You, Arnav's heartbreak from the terrace moment has still not quite healed. He still believes that at that moment, he was madly deeply in love with Khushi, ready to fight all his demons to be with her, while she on the other hand was having merely tepid feelings for him, and conflicted feelings between two men, one of them being his sister's husband. That he loves her more than she loves him. This heartbreak is soothed a whole lot when Khushi clearly proves that whatever happened in the past, in present time, she DOES love him madly and truly - by risking her own life to save him multiple times. I don't know that anything less would have ever convinced him that the madness is truly mutual.

Arnav is now fully on board Team Never Talk About the Past, Focus on the Future. It doesn't matter she lied and played games, it doesn't matter he hurt and tortured her. What matters is their love. By the way, their stay in Buaji's house was the prelude to this conclusion - he was already contemplating fully accepting Khushi as his wife and treating her with the respect and care that position deserved, though nowhere being close to accept her as his love back then.

However all through Buaji's house, kidnap, even post rescue, he is still thinking of Shyam more as Khushi's ex, not her harasser. He still thinks she DID have feelings for Shyam at one point and maybe acted inappropriately due to that, albeit now she's over it and firmly in love with Arnav.

But then Shyam's utterly believable storytelling (it WAS, Shyam is an excellent liar) about Khushi being this immoral hussy etc - ironically opens his eyes. He realizes that his entire belief about Khushi's past feelings is based on Shyam's powerful storytelling. Till that very moment, he never unbelieved the story Shyam fed him about Khushi passionately loving Shyam at one point in her past. He only changed what he felt about it - from anger to avoidance to acceptance. It had become a core trauma re-inforced belief for the last 6 months, implacable thru all the questioning and doubts. He realizes finally that Shyam is NOT Khushi ka scandalous ex-love, her embarrassing mistake she's trying to hide and forget, her moment of weakness she needs forgiveness for, but rather her harasser and stalker.

They had a missed opportunity here to use flashbacks and show Arnav evaluating past events in light of fresh knowledge. He has an excellent memory especially regarding all things Khushi - as he admitted himself. Arnav should have recalled how Khushi was unhappy every minute of her engagement. How she showed her feelings for Arnav, to Arnav, long long before it was socially or morally acceptable to do so. And every other instance of proof that while he was right in judging her character he was wrong is judging her heart.

Because Khushi Kumari Gupta IS the kind of girl who would stupidly, delusionally, throw away every moral, social and self preservation consideration for the sake of a grand romantic love.

But the only man she has ever done all that for and will ever do that for - is Arnav Singh Raizada.

[plasma-studios]

had some thoughts about the Dreamtale twins + Cross in the typical UTMV setting

@zu-is-here my apologies for tagging you in such a long post, just wanted to hear your thoughts on this analysis! (cream brainrot go brrrrrr)

Cross is a foil of both Dream and Nightmare.

Let me elaborate; they all share a mistake (or at the very least a perceived mistake) made that ended in the destruction of their world and loss of their family. Dream and Nightmare with Dreamtale, Cross with XTale.

In Nightmare's case, his mistake drives him down a path of self-destruction when he's corrupted by the apple as he loses himself. This is paralleled by Cross' own self-loathing created by his own mistake in XTale's last timeline. This mistake drives them down a path of self-destruction, and it isolates them.

In Dream's case, he also made a mistake (or, a perceived one, be it unintentional neglect or ignorance of Nightmare's situation depending on the interpretation) that cost him both his world (Dreamtale) and his family (Nightmare).

However, although Cross is a foil of both, it is with Dream where he can find healing with because of one key difference between the aftermath of how Dream and Nightmare's respective mistakes, of the difference of how they emerged from their mutual tragedy.

2. The parallel between their tragedies

Nightmare's story was and is a tragedy. The story of XTale is also a tragedy. Dreamtale is in itself a tragedy, from Nim's departure fueled by paranoia of her peers to her dying alone because of it. From the very start it was a tragedy. Though the birth of the Dreamtale twins was indeed a hope born of Nim's death, they too suffered their own tragedy of the Apple Incident.

There we see a pattern. Tragedy, hope, then tragedy.

But after tragedy, is hope. And that hope in this iteration of the cycle is Dream. Dream is a representation of how kindness and hope can survive through tragedy. That no mistake is unforgivable, unsalvageable.

