#religious guilt cw

[hollowxport-moved]

Skylar does harness a lot of religious guilt from his mother’s side of the family. His maternal grandfather is a very influential priest in their hometown of Boston, and would remind Skylar that they were a child of evil due to their vampire nature from their father’s side. While they in no way think that their father, Oliver, is a monster, but their maternal family have pretty much beated it into their head that they’re are irredeemable, and can only find holiness in death.

[triiiplegoddcss]

...Speaking of Cults... Let’s talk about Skylar’s maternal family members.

So as you know, Skylar is indeed a priest for a small pagan/polythestic coven that focus on medicine, astrology, occult lore, and protecting humanity. The scriptorium is equal parts scholars and acolytes that mostly focuses on self-improvement, protecting others, and healing. So it’s obvious that Skylar didn’t get his religious guilt from them.

Tragically, Most of the relatives on Oliver’s side of the family are dead due to vampire hunters, so Oliver pretty much only has Skylar.

... So where did it come from? Well, enter Skylar’s maternal side of the family.

Skylar comes from an extremely religious family that focuses the ideals of “Suffering is your fault,” traditional values, and worshiping without question. Skylar’s grandfather is a preacher spreading the word of the good lord, while their grandmother is a simple housewife. They didn’t really know that Oliver was a vampire at first, but accepted him as it was the perfect opportunity for Grace to get the perfect family that she and the family desired. Grace had Skylar a little bit before they got married, so her father heavily pressured Oliver to marry Grace as soon as possible to “rectify this sin,” if you will.

The family then later found out that Oliver was a vampire, and BOY did they not like that. Grace mostly kept it a secret cause Oliver was hot, he had money, and she secretly did it to spite her father like a rebellious teenager. So while they couldn’t do anything about Skylar cause they were just a baby at the time, and that would look REALLY bad on them, they instead decide to get rid of Oliver to keep him from “corrupting” their daughter any further. They hired a vampire hunter to take care of them, but as well all know Oliver would survive this encounter, but would struggle to find his way home and Skylar for the next 15-16 years.

As Skylar got older, their grandfather grew more and more resentful of them. He would often berate Skylar and call him a child of pure sin and dismay, while their grandmother would do nothing but subtly agree. They raised Skylar with these values while Grace would desperately try to find a husband in order to replace Oliver.

When Nick came into the picture, it got WAY worse. No one would come to Skylar’s aid, thinking that they would always deserve the ill-treatment from Nick, due to being a quote, “Devil child.” The only reprieve they had their Aunt Pearl and Uncle Dino. Pearl & Dino have been long been disowned by the family due to their lifestyle choices and well... who they are as people, but they still choose to play an active role in Skylar’s life, even going so far as to move to Clayburrow with Skylar and their parents in order to protect them.

When Skylar graduated high school, their grandfather organized a family meeting for Skylar to have a Debutante Ball in order to find a “godly” husband. Skylar flew into a rage, screaming and letting out all their grievances towards their family and how much they’ve suffered over the year. After a vicious argument that actually broke out in physical violence, Skylar decided to finally just leave it all behind and find their place in the world... and we all know how that turned out.

As far as Skylar’s family knows, their dead. Romeo was the one who originally “found” Skylar’s body, so he did spread the news of their “demise....” And they couldn’t care less. While Skylar’s mom plays the part of a “grieving mother” well, the rest of the family have nothing nice to say about them if you bring them up. Especially their grandfather & stepfather.

Skylar honestly would honestly like to keep it that way. The less they see of their maternal family members, the better. The only ones that they told about their survival and new life in Hollow Port were, again, Pearl & Dino. The couple even moved out to Hollow Port to support Skylar, and protect them. Pearl & Dino even joined The Order of The Seekers.

[aphidclan-clangen]

part 2 out of 3

[frenchfrywrites]

Simeon’s new neighbor

MINORS DNI

Warnings: trans masc top vampire reader, trans human bottom Simeon, blood, both of yall r fucked up.. so like morally gray/dubious things and such, attempt at religious themes and guilt, fingering, humping, blood drinking, fear wetting (nonsexual (if you can believe)), strap on, scent kink, lmk if i missed anything..

tysm to @pulpbeing for helping me w inspiration w this fic :)

It’s a spring Sunday morning when Simeon wakes to find the house across the street from him– the one nobody had lived in for years, and he was certain would never find a buyer– has finally found its new owner. He smiles to himself at the sight of the vintage car in front, and the new doormat placed outside the front door. While there’s not many other signs of life, yet, Simeon hopes that the homeowner will settle in nicely and make the place their own.

It’s out of the ordinary that his new neighbor moved in during the night, Simeon thinks briefly, but refocuses on how happy he is that someone moved in at all. He hums as he brews himself a cup of coffee, exciting himself with imagining what his new neighbor is like. He wonders if they’re friendly. He wonders if he’ll see them at church this morning. Knowing he’ll be seeing a new face around the small town leaves Simeon energized, and truth be told he probably doesn’t need the coffee at all. There’s enough pep in his step anyways.

But his age is catching up to him, and in order to keep from yawning during the service, he downs the cup he’d prepared (though not before adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to make it bearable). 

Simeon does little else before going to morning mass, and when he gets there he scans the familiar faces. All the grannies swarm at him, asking him about his week, how he’s been, among other things. He does his best to give them his attention, but he’s losing focus as he continues to analyze the congregation. 

He tries not to let disappointment sink in as no new face enters the church. The sunny day turning cloudy does little to help his emotional state. Simeon rationalizes that perhaps his neighbor is tired from the move, and even if you never go to church that doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. Smiling to himself, he decides he’ll make you a dessert as a welcoming gift.

It’s not long before he’s standing in front of your door, reaching out to ring your doorbell, holding the sweet treat in the other hand.

“Who’s there?” a beautiful voice calls from within, and Simeon feels rejuvenated, excited, and giddy all over again.

“Your new neighbor!” he responds, figuring that if he only responded with his name, you’d be entirely confused.

