#most devout woman of all time

[acid-ixx]

I hope you don’t mind but I need to ramble this to someone, neglected Wayne reader right? The fam would forget to bring them to social events and whatnot right? So there would be very few pictures, articles and interviews or even facts about them, meaning that reader Wayne is a rarity. Still following me? Reader Wayne with a small but devout fanbase.

I’m talking they are trading the latest pictures and sharing links to the rare interview with reader in it, following any social media they have that isn’t private, they are just fascinated by this micro celebrity that seems to always be forgotten. Okay but also imagine one of the heroes developing a para-social attachment to reader. My money is on Conner Kent, mainly bc he can project his own issues with his dads onto reader and he can Dolores ~Encanto~ reader with his super hearing and develop a even bigger parasocial obsession with them

I hope you enjoyed this ramble, I will leave you be now, see ya later alligator! 🐊

omg another one of my asks that actually predicted a major plot point... this ask ties well with the last part written here. i'm thinking about having the reader get a love interest/s but i have already written an outline but one thing is for sure—

you have more than just your family interested in taking you.

major spoilers below the cut. — an excerpt from chapter xx

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

maybe this is out of the picture, but id' like to imagine you and connor having a therapy session where one comes out absolutely obsessed with the other, and it's not you.

connor's character for me is so, so good for an angst potential. it's like his personal struggles is a way for him to show you how absolutely you two are meant to be. and he may have met you through bumping into you (false) or maybe... he has seen you stalking through the shadows back when he visits the manor. using his superhearing, he can hear your voice from the kitchen begging alfred to relay a message to bruce, sounding so absolutely desperate. it's the way you tell alfred how you wished your father actually spends time with you, or how nobody seems to notice you— that he kind of just makes a silent promise that he will talk to you soon, he needs to know why this family seems so keen on ignoring and how hypocritical tim is for literally doing the same thing to you when he's aware of kon's past.

if he (or anyone else) should be a love interest (though he is a minor character in the series unless you guys want him to be a major one), i can already imagine the absolute hell you have to suffer not only from your family but from your own lover. just imagine the stockholm syndrome or the delusions you convince yourself with because you're finally loved by someone but that love restricts you from the very freedom you tried to build.

the batfamily would be so conflicted because why are you choosing some stranger over them...? then you slap them in the face with, "well, this "stranger" wants to kidnap me and lock me up, sure! but at least they actually looked at me for more than five seconds!" and you can watch how the color drains off their face, their conflict giving you the perfect opportunity to run away from both your ex-family and your soon-to-be-kidnapper-lover who thinks your comeback is a funny way for you to propose.

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ signs that you're mine ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous & @daruderuyoo ˚₊ ⊹

ft. mysta rias, ike eveland, luca kaneshiro, shu yamino, vox akuma (separate) x f! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ yandere luxiem courting their sweetest, most oblivious darling┊2k words

contains: yandere!! obsessive/possessive behaviors, stalking, delusional behavior on behalf of the boys, reader is an oblivious sweetheart, mentions of murder, written kinda like the step after realizing feelings but the step before being officially romantically linked, super rambly writing sorry, I lost the plot

➤ author's note: this is so fucking bad, excuses listed below if you care, but I will not be stopped, wilson & zali brat-taming soon!!

oh god, he adores you so much he doesn’t even know what to do with himself, like a devout saint worshipping a goddess— or in this case, a filthy sinner begging a deity for forgiveness. you’re the sweetest little thing he wants to sink his teeth in until they rot. you’re cuter than a bunny, and he can’t help but want to cage you up and hide you away for his eyes only. everything about you drives him mad, your pouty smile, the way your lashes flutter, the way your hair bounces when you turn your head in his direction, the way you call out his name like a melody, the way you’re so stupidly oblivious that you don’t even notice his concerning behavior. 

are you as stupid as you lead him to believe when you have him on a leash waiting to answer your every command? are you playing him like a fiddle and stringing him along? are you secretly relishing in the attention he gives you and feel the same way he does, just too shy to admit it? there are several instances he could list off the top of his head where there were lingering touches whenever your skin met, eye contact that lasted seconds too long to be friendly, times where you became flustered at the little things he did, times where you ignored his extreme jealousy towards anyone who took your attention off of him and brushed off how he knew information that you never told him because you never realized he was stalking you— 

surely, with all these little details adding up and how deep your bond is, there was some semblance of feelings that were requited? maybe not as extreme as his were, but they must exist, right? as angelic as you were in both beauty and personality, you haven’t dated anyone once he was in your life, so it must mean you were waiting for him to properly court you and eventually get married (just ignore that any man or woman who has shown even an ounce of romantic interest in you soon vanished without a trace). maybe “courting” is a bit of a dated term, but he’s a traditional man from the past who believes that you deserve much more than the modern sense of dating. he planned to show you what it means to be adored as you deserve, even if you’re too oblivious to understand his intentions, he’ll make certain that you become his as he is yours.

━━━ .°˖✧ mysta rias ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ gift giving, lots of gift giving because he’s awful with words. this man is a detective and stalks you intensively from your day-to-day life to your social media accounts, allowing him to have a good idea of what you like and don’t like. you’ll frequently find him handing you a bag filled with glittery tissue paper or a neatly wrapped box, opening it to find something that you had been wanting for any period of time between yesterday and years ago. maybe it’s that book you’ve always wanted to read or a figure of your favorite character or lip glosses from a small business whose tiktok you liked a week ago, he always finds something you’d want even if you didn’t know you did.

╰₊✧ slowly, these gifts become more expensive in price and more valuable in rarity. being a world-famous detective comes with its perks, and what else was he going to do with the money if not to spoil his darling? the things he presented you weren’t simple things friends gave to each other, they were diamond necklaces, gold bracelets, emerald earrings, luxury beauty products, brand-name clothes, designer handbags, and dozens of other things that made you look ten times more extravagant than you actually were. he always insisted that you wore something he bought you whenever he saw you, which was every single day at this point. something about you wearing whatever he bought you, especially if it was flashy and ridiculously costly, made him possessive and prideful knowing that he was obviously the one who got you it. it made you look like his girl even if you stupidly still weren’t aware of his feelings yet, making everyone assume that you two were an item.

╰₊✧ you’ll finally get the hint when you’re gifted a golden ring that highly resembles one given in engagement proposals, surprised and wide-eyed with how he caught you off guard. if you accept him, then that’s fantastic! if not, then expect to wake up in his basement where no one will ever find you again because a great detective never leaves any loose ends.

━━━ .°˖✧ ike eveland ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ notebook followed by notebook followed by notebook of love poems, writing out his feelings with you in slightly erratic handwriting with every metaphor and rhyme in the english and swedish language. his adoration for you can be overwhelming at times, so writing becomes an outlet to calm him down and prevent him from doing anything drastic due to his strong emotions like flat-out kidnapping you. most of it stays hidden away in his study, but a few of them that he’s particularly proud of and finds to explain his feelings perfectly always mysteriously find their way into your bag.

╰₊✧ the kind of euphoria he gets when you squeal excitedly about the new letter from your “secret admirer” is indescribable, and he always has a little dopey smile that you never notice when you read out the romantic words. your voice spelling out his poetry sounds like a choir of angels and the flattered smile on your face is like seeing the pearly gates of heaven (you’re always compared to an angel in some way in his works, it just seems to be the most fitting in his mind). you won’t realize that it’s him until there’s a little slip-up of a reference that only the two of you know, which he’s extremely embarrassed about and may need a day or two to recover from it because the last thing he wants is for you to know that he’s a creep.

╰₊✧ will eventually arrive on your doorstep with origami paper roses made from his poems to ask you to be his. he’ll make it impossible to say no, not with the look of pure adoration in his eyes and heart-wrenching sincerity in his words. the entire thing is so picture-perfect and straight out of a film, you’ll find yourself agreeing with him before you even realize it. 

━━━ .°˖✧ luca kaneshiro ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ oh, you would never think that this sweet, gold-retriever-like best friend of a man would be capable of doing anything that would negatively affect you! and in a way, you’re correct! he has his goons do all the dirty work for him, scaring or even killing anyone who shows even an ounce of romantic interest in you or who he feels takes away too much of your attention from him. then he picks up the pieces of comforting you when you come to him crying about how you don’t know what you did wrong to deserve so many people leaving you so suddenly.

╰₊✧not him though, never him! he would never leave you for anything, especially not while you’re sobbing and sniffling into his shirt’s fabric and especially not while you’re confiding in him in your most vulnerable moments. luca probably hasn’t even realized how horribly manipulative he is by being the only one you can turn to in times of need and making you completely dependent on him, he just loves the feeling of holding you in his arms while wiping away your tears and doing all the typical boyfriend things to help you feel better!

╰₊✧ when you’re forced into a corner like that, it’s almost inevitable that you will start catching feelings for the boy who’s been sticking with you through all the ups and downs. it’s absolutely perfect for him, having you cling onto him like a lifeline just as he’s been discreetly doing with you. he’ll spoil you rotten with everything you’ll ever want, you’ll just have to ask for it, and you’ll never need anything in life every again (expect, maybe freedom from his suffocating protectiveness, but you haven’t realized you needed it yet).

━━━ .°˖✧ shu yamino ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ perhaps the most normal boy on this list when it comes to courting, he doesn’t do anything excessive or takes advantage of his powers (although using a love potion would be the quickest and most effective method if he really wanted to). he wants the process of you falling for him to be organic and natural, the best friends to lovers trope he’s dreamed about where he pins for the girl of his dreams and you realize your feelings for him as the sweet boy who’s always been there for you. he’s fully aware that this path is painfully slow because you are as dense as a rock, but he knows it will make the victory of finally having you as his girlfriend so much sweeter. 

╰₊✧ he frequently buys you gifts like flowers, chocolates, perfume, and all the other typical things a guy should gift his girl. he frequently takes you out on little “dates” at the arcade or bowling center or ice skating rink. he frequently compliments you and makes you smile. he doesn’t go too overboard with it, but it’s enough for others close to you to gush about what a gentleman he is for making you feel so treasured. you don’t notice, but you do feel a decent amount of pressure from them to hurry up and accept him as your boyfriend because someone else would happily swoop in to steal him for themselves if you don’t!

╰₊✧ over the moon when you finally ask him out! he can sense that you’re nervous about it, but don’t worry, he’s more than determined to be the best lover you’ve ever had or ever will have. the honeymoon phase will never leave your relationship, nor will his obsession. 

━━━ .°˖✧ vox akuma ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ honestly, this demon would skip the pleasantries and might flat-out kidnap you, which isn’t as difficult as it sounds when you’re as sweet as you are. he gives you your own space and lets you seek him out instead, exploring his home with all the traditional furniture and ancient little artifacts casually sitting in plain sight. you’re a curious little thing and often ask about them, which gives you a stronger bond with his demonic and therefore more vulnerable side. this connection is highly important to him as he only shares it with people he trusts (which in the modern world, can be counted on one hand), so his intense love for you is heightened even more.

╰₊✧ similar to luca, he likes to get rid of people he deems unworthy because of you, usually ex-partners or people being too nosy about your whereabouts since he’s taken you. unlike luca, he enjoys the thrill of getting his hands dirty with their blood as if he’s doing you a favor by removing them from the face of the earth. since you’re so isolated at this little “extended sleepover,” you don’t know anything about it and simply go about your day looking for things to do to keep yourself busy in his captivity. when you start whining about how you miss your friends and family, he’ll allow you to go out only if you allow him to tag along or answer his calls or texts as soon as you possibly can. it sounds easy at first, but he’s always lingering two steps behind you or blowing up your phone every two minutes. it’s nothing, you tell them, he’s just protective like that because of how ditzy you can be sometimes!

╰₊✧ skips the dating stage, he wants to tie the knot as soon as possible and is more than happy to organize the wedding of your dreams no matter how expensive it may seem while you invite whomever you want to watch your love be immortalized. however, if you refuse him, then he’ll just have a private ceremony on his terms since you only really need two for a marriage!!

requests are as followed:

Thanks for answering my previous question🥹 you can ignore this request if you feel uncomfortable🙇‍♀️ can I request yandere Luxiem with oblivious and sweet fem reader who seem ignore their red flags🤔

How would yandere luxiem go about courting? (If you still do yandere)

this was supposed to be for valentine's and I'm only posting it now?? so sorry, I had a bunch of tests and then a rental property burned down and then i relapsed, but god himself will not be stopping me from writing fanfiction so i will continue to claw and bite at the ankles of everything preventing me from writing

love you all!!

[luvf4ngz]

Til Death Do We Part Brings Us Together

grim reaper! jason todd

Description: Your constant close calls with death first captures the attention of the Grim Reaper, then his heart, and lastly, his devotions.

Contents: Female Reader, Mentions Of Death/Dying, References to Greek Mythology, Possessiveness, You Watch Pretty Woman and Read Pride & Prejudice Together Bc Yeah, Mentions Of Isolation But It’s Okay I Promise, Jason Is Lowkey Lonely And Desperate, Reader Has A Death Wish? Maybe?, Praise Kink, SO MUCH PRAISE, Unprotected Sex, Religious Symbolisms, Sacrilege?, Nipple Play, Jason Calls You Princess, Obviously???, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, (Female Receiving), He’s So In Love, Jason Todd Is Touch Starved, Devotion, Jason Is A Munch, Overstimulation, Vaginal Sex, Yes Greek Gods Wear Boxers, Enthusiastic Consent, “Will it fit?” I’m Sorry Okay, Size Kink, Jason Todd Has A Big Dick, Gentle Dom Jason Todd, Intimate Sex, Slow Sex, Soft Sex, Aftercare, Cuddling

Word Count: 6081

Author’s Note: Jason is loosely based off of Thanatos from Greek Mythology/Hades (the game). It was kind of hard infusing his personality with the literal personification of Death, but I hope I did a good job! Also some details are completely made up or changed for the purpose of the fics, like how dying works in Greek Mythos. Please don’t come for me, I’m just trying to be horny on the internet. Without furthermore, please enjoy :)

Actually one more thing I have a Thanatos/Death playlist and I adore it to bits, please listen if you want.

Thank you @toruslvt for beta-reading!

He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him. 

"Yet another brush with death." You heard a husky voice beside you, making you turn your head to look at the figure sheepishly. 

Whether you’re extremely unlucky or just unfathomably reckless, he’s not sure. All he knows is that your soul has been on the edge of being his over and over again - whether it was narrowly missing a car or falling into a river or even just choking on a bone. You always seem to make it out of those situations just fine, which has thoroughly caught his attention. 

 "You should really be more careful, you know." He looked at you and sighed. 

“I am! Or at least I try to be...” You murmur timidly, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s uh, it’s nice to see you again.” You give him a small smile, turning your body to face him. 

As always, he’s in his dark cloak, the hood lifted to conceal some of his hair, casting a shadow over his face. The gold accents adorning his body glint due to the faint sunlight casting through your kitchen window, the same sunlight making his tan skin glow, making him look otherworldly - which he was. 

He raised his eyebrow, “Is it now? Most people are terrified to see me.” He muttered, smirking a bit,

“I guess I’m used to you now.” Your grin gets a bit larger, warmer. “You don’t have your scythe.” You point out.

He lets out a slight chuckle at your observation, “Such a keen eye. I figured I wouldn’t need it, and I was right. What was it this time?”

Your face heats with embarrassment at the question. “I slipped.” You confess, pointing to the puddle of water on the ground. “Almost cracked my head open, I guess. But! I turned my body in time, so I’m fine.”

“Yes, that would explain your wet clothes.” His eyes trail down your body, catching slightly where your nipples peek out against the damp fabric, before looking back up to your face.

He clears his throat, “Haven’t you learned your lesson by now? It’s not even lunch time yet and you were on the brink of death. Aren’t you afraid of dying?” He scolds you.

“I mean, not really.” 

A pause of silence.

“What? You’re joking, right? How can you be so cavalier about this?”

“I don’t know, it doesn't seem so bad. It’s a natural part of life. Should I be scared?” 

“What kind of question is that?!” He raises his voice slightly, eyebrows scrunched as he looks at you. “Of course, you should be. Dying isn’t fun. You’ll be dead, trapped in the underworld for the rest of eternity. You should be trying to preserve your life while you still have it.”

“I am, though. I’m not saying I don’t like being alive, I’m just saying, when it happens, it’ll happen. There’s no use being so pre-cautious and anxious all the time.”

He lets out a huff, “You are… certainly a strange one.”

“In any case, I’d like to think my soul will go to Elysium. I'm a pretty good person, so I think the afterlife won’t be too awful for me.” You continue on, carefree.

"That isn't my point, though. Even if you're guaranteed a place in Elysium, you should still be more vigilant.”

“Why should I be? My end is already predetermined, isn’t it? Don’t the fates know when my time is up?”

“Well… yes, but-”

“Wait, then how come you visit me before I actually die?” You interrupt him, a realization suddenly taking place. “Near death experiences shouldn't summon you right?”

He hesitates a bit, caught. "You’re correct… I visit you on my own accord.”

“Why?” You tilt your head cutely, an innocent and puzzled look in your eyes.

“You’ve just caught my attention, is all.” He looks away. “I like to keep track of you, the Fates are wrong sometimes, and you basically have a death wish so I just… I like to make sure you’re okay.”

You smile slightly at his words, “You don’t want me to die?”

“Of course, I don’t. I like- I like to watch you. You’re interesting to me.” He chooses his words carefully.

“I am?” Your eyes brighten a bit at his words.

He turns back to you and nods, his hood shifting a bit with his movement, revealing a bit more of his hair. The white streak catches your attention. 

“I have to confess it’s… cute the amount of trouble you manage to get yourself into. It’s entertaining to see what you get up to, how you treat others, what you desire out of life.” His eyes move to look into yours. “Your mentality is quite unique, as well. You see dying as natural and not something to be feared, but I think you've accepted it to an… abnormal degree." He paused. "...You're the first person in a very long time to not express fear of me.”

“Why would anyone be afraid? You're only doing your job... and you're quite nice." 

He laughs, the deep rumble of his voice goes straight to your knees. "I think you're the first person to ever call the God of Death ‘nice’. You wouldn't believe the amount of people that fear me, even before their time is up. It's... exhausting, really. I can always hear their prayers, their cries, their pleads.”

"I mean I can’t blame them, I just can't share the same sentiment, especially with all the conversations that we've had."

He smiles at you, “You really are like a breath of fresh air. It’s nice to know that someone doesn’t hate me.” He pauses again, a soft look in his eyes. “But you should still be careful. You're not made of rubber after all. Don’t let me take you earlier than I should.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad, though.”

“What?” In such a short time, you’ve shocked him again.

“I wouldn’t mind dying knowing that you'll be the one waiting for me.” You say it so casually, continuing to smile at him, as if it wasn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever uttered to him. His heart beats a little faster as he stares down at you, stupefied. 

“You can’t mean that.” He replies after a while. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He’s speechless, dumb-founded. How could he possibly begin to explain that the idea of anyone liking him enough to allow him to take them from this world so happily was absurd?

“What?” You ask, noticing his sudden silence. “Why’s that so strange? I like talking to you, and when I’m in the afterlife you would keep me company, right?”

He lets out a breath and smiles a bit, the whites of his teeth peeking out behind the pink of his lips. “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sound appealing.”

“Good.” You smile a little wider, your eyes crinkling as it makes his heart begin to race now. 

“I-I should get going, there’s uh- souls I need to get to.” He stutters out.

“Yeah, that sounds important. I should clean up with water. I’ll see you around uh… Mister Grim Reaper, sir.”

He lets out an amused huff. “Jason. Just call me Jason.”

“Will do.” You jokingly salute him, and it makes him let out another chortle. 

“Alright, farewell then.” He nods, before blinking out of your kitchen. 

You stare at the space he used to occupy for a bit, still smiling softly, before leaving to get a mop - and maybe a change of clothes.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be here?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow as you stare at him from the couch. 

“Yes.” He replies simply, his eyes and attention focus on the movie playing on your TV.

His visits have been more and more frequent lately, ever since the conversation the both of you shared in your kitchen. Now, Death, who prefers the name Jason, shows up even if you didn’t go through another life-threatening event. 

And right in this moment, Jason is standing in front of your couch, entirely enraptured by Pretty Woman, of all things. 

“Don’t you have to do your duty? I’m sure there’s a lot of lost, wandering souls right now.” You try again, concerned. 

“What? You don’t want me here?”

“I didn’t say that!” You put your hands up in defense. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble or something. Won’t Hades or the Fates or… whoever your superior is get angry?”

“Probably.” He shrugs. “But what are they going to do? Kill me?” He casts you a glance from the corner of his eyes, before going back to the movie. “Besides, souls can’t leave the mortal body without me being there. They’ll just rest for a bit, I can always come get them after.”

“I guess that’s fine then.” You sigh out. “Could you at least sit down?” 

Jason lets out a nod, before moving to the couch, taking a seat beside you but still keeping his distance. 

He watches the rest of the movie in silence beside you, enjoying your company. His eyes flick over to admire you a few times, taking in your immersed gaze and noticing the way you’re clutching a plushie so close to you (cute). When you sniffle, when a few tears trail down your face, when your parted lips form a pout at the ending, his heart pumps hard in his chest. 

This was a much better use of his time. 

“You have so many books.” Jason states, his figure crouched so that he could properly read all the titles. His hood is off, fully revealing his soft, dark hair - the white streak a beautiful contrast. 

“Who’s the observant one, now?” You chuckle from your place on the bed, eyes not leaving the novel in your hands. 