That concept of how no mistake is salvageable is exactly what a self-loathing Cross needs. Does he not have the tendency to hold onto his sin, his mistakes? And his self-loathing, self-blame. Dream's existence is a manifestation of the antithesis to what he believes himself to be: there is more to post-tragedy than pain, than regret, than shame. He still has the capacity to be kind. to love. He is still able to love, and be loved. He is not unsalvageable.

3. As such, Dream is Cross' penance.

Dream represents both how a sin/fault, no matter how disastrous or destructive, is the end of. Dream represents the hope that contradicts the very idea of self-blame and self-damnation.

If Cross' sin is hating himself, healing is his penance. Forgiving himself, his own mistakes, through the embodiment of a mistake repented for through kindness. Through Dream.

Dream is his penance for his sin against himself.

And thus, Dream is Cross' weakness because he is Cross' penance.

4. Because Cross is a foil of Nightmare, Cross is also Dream's penance.

Even if Dream could not save his brother from losing himself, at least he could save someone from their self-destruction. At least, this time, he could save someone from themself.

As such, Cross is Dream's weakness because he is Dream's penance.

[fandomsarefamily1966]

Here's a part 2, everyone!

Part 2: The March sisters as the Pevensie siblings from the Chronicles of Narnia. (This one's a bit trickier, as there's more differences than similarities, but I still think it works.)

Meg: Susan. The oldest sister who has to become a second mom to her siblings, is the most practical out of all of them, and temporarily abandons her principles to try and fit in. (Of course Meg doesn't lose her whole family like Susan does, but I'm sure Susan will find her way back like Meg does.)

Jo: Peter. The hot blooded older sibling who puts their family first, and gets along best with the 'heart' of the family. (I just thought of this, but I feel like he's essentially what Jo wishes she could be as a boy.)

Beth: Lucy. The heart of the family who everyone adores, and who keeps her faith no matter what, who may seem angelic but still makes mistakes like everyone else, and who dies a tragic but 'good Christian death' at the end. (Lucy isn't shy like Beth is, of course, but I do feel like she'd have some trouble fitting in after leaving Narnia.)

Amy: Edmund. The troublemaker of the family who's quite antagonistic at first, but then the consequences of their actions come back to haunt them, and they resolve to try and be better people from then on. (While Amy is only selfish and just antagonizes Jo, Edmund is a bully and even betrays his siblings to the White Witch before repenting, but everything else still applies.)

@princesssarisa

[bl00dboundbaby]

Summertime Sadness - A Tate and Violet fic

Warnings:

Angst, toxic relationship (duh), smoking, suicide, the normal stuff for them lol.

WC: 2.5k

Synopsis: Months after the events of MH, Violet is lonely and feels like she's suffocating, and theres only one person who can dull the ache in her chest.

A/N: First fic on this account!! :) I know no one writes for them but someone does now lol. Requests are open!!

(I will properly edit this tmw, I'm too tired rn.) Please don't mind any spelling mistakes, I am dyslexic.

It’s widely accepted that people who take their own life will suffer in Hell for the remainder of their afterlife.

Violet Harmon had come to realize that maybe there was truth in that, but that Hell is not fiery pits or repenting for your Sins till your throat is dry and bleeding.

Hell is living the same day over and over again, Hell is watching your parents slowly lose themselves, Hell is having to pretend you don’t hear the cries and pleads of your ex-boyfriend.

–

It had been eight months since Violet had spoken to Tate, not that time really mattered anymore, now that she was dead.

She heard him though, almost nightly, he would be in the basement, crying or screaming. She cursed the house's old vents which let her hear everything. Some nights, it just sounded like the pipes crying, or at least, she pretended that’s what it was.

The worst nights were the ones when she could feel him near her, outside her door, waiting. Completely silent but she knew he was there. Maybe it was something he was doing on purpose, but it unsettled her that she could precisely feel him in the house, no matter where he was, she knew.

Most of Violet's days were parallel to when she was alive, spent in her room listening to music, drawing, re-reading the books on her shelves, always alone.

It had been okay for the first few months, her parents had pretended to care about her, and about each other. In a lot of ways it felt like they were cosplaying as the perfect family, that quickly faded and back to their sense of normalcy they went.

Violet liked being left alone, at least that’s what she told herself, people annoyed her most of the time. It’s not like she had many choices of whom to spend her time with anyway.

There was only one person in the house who wasn’t completely and utterly annoying to Violet, and that boy stood outside her door.