“Hello?” you open the door, and Simeon’s heart nearly stops. You’re nothing short of impressive and deeply intimidating in your beauty. He thought he was wearing his Sunday best, but compared to your outfit he might as well be wearing rags. Every strand of your hair is perfect, and you’ve no blemishes or disfigurements. In fact, if it didn’t sound silly to say aloud, he'd say you’re glowing. And what impresses him even more so, is that your beauty seems so effortless. 

His jaw drops slightly, leaving him gaping at you like an idiot. He’s embarrassed to be standing before you like this, as he imagines he must look so frumpy and boring compared to your elegance. You don’t seem to mind though. In fact if Simeon were to guess by your expression alone, he’d say you’re endeared and pleased with him at your doorstep.

“Ah, hello!” he finally shakes himself out of his stupor. “My name is Simeon, I live across the street,” he gestures behind himself, to his house. 

You don’t even spare his house a glance, your eyes instead staying locked on him, and Simeon feels his heart throb at how they’re an unusual, but mesmerizing, bright amber color. He licks his lips, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. “Um- I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so I made you a-” he prattles on, telling you about what he made, and what’s in it. From there he rambles a bit about allergies, anxiety setting in over the fact that he may have presented something inedible for you.

“Simeon,” he gasps softly at the sound of your voice cutting him off. You’re smiling, and Simeon finds himself mimicking you, though his smile is a far more bashful one. You introduce yourself to him, and Simeon thinks your name is as beautiful as you are, “would you care to come in?” you ask, opening the door for him. He enters your home without a second thought.

The two of you get on like you’ve been friends for years. You make him tea and guide him to your living room where you’re able to talk to him for hours, about a myriad of topics, until Simeon’s grumbling belly regrettably leads to him excusing himself for dinner. You walk him to your door, waiting and watching at your doorstep until you see him wave to you from inside his house.

Simeon is a social butterfly, and gets on with just about anyone, but he feels different with you. He feels like a kid with a crush again, and it’s not just that you’re good company, he feels utterly at ease and refreshed in your presence. For the rest of the night he flits around his own house in a haze of bliss, already thinking about what he wants to discuss with you next.

He finds himself at your doorstep the following evening, because that’s the time you told him you were the most available. You welcome Simeon into your home happily, and insist on making dinner for him. Strangely you don’t eat, but you tell him it’s because you had a filling lunch, and promise him you’ll eat later in the night. Simeon feels only mildly awkward being the only one eating at the table, but that feeling melts away slowly as you start up conversation again.

Like the previous night, the two of you talk until Simeon’s body catches up to him and he’s yawning more than he’s speaking. He leaves with a smile on his face, and waves to you happily from his house. He knows that his feelings towards you may become an issue later, because he can’t imagine a world where they’re reciprocated, but he’s enjoying himself too much to worry about it now. He figures he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

The next few nights he finds himself too busy to see you, but that doesn’t mean you’re off his mind. Rather, Simeon finds himself thinking of you nearly obsessively; until the first body turns up.

The town Simeon lives in is a small one, and when someone is found dead, everyone knows the details and feels their absence. The community mourns, and Simeon feels shock and fear ripple through it. This body was mangled and gored, and the main theory is that an animal did it. Despite there being an official theory, all eyes are on Simeon’s new neighbor, the outsider.

Whispers only die down once the family receives a bouquet from you on their doorstep. You’re not welcomed yet, but you’re no longer a suspect.

Simeon finds himself confused, and seeking someone to talk to. Before you, he would have gone to confession, but now he hurries across the street when the world around him turns a deep blue and twilight sinks across the sky.

“Simeon,” you greet him happily, ushering him in immediately. 

“Hi,” he breathes, again taken aback by your presence like the first day he met you. The memory of you that’s been running through his mind doesn’t even hold a candle to the real thing before him. 

The two of you stare at one another in the foyer. You clap your hands, “I don’t think I ever gave you a tour of my home, did I?” Simeon shakes his head, grateful for you taking the lead of the conversation. 

He follows you eagerly as you guide him through the first floor that he’s seen most of. You go through the kitchen, the dining and living room, your study, and the downstairs bathroom. Then you lead him upstairs. Simeon finds himself entirely distracted from the grim events of the week as you move from room to room. 

Upstairs you show him your little library– and you pause here for a while, because of course Simeon has to jealously browse your collection– the room where you do your work, and finally your bedroom. Simeon can’t help but feel bashful when you kindly show him your room. He hopes you don’t notice. If you do, you’re kind enough not to mention it.

Your house is like a museum, Simeon thinks. There’s more artifacts, antiques, and collectables in each room than he’s ever seen in his life. You have things from every era, and he can’t help but be in awe of how much care and love you put into them. 

There are some oddities within your home as well. He notices you have every mirror and window covered. Simeon wouldn’t dare bring it up though, fearing that he’d come off as rude or invasive. 

After leading him through the upstairs, you bring him back down to the living room. 

“There’s a basement too,” you mention offhandedly as you sit down, “but it’s unfinished.” 

“Your house is amazing,” Simeon confesses. You smile, and he continues, “thank you for taking me on a tour, I was…” he trails off for a moment, “I was having a rough time with the recent events, and this was a needed distraction.” In response to that you hum,

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Simeon,” you rest your head on your hand looking at him through your lashes, and Simeon feels a guilty pang of lust grow in his loins. “When death presents itself so violently and suddenly, it can be so consuming,” you muse. “I wish I could have done more for the family, I hope my condolences provided a moment of comfort.”

“Ah, I was going to tell you,” Simeon starts, “I’m sorry that some of us worried that you had something to do with this! I didn’t think that at all of course. I don’t think you could hurt a fly,” he reassures you. You laugh at that, and Simeon feels his cheeks heat with flush. 

“I see how grief could make some see a coincidence where there is none,” you say once your laughter dies off, “but let's not talk too much about all this. You came over for a distraction, no?” Simeon nods, “then let’s talk about something more lighthearted. You said you’d read some of the books you saw in my library?”

From here the conversation turns, and the two of you talk deep into the night. 

“I’ll walk you home,” you tell Simeon once he finally admits he needs to leave. Suddenly, any and all exhaustion is gone from Simeon’s body. 