He rolls his eyes, “What are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” You hum softly, eyes still scanning the page. 

“What’s that about?” Jason asks, walking away from the bookshelf and towards you. 

“Uh, it’s a little complicated.” You murmur, “But basically it’s two people learning to get over their, well, pride and prejudices to fall in love.” 

He lets out a hum, “Read it to me?” 

“Oh my Gods, you’re so lucky, I just got to the best part.” Your eyes watch him as he lays down beside you on your bed, the fabric of his black cloak pooling around his body. 

“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began: ‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression.” 

Jason turned to his side in order to get a better view of you. He watches how your eyes practically light up as you read, a smile gracing your face. He can’t help but think how pretty you look like this. 

“She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. UGH, it’s so romantic!” You yell out, clutching the book to your chest and rolling back and forth slightly, making him let out a chuckle at your antics. “I mean at this point in the book I still hate Darcy but Gods, the way it’s written is just so good!” 

He falls silent for a bit, his gaze affectionate as he watches you. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You stop your giddy reactions, looking at him curiously. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you remember when you said you wanted to be with me in the afterlife?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

He took a deep breath. "Let's say... let's just pretend for a moment, that when you die... I don't guide you to the afterlife. Instead, I take you somewhere else with me."

You sit up slightly, pushing yourself up on your arms, turning your body to face him. “Where would we go?” You set your book aside on the nightstand. 

“To… my home. I have a residence on the outskirts of Tartarus. You would be safe there, I can make sure that nothing would bother you.” He sits up fully, grabbing and holding your hands gently. “Please, I want you to stay with me. I get so lonely, and I just- I like being around you.” His tone is soft, pleading and sincere as he confesses his desires to you.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling softly in that way that he’s come to adore. “I’d like that.”

“Really?” He gasps out, face mirroring yours as a bright smile overtakes his features.

“Mhm,” You hum, “It’ll take some time, though.”

He shakes his head, hands gripping yours a bit tighter, “I would wait the entire rest of eternity for you, if I had to.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to not make you wait that long.” You giggle out.

“I’d hope not. I want to have you with me, I want to keep you around until the end of time itself.” 

“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyones ever said to me, Jay.” Your tone is light, teasing. 

“There’s a catch though,” He pauses, hesitant to see your reactions. “You won’t be able to leave the house or see anyone else. I can’t risk you getting found. B-but I get you anything you need, I can make you happy.”

“That sounds just fine to me.” 

His eyes glisten in happiness, a bright shine in them. “Then... it's settled. I will take you to my home, and you will stay with me… forever.” His glances down to your lips for a second, before quickly looking back into your eyes. 

You notice the movement, heart beating a bit faster.

“Could I kiss you?” He whispers, his voice low and warm. 

“Yeah,” You mumble back.

He leans in closer, hands releasing yours as one places itself on the small of your back, pulling you closer to his body as the other gently grips your chin. He leans down, tilting your head up until he feels the soft press of his lips to yours. Warmth floods his body as he feels electricity in the air, and he feels his heart pound behind his ribcage when your own arms wrap around his neck.

Your touch, your taste, was addicting. You were tender and sweet, and Jason never wanted this moment to end. He groans when he feels your hand begin to play with his hair, and he presses himself closer to you, both hands moving to grip your waist. 

His grip tightened on you as your kiss intensified, his body started to tremble as it filled with a desire so deep that it was all-consuming. 

Eventually you break apart from him, needing air. He dismays at having to pull away, but allows you to do so.

"If that's what's waiting for me at the end of my life, maybe I do want to die sooner…” You joke, breathless.

He groans again, “Don’t… don’t say that. Don’t tempt me, I can’t take it.” He presses his forehead to yours, both of your breaths mingling together.

You giggle, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him again. He relents easily, his heart skipping when you hum softly against his lips, the desire in his body igniting higher and higher. 

Eventually, he’s the one to pull away, his breath tickling you as he trails his nose against your neck. He can feel the soft tremor in your breath as your body shivers against his. “Can we go further?” He murmurs into the skin.

“Yeah, I want more.” You nod.

“Good, I do too. I want all of you.” He begins to press his lips to your neck, lightly leaving kisses and bites that you have squirming and gasping. 

“You have me.”

“You don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “You... you don't know how much I've been longing for you. Your presence alone gives me joy. Having you touch me… it makes my heart pound and my body melt. The way you talk, the sounds you make... it’s perfect. I want to touch you. I want to hold you. I want to know everything about you. I want all of you.”

“You can have that too…” You sighed out. 

“You drive me crazy.” He groans, leaning close again to kiss you deeply, caressing the sides of your body. He wasn't holding back anymore. He couldn't. He wanted you so much that it ached in his bones. His hands started sliding slowly but surely, caressing your back and waist. He couldn't get enough of you, and your body’s twitching and the sound of your heavy breaths was such a thrilling sensation that he was consumed by it entirely.

“Jason…” You pant out his name as you experimentally grind your body against his, whining when you feel his hard cock rub against your clothed cunt, your hands holding him tighter. 

The sound drove him crazy with arousal, his body wracked with longing. You felt so good and he couldn't help but lean into you more, allowing you to press against him over and over and over. The feeling of heat was flooding his entire being, his cock throbbing beneath his cloak.

He worships the feeling of you grinding against him for a few more moments, his breath coming out in husky pants before he rolls you onto your back, hovering above you. 

"Just be a good girl and let me do all the work, now." His voice is husky, needy, as he leaned down and kissed your neck again, his breath hot and his body trembling with anticipation. 

You whine again, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the sudden ache between them. Your eagerness spurs him on, he presses a peck to your cheek before sitting back on his knees to gaze down at you. 

“Gods, you’re gorgeous.” He mutters, his hand slips up your shirt a little, and he shivers at the instant warmth of your skin. “Can I take this off?”

You nod rapidly, quickly pulling off your top and tossing it aside, revealing yourself to him.

Jason responds by leaning down to litter kisses over your body, a flush on his cheeks. His lips are soft and reverent almost as they softly touch your heated skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth sucking slightly, as a hand comes up to tweak and roll the other one. 

“Jay…” You call out his name, your back arching slightly,  and he never wants to stop hearing your voice. 

“I got you, princess.”

He lowers his mouth, trailing down your body until he reaches the hem of your bottoms. “Can I take this off, too?” 

“Do anything you want, Jay.” You breathe out, head dizzy with your need.

“You sure?” He asks, fingers hooking into both your pajama pants and underwear, dragging them down your body, uncovering inch after inch of your naked body. 

You look like a dream under him, eyes blown with lust, lips parted, body bare for him as you nod. He sets your clothes aside, going back to relishing you. 

You look away softly from embarrassment, “You take off your clothes, too…”

Your shyness got to him and he could help but laugh softly. You were so cute. He took a step back and off the bed, pulling off his cloak. He could feel your eyes watching his every movement, could feel your eyes rake his form as you settled on the bed. 

His gold adornments drop to the floor with a ‘clunk’, quickly followed by his black trousers. 

“You’re so beautiful.” You softly praise. You can’t help but to stare at him, eyes lingering on every sculpted muscle or coloured scar of his frame. 

He couldn't help but feel like you were the beautiful one. The way your eyes traveled over his body made his heart beat fast. He felt like he was on top of the world, knowing you admired him.

He climbs back onto the bed, taking his place between your legs as he lays on his stomach. His hands come to grip around your thighs, pulling you closer to him. 

“Oh.” You gasp slightly at the intimate position, gulping as your blood pumps faster through your veins. 

He slides a hand down towards your cunt, already slick for him. A thumb parts your swollen lips as he gently glides it up and down, before pressing it against your sensitive bud. 

“Ah-” You moan oh so sweetly for him, hips twitching as he starts rubbing your pretty clit. Your body was so responsive to him, and it makes a grin break onto his face. 

He brings his thumb away, making you frown before replacing it with his mouth, lips wrapped around the nub. 

“W-wait!” You cry out, hands flying into his hair as you do your best to not buck into his face. He smirked around you, starting to suck despite your call. Your reaction only added fuel to the fire burning inside him, your writhing body and shaky gasps were too much for him to handle. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just let yourself feel good.” He mumbles into your cunt before going back to sucking and lapping at you. He holds you close to his face, his grip firm to keep you as still as he could. 

He groans as you tug at his roots, the sound vibrating around your needy clit. Your desperate moans and whispers drove him crazy. He liked how fast you were breathing, how much you were moving. You were a squirming, twitching mess underneath him as the sensation became too overwhelming.

“Jason, oh my Gods.” You gasp.

“I’m your only God, now, right? Just me…” His hand moves to your fluttering hole, slowly pressing two fingers inside you. They slip in easily with how wet you are, dripping your desire down his wrists. He feels you clamp down on them, slick walls sucking him in further.

“Jason, Jay!” His name slips from your lips like a chant, a prayer wrapped in shallow breaths. 

“Keep saying my name just like that, pretty girl.” He loves the way you make it sound, loves the way you say it. Not Grip Reaper. Not Death. Just Jason. Your Jason. 

“Oh, Jay…” You breathe out his name like you’re struggling to even think.

“You’re such a sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He coos, starting to move his fingers in and out of you. He smirks when you squeal as he curls his fingers up, pressing against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you. His arm moves to keep you down, pinning your hips to the bed as he goes back to tasting you.

“N-not there!”

“Why not? Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It’s too much!” You’re breathless, barely able to gasp out replies as he keeps abusing that spot inside you. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Jason slows his pace, fingers dragging painfully slow against your aching, slick walls, making you let out a needy mewl, clenching on him. 

“No! P-please don’t.” You pout, softly tugging at his head to turn his attention fully on you. 

“Say my name. Tell me what you want.”

You hesitate a bit, pondering your words. “Make me feel good, Jason. Make me cum.” Your tone is so soft and pleading, it’s the best worship he’s ever heard. 

The only prayers he’s ever heard were cries for his absence, beseeching his very being and purpose, but with you - he’s found a new one. You want him, you want him closer, you want him to make you feel bliss. He can do that. He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him. 

He dives back down with a fervor, thick fingers working you quickly, the soft squelches increasing in volume and frequency. His tongue traces your clit, sucking and rolling and indulging in the way you writhe and whimper below him. 

He keeps going as you squirm uncontrollably, as your body tenses further and further, as your eyes glaze over and your heart pounds. Your nerves are frayed and begging for relief as the soft warmth of his tongue doesn’t let up. Your grip on his hair tightens, making him grunt low and husky into you. 

“Jason, m’gonna… can I please-?” You can barely make out full sentences, head fuzzy and blood searing as the dam inside you threatens to break. 

“You don’t have to ask, just do it.’ He murmurs; his cock throbs in his garments, waiting for you to release on his tongue. 

The feeling overtakes you, making you choke out a shaky cry as you climax. Your thighs squeezes his head, fingers buried deep into his dark locks as you tremble. You’re lightheaded and breathless and euphoria has settled in every inch of your veins. 

Jason removes his fingers, gripping your thigh as his mouth slots against your leaking cunt as he engulfs his tongue into your taste. He greedily laps up your slick, moaning as it blooms over his tongue - more sweet and addictive than even ambrosia. 

Your cries are so adorable as he continues to seek out every last drop of cum from you, your body pliant and weak below him as you keen and mew. 

“J-Jay…” You stutter out his name as your body twitches, sensitivity kicking in. 

“Yes, love?” He barely pauses to utter out those words, mind set on devouring you whole. 

“C-can’t!” He frowns, giving you one last lick before pulling himself away from you.

His eyes are filled with a feral like need, mouth smeared and shiny with the aftermath of your arousal. “Did that feel good?” He husks out, “You looked so divine, cumming.’

You’re panting hard under him, mind dizzy as you process his words, nodding in reply.

“I want to make you feel that way for the rest of eternity, you’ll let me right? You’ll stay with me?” Now that he’s had you, he doesn’t think he can survive on his own anymore. 

“Y-yeah, Jay.” You nod again, voice small. 

He raises himself up, licking you off his hand before he crawls over your body again. His legs slot between yours, tangling the both of you together. He leans down, sighing out in satisfaction as your damp, warm skin presses into his. 

His lips brush over yours, silently asking for permission to kiss you again. You accept him willingly, hands drifting to hang loose around his neck as you push your lips to his.

He groans, hand gripping your waist and the other running through your hair as he explores your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, spit mixing together as he groans into your lips. 

He pulls back, both your breaths lingering in the small space between your faces. He trails his nose down to the sensitive skin of your neck, teeth dragging lightly across the flesh. 

“I want all of you, so bad.” He groans. “I’ll do anything for you. Can you tell me I’m yours?”

He so desperately wants to belong to you - to know that one day you’ll accompany him in the deepest pits of Tartarus - that you’ll never let him be alone again. 

“You want to be mine?” Your tone is puzzled, words ending in a lilt. 

“Please.”

You smile, hands coming to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. “Who knew the God of Death would be so needy?” You tease.

“You try being alone and hated since the dawn of existence.” He sighs, melting into your touch. His eyes close, leaning into your palms. 

You giggle a bit. “We can be each other's.” Your lips break out into a grin as you bring his face down to yours, pressing pecks all over. 

He relishes your kisses, letting out a deep, happy sigh. His cock is still painfully hard, straining against his boxers, but he tries to ignore it. He opens his eyes and brushes your stray hair behind your ears, slightly damp with your sweat. 

“Jay,” You murmur his name, pulling back to look at him, “I want more.”

“More? You want me to eat you out again?” His mouth salivates at the thought of having your taste on his tongue again. He’ll do anything you ask. 

You shake your head, thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones, “I want you to fuck me, Jay.”  

“You do? Are you sure?” He whispers. 

His breath hitches as you nod, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“I wanna feel you, Jay. J-just go slow, I’m still sensitive.”

“You’re sensitive?” He huffs out an amused breath, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You try to press your thighs together, getting excited by his promises and husky tone. He feels your legs shift around his, smirking as he takes in your desperate body language. 

He shifts back again, tugging his boxers down. Your eyes trail to his now exposed cock, standing proud and flushed and daunting. 

He’s…. big. 

Your jaw drops a little as you take him in, your mind reeling with thoughts of “Will it fit?”.

“Hm? Don’t worry. I said I was going to take care of you.” Jason murmurs, voice adoring. He positions himself back between your legs, hands lifting your legs to encourage them to wrap around his waist. You willingly follow his guidance. 

His hands come to hold your hips steady, hips canting forwards to rub the head of his cock through your folds. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” You reply softly, hands drifting to lay on top of his, gently grabbing his wrists. 

He pushes inside of you, pace steady and measured as he tries his best to let you adapt to him.

“Ohmyfuck…” You slur, words mushing together as you feel him stretch you out. You grip him a bit tighter. 

“Just relax, pretty girl.” He mutters, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down. He continues pushing himself inside you, making you feel every ridge and detail and inch. It’s slow and deliberate; he’s savoring watching the way your cunt sucks him in, the way your head tilts back, how shallow and quick your breaths have gotten. “Can you feel it? Am I too big for you?” He teases, eyes shining with both mischief and affection. He pushes forwards again. 

Your pussy flutters around the girth of him, slick pouring out with every second, making the process that much smoother. 

You try to take deep breaths, groaning softly as you feel the way he bullies into you, nestling deep inside. 

“S’it in yet?” You hiccup.

He chuckles softly, you were just so endearing. He was taking his time, enjoying the feeling of you. “It’s not even halfway yet, baby.” He coos. 

“S-still?” Your eyes widen a bit, as he laughs again.

“Just lay down and take it, princess. I’ll do everything, don’t think about a thing.” He leans down and silences your whimpers with a kiss. His lips lock onto yours as he swallows your moans, moving his hips until he feels you flushed against him. 

He pulls back, body once more shadowing over yours. His eyes drift down to where the two of you connect. “Look at that, she took me all in. I told you that you didn’t need to fret, love.” 

“A-ah, it’s so deep…” You mumble. 

“Isn’t it?” He grins. 

He starts to move back and forth, instantly groaning at the intoxicating sensation of you wrapped warm and snug around his pulsing cock. 

He keeps his pace slow, staying true to his promise. He doesn’t mind though, he’s just relishing in every little detail of you, burning the memory of how you look, feel, and sound into his mind - a treasure for eons to come. 

You’re moaning uncontrollably, hands moving to grip at his biceps, nails digging slightly into the skin. He grunts, liking the shark twang of pain that shoots through his body. 

He can feel you clamping around him desperately, like your body needed more. You’re so wet and sloppy, he can feel your slick smearing on his thighs with every thrust. 

“Feels s’good, baby.” He groans, and immediately he feels you clench on him again. “Did you like that?” He grins. 

“Uh-huh,” You nod dumbly, eyes unfocused as whines spill from your throat. 

“My pretty girl likes it when I praise her, huh?” The next words flow from him easily, he’s venerated you so much in his mind already that the flattery comes easy. He wants you to know exactly what you make him feel. “You’re so fucking perfect for me, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

Everytime he bottoms out you can feel him in your throat.

“J-Jay…”

Your bodies blend together, waves of pleasure overtaking you both with each long stroke. You can feel every inch and vein and crevice of him pushing against your sensitive walls. 

He continues speaking. “You make me fall apart so easily, my love. I want to give you my everything. I’ll be at your disposal from now on, you can do whatever you want with my body, as long as you stay by my side.” His tone is deep, dripping with lust. “Your pretty pussy takes me so well, it’s like you were made for my cock, yeah?”

A shiver of arousal runs through your body at his speech, lower body getting hotter. You feel like you’re surrounded by lava, melting and wound tight all at once. 

“Your body is so beautiful, I don't want anyone else to touch you; I want you only for myself.” His hands lift your hips up a little, his cock pressing inside even deeper than before, making you let out a yelp. 

He’s hitting every good spot inside you, knocking the breath from your lungs even with his sensual pace. You feel constant spurts of warmth pouring out of you, and you notice just how soaked the mattress is beneath your shivering body. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?”

“S-so much, Jay,” You whine out, clutching him harder. 

“Good, I want to be the only one that can make you feel like this.”  

Each rock of his hips gets you higher and higher, dangling on the edge of release. The glide of him is so smooth and sweet as he drags against you.

“M’gonna cum, Jay.” You sigh out, voice high and whiny.

“Good girl, go on and soak my cock. Show me just how much you’re enjoying this.” 

A few more more moments and you’re letting go, gripping his biceps hard as elation sinks deep into your bones. A sob of his name escapes your parted lips, body tingly and twitchy as endorphins rush through your veins. He groans as he feels your slick walls convulse around him. His grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he pulls out, his cum instantly spilling onto your stomach. Relief floods his system as he pants hard, chest heaving as he catches his breath. 

The both of you bask in the afterglow of your climaxes, the soft sound of breathing drifting on the heated air. Jason thinks you look divine with your hair spread on the bed, his seed marking your skin as sweat glistens your body. You think the view of him above you, satisfaction prominent on his face, is just as sacred. 

When Jason’s body settles he gently slides out of you, smiling apologetically at your small wince. He goes to your bathroom, having memorized the layout of your house from all the times he’s visited you. He returns with a damp towel, mournfully wiping his traces off of you. He throws the rag into your laundry basket, crawling beside you in bed and pulling you into his chest.

“How ya doing, princess?” He whispers into your hair.

You give him a small, happy hum in return, scooting yourself even closer into him. 

"You're so soft," He mumbles, nuzzling into you. "This is where I want us to stay, for eternity. Nothing else, forever."

“That sounds perfect, Jay.” You reply, yawning slightly. 

Jason’s smile grows even wider, his arms tightening around you. He looks down at you with an adoring gaze, your warm and tender body slotting perfectly against his. "There is nothing, and no one in this world that I want more than you, my dearest."

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

requested tags: @a-deadbeat-fucking-valentine @in-som-niyah

[sleepy-fiction]

Got a crush- got a crush- Crush you all beneath me. ⚗️

Jinx x F!Reader SMUT

3k WORDS

tgs: intense violence, erotic asphyxiation, water sports, bdsm, knife play, powerplay, masochist reader, oral, cunnilingus, sexual repression, religious terms/oppressive religious language, reader is shit and pathetic its lovely

syn: Jinx spares you before your death, the adrenaline, the ecstasy, its euphoric. You re-emerge bright-eyed like the first oracle of a God. Only this time, you want to eat God's cunny, and she'll let you.

an: hii err questioning myself with this one wow. mildly proofread

Smeech's gang had been your home since you were little. You were born into it, your parents' loyal followers, devout, and strict as they came. The rules were engraved into your brain, defined like the Old Testament. You were linear, closed-minded, and point. Your parents died in the battled post silco. Your neighbors, the other kids. The gang's numbers were dwindling, if not by death, then by them abandoning the cree for others. And the years went by. Your silent, dormant hatred for Jinx muddled up.

It continued until her little revolution, where she gained her little blue headed cult following. You'd be lying if you say a part of you wasn't swooned. But your revenge called for more.

What they called "Safety". No, it was nothing but plain blameless sin.

And you were put on this earth to eradicate it.

So it only came natural after Smeech's disassembly, for the gang to disemble themselves as well. Like a ghost town, you found yourself being the only righteous one holding up the banner. And if A^2 + B^2 = C^2, you were going after the women responsible for it.

No.

THE woman responsible for it all.

Jinx.

Blue eyed, blue braided, soon to be blue bellied, Jinx.