The floor creaked outside her room, taking her attention away from the over-read book in her hands. She knew it was Tate. No one else checked on her anymore.

Sometimes she would play out different scenarios in her head about what would happen if she opened the door, or if he came into her room.

Did she even want him around? No, is what she’d say if anyone ever asked her. Truthfully the sick and weak part of her brain, the part that was just so tired of being lonely, wanted him. So bad.

A sickly ache sat in her chest since the day he first left her alone, no matter what she did, the ache grew and sat heavier. There was one person who could ease that ache away, it was him. It would always be him, and there was no worse fate.

Somewhere in the passing of time, that ache became too much for her to handle, she knew that at one point or another, he made her better.

That didn’t matter now, who made who better, in this house nothing like that mattered. They would all fall into deluded states, her parents had been slipping lately. It was only a matter of time before she lost her grip on reality.

—-

A bird, a beautiful bird, sat on the porch steps next to Violet.

For midsummer in LA, it was cold outside, which felt incredible against her skin. The comforting breeze also served as a harsh reminder that no matter how long she stayed here, she would never see the leaves slowly change colour like they did in the town she grew up in.

So much life she’d never get to live, so many things she’d never see. She could blame the house, her parents, even Tate, but it was her fault, no one forced her to take those pills.

Her hair blew in the wind slightly, she was thankful for her layers. Amidst the silence she shared with the bird, she felt him. He was watching her, this was previously their spot, she liked coming out here, it was the farthest she could get from the house.

Sometimes it made that ache gnaw at her chest more than usual, if she sat with that feeling too long she could recall every detail about their time together, sitting on the porch was like torture sometimes, but Violet didn’t mind. Anything that made her feel something was welcomed.

Maybe it was a good reminder that even in death she still was herself, feelings and all.

Maybe that’s why she never began to slip, like her parents.

Or, maybe, just maybe, the house had something against her and her punishment was eternal misery.

The feathered companion flew away, into the world once again.

Tate took a step forward, closer to Violet. He wouldn’t do anything, he had begged and pleaded with her far too many times to still be naive enough to assume she would grant him a response.

‘’A robin. Are those still your favorite?’’ Her soft lips moved, her body didn’t. She stared into the night sky.

Tate’s whole world felt like it came back into place when he heard her voice, so many things he wanted to tell her came crashing into his mind.

‘’Yeah.’’ Another step forward.

Silence weaved its way around them again, if they closed their eyes they could pretend this was just another night spent together, hanging out like normal teenagers do.

Violet spoke up again, her voice tighter. ‘’My parents are slipping. They don’t realize time is even passing, they’re just…there.’’ She picked at her nail polish, Tate could see enough of her to realize what she was doing, a nervous habit she had. Admittedly it was one of her better habits.

‘’Yeah.’’ With his whole body tense, he sat beside her. They weren’t close enough to touch, but that didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that he was here, and she wasn’t moving away.

‘’At least they don’t fight with me anymore, they don’t even notice me now.’’ Her tone was laced with a bittersweet angst.

‘’Yeah.’’

‘’Can you stop fucking say that?’’

‘’Sorry.’’

The tension felt like it was moments away from snapping, mixed emotions ran through both of their chests.

Words strung together in her head, but before she could speak them he beat her to it.

‘’I shouldn’t be here.’’ His voice was whisper-like, as if he spoke too loud the silence of the night would steal his words.

‘’No, you shouldn’t.’’

Violet waited, waited for something she wasn’t sure of. Was he going to leave? Try and apologize again? She couldn’t stomach more of his victim act.

‘’Wanna smoke and bitch about something?’’ She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her cardigan, a lighter following suit. Tate’s shoulders relaxed slightly, her words seemed genuine. His head swam with questions, but he’d take this, he’d take anything she gave him.

‘’uh, yeah, what?’’ He took a cigarette from the pack, careful not to brush his hand against hers.

‘’You spend everyday in the basement, I’m sure you’ve heard things. Tell me a story, Tate.’’ The way his name fell off her tongue made his chest heavy, filled with desire for what they could’ve had.

She turned to look at him, her eyes so sullen it was a jarring change to the anger he had come familiar with seeing.

All she wished of him was to talk, and suddenly he couldn’t even do that. Nothing of interest had happened, or well, he hadn’t listened to it, he had been a bit preoccupied with sulking. She was the only interesting part of the house anymore.

He took a minute to think, trying to come up with something at least semi interesting to get her to stay.