“Are you sure? I’m just across the street,” Simeon says, though deep down he wants you to come over. 

“I know, but it’s so dark. It’d make me feel better even if it’s just walking a few feet,” you say, pulling on your shoes. 

The night is quiet, save for the chirps and calls from nocturnal critters. There’s light conversation between the two of you as you walk Simeon the very small distance between your houses. 

“Here I am,” he says awkwardly, unlocking and opening the door to his home. You stand outside the doorway, illuminated from his porch light.

“Good night Simeon,” you say softly, reaching out to tuck a stray hair away from his face. Awestruck, Simeon stands in his doorway dumbly, watching you turn to leave.

“Bye,” he breathes, when you’re already halfway across the street. 

He watches you enter your own house, and it’s only when you’re out of sight that he closes the door, and grabs at his chest. He laughs, a relieved and elated sound. 

“Oh Father, thank you, thank you,” he murmurs between his giggles. He goes through his nighttime routine, feeling like he’s walking on air, like he’s in a dream.

Simeon had believed that his crush was silly, that there was no possibility of his feelings being returned. Perhaps that’s still true, that your intentions were purely platonic, but it felt like so much more than that. He sighs wistfully, looking out his bedroom window at your home. You’d done something that felt so intimate so easily, like it was nothing at all. It was everything to him.

The weeks pass, and spring turns to summer, and summer eases into fall. Simeon finds himself at your house more often than not as the months pass. Helplessly he falls deeper and deeper in love with you as you make him dinners, and talk with him, and do puzzles, and quietly read together, and drink fine wines on your living room loveseat with him. He texts you during the day, and during most times that he’s not able to be with you.

Simeon’s not been this happy in a long time, and everyone around him knows it. His community has eventually warmed up to you too. It’s hard when they don’t see you in the day time, and you not going to church is certainly a difficult thing for some to stomach. Simeon praises you enough that they finally come around to accepting you.

It’s not all love and bliss surrounding him, as there’s been more deaths. It’s no big city, so typically Simeon’s town deals with maybe two to three deaths a year, and very rarely are they violent ones at that. The police say there’s leads, but when they issue a curfew, the town begins to doubt them. Simeon feels safest when he is with you, but he can’t deny the way that terror has settled into his town.

Another person is reported missing a week before Halloween, and Simeon feels like he’s going crazy. He knows the curfew is quickly approaching, but the urge to see you overpowers his logic and he finds himself in front of your door. 

It’s only then that his typical anxiety surrounding breaking rules– and even more powerful, his catholic consciousness and the fear of always being watched– sets in. He worries that even knocking will alert someone that he’s breaking curfew, and instead gives the door a try. To his surprise, it turns under his palm.

Simeon pushes in and finds himself in the house he’s grown to love. 

He calls your name, but there’s no response. Quickly, he hurries through the rooms on the main floor, but finds each space empty. As soon as Simeon attempts to take the first step upstairs, he hears the crash from below him. 

The basement.

Simeon would have never guessed to check there, so he thanks God for the noise you’ve made. He honestly forgot you had one, but as he searches for an entrance he remembers how you’d mentioned it when you’d first given him a tour of your house. 

He finds the door relatively easily, now that he’s looking for it. It’s cracked open, an invitation to join you if Simeon’s ever seen one. The lights are off, and he finds that strange, but he’s gotten used to your oddities by now. Softly, he calls your name as he makes his way down the stairs, trying not to startle you. 

Simeon’s brain takes a second to process the scene before him as he reaches the basement floor. At first he thinks it’s a lump of clothes, but he soon realizes there’s a body inside of said clothes. A body. Not your body, either. He registers that there’s blood everywhere, and he can’t believe he didn’t notice that first. He can’t believe anything he’s seeing.

A soft, choked sound leaves him at the massacre displayed before him. He’s stunned, unable to think of how to react, or where to begin. Simeon’s hands are shaking, his pulse beating rapidly in his ears. Distantly– hardly audible at all compared to the pounding in his head– he hears the soft puttering sound of liquid dripping. At first he thinks it’s blood from somewhere, but then he notices the wetness in his pants. Weakly he nearly laughs (it comes out as a strained moan), because now he feels more shame than he does terror.

“Simeon?” a familiar voice shocks him to his core. He turns to look at where the sound came from, and is not entirely pleased with what he finds. 

Your familiar, beautiful face is covered with blood, your eyes shining a bright gold, staring right at him. Simeon should run, he should turn and scramble up the stairs out of your house to the comfort of his neighbors. But he’s frozen. 

“Simeon,” you coo his name, stepping towards him. He has a million thoughts at once, adding to the powerful headache he has growing. 

“A demon?” he whines weakly, finally finding the strength to speak. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then you’re smiling, showing off your animalistic, lethally sharp canines. 

“No, no,” and maybe it’s because Simeon’s brain is working really hard to keep up with him, but weren’t you further away before? “I know I don’t have the sparkly skin like some more popular of my kind,” you nearly giggle and he feels his knees try to buckle. “But can’t you guess what I am?” you tease. 

“Vampire,” he breathes, no uncertainty laced in his voice. You nod, 

“Oh good, that’s right,” you praise, slowly taking him into your arms. Simeon melts like butter into you. You coo, “aw sweet thing, don't fret, I won’t hurt you, I could never hurt you,” you assure him. Simeon doubts you, but there’s not much else he can think to do. 

You hoist him up carefully. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm,” you start slowly making your way up the stairs. “I didn’t mean for you to see this, of course. I don’t mind others' opinions of me– though you seem to care a great deal on my behalf– anyways I do care what you think. We could have gone a while without you ever finding out. Naughty Simeon, you shouldn’t have been breaking curfew anyways,” you tease, rambling as you take him swiftly all the way up to your room, and into the adjoining bathroom there. 

“Would you take off your clothes?” you ask, setting him down on the toilet, and starting hot water for him. Simeon sits motionless, feeling confused and still quite terrified. You look back at him, and your eyes glow a bright yellow, “You’re safe,” you assure him, “and it’s going to be okay,” and with every word you speak Simeon feels relief and calm wash over him. He exhales a soft breath, almost forgetting what he was scared of in the first place. He remembers your request, and does as he’s told, 

He shakily, with your help, finds himself comfortable in your tub. 