Jinx was a flithy mongrel, poisoning Zaun from the inside out. Her almost physiological poison bubbled out of its bloodied cauldron and frothed onto the deep floors of Zaun. Like a thick and heavy smoke blinding the ground, sucking the souls out of sinners, and blinding even the most powerful. Tempting, and as small as an ewe lamb, yet brewing and seizing like an unruly urchin. Baring pretty pale hips, milky white skin smothered in tattoos. And those eyes. Those round doe eyes.

They kept you awake at night.

Tempting.

They made you shudder.

With the bloodlust you had been building for weeks, weeks until the day your holy vengeance struck from the skies. With the last remaining loyal souls with nothing to live for, other than the fragments of Smeech's impressive legacy.

Yet why.

How.

How did things end this way.

Your body seized the moment your very own blades, the one you fantasized about taking the life of Jinx, was twisted deep into your belly. Your eyes flashed white, your gasp deep and profound, your balance suddenly no longer mattering to you anymore. The surprise attack was going well, well, until Jinx drew her devilish strength from hell and slaughtered your gang like animals. And you, being brave enough to stop her, freed her of all her guns. You fought like chickens, scratching and scraping at each other, throwing rocks, tossing dust, kicking crotches, pulling hair (you mainly), all until you had her.

She was pined beneath, whimpering and blabbering useless mantra. You revved your blade. But you stopped. You had to tell her why she deserved this. Your speech you had prepared before vanquishing this world of evil. Your glorious speech of Smeech and your gang. And unbeknownst to you, that was more than enough time for her to flash bright magenta eyes. And whimper a sound so attainable, your breath locked, and suddenly, for no reason at all, you had an urge to piss.

That one second of weakness.

No.

She turned your speech against you, she built up her bewitching tactics, disarming you and filling you with mercy, all for her to drive your beloved knife, your knife that your parents made you, deep, deep into your belly.

Then those doe eyes sharpened and she laughed.

She pushes you off her like you were nothing, your body hitting the wet dirty floor. It was raining, and glory's pellets dribbled woefully onto your cheek. Your breath was broken up into sharp, unattainable gasps as you meekly tried to crawl away. Your vision shook white in a painful mix of adrenaline, pain, and panick. Panick thick enough to make you spit and froth out the corners of your mouth.

Your body was ringing, brazen silver alarm bells loud and sparky in your ears. The flashing of tree roots and veins in your vision, and how sharp your sense of smell suddenly became. You could smell the muddy streets clearer than day, and even the smell of cotton candy and battery acid death pouring out from her body. A smell that, even now, still made your lower parts clench.

"Ha-! Ahaha-ha," she laughs. Her voice echoes. In your shaken vision, you see her rise before you, blurry bright cyan blue blinding. Pitifully, you crawl backward, desperate to flee death. Once Jinx has you, she never spares any mercy. You knew that going in, but never, never did you believe it'd become a reality.

You were going to become another number on an ever growing list of people who thought they could kill Jinx and failed.

Once that settled in your brain, pitifully thick tears sprang out from your eyes. You cried loudly, a wail strong enough to shake the most powerful souls. A wail so primal, so childish, a wail that stemmed from early development yet also the evolution of humans itself- the last cry of a dying homosapien at the hands of a bloodlust driven Neanderthal.

A cry that was stopped by the quaking footsteps of Jinx. The booming, sloppy, wet footsteps filled with the vibrations of her getting closer. She fell on top you with a cadence, a gust of quick wind as she straddled you. You gasped and reached forward blindly, raindrops falling in your eyes and mixing with the tears as you clawed at her jaw and neck.

She didn't care. She grabbed your left wrist in a vice, hard enough for you to cry out like an injured lamb. And with her other hand, she gripped your face and trusted hers into your view.

She spoke, "You feel that?"

You gasped, your breathing erratic.

"You're going to die," she laughed at you. "You're going to die, and you almost had me! Not even my sister got that close!" Her voice is like a wicked hyena. Gravely and strained from the battle, creaking to show her physical pain.

But it was enough. It enough for your body to grow limp in her hands like a frightened goat.

Your eyes bare into her face, your head uplifted by her tight hands. As you stare at her skin, as pale as powder, eyes as tired and jaded as a wilted flower, and smile as deranged as a wheel on its last hinge.

She smiles, growing ever close, closed enough for your noses to touch, and for her breath, the mingle with yours, "You know. At this stage. You're suddenly aware of everything around you. Your vision goes to shit. But you can still hear the little birds go 'cheep-cheep-cheep', and the rain-- 'pitter-patter-pitter-patter'. And you can't quite feel the pain, but it's the fear of knowing it's coming that gets you." She grabs the knife, twisting it slightly.

You jolt, crying out in agony. "Your heart rate spikes, you begin to hyperventilate. And there's this ringing in your ears... And... My favorite part, the buzzing behind the eyes," she says as she reaches and stretches your eyelids back. Your pupils shrink, and just as she says, your body systematically begins to follow. Snot pools down your nose, a tell tale sign of your inability to get oxygen. "It's totally useless how we have a nose and mouth. But yet they get so scared and they start working against eachother! Just like families... Just like gangs... like rats," she hisses, and you can feel the etchings of her lips near your cheek as she loopily giggles towards your ear.

"You know, if you breathe through your nose, your hyperventilating will stop," she smiles. Eagerly and foolishly, you obey, shutting your mouth instantly and sucking in gifts of air. But just as instant as you gain it, you lose it within seconds. Jinx pinches your nose shut, her thumb and index vicious like the jerking bite of a shark.

You panick, you eyeballs ringing. And as you try to open your mouth again, she drops your head, ot crashes to the ground, and she slams her free hand to clamp your mouth shut.

"Nhahaha," She laughs. Oh, she laughs. It's manical in nature, enough for you to wet yourself in pure fear. Your hands shoot up to claw at her hands, albeit weakly, and it feels nothing more than a massage to her. By now, you're aware of the warm wet clinging your shirt has to your belly, your pants to your crotch, and the flavorful blend of urine and iron in the wet muddy air.

Your vision spots.

She releases you, but it was already much too late.

"You know what," she says. Her voice trails in and out in your ears. Her blurry figure rises, "I think I'll spare you... That is, if you don't bleed to death out here."

Your head sags, catching the final glimpses of her limping away before it all fades to--

You jolt awake with a hard start. You shoot up, blinded by white lights that eventually shimmer down to a familsr room, your hideout. Your heart bursting a hundred miles an hour out of your chest. It was the feeling of shimmer running down your veins like a cold shower.

Instantly, you recognize your old partner, Kilo, rushing up to you from their seat in the back. Their hands grab yours, but you're even quicker to smack them away. "What t'hell! I was supposed ta-ugh die," you blabber out, spit flying in your jittery rage. Your hands grip your head of hair, your heart racing painfully.

"I heard about your dumb plan, and I came to save you, (y/n)! You had been laying there for God knows how long--" They say but you cut them off with a deadly glare, "Why are you mad? I saved you! Listen, God, you just need to calm down," they pleaded, burning their doe shaped brown eyes into your skull. Eyes you used to find allu ng, before they abandoned Smeech.

Smeech.

Dammit.

Did it really even matter anymore.

Dammit you can't fucking think straight.

How much shimmer did they use on you?

They reached again for you, and you smacked them harder, as hard as your jittery body could manage. They were as thick as a barn, burly and bearded, so your shove did nothing to them. But still, you powered up, barely making out of your bed before you knocked into your bedside table and cracking into your lamp.

As soon as you stood, your heart rate spiked, causing a brilliant gasp to leave your body. The kind of gasp they've only ever heard you release in bed. The kind of gasp that was filled in nostalgic ecstasy, the pain was so reminiscent of when Jinx--

Fuck.

No. Please God no.

"Are you okay," they asked. And with one look from them, you knew that they knew.

They knew.

And they were judging you with those pitiful eyes.

"Jinx did a number on you," they tried to whisper, but you seethed like a jackal.

"Jinx did nothing to me! I am normal! I am fine! I haven't changed," you screeched. Your face was warming, your heartbeat was painful, but memories of your last encounter flooded your brain.

You were going to die in the marvelously sinful hands of Jinx. But she spared you. It made every part of you tingle. You didn't notice when your partner sprang up to catch you, and you as hell didn't notice you falling forward. No, but what you did notice was the worry in their eyes. The worry in their deep masculine voice. And the devil horns springing out of their head.

They knew.

They knew and they were going to tell everyone.

"Get the fuck out of here, bastard!"

You yelled it with all your heart and soul.

And within seconds, you notice their heart crumble. Bleary brown eyes only complimented the flicker of guilt that panged you.

You just.

Needed them gone for good.

You collapsed moments after they left you, moments after the door quietly shut.

You were never going to see them again. They weren't just a partner they were your best friend.

And Jinx.

Jinx was brewing in your heart.

And you knew it then.

You were becoming something you never knew before.

⚗️

You'd imagine Jinx's surpise when the little runt she spared weeks ago came crawling deep onto Silco's old zone (now turned her streets), fully armed. What she thought was a foolish revenge battle turned into something else.

Sevika dropped you dead onto your knees before the desk in Silco's office. Your hands were bound behind your back, and Sevika had already stripped you of all the weapons you had. She walked up to the desk, where the back of Silco's chair faced you, and dropped all the weapons onto it. The daggers and guns flattered and shined in the light.

A dry, crackling laughter sparked into the air. A laughter you knew was hers. It made you tingle again. It made the bruises Sevika left you in all the more worth it.

You were shivering from withdrawals. Jinx withdrawals, adrenaline withdrawals, shimmer withdrawals. You needed her to make you experience that death spark again.

Please Jinx.

"Are you dumb or something," she asks. The chair finally spins to face you, her feet clashing against the table. Her face ridden with withheld rage. She blinks in disbelief with an agape mouth. She jolts forward, grabbing ome of your daggers and launches it towards your face. It narrowly dodges your eye and slices a thin scratch into your cheek.

You hiss and laugh.

It irrates her instantly. Her eye twitched. For the first time in forever, Jinx experienced the stress felt Silco once before. The stress of dealing with idiotic subordinates.

And for once. She didn't find it fucking funny.

"I spared you! But you come back with an even dumber plan. What? Did you think you could just waltz in here and slice me up," she asks. You laugh. She clenches her jaw. With an aggravated start, she jumps out of the chair, stomping on the desk as she slides off it in one quick athletic gesture. In seconds, she's on her feet crouching before you, squeezing chunks of your cheeks between her fingers. "What are you thinking," she spits.

Her grip is vice. It makes your eyes water. But you tingle and shiver all over.

"Mmh. Look at those pupils. You're on shimmer. Or- well, off it. What? Did the jitters make you think you could take me? Reclaim your honor," she says.

"M'hehe..mh," you giggle.

She bares her teeth. She drops your face and stands at break neck speed. Your head crashes to the floor, and you hear the familiar sound of a click.

"Everything about this is stupid and makes no sense. Your plan before was beautifully executed and thought out. So why... Why are you," she winces before she can finish her sentence and pinces her temples. You can hear Sevika cackle in the background. You peek up, staring up the barrel of a pistol. "Geez toots... I might get withdrawls next if you don't- I'dunno, say something," she says.

"Mmh... Jinx... Jus' just kill me... Jinx," you gasp out. Your nose aches, a perfect compliment to the ringing from your ribs from taking a robotic punch earlier. "Kill me... And it'll all be... like it was supposed to... Another number on the "anti" tally," you murmur. Not even you know what you're getting at. Why you're here.

Her heel touches your head. She's purposefully digging it into you. "Aah- haa," you shake.

Sevika gasps sharply, "Oh?" Her eyebrows quirk knowingly. Jinx turns to her, but Sevika merely smirks. "I'll leave you to it," Sevika hums, her shoulders slumping as she steps out. Jinxs eyes flicker with wilderment. Sevika lowered her guard. Totally.

They both knew you weren't a threat. But here, that small gesture confirmed a lot to Jinx. You were harmless, you didn't want to die, but you wanted to be around her. No. You wanted her to hurt you. She tests the waters. Jinx's muddy shoe pets down your head, its light not to hurt you. You buck and shiver again, blabbering out heedless.

No.

You didn't want her to hurt you.

When the realization dawned on her, a breathy cackle split the air. "Ooh! Oh god this is too good! What's that little runt," she squats right down next to you, flipping you onto your belly, "you want me to play with ya? Oh, daddy'll play with you toots."

"Wait- that's not what I what I w-want you to kill me! My honor! I lost it in battle, and i-it can only be claimed in--"

"Nn'haha! You really believe that? Oh god you're a riot! Say it. You want Jinxsy to touch you... And err... Ya'know! Take you to p-town. Play with your cunny?"

You felt an electric jolt sink to your clit. One strong enough to shut you up. Your eyes flicker to her crotch, where her legs were spread as she crouched.

"Ooh," she caught it immediately, "you want my cookie instead, eh?"

You gasped in horror.

"Or box? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Box... Box... I always wonders why, but," she says as she pushes Silco's desk out the way and sits down in the chair, spreading her legs wide, "apparently! It's called a box cause you can stuff it! Myahaha! Ain't that something?"

You stare blissfully at her spread legs, painfully aware of your slick oozing.

She pats her thigh. "Well? What's the verdict? I'm not pulling my pants down till ya tell me ya' want it. Say it cute-like! Oh Jinx-jinx-jinx-jinx! I want your cookie wookie! Pleaase'z," she drags it out, saying it sing-songly to fuel your embarrassment.

You blabber in disbelief, "Buh," and gulp, "B-But why. Why are you letting me?" You sound like a shy child.

"Why dya' think I spared you? You're pretty hot. And... I liked being handsy with you. It felt good... Gooder than usual... Hah! Prolly cause your whorish, sensual aura stunk up the place. All that temp'TIT'ous-humbo-jumbo! N'ahaha... God you-"

"Please, Jinx," you whimper.

She returns, "Hey. I already told you. We're not unt--"

You squeak, "Let me... Eat it..."

"Huh? Is that how you ask -"

"Let me eat your cookie," you say. She gives you a bland look. "Uh," you gulp, "Please Jinxsy... Let me eat your- c-cookie. Wuh... Wookie."

She laughs, "Tehe, you got it dollface!"

this wasn't ever about smeech, was it?

⚗️

"Ooh... ff-fuck dollface," she mewls breathlessly. Your hands are still tied tight behind your back, balancing wobbly on your knees as you bury your face deep beneath Jinx's bare, pale, milky legs. Your nose is buried deep into her cunt, your tongue and lips viciously lapping at her clit. Twitching between sucking and tapping it. She was swollen already, a clear sign of her sexual negligence.

No, part of you is convinced she is a virgin. Jinx bucks into your mouth, gripping chunks of your hair. Her leg twitching, barely missing kicking your shoulder as it flies off the seat it was propped up on. She let's it slump over your shoulder. And you almost cried at how far her hole was now from your greedy lips.

You growl, "Jinx put your other leg on me... C-cant suck all of you like this."

"Uhh... Hmm," You're sure she was only half listening, but still, she lazily hunches down and stops her other leg on your shoulder. She adjusts herself and leans slouches downward more, sitting on her upper ass and pushing her cunt straight onto your face in the process.

You snuck in deep sniffs, the smell balanced, tart, and salty. You slurp up her folds into your lips, pulling and letting them slip out between your lips. She hisses and mewls delightfully, an airy cackle leaving her lips. She taps your head with two fingers and bobs her head rhythmically, a delighted hum squeaking from her lips. You giggle humored, licking a stripe up her, slowing down to enjoy the moment.

She's staring deep into your eyes, grinding against your flat tongue, slowly matching your rhythm. Your rhythm was closely following the one she hummed and drummed on you.

It was odd, how calm it all suddenly became. How you couldn't seem to look away. You wanted to please her so bad.

A ferocious shiver sparked down you again. You locked in, cupping her clit in your lips, suckling and tapping against it. You buried yourself into her, erratic and fanatic, slurping all of her like it was your last dinner. She squeaks and bucks into your mouth at the sharp change, bowling out her moans. "Aah- ff... Oohh, dollface-ugh," she whines. Her arms fall out, one landing on her forehead, her index and thumb propped up on it, rolling her head back into the chairs cushions.

Her bucking became erratic, her moans spiking, her grip on herself becoming undone. As she reaches with her free hand again to grab chunks of your hair at the root. Her cunt is pink and pale, littered with pretty hair. But your bullying turned it a vulgar shade of red. A red you'd wear on your lips any day.

"Aah! Ah! Aaa-mmgh," she barks out. Her thighs clench vice around your neck, her leg spasming before finally, "Oouh," she janks your head away from her pussy, gasping and waning in the chair.

Her eyes rolled back, while senseless blabbering drooled out her lips. "Mmht... D-Dollface," she sighs blissfully.

"It's (y/n)," you murmur and lean back in to peck at her swollen, ruined pussy.

"(Y-Y/n)?" She gulps, her eyes never returning from their blissful heaven beneath her eyelids. "Mmh yeah... (y/n)," she mumbles, half listening. She sighs after a few seconds, finally looking down at you and- smiling? It was a soft one, geninue and pure.

She asks, "What else can you do?"

"Mmh... I want... to feel good too," you murmur still pecking her pussy and inner thighs.

"Hmmmrr.... Alright. Let's get you fingered up."

"N-No... At the same time as you... Let's grind on our thighs... er like how they do in those... Brothels."

"Ooh what? You mean scissoring? Ha, is this your first time with a woman," she barks a laugh.

"Is this your first time ever, Jinx?"

"Hey," she commands, her face twitches. She shoved your face back into her lips. "Don't get smart with me. You're still my doll," she hums.

"M'forgive me," you mumble out, with pussy between your lips. That was all the answer you need. You slowly begin to suckle her again, hearing her breathy moans pour in.

"Mmh yeah... Let's go to my room..."

⚗️

😁

[black-fist-order]

BREAKING: Hollywood superstar Alan Ritchson of "Reacher" fame verbally throat-punches MAGA former Congressman Matt Gaetz who he went to school with: "That motherf*cker. We are adversaries."

And the acting powerhouse was just getting started...

"It’s shocking to me that the panhandle of Florida continues to vote for somebody—knowing everything we know about him and the promises that he’s made behind closed doors about pardoning certain criminals—he’s just not a good dude!" Ritchson said to GQ.

Gaetz has been credibly accused of sex trafficking minors in the past and for a brief period of time was considered for Donald Trump's Attorney General position.

"There’s part of me that wants to get into politics to outdo somebody like him for good, and there’s part of me that’s like, I’m not duplicitous enough to succeed in politics," Ritchson continued.

"There are certain people that do a good job of staying true to who they are, but they’re ineffective. I think Bernie Sanders is a hero. But it’s like, what has he accomplished?" he added.

The actor has taken direct aim at Donald Trump in the past.

"Trump is a rapist and a con man, and yet the entire Christian church seems to be treat him like he’s their poster child and it’s unreal. I don’t understand it," Ritchson, who is a devout Christian, told The Hollywood Reporter.

"Christians today have become the most vitriolic tribe. It is so antithetical to what Jesus was calling us to be and to do," he said.

In the same interview, Ritchson tore into the police officers who killed the innocent Black woman Breonna Taylor during a raid. "That was a tragic case," he said.

"Cops get away with murder all the time, and the fact that we can’t really hold them accountable for their improprieties is disturbing to me," he added. "I mean, you shouldn’t have to spend more time getting an education as a hairstylist than as a cop who’s armed with a deadly weapon."

In his new interview with GQ, Ritchson also had words for the super-religious people who criticize his acting choices.

"People have this weird relationship with fictional characters, and sort of equate that to the real human being," he said. "I don’t have that problem, making that distinction. I get criticized a lot by Christians who are like, ‘How dare you have an unmarried sex scene on TV and then talk about Jesus?’ I’m sorry—I doubt that’s going to be part of the conversation when I’m standing at the pearly gates!"

Ritchson should be commended for his bold words. With MAGA in the White House it would easier than ever for him to stick his head in the sand and focus solely on making money and hit TV shows.

Instead, he's bravely speaking the truth.

Please like and share!

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Hello!!! Can you please write a Seo Moonjo fic, where he becomes possessive/obsessed with Jongwoo's gf or with a female who works with him?

Overcompensate

Absolutely lovely! Here's a bit of a drabble for you!

Pairing: Seo Moon-Jo X Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore & possessiveness, Moon-Jo shows very yandere tendencies, cannibalism allegories

Moon-jo was a simple man.

Not necessarily in theory, but in practice. He knew what it was he aspired to obtain in his lifetime and with the amount of work and dedication he put into those aspirations, it makes sense that he would achieve them. Simple.

But as to what he wanted and the lengths he would go to, stopping at nothing...that was a little more complicated.

To his surprise, he had found himself in a situation where the goal wasn't in relation to dentistry or murder. He was having a bit of an issue sorting out just exactly why the new tenant of Eden Residence was so captivating, so enthralling to him. What was it about the boy who lived next door that led Moon-Jo to believing that his existence was some sort of spiritual awakening he would have to come to discover? Why was he suddenly so fascinated in the idea of pulling back his brain and picking out all of his thoughts, consuming them in their entirety until there was nothing left of poor Jongwoo but a vessel of the human being he once was? It was Kafka-esque, a metamorphosis of his character; to watch him succumb to the ravaging animalistic qualities that Moon-Jo believed all humans to possess. It was strange and it was beautiful.

And oh, was it something Moon-Jo wanted.

So he put in the work. Day after day he spent trying to get under Jongwoo's flesh, tearing open another layer piece by piece to truly understand his newfound obsession. But with every step closer to his goal he got, the more confused he became. There was nothing he was learning that he had hoped for. Jongwoo was buckling under the weight of his neighbor's madness, yes. But he wasn't the right image of Moon-Jo's work. This frustrated him to no end.