‘’You remember those gay guys? Yeah..’’He trailed off into a speel about some stupid argument they had gotten into, and it was at that moment Violet's aching went away.

As the night progressed she silently moved towards him, eventually she lent her head on his shoulder. It really was just like before. It felt so nice to play pretend every once in a while.

—

After the sun came up, Violet wordlessly walked inside and went back to ignoring him.

Last night should’ve been enough to soothe the ache in her chest, even for a while.

But like anything used to dull pain, she wanted more.

She felt worse, the more she thought about the night, and how he makes her feel, like maybe, being stuck here isn’t as bad as it once sounded.

She spent the day listening to cd’s and staring out her window, thinking. She was doing so much of that recently, she missed when Tate was the reason she didn’t have to think, she could just feel. He had made her feel everything, and she craved any sense of normalcy, even if that came with feelings of downcast.

No matter how long she spent looking through her window, she knew Tate would never come and check on her, in fear of upsetting her, she imagined. He hadn’t come to her door, not up the stairs or anything. He had locked himself in the basement, then again she wasn’t any better, alone in her room.

—

It was early morning, that type of morning that's foggy and gray when the yelling started.

Violet hadn’t heard that yelling in months, the type that only people who’ve known each other for years can do, the deep cutting and rough shouts. Her parents were fighting, for just a second in her groggy state she felt normal. Funny how a screaming match between two grown adults can do that.

Soon she adjusted to being awake again and tip-toed over to her bedroom door, trying to hear what they were throwing a tantrum about. As soon as she heard her own name, her throat went dry.

‘’You’re the reason Ben, the reason she’s dead! The reason we’re all stuck here for fucking ever.’’

‘’You’re blaming me for our daughter killing herself? That's a new low. Violet would’ve killed herself no matter what we did, she was broken and sad. That’s our fault Vivien. Believe it or not, you and your great parenting are included in that.’’

She was broken and sad, is that all they thought about her? She was just some dumb sad kid with no reason to live?

Was she that unimportant that her own parents couldn’t see past her gloom?

The yelling went on, this time she forced herself to walk away from the door and sat on her floor. Was this really how she’d have to spend forever? Alone and watching her parents go from brainless to arguing. In retrospect she supposed it wasn’t that different from her life when she was alive.

Before she even felt them spring to the surface, tears raced down her face.

Violet felt like she was suffocating.

Maybe she was just a broken and sad girl, forever stuck in this place with no one to talk to.

As the tears poured in such a way that seemed as if they'd never stop, a knock sounded on the door. Soft and patient. She didn’t wipe away the tears, she didn’t try and pretend she was okay, she knew who it was, and he would never believe her.

‘’Come in.’’ Her voice wavered slightly.

Tate quickly opened the door and immediately went down to the floor, grabbing her hands away from her face and holding them. He didn’t think about any of it, their past, the fights, how angry she had been with him. None of that mattered when she was upset and he could fix it if she would just let him. He could make her better, if only a little. She made him better so many times, it was his turn.

‘’Oh, Violet.’’ A sob spilled from her chest at his words, she wanted, so badly, to be disgusted by him. She waited for that feeling of pure disdain to take over her body and mind, but there was nothing. She just wanted him to hold her, hold all her broken parts like he had done so many times before. She tilted her head forward, pressing their foreheads together in embrace. The small movement, the touch she had — it was all that mattered to Tate.

‘’I’m so scared.’’ Her lips trembled as she spoke, her body shook. It was something she had never admitted aloud before. She noticed Tate’s breath on her face, the soft and familiar smell of his sweater, and the way his skin felt on hers. The ache tightened, and her throat followed.

Turning his head up, Tate placed a small kiss on top of her head in response. There was no verbal answer he could’ve given that would’ve fixed any of what she was feeling, he knew that first hand. Being stuck in this Hell House was scary, but she had made it easier for him, he only hoped he could make it easier for her, too.

‘’What do you want from me, Vi?’’ He had asked as if it was a simple question, like she could explain exactly what she wanted, like it was even possible. At his soft words she cried harder. She’d never have what she truly wanted, not in this house, not with him.

‘’Hold me.’’ Violet’s voice was desperate, lingering on pathetic with the way she looked at him, trying to hold on to any emotions she felt.

He did so without a second thought, just like she knew he would.