“If I had the working blood to do so, I’d be blushing,” you tell him as you sit next to him, on the floor of the bathroom. When he doesn’t respond you sigh, “lots on your mind, I suppose.”

The two of you sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“God forgive me,” Simeon finally breathes, turning to face you. There’s still blood caked on you, and it makes him gag. You frown, clearly upset by this. Laughable that you’re more upset by his disgust than the dead body in your basement.

“I’m sorry, I should let you go, and– and leave in the morning. I apologize for ever–” Simeon cuts you off with a sad sound.

“It’s not you,” he confesses, “I– I’m disgusted that I still love you, even though you’re…” he gestures vaguely. 

“A cold-hearted, bloodsucking, undead, uncaring killer?” you prompt, smiling at him. Simeon, despite it all, smiles back.

“Yes," you tongue licks your blood stained lips,

"And you love me?" You sound so hopeful. Simeon doesn't hesitate,

"Yes," he breathes. You reach out tucking a stray hair behind his ear like you did so many nights ago. 

"Can I kiss you?" You ask, and instead of answering, Simeon closes his eyes and leans in.

Your lips are cold, but Simeon soon finds he doesn’t mind so much. He’s dreamed of this moment, and while it didn’t come about in the way he imagined, his heart still flutters and soars at the feeling of finally having your lips on his. He reaches up, cupping your cold face with his warm, wet hands, pulling you closer. You moan softly, licking his lips with your cold tongue. 

Briefly, Simeon thinks that God must be watching him right now and cursing him for his choices. Then again, if He is all knowing, He knew Simeon would never stop loving you. Maybe God thinks creatures of the night deserve some love too.

You pull away, your eyes so bright Simeon wonders if they’re actually glowing. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since you knocked on my door all those months ago,” you confess. Simeon smiles bashfully, 

“Me too,” he whispers. You lean in and kiss him again, and Simeon knows he’s in the deep end now. There’s no way he’ll ever return to his normal life again; if it meant not having you in his life, he’s not sure he’d want to. 

This time, Simeon can taste the blood that’s still caked on your lips, and it grows harder and harder to ignore the fact that you’re still clothed and covered in gore. He pulls away this time.

“Get in the bath with me?” he requests softly, never feeling so emboldened in his life. You moan softly,

“Are you sure?” you ask, and the slow heat that had settled in Simeon’s body (just from a bit of kissing) now feels like a raging fire. 

“Yes, please,” and you don’t need to be asked twice. It’s like he blinked and there you are naked in the tub with him. Simeon doesn’t hide the way he ogles your now bare body. He shimmies his way forward, closing the space between you, and grabs a washcloth. You watch him carefully, unblinking, as Simeon carefully washes the blood from your face. 

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper sincerely when he removes the cloth from your face, and sets it down elsewhere. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Simeon jokes, smiling at you. He pauses, “speaking of mouths,” he mumbles, looking at you hopefully. You laugh, catching his drift and opening your mouth for him.

Carefully, like you’re a wild animal, Simeon runs his fingers along your teeth, marveling at how sharp your canines are. “Would you suck my blood?” he asks breathlessly. You lick his finger, and he pulls back a bit.

“If I ever started, I’m not sure I could stop,” you tell him honestly. Gently you take a hold of his wrist, and press your nose against his pulse point. You look at him as you lick across his skin, “it’s hard not to, when you smell so good,” you confess. Simeon flushes and squirms under your gaze. He glances down, trying to avoid eye contact when it becomes too much for him. 

“You’re hard,” he breathes, noticing your clit peeking out from between your pubes, his voice cracking with excitement. He looks back up at you and you’re grinning.

“Yeah,” you let go of Simeon’s wrist, “and you are too. You’re so wet for me” you sound proud, but more than that you're thrilled. Simeon furrows his brow, because how could you tell when you’ve not yet touched him? “I can smell it,” you explain, sensing his confusion. 

Simeon flushes from being found out, and because he is- to his surprise- wildly turned on by the way you’re able to smell his arousal. 

“Oh,” he breathes softly, and there’s a moment of stillness between the two of you. Then, your lips are pressed against his, and Simeon is wrapping his arms around your neck, pulling you between his thighs. You hold onto his hips to prevent yourself from slipping, and Simeon can tell you’re holding back your strength, but your grip is still pleasantly strong. 

Now, instead of his fingers running along your teeth, Simeon uses his tongue to explore your mouth. Your fangs are scarily sharp, and your mouth is cold, but none of that bothers him. He can feel your pussy rut against his thighs, and he moans into your mouth.

“Will you,” he pulls away to start, “would you make love to me?” you groan at Simeon’s request. 

“You’re so cute,” Simeon opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off, “is that really something you want?” you ask, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It’s all I’ve been able to fantasize about for the last few months,” Simeon confesses easily, and you groan again. 

“Fuck, okay, yes, me too,” you seem thoroughly flustered, and Simeon feels a sharp bit of pride jolt through him at the fact that he’s able to make you feel that way.

You kiss him again as one of your hands drift from his hip to his cunt. Simeon gasps and curls in on himself a bit when he feels your fingers against him. For so long he’s only been the one to touch himself, and it’s exhilarating to feel someone else press against him. You rub easy circles onto his throbbing clit, and Simeon hiccups. 

“Fuh-oh-feels so good,” he whines against your lips, slipping a bit in the tub and mashing his mouth against your chin. You huff out a laugh,

“Are you going to last long enough for me to get my fingers in you?” you tease. Simeon takes your words seriously, and shakes his head, jerking his hips and making the water slosh,

“Probably not,” you coo, leaning down to nuzzle against his neck. You inhale deeply, and moan,

“I want you to be able to take my strap,” Simeon’s breath hitches, “will you be able to after cumming, or do you want me to make you wait?” 