He still remembers when everything finally clicked into place. The night had just fallen and the stars crept up in the sky, illuminating the long path to the Residence. Although the lights were dim, one could still make out the small cats darting back and forth as they played with one another in the underbrush. The air was crisp and still with no wind, a perfect temperature to end an outrageously hot summer day. Moon-Jo awaited on the rooftop with two beers, as he usually did, watching the path below for his Jongwoo to arrive back home with his furrowed expression of displeasure and overly large backpack slung over his shoulders from an excruciatingly long day at the office. He would be lucky to convince Jongwoo up to the roof where he sat and even luckier if he could manage to get him to drink his beer. He knew Jongwoo was onto him and his...stranger tendencies, but he would receive the fruits of his labor. He always did.

The beer can was cold under his grasp, the condensation slipping from his fingertips and falling beneath him as the drops pattered onto the cracked concrete. He was starting to grow slightly warm, however, he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or the growing anticipation he felt as he awaited the boy's arrival. His eyes didn't leave the road once.

As he looked beneath him towards the winding street, he finally saw his neighbor trudging up the path, same expression on his face Moon-Jo had expected him to be wearing. But, to his surprise, walking beside the man he'd so desperately tried his best to court 24/7 was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

It shocked him-almost-his hand immediately dropping the beer he was holding as he lost his composure for the first time in many years. It was sudden, as though he'd been impaled by sword, piercing through his lungs and stopping his breath as his heart skipped a beat. He had never been so hungry, so devout for human meat. He didn't want to cannibalize you, no. But he so desperately wanted to consume you and your being which is almost the same thing...right? He knew what Jongwoo had meant to him now, it was almost so clear in the way it presented itself; Jongwoo was never meant to be the product of his manipulation. It had always had to have been you.

Your eyes looked up towards Eden, missing the strange man on the roof entirely. Moon-Jo found himself entranced by them, watching the way they shone under the stars and the soft light from the windows of the Residence. They were like Bosch's paintings of the divine, absolutely encapsulating the beauty of the gods. Your hair fell slightly past your shoulders and framed a face he could only assume belonged to heavens itself. Your body swayed with the movement of your feet as you followed your boyfriend's suit, duffel bag in hand.

Moon-Jo thought he had died and been met with the face of a deity.

On your end, the only thing you were thinking about was Jongwoo's warnings from earlier. Once he had moved to Seoul and started living in this dingy place, he had instantly been met with strange roommates whom he'd talk about often. You were worried about his dwindling sleep schedule and his overall safety, residing in a place like this on the outskirts of town. If something terrible were to happen here, you weren't even sure police would show up in this precinct. For Jongwoo's sake, however, you swallowed down your nervousness preparing to have that conversation with him later.

Collecting himself, Moon-Jo practically sprinted towards the stairs and made his way down to Mrs. Eom's desk, leaning against the dilapidated building's walls, forcing himself to contain the sparks flying through his veins. He had to keep himself together, make the most impeccable first impression and swoon you over, whoever you might be. He needed you to like him, to trust him. If he ruined his image right off the bat by voicing his true inner monologue, it would be so much harder to mold you to his image and sway you into his grasp.

"Jongwoo, are you sure this is something you want to do? We could always sleep at my place if you're as uncomfortable by this place as you say." You said, closing the heavy door behind you and setting down your duffel bag for a moment to regain your breath.

Jongwoo shrugged and picked up your things containing all your overnight clothes and whatever else you'd brought to work that day. He had just simple given you a "yeah, this is fine" before turning around to be met face-to-face with the one person he didn't want to see or have the imposition of introducing to his girlfriend at all. He had hoped he might be able to sneak you past and into his room before anyone even noticed he was there; as he usually did. He'd presumed Moon-Jo to be on the roof for his nightly drink, whenever he stayed at the residence and not in his own apartment.

Beside the wall-almost eerily so-Moon-Jo stood, ignoring Jongwoo completely. His eyes were trained on you as you gathered yourself enough to take him in, watching the man before you breathe in the very fiber of your being. He was tall and dark haired with extraordinary cheekbones. With a face card like that, you were sure he'd have had to be a model or do side-gigs of the sort. His smile was a pleasant one as it seemed inviting, but upon staring at it for a few moments, something about it felt off to you. His black button-up was loose around his collarbones and neatly tucked into his slacks. He was fairly handsome, you thought, forgetting that Jongwoo had warned you of this 'crazy neighbor' before inviting you to stay at his place to catch the train back home tomorrow.

A piercing feeling of nervousness took over your body and shocked you instantly. There was something extremely peculiar about this man and you wanted nothing to do with finding out what it was. There was something haunting about the depth of his cold, dark gaze, contrasting Jongwoo's warm and inviting one. You swore to yourself in that moment not to walk anywhere on these premises without Jongwoo for fear of running into this man alone.

However uncomfortable you may have felt, Moon-Jo was in love, if that's what you would call it. He wanted this-you, so intensely and so immediately that his entire body felt as though it were shaking with tremors. He would stop at absolutely nothing to have you, to own you. You were what he had been unknowingly waiting for his entire existence and Jongwoo had only been the key. Smiling, he shook his hand out towards yours, ignoring the complaints from your boyfriend from beside you.

"My name is Seo Moon-Jo. The pleasure is all mine."

"(Y/N)." You replied.

[deadtoes666]

Can we talk about Laura Lee? Like, REALLY talk?

(This is super long and not perfect)

I'm going to start with the Summer camp scene here. The scene itself is a sweltering day at a pool, busy with kids at play. We see a sign above the pool reading ‘Mary Magdalene Summer Camp’ and a faint ‘bible study’ poster behind Laura Lee, both insisting that this is run by a christian organisation. We then pan to a younger Laura, at least a year before the plane crash, sitting by the pool with her legs in the water. She then gets up and hovers over the edge of the pool for a moment, before diving in head first. Once she hits the water, she outstretches her palms, grazing them against the bottom of the pool, but making no attempt to stop herself from hurling into a concussion. As a result, she passes out from the impact of bashing her head against the bottom of the pool, floating at the stop with blood flowing from her forehead. In the lingering moment before she dives, I think she's hesitating. She’s thinking ‘should I really do this?’ because she's about to take her own life. After the jump, she is so unafraid to die, that I think it proves that she is really trying to hurt herself, because she doesn't seem to get a last rush of fear. I think she knew very well where she was and what would happen to her.

But, why would Laura Lee want to attempt suicide? Well, let’s see: Laura Lee was raised into religion, implied to have the ‘big christian poster family’; she is hinted to have mental health problems in the second episode where she says “This is all my fault”, blaming herself for the plane crash; and she could very well be feeling disconnected to her religion or even God itself. This disconnect is interesting when you look at Laura Lee’s not-so-goody-two-shoes acts like: going to parties, playing defence in sport, and having a close relationship with both Lottie and Van. Although it was scrapped, Laura Lee and Van were best friends in the original Yellowjackets script, and this is a very interesting choice, because we know that Van is lesbian. Sadly, we never get to learn if Laura Lee knows this, but we do get some implications of what both Van and Tai assumed of her. The very episode after Laura’s death, Van and Taissa stop hiding their relationship from the other girls, and kiss at the ‘dooms-coming’ party. Earlier in the show, Van says that ‘we can’t hide it forever’ and Tai responds with ‘I just don’t want to deal with the drama’. It’s possible that the ‘drama’ Tai refers to could be Laura Lee’s reaction, fuelled by her bible worship. However, considering that the original script was going to make Van and Laura very close friends, I tend to doubt that Laura was really as homophobic as Tai (rightfully) assumes. She played on a girl’s football team, for christ’ sake– Laura knew damn well about the queer connotations of that, it was the 90s. And this isn’t the only thing Laura Lee could be going against her religion with. Referring back: she attends high school parties in the woods; Even though she preaches about god, she’s in a woman’s soccer team– which isn’t condemnable, but very unusual for an aspiring christian housewife; She also has quite the temper, even if she doesn't show it most of the time. We do get to see this in her scene with Ben in episode ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’, when she asks “What are you going to do to stop me?” after he tries to stop her from leaving. In this scene, she’s not afraid to curse and admit reality. She says she has to go, “Or else we’re all going to fucking starve.” She's ambitious and determined - which are well or ill qualities in their own right, but may be not what's expected from a ‘good Christian girl’.

All to say, Laura Lee feeling disconnected from her religion because she doesn't agree with major preaching points is very much plausible. The summer camp scene itself is there to show how and why Laura Lee is so devout in the current day, and this could hint that Laura wasn’t nearly as nun-like before her suicide attempt. Perhaps she tries to take her own life as a way to test her dwindling faith. She's young and developing, and her close relationship with Lottie can definitely be read as something more than a simple friendship, meaning she could very well be read as queer herself. This could also explain her friendship and kinship with Van. Maybe because Laura Lee was growing apart from many christian beliefs, she was desperate to be proved wrong, because she loved her family and knew that she wouldn’t be accepted if she lived her truth. 

I take Laura’s act of jumping into the pool as a dare. A test to God. ‘If I live, I've been saved. if I die, God is false.’ It’s a very risky bet, but not one that Laura Lee isn't scared to try. If God is false, she doesn’t see herself having anything to live for. No community, no family. She is so ingrained into christianity that she would die if it wasn’t true. She was yearning for a close connection to god. She can’t consider anything else; it’s her way of following religion. If God ‘allows’ Laura Lee to keep living, it means she has a purpose to fill. A mission, something, anything – she's not lost. It allows her to ignore (or deny) other parts of her identity. After she is saved by the lifeguard, she tries to thank him, but even he refuses to take any credit, and tells Laura Lee to thank God. This is why she is so incredibly devout. Even in her last moment of clarity, the person who saved her redirected her back to God.

This scene creates such a strong impression because of the amount of small details and little things that allude to Laura Lee’s mental illness, and why she repeatedly tries to hurt herself. This young girl has been forced into an incredibly restrictive and toxic environment, and she struggles to find herself amongst priests who tell her right from wrong. And it isn’t just when she tries to kill herself in the pool that’s impactful, but also when she tries to fly a plane that has been abandoned in the woods upwards of decades. She's completely untrained, and would be flying through a complex area filled with mountains and valleys, where even highly experienced pilots have struggled. She had no idea how far she had to fly, and in what direction, let alone how to land, or what conditions would be like. Not only is this incredibly insane, but it’s just dumb. Yes, Laura says it’s for the good of the group. Yes, she says it’s to save Van and Shauna– but it’s impossible. Her grandfather was a pilot, so it’s not like she was uneducated. She does it for god. She tests him yet again. Laura Lee uses her faith as an excuse to put herself in harm's way again. 

Expanding on her “This is all my fault” comment, we also know that Laura Lee can’t imagine God wanting to punish the other yellowjackets. She knows all too well that none of them are saints: getting drunk, having physical relations before marriage, and being queer (If we assume that Laura knows). She thinks so lowly of herself that she immediately takes the blame for an uncontrollable plane crash, blaming herself just because she called her piano teacher ‘a cunt’ in her own mind, sobbing “But god heard me. And now he's punishing all of us (because of her actions).” While this is also meant to serve as a comedic scene, with all the characters laughing at Laura Lee, it has some deeper implications into Laura Lee’s harmful mindset. This really shows how her upbringing negatively impacts her, with this ‘it’s all my fault’ mindset linking back to divine punishment. 

Despite her low self-worth, Laura Lee still manages to be a good character with strong morals. She is continuously understanding of Lottie and so sweet and gentle with her when she shows interest in Laura’s religion. Not only that, but she isn’t incredibly pushy about God, despite being so pious. She doesn't bring up God especially often in the wilderness, where everyone is scared and vulnerable. She keeps her religion mostly to herself. This contrasts most preachers, as so many major (mainly christian) religions rely on preying on the needy to collect followers. Preachers often see moments of vulnerability as an opportunity for people to ‘let god into their heart’, but Laura Lee doesn't do such things. In fact, I'd say she discusses God less now that she's in the wilderness. Before the crash, it seemed like every line of dialogue linked back to God. When considering Laura Lee’s own moment of ‘saviour’ (being resuscitated from a suicide attempt), one may dare to say that she was one of the vulnerable people who the church trapped herself. Despite being raised into christianity, I don’t think she truly believed when she was old enough to know that Santa Claus wasn’t real either. Maybe she had a tweenage rebellion, but we know painfully little about Laura Lee’s past.

All of these things have such an impact because it directly tackles the power that ‘God’, as an idea, can give to mentally ill people. Laura Lee puts herself in harm's way ‘for the sake of god’ when she really just wants to die. This is why she doesn't get the help she needs. Everyone sees her acts as devotion, when they are harmful. Flying the plane follows the same path as the pool scene: God lets Laura Lee live, and she saves the day; or God isn't here, and Laura Lee dies. She's provoking both God and the Wilderness, if they exist. If they do not, Laura Lee is just following her suicidal tendencies by risking her life with an excuse: potentially saving the others. And, as we know, nothing can save Laura Lee from her violent plane explosion. In the moments before her death, she is so glad to have the chance to save everyone, and panics when the fire lights. She looks around frantically, repeating “No, no…”, but knows that she can’t stop the inevitable. Laura Lee doesn't even look particularly afraid after realising that she is about to die, and there’s nothing she can do. There's a fire lit beside her, but she just keeps looking forward, inhaling the smoke. She clutches her necklace, calm and serene, and the plane implodes. It’s a bittersweet feeling to see the death of a character who was trying to die, but, as Lottie had written on her chalkboard in Shana, Van, and Akilah’s hallucination in episode three of season three: ‘Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest.’ It was a mercy to Laura Lee, so that she didn't need to endure the horrors of winter and thereafter.

It's fascinating to compare Laura Lee with Jackie on their shared suicidal ideologies, because they're both trying to kill themselves in their own way. Laura Lee hides it (to others, but I think also to herself) behind her faith and her desire to save everyone, whereas Jackie stops eating and begins to self-isolate. They're both trying to be subtle about it, but they both want to die.

One of the few characters that respond to Laura’s small signs of instability is Lottie. When everyone laughs at Laura for her piano teacher confession, Lottie jumps in to reveal her own plane-crashing secret: She steals from T.J. Max, only to return the clothes and collect ‘T.J. bucks’ in the hundreds. So, in a way, it was Lottie who started the round of team confessions to show that Laura Lee wasn't alone, helping to turn a silly moment into team bonding. It’s fascinating because this is the first time we get to see Lottie's observation skills and empathy as leadership qualities, even if she still has the quiet girl status at the time. Throughout Lottie’s metamorphosis into who she is in season two, Laura Lee is there to encourage her into speaking up, and giving Lottie the confidence she needed to be able to grow into herself. When Lottie is unmedicated, Laura Lee is one of her few pillars of support and understanding. Even though it may not be good for Lott, Laura listens to and considers the things that Lottie is seeing in an honest and slightly delusional manner. Laura Lee sees Lottie as a prophet of God. During their time in the wilderness, Laura Lee and Lottie grow much closer. Laura Lee supports Lottie and believes in her visions even when there is no reason to. She believed Lottie was a prophet and her visions were messages from god, and this may not have been the best for either of them, but it made them happy, at least. Laura takes these dark parts of Lottie that have been repressed for years as a blessing. Laura Lee embraces Lottie for who she is, and that’s something not even Lott’s parents could do. 

And Lottie helps Laura Lee believe in God, despite the setting of the wilderness and the lack of societal barriers that Laura grew up with. Lottie upholds the divinity of a priest for Laura Lee, resulting in her throwing herself deeper into christianity instead of allowing herself to start doubting her faith again. Laura Lee and Lottie both build up off of each other: Laura shrouds herself in her faith like a shield or suit of armour because Lottie reinforces her beliefs; and Lottie begins to be more and more outspoken as Laura Lee brings her out of her shell, resulting in her eventual leadership. Laura is such a major part of Lottie’s ascent to the throne that it’s hard to talk about one without talking about the other. Their relationship isn’t crystal clear before the crash, but we know that they chose to sit close to each other (Lottie behind Laura) on the plane. When it began its descent, they reached out to each other for support, gripping one another’s hand. They may not have been best friends ever before the crash, but there's an undeniable sense of familiarity between the two of them. They’ve definitely known each other a while, with being on the same sports team. And they seem to like each other’s company too, especially since we know that Laura Lee and Van were meant to be best friends in the pilot, and still Laura chose to sit with Lottie. 

In episode 6 ‘Saints’, Laura Lee takes it upon herself to baptize Lottie in the lake. There's a lot of symbo- lism in this scene, specifically in Lottie’s vision where she is transported to a basement where she sees a male deer. The stag can represent many things here, but on the surface, the stag can simply symbolize the spiritual cleanse (baptism). But, in christianity, a stag represents Christ's crucifixion as well as a spiritual guide. So, Lottie follows the stag into a passageway in the basement, and there’s several candles burning. She lights one of the unlit candles. In terms of religious symbolism, the candlelight often represents the light of christ. Because of this scene, i think that While underwater, Lottie opens her eyes back up only to see Laura Lee’s face above, with a halo around her head akin to the ones seen around saint’s heads in religious paintings. Due to the similarly named episode, the symbolism of Laura Lee being like a saint is highlighted, and this could absolutely allude to Laura Lee’s tragic end, much like the saints of catholicism. This scene is so impactful to me because it creates such a strong impression on the viewer. We see two characters who are shown to be mentally ill feeding into each other's delusions, while simultaneously building up their characters and setting up Lottie’s character arc as the leader. We can see the way that the story is going, especially with the knowledge that everyone will devolve into cannibal cultists hunting each other for survival from the pilot episode. 

[candycandy00]

HI❤️ for your 2k follower event can you write

Character: sukuna

Setting: church

Spice: NSFW

Mood: Dark

Kink: Praise kink+breeding

🙏🙏🙏

Dancing With the Devil - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Sukuna as a priest. Praise. Creampie. Voyeurism. Humiliation. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k followers event! Any and all feedback is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear!

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” 

The priest on the other side of the wooden grate-covered window greets you in his smooth voice. “Tell me your sins.”

You know who sits only inches away from you, separated only by the thinnest of walls in the confessional. Father Sukuna is a new priest at the church, having only arrived six weeks ago. 

His appearance was quite a shock to the congregation. Pink, slicked back hair, eyes that were as red as a demon’s, and a huge muscled frame all turned heads. But most of all, it was the intricate pattern of black tattoos lining his face that had everyone talking. 

What kind of person had he been before joining the priesthood? That was the question on everyone’s mind. But one of the other priests was quick to remind everyone that Father Sukuna had turned away from a life of sin, and the Bible taught you all to “judge not”. 

So while some people still wondered and whispered about him, most people in the church accepted him without asking questions about his past. 

However, you’ve solved the mystery, entirely by accident.

The first time you saw him, you thought his tattoos were somewhat familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen them before. Then one day you visited the church to drop off some fresh lemonade for the men working on some repairs on the outside of the building. 

It was a blazing hot summer day, and as you stood chatting with one of the men, Father Sukuna peeled off his T-shirt to get some relief from the heat. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his sweat slicked body, incredibly well sculpted muscles rippling in the haze of the sun. And those tattoos. 

You recognized them at that moment, and a deep red blush spread over your face. 

Almost a year ago, a friend who knew you had a thing for tattoos sent you a video to watch online. It was a porn video featuring a handsome, well built man with black tattoos lining his whole body. His face was blurred out for some reason, but the rest of him wasn’t. You had watched it, enraptured by the way his body moved, way too many times to count. 

There was also a woman in the video, and you had grown wet watching her struggle to take the man’s impossibly huge cock, enormous even by porn star standards. When she moaned and writhed beneath him, you imagined you were her. 

You tried to find out who the man was, only so you could look for more videos featuring him, but his name remained a mystery. But by searching for terms like “male porn star black tattoos huge dick”, you found two more videos he’d done. Both also blurred his face. 

Countless nights you spent watching them, one hand in your panties, between your quivering thighs, wishing you knew what name to moan. 

You would know those tattoos anywhere, would be able to recognize that chiseled chest and back lined with black ink if you were half blind. 

The next few days, he was all you could think about. When he gave a sermon, his delicious voice carrying through the speakers and filling the church, you pictured him naked, fucking you right there in front of the entire congregation. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’ve never been very devout in your religion, but you still grew up fairly sheltered by your religious parents, so you never really had a “wild phase”. The “wildest” you got was sneakily watching porn after your parents went to bed. Even now, living in your own apartment, you have a pretty boring life. 

But Father Sukuna brings out every naughty fantasy you’ve ever had, right in the middle of church, of all places! So now that you’re in the confessional, inches away from him, talking about sin, you can’t hold back. 

“I’ve been watching pornographic videos online,” you confess.

“Ah, I see,” he says. “It’s hard to resist that temptation. But with God’s help, you can turn away from your lust.”

“There’s three videos in particular that I watch all the time,” you add, growing bolder. “I’ve been watching them for nearly a year, and I can’t stop.”

This time he hesitates for a moment. Is he catching on? Then he asks, “What makes these three so attractive to you?”

You lick your lips and take a breath, then press on. “It’s the man who stars in all three. He’s mesmerized me. He’s very handsome, and his body is covered in tattoos…”

This time he has to know exactly what you’re saying. You wonder if he’s embarrassed, if he’ll ask you not to tell anyone.

Instead, he’s sleek voice carries through the grate, “Do you touch yourself while you watch them?”