Tate was holding a broken girl and trying so desperately to fix her, stitch her back up, he found a sick satisfaction in it. After all this time, she still came back to him. She would always come back to him. He now knew that for sure.

For how long they would be trapped in this shit hole, this cycle would repeat.

He would inevitably say something to piss her off, she would banish him, he would spiral and self-destruct, she would realize she didn’t want to be alone, and being with anyone is better than being completely isolated.

Rinse and repeat.

Maybe they were doomed, or maybe they were better off than most ghosts left in the walls and forgotten to time, because at least Tate and Violet liked each other, even if that was only sometimes.

[blue-the-octoling]

Cursed.

Inspired by the song “Butcheress” by Rabbitology.

“God birthed me cursed.” She mumbled to herself, sitting in the confessional booth waiting for her church’s priest to enter the other side. Each second felt like century, the poor girls mind was filled with her. Phyllis Futterman. The dentists daughter, Sophia was a good girl. She always listened to her father, said her prayers, read the Bible, did everything that was ever expected of her.

Yet that… girl. Her near perfect teeth, and dark curls, how her voice sounded when she spoke so sweet and calming. “She held herself with such grace for her size.” Her mother murmured more to herself than anyone else, but even still the surprise and apparent disapproval held thick in her mother’s tone. It almost made Sophia angry, how could her mother speak of another like that? Wasn’t acceptance what their church preached?

She was pulled from her thought and near anger as she heard other door open and creak shut. The words felt heavy and stuck in her throat she knew this wasn’t a normal confession. If one at all, she just couldn’t bring herself to ask about something like this in front of her family. Of her church. What would they think of her? Her fingers pinch and rub the fabric of her dress between her fingertips a sick feeling washing over her. “I am cursed.” Her voice came out shaky then after a beat she asked the Father how she could be saved, he said. "He birthed you perfect, for God makes no mistakes"

"But to the dentist’s daughter… my heart is tethered, and I think we're soulmates" In the same breath, he said "Then you better repent every day." The disgust in his tone said it all, it was too much. He knew, it was supposed to make her feel better. Maybe have an answer but it didn’t. Her throat felt tight and her eyes stung but she spoke again. This time confessing the right way, asking for forgiveness as she had let herself be tempted. Each word stung deep in her throat like she was about to be sick, or maybe she would cry but she didn’t.

•—-🍁-—•

Her knees hurt, her hands did too. She had been praying for hours bare knees on her cabins hard wood floor it was dark by now and she had barely eaten at dinner. Each time she thought about then priests words the disgust in his tone. The sight of her smile. Her eyebrows pinched together tighter, eyes closed so tight bursts of color exploded behind her eyelids. Her rosary tangled around her hands the silver cross clutched in her hands so hard it could have broken skin.

Once more her mind wanders. Wondering why she had to be a girl? Why did she like a girl? For so long she had been told what her life was going to be like: “a husband… children… remaining a woman of the church.” Though for once she let herself imagine had she different skin… “I’d get to pickin’ her cornflower bouquets…” she whispered to herself imagining a male counterpart in her mind a little bundle of blue, white and pink cornflowers. How he’d find the girl- how would she respond? Would she take them as a sign of friendship or romance? Would she like them at all?

Sophia shook her head, hands loosening around the cross and her posture relaxing. In her mind. She would take them, love them… love her- no him. Then what? Sophia racked her brain trying to remember what the other girls at her Bible study had talked about… sweet gestures, kissing, touching. Then…

Or kissin’ in stables, bare backs scrapin’ ‘gainst hay. His lips would touch her own, soft and beautiful. Flowers forgotten in the heat as he pushed the girl against the wall of the stable it was used more as storage than for an animal anyway. Would she make sound? Of course, why would someone just be… quiet. But what would she sound like, or feel like. Soft and plush like the most lavish of blankets a type of comfort that falls over you like sitting by the fire after a long walk in the snow. Something that would fire up senses and push limits. Fingers tangling in pristine curls, twirling one around her fingers. Lips travel down hot skin and hands move to feel over plush flesh-

But I’m no man, no butcher boy, just flesh, blood and shame. The heat was already there. No amount of shame could suppress it now and Sophia curses herself for it. Moving onto her feet she slinks into bed curling up on her side facing the wall. Not knowing what else to but sleep. That will get rid of the feeling. Knowing in the back of her mind in one way or another it will never leave.