Simeon whines, his eyes fluttering shut. It feels too good to have you playing with his most sensitive bundle of nerves, he can’t think straight enough to give you a response. You pinch his clit and his eyes shoot open,

“Yes sir,” he rushes out, “yes, I-I can do it.” You smile, showing off your fangs. 

“Good,” Simeon’s back arches when one of your fingers slips down and into his aching hole. You’re so cold, he wonders if he feels like a furnace inside. He squeezes around you, panting for air, feeling far too close to cumming already. Faintly Simeon can feel you still rubbing yourself against his leg, and the water splashes gently against the sides. 

One finger quickly turns to two, and you’re stretching him open, your thumb still rubbing insistently against his clit. In the brief moments before his orgasm comes crashing into him, Simeon remembers how the French call it the little death. He’d laugh if he weren’t so busy spasming around your fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head and his mouth dropping open in a silent cry. His legs tremble, and his hands shake. It’s never been as intense as this. 

“There we go, there we go little angel,” you coo, “ohh, look at you,” you sound foggy and far away as Simeon rides out his orgasm. He can vaguely sense that you’re still rutting against him, and feels the way you’re licking at his skin.

It takes him a moment, and then he’s coming down, breathing heavily and slumping into the cool water. 

“Simeon?” you test, but he’s downright dumbstruck, only mumbling incoherently in return. You huff a laugh, and instead let him warm your fingers until he hums softly. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly, a bashful smile on his face. 

“You’re back,” you tease, pulling your fingers from him– causing Simeon to whine. 

“I still want to,” he clears his throat, “um, take your," he coughs, "cock,” he stumbles a bit but finally gets out, “if you’d let me.” 

“Oh angel,” he feels butterflies in his stomach at your use of the nickname for him. “I’d love to.”

The next few minutes are filled with you moving from the bathroom to your bedroom. You insist on drying him down yourself, teasing and touching Simeon all over until he’s squirming and giggling. It’s frightening how easily he can forget about the body in the basement. It’s like it never happened at all.

You guide him to your room, your cold hand fitting perfectly in his, and lay him on your bed. Simeon thinks it’s funny that you have a bed at all. He wonders if you ever sleep. Absentmindedly he plays with his hair while watching you take out your harness. He feels heat growing between his legs as he catches a glimpse of your strap.

Soon, you’re on top of him, with lube in your hand. Simeon spreads his legs making room for you between them.

“You finished pretty quick in the bathtub,” you muse popping open the lube. Simeon covers his face, feeling a bit embarrassed. You coo, using one hand to move his arms so you can see his face, “aw don’t be shy, I’m flattered, really.” 

“It’s because it’s been so long since I had someone– um– touch me like that,” it’s not something that’s bothered him much, the fact that as he’s aged he’s had less and less people make advances on him, but confessing it to you suddenly feels so embarrassing. You don’t seem to judge him though,

“That’s alright sweetheart, I’ll be gentle,” you promise, spreading lube along your fingers. Simeon smiles, again finding himself feeling safe in your presence. 

Just to be safe, you slip a couple fingers in him, stretching him out, slicking up his insides for you. Then you lather your cock with lube, and press against him.

“Wanted to have you like this for so long,” you tell him, rubbing against Simeon’s hole, then against his clit. He presses his hips back against you, so desperate to have you filling him up.

You lean down, taking one of his nipples into your mouth as you slowly push into him. One of your fangs lightly grazes against it, and Simeon gasps. Mistaking it for a sound of pain, you pause, looking up at him with a worried gaze.

“It’s okay, keep going, keep moving, please,” he babbles desperately. You switch to his other nipple, and comply with his request, slowly moving deeper into him.

“Oh,” Simeon sighs when your hips press flush against his.

“Okay?” you pull off his chest to check in. 

“Yeah, yes,” he groans, “feels so good,” he tells you as he wraps his legs around your waist, keeping you impossibly close to him. “You’re so deep, ‘m so full,” you lean down to kiss him, stopping him from rambling more about your cock. 

Slowly but steadily, you begin to fuck into him. It’s an agonizing pace at first, but Simeon realizes you’re trying to be careful with him, and he’s lovestruck all over again. 

Finally he can’t take it any longer. “Faster,” he whines against your lips, “please sir.” You’re happy to comply, picking up the pace to satisfy him. Simeon keens, letting your tongue into his mouth. He drools and pants around your tongue, losing his composure and control. Simeon can’t believe how free he feels.

“Mhmm, angel,” you pull away from him to groan, licking your lips, “you’re so good, you taste so good,” Simeon whimpers at the praise, feeling his pussy gush. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, lookin’ like that, smelling like that,” you drawl, your speech slurring.

“Bite me,” Simeon begs, wanting so badly to have you drunk off of him. Your brows furrow, like you’re upset by the idea, and yet your hips stutter. “Puh-lease,” and with his wanton plea, you lean down and lick at his neck. 

You’re fucking him hard and fast now, getting Simeon closer and closer. He lets out a pleased noise when your fangs sink into his flesh, and then you’re drinking from him. It’s a weird sensation, not one that hurts at all. 

It takes him a minute to realize it, but Simeon thinks you might be cumming. If the gurgled moans, and the way you’re ramming your hips into him at such an erratic pace is any hint. The idea of you getting off from the taste of his blood sends him over, and for the second time tonight you make him cum. 

Minutes feel like hours and milliseconds simultaneously, but soon Simeon feels woozy. 

“Ah,” he moans, feeling lightheaded. You dislodge from him, licking at the fresh wounds on his neck. Then you’re pulling away from him. All Simeon can manage is a weak whine. Shushing him gently, you pull your strap out of him, and gracefully plop down next to him, taking him in your arms.

“Sorry, I think I got carried away,” Simeon says what he thinks is “it’s okay,” but it sounds like a whole lot of nothing coming out of his mouth. “I think I should get you a snack or something,” you muse. 

Exhaustion hits and when Simeon wakes up again you have water, juice, tea, and ten types of snacks available for him. He feels sluggish and nauseous. 

“Do you need any help?” you ask, and Simeon looks over to find you sitting in the armchair in the corner of your room, looking at him.