Your face heats up. You were not expecting that question! But after only a moment of hesitation, you reply, “Yes, Father. All the time.”

“Describe it to me.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His voice is so close, so honeyed, as he says, “Describe how you touch yourself, what you’re thinking when you do it, how it feels. Your confession needs to be thorough.”

Oh god. Can you really say stuff like that to the very man you’ve been masturbating to? But your panties are growing damp as you shift nervously in your seat. 

“I… I watch the videos in bed, on my phone… and I reach one hand down to… touch myself.”

“How? Where? Leave no details out,” he says in an authoritative tone. 

You take a deep breath, fighting back your embarrassment. Your face feels like it’s on fire. “I rub… my clit, with one finger.”

“Describe it more. Paint a picture for me,” he tells you. 

Your own voice is getting shaky. “I spread my legs open on the bed… hold the phone with one hand so I can watch the videos, and move my other hand down between my legs. I dip my fingers between the folds… to smear my wetness around… then I use one finger to rub circles into my clit.”

“And what do you think about while doing this?” Father Sukuna asks. 

Your breaths are shallow and quick. “I imagine the man with tattoos… forcing his giant cock inside me while I whimper underneath him.”

There’s a pause, then he speaks again, not a hint of surprise or struggle in his silky voice. “And do you cum?”

“Y-yes. Everytime. It feels so good, Father. I can’t stop.”

He hums as if thinking deeply, then says, “This sounds like a serious problem for you. I think you need some further counseling. Can you come back tonight and see me for a private session?”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. You know what he means, what he’s asking, and you’re afraid there’s going to be a sticky puddle on the seat when you get up. 

“Yes, Father Sukuna! I can come. Back, I mean. Tonight.” It all came out sounding rather breathless. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he says, and your fate is sealed. 

When you return to the church later that night, both terrified and excited, you find it empty. You’re not sure where Father Sukuna’s office is, or if he’s even waiting for you there, so you walk down the aisle toward the altar. Should you offer up a prayer asking for forgiveness? 

Before you can decide, you hear a loud clicking sound behind you. Turning around, you see Father Sukuna standing at the door, locking it up tight. You swallow a lump in your throat. 

He turns to face you, giving you a smile as he steps toward you. “I’ve locked all the doors. I’m the only one here tonight. We’ll be discussing private, sensitive topics, after all.”

Nothing he’s saying is inappropriate, there’s nothing threatening about his movements, but you still somehow feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web. 

“Th-thank you, Father,” you say, avoiding eye contact. This is the first time you’ve been face to face with him since your humiliating confession, and your face is already hot with shame. You can’t believe you told him how you touch yourself! You’ve kept that a secret from literally everyone, even your closest friends. 

He moves past you and sits down on a pew, his motions smooth and graceful. He’s a man who knows exactly how to move his body.  He pats the spot next to him and says, “Sit down.”

He has a way of saying things that makes you want to jump to obey every command. You walk over and sit down beside him, perhaps a little too close. You can smell his cologne. 

He turns in the seat to face you, one arm resting on the back of the pew, close enough for his fingers to touch your hair if he wants. “Now, tell me again about your sinful lust. You desire this man in the videos, the one with tattoos?”

Flustered, you look away from him, nodding your head shyly. It’s so much harder to talk about this when you can look him in the eyes! 

“And if he were here right now, what would you want him to do to you?”

You look at him sharply, eyes wide. “Huh? Uh… I don’t….”

He leans closer, red eyes boring into you. “Be honest. Confess your sinful thoughts.”

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. “I would want him to fuck me.”

A grin breaks across his face, a gleam in those red eyes. To you, he doesn’t look like a priest now at all, but a devil sent to destroy you. 

“Such a sinful girl,” he murmurs, scooting even closer. “Is your pussy wet right now?”

You jerk away from him in shock. You’ve never heard a priest speak this way before. “No! I’m… it’s not!”

He’s staring into your eyes. “Really? Show me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“Show me your pussy. I’ll see if you’re a liar as well as lustful.”

Oh fuck. Oh god. You know you’re soaking wet. The thought of this gorgeous priest looking at your dripping pussy has you heating up with both shame and arousal.

Slowly, you pull your modest skirt up your thighs, bunching it at your waist. Then, breathing fast, heart racing, you slide your panties down, lifting your hips from the pew to pull the silky fabric all the way down your legs. They fall off your ankles, and for a moment you sit there, blushing, not looking at Father Sukuna. 

“Open your legs so I can see how sinful you are,” he commands, again with that tone of authority. 

You carefully spread your legs apart, and Father Sukuna moves from the pew to squat in front of you, giving himself a clear and perfect view of your bare, glistening pussy. He makes a soft “tsk” sound. “You lied. Your pussy is drenched. Your sins keep growing, but I can help you.”

Finally gaining the courage to look at him despite your deep burning shame, your eyes teary, you ask, “How?”

His eyes shift to your face. “Have you heard that some parents, upon catching their child smoking a cigarette, will force them to smoke a whole pack to get them to stop?”

You nod. You have heard of that before. 

He grins. “That’s how I’m going to help you. To make you turn away from your lustful behavior, I’m gonna fuck your pretty little pussy until you beg me to stop.”

You inhale sharply as he stands up and pulls his priestly robes off, revealing those beautiful tattoos covering his torso. He unbuttons his pants, and you watch with anxious, rapt attention as he pulls out the beast you’ve been waiting to finally see. 

It’s even bigger in person. 

Your mouth goes dry as you try to figure out how this is going to work. You’re inexperienced, having never had a serious boyfriend and being watched carefully by your parents until you moved out. The massive organ between Father Sukuna’s legs is intimidating, but god do you want this. You’ve thought about how he would feel inside you for almost a year now. 

While you sit there, practically frozen to the spot, he removes your shirt and bra, so that the only thing left is your wadded up skirt around your waist. Then he pushes you back in the pew so that you’re lying on your back, lifting one of your legs up and hooking it over the back of the pew while the other dangles off the front. This leaves you spread completely open for him, your shamefully wet pussy exposed to his gaze. 

Your chest is heaving with your rapid breaths as he climbs on top of you, his huge frame dwarfing yours. One of his hands squeezes your breast, his rough palm brushing over your sensitive nipple. Then he moves down, his thick, warm fingers opening your slippery folds. He circles your clit with one finger, making your hips buck slightly off the pew. 

“Is this how you touch yourself while watching my videos?” he asks. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that he’s the man in those videos, and even though you knew it already, the admission sends a thrill through your body. 

“Y-yes,” you say, your legs beginning to tremble as he teases your little nub. 

His hand slides down a bit, and then you feel one of his fingers pressing inside you. It’s big, and you feel like it’s stretching you already. 

“So tight… Are you a virgin?”

Too embarrassed to speak, you nod and look away. 

He laughs. “I can’t believe a virgin has been rubbing her little clit and cumming to my videos.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, and you feel his finger curl slightly within you. “Don’t close your eyes. I’m trying to get this cute little pussy ready to take my cock.”

You open your eyes and look at him just as he pushes a second finger inside. You squeak out a strange little sound, surprised by the sudden fullness. It doesn’t hurt, but you feel a sense of pressure, and your pussy clenches his fingers. 

He lightly pumps them in and out, making an obscene squelching sound that echoes in the church. With his free hand, he rubs your clit, making you let out small gasping moans at the pleasure. You had no idea his fingers could feel so good! 

Just as you feel like you might cum any second, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You whine by reflex, looking up pleadingly as he licks his fingers clean. 

“You’re being so good for me, so I’ll give you what you’ve been wanting,” he says, pulling your hips into his lap and getting into position. “This might hurt a little, but you can take it, right?”

You look at him with big, wet eyes. “Yeah… I can take it,” you say, your voice quivering. 

He grins like a demon about to devour your soul, then you feel the tip of that rock hard monster of a cock press into your entrance. You shudder, hissing at the stretch as he keeps pushing in. Oh fuck it’s still going in! 

He moves in slowly, inch by inch, going deeper than you thought possible. When you wince, he reaches down and rubs your clit again to ease your discomfort. Soon, he’s all the way in, his firm body pressing against yours. After a moment to allow you to catch your breath, he begins moving. 

With the grace and strength of a tiger, he moves over you, thrusting in with smooth, practiced motions. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, to hit the spots that have you moaning and gripping his tattooed shoulders. 

For months you watched him fuck other women in his videos, always imagining being them. You wanted to feel what they felt as they cried out in pleasure, to know what his powerful body felt like on top of you. Now you finally know, and you’ll never be able to give this up. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as he leans down closer, kissing your lips. He tastes like sin itself, and you wonder if he’s dragging you straight to hell. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

His thrusts go deeper, harder, until you’re crying out his name, tears in your eyes, desperate for release. Three more thrusts later, each one hitting hyper sensitive spots, and you’re cumming around his cock, clenching him as tightly as you can. 

You look up at him through the haze of pleasure, and he’s wearing that devilish grin. “Good girl,” he says. “I knew you could take me.”

You can’t even form words, only nodding weakly while his cock is still buried inside you. When he begins thrusting again, it’s faster, rougher, until he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back. Before you can say a word, he cums directly into your womb in thick spurts. 

When he pulls out, you can feel his cum leaking out of you, and you’re reminded of similar shots from his videos. You drop your head back on the pew, exhausted. 

He’s hovering over you, looking down with a disappointed expression. “Don’t fall asleep now. We have all night. I intend to fuck all the sinful thoughts right out of you.”

You raise up in alarm. “Wait… I don’t think I can handle any more!”

He’s already pushing your legs apart again. “You can handle it. If you’ve watched my videos then you know how much stamina I have. Try and keep up.”

You groan, realizing this is going to be a very long night. 

[togrowoldinv]

Milf Wanda Masterlist

Best Friend’s Mom: You wake up next to your best friend’s mom and she begins to seduce you

Devout: You meet Wanda Maximoff at church and she later approaches you with a special request that you just can’t refuse *smut*

First Date: You pick Wanda up at her home for a date and learn a lot about the woman by the time she goes back inside that night *smut*

Five Minutes: You’re jealous, Wanda is jealous. The end result is one very intense break from the volleyball games *smut*

Fix: When you get a house call to fix a car, you have no idea that your payment will come in the form of sleeping with the customer

For The Hope Of It All: Wanda took comfort in you during times of trouble in her marriage. Endings are unavoidable *smut*

Forgetfulness: While dealing with a breakup, you go to the Maximoff house to babysit without remembering you didn’t have to go this week. Wanda comforts you and makes your visit worth your while. *smut*

Friends: You’ve been there for Wanda as a friend, but it’s always felt like something more

Invitation: You accept Wanda’s invitation to ladies night without knowing the deeper meaning of her gesture

It is Well: You’re the choir director at Wanda’s church. One afternoon after church, your relationship with her changes

Love and Baseball: You help coach a little league baseball team and meet the most perfect woman

Mother’s Day Brunch: Wanda invites you over for brunch and things turn intense *smut*

One-On-One: You’re Wanda’s pastor, so when her husband leaves her you reach out to offer her comfort. She tries to push you away on the account that she doesn’t like you, but that changes when she realizes what you could do for her.

Pour Me: You meet an intriguing woman while you’re bartending

Reconnecting: It’s been ten years since you’ve seen Wanda. A lot has changed for her

Settlement: You serve as Wanda’s attorney in her divorce proceedings, which leads to you helping Wanda see she can start again with someone new

Sexiest Woman Alive: Wanda is a renowned actress that you’ve been seeing for a while. She gets named the Sexiest Woman Alive and you show her just how much she deserves it

Sinking Sand: Wanda finds her way back into your life and you can’t resist her

Stress Relief: When Wanda calls, you always meet up with her. Sometimes in her very roomy minivan

Talk: You’re sleeping with your best friend’s mom who has been keeping quite the secret from you

Timeless: After you meet Wanda’s boys for the first time, she finally takes that next relationship step with you *smut*

Swaying As The Room Burned Down: Love in secret and without reason *smut*

The Meeting: When you meet a fellow mom at the PTO meeting, you soon realize just how much love she needs *smut*

The Retreat: When you go on a church retreat, you have a very interesting conversation with Wanda *smut*

The Sweetest Con: When you are put in charge of the volleyball team, you have a very interesting set of interactions with a mother at the church *smut*

To Show Thanks: Wanda does all of the cooking for Thanksgiving and you help her see just how thankful you are for her

Worth the Wait: When Wanda calls you after five years of no contact, you go to her house to talk to her. Some old (and some new) feelings come to light

Find more Wanda here: Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Follow my library blog @togrowoldinvlibrary for fic updates!

[yourreddancer]

BREAKING: Hollywood superstar Alan Ritchson of "Reacher" fame verbally throat-punches MAGA former Congressman Matt Gaetz who he went to school with: "That motherf*cker. We are adversaries."

And the acting powerhouse was just getting started...

"It’s shocking to me that the panhandle of Florida continues to vote for somebody—knowing everything we know about him and the promises that he’s made behind closed doors about pardoning certain criminals—he’s just not a good dude!" Ritchson said to GQ.

Gaetz has been credibly accused of sex trafficking minors in the past and for a brief period of time was considered for Donald Trump's Attorney General position.

"There’s part of me that wants to get into politics to outdo somebody like him for good, and there’s part of me that’s like, I’m not duplicitous enough to succeed in politics," Ritchson continued.

"There are certain people that do a good job of staying true to who they are, but they’re ineffective. I think Bernie Sanders is a hero. But it’s like, what has he accomplished?" he added.

The actor has taken direct aim at Donald Trump in the past.

"Trump is a rapist and a con man, and yet the entire Christian church seems to be treat him like he’s their poster child and it’s unreal. I don’t understand it," Ritchson, who is a devout Christian, told The Hollywood Reporter.

"Christians today have become the most vitriolic tribe. It is so antithetical to what Jesus was calling us to be and to do," he said.

In the same interview, Ritchson tore into the police officers who killed the innocent Black woman Breonna Taylor during a raid. "That was a tragic case," he said.

"Cops get away with murder all the time, and the fact that we can’t really hold them accountable for their improprieties is disturbing to me," he added. "I mean, you shouldn’t have to spend more time getting an education as a hairstylist than as a cop who’s armed with a deadly weapon."

In his new interview with GQ, Ritchson also had words for the super-religious people who criticize his acting choices.

"People have this weird relationship with fictional characters, and sort of equate that to the real human being," he said. "I don’t have that problem, making that distinction. I get criticized a lot by Christians who are like, ‘How dare you have an unmarried sex scene on TV and then talk about Jesus?’ I’m sorry—I doubt that’s going to be part of the conversation when I’m standing at the pearly gates!"

Ritchson should be commended for his bold words. With MAGA in the White House it would easier than ever for him to stick his head in the sand and focus solely on making money and hit TV shows.

Instead, he's bravely speaking the truth.

[mrslonelyhearts]

PRIDE.

“Love's gonna get you killed, but pride's gonna be the death of you, and you and me.” PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Black Fem!Reader Summary: He’s the living embodiment of the American Dream — you’re a woman carving your own path. Chasing stability, success, maybe even love — your slice of the dream. What is it you feel for him? A lust for him? Or a lust for what he has?  CONTAINS: Mentions of era relevant racism. Reader who is clearly a OC. Also this is long af.

“The American Dream isn’t for us.” 

Your granddad recited that, pounded that, into your eight year old brain. In your elder’s eyes it was crucial that you, a young black girl, knew the country had a lower, designated place for you from the moment you were born.

Sometimes you wondered if you would have to endure your granddad’s solemn monologues about the false promises of America if you were his grandson rather than his granddaughter, but the truth of the matter is the old man was born in Georgia during the days of Jim Crow, so naturally he would abstain from looking at this country in a positive light.

Meanwhile you - born in 1961, four years before Jim Crow’s dissolvement in the relatively…satisfactory, state of Ohio maintained a different albeit naive perspective. “Who says it’s not for us?” The cheeky question would come out of your little mouth every now and then. Just to shake things up. “White man says.” And this is what your grandfather would reply, sharp and annoyed. “Well,” you always went there, always had to play around saying the last thing your grandfather wanted to hear: “the white man never told me that.” Sometimes Granddaddy would grow cold, telling you to get out of his sight, but most of the time he would shake his head and say: “you’ll see when you get out in the world. You’ll see.” Even when you were no longer ignorant to matters such as the institutional racism America’s very foundation was built upon, you always carried this high sense of self-importance. Always sensed that greatness of some sort awaited you in your future. Your grandparents, being the ever-devout Christians they were, told you to be humble. God can bless you and just as quickly snatch those blessings away, but again: you always carried this high sense of self-importance that nothing could shake. Your academic life was impressive from a very young age. From the numerous grade school accolades you collected to the pristine high school diploma, you earned tearful congratulations from your grandmother and mother when you took your big step into Harvard. But had this success come easily? No. What came swift and easy for a mediocre white boy required absolute perfection from you and the other few black students in the institution. Flawless memory retention, precise, eloquent words, a demure demeanor with a perfect smile while simultaneously showing you were a go-getter. Ah, and on the subject of appearance: no afros, period. As a young adult clawing your way into the corporate world, your hair had to be shiny and sleek, flat ironed once a month. And god forbid your outfits look like they came from a discount outlet, no, you needed everything in the women’s section from the Sears catalogue. Which, of course, wasn’t the crème de la crème, but your income was fixed and limited. 

Perfection was tiring, draining, but not nearly as draining as the shit - the absolute shit, you had to overlook from your colleagues. 

Truthfully, you’ve never been a forgiving person, but those you had grudges against from your old hometown had absolutely nothing on those you met in college. There were the overtly racist classmates who would still give anything to sleep with you, the professors who hardly hid the fact they weren’t pleased with your presence. 

You could never educate them, argue with them, hell, maybe screw the niceties and just hit them, because not only would it prove something about your race, about you being this ‘angry black woman’ underneath it all, but it would take away everything you had ever accomplished, forcing you to go back to Ohio.

Nonetheless, as the transgressions grew, you found a personal solace in thinking that would would be higher, better, and god willing more wealthy than all these Harvard assholes. 

The killing part is you weren’t even studying law or anything like that.

You were studying speech communication.  Upon graduating Harvard, you stayed in Massachusetts for a year. After that, you set your sights on New York City. New York - there was always something to do, always someone fascinating to meet and always a story to be found… “He said I’m ‘too Italian.’ The hell does that mean? ‘Too Italian’! So I said to him, ‘you’re Italian too, motherfucker, what’re you getting at?”

…and there was always a broken hearted woman in this big city.

Withholding your sigh, you look at the paper sticking from your typewriter as your friend, Fiora, wept in your ear. Her crying and cursing may have been over the phone, but the agony and rage she carried in heart was so strong, so vocal, that she might as well have been in front of you. Had anyone else been in your apartment they would have clearly heard her rambling.

“Have you ever heard someone say something similar to you?” Fiora asks, making you debate whether you wanted to go there and say:

‘oh yeah, being called too black is a thing.’

You decide against it. Not wanting to give Fiora any ammunition to believe the plight of Italians is on par with any oppression you face.

“Nooo…I…” Sure, you consider she may not have thought that, but opening Pandora’s box just wasn’t worth it. “Haven’t.”

“The real problem here is that he’s scared of me.” Four minutes later, Fiora concludes this. “Fifteen years he’s known me - I mean - we went to church together, we grew up on the same block, and he’s got the audacity t’be scared of me-”

There were only so many times you could go, “aw,” “um-hm” or, “I know” between a brief critique about men before Fiora essentially went in a circle talking about her boyfriend’s adultery. It was not just tedious, but distracting from the incomplete article waiting for you.

“You know what I think?” Sucking your teeth, you begin with a furrowed brow. “I think you two had a good run. I mean, six years of dating? Come on! I think that has to be longer than the average high school sweethearts.”

For a moment, there’s nothing said. You hope Fiora’s thinking of your words, striving to make something positive out of them. “Yeah.” In spite of her agreement, you know that voice. She doesn’t sound pleased.

“You should lay down, honey.” You say with your best, quasi-maternal voice. “It hurts now but tomorrow? God, you’re going to feel so much better. And think of it! Now you’re free! You’re not tethered to that manchild!”

Please, you think, please let me go. Let me go.

“…yeah,” she says again, on the hinges of stoicism. “I’m getting off now. I think I’m going to order Chinese.”

“Okay, okay,” you smile, “I’m gonna finish this article - but Fi! What did Bernadette Peters sing?”

“Time heals everything,” Fiora was withholding an giggle, you could tell.

“Time heals everything!” you repeat, “just sleep it off like I said. It’ll be okay”

Before hanging up the phone, you deliberately left out encouraging statements like, “call me later” or, “call me anytime.” It was time to work.

By nine thirty, the soothing voice of Dionne Warwick filled your apartment. “Walk on by…” she crooned from your vinyl player as you sat amongst your slew of disorganized books, cozy by your typewriter. In your right hand you held your tapecorder, stopping, playing, rewinding as you relistened to your interview with gallery owner Marcello Giamatti. 

You supposed you were satisfied with the article. In the very least you needed two more quotes and when considering what critique from your editor could be like, you reckoned the lead could stand to be shorter. 

Having securely heard enough of the interview, you pause the recording. “Okay, okay.” You murmur to yourself, “let’s get back to work.”  As soon as your fingers were perched atop the keys, your landline emitted a piercing ring. 

“GOD!” you toss your head back, agonized. 

It had to be Fiora. You hoped it was not Fiora. But it had to be her.

“Hello?”