[camloveswriting]

⎯ mentor

warnings: mentions of death (not explicit)

pairing: katniss everdeen x fem!reader

desc: you previously won the hunger games and now you're a mentor for district 12. you used to be best friends with katniss, until you were picked to participate in the games.

wc: 2095

note: i wrote this a while ago so pls lmk if u see any mistakes!

Y/N woke up to Haymitch shaking her awake. She was aware that she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t know why. Then it hit her. She’d had a nightmare. Nightmares were fairly normal for her, especially in the days before the Reaping.

“Y/N, breathe. In, 1, 2, 3. Out, 1, 2, 3.” Haymitch spoke in a quiet voice that was only ever reserved for her.

“I’m fine, Haymitch. It was just a dream.”

“Are you sure? This is the third night in a row.”

“No, I’m fine,” she protested weakly.

Haymitch sighed but let the young girl walk past him to her bathroom. She rinsed her face off with water in a desperate attempt to fully wake herself up. She could still feel her heart pounding, but it was getting slower.

"I'm heading back to my house to get ready," Haymitch yelled.

"Okay,"

Knowing that Haymitch would most likely be late, she turned to her closet. She’d already picked out her dress the night before, so she simply slipped it on before settling on a nice pair of sandals. They were originally Effie’s, their District’s escort, but she’d given them to Y/N when she mentioned she only had one pair of shoes.

Y/N was fine with that, but Effie was distraught at the idea. Therefore, Y/N had new shoes.

She then applied her new perfume, also a gift from Effie. (That lady had a serious problem!) It smelt like spring flowers, perfect for the weather that day.

After deciding against any makeup, she headed downstairs to grab something for breakfast before the Reaping. Haymitch had gone back to his house, hopefully, to get ready and not go back to bed. He had a problem with that.

She stuck two slices of bread into the toaster and grabbed a plate while they cooked. She then grabbed the jam out of the fridge before applying it generously to the two slices of toast.

After she finished eating, Y/N grabbed her bracelet from the counter and slipped it onto her wrist. It was from Katniss, nearly 3 years ago. She still wore it every time she went out.

The girl left the house, making a quick run to Haymitch’s house so they could walk together.

It was a short trip to the Justice Hall, something Y/N despised. She hated living so close to that place, but it was non-negotiable.

She ran into Prim on the way there, who was seperated from the rest of her family. She must've already checked in. Even though she and Katniss weren’t friends any longer, Prim still loved her. She waved before attempting to follow Haymitch up to the part of the stage they needed to be on. Keyword: Attempting.

One thing about Y/N was she was not above shoving a child, which was something she was currently doing. Though Haymitch’s reputation with 12 was down the drain, Y/N’s was not. They loved her. A bit too much, in her opinion, but what could she do about it?

The kids stared at her in awe, even the ones older than her. They seemed to not be able to form a coherent sentence without passing out, which made Y/N want to laugh.

“Excuse me,” she said, still trying to push her way through the kids to get to the stage. “I need through.”

She finally made her way through the children before standing at Haymitch’s side. He was sending her a look that she did not appreciate, and she knew he would laugh at her if she didn’t say something.

“Shut up.”

He laughed anyway.

“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” the Mayor started.

Y/N didn’t really have an opinion of him, they’d never gotten the chance to talk.

He reads off the list of past District 12 victors, though Y/N and Haymitch were the only two alive.

The crowd applauded them, but Haymitch got confused and tried to give Effie the biggest hug Y/N had ever seen. She barely managed to fend him off.

“Haymitch,” Y/N hissed.

She grabbed his arm and tugged him back over to her, holding him upright so he didn’t fall off the stage again. Yes, it’s happened before.

The mayor looked distressed, probably because all of that was being televised. District 12 was always the laughingstock of Panem anyway, so Y/N didn’t know why he even cared.

“I’d like to invite Y/N L/N to the mic for a quick word about the Games.”

Y/N looked up, shocked. He’d never asked her to do that before, why now?

She walked up anyway, after making sure that Haymitch was okay with Effie.

“Um, hello?” she said, cringing when the mic screamed in protest.

“Thank you all for coming. This is a very important time of the year. I wish you all good luck and a happy Hunger Games.” she finished, silently willing Effie to take over. She thought she’d done pretty well for not being prepared.

The crowd had clapped much louder than they did for the mayor, Y/N noticed. It’s what he deserved for making her say something with no warning.