Simeon shakes his head, shakily grabbing the glass of juice and drinking it down. His body, eager for sugars and nutrients, immediately feels better. 

“What are you doing over there?” he asks carefully. You look nervous, an expression that he can’t remember ever seeing on you before. 

“I didn’t want to scare you,” you say. Simeon laughs,

“A bit late for that,” he teases, and pats the bed. You come over slowly, settling in next to him like a guilty dog. He smiles at you, “if you’ll have me, I don’t expect that I’ll be leaving you any time soon,” you light up.

“Oh what a relief,” you cuddle into him, “because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

[magicislikelove]

!Suggestive and Religion Themed Art!

Catholic Guilt Johnny from @shotmrmiller has me in a chokehold most days. But what about Priest Ghost with a corruption kink? What then?

Reference below cut

[dolliecworpse]

🥀 ｡｡｡ FALSEGODEIC

ᶻ 𝗓 FALSEGODEIC : a gender connected to always doing good deeds, but not because you see yourself as a good person, but rather because you fear punishment if you don’t do them. this gender may feel fearful and fake, as though it is always walking on eggshells.

✎ term and flag by the virtual pup ｡｡｡ coined for day five of @lovesse ‘s event ｡｡｡ tagging @accessmogai for a flag id !

[socialc1imb]

Pros of going to a religious school: praying is a valid study tactic

Cons of going to a religious school: God does not suffer the hopeless (Cha’girl 😎)

[steddietism]

;; — Kiss Me, Son Of God ! — ;; ⛪️

[grislyintentions]

|| Beauty ; Reimagined ||

For: @reallyrandomtj

"You are afraid."

The words ring more like a definitive answer than a query when they left Yaoshi's mouth, further cemented by the thrumming heartbeat beneath one of their hands that had sought purchase across the Knight's chest.

More of their hands soon follow the first; Two clasped against his waist and torso. The Aeon exhales softly and the flowers blooming in their presence seem to sigh with them as thick vines weave amidst themselves to form a comfortable perch.

"Your faith endures yet your heart is weak. You fear that your resolve will shake and crumble into nothingness as weariness encroaches upon you."

Yaoshi spoke in a murmur right next to the spot below the redhead's ear, mouth brushing against patch of skin in butterfly-soft touch with each word uttered. Not quite a kiss. Not innocent enough to be innocuous either.

"You yearn for rest. I know better than most: it is writ in your flesh, skin, and bones. Yet you dare not allow yourself respite or companionship. Tell me. Argenti."

Sharp nails glide down the length of his shoulder, stroking at the length of his arm in a long sensual drag and back up again. The Thousand-Handed Merciful Medicus trails a finger down past his collarbones, the valley of his chest, torso, and hip.

"Do you love Idrila as much as you fear her? If you do....why do you believe yourself to have been...forsaken? Why would she deem you unfit to find rest and comfort when mortals require so to flourish? Is the definition of true beauty- flagellation of flesh and soul?"

[koolkat9]

Disgust

Rating: M (putting it here to get more eyes on it + there turned out to be not much smut)

Pairing: Pruk/EngPru

Word Count: 767

Read on AO3

CW: Religious Trauma and Guilt, at least the start of a panic attack, some suggestiveness at the beginning but the language makes it unclear what's happening since Gil is getting lost in the past.

His throat squeezed around his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. He was a dirty slut, a disgusting sinner, spawn of demons. He needed to stop. It was wrong. He was wrong. He was broken. They were all right.

He could already feel the flames of Hell lick his naked, defiled body. The claws of demons raking down his back. The burn within his nether regions as he was torn in two from the inside out. He couldn’t even tell who was touching him anymore.

“Gil…Gil, can you hear me? Gilbert!”

The inferno fingertips and tongues of fire pulled away. Cold air hit him, shoving its way into his lungs. He gulped it down.

“Love…Are you there?” A hand came to rest on Gilbert’s cheek. Gilbert flinched away. “Okay, okay. I won’t touch you.”

Gilbert kept his eyes squeezed shut. He would pretend the ground had swallowed him whole and he was far away from prying eyes.

“Gilbert…Please say something.”

“I’m sorry…” Gilbert rasped. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”

“Oh darling…You have nothing to apologize for. Was the degradation too much?”

“I’m…I’m disgusting. I-I…I’m dirty. They were right. They were all right.” Gilbert stabbed the edge of his palms into his eyes.

“Hey…Hey Gil. Look at me.”

Gilbert thrashed his head to the side, eyes still sealed shut.

“Darling…please…I need you to look at me when I say this.”

Gilbert cracked his eyes open, red meeting a bright, warm green. Like when the sun showered the trees in the evening. Those eyes, Arthur’s eyes, so soft and tender. Just for Gilbert.

“Don’t you ever let me catch you talking about yourself like that,” Arthur warned, though his voice remained light and airy. “You are not disgusting. You are not dirty. And anyone who says you are because of who you love and how you choose to show that love can shove it all up their arses.”

“I-I…”

“Shhh…You don’t need to say anything.” Arthur rolled back onto the bed, right next to Gilbert. Not touching, but still present. Not going anywhere. “Take a deep breath.”

Gilbert tried, but everything was closed up, so it was only a choked, wet cry.

“Shhhh. It’ll be okay. You’re safe…Let whatever you need out.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Gilbert please,” Arthur whispered.

A sob ripped from Gilbert’s throat, and that’s all it took for him to just break down. He covered his eyes, ashamed of his tears. Ashamed of getting so worked up. Ashamed of who he was.

“Can I touch you?” Arthur asked softly.

Gilbert sniffled. “Mhm…”

“Okay…Okay…” Arthur draped his arm across Gilbert’s middle, fingers moving up and down his side. “This okay?”

Gilbert nodded.

“Good.”

They remained silent for a moment, only Gilbert's sniffling filling the void of sound.

“I feel stupid.”

“And why is that?”

“I should be over this. I…I know that none of it is true…Just…Fuck…”

“Knowing is different than feeling. And…I’m going to sound like a therapist here, there is no strict timeline for these things.”

“When did you get so good at feelings shit?” Gilbert laughed wetly.