“I did some thinking.” There was no ‘hi,’ ‘kiss my ass’ or anything. Fiora was hyper focused, ready to take on some kind of business. 

You squint, “uh…huh?” you weren’t going to be done with work until midnight at this rate, you just knew it. 

“You said six years is longer than the average couple…so I started asking myself…what’s really goin’ on here? The whole Italian thing - it’s a coverup. But maybe, it’s not all him. Maybe I should hold part of the blame for how things ended.” 

You never should have made that comment to her, this has got to be one of your deepest regrets of all time. “What? No! No! How can you even reach that conclusion?!” “Look, my hours at the restaurant are crazy. On a bad day, you spend eight hours in a kitchen and you feel like you’re stuck with lunatics for a year. I get home, I’m pissy, I take everything Greg says as a threat-” “You-” You wanted to tell Fiora that this line of thinking was bullshit. She loved to cook, it’s her passion, working at a restaurant like Dorsia’s was her dream - erratic co-workers aside. Biting your tongue, you rub your temple. “Or, or, here’s another way to look at it. Maybe he cheated because at Tunnel he has all these women trying to show him their tits for free drinks. ‘Cause, God knows he is NOT on your level!” Reminding Fiora of the ‘Italian’ comment was on the tip of your tongue, however your companion spoke too quickly.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“He’s at work.” You countered. “I know. So I’m going to meet him there.” “Girl, I can’t even count the ways this is a bad idea.” “I have to do it.” You laugh, incredulously. “You don’t have to do anything!” “But I need to.” Fiora’s voice doesn’t waver, it’s clear she’s made up her mind. She may not have a good defense, but she would be damned if she didn’t head to Tunnel tonight.

You sigh and use your foot to idly swivel around in your office chair. “So you think…” you feel like you’re entering work mode with questions buzzing around in your head. “Approaching him at Tunnel, in a sea of strobe lights, is going to make him focus on a serious talk about what went wrong in your relationship?” “Maybe that’s the only place I can get his attention.”

“And what if you see him flirting with a bombshell blonde? What will you do?” “Beat both their asses,” Fiora easily answers, “especially if it’s the slut he slept with!” “Wrong answer, babe!” You exclaim, “That’s a certified way to get kicked out!” “Okay, so, you know the right way to act: come with me then.” “You want me to come with you?” “Yes!” 

“Okay so,” you sigh, “I think whether I come or not this is a mess waiting to happen. But…” You look at your typewriter, conflict in your heart. You could finish the article and let Fiora go tackle these matters of the heart as a one woman army. But if you did that - what if she ended up doing something not just crazy but risky, to get under Gregory’s skin? If you both went, you could at least sleep over at her place or have her come home with you. As grating as Fiora can be sometimes, if anything bad happened to her it would have stayed on your conscience.  So you say: “...give me like. Twenty minutes to get dressed.” Fuck my life, you think. 

- - - As a disciple of fashion, you knew that what you draped over your body made a statement. Therefore, in this noble role as Fiora's bodyguard you wore your eyeliner like war paint. Your pressed hair was big and voluminous, slightly bumped. A few stray strands were curled over the left side of your brow, working as de-facto bangs. Additionally framing your face were two golden hoop earrings. On your lips was a vibrant shade of crimson - deep red, like blood, of course. Such a powerful hue would draw attention to your lips while successfully hiding the true intentions of the expressions you made. A foolish man with drunken eyes could have been fooled that the grin he perceived was actually a coy smirk. You wore a sharply tailored, double-breasted blazer in deep plum with broad, padded shoulders. A power silhouette. The blazer cinched at the waist with a glossy black leather belt, accentuating your figure and adding a touch of dominance. You wouldn’t tell Fiora this, but pepper spray was carefully sealed away in your Fendi purse. 

When you met up with Fiora, you saw she too was dressed to kill. In terms of fashion, when she wasn’t confined to the staunch white clad uniform at Dorsia’s, she was more - extroverted? No, that wasn’t quite the word. But if it was something, it was definitely loud. Fiora neither straightened her hair or permed it, she naturally had very thick, dark curls that always reminded you of Cher’s glorious hair in the film Moonstruck. Under the glow of the streetlamp you saw she wore a body-hugging mini dress in leopard print. There were gold lamé accents that glinted under the lights—thin straps, a touch at the waist, a suggestion of shimmer with every sway of her hips. Fiora was a short woman, 5 '3 to your 5' 5, but at this moment the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder as she wore sky-high heels. Strappy, and metallic colored: even with footwear, Fiora didn’t believe in subtle. You praised her, she praised you and the two of you entered the battleground. Tunnel. …only to learn that Gregory wasn’t there.

While you perched your hands on your hips in disapproval, Fiora leaned over the bar, furiously. “Y’think y’can lie to me? Gregory works every. Single. Night. Every night ‘cept for Tuesday and Thursday!” You point a manicured finger at Fiora, chiming in: “she knows her man’s schedule!” “I’m not saying he was never here okay?” The bartender, a brunette woman, stresses. “He just got off work an hour ago because he felt under the weather. That’s it. It’s a stomach bug he had or something.” “Are you covering for him?” Fiora asks exactly what’s on your mind. This whole thing seemed contrived. “No?” “-’cause if you are and you’re one of his little side pieces? I’ll kick your ass up and down this fucking club.” “Hey,” the woman snaps, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Greg, but don’t bring me into the middle of your quarrel.”

You saw Fiora’s cheeks go scarlet in real time. God forbid Fiora and this bartender share the same pigment as you, they would have been used as a means to show how dangerous and uncouth black women were.

“Bitch-” The moment that word is spat from Fiora’s lips, you gently gesture her away by the waist. “Let’s go, babe, let’s go.”

“I don’t forget a face, bitch!”

Though shaken, the bartender scoffed and averted her eyes, silently grateful you allowed her to spend the rest of her work hour unscarred.

It would have been a waste to leave Tunnel. With the fare it took to get here? Please. You and Fiora made your way through the gyrating bodies and decided to at one of the booths. The sound of Grace Jones' song, “Pull Up To The Bumper” engulfing the building in its pulsating rhythm. “You think he’s fucking her?” Fiora asks, eyes narrowed and cigarette lounging between her fingertips.

You lift an eyebrow, “I mean, if he is? He’s lowered his standards. You’re way prettier than her. So.” You cross your legs, “still think you should hold part of the blame for how things ended?”

“Don’t go there.”  “Hey!” You laugh, “you’re the one who called me and said that, and if I should remind you, it was verbatim!” “I was all wrapped up in my feelings,” Fiora fusses, “I had on Lifetime-” “You had on Lifetime,” you lovingly mock, taking a drag of your own cigarette.  “Hey.” Fiora frowns, “there’s some good movies on there. You need to stop being judgmental and just tune in one day.” 

You had a quip hanging at the tip of your tongue about preferring to stick to the cinema when a man approached. “Hey ladies.”

He was early 20s, just like you and Fiora. Brown-skinned — just a touch fairer than you. He possessed a sturdy jawline softened by the fullness of his lips, and lashes so long they looked almost unreal. His wavy hair was cropped close on the sides.

This man wore a white suit with red accents. Kind of reminding you of that one movie Al Pacino did about the druglord a while back. You didn’t remember the details of the film, but all the same felt mild concern as to whether this guy may have idolized that character.

However, you had to appreciate the cut of the outfit. It was sharp. Wide lapels, a deep V revealing a silk, unbuttoned red shirt underneath. His pants were high-waisted, stopping just at the top of his polished loafers. It was a loud outfit, but he wore it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hey yourself!” You nonetheless reply with a pleasant, intrigued tone. This is a man who thinks he’s the life of the party, you think. “You two beautiful women here alone?” When he smiles, you swore he was another character waiting to shake up your night. Now, you can appreciate a good looking man. You really can. But, as pretty as this man was, you knew in your heart that he was the sort you would want to choke after an hour of being alone. You didn’t know what his flaws were, but you knew he had them. So with a tight smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, you roll your gaze over to Fiora. She was idly holding her cigarette, obviously sizing him up, and not in a way that indicated disgust. You had an idea. “SHE’S here alone!” If saying that wasn’t enough, you were pointing to your companion proudly. Had Fiora not been so obviously into this man, this would have been you ruthlessly throwing her under the bus. “Oh yeah? You’re too sexy to be here alone, what happened to you baby?” “My boyfriend ran out on me,” Fiora explains. There was no anger, no heartbreak, it was announced like saying: ‘it’s going to rain tonight.’ “Damn…ran out on you? Wow, that’s crazy.” You purse your lips in thought. This man had no game, he just let droll words fall from his lips while his sad eyes did the talking. Personally, you would have brushed him off, but, this wasn’t your guy so you ease back and watch the flirtation play out. 

“Lemme buy you a drink.”

“Uh.” The gears in Fiora’s head were suddenly turning. You assumed she was thinking about the bartender she nearly went toe to toe with.

Fiora grins, “how about we dance instead?” 

Despite the fact this meant you were now left alone in this club you shout at the guy: “I’m not going anywhere, so don’t get crazy with her!”

From “Don’t You Want Me” to “Midas Touch,” Fiora and her new man danced on the floor. Now, “Young Love” by Janet Jackson blared on the stereo and the two were still glued to the hip. Every now and then you would see if you could spot them, but for the most part you tried to entertain yourself. A short drink, a small dance, but your heart wasn’t into it. Clubs weren’t really your thing.

It was close to 11, you should really go home but you asked yourself, was Fiora really safe? As you weighed the pros and cons of leaving versus staying, your senses were numbed to how a man prowled your way.

“Hello.” When your gaze meets his, he gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re here alone.”

He stood tall. Unnervingly still, posture perfect. His suit was immaculate. Bone-colored Armani with sharp lapels, not a wrinkle in sight. He was as attractive as Fiora’s new man, similarly having model-esque features but, Fiora’s man had been handsome in a more ‘natural’ way. This white man had skin that looked like it was peeled from an advertisement. His flesh just wasn’t smooth, it was as if it was polished like a marble tile. Everything about him was professional - and again, you would use that word, polished. Promptly, you feel curious. Like a mischievous little girl you want to see if you can scuff the marble. 

“Have you been watching me?” You give a performative, playful laugh.

He chuckles, his smile growing so much that his eyes have squinted. “Something like that. Let’s go with that.”

He shakes his head in rejection, “no.” For a moment, the two of you just regard one another. You aren’t quite sure what this moment will lead to. His attraction to you is evident, but you find that he doesn’t feel warm or tangible in the slightest. Not like Fiora’s man. Suave, he leans over the bar, “what’s your name?”

“Sheila.” 

“Sheila.” He repeats, charming smile unwavering, “Like the song Oh Sheila?”

“Oh!” Your eyebrows fly up, intrigued. “Okay, you know that song? You have some culture, I see!” 

“Come on,” the man retorts, chuckling. “Who doesn’t have some appreciation for Prince? Prince has redefined what it means to be a musician — he’s, dare I say it, genre-defying.” Your hand swings over your mouth in an effort to stifle your laughter. You didn’t mean to laugh at him, you really didn’t, but he spoke with such certainty. Such love for Prince. And he wasn’t even the one who made the record. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You say, manicured hand raised in apology. “But, that song is actually not by Prince, it’s by Ready For The World.” “Ah…” his smile drops, eyes darting to the corner for just a moment. He’s not a man who likes to be embarrassed, you can tell. All the same, he smiles again trying to demonstrate that he was unphased by his hiccup. “I was really off the mark then, wasn’t I?”

“Yeahh…” you playfully pout and furrow your brow as you nod, unbeknownst to you, this teasing further rubbing salt into Patrick’s wounds. “They have zero Prince affiliation, but hey, Prince is an awesome artist! I can appreciate a Prince fan!” Leaning a bit closer to him, you cup your jaw. “So, what’s your name? Is it song-based too?” “My name is Patrick.” He answers, “I don’t think you’ll find a song with my name.”

“Hm…” you wrinkle your nose in playful delight, “Yeah. Can’t think of anything.”

Yes, you think. He’s cute…uncanny, but cute. You think you could get somewhere with this man. Patrick. If he wasn’t into you he wouldn’t have approached you. No, you wouldn’t have let him follow you home, but maybe you could dance, have some drinks…

“Hey, hey!” you hear Fiora call out, “emergency!” 

Promptly, you become alert, but you’re sure to bid a smile to Patrick. “Excuse me, I’ll think of a song when I’m back!” 

Patrick squints, “looking forward to what you come up with.”

-

“Don wants me to go back to his place.” Fiora announces, facing the wide restroom mirror as she strives to make her bosom look more ample. “Whaddya think about that?” The ladies restroom was a revered realm for the utmost crucial of topics. You weren’t even grated by the fact you had been separated from Patrick. “Girl,” you lightly scoff, “you know my first question is going to be where does this guy live?” “Washington Heights.” You lift an eyebrow, “that’s a ways away.” “Nah, not really.” Fiora responds. Lust knows no distance, you suppose.

“Well…” you start, “are you still going to try hunting down Gregory this week?”

“Fuck no.” Fiora retorts, now applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her lips. “Italian boys aren’t shit.”  

You have to bow your head, softly laughing. “If your heart is set on this guy right now, go for it.” “What about you?” Fiora comes to face you, hand on the sink’s counter as she casually leans back. “You okay here or are you going home?” “Me?” You tilt your head, thinking of the yuppie who was ideally sitting atop his hands, anticipating your return. “I’m going to stay a little while longer.”  “Right, ‘cuzza the guy you were talking to.” “The guy,” you repeat with a scoff, “I don’t know him…but! The end goal of the night is to get to know him.”  “He looks like he works on Wall Street, of course you’d go for him. Zero surprise here.” Fiora laughs as the both of you step for the exit. “You say that like he’s a cultist.” “I want a guy who can fuck me until the sun comes up, you want a guy who’ll talk about stocks by a fireplace in Aspen. No judgement, we’re just ladies with different tastes.” “That we are.” “Alright, I’m gonna find Don, you have fun with Mr. Armani!” “Oh, I will. Use a condom, Fiora!” Fiora furrows her brow before laughing, “uh - you too!”

-

The club is even more crowded, a mist of sweat and perfume hanging in the air. Your eyes scan the dance floor, the dimly lit bar and there he is. Patrick hadn’t moved far from where you left him, you waste no time stepping to him. Only to stop at the sight of a head full of blonde hair. Her jaw clinches, how many minutes passed since you spoke to Fiora in the ladies room? Three? Five? That’s all it took for him to move on, leaning casually against the bar - the same way he did with you.

“Of course, I don’t usually drink those anymore,” he says, “too much Campari. Bad for the skin.” He leans closer to the woman, head tilting. “But you? You have great skin. Flawless, really. What do you use? Retinol? Or just good genes?” Jealousy swells in your chest. It doesn’t matter you didn’t know this man, it doesn’t matter that he never belonged to you, it matters that you were so replaceable, interchangeable, secondary. Walking into the night, you felt ashamed you even acknowledged his existence to Fiora. Now you have to make up some kind of story about how the night ended on fine terms. “Taxi!”

He’s just a man, you think to yourself in the back of the dark cab. Just a man. In a matter of seconds, your attempted calm would faint into anger.  

He's a man no different than those Harvard ex’s who wasted your time. Counting each streetlight that went by, you remind yourself that New York City was a big place. Always something to do, always someone fascinating to meet and always a story to be found…

…but there always was some pissed off woman in this city.

[violetdawn001]

What is with the Dreamer's Houses? Herrah's Den

Okay, we can all agree that Team Cherry put a LOT of thought into crafting the backgrounds and environments of Hollow Knight. But why is nobody talking about the designs for the Dreamers' houses?! Especially compared with their base forms?  Well, let's start talking about it!

Herrah

This is Herrah's design:

Herrah is massive compared to several creatures we have come across in Hallownest. While her mask and horns give off sharp and spooky vibes, take a look at her bottom half. It is round and supported by many limbs.

In comparison, Hornet is far slimmer than her mother, which can either come from her father's genes, her age, or lack of nutrition. Herrah, however, is matured in both mind and body. Herrah's body is like a woman's body which has gone through a pregnancy: stretched and curvy. I do not mean it in a demeaning way. No, these are Herrah's battle scars that she wears proudly as Hornet's mother.

Do people think about that when they see Herrah? No.

At first, they are put off by Herrah's sharp horns and six eyes. It is a mental aspect of our brains to associate sharpness with threats. But the roundness in character design is often associated with warmth and approachability.  This Beast is the same person who Hornet called "Mama"; the deadly hunter queen who cuddled her baby.

By the time we meet Herrah within the Dream Realm to strike her, we should already know that she is Hornet's mother and be conflicted about killing her. Herrah's design only adds to the drama as we listen to Herrah's last words "For her…for her…"

Herrah is a Seal but also a Mom and a Queen. And most likely the main reason why anyone writes AUs sparing the Dreamers.

But I have written too much about Herrah. Let us check out her den!

The entrance is carefully spun while the door is framed by metal design not seen in Hallownest, implying that the Weavers know both the arts of metalwork and weaving.

After entering the Beast's Den, you are treated to a large hall. It seemed to have served as a dining hall, meeting hall, and war room in the past. Now, it is solely used to "prank" any visitors.

Both pictures, however, are the only ones that visitors see when they come to the Beast's Den. Unless you count the distorted view you get as you try to peer through the silk before you get eaten.  Now, if you are lucky enough to be seen as a visitor and not future food, you will see the Weavers are crafty and capable in many arts: weaving, metalwork, and war.

Now, apply that to Herrah and you should carefully take a few steps away.

This, however, is what is applied to Herrah based on a public area. It is time to enter the Beast's Den proper.

And immediately you start to have claustrophobia.  Webs everywhere…

Need I say more?

There is light, but it is very soft and in-between. Your lantern must suffice. But for the Weavers and Herrah, the light from the few lamps is more than enough.

Herrah's Den does not seem to be just for her glory alone, however, as several masks are seen.

IMPORTANT! Neither mask belongs to Herrah! The first mask is too round, like one the few Weavers we find alive in Deepnest, while the other is a Stalking Devout as seen by the hole where the mouth would go.

As for their significance, we are unfortunately left without a guide to tell us anything. But if they were in Herrah's Den with such fine art surrounding them, then Herrah wanted these masks there to honor whoever the masks represent. This detail speaks volumes of how Herrah greatly respects those whom she believes are worthy of honor, even if you must to travel into her den to know of her respect.

As for respect, let us see how the Weavers paid their last respects to Herrah as she laid dreaming to protect them all.

First, the room is the most lit in the whole den due to wide array of candles. Second, the webs are everywhere, but the angles framing the space make it far nicer on the eye (unlike the rest of the den. 😬). Herrah herself is laid perfectly centered, framed by two banners hanging. Even her hands are neatly folded in rest. This is no longer Herrah's home; it is her shrine.

Yet it seems that the Weavers are the ones who highlighted the importance of Herrah. The queen, after all, cared more about her people and daughter than herself. Of all the banners hung, the only markings on them are the six eyes of the Weavers, not just Herrah. It is her people's flag, not Herrah's. 

One last thing to mention before moving on to the other Dreamers, is asking Herrah what in goodness gracious is this?!

As it is deep within Herrah's den and there are more pressing questions in Hollow Knight, I have not seen many attempts to answer it. As such, we have literally no idea except for some insight provided by the Fandom wiki. I quote:

Beast’s Den Shrine

"A room located in the west part of the Beast’s Den contains an unknown being. The file names for the sprites in this room refer to the area as a ‘shrine’. Hitting the being with the Nail produces a metallic sound. Hitting it with Spells makes a seal appear over it. It is unclear if this being is the corpse of an ancient bug or a statue.” Taken from the Hollow Knight wiki: Ancient Civilisation - Hollow Knight Wiki.

If this is true, then we found what Herrah worshiped, or at least what she let her people worship within her den. Whatever this thing, it is not Weaver in origin. The seal used on it does NOT match up with the various Weaver seals of protection we see in the rest of the game. Perhaps the Weavers learn how to make such seals and spells by studying this creature? If so, then it shows how Herrah is willing to learn from others to protect her people.

Willing to learn from anyone but Hallownest.

The bench and elevator are destroyed, specifically the ones from Hallownest as seen in their designs. It is not that Herrah does not like benches, but that she doesn't like Hallownest. See proof below.

The Bench design here fits far better with the Weaver metalwork than the broken bench in the Stag Station. 

Herrah will use Hallownest to benefit her people, but it will always be on her terms.

Even the existence of the Stag Station is to further trade to increase power and influence for the Weavers while lowering the risk to them. Pro-Hallownestian or Pro-Weaver, you must admit that Herrah acts like a queen should, forever serving her people.

And that is all I could find! If you have any thoughts or questions, comment or reblog down below!

This is a part series to see if I can fit everything in. I hope you enjoyed Herrah's den!

Part 2.0: Monomon's Archives: Here

Part 3.0: Lurien's Spire : Here

Part 3.25: More of Lurien's Spire: Here

Part 3.5: Lurien's Spire: Pillows and Patriotism: Here

Part 3.7 Lurien's Spire: What is wrong with Lurien's Office?! Here

Part 3.8: Even, even More of Lurien's Spire: Secret Room: Click here

Part 3.9 Watcher Knight Boss Room! Here

Part 4.0 What We Know We Don't Know About the Dreamers' Houses: Click Here

Link to essay on Ao3: Here

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, reader wears glasses, sacrilege,

One, two, three. You swirl the last bits of tea counterclockwise and let the bits settle into shapes, order forming from the chaos.