Effie walked past her, squeezing her arm as she did so.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

She mentions what an honor it was to be there, though Y/N knew she was lying. She had complained about 12 many times in the few years Y/N had known her.

“Ladies first!” she all but yelled into the mic as she crossed the stage to the girls’ names. She reached in and dug her hand deep into the ball, pulling out a slip of paper. The crowd drew in a collective breath. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Primrose Everdeen!”

Y/N let out a loud gasp, feeling Effie and Haymitch look in her direction, worry etched onto their faces. There was no way Prim was called, there were way too many slips for that. Some kids had hundreds, Prim only had one!

“Prim!” Katniss yelled from across the square.

No, Katniss, please, was all Y/N could think.

“Prim!” she yelled again.

The crowd parted for her much easier than they had done for Y/N. She reached her sister only seconds before she could mount the steps. With one sweep of an arm, she pushed Prim behind her.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

Y/N stared in horror as her old best friend signed her life away in seconds. And there was nothing she could do about it.

“Lovely! But I believe there’s a small matter of introducing the Reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, umm,” she trailed off, unsure of herself.

“Let her go,” Y/N said in a stony voice as she tried not to cry in front of the whole District.

Prim, on the other hand, was hysterical. “No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!”

“Prim, let go,” Katniss said quite harshly, probably trying not to cry as well.

“Let go!”

Gale came up behind them and pulled Prim off Katniss’ back. He whispered something to her that Y/N couldn’t make out, not that she cared very much. She’d never liked Gale. He seemed like the type of guy to guilt-trip Katniss into dating him.

As she walked up the stairs, she nodded at Y/N in thanks for helping her.

“Well, bravo!” Effie gushed. “That’s the spirit of the Games! What’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” she gulped.

“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!”

It stayed silent. Y/N raised an eyebrow in surprise. Nobody had ever blatantly ignored the Capitol like that. Then something unexpected happened. Slowly, the members of the crowd touched the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out for Katniss.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N did the same. She was aware she could get killed for that, but she couldn’t bring herself to care that much.

Haymitch took a step away from Y/N, startling her in the process. He was about to do something stupid, she just knew it.

“Look at her. Look at this one! Lots of… spunk!” he said triumphantly. “More than you! More than you!” he shouted, pointing at the camera.

He’d only made it about four feet away from Y/N, so she darted forward and caught his arm right before he tried to plummet off the stage and knock himself unconscious.

“Come on, Haymitch,” she said, trying to pull the heavy man back up for the last few minutes of the Reaping.

After a few moments of struggle, she succeeded. She pulled him back to their original area on the right side of the stage and held onto his waist. She held on tight enough that he wouldn’t be able to get away again and embarrass himself for the second time in one Reaping.

“Sorry,” she announced to the crowd, who had turned silent at the show in front of them.

“What an exciting day!” Effie droned, trying to take the attention of Y/N and Haymitch. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!”

She walked over to the other bowl and slipped her hand inside. She grabbed the first slip she felt, pulling it out and walking back to the podium.

“Peeta Mellark!”

Y/N had only ever heard of the boy in passing, but she’d never interacted with him before. She still felt sorry, though. He was only a child.

The boy steadily climbed onto the stage and took his place next to Effie and Katniss. Effie asked for volunteers, but nobody stepped forward.

The crowd waited in bated silence for the mayor to finish his speech so they could go home. He read the Treaty of Treason, as he did every year.

The moment the anthem ended, Katniss and Peeta were taken into custody. Y/N followed behind them, as she was needed, too. The tributes were led to their rooms while Y/N circled back to talk to Prim.

When she arrived back at the square, Haymitch was nowhere to be seen. She spotted Prim and her mother, though, so she started heading their way. She knew she probably shouldn’t have, but her legs kept walking.

“Prim,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. She’d grown a lot from the last time Y/N had talked to her. She looked older now, more mature.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I know, I’m sorry about that.”

Prim replied by wrapping her arms around the taller girl and nearly squeezing the life out of her.

“I missed you,” she whispered into Y/N’s shoulder.

“Me too,”

Prim reluctantly pulled away so Y/N could speak to Ms. Everdeen.

“Y/N-”

“I’m going to do everything I can to keep her alive. I promise.” Y/N interrupted, needing to convince herself as well.

“I know.”

Prim tugged on her mom’s sleeve, alerting her that it was time to say goodbye to Katniss.

Y/N watched as they walked away, already thinking of everything she could do to support Katniss and get her out alive.