“I’m just regurgitating what my therapist said.”

“Of course you are.”

Arthur pressed a kiss on Gilbert’s temple, pulling him closer against himself. This time, Gilbert didn’t cower and instead returned the affection, arms wrapping loosely around Arthur.

“Now what?” Gilbert asked softly, “I kind of killed the mood...”

“Whatever you need right now.”

Gilbert sighed, squirming around until he was lying on Arthur’s chest. “Can we just…stay like this a little longer.”

Arthur smiled softly, carding a hand through Gilbert’s hair. “As long as you want.”

“Also praise me for how awesome I am.”

“Why you cheeky…Fine. You’ve been through a lot.”

Arthur cradled Gilbert’s face. “You’re a wonderful man Gilbert. You may have called me a heathen for most of our childhood, but I always knew you had a good heart. You’re an attentive brother. And even with all your cockiness and inexperience you’re also an attentive and loyal lover and don’t let anyone tell you that your love is wrong. That our love is wrong. How’s that?”

Gilbert beamed despite the lump forming in his throat. “Yeah. Perfect.”

“Good, now relax.” Arthur began to rub up and down Gilbert’s back.

He hadn’t cried like that for centuries. Gilbert almost forgot the leaded limbs, pounding head, and heavy eyes that followed. Despite the dark thoughts still carved in the back of his mind, he drifted off, the hand on his back and the thumping against his cheek grounding him in the now. How could something as beautiful as this, full of support, respect, and care ever be seen as disgusting?

[rainmothseventeen]

[carnivorousyandeere]

ngl i'm super intrigued by Angel (her pinterest board is so so cute!!! i love her style omg)!! could we have some info about her? like how she acts, what type of yandere she is, etc?? thank you!!

WAIT IM SO FLATTERED 😭

Y’all look at my Pinterest~? *twirling hair*

Haha anyways… I am really excited to delve more into the Doll yans, and I also wanted to give them somewhat unique styles while still having those “fancy collector doll” vibes. Angel is more inspired by Victorian and Neo-Victorian dress, Rose from ballet/music boxes/rococo, Mina from yamikawaii/menhera, Fang from romantic/vampire goth, etc 🥰

Angel is always very prim and proper, preoccupied with “cleanliness” both physical and spiritual, and puts upon herself the Sisyphean task of instilling those same ideals into her Darling and fellow dolls.

Angel is a very protective yandere— I could see her breaking somebody’s wrist for daring to touch you, but then she spends the rest of the day enveloped in guilt and praying for forgiveness for it.

Most of all, she prays and works towards the safety of her Darling, their “purity,” comfort, and happiness. She has no concept of personal space or alone time, and if you try to ask for it, she merely stands in the corner of your room to continue her watch over you and becomes incredibly confused if you object to this.

She is constantly fighting off her deeper feelings of affection and desire for you. Sometimes she considers her constant vigil over you to be a test of her strength. What she wouldn’t do to kiss you, to hold you closer— but she mustn’t. That isn’t proper, after all. Other times she doubts herself, wondering if her watch over you is, in itself, a sinful indulgence after all…

[icannotgetoverbirds]

Severe fucking content warning

Content warning for literal fucking torture and abuse. everything else should be tagged. If I miss any content warnings please for the love of all that is holy tell me so I can fix it.

Psychological torture. Those are the words bouncing around my head this morning.

Did you know that sleep deprivation and social isolation are often considered to be tied for the worst tortures known to humankind?

Let me give you some more context. When I left mormonism, I lost everything in regards to my social safety net. Mormonism and my mormon friends and family were all I had.

It's by design, too; how is someone supposed to leave if their only safety net disappears when they do? Why would they even consider leaving if that safety net holds them perfectly because they can conform?

But when you can't conform, you fall through the cracks. As I did.

I didn't just lose everything, though. I didn't stop there. I also gained a neighborhood full of watchdogs who I was sure would herd me back to the cult at the first opportunity.

Going outside on foot was no longer an option - if any of my many mormon neighbors saw me, they would have Questions. If I gave any worrying answers, there was bound to be Visits. I wasn't strong enough to handle that.

Besides, I lived in suburban hell. Fifteen minutes just to get out of the neighborhood on foot, another fifteen to get to the nearest gas station. My depressed, broke self wasn't about to spend an hour walking for a round trip to the fucking gas station when I could barely handle doing my own laundry.

So I was trapped inside the house unless my parents or someone else with a car deigned to bring me with them on a trip. But it was fine at first, because I had an internet connection and multiple online friends; plus, I'd managed to forge one irl friendship with someone between deconverting and graduating high school.

My parents weren't happy about this for some reason (I have a working theory as to why and I'll get to it later). Their justification was that it was just generally bad for me to be spending as much time online as I was.

Of course, I wasn't doing great mentally, but they refused to believe that they could be at fault for that with their "mild" transphobia. Surely refusing to accept my newfangled, sinful identity on the basis of a false moral high ground couldn't possibly be the most significant source of my suffering; surely deadnaming and misgendering me couldn't be doing that much damage.

Surely refusing to assist the transitioning process in any way shape or form couldn't be a good enough reason for suicidal ideation. Surely I was just an undermedicated psycho for considering lighting myself on fire just to get them to understand my pain enough to... help me with the process of buying a binder with my own money.

Surely I just needed to get my act together and get over myself.

So, ever since that psych ward visit that treated me better than they did, they decided that I could only have internet access if I did enough of my chores around the house.

Doesn't sound too unreasonable until you remember that 99% of my friends were online. I tried telling them this, and their response was to encourage me to get back in touch with my old ward member friends. You know, from the cult I had just escaped. That, granted, my parents were still very much a part of.

(Remember that theory I was telling you about? That little tidbit is an important piece of evidence.)

So I was cut off from the world with significant regularity, having nothing but a flip phone to contact the one supportive friend whose phone number I had. That friend kept me alive and sane enough to stay that way for nearly a year as this hell dragged on.

At some point, my brother and his girlfriend moved back in with us. I guess they weren't a fan of all the sinning I was doing, because my parents had multiple talks with me about how I needed to give them more space (aka stop existing in the same room as them).