"Are you trying to read the tea leaves?"

You peek up over your glasses. Holm is watching you, head resting against one hand. His cheek is smooshed forward so far that his eye is forced closed in an exhausted wink, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Maybe."

"Using my blessed tea? My holy herbs?" He frowns, mouth comically down turned, a upside-down U. "That's sacrilege."

You tilt the mug his way. "So you don't want to know what they say?"

That earns you a soft smile, warm and fleeting. It ends with a sigh. "Only if it's good."

It isn't. The leaves tell you of bad decisions, of regrets and heartbreak. You spin your cup once more and watch it all turn to flurries.

"Things are always good with you."

"Hm." He reminds you of a cat, emotions reserved and measured, lips lifted in the middle by his short philtrum. "Hm, hm."

You hadn't intended to end up here, but a couple glasses of wine and a couple bad decisions led you right to his door, a moth to flame. When he answered the door, you told him the inn was full, that other friend's places were too far. It was an obvious lie, but he let you in anyway, made you tea and threw wood on the fire.

He stirs his spoon until his tea swirls, spoon never touching the mug's edge. It's silent, methodical, perhaps a bit soothing.

"The neighbors are going to talk, though." Holm stays placid, voice soft. The silken fabric of his sleep clothes are wrinkled only on one side-- he side he sleeps on, you imagine. "I'm not supposed to be alone with a woman after dark."

He's more devout than most in this part of the country. Prayer at sun rise and sun down, a diet free of meats and alcohol, perfect celibacy; he's the paradigm. Common doesn't have the correct word for the position; monk, priest, shaykh: none of them are quite correct, but close enough that most get the idea.

A holy man.

Certainly someone that shouldn't be having you stay the night.

"They won't." You tilt your mug side to side and the dregs of tea leaves, still wet, catch the light. The shapes change and shift. They still aren't good. "The neighbors know you wouldn't do anything."

"They don't know that." Holm hums. "I// don't know that."

There's a dwindling silence between you, a tension you can't cut through. The unspeakable thing between you grows.

"If something was going to happen between us, it would have already happened."

The fire catches in his eyes as he looks your way, bouncing from one eye to the other, then down to your mouth. He lingers there for a long moment, lids so heavy that you finally understand how thought can be sin-

"Let me get your bed set up."

You take his mug to the sink as he goes down the hall, rustling in closets. The house's quiet is heavy and hearty, so thick you can't swallow it down.

"You can take my bed tonight." He calls down the hall. "Mickbell and Kuro didn't clean the futon last time they stayed over and it's covered in hair."

A headache is already starting to thrum at your temples. Tomorrow, you'll regret all of this, but tonight, you can blame the alcohol.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Holm comes from his bedroom and just shakes his head. You don't fight it; the fire is low and the sun is only a couple hours away.

Even if it wasn't, you'd still stay.

"The sheets are fresh." He musses his hair and its delightfully fluffed, red touched brown has reminds you of your family's old hunting dog. "I'll sleep out here, so I don't wake you in the morning."

Neither of you move. The last bits of fire are dying in the hearth, painting shadows long. Darkness is threatening to engulf you both, swallow you whole, and you use the last bits of light to admire him and his casual, understated beauty-

"Don't." Holm's voice is brittle.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." Neither of you move. "It's why you came here."

Your eyes are better than his in the dark. You can see how he seeks you on in the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed.

"My Gods are important to me." His brow is knitted firmly, but his mouth is soft, open. "My spirit is important to me."

"I know."

"If you start, I don't know if I'm strong enough to stop."

He steps closer. "So, don't." Another step forward, until you can feel the glimmer of mana around him. "We can't."

"Okay," you say. "I won't."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There's only a singular moment before he breaks. He draws you in like a breath, hands clumsily finding your cheeks and cupping them forcefully. The kiss itself is messy, with his nose bumping into your cheek and his lips missing yours, but he takes corrections well. You tilt your head slightly and he meets you there, mouth slotting into yours. You busy yourself with the front of his shirt, undoing just enough buttons to slide your hands against the warm, soft skin of his chest.

The kiss remains chaste, just the friction of skin against skin, until you part your lips more and more, him chasing the contact with wanton want--

Your tongue slides against his and he moans, unabashedly and unembarrassed, into your mouth. Holm pulls back, panting so hard that his chest bumps into yours.

"You-" He swallows, glancing down. His hands slide down your shoulders and to your chest, cupping them clumsily, meekly, hopefully- "You taste like wine."

And he dives in again to suck on your tongue.

The rest is a flurry. Your head spins, your chest aches like it might burst, and Holm keeps kissing you with that earnest, amateur passion that makes your heart sing. Your glasses are knocked halfway off of your face, drooping off your nose. Holm walks your down the hall step by step, in between gasps of breath and nips of teeth, until the cool down of his bed presses against your back.

His bed is fluffy pillows, white sheets, and down. They smell like musk and like they were dried in the sun,

Holm breaks away for a moment, jagged breath against your cheek. His tired eyes are barely open, but they still watch you with a gentle admiration.

"You look like an angel."

Your heart drops. No, this isn't holy. Not at all.

"Oh, Holm." You place a hand on his shoulder and push him away right before his lips find yours again. "We can't do this."

He doesn't move, but you can feel the resistance drain from his muscles.

"I'm choosing you," he whispers. "I know what doing this means and I'm choosing you."

He reaches for your cheek, pleading.

"Let me choose you." Holm's touch is heartbreakingly fleeting. "Let me worship you."

You almost break. You want to break.

"I can't let you do that."

[phantomrose96]

The Silt Verses spoilers under the cut

I saw someone refer to Carpenter as dead after the finale and I had to do like, a double-take. And obviously it's a valid interpretation of her ambiguous ending. MOST people who get shot by soldiers and fall into the water are dead or about to be dead.

But this is Carpenter.

"Gods Won't Let Me Die" Carpenter. "Gods' most unkillable woman" Mallory Glass Carpenter the First. "When Faulkner curses out the Trawler-man the Trawler-man drowns him to death, but when Carpenter does it the Trawler-man declares her his favorite and intervenes time again to save her from murder by drowning his own devout instead" Carpenter. "Followed for months by the God of Death Carpenter and it takes Hayward pointing out that this God is actually steering her AWAY from death" Carpenter.

Carpenter could declare "I'm tired" and lay down to stop breathing and the gods of The Silt Verses would conspire to push air into her lungs. Carpenter could lay down on a knife and all the Gods would say "Queen you dropped this" and lift all of her blood back inside her.

I absolutely DID expect the finale to end with Carpenter's death, for sure. It's just that in order for me to believe Carpenter has in fact, finally, actually, died, I'd need Dr. McDoctor Head Coroner of the Peninsula to come by, hoist her body up, and say "Yes she's dead. I'm an expert in these things, and this is a dead person for sure."

The fact that Carpenter vanished under the water, and it bothered the soldier enough to comment "her body isn't coming back up." Brother she fell into the water. Trawler-man is down there sewing her wounds shut and making a crab-bake and getting her ready to live another wet reluctant day.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! Is it alright if you could write GP! Donna and how, in the beginning of the relationship, she was nervous to have sex with the FEM! Reader because of her GP? It’d be cool if the reader found out about her GP by accidentally pressing on her erection.

Thank you!

Yesss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry if it's too long, and about the language mistakes!!!!

Everything about you

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, insecurities, angst, fluff, first time

Word count: 6,746

Summary: You just wanted to know why she’s always hiding…

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting for yours :))) I love you all!!!

“You’ve came...” the woman in black sighed when she opened the door.

You smiled at her soft voice and nodded, amused.

“Of course I’ve came. We have met, right?” You said, getting a little closer to her and putting your hand on the black cloth that covered her face. “Hey, Donna, aren't you forgetting something?”

“What?” She asked confused. You waved your hand to move the black fabric and she laughed sheepishly. “Oh, I... I'm sorry,” she said, putting her hands on her veil, ready to take it off.

“Wait, keep it just for a moment,” you interrupted, picking it up and leaning down to kiss her under the black cloth fabric. “I love doing this...” You whispered. “It reminds me of our first kiss.”

“Yes, I...” She said, removing her veil completely. “Forgive me. I'm still not used to it.”

“Well, get used to it,” you whispered in her ear, amused. “To hide that beautiful face of yours is a crime, Donna.”

“You always say those things...” The woman in black murmured, stepping aside so you could enter the house.

“I say what I think, you know me,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

She responded to you with another of her dazzling smiles.

Living in that dark village had been a problem for you since you were a child. You were not comfortable. You didn’t share Mother Miranda's sermons. You were almost a hermit, refusing to please this strange cult you lived in. But it's not like you could get out of there, so it was better to get used to it.

You got so used to it that you ended up falling in love with one of the priestess's Lords, according to the villagers, the most dangerous Lord, Donna Beneviento.

Crazy, disturbed, sick, evil... All of those were adjectives that your neighbors said without basis. She was not a normal woman, she had problems and, like you, she was a hermit but you didn't see anything resembling those words about her.

From the moment in which, after one of Miranda's speeches, your gazes met, there was no turning back. It might seem like you suddenly became devout, but your excursions to church had little to do with Miranda. You were looking for Donna. You were looking for her among the people. And she, she was looking for you.

Shortly after starting those strange chases, meeting in unusual places and starting something resembling a conversation thanks to the Angie doll, everything else was just a matter of time.

Love seemed impossible in that place, but you, oh, you found it.

“Well, so...” You said hanging gently on her neck, making her shyness come to light with a slight blush. “What are we doing today?”

“I was thinking about taking a walk,” Donna responded, putting her hands on your waist, without taking her gaze away from yours.

You slyly rolled your eyes. Two months of relationship and that was the only thing you did: walk, have dinner, read, have tea. You couldn't complain, you didn't. You loved her and that was the most important thing but... A few weeks ago, your body began to get tired of shy kisses and innocent caresses.

“A walk? It’s cold out there,” You said, exaggerating a shiver. Donna rubbed your arms lovingly and stepped away from you, sighing and knowing that you were making excuses to stay home, again.

“Okay, (Y/N), what do you propose?” She asked tenderly, running a hand over your cheek, making you bite your lip involuntarily.

“Well, I don't know...” You sighed, pretending to think about the possibilities. Laying on the bed and making love to each other was definitely not something you could say loud and clear. Donna was excessively shy and she never made the slightest hint of taking the next step.

You assumed it was due to her loneliness. It was no secret that she lived alone, she was always alone. She herself told you that you were the first person who loved her, with everything that statement entailed. You were never a heartbreaker either. You had only played to be girlfriend with or kiss with or sleep with. You had never felt the need to prolong a relationship. None of the girls you met were really worth it, just Donna. Donna was the love of your life and you wanted everything with her.

 “Maybe…. Maybe we could watch a movie,” you proposed, deciding that the best environment to carry out your desires was a dark room. You were also shy, but a little less. It was much easier for you to express your feelings and that could be an advantage.

“Oh, fine,” she said, smiling widely before kissing you quickly. “Why don't you go down and choose one? I'm going to make some tea.”

You nodded and obeyed, keeping your hand on hers for a moment longer, making her laugh softly again, with that smile that said how happy I am to have met you.

The room was dark apart from the light coming from the projector. It wasn't your first afternoon of movies and tea, but it was a special one, more romantic than usual. Your head rested on her shoulder while her arms made you feel like you were on a cloud, forcing you to think about other things, about forgetting your lustful desires. From time to time, there were knowing glances and tender and unbearably soft kisses on your forehead.

You leaned a bit closer, kissing her on the lips slowly, getting closer to her body. She smiled at you and obliged your wishes, just for a few moments before her head turned back to the bright white screen of the bookshelf.

“I'm very comfortable with you, Donna...” You sighed, lowering your head to her chest. She laughed softly and brought a hand to your chin to bring it up before kissing you softly again.

“Me too, (Y/N),” she said with a low voice. “I would spend my life looking at you…”

“I love you so, so much, my love! Come on, give me a kiss!” A shrill and unpleasant voice interrupted that moment. Of course, it had to be mentioned that Angie doll was always present on your dates. Sometimes she just kept an eye on you, in case you dared to hurt Donna, other times she spent the time making fun of you.

“Angie...” Donna whispered, annoyed by that interruption. “Please, behave.”

“Behave yourselves. It's going to give me a diabetic attack just by looking at you,” the doll protested, climbing onto her owner's lap and pushing you away with her ridiculous strength.

“Oh, if it bothers you that much, why don't you leave? I'm sure you have better things to do,” You said, crossing your arms in resignation.

The puppet laughed triumphantly, having taken away the comfortable position you had in your lover's body.

“Yes, of course. What you want is to be alone with my Donna,” the doll said, pointing at you with her hand.

“Well yes, that's what I want, to be alone with my girlfriend,” you said, fighting with Angie again, as was customary.

“Your girlfriend?” Donna asked, abruptly, looking at you.

Well, her expression was not surprising. In all that time you had never talked about what you really were. Lovers? Sure. Anything else that involved more commitment? It seemed like it, but it was never something that was said.

“Yes, well... We are girlfriends, right?” You asked, red shyly appearing on your cheeks. It was a bad idea to ask, since for a moment and due to her confused expression, you thought that maybe it wasn't so clear to her.

“I... Well... Of course. I... I didn't know if you wanted to...” The woman in black stammered, nervously playing with her hands in her lap.

“Donna, what do you think we are then?” You asked amused, enjoying her innocent disorientation.

“I, I don't know... I'm sorry, you know I'm very clumsy,” she said, embarrassed but with a shy smile appearing on her face.

“Well, then girlfriends, right?” You asked, slowly approaching her, ignoring Angie's fuss. Donna nodded before kissing you again, this time more passionately.

“Disgusting,” the doll protested, getting off her owner's lap. “Okay, I'm leaving.”

With the doll out of the picture and your kisses not wanting to stop, naughty ideas returned to your mind. Your hands rested on her chest as you settled on the couch, leaning slightly towards her.

“(Y/N)...” Donna murmured among kisses, putting her hands on your waist, pulling your body slightly. You, on the other hand, went down her jaw, down her neck, causing tremors in her body.

That was the perfect situation to strengthen that small commitment. You should thank Angie.

The atmosphere suddenly heated up, becoming unbearable. The kisses didn’t stop. The caresses wandered lower and lower, until your hands reached her legs. Everything seemed to be going according to your plans, but a hand on your wrist prevented you from following the erotic path of her leg upwards.

“Wait, tesoro...” Donna said, scared, nervous about something.

You stopped kissing her and looked at her with bright eyes. The lady in black moved away from you a bit, as if she had seen a ghost, as if something was bothering her.

“What's wrong? Are you alright?” You asked, worried by her terrified look. She nodded with a fake smile. Yes, she had never been with anyone. Donna was terrible at pretending.

“Yes, yes I...” She stammered, avoiding looking at your face, with her fists clenching tightly against the fabric of her dress. “Oh, but look at that… The tea is gone. I'm going, I'm going to go get some more,” she said hastily, making a useless attempt to get up.

Your hand on her arm stopped her, sitting her down on the couch roughly again.

“What are you talking about? I have my cup almost full,” you said, a mischievous smile on  your face, biting your lip.

Donna looked at the small coffee table, closing her eyes, trying to control her nervousness.

“Surely it’s cold...” She said, thinking that such a horrible excuse was going to work.

“I like it cold,” you counterattacked, leaning over her again and attacking her neck without mercy. Her hands on your chest prevented you from getting any closer.

“No, (Y/N), you said that you were cold and...” Donna said, avoiding your kisses, pathetically running away from your touch.

Well, that was enough. The subtlety is over.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped Donna's face in your hands, forcing her to hold her gaze.

“Donna, I want to make love,” you said with a clear voice, leaving the shame you had aside, knowing that you were the one who had to act, the one who had to be less shy.

“Fa... Fa... Fare l' amore...” She stammered nervously.

“Yes, that's it,” you said, sure of yourself, crawling across the sofa so you could leave the woman in black with no escape. “I want to take that step with you, Donna…”

“I, I...” The lady in black said, freeing herself from your hands on her face, unable to stop your kisses, which resumed immediately, making her gasp at your touch.

Your hand returned to her leg, cornering Donna to the edge of the small couch. Your hands caressed the black fabric of her chest. It seemed like you were finally going to get it, or so you thought.

When you moved to position yourself on top of her, she became even more nervous, jerking you away from her, causing you to fall back into the seat.

“Donna...” You sighed with a sad voice due to that rejection.

The woman in black hurriedly stood up, touching the fabric of her dress, as if she was searching for something, or rather, as if she was trying to hide something.

“I, I'm sorry, tesoro... I don't, I can't,” she said with a broken voice, as if she really wanted to do it but for some reason, she wasn't able to. Fear of the first time, that was the explanation you found.

“Why? Are you okay?” You asked, standing up to grab her hand. She dodged you gracefully, heading towards the door, turning her back to you.

“Yes, yes I... I'm... I'm going to get that tea, okay?” She said, without stopping touching her dress.

“Okay...” you sighed, rolling your eyes. She had made it clear, you weren't going to insist. “Do I help you?”

“No!” She shouted abruptly, turning partially to make a gesture with her hand, emphasizing her refusal. Her face relaxed a bit and she closed her eye embarrassed by that out-of-context yell. “No, I...  Stay here, will you?”

“As you wish,” you said with a frown, crossing your arms and letting yourself fall back onto the couch. Donna almost ran away and you shook your head. “What's wrong with you?” You sighed, picking up that cup of almost iced tea.

Despite that small awkward encounter, the rest of the afternoon passed normally. But there was something you kept thinking about: what the problem was? Her gaze, her eager kisses, her caresses wandering over your body. Those weren't symptoms of a person who didn't want you. You heard her gasping. You could see how her face was blushing but... But something stopped her from continuing.

Was Donna afraid of the first time? Probably she was, but there was something, something that didn't quite make sense in your head. If she wanted it so much, why did she run away like a coward? And most importantly, why did she look scared?

Little by little, as the days went by, your insinuations increased. You didn't want to pressure or force her to do something she didn't want to do. Donna’s mental health was quite delicate and she was a very sensitive woman. You didn't want to overwhelm her, or make her so nervous that she would forget to speak your language. No, you didn't want that.

But what you did want was to know what she was really worried about, what she was afraid of. You asked several times and the answer was always the same: I can't, a simple answer lacking arguments. Always the same scared attitude, always hands going to her black dress and always, always disappearing from your sight almost without explanation. What was going through her head? What was it that embarrassed her so much?

Donna wouldn't tell you, she never would. But your desire increased every night you came home, every time you heard her shy laugh, her eager gasps, every time you felt her hungry kisses on your skin.

“Tonight you are...” She commented while you were having dinner, one of the hundreds of romantic dinners you had. Her gaze had long since been lost in the corners of your new dress, one that you bought especially for that dinner.

“What?” You asked, hiding your smile behind a glass of wine.

“You look, you look beautiful, (Y/N),” Donna said, with that look of real love that only she knew how to convey.

“Wow, thanks, Donna... Do you like the dress? It's new,” you said amused.

You really didn't mean to insist that night, there was something special in the atmosphere, something that made you forget your carnal whims and enjoy Donna's innocent love.

“Yes, I, I like it. It frames your figure quite well,” she said, drinking from her own glass, still smiling.

You laughed at those words.

“Does it frame my figure? That’s a very… Professional opinion,” you joked, raising your eyebrows. She laughed with you, playing with the fork on the plate.

“I guess I can't help it,” Donna said, amused. “I would like to make you a dress, one much better than that one,” she whispered, observing your clothes with a different look. Sometimes that she diverted attention away so easily was maddening, but hey, you were used to it and you didn't mind at all.

You pretended to be indignant, opening your mouth with a gesture of surprise.

“What is wrong with it? It hasn't been cheap at all,” you said ironically, looking down at your new article of clothing.

“Hasn’t it? Well… I'm sorry to tell you that they have deceived you,” the woman in black commented, wiping herself with a napkin. “Look at those seams, they look weak.”

“The seams?” You asked amused, finishing your glass of wine. A heat suddenly came to your face. You looked at the Regina Rose bottle on the table and felt a bit embarrassed. You had perhaps drunk a little more than necessary.

“Mmm,” Donna agreed. “Surely they will break at the slightest touch.”

“Okay, are we here to talk about dresses and sewing?” You asked, sighing, putting the empty glass away so you wouldn't be tempted to fill it again.

“No, I...” Donna said, embarrassed, blinking in confusion.

“Hey, it was a joke, Donna,” you said quickly, grabbing her hand that was already clenching nervously. Fortunately, she relaxed almost instantly. “I would love for you to make me a dress…”

The woman in black smiled, running her thumb over your skin, caressing your hand in a way that gave you shivers, pleasurable shivers, of course.

“Ugh, everything was delicious,” you said, dragging the chair back.

“I'm glad you liked it, tesoro,” Donna, responded, pleased.

She got up to clear the table and you, of course, intended to help her.

“Wait I'll help you...” The familiar sound of fabric tearing made you sit still, red rising up your face and a knot in your stomach threatening to kill you with shame.

A shrill, shrill laugh filled the room. Of course, Angie was the first one to notice that your dress had torn down the side.

“Look, Donna, silly (Y/N)'s dress is torn. Silly, silly!” The doll hummed, pulling the black dress of its owner, making her look right at you.

“Shut up...” You said embarrassed, trying unsuccessfully to join the two parts of the dress. “Shit…”

“Don't say those words...” The lady murmured shaking her head and putting the plates back on the table. “You already know that I don't like it when such a beautiful girl talks like that...”

“I'm sorry, someone is forcing me to do so,” you hissed, glancing at Angie, who was writhing on the floor, laughing and pointing childishly at you with her hand.

“Let me take a look...” Donna said softly, leaning down to look at the tear in your brand new, pitiful dress. “You see? I’ve told you. Poorly done seams…”

“You're enjoying this, right?” You asked with an amused voice. She looked up and nodded triumphantly.

“Me? No, I’m not...” She whispered, amused, running her hand along the seam, concentrating. “Don't worry. I can fix it for you.”

“Oh, yeah... I wouldn't want to go with this hole out there,” you said, to which Donna nodded again, sitting up.

“Okay, come on, tesoro," she told you, sitting at her desk and taking sewing materials out of a drawer. “Oh, well, I need you to take it…”

You didn't give her time to finish the sentence. You, discovering this new opportunity to put your girlfriend on the ropes, slid her dress until it fell down your body, leaving you in your underwear in front of her dazed face.

“What? I'll have to take it off so you can fix it, right?” You said amused, walking slowly with the dress in your hand.

“Yes, well I...  You could have gone to the room for it,” Donna commented, blinking nervously and taking the cloth with trembling hands.

“What difference does it make?” You asked, hands on your hips. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Donna shook her head, looking away from you and searching for a thread the same color as the dress.

“No, I... I, I like looking at you like this, I mean, your body is... I mean...” She stuttered before closing her mouth in case she said something stupid. An even wider smile spread across your face, enjoying her discomfort.

As she began to fix your dress, you sighed, leaning on the desk with your hands resting on your face, watching as Donna struggled not to look at what was in front of her, at your breasts barely covered by your bra.

“You're looking at me,” she said confused, swallowing.

“Oh, yes, I like watching you sew. It seems like you're very good at it,” you said with a provocative voice, blinking seductively. A shy smile spread across her face. She was still unable to look at you.

“Well, I learned when I was very young,” she commented with a slightly calmer tone, but with the nervousness still visible in her hands.

“I see,” you murmured, reaching out your hand to caress hers. She stopped instantly. “You have very skilled hands… I wonder what else they can do.”

Donna laughed sheepishly, moving her hand for you to remove it. You didn't know if she was the most naive woman in the world, or if, on the contrary, she was avoiding your hints with unusual mastery. The first option was the most likely one.

“Hey, since you know so much about fabrics... What do you think of this one?” You asked, with a more casual tone, pretending it was an innocent question. It wasn't, you were pointing at your bra, forcing poor Donna to give in to temptation and look at you.

Her eye fell on your cleavage immediately and her mouth opened, but she was unable to utter a single word.

“I... Well, I guess...” The doll maker stammered, staring at your breasts shamelessly, which made you bite your lip.

“Do you see something you like?” You asked in a whisper, leaning further into the desk.

Donna nodded involuntarily, shifting nervously in her chair, stopping her sewing.

“Touch it. I think you'll like this fabric,” you said, taking her hand and bringing it to your chest, making it gently pass through your bra.

Her breathing became even more agitated and her face began to have that same scared expression, you knew that she had gotten excited, but that she wouldn't do anything, as always. Seeing her confused look, and letting herself run over your naked skin, you decided to give her a break, since with her other hand, she was about to finish tearing your dress.

“Sorry, I'm distracting you,” you said amused, approaching just enough to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Donna remained motionless for a few seconds until she took a deep breath and continued her work, now with your tempting body away from hers.

“Okay, I think, I think it’s done,” she finally said, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, probably blaming herself for being enthralled with your body.

“Great, thanks, Donna,” you said sighing, picking up your dress again and kissing her briefly.

“You're welcome,” she said, nervously, without stopping moving in her chair.

“Hey, can you help me with the zipper?” You asked, this time without ulterior motives. You were feeling a bit cold.

“Me?” Donna asked confused, quite reluctant to get up from the chair.

“No, I’m talking to Angie,” you joked, rolling your eyes and turning your back on her. “Help me, Donna, come on.”

After a few seconds, in which it seemed to you that Donna was murmuring something incomprehensible, finally, you heard the sound of the chair moving against the floor and you felt her breathing very close to you.

The zipper went up slowly and you closed your eyes at the feeling of having her body so close to yours, but so distant at the same time. You were having a good night and Donna was having a bad time, because of you. It would be better to give her a truce.

“Thank you,” you said kindly, taking her hand and kissing it softly. “Well, what do you want to do?” You asked, separating yourself, bending down to put your shoes back on.

“I... I don't know... I have to clear the table first and then, then we could...”

“Ah!” You shouted, losing your balance as you stood on one leg to put on your shoe. You fell back, right where Donna was, being picked up by her arms.

Your body hit hers, keeping you very close, so close that you could notice something strange, something that was pressed against your body...

“Oh, wow...” You said nervously, knowing exactly what that lump that pressed against your body was, immediately understanding the reason for Donna's strange attitude when you hinted at a bit of intimacy, the reason for her cowardly escapes, the reason about her hands playing with her dress when you were too close to her.

Donna didn't move immediately, and neither did you, you were still processing what had just happened and on the other hand, you were fine with her body pressing against yours.

“Donna...” You sighed, moving slowly, moving away a bit, just a bit from her body. “What is…?”

Before you could continue with your question, you heard a sob, which matched the beginning trembling of her body. You turned around slowly.

Her face was broken, embarrassed, tears were beginning to run down her cheek as she was unable to move or say anything.

“Hey, hey, my love... Don’t, don't cry...” You said nervously, caressing her cheek. “Come on, Donna, calm down, it's okay...”

“You haven't stopped until you've achieved it, right?” She said with her voice broken by crying, pushing your hand away unpleasantly and darkening her gaze.

“What? No, I didn't mean to...” You said with a soft tone, the tone that those situations, in which Donna lost her temper, required.

Normally it happened to her for no reason, and that was easy to deal with but... That time it was not the same, that time she had a reason to lose her mind. You had discovered the secret she was hiding from you, a secret that embarrassed her terribly.

“Why did you have to do it? Why?!” She shouted nervously, slowly letting herself fall to the floor, with her back leaning on the desk, hiding the tears and shame with her hands.

“Shh, hey, come on, calm down, Donna...” You said with a calming, somewhat complicated tone, you were also nervous. “It, it was an accident... I’ve tripped and...”

“Say it,” Donna said, making sure you couldn't take her hands off her face. “Say it once and for all!”

“What, honey? What do you want me to say?” You asked a bit scared. You've never seen Donna so out of her mind.

“Say... Say that you don't love me... That I disgust you...” She said through clenched teeth, bringing her knees to her chest and balancing on herself.

“No, Donna. That's not true I... Listen, let's talk, okay? Let’s talk calmly,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders, trying by all means to get her to look at your face.

“There is nothing to talk about, (Y/N)... I...I...” She said, a bit calmer, but shaking her head.

“Hey, come on, it's okay... Everything's fine...” You whispered, resting your forehead on hers.

“No, nothing is fine. I, I have... I have a...” The lady in black stammered, trying to confess to you a truth that terrified her, the reason why she always ran away from your caresses.

“You have a penis, right. I've noticed it, so what?” You said, sure of yourself, making her stop crying instantly, looking at you surprised.

“So what?” She asked, pushing you away and standing up, now more furious than embarrassed. “So what, you say? Do you realize what that means?”

You, ready to deflect any stupidity that Donna accidentally said, put on a cocky pose and a superb look, raising your eyebrows and stamping your feet on the floor impatiently.

“Enlighten me, what does it mean?” You said with the same superb tone.

She looked confused for a moment, but then shook her head nervously.

“It means that you... That you... You can't love me...” Donna whispered, letting out the air that her anger forced to retain in her lungs.

“Well, I'll tell you something, Donna... I love you,” you said, approaching her, preventing her from running away again, grabbing her by the waist. “I don’t care…. Nothing can prevent the love I feel for you.”

“But, but I...” Donna murmured confusedly, being interrupted by a passionate kiss, the most passionate kiss you had ever given.

“Shh, don't talk anymore...” You whispered, moving her arms so she hugged you too. Her gaze was still disoriented, but her tears stopped sliding down her cheek.

“I'm sorry,” she said, ducking her head and burying it in your neck. “When, when Mother Miranda adopted me… My body…. My body changed and…”

“Shhh, I said don't talk,” you insisted, putting a finger between her lips. “I don't care, Donna. I don't care what happened to you, I don't care about your body... I care about you, your smile, your caresses, your words of love... I care about the time I spend with you...”

“I'm not what you're looking for...” The lady murmured again, caressing your cheek, looking at you as if trying to discover your lies.

“Of course you’re not, Donna...” you said, taking the hand that was caressing you. “You are much better…”

“But, (Y/N)...” She whispered very close to your lips, without that shyness that made her not be so close to your body.

“Come with me, Donna,” you said, grabbing her hand and gently pulling her toward the elevator.

“What? Where are we going?” Donna asked, almost stumbling as you pulled her along.

“You know what? I'm very tired of waiting,” you said amused, pressing the elevator button. “You won't escape me tonight, tesoro.”

“Wait, wait,” she said, standing in front of the metal bars. “Do you want? Do you want to…? Even knowing...?”

You nodded with an amused smile.

“You no longer have anything to hide so... Why don't we stop repressing ourselves once and for all? I want to love you so much, Donna…”

“I... I want it too...” The woman in black admitted embarrassedly, running a hand over your chest.

“Go first, in case you try to escape,” you said amused, whispering in her ear. She smiled nervously, but she ignored you, entering the elevator.

Once in the bedroom, you sat Donna on the bed and sighed, waiting for her to make the first move. She didn't do it, obviously.

“I've never done this... I don't know, I don't know what to do,” she said shyly, playing with the sheets. “I just, I'll just make a fool of myself...”

“No, don't say that... I'll help you, okay?” You said sitting next to her and holding her sweaty hand. “Why don't you start by taking off that dress and lying down? I will do the same.”

“Oh, well I...” She said, nervous but somehow, excited to finally feel free, to know that nothing could stop you from loving her.

She slowly undid the buttons on her top and, after a few moments in which you decided to leave her alone, you did the same. You just looked at each other, you didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. Although you were also new to what was to come, at least in that way, you decided to take charge of the situation, taking her hand and settling on the bed.

“Your body is beautiful... Did you know that?” You whispered as your hands roamed over her bare skin, partially covered by the two clothes you swore revenge on. She shook her head, stroking your back, playing with your hand.

“You're just saying that to make me feel better,” she said in a whisper, her face blushing as you forced your legs to intertwine.

“Do you know what would make me feel better, Donna?” You asked, getting closer to her lips. “Kiss me…”

Her reaction was not long in coming and hot, intense kisses were the only sounds that filled the room. You pulled on her lower lip as you let yourself be carried away by desire, by that desire that you had been living with for a few weeks.

Donna was passionate, she felt liberated and calm, and that was evident in her caresses, in her kisses... Nothing could stop her from placing her lips on your collarbone, from running her hands over your legs, your breasts, all those places where she refused to touch on other occasions.

“I love you, I love you so much...” She whispered in your ear, making you moan at the seductive tone of her words while her hands surreptitiously went to the closure of your bra, undoing it in milliseconds. “Nothing makes me happier than looking at your entire body…”

You smiled, letting the fabric disappear from your body, suppressing the stupid urge of your hands to cover yourself. No, you couldn't be ashamed, that night was for her.

Donna climbed on top of you, with her legs on either side of your hips, running her hand over your chest, over your belly, as if wanting to save the best for last, as if she didn't dare give in to her desires, your body.

You looked at her curiously and took her hand, running it slowly over your skin until she reached one of your breasts, which caused you to moan involuntarily. Feeling the softness of her hands on that part of your body was like an electric current passing through your entire spine. The delicacy with which she explored your skin, the tenderness of her innocent caresses in a place that was not innocent was wonderful.

Her kisses returned to your lips, wet kisses that camouflaged the pressure of her hand grabbing your breasts, the soft pinch of her fingers on your nipples. Your hands wandered aimlessly along her back, through her hair, across her waist. You wanted to keep her warm body on top of yours. You didn't want her warmth to leave you.

Taking advantage of that confusing mix of kisses and gasps, you unclasped her bra, not causing any shy reaction from your girlfriend, you imagined it was because she was too distracted filling your body with kisses and caresses.

With a slightly less discreet gasp, you decided to turn the tables, having her body under yours.

Your kisses traveled across her pale, hot, trembling skin. You kissed, grabbed and adored her chest as if it were almost a miracle, as if that beauty that she denied so much was incomprehensible to your eyes.

Your hips swayed with a calm rhythm, making her erection more and more evident, making her hands travel to your waist so not to lose that pleasant contact.

“I think there's something dying to come out...” You said amused, making Donna stop in her caresses, looking at you embarrassed by that naughty joke.

“(Y/N)...” She protested with a nervous laugh, being immediately silenced by your wet, eager lips, as your hands moved down to her underwear.

Donna gasped as she finally freed herself from the garment that was pressing down her, freeing her throbbing, quivering penis before you. You laughed amused, looking out of the corner of your eye.

“Don’t, don't look at it that way,” Donna asked you, biting her knuckles out of embarrassment at being completely exposed to you.

“Why not? I like it. I like everything about you, Donna…” You murmured, running your hand gently over her erection and moving to lie down next to her.

“Un, undress yourself too, please...” Donna whispered in your ear, intertwining your legs again and filling the skin of your neck with kisses and small bites.

“As you wish,” you said, moving to fulfill her wish.

Now naked, totally free of any barrier, your bodies moved in a dance of hugs, kisses, licks, caresses... The tension was unbearable, but passion reigned everywhere, in each of your moans, in each of your caresses, in new places that you had just discovered.

“You're so good, Donna... Such a good woman, so beautiful...” You sighed, tense from those caresses, from that hand that went down your belly to your moisture. She was soft, delicate and respectful, quite the opposite of your previous relationships.

She didn't respond, she seemed focused on making you enjoy, moving two fingers in circles, massaging your clit carefully, just like you needed it.

With the sudden feeling of injustice, you lowered your hand to her hips and stroked her erection up and down, making her shudder with an involuntary moan.

“Keep doing that...” Donna murmured anxiously, trying to ensure that the pleasure that your hand was giving her didn’t overshadow the soft movements that her fingers made inside you, curving, adapting to your body in a terribly pleasant way.

After a few moments of silent pleasure, of your hand grabbing her penis, hugging it, going up and down slowly, causing less shy and more natural moans, made the situation become dangerously hot. No matter how much you wanted to, and no matter how close you were to releasing yourself with just her fingers, you refused to do so and even more so when you felt that her length was also trembling with eagerness.

“Enough playing, Donna,” you said, removing your hand and bringing it to her face, gently pushing her against the mattress and climbing her hips again.

“(Y/N) I...” The brunette murmured when you placed yourself right above her sex, rubbing it, without touching it.

“Tell me you want this...” You whispered, leaning down to kiss her while with your other hand you lined up her penis right at your entrance. You noticed how she nodded eagerly.

“Yes, please, please...” She said in an almost pleading tone while you began to go down little by little, feeling how it made its way inside of you, how it stretched your walls in a way you had never felt.

You had to hide a small wince at that intrusion. The pleasure was much greater, but your body was certainly not used to her body and needed a moment to adjust.

“Black Gods... You're... Oh, how good it feels...” Donna moaned, making her words serve as a signal to you to move, riding her slowly.

“Yes, my love... You feel so good inside of me...” You whispered, closing your eyes and forgetting about that little prick. The pleasure of feeling her inside of you eclipsed everything else. “I feel you so much…”

She also closed her eyes while you took care of bringing yourself to the pleasure itself, of moving in the way that her moans indicated, looking for your own pleasure, looking for your body to embrace her in that way so intense that it made you almost explode.

“I, I'm sorry, tesoro...” Donna whispered, also moving her hips, letting the rhythm be harmonious, coordinated just like your moans.

“What are you sorry about, my love?” You asked curiously, without stopping moving, without letting her body leave yours. “You are perfect… My body takes you so well…”

“No, I...” She said, moaning more and more, squeezing her eye tightly to avoid looking at you, to avoid what both of  you knew was coming. “I, I can't… I can't hold myself anymore...”

“Good, because I don't want you to do it... I want you inside me...” You said nervously, suppressing your own cramps, your own need to tense your muscles and scream loudly.

In less than a second, your movements became uncontrolled. There were no words anymore, only moans, grunts at the speed of your hips. Donna gasped suddenly and her heat flooded you, causing, in that same instant, your orgasm to pass through your entire body.

You gasped exhausted. You were still on top of her, caressing her hands, with your gaze fixed on her face, on her sweaty forehead and her breathing becoming slower and calmer.

“(Y/N) I...” Donna said, looking away and carefully getting out of you, noticing how some of her seed left your body. “I’m sorry about that…”

“Shh,” you said quickly, moving up her body to her lips, kissing her tenderly, calmly, saying in that way that you had liked making love with her, that nothing could stop you from loving her more and more. “Not a word, Donna. You're perfect…”

“That's not true,” she said amused, placing your head on her chest, letting your body relax little by little.

“You are perfect for me. You always will be.”

[girlactionfigure]

 THURSDAY HERO: Glagolev Family

It is undeniable that the role of Ukraine in the Holocaust was shameful. Almost a million Jews were killed by Ukrainian Nazi collaborators, most of them shot and dumped into mass graves, many while still alive. Because of this ugly history, and at a time when the Ukraine itself is under threat, it is crucial to remember those Ukrainians who did the right thing, even at great risk to themselves.

Alexei Glagolev was a Ukrainian Orthodox priest who practiced his Christian faith despite severe persecution from the Soviet communists. Together with his wife Tatiana and their children, Alexei hid Jews during World War II, a heroic act that almost cost the Glagolevs their own lives.

Born in Kiev in 1901, Alexei was raised in a devout Eastern Orthodox home. His father Alexander was a priest and professor at Kiev Theological Academy and known to be an ally to Jews at a time of rampant antisemitism. Alexei, a stand-out student in high school, enrolled in the Theological Academy in 1919, and studied there until 1923, even after it was shut down by the Bolsheviks and the students had to study in secret. Alexei married Tatiana Bulashevich, the daughter of a sugar plant owner, in 1926. They had three children, Magdalina, Nikolei and Maria.

In 1932 the Glagolevs’ world was rocked when Alexei was arrested by the communists for “anti-revolutionary acts.” He was freed after a week in custody, but was designated a “cult leader” and deprived of civil liberties. With his professional options severely curtailed due to his status as leader of a cult (the Soviets considered all religions to be cults), he labored as a construction worker and security guard. From 1936 to 1940 he studied Physics and Mathematics at the Kiev Pedagogy Institute, while secretly running an underground church. After the war in Eastern Europe began, Alexei was ordained as a priest and served in the Pokrov Church in Kiev.

In October, 1941, Alexei’s sister-in-law asked him to help her brother’s Jewish wife, Izabella Mirkina, who was in imminent danger of being murdered by the Nazis. Without hesitation, Alexei and Tatiana determined to do whatever they could to help persecuted Jews, despite caring for their own three children in difficult wartime conditions. Tatiana gave Izabella her own identity card and baptism certificate. In his memoirs, Father Alexei wrote, “My wife almost paid with her own life for her reckless action. The Gestapo was going from flat to flat asking for papers, and when they found out that Tatiana didn’t have a passport, they were going to arrest her. Very few people returned to their homes after such arrests. We begged and managed to persuade them to leave her alone after a few witnesses confirmed her identity.”

Even with Tatiana’s papers Izabella was unable to escape and returned to the Glagolevs in desperate need of a place to hide. Alexei later said, “Tormented, we searched for a way to save her. What kind of Christians would we be if we refused this poor woman, who was reaching out to us and pleading for help?” The Glagolevs welcomed Izabella and her daughter Irina into their own modest home. When other desperate Jews approached for help, Alexei gave them fake baptism certificates and hid them in his church, even though hiding Jews was a capital crime punishable by execution. The Glagolev children also helped care for the Jews and keep them safe and fed.

In 1943 Alexei moved out of his home and into the hospital at Pokrov Monastery, where he lived beside the Jews he was helping. This was very risky because the Germans had forbidden Ukrainians to live in that part of Kiev. He and his son Nikolei were arrested in fall of that year and deported to Germany, where Alexei was brutally beaten by the Nazis. Somehow they managed to escape and returned to Ukraine after the liberation from Germany in 1944. In 1945, Alexei wrote a letter to Nikita Khrushchev, Secretary of the Ukraine, about the Jews he had saved.

Alexei continued working as a priest in the Pokrov church until it closed in 1960. He worked in several other churches despite increasing ill health caused by his brutal treatment while imprisoned by the Nazis. Alexei died in 1972. Journalist Sergei Kokurin wrote in an article about Alexei, “It is hard to understand to an average man the determination with which Glagolev went against the tide. In 1936 this fragile-looking intellectual publicly carried the cross taken off the Church of Nikola the Kind, and despite threats from the communists kept it in his flat. He was the only priest in Kiev who refused in April 1942 to hold a church service to celebrate Hitler’s birthday.”

Alexei, Tatiana and their children were recognized as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Museum Yad Vashem in 1991. In January 2002, to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Alexei Glagolev’s birth, a memorial plaque to him and his brave father Alexander was erected on the wall of the National University of Kiev.

For their heroic actions saving Jews, and for practicing their faith in defiance of Soviet persecution, we honor the Glagolev family as this week’s Thursday Heroes.