So, eventually, I was all but confined to my bedroom, since I could never sit them down to have a conversation about what times I was allowed to be downstairs and what times they would be occupying that space.

This all built up to the breaking point. I had just developed a new medical condition that left me basically bedbound in pain. I was forced out of bed anyways, because nobody was going to take care of me (probably due to the nature of the condition being considered 'sinful'). I did what I could as I could, as I always have.

There had been a misunderstanding about chores. My brother and his girlfriend were in charge of one bathroom, i was in charge of the other. Except I thought I was in charge of the wrong one. So while the downstairs bathroom stayed clean (despite me not doing much to maintain it), the upstairs bathroom became absolutely filthy.

It all came to a head when my brother yelled at me to take care of my responsibility. I finally figured out what had happened and explained to him why I hadn't been doing it, as well as why I wasn't about to start until I could actually, you know, stay standing for any significant amount of time. He yelled at me more and threatened to tell our mom.

I told him to go ahead, as any rational person would take one look at the situation and agree that I needed to rest. My only mistake was assuming that my mom retained any rationality for me.

So she called me and attempted to chew me out. mind you, i was ill and in debilitating pain already, so I put my foot down and asked her to save it for later. But I knew what was coming when she said we were going to "have a conversation" when she got home. She was going to take away my flip phone to force me to do as I was told.

My flip phone, 99% of the use for which was to call my one and only friend that i could access. My one and only friend who was the sole support in my life. The only person, the only thing keeping me sane.

That was going to be it for me. If she did that (and she'd done it before, so there was precedent), I was going to fucking kill myself.

So I locked her out of my room that night and tried to get a good night's rest in preparation for what would have to happen in order for me to survive.

At about 4 in the morning the next day, I packed up everything that i could carry and i walked out the door.

Every single thing I have been through since that day has been worth it to get out of that hell. I am still homeless over a year later and the only thing I wish I did different was to leave sooner and prepare better. Maybe get a nice duffel bag and do my laundry first instead of hauling all my dirty clothes in trash bags. I could've saved myself a lot of trouble by getting my documents together beforehand.

anyways. Befoer I came out as trans and not a mormon, my mother seemed fully supportive - or at least, like she was supporting me as much as she was capable of doing.

Afterwards? She never looked at me the same way again.

And so I have to wonder how two changes to my identity and lifestyle could wrench her away from kindness like that. How they could possibly cause such a significant change in how she treated me.

Here's the working theory.

Mormons prey on vulnerable people. Their missionaries are literally told to seek out the meek and weary and poor to "give them rest." This is also how they bring people back - they find out which inactive members are struggling without their safety net (which they often remove for the sin of inactivity/deconversion/etc) and those are the ones that they grasp at to try and bring back. Those are the ones that they reach out to, that they check in on.

So, how better to take advantage of someone's vulnerability than to make them vulnerable yourself? How better to make them vulnerable than to take away all of their safety nets? How better to tear them from their sin than to tear their sinful friends from them?

How better to break an apostate than to back them into a corner and bring in the walls? How better to turn someone towards your god than to give them no other choice except to be crushed?

And if they'd rather die than return to Jesus, well, then, at least you're sending them straight to the afterlife. Then they'll HAVE to see the truth. Then they'll HAVE to repent.

After all, all my mother needs to do to keep our family together forever is to keep me righteous. She already gave me a body. What loss is the rest of my life compared to the rest of eternity?

Better to die young than to live in sin. Better to be forced to come to Jesus than to choose to live free of him.

She wasn't a bumbling fool incapable of listening to me when I told her she was hurting me. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She abused me, TORTURED me, entirely on purpose. Entirely for the purpose of bringing me back to her god.

I have been tortured. I have experienced psychological torture. I probably have fucking brain damage from said psychological torture.

https://solitarywatch.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/SW-Fact-Sheet-5-Neurological-Effects-v230613.pdf

So, all that said, is it any wonder that I thought the streets would be better? Is it any wonder that I never want to see her again unless it's to use her grave as a gender neutral bathroom?

She nearly killed me. I think that was an acceptable outcome to her, too.

Certainly, the last thing she expected was for me to put my back to one wall and my feet to another and clamber out of that trap she made. Should've put a roof on it, I guess.

Anyways. If it seems like I've been less online/chipper than usual, it's because I've spent the past week coming to terms with this shit.

I love you all so, so much. Thanks for being there for me. Here's to staying alive; to escaping the trap; to finding our own families and leaving our abusers behind in the dust.

Here's to all of you. Y'all were worth the trouble of being homeless, easily.

[trashmouthjr]

a nephilim of the choir

[oculusxcaro]

Had a random thought/question and decided to toss it out there. Is your muse religious? Spiritual? Why, or why not?

Khare has never been one for religion although her parents practised different faiths. Luckily they never tried to force her to follow either one, only to respect other beliefs which she still does to this very day. On one hand, her parents having different faiths is probably what contributed to her not being religious herself - both can't be right, not when they're so different and while she and her siblings participated in holidays as children, Khare grew out of it, especially once her parents parted ways.

Spiritually her beliefs have taken a heavy blow. Before she was vaguely agnostic, that maybe both can't be right but perhaps one or another was, that there's a caring God looking down upon the world but now she's certain there's not. Her time in captivity under Prometheus dashed those naive hopes, watching unspeakable horrors unfold. If God was watching that day, he certainly didn't seem to mind when so many died or mutated, when the Mennonite girl begged for salvation only to mutate into a monstrosity right there and there. Some might say her escape was due to divine intervention, that a guardian angel was watching over her but Khare scoffs at the idea, that of all the people taken by the facility, why was she the only one to be saved? When there were many others more deserving who were younger and more innocent, with lives of their own that had so much more meaning than hers if God gave a shit? Then there were the horrors in the mountains and surrounding woodlands, being stalked and hunted by creatures even Hell couldn't dream up. Khare hasn't lent a thought to religion or spirituality since, because if there is judgement in the afterlife, she deserves everything coming her way.

[eggisoup]

will i ever be clean